#instead of an eyepatch he wears glasses

[designernishiki]

sorta an interesting characterizing detail that majima continues to wear an eyepatch instead of getting a prosthesis like most people (who have the money/resources, which he does) do. like I imagine it’s a combination of being dedicated to the image he’s made for himself/being stuck in his ways (not in a particularly bad sense here), and growing over the years from feeling the deep shame that wound is meant to bring him to accepting it as part of himself for the better or worse, not wanting to sugarcoat any part of himself no matter the unpleasantness, to maybe even feeling some level of pride or confidence in it in a way because it represents just how much of a resilient motherfucker he’s had to be to make it out of the shit he’s been through and whatnot. idk just something I think about sometimes

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

ZZZ Headcanons

Help this game has taken over my free time I love these characters sm <3 Billy Soukaku and Ellen my beloved

Nicole: has a not so secret hobby of bedazzling anything and everything. It’s a real problem in the Cunning Hares apartment, nothing is safe from pink rhinestones and stickers

Anby: cracked at rhythm games to an alarming degree. Can do a 2 person extremely hard DDR song all by herself

Billy: I don’t know how they did it but they programmed an android with autism. Has his own version of a skincare routine which is basically just maintenance on all of his tiny mechanical parts. Can also gain power multiple ways, including solar power. The apartment complex where the Cunning Hares live had a blackout once and everyone used Billy as a personal charging port. Nicole promised to pay him in Starlight Knight merch.

Nekomata: cuts her own hair and offers to do it for other people. DO NOT trust her when she says she’s good at it

Grace: did gymnastics as a kid which is why she’s able to pull off a ton of backflips and flexible maneuvers in battle

Anton: uses actual cement to keep his hair spikes in shape. Koleda caught him in the act once and instead of chewing him out, she decided to apply some to her own hair and now they’re cement combover gang

Ben: is completely vegan and loves chilling at hot springs a lot. Still sleeps with stuffed animals btw

Koleda: I’m making it canon right now Koleda is trans and you can’t do shit about it. Also has welding as a hobby and made most of her accessories from scratch

Corin: when not in Victoria Housekeeping Co uniform, is a Jfashion junkie. I’m talking super dedicated Lolita fits, menhera inspired clothing, the whole shebang. She ofc designs a lot of her own stuff like her bear backpack and is also responsible for a lot of the accessories Victoria Housekeeping Co wears (Rina’s bows, Ellen’s shark jaw head and neckpieces, Lycaon’s eyepatch and tail straps). She also has a massive crush on Ellen and is too scared to admit it

Rina: has a fur allergy and can’t keep animals around. Which also means she’s allergic to Lycaon. She has to take so much Zyrtec before clocking in but has such a good poker face that Lycaon has no idea. Ellen knows tho

Lycaon: specifically wears the heeled boots and has his odd posture because he’s self conscious about his digitigrade legs, he thinks they’re unsightly for a butler of his standing to have. He also tries to encourage Ellen to wear a long maid dress like Rina does to hide her tail.

Ellen: coincidentally falls into a lot of shark stereotypes. She loves seafood, has to constantly be fidgeting or she feels like she’ll go mad, and the kicker, she gets frenzied around blood, or if the thing she’s fighting puts up a struggle. Corin accidentally cut her hand while repairing her saw blade once and both Lycaon and Rina could barely hold Ellen back once Corin began bleeding. Ellen feels awful for scaring the already timid girl. Corin secretly thought it was hot and would die on the spot if anyone knew that

Soukaku: despite being a huge foodie this girl cannot cook for shit. Is also physically cold to the touch and during the summer her coworkers will ask her to hold their drinks because they’ll stay cold. Soukaku always secretly sneaks sips every time they do this to her.

Miyabi: has the worst sleep schedule known to man. Sometimes you’ll find her awake at 3AM and conked out by 4PM, other times she goes to bed at 8PM and wakes up at 4AM. It’s inconsistent and irregular and a gamble trying to contact her outside of work because she might not even be awake

Harumasa: GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY. Also pretty cracked at chess and other strategy games. Is also a major old fashioned guy and doesn’t own a lot of modern technology. He’s not into retro or old stuff, he just doesn’t like new stuff

Yanagi: her glasses are fake. When she was younger she needed them, but her vision had naturally gotten better over the years, so she now wears contacts, but for some reason still insists on wearing her glasses. Loses them constantly during battle.

Lucy: even though she was forced to play piano as a kid, she really wanted to be a sporty girl and play stuff like soccer and baseball. Now she has the freedom to take part in the sports she likes and watch them surrounded by the people she likes

Piper: insanely picky eater to the point it drives Lucy up a wall. Is also picky about a lot of other things, like how different fabrics feel, different comfort levels of chairs and beds, girl is a complainer and will always find something to complain about

Lighter: has a side gig as a tattoo artist, has really stable hands too

Soldier 11: has 5 younger brothers, a younger sister, and 2 older siblings who she doesn’t see super often. Has divorced parents who also liked to adopt, which is why she has such a huge family. Her younger brothers love it when she comes home and plays secret agent military with them

Seth: can’t drive. That’s it send tweet.

Qingyi: is outwardly dismissive of meditation tricks and hacks and tips but utilizes that shit in private ALL the time.

Zhu Yuan: shares the vegetables she grows in her garden with all her neighbors. Is also a REALLY good cook to the point people have encouraged her to potentially consider a different career path

Jane Doe: the rat girl has pet rats go figure. But in all seriousness she’d die for her little guys. She has a white one named Cocaine and a brown one named Tobacco and a gray one named Crystal Meth. She thinks the names are hilarious and every time she introduces the rats to other people their facial expressions are priceless

[prinnamon]

based on this post. he's barney in the middle lol ^_^

let me know if you want transparent versions for discord stickers and whatnot!

image descriptions in alt text + more detailed description of the main image below the cut.

[Start ID. Six digital halfbody drawings of characters from Freeman's Mind-style Half-Life machinima series against a green and white striped background. Each one has a caption written in white text on a black box.

Gordon Freeman of Freeman's Mind is depicted as a white man with a light brown mullet pulled into a ponytail and a goatee, square-framed eyeglasses, and an eyepatch. He wears a Mark IV HEV suit of orange, black, and silver power armor. He smiles and his fingers are interlocked in front of him. His caption reads, in all caps, "kill everyone".

Chell of the Chell's Mind series by CyhAnide is depicted as a brown woman with a couple of moles on her arms and face with long curly hair pulled into a low ponytail. She wears an orange jumpsuit with rolled-up sleeves. She cups her face in her hands and grins. Her caption reads, in all caps, "make them pay".

Ryan Sullivan of Mind of Ryan is depicted as a white man with a messy light brown mullet and pronounced under-eye lines. He wears a light blue shirt, a teal and dark blue striped tie, and a white lab coat. He has a weary expression and his fingers are tented in front of him. His caption reads, in all caps, "you won't outrun it".

Vincent Stark of Stark's Mind is depicted as a light-skinned Asian-American man with short black hair, a goatee, and glasses who looks a bit like a better-groomed Gordon Freeman. He is also wearing a Mark IV HEV suit. He smiles calmly with his hands folded in front of him. His caption reads, in all caps, "I wish I could stop".

Barney Calhoun of Barney's Mind is depicted as a brown man with long black curly hair and partial heterochromia. He wears a Black Mesa Security Force uniform consisting of a blue button down, black tie, black armored vest with a Black Mesa emblem on the chest, and black and silver helmet. Barney also wears aviation goggles atop his helmet. He smiles warmly with his hands together in front of him. His caption reads, in all lowercase, "im barney from black mesa lol".

TJ Arlen from Arlen's Mind is depicted as a white man with very short hair and five o'clock shadow. He is wearing a Black Mesa Security Force uniform with a blue beret that has a white Black Mesa emblem instead of a helmet. He also sports a headset with a mic and black fingerless gloves. His caption reads, in all caps, "the blood is on your hands". End ID.]

[cambion-companion]

Hi I like your blog ^_^ I was wondering if I can request a soft NSFW oneshot of Aemond feeling insecure about his eye and scar, but (fem!) reader lovingly rides him and gives him all the attention? I just want him to feel good 🤧

Hi guys! I love the idea of Aemond and his wife overhearing some ladies gossiping about Aemond's eye and what horror may lie beneath...upsetting him and it's up to the reader to pull his thoughts back to her...it does get smutty towards the end so 18+ only (also this somehow became a continuation of my Lannister!reader fics...must be the wine.)

word count: 2500

Medieval insults here

Aemond x fem!Lannister!reader | upset Aemond | comforting Aemond | smut | first time sapphire reveal

“That’s Lady Beesbury.”  You took a sip of wine from your golden goblet, leaning closer to Aemond as you spoke. “She’s a horrible creature.  Called me a ‘crooked-nosed fopdoodle’ just yesterday.”

Your betrothed, who had also taken a mouthful of his red wine, choked.  You patted him heavily upon his back several times as he coughed and laughed.  A tear streaming from his lilac eye, Aemond looked at you incredulously. “She…she did not.”

“On my honor as a Lannister, she did.”  You tilted your glass, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you nodded.

“I don’t disagree entirely on the ‘fopdoodle’ aspect.”  Aemond chuckled into his drink. “However, your nose isn’t crooked.”  He reached out, tweaking your nose between two fingers.

You made an undignified squeaking noise, rearing away from him, pushing his shoulder playfully. “If I am a fopdoodle, you are a mandrake mymmerkin!”

“Hmm. Harsh.”  Aemond cut you a sidelong look. “Yet you seem more than satisfied with how I attend to your desires.”

You ignored his mischievous glance, instead gesturing toward a group of foreigners, their furs still draped about their shoulders despite the heat of the Keep.  “Who are they?”

“Northerners by the looks of them.  Botons perhaps, due to the unsavory pallor of their cheeks.”  Aemond sniffed, his brow furrowing in distaste.  

“Yes.  I’m none too fond of the North, myself.”

“Snow doesn’t befit a lion?”  Aemond teased, pressing his shoulder affectionately against your own.

“Nor a dragon.”  You smiled at his familiar touch, savoring the smokey scent of him.

You lapsed into silence, both watching as the Bolton group, tousled of hair and wan of face, shuffled from the great hall.

Aemond placed his hand at the small of your back, his fingers probing the scarlet silk of your dress.  He caught your eye, opening his mouth to speak but the chatter of young women cut him off as a group of them swept into the hall. “…what’s beneath.”  The tallest of them was saying, her auburn hair shining straight, lit by the setting sun. “He wears that eyepatch at all times.”  You glanced at your prince, noting the sudden tension in his jaw as the girl continued. “Some say there’s ghastly ball of flame where his eye used to be.”

“Others say it is rotten, and not to get too near for the smell of it.”  Another girl piped up, her friends nodding at her shrill words.

“It’s obviously the reason he keeps to himself so much.”  The red-haired lady spoke again. “He’s a cripple for life. He would be handsome otherwise I dare say.  No one desires him.”

You felt Aemond leave your side, the absence of his presence sending a cold chill down your side.  Turning, you saw him departing, his long silver hair swishing against his rigid back as he strode from the hall, unnoticed by the gaggle of gossiping girls.

“I desire him.”  You said firmly, making a split-second decision, walking purposefully toward the group of women.  

A dark-haired lady scoffed at your words, her expression mocking as she looked you up and down.  Her brown eyes registered the scarlet gown you wore, your golden hair and fierce green eyes, the lion pendant upon your chest.  She decided better than to speak, biting her words down as she closed her mouth.

You appraised her down your nose. “Wise choice, girl.”

“Who are you?”  The leader of the pack, the redhead, half-snarled at your unwelcome presence.

“Y/N Lannister.”  You answered, your fiery gaze flicking to her face. “Betrothed to Aemond Targaryen.  I won’t ask for your names as they are sadly irrelevant.”  You leaned forward, imposing as you stood taller than any of them. “Mark me well, ladies, for this will be your only warning.  Speak ill of our prince again and I will make sure you and your families are cut off entirely from the Lannister coffers.”

“Is that a threat?”  The most vocal of the women spoke, trying to mask her fear.

“It’s a promise.”  You tilted your head at her, a smirk tugging your lips.  “You’d be lucky to get away with simple poverty.”

With a swirl of your silken gown you departed, leaving the girls gaping at your retreating form.  

You found Aemond in his chambers.  Entering unnoticed, you closed the door quickly, bolting it behind you.  He was seated before the fire, the window behind him framing a darkening sky of deep blue streaked with the last orange rays of the sun.  

You knew he heard your entrance but did not raise his head to meet your gaze as you approached where he sat.  “Aemond.”  You lowered yourself to the cushions beside him, reaching out to tuck a gentle finger beneath his chin. “My dragon.”  You tilted his head up, meeting no resistance as at last his eye met your own.  “They’re nothing, Aemond.” You tactfully ignored the redness around his purple iris, the dampness of his cheek. He moved away from your touch, you lowered your hand to your lap, still keenly studying his face. “They’re ignorant young women with wicked tongues.  Give them no credence.”

Aemond was silent several long moments.  He stood, approaching the fire, staring into the dancing flames. “It was the night I claimed Vhagar as my own.”  He spoke low, almost a whisper. “My nephews…attacked me.  I fought them off, but one brought a knife and, well…”  He turned to face you, gesturing toward the side of his face covered by the eyepatch.  

“Why did they attack you?”

Aemond shrugged. “They felt entitled to claim Vhagar.  They feel entitled to a great many things. Even my eye.”  His face darkened. “I should have fed them to my dragon.”

“No, Aemond.”  You rose fluidly to your feet, taking his forearms in your hands. “Kinslaying would have had dire consequences this world would never recover from.”

“Yes, I know.”  Aemond sighed, pressing his forehead against your own. “I can promise you, however, that there isn’t some ghostly flame where my eye used to be.”

“May I see?”

The prince was silent again, his fingers gripping your own forearms tightly as he looked down at your upturned face.  “Yes.”  His expression was solemn, guarded, as if he expected you to recoil the moment you saw him unmasked.

He made no movement, so you took it upon yourself to slowly reach up, hooking your fingers beneath the band of his leather eyepatch.  You carefully removed the fabric from his head, revealing the vertical scar in its entirety.  Where his eye had once been now sat a sparkling sapphire cut with many facets that reflected the firelight.

Your fingers traced along the scar as Aemond watched your expression carefully, he made to turn his face away, but you caught his jaw in your hand. “Aemond…you’re beautiful.”  You giggled at the slack expression on his face. “This is beautiful.”  You rose up on your tip toes, placing the softest of kisses against the cool stone eye.  You felt Aemond’s breath catch as your palms pressed against his chest.  “You’re the loveliest gem in Westeros.”

His violet eye narrowed at you. “You’re drunk.”

“I am not.”  You gasped in mock outrage. “Lannisters don’t get drunk on so little wine.”

“You’re raving then.”  Aemond turned away from you, back to the fire.  “My disfigured face inspires fear and disgust, nothing more.”

“Aemond…” You reached for him, gently touching his elbow.

“Loveliest gem indeed.”  He made a movement, ducking his head and reaching for his face with both hands.  You couldn’t see what he had done until he turned back to face you.  The sapphire now lay in his upturned palm, the socket of his eye now an empty blackness.  His one eye burned with the intensity of his gaze.  You schooled your expression, reaching up once more with light fingers to caress under the empty eye.  

“You infuriating, hard-headed man.”  You kissed him again, this time just below his gaping eye.  “What will it take for you to understand I am not going anywhere.”  Your kisses trailed down his cheek to the column of his neck where you nuzzled into him.  

You were gratified as you felt his arms wrap around you, drawing you closer as you continued to press your lips against his warm skin.  “I choose you because I want you, Aemond.”  

You reached back, undoing the lacings of your dress, shuffling off the rich fabric so that it pooled around your feet.  Aemond’s eye dilated as he watched you, he caught your hand as it made to unlace the ties of your undergarment. “Y/N…we shouldn’t.”

“We should.”  With little effort, you moved his hand to cup the swell of your breast.

He palmed you beneath the thin fabric of your shift.  You arched into his touch, unbuckling the dark green tunic he wore until it fell to the ground alongside your discarded dress.  Your fingers explored the planes of his defined chest and torso, dipping down to the waistband of his trousers, untying the lacings there as well as you backed him toward the waiting bed.

“Y/N.”  Aemond groaned, ducking to capture your parted lips with his in a searing kiss.

You pushed him back upon the mattress, pulling his remaining clothing off before crawling atop him, your hair falling to frame your faces.  Aemond’s long silken hair was spread atop the mattress, you couldn’t resist running your fingers through it, tugging slightly to elicit a small moan from his lips.

“Is this alright?”  You sat up straight, your thighs gripping Aemond’s trim waist as you looked down at his flushed face. “Me being on top?”

You felt his cock twitch against the inside of your leg as he rose against you, seeking friction.  “Yes.”  Was all he seemed able to say in the moment, his fingers grasping the flesh of your hips with bruising intensity.

In one movement you raised your shift over your head, tossing it aside, baring yourself completely to Aemond’s lustful gaze.  You massaged your own breasts, tweaking your nipples gently as you ground your wet heat along his hard arousal, coating his length with your slick.  

Aemond steadied you with firm hands as you rose up, taking him in hand and aligning him to your ready entrance.  The both of you moaned in unison as you sunk slowly down upon him, his long cock burying itself deep within your quivering walls.  

“Aemond.”  You gasped, the overwhelming feeling of his girth stretching you causing you to lean forward, pressing your hands against his chest for support.  

“Move.”  He pleaded, catching your lower lip with his teeth as you brushed your mouth against his.

You began rocking up and down, back and forth, savoring the feel of being in control, angling yourself so that Aemond’s manhood stroked against your most sensitive spots.  His breath filled your lungs, his tongue sliding along yours to the rhythm of your love making.  

You broke the kiss, straightening once more, fucking him faster, allowing his cock to hit against the deepest part of you.  Aemond reached up, securing your bouncing breasts in his hands, kneading the sensitive flesh as you arched your neck back, a sound of pleasure caught in your throat.  

Your name spilled from his parted lips, you looked back down to his face, reveling in the beauty of it.  “I want you.”  Your words were uttered like a prayer between gasps for breath. “I want to be yours.  I need you to be mine.”  You shuddered, your core clenching tightly around Aemond’s cock.  “Aemond.”

“Lean against me, my love.”  Aemond’s hands gripped your waist as you pressed your chest flush to his, your lips connecting in a sloppy kiss of tongue and teeth.  Aemond rose his hips to meet you, pumping his length into you with wild abandon.  His moans mingling with your own, the lewd slapping of flesh and musky scent of sex permeating the night air.  

“Aemond I-”  You panted, pressing your forehead against his, your eyes closed in rapture. “I’m going to…I want you to come inside me.”

You were still atop him now, letting Aemond take control as he set a punishing pace, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with a jolt of electric pleasure.  He groaned at your words, biting down upon your shoulder as he neared his own climax.  

You felt him begin to twitch inside you, the feeling of his teeth marking your flesh sending you crashing over the edge.  Aemond drove himself deep into you several more times before seating himself to the hilt inside your cunt as it milked the seed from him.  

He rolled you over onto your back, his silver hair tickling your chest as he leaned over you.  “You are a wonder, Y/N.”  Aemond kissed you softly upon your slack lips. “A creature apart from this world.”

Aemond rutted himself into you several more times, loathe to leave your silken heat.  When he did pull out, you felt oddly empty, the evidence of his orgasm leaking from you onto the rumpled sheets.  He kissed you deeper, slanting his mouth over yours, drinking down your weak mewls of lingering pleasure, his hands still groping the ample flesh of your thigh.

You remained locked together like this for many blissful moments, savoring the warm embrace of the other.  The taste of his lush lips moving with your own, the feel of his heartbeat against your chest, his arms cradling you against him as your leg was lifted over his waist.  

“I want to give you something.”  Aemond murmured against your searching lips, brushing his nose against yours.  

“Something else?”  You teased, your eyes opening to take in his adoring expression. “You’re so generous, my prince.”

He rewarded your wit with a dry chuckle, disentangling himself as he moved off the bed, walking over to rummage through the nearby dresser.  You stretched languidly, admiring the view of his bare body before you.

Aemond returned to your side, a small box in his open palm. A small smile traced his curved lips as he watched you undo the small ribbon, pulling off the lid to reveal what lay inside.  A gasp escaped your lips, your eyes flicking from his face to the ring that sparkled in the lowlight.  It was delicately crafted, wrought silver bands entwining to hold an exquisitely cut sapphire gemstone.  

“I know it is not of the traditional make.”  Aemond explained, still watching your expressions. “It was cut from the same stone that made my false eye.”  He hesitated only a moment before continuing. “I would be honored if you would wear this to signify our union.”

“It’s…”  Your voice caught in your constricting throat, unbidden tears welling in your eyes. “Aemond it’s…lovely.  Yes, I will wear it.”  You allowed him to slip the ring onto your finger, admiring the beauty of it as Aemond held your hand in his.  

“Now you will always have a part of me with you.”  Aemond kissed the top of your head as you drew him down into an embrace.  

“Hopefully more than one now.”  You guided your interlocked fingers to rest atop your womb, where you could still feel his release warm inside yourself.

“Hmm.”  Aemond agreed, tucking your head beneath his chin, his legs entwining with your own.  

Your breathing steadied; heavy eyes unable to tear themselves away from the shining gemstone that adorned your finger, signifying your belonging to Aemond Targaryen.  

[kaibacorpintern]

halloween costumes for yuugi’s halloween party, year SIX ✨

Atem: wearing a chef's outfit with the tall hat. Linguini from Ratatouille

Yuugi: wearing little rat ears and whisker makeup. Remy the rat from Ratatouille

Ryou: Astarion from Baldur's Gate 3 but Jou's like "heyy nice costume! lord of the rings right?" and ryou steams because first of all lord of the rings elves have LONG HAIR, rings of power was NOT accurate in its depiction of elves it gave elrond SHORT hair which is nonsense, and anyone who knows anything about high elves knows that tolkien elves have long hair but that doesn't mean ALL elves have long h

Jou: already across the room. dressed as snake from escape from new york. the eyepatch is really fucking up his beer pong game

Honda: Luigi, looking cute but annoyed. Jou was supposed to come as Mario but he changed his mind without telling him.

Otogi: sexy cat =^-^=

Anzu: Katniss Everdeen. drunk. Atem confiscates her bow and arrow after she takes aim at Kaiba for real and announces that the odds are not in his favor.

Mai: Cowboy Barbie. Did not need to buy a single thing for her costume she already had all the clothes

Malik: Buttercup the PowerPuff girl. incredibly mad. steaming.

Isis: she was SUPPOSED to be Blossom.

Rishid: he was SUPPOSED to be Bubbles. LIKE THEY DISCUSSED. Instead, he and Isis are dressed in dour brown clothes and he's carrying a fake pitchfork and wearing glasses. They're famous painting American Gothic by Grant Wood :)

Mokuba: Wednesday Addams, the movie version (but he knows the whole dance)

Kaiba: KaibaCorp F1 driver. Still incensed about last year's evil trick so he refuses to talk or drink anything and wears his racing helmet the whole time. It's not until Atem hits on him ("hey kaiba. why don't we find out what happens when you pull my hair?") that everyone realizes "kaiba" was actually Isono the whole time, deeply uncomfortable.

Real Kaiba: at home, happily handing out candy to trick-or-treaters and playing Baldur's Gate 3, romancing Karlach.

[athanmis]

sketch dumb alert for @falconearring 's zombie apocalypse au!!!!! (life series folks) (go check out their kick ass stuff NOW🤯🤯😡🫵)

I included some head canon designs specifically for this au! BigB, Ren, Skizz, and Martyn have not been pictured yet and of course I added my own flare to Pearl, Etho, Scar, and well pretty much all of them...

below the cut are ones from my class notes lol

ok also sometimes I draw Etho with vitiligo (seen in the bottom image) just cause I think that's cool

ummm but yeah Ren has ski goggles instead of sun glasses cause it's winter in the comics and I think it's funnier if he just wears ski googles all the time

Martyn also lives with Ren and I like to think BigB also hangs around Ren's place

Pearl's got an eyepatch cause her red skin has the scar situation happening idk

Scar suffers from some kind of infection at some point perhaps severely limiting his mobility🤔 idk i'm still messing around with the idea

Skizz is always beaten up in some way, shape or form cause it's Skizz but he's also the impromptu leader of sorts... Ren's just kinda the motivator, the one that gets everyone fired up

overall I tried making everyone look a little disheveled™️ cause you know it's the apocalypse and beauty is not everyone's main priority

thanks for reading my rants homies im real sick in the head about this one

(alt texts will be added later, i have to sleepy right now sorry luvs)

[mana-jjk]

tw: jjk manga spoilers! mentioned canon injuries with canon typical violence, some body dysmorphia, nothing too explicit but it’s definitely there, this post is about injuries!!

something about reincarnation for the children who were never allowed a childhood. a second chance to live their lives in a way that the ones who loved them always wished for.

except, past lives are not so easily forgotten. especially those so rich in anguish, suffering ever so potent in the dust that settled over their bones, love and loss and everything in between carrying over in a branding seal.

characteristics that maybe no longer fit. too sharp fangs that nip your gums, oddly colored eyes that glow with an intimidation no longer needed, an aura that makes someone on the street pause for only a moment.

maybe memories, snippets of trembling screams and bloody nails digging in with the desperation of one so familiar with love and loss. forgotten dreams that leave only iron on the tip of your tongue, a voice so familiar, a hand so comforting, someone who used to know you far better than you could ever understand yourself.

even shared coincidences wouldn’t be out of the question. a special encounter in the hospital between two children, a little boy who grows up with a gruff grandfather with maybe a few more siblings, a teacher who loves his students, who would bend life and death in every tense and capacity.

maybe, maybe.

maybe even a wound, a suffering so intense that it carries on to some capacity. so defining in the suffering endured, so life-changing in the moment of infliction and there-in after. the story of what used to be, of battle scars and survival all in the same. how do you leave behind something so inherent to the person you were? to be reborn is a cycle, a constellation of stories forgotten in the passage of time. yet perhaps told in what continues on.

and oh, the scars they have.

identical birthmarks under yuuji’s eyes, like the mockery of the dimples in his smile. his left hand weaker than his right, sometimes it shakes with a strain as if remembering the time it was severed. a cut on his lip from his own tooth, instinct maybe, an attempt to right the wrong of unmarred flesh. freckles in odd spurts, a strange pain that flares in his bones. his heart, once ripped from his chest, once stabbed by a friend, perhaps not exempt. irregular heartbeats, as if trembling in anticipation for the third strike.

she’s born blind in her left eye, one vibrant amber, one cloudy gray. nobara accepts it, never lived a time without it. she grows up wearing an eyepatch, boring and dull until she discovers how to accessorize. leaning into her namesake, she decorates it with roses until that’s not enough, needles stabbing her never did seem quite scary. so one might say on impulse she decides to get a tattoo of sprawling roses that trail from her temple, down her cheek, shoulder, and finally trailing to her finger tips. sometimes they flare in odd spots. birth marks oddly placed on her wrist.

it’s almost funny to have identical birthmarks to someone you’ve never met before. it’s a talking point that transitions into the strongest friendship megumi has ever head. slits under his eyes, he always thought them unseemly. somehow, yuuji always seems to make them seem a bit better. how could they possibly be bad if the kindest person he knew wore them with confidence? he carries a life long struggle with migraines, focus issues, sometimes even slow reaction times that should only come with a visible wound.

in every life, maki and mai are identical twins. this one is no different, even if there are some minor differences. instead of the burns that decorated their skin in the time now so far away, there are only patches of lighter skin. vitiligo, as officially named, somehow even their conditions seem the same. yet there are differences, a cheat code after maki cuts her hair. legally, she’s blind in her right eye, she wears glasses to correct the imbalance. she caries the echo of loss, of gratefulness in having a life by her sister’s side.

it’s a one-sided happy coincidence to find someone else with vitiligo for panda. he’s never met anyone else to share such a characteristic. he’s a tall boy, sometimes he feels both too tall and too small for his skin. like somehow he should brush the ceiling, yet at the same time only reach their knees. displacement, a lack of understanding. is he supposed to be here? he’s learning, slower than one might imagine, how to function in such ways. empathy and pain and blood and bones. amnesiac soul settling into new bones.

he was a quiet baby, an almost silent baby. surely what his parents would have wanted in his previous life. yet here, in this world, a whimper doesn’t fracture, a scream doesn’t shatter. a simple word has as much power as anyone else. yet, there is a trepidation to breaking the self-imposed silence. not so much fear as there is discomfort. a rule so engrained that it settles into his vocal cords. it’s difficult to learn sign with only one arm, but he’s used to it. never knew a time before it. in another life, it felt world-ending. in this one, it simply is.

yuuta thinks he might remember things sometimes. never too much, the flash of a childish smile from someone far too old and young all at once, a girl enamored with a faceless boy who answers in scowls, a comforting presence with the kindest eyes he has ever seen. gone like whispers, yet so innately part of him. they give him courage, a confidence that doesn’t feel quite like him. a confidence that sends his feet flying quick enough to push rika out of the way. he’s paralyzed from the waist down, a perfect cut. he can’t find it in himself to regret it, an uncharacteristic sureness that this moment was the preferable end. by high school, he can walk with crutches.

with time, with lives gone past, even these echoes will soften. new precedents, new importance, new ends as they begin.

with time, the stark white hair and violet eyes may fade to a shade of blonde. chronic headaches to light sensitivities, ever-lasting shakes to a newly dominant arm. a blind eye to one that takes only a moment to blink dark spots away. world-ending injuries to a flicker in the grand scheme of their lives.

but some things, i think, will always stay the same.

the shy stumble of yuuta’s walk pausing at a book for japanese sign language. he doesn’t know why he pauses, doesn’t know why this catches his interest. yet for some reason, his eyes burn. rika is confused every time she sees it in his room. especially when he never has the time to sit down and actually study it. yet at the same time, he never even considers giving it away.

then, he meets toge.

the silence scares him at first, this overwhelming feeling of nostalgia and the unknown, of comfort and fear all at once, longing and ignorance all at once. his soul might say, i would know him in any life, in every moment, in every period of time no matter how long the separation. but he is no longer yuuta, special grade sorcerer with a target on his back. he’s yuuta, who walks with crutches and studies medicine with a slightly alcoholic instructor. he’s no longer toge, snake and fangs and outlaw in the jujutsu world. he’s toge, selectively mute with a robotic arm and no idea what he wants to do.

any they find each other, again and again. when the stumble settles and his sleeve no longer flutters. when the violet eyes turn a shade of gentle brown, when the scary aura settles instead into reassurance. when they are kids, when they are teenagers, adults, even elderly men. when the world comes and goes and even dust expires into a whisper of the setting sun.

love and loss and battle scars and survival and beginnings and ends and everything and nothing and yet always them, always them.

red strings of fate woven together again and again until so tightly woven nothing could ever begin to separate them. spiderwebs of fate that for once, for once, do not end in severed lines.

because even as the scars fade, even as the echoes fall short, even as the last remnants of before become undone, they will find each other again.

something about reincarnation for the lovers who were never allowed to love without loss.

[starrbitez]

One of those nights — PEmorty Drabble

Fluff with the sillies :)

(Will be on ao3 too, enjoy !! :3)

It was another one of those nights where the wind was cruel and howling at the windows, begging to be let in. One of those nights where Morty couldn’t sleep because of the voices rushing through his head, the images clogging up his brain, the horrible fear that something was lurking in the shadows of his room.

It was one of those nights where a hot shower did nothing, where a glass of cold water did nothing, where hurting did nothing, and where there was no comfort in sight.

Tonight, though, Morty couldn’t stand to be alone. He didn’t feel safe, he didn’t feel like his body was his own, and he thinks if he sees anyone he’ll scream. Except for one person.

Morty never does this, so he thinks it’s okay to do now. ‘Only in emergencies,’ Evan had said, ‘I don’t want you bothering me all the time.’ Even with the statement, Evan smiled afterwards. Morty smiles at the one positive memory. So, Morty justifies the use of the yellow portal gun at the bottom of his shirt drawer in his panic. There is only one set of coordinates entered into the gun, so it is the only place Morty knows how to go. He presses the trigger on the tool, and slowly steps into the swirling yellow portal.

It’s dark here too, Morty notes. There are three moons and thousands of galaxies visible in the sky, which is familiar but unearthly. Immediately, a voice greets him.

”You’re here.”

Morty looks to his right, and there is his comfortable friend, dressed in a matching pair of silk pajamas, likely fabricated easily. What a snob. The boy isn’t wearing his usual eyepatch, and his sleepy eyes make him look like a type of vulnerable that only Morty has seen.

Morty isn’t quite sure how to speak right now, because it’s just one of those nights where his brain is too loud and his body doesn’t function. Just barely noticeable, he nods.

His counterpart steps closer, eyebrows furrowed. His eyes are soft brown, and reflect familiar images. “Are you okay?”

Morty shakes his head, and before he knows it, there is an arm around his waist pulling him close until his head is buried in a silk covered shoulder. They stay like this for a few minutes, Morty assumes. Evan takes Morty gently by the shoulders and pushes him so they are face to face. Morty looks into Evan’s eyes, and he forgot how much he loved them. It was one of their many surprising physical differences, the contrast between Evan’s soft brown, highlighted with specks of god; and Morty’s own, a muted gray-green. Evan’s voice is gravelly and more relaxed, something Morty envies.

”Why’d you come?”

Morty musters a reply, “You’re the only person I wanted to be with tonight.”

Evan takes a deep inhale, and Morty is afraid for a moment that Evan will open a portal and shove Morty through it. Instead, “One of those nights, huh?” Oh how right he was.

Morty is led to an expensive, soft plush couch, and together, both boys sink into the cushions. Evan lazily and kindly guides Morty to a horizontal position, laying his head on Evan’s thigh.

It’s one of those nights, Evan knows. One of those nights where talking isn’t necessary, nor is the acknowledgment of nightmares and fears and feelings. One of those nights where Morty reluctantly enters, needing nothing but silent comfort. One of those nights where Evan understands, and is more than happy to comfort Morty. One of those nights where Evan needed a little comfort, too.

[nesperus]

The amount of small details you put into your art is incredible to me, are there any details that you find the coolest out of all of your designs?

thank you so much !!! AND YES

daryll’s missing finger is one of my favorite canon-compliant details tbh; i think a lot of people forget it but it’s really fun to draw!

my designs for glenn’s patches/pins are also fun, they’re usually podcast references and i’m working on making myself a cheat sheet with all the designs for them i plan on posting when it’s done

also details i have that spread throughout the fandom (that i’ve noticed), like glenn’s snakebites or scary having braces

honorable mention to ideas i have but haven’t been able to show as much just because of posing are the chip in willy’s ear and the scar on his neck, the knife matching tattoos i have for all the sondads, the closed eye eyepatch on glenn being a gift from henry, and any dumb shirt i can put on taylor

also also — taylor with glasses!! i think his demon genetics fucked up his eyesight, so he has ‘em; nick needs them too but wears contacts instead (which is why his eyes are white instead of like his dad’s, which are black. i’ll draw him without them someday)

also a detail post i plan to do soon is the difference in my head between born demons (nick, jodie, etc) and created demons (glenn)

tysm for the ask its a great excuse for me to ramble

[casscreative]

@oldtakakweek day 6: beach, museum, art

if you want kakyoin to do anything, you can’t rely on his good will. instead you must tap into his spite or his fascination with the phenomenon of cannibalism

image id under cut

image id: a short, sketchy comic followed by a digital colored drawing, featuring kakyoin noriaki and jotaro kujo from jojo’s bizarre adventure as old men, living together, had they both survived to make it to the point.

in the first panel of the comic, kakyoin has his wheelchair parked next to a round dining table, slippers on, as if he just woke up. he has long hair and glasses, with a mild dusting of facial hair. jotaro stands on the the other of the table, in a coat and hat, with more obvious facial hair. kakyoin is looking deadpan and mildly irritated as he says, “no i’m not going to the beach, i’m in a wheelchair jojo. sand and my wheels don’t mix...”. jotaro is shaking, fists clenched, his hat covering his eyes.

in the second and last panel, jotaro looks up, snapping with an angry expression, “can you just be a fucking man and go to the beach with me?” a popup bubble of kakyoin shows he is enraged by this comic, his noodle flaring up to emphasize his anger

in the digital drawing, jotaro is hoisting kakyoin on his back in piggy-back-ride fashion. they’re crouched right at the edge of the shore, watching as an orange starfish that’s super close to the water eats something redder beneath it. kakyoin looks down with a curious expression, wearing a green shirt, while jotaro inclines his head and explains, wearing a purple eyepatch, purple hat, and purple shirt. jotaro comments, “you’re choking me,” and kakyoin replies with, “don’t care. so it’s eating another starfish right now?” despite jotaro’s complaint, he’s smiling slightly.

end image id

[thelavendercatalogue]

Those were so good? I think about Italian Jigen sometimes because that’s just a huge vibe he gives off even without his mafia background? And besides Jigen and Lupin giving each other blood, they seem like the type to have been “blood brothers” as kids (when that was still popular because you didn’t know mixing blood could be dangerous lmao)

oh they were! fun fact

The time period that started around the time during the train accident (Lupin Zero extension) was also around the time when Jigen began to garner his reputation for being Lupin’s “right hand man”. Following the accident, Jigen became extremely protective over Lupin, as the boy's demeanor had entirely changed as well as his self-confidence with how people perceived him due to his scarring, as he was still learning on how to properly cover them up with makeup at the time.

As time went on and Lupin slowly healed from his injuries, Jigen took to protecting his blind spot, watching and guarding the side of Lupin that happened to be the side in which he was basically blind. Which turned out to be his right side.

As a result Jigen basically always stuck to his right side like a seeing eye dog. Of course as Lupin grew up and his love for robotics grew, he gathered enough skill to make a prosthetic to help him see instead of just having a false eye, but the habit of staying at his right side was something Jigen never grew out of, so as a result even in adulthood he’s always known as Lupin’s Right Hand Man.

sadly when Lupin had his "accident" in LJS his prosthetic was damaged, so

✨GUESS WHO GETS TO WEAR AN EYEPATCH AGAIN! ✨

Sad part is is Jigen knows how to fix it

if the eye was salvageable

but it was damaged to far for him to try

Lupin taught him how to fix certain things on it, but once Jigen realized it was too damaged to repair he knew he had to wait for Lupin to do it

but since Lupin cant do it

Jigen has a plan B

he kept Lupin’s glass eye

the original one he had before Lupin replaced it

he held on to it incase Lupin needed it

[dreamatia-stories]

Design Notes: The Original Ten Peggle Masters

If you follow my main, you might know that Peggle Dual Shot for the DS has a mechanic known as the Bonus Underground. Each playable Master that made it in (Marina got axed, presumably due to hardware limitations) has a unique background and layout, and most notably for this project, different colored Gems to collect.

Why is this notable? Because I made sure that all ten of them got that color somewhere on their design for OoD. If playing Magic Pengel has taught me anything, it's that colors bring meaning to life, and also that I'm drawn to bright things like a toddler.

And I figured that while I'm explaining that, I might as well explain the rest of the choices I made. Note that I'll be using avatars from Recolor as "concept art", so some details may be off.

This'll be a long post, so bear with me here.

Bjorn's Gems are Orange, as reflected in his hat, jacket, and shorts. His glasses being orange are a complete coincidence, though; that element was actually taken from his appearance in Blast!

(Funnily enough, earlier drafts from before Blast's release had Bjorn getting his eyesight damaged in a fight with Fnord; in the current lore, he's always had nearsightedness that he actively hid with his magic for...Fnord's-eyepatch-related reasons)

His outfit is a little out-there, but it's definitely grown on me. I wanted to go for more RPG Hero than Superhero, specifically an agile spear-wielder. Horses are pretty fragile animals, and a having a jabbing weapon rather than a traditional heroic sword serves as a nod to his horn.

The biggest change I made from the concept when drawing is probably his hat, which loses its brim and gets a horseshoe instead of a star. My goal with all the Institute Masters is to hide a horseshoe somewhere in their design to tie them all together; it's gonna be harder for some Masters than for others.

(The Academy has its own insignia: a flipped horseshoe resembling an omega, as seen on Fnord's eyepatch in canon.)

Jimmy's Gems are Blue, as seen on his jeans and elbow pads. Not many places I can hide a theme color on an already-clothed Master, but thankfully our favorite gopher (who I thought was a guinea pig for years cause science) is consistently pantsless.

While there was no getting rid of his iconic hat, I did give him some protection from impacts in his elbow pads. I gave him jeans to look more like a Rad Cool Kid(tm), but apparently it's recommended skaters wear them due to being wear-and-tear resistant.

While I'm pretty sure it's just weird artifacting from cranking up the saturation slider in Recolor, it kind of looks like he's got green patches or leggings, the latter of which I would definitely wear if I was forced to wear jeans for whatever reason.

If I had to add a horseshoe, it'd probably be some kind of charm on his hat.

Kat Tut's Gems are Cyan, which can be seen, uh...everywhere.

I'm not gonna lie I had ZERO ideas on what to do for KT. I knew Recolor had an "Egyptian Headdress" item (which I'm not sure were actually a thing in Ancient Egypt) and went from there. I do like the silhouette of the headpiece, though.

I wanted something light and show-offy, since Kat Tut is an acrobat and a performer, and well...something definitely happened.

This is probably the most likely to be subject to change, even if I do like the flowy shapes.

Splork's Gems are Yellow, as seen in his overshirt and shoes.

I originally wasn't the biggest fan of Splork, but I think designing this look made me warm up to him a little. It's fairly basic by gijinka standards, just with an added bowling shirt and shoes in his theme color.

Splork only has one eye, so I deliberately gave him the Other Eye Syndrome bangs as a nod. The particular hair part I use for said bangs have an annoying layering shortcut that puts a pile of disembodied hair at your avatars' feet, so I have to make a bald version of every Splork I make and photoshop the two together.

If I ever draw him, I very much intend to give this guy his bulk back. We have enough twinks in this project already.

Claude's Gems are Magenta, which I misremembered as a more coral-y shade of pink. At least it stands out more from Warren's purple?

My main inspiration for Claude was essentially just "guy who tries to pick up chicks at the beach". Unfortunately, in my folly it completely slipped my mind that the guy who gives you Flippers might have a reason to be wearing, well...flippers.

At least I gave him some Big Meaty Claws.

Renfield's Gems are an eerie Lime Green.

My idea for Renfield was to somehow combine a suit with a wizard's robe, and I think the execution went REALLY well.

The suit portion was actually lifted from Eyegor; while it hasn't been stated, Renfield is available as a hat/head item for Xbox Live Avatars if you own Peggle, heavily implying Eyegor is a headless body that Renfield normally perches upon.

Despite having left the Institute prior to the New Frontier's formation, Renfield is one of the few characters that actually DOES have a confirmed horseshoe placement: a subtle shape made with the detailing on the back of his jacket.

Tula's Gems are more of a minty Green, which I misremembered as being more vibrant like her stem.

Tula's design was...supposed to be derived from her Blast Design, but when I went back to look it turned out it was COMPLETELY different.

For starters, her hat. I initially gave her a sunhat, but I recently started wondering if it was actually meant to be a bucket hat. Looking at the art, I legitimately cannot tell what kind of hat that is supposed to be. And apparently it's supposed to have a gaudy fake flower charm on it??? Not only that, but it completely clashes with her color scheme??? That is NOT the same yellow as her petals, and that orange is nowhere else in her outfit!!!

Also, her raincoat??? Apparently it's not actually cerulean, but a bright aqua that makes the green of her stem look muddy and the rest of her design look plastic and fake, which is especially egregious since she's an environmentalist!!!

And good GOD, I think Blast!Tula's face is somehow giving me DOUBLE Uncanny Valley vibes. Like, Classic Tula and her flower friends are kinda disturbing since they have detailed human faces on flower bodies, but Blast Tula STILL looks disturbing because of how Not-Tula she looks.

...Anyways, this is "Design Notes", not "Getting Really Mad At Fashion". Let's move on.

Warren's Gems are Purple, which is convenient since his regular outfit is already almost completely purple.

In this concept, I made his suit fit better since he's larger than he is in-game as a humanoid, but I think I wanna walk that back. He's a gambling addict on a teacher's salary, this man CANNOT afford a tailored suit. If the art department had ever seen a rabbit before in their lives then he would've already been peak design.

Also, just for fun, Warren's form is short as hell. Possibly the shortest New Frontier member besides Gnorman and Luna. I'm thinking 5'1" (~155cm), possibly even shorter.

Cinderbottom's Gems are Red.

Not gonna lie, I think I might be less happy with Cindy's concept than Kat Tut's solely because of how I put in the red. I REALLY should've gone for something less bright. Probably need to do something about that hair, too; maybe some kind of gradient.

Among the Institute, Cinderbottom is the most at-odds with Bjorn, even (not-so) accidentally making him violently ill with his smoke in one of the old Blog posts -- now what was that about 'flames only serving the virtuous'?

Anyways, my point is that Cindy is also based on an RPG hero, this time an armor-clad knight with a sword, befitting his noble stature. (I also thought it'd be a neat reversal if The Hero had a lance while The Lancer had a sword.) His green mail is derived from his green scales.

Master Hu's Gems are White.

This one was pretty much as simple as just giving him a white robe. Recolor didn't have any good turbans, so I left it off.

[mizho-babe]

Halloween Party

A Mizho/Paresse fic I've had in my tumblr drafts for years now. Hope you enjoy :)

Summary – AU prompt: “I came to the Halloween party as Frankenstein and you came as Frankenstein’s Bride, now everyone thinks we’re dates”

Pairing - Mizho/Paresse Word Count – 4,431 Rating/Warnings - T - swearing, irresponsible drinking, flip cup

Mizho took a scoop of the spiked punch and poured it right back where it came from, the bits of fruit, fake spiders, and glitter falling out of the ladle into a brown, murky bowl. Her dark-painted lips downturned into a disdainful pout. 

Her brother, Rage, dressed as Freddy Kreuger, shared the same disgusted expression. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Absolutely not.” Mizho agreed. She was dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein’s Monster, complete with the dark makeup, bandages wrapped around her arms, and black & white streaks through her hair. Instead of a long caped dress she opted for a too-short white bandage dress. (Costume be damned, Mizho didn’t do long & drapey clothes)

“Stop being pussies,” Vice, wearing a dark tattered cloak & a Ghost Face mask, drunkenly snatched the ladle from Mizho and poured himself a large portion into his red solo cup.

“There’s literally a dirty sock in there.” Mizho deadpanned.

“Well then stick to shots!” Fussa loudly slurred next to them. He was dressed in what Mizho thought was the laziest costume - a 70s disco jockey, which required no effort on his part except to keep his sunglasses on and to wear a patterned shirt. Despite being obviously drunk, he was expertly cutting several limes with a large machete, a costume prop someone had left behind in the kitchen.

Vice chugged his cup before burping loudly. “Isn’t that guy supposed to be your DD?”

“He’s also way too old to be here.” Mizho chimed in.

“I’m also your manager and producer, '' Fussa added, shooting daggers at Mizho for suggesting that he wasn’t young. “Making sure my stars don’t ruin their music careers with a stupid scandal at this random party in the middle of bumble fuck.”

“We just performed at the local amphitheater.” Rage said. “If anything, blacking out here will cement our legacy with these people.”

“And it’ll all be worth it.” Mizho said sarcastically. 

“I see someone is still in a bitchy mood that they couldn't go to some bullshit movie.” Rage glared.

“It was Nosferatu! The original vampire movie.” Mizho had only agreed to visit this town on their fall tour because it was home to a famous vintage film center that only showed movies before the 1950’s. That Friday, the theater was screening one of her favorite old horror movies, but of course, it was the same night as their concert.

“You’re such a nerdy freak.” Vice sneered. “I don’t even know what your costume is supposed to be. A pirate covered in striped toilet paper?”

“Watch it.” Rage scowled, his temper flaring up as it always did when someone made a reference to Mizho’s eyepatch.

“It’s the Bride of Frankenstein’s Monster, moron.”

“Bride of Franka-whata?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“These shots aren’t going to drink themselves!” Fussa interrupted, almost maniacally giggling as he pushed the shot glasses over to them, the liquor spilling over the small glasses’ edges onto the kitchen counter.

The group downed the shots, Vice and Fussa’s faces souring - and Rage and Mizho remaining stoic.

“You kids,” Fussa chased with his lime slice. “I don’t know how you handle your liquor so well.”

“Hey!!” Orgullo stuck his large redhead in from the kitchen window. “Your drummer is getting his ass beat in the backyard.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Fussa pinched his nose bridge, still wobbly from the shot. “There’s always something.”

“Also your boyfriend is outside by the tree if you were looking for him.” Orgullo continued, looking at Mizho.

“Huh?” Mizho kept her arms crossed but glanced around to see if the bulky redhead was in fact speaking to someone else near her.

A loud shout and a crash was heard from outside and Orgullo left the window before he could respond.

“Boyfriend?” Rage looked at her, and Mizho could tell by his voice that he was slightly inflamed. It was cute that he was still a protective older brother at their adult age. It almost made Mizho forget that just hours earlier, they were screaming in each other’s faces because she was taking too long to do her makeup in the bathroom.

“No idea.”

“We’re all shitfaced here.” Vice said. “I bet Orgullo doesn't even know who your drummer is.”

“It’s probably him.” Fussa and Rage said in tandem. While Fussa has been trying to shape them up into a respectable indie band, their drummer was proving to be a bit of a hassle, constantly picking fights with the backstage crew and pushing back on Fussa in the recording studio.

“I’ve been telling you guys that he sucks. Plus he bores the hell out of me when he rambles on the tour bus.” Mizho said.

“Everyone bores you Mizho.” Fussa pointed out.

“I wanna see this fight.” Vice had poured himself another tequila shot and slammed it down on the counter. “I’m bored by this fuckin’ party and I need some entertainment.”

“Help me murder - and fire - this piece of shit drummer and I guarantee you it will be fun.” Fussa sighed and cracked his back, getting ready to go outside.

“You gonna be alright?” Rage said to his sister, more of a statement than a question. He knew she could handle herself.

“Yeah. I’ll just ask my ‘boyfriend’ to save me if I need help.” Mizho responded. Rage rolled his eyes.

“Catch you later.” Rage adjusted his black Kreuger hat on, hiding his long blonde hair underneath it, and ran away with Vice and Fussa.

Mizho looked around, realizing she was alone in the derelict kitchen with only drunk party goers raiding the fridge or throwing up in the sink.

–

Standing outside by a tree, Paresse narrowly avoided being decapitated by ducking just as a machete threw past his head and lodged unto the trunk of the tree. 

“FUCKING STOP YOU ASSHOLES” a guy wearing a red striped Freddy Kreuger-esque shirt roared as he, a 70s disco man, and Ghost Face ran into the growing crowd near the backyard pool.

Paresse shrugged and drained his beer, deciding he wanted a new drink if he was going to watch the rest of this fight, and turned to head inside the house.

As soon as he walked in, he realized he was a bit overdressed. It was already an atypically warm October night, but the temperature inside the house felt like a sweltering hotbox, the dark lights casting neon purples, blues, and greens across the slick wooden floors. Everyone looked sweaty, drunk, and purposefully underdressed.

Paresse did not like parties one bit. He didn't care if it sounded pretentious - he much preferred staying home and sleeping after work. The pulsating beats, the crowded spaces, and the forced small talk were a trifecta of discomfort for him. The chaos of a party only served to drain him, leaving him yearning for the tranquility of his room, where he could immerse himself in the rhythmic hum of his drum kit or the soothing melodies of his favorite dark tunes. The idea of navigating through a sea of strangers, feigning enthusiasm, felt like an exhausting ordeal. Paresse had mastered the art of evasion, often slipping away unnoticed to the outskirts of the gathering, finding solace in the shadows rather than the spotlight.

He was only dragged here on short notice by his cousin and roommate Desir, who also insisted that they follow the party’s Halloween theme. He was woken up on his day off today at 3pm by Desir throwing shirts and sweatpants out of his closet. Since he only had black & dark green clothes, Desir decided to dress him as Frankenstein’s Monster, layering his black blazer on top of his faded olive t shirt. Paresse was too tired to protest when Desir finished off by covering his face and neck in green face paint, and covering his sand-colored hair with a black wig outfitted with the iconic bolts on each side.

Now, Paresse could feel the heat on his back. Wearing a heavy oversized blazer maybe wasn’t the right fashion choice by his stylist.

“Bro.” Two drunk guys bumped into him, and instead of apologizing they looked up at him and reached their hands out to dap him up. “Your girl is bad, I need a piece of that.”

Paresse had no time to be confused, as his cousin also happened to bump into him straight afterwards.

“HAH! There you are!” Desir, costumed in a white & red suit as Tony Montana, was carrying a bottle of whiskey, and behind him Paresse could see he was already building a harem of drunk men & women who were all hanging onto his arm.

“Where are the drinks?” 

Desir gestured backwards with his chin. “There’s a couple of coolers by the kitchen.”

“Thanks.”

Desir reached up and dusted a leaf off Paresse’s shoulder, the bottle of whiskey bumping into Paresse’s chest as he did so. “Why does it look like you’ve just fallen out of a tree?”

“There’s a brawl happening outside.” Paresse simply replied, as if that explained everything.

“Hm. I heard there’s a band touring in town this weekend.” Desir mused. “Apparently they are a hot-headed bunch.”

“You’re saying that like it’s a good thing.”

“Oh it is. I came here for dinner and a show.” Desir winked and moved past Paresse out the door, his followers giggling & chatting behind him. “Have fun, Frankenstein!”

“Frankenstein’s Monster.” Paresse mumbled.

Paresse’s plan of action was to get a drink, maybe another beer, and then blend in with a dark corner somewhere in the backyard until Desir had enough fun & they could leave. Considering what happened last time Desir dragged him out for a party……it was going to be a long night.

Meanwhile, Mizho sipped from a can of hard seltzer as she wandered through the rooms of the house. She thanked herself for wearing her heavy platform lace-up boots tonight, as the floor was slick with alcohol, and she saw multiple drunk casualties as people tripped and spilled their drink all over themselves. Not to mention some random asshole tried grabbing her ass, and she had to swiftly stomp down on his foot, almost breaking it as he squealed and ran away.

She was getting bored of all this.

“Oh my God,” a girl stopped in front of Mizho and squealed. “Your couple’s costumes are so cute! My favorite tonight!!”

“...Thank you.” Mizho responded, not sure how else to react. She scanned the room she was in but couldn’t find anyone else dressed up as Frankenstein’s Bride. Lots of Marvel superheroes, witches, and inflatable dinosaurs, but no tortured Mary Shelley monsters. 

She moved from that room to the main living room, where a DJ had his setup ontop of a bunch of cardboard boxes in the corner. The music was blasting, and it looked like there was an impromptu dance competition in the middle of the room. People were constantly walking through the crowd, their costumes & faces going in and out of the neon lights as they passed by.

Mizho decided to stand against the wall right in front of a cooler and claim the rest of the contents as hers. She did not enjoy parties not because she was anti-social (ok, maybe she was), but because the chaotic energy, deafening music, and over-the-top debauchery simply weren't her scene. Mizho preferred the calm of a dimly lit vintage movie theater, the subtle thrill of a suspenseful horror novel, or the solitary introspection of her music studio. In this sea of raucous laughter and blaring beats, she found solace in observing the madness from her vantage point. If there was anything good about these large parties, they made for good distractions, and Mizho relished the notion of escaping into her own world, even if it meant standing against a wall and claiming a cooler of drinks as her makeshift throne.

“Excuse me.”

Mizho looked up at the tall - too tall - man. He had a layer of green paint covering his face and neck, his black wig almost brushing against the room’s low ceiling.

He was so tall that she had to tilt her head all the way back to make eye contact with him.

“So… you’re the Monster.” The boyfriend and couples costume remarks clicked for Mizho, staring up at the man. His costume was genius in its simplicity, perfectly matching her more dramatic getup.

Paresse looked down at the girl dressed as Frankenstein’s Bride, instantly understanding the comment those two random guys gave him earlier. Her white mini dress showed off her curves in the best way. He couldnt help but give her a once-over, his eyes scanning up past her legs, her hips; past her chest to her face. Her face had soft feminine features, tempered by her fierce feline-shaped left eye and a leather eyepatch over her right eye. Definitely the most beautiful girl he had seen in a long while, maybe ever, in this town.

“Some party, huh.” Paresse said, immediately kicking himself for the stupid conversation starter. Usually he didn’t converse with anyone, much less an attractive woman, and he didn’t mind that, but that lack of experience did not come in handy now.

Mizho raised a hand to her ear, pretending she couldn’t hear him.

“I said-“ Paresse spoke louder over the pounding bass beat. “So you’re Frankenstein’s Bride, huh?”

“Mmm. Yeah.” Mizho replied, amused that he switched up his response on the second try for her. This guy wasn’t her type, at least from what she could tell in the dark room, but he had a nice voice.

Paresse paused, remembering that he wanted a drink from the cooler she was standing in front of, and abruptly forgetting about it when he locked eyes with her again.

“Apparently we have the best couple’s costume here.” Mizho filled the dead air. She was used to people attempting and failing to talk to her. Might as well throw this guy a bone to pass the time.

“...I mean… look at the competition." Paresse gestured subtly to the crowd, where various costumes ranged from the mundane to the downright bizarre. As he turned his head to the side, the strobe lights shined on the side of his face, illuminating his strong jawline & facial features to Mizho.

She followed his gaze, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Yeah, hard to believe someone thought dressing as a giant banana was a good idea."

The DJ, stationed at a makeshift booth with blaring speakers, grabbed the microphone, his voice booming over the lively crowd. "Alright, party people! Who's up for a game of flip cup? It's time to show off those drinking skillz!"

Mizho pulled her attention from the tall Monster and rolled her eyes at the suggestion. "Flip cup? Seriously? I thought we were at a party, not a college frat gathering."

Her snide comment caught the attention of the DJ, who decided to play along. "Well, well, well, looks like we got a flip cup critic over here. How about you and maybe your boyfriend there come down and show everyone how it's done?"

Mizho sighed, her sarcasm undeterred. "Sure, why not? I could use a good laugh."

As she made her way to the impromptu flip cup table, Paresse observed her from a distance.  Despite her petite frame, Mizho emanated confidence and a subtle defiance that piqued his curiosity.

The DJ handed Mizho a red solo cup, a smirk on his face. "Let's see if you're as good as your mouth."

Mizho shot him a dry look as several men in the crowd laughed and whistled. Her opponent, a woman dressed as a butterfly, already looked at her with deep condenscension.

“Your costume is dumb.” The girl drunkenly said.

“So is your face.”

“Stupid comeback.”

“Not as stupid as your boyfriend,” she glanced with her one eye at the girl’s partner, whom Paresse recognized as the one of the guys that bumped into him earlier. “He tried grabbing my ass earlier. Ask him why he’s been limping all night.”

The girl, enraptured, threw her red cup of jungle juice on the front of Mizho’s dress, staining the white ribbed material red. Paresse noticed the juice dripped down her chest, right in between her cleavage, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oops!” The girl snickered before returning to her posse on the other side of the table.

Mizho looked down at her ruined, red-blotched dress, silent but the tall man could see her full lips were in a large, rageful frown.

Mizho looked up at Paresse, and he nodded in silent agreement. “Let’s kick her ass.”

They approached the table, lined with 8 beer-filled cups on each side. 

“You any good at flip cup?” Mizho looked at Paresse. She unwrapped her costume’s white bandages from her hands, hoping her partner wouldn't catch on to the fact that she has only watched her older brother & his dumbass friends play these kinds of drinking games - she’s never played them herself.

Paresse, still processing the unexpected turn of events, shrugged. "Yeah, I'm not bad."

“We have our opposing team now!” The DJ announced. “We have Frankenstein-”

“Frankenstein’s Monster.” Paresse and Mizho corrected at the same time, and looked at each other, caught off guard by their in-sync response.

“-And his Bride!” the DJ finished the introductions, waving his hand at the players.

“"Alright, party people! Gather 'round, here are the rules of the game in a nutshell: you and your date must chug each solo cup like you're the thirstiest duo in town, then channel your inner acrobat and flip that cup upside down! First team to flip all 6 cups wins the round!”

A buff guy blew a blaring horn and the first round began. Paresse quickly picked up the first cup and dunked it back before laying the cup on the edge of the table. He flipped it on the first try, and looked to see Mizho was already drinking her cup before she also positioned it on the table and flipped it. They won the first round with ease, with the other couple barely making it past the second cup.

“You’re actually good at this.” Mizho raised an eyebrow of surprise.

Paresse’s neck got a little hot from the compliment. “I’m a drummer, I have somewhat good hand-eye coordination.” He looked off to the side and noticed Desir had entered the house again and was casually watching on the sidelines.

“She’s hot.” Desir mouthed to Paresse, gesturing with his bottle at the petite woman he was playing flip cup with. “Get it in.”

The beginner’s luck didn’t last as they lost the second round, which resulted in Mizho having a brief but screechy argument with the DJ over whether or not the other couple cheated.

Paresse, now fully feeling the heat and the multiple cups of beer, shrugged off his blazer for the third round, revealing surprisingly large biceps to Mizho. She blinked multiple times. Maybe the alcohol was distorting her vision. 

After four rounds, it was a tie for 2-2. Paresse cannot remember the last time he was this active outside of drum practice. His throat burned, and his green face paint was gone after all of the drinks he’s had.

“All right,” the DJ yelled on the mic. “Time for sudden death.” 

“Choose one player to do this last round…. And they’re SHOTSSSS” 

They poured 8 shots into the solo cups on the table. Paresse felt woozy just looking at the clear liquid in the cups. He looked over at Mizho and she was staring straight forward, not even blinking.

“I got this.” He immediately said, even though all he wanted to do was call quits on this stupid drinking game.

“No, I got this.”

“I don’t think so.” He was already drunk, and she was half his size. No way was she going to handle 8 shots in a row.

Mizho grabbed his shoulder - as far up as her arm could reach - and violently pulled his face down close to hers.

“This is my round.” Mizho stared, her hazel eye dangerously narrowed.

Intimidated, and a little turned on, Paresse nodded and Mizho let him go & stepped in front of the table.

When they blew the horn, Mizho knocked back the first shot with precision, her eye closing in silent acceptance that tomorrow’s hangover was going to suck. While the other person’s strategy was to take shot after shot in quick succession, Mizho took a brief pause between each cup to take a deep breath. At the last cup, she decided to just go straight for it, drinking the shot and then flipping the cup - while her opponent couldn’t even finish, rushing away before his last cup to throw up in a garbage can.

The crowd cheered. Mizho remained stone-faced, and Paresse couldn’t tell if she was all right or completely gone. 

Everyone cheered, including the girl who had originally thrown her drink at Mizho. Mizho caught sight of her, and she reached under the table for the remaining bottle of Malibu. Paresse watched - in slow motion, doing nothing to stop it - as Mizho unscrewed the cap and poured the entire bottle on top of the girl’s head.

Paresse placed a light hand on Mizho’s shoulder and pulled her away from the now-screaming and drenched girl, slightly scared that Mizho was going to flip and target him next. “Let’s… go outside.”

He gently pushed her through the crowd and out the front door, his large hands completely covering her tiny shoulders. Halfway to the door, it hit Mizho that she had actually poured the bottle on that girl and she started cackling.

Her laugh rang clearer once they were outside in the night air, and the sound made Paresse smile, and then eventually crack up as well.

Their gazes locked, and a shared realization dawned upon them. The absurdity of their presence at this party, winning in a drinking game, struck a chord with their typically reserved personalities, prompting peals of more laughter that echoed on the front porch.

“I don't even think I caught your name.” Paresse admitted, still catching his breath.

“Mizho.” 

“Paresse.”

“Back there,” Mizho flipped her hair, the ice now fully broken. “You mentioned you were a drummer?”

“Yeah, I mostly do studio sessions and substituting at local bars whenever they need someone.” Paresse mumbled ‘fuck it’ and took his wig on, revealing his messy sand-colored hair.

“Nice.” Mizho paused, studying him with a discerning gaze. “I’m a singer.”

Paresse could see it. She had the looks and the dont-fuck-with-me attitude that one needed in the entertainment industry. Plus, and most importantly, now that they were in a quiet area, Paresse could also tell that her voice was smooth and youthful.

“My band and I are in town for the weekend.” Mizho continued, after a beat.

“So you’re the group that performed at the amphitheater.”

“Did you go?”

“No,” Paresse said, hoping that wouldn’t turn her off. “….I was at a movie.”

“What movie?”

Paresse shifted, continuing to hope that he wouldn’t look like a total loser. “Nosferatu. The original one.”

Mizho’s eye widened. “No fucking way. I wanted to go to that.”

“Really?” Paresse cracked a small smile. "You… have excellent taste. It was a rare chance to catch it on the big screen."

Mizho's eye sparkled with enthusiasm and it made Paresse’s heart beat faster. "Absolutely. The atmosphere, the darkness in every scene, it's a horror masterpiece. I can't believe I missed it."

"Well, you had a memorable alternative tonight," Paresse remarked, gesturing vaguely towards the chaotic party behind them. 

Mizho let out a brief chuckle, the melodious sound blending seamlessly with the night air. "True. I guess this was entertaining.”

As they continued talking, it became evident that their perspectives on parties were remarkably similar. Both not fond of the raucous energy, they preferred the quieter, more introspective pursuits. Mizho's disdain for parties was rooted in her appreciation for vintage media and the solace of her music, while Paresse, being a drummer, found comfort in the calm after a day's work.

Paresse couldn't help but be captivated by her presence—the way her eyes lit up when talking about music, the subtle nuances in her expressions, and the confident yet enigmatic aura she exuded.

“I've been playing drums since forever.” Paresse looked beyond the porch at the line of cars in the driveway and on the street. “It's a bit of a cliché, but it's my passion.”

Mizho smirked, leaning forward on the porch railings next to him. “Well, clichés exist for a reason. I'm guessing you have a favorite genre?”

He nodded. “Rock, mostly. But I appreciate the rhythm in other genres. How about you? What's your favorite style to sing?”

“Rock suits me too. Something about belting out powerful lyrics just feels right.” Mizho paused, unexpectedly shy for a moment. “Though, I do have a soft spot for French jazz sometimes.”

Paresse nodded, and Mizho thought that his calm demeanor was a breath of fresh air among the asshole men she usually spent her days with.

"So, what's your verdict on this party?" Paresse asked, genuinely curious.

Mizho smirked, her hazel eye gleaming mischievously. "Not sure if it was interesting or just utterly bizarre, but I suppose it's a story to tell. How about you?"

Paresse chuckled. "I'm with you on that. Tonight's been... unexpectedly entertaining."

They exchanged a knowing glance. The silence that fell between them felt natural, and Paresse could feel the anticipation and a subtle tension in the air.

The magnetic pull between them intensified, and Mizho, feeling a surge of boldness, teased, "Are you always this chatty with your studio mates?"

Paresse chuckled and answered honestly. “Not at all.”

She closed the gap between them and kissed him, Paresse hesitating before snaking his hand down her back, and another through her long hair. The touch of Paresse's hand in her hair sent shivers down her spine, and she deepened the kiss, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

“Hey…” he breathed when they broke away. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Sure,” Mizho suggestively smirked, before spotting,  over Paresse’s shoulder, her brother in the backyard catching sight of them. Rage looked at Mizho, then at Paresse - one hand on her ass, another in her hair - and started storming over. 

“Did I mention my band needs a new drummer?” Mizho quickly said. 

“...No,” Paresse continued kissing her cheek, and then her neck. “You haven’t.”

“Hmm. Okay, just thought you should know that for when you’re trying to get back on my brother’s good side.”

“What-” Paresse started, before being interrupted by Mizho pulling him back down for another kiss.

[chuuyanaurkahara]

posting on a separate post because i don't know how long this is gonna be- (@onemanburritoapocalypse )

yes. beta designs. before i had the whole story together, i had some ideas. the gang looked different and had other personalities.

dani wasn't a cat fan. they were cold, precise and deadly. they didn't have ice magic in their beta design. instead, they practiced poison magic. the whole being a zombie spiel was there though. just that they died once, and not a million times.

their hair was shorter and fluffy. they wore a short sleeved t-shirt, a jacket and some long pants.

azrael was a bit nicer. also he originally was going to be best friends with ellie, but we all know how that turned out. he wasn't a serialkiller, but still had some violent tendencies. he still practiced song magic, but because he liked it. he also had a bird.

he had way less scars was born with 2 arms instead of 6 and instead of having his long hair open, he had it in two thick braids. also his eyes were blue instead of red.

gloria was kind at times, but very sarcastic and selfish. she also didn't cook or bake, she ordered takeout all the time. she only practised plant magic. she and beta ellie were dating but i scrapped that idea because it didn't spark.

her hair was black and she had it in a high ponytail. she wore shorts and crop tops. her eyes were blue. also her name was alice.

ellie didn't change much. she practised electro magic, but wasn’t that experienced in it. and she used she/her instead of she/he

she had tattoos in form of lightning along her arms. also she didn’t wear earrings. and she was taller than gloria/alice.

sally's personality was pretty much the same, minus the whole being a demon part. she didn’t even summon them. instead, she just read the stars and stuff. she also had a star snake to assist her.

her hair was a bright blue and she had those curly pigtails. google kokona haruka. she had these kinds of pigtails. just blue. also she wore and eyepatch.

lou's personality is pretty much the same as it was in his beta version. their name was stan. also, he practiced fire magic (unlike current lou, who is scared of fire). beta lou was more reckless and even more cringe.

it had longer hair. he wore glasses and dressed rather formally. also his pronouns were they/it but current lou uses he/they/it.

destora is pretty much the same. nothing changed. except for his hair. beta destora had slightly darker hair.

[pomegranate-cuties]

Chapter 19 Reactions

First time poster, long time reader and so on. All instances of bold in quoted text is my own emphasis. Now, without further ado:

People who have never seen these structures, and have only the ill-imagined efforts of artists or the imperfect descriptions of such eye-witnesses as myself to go upon, scarcely realise that living quality. I recall particularly the illustration of one of the first pamphlets to give a consecutive account of the war. The artist had evidently made a hasty study of one of the fighting-machines, and there his knowledge ended. He presented them as tilted, stiff tripods, without either flexibility or subtlety, and with an altogether misleading monotony of effect. The pamphlet containing these renderings had a considerable vogue, and I mention them here simply to warn the reader against the impression they may have created. They were no more like the Martians I saw in action than a Dutch doll is like a human being. To my mind, the pamphlet would have been much better without them.

Tell us how you really feel Mr Narrator! As someone who's been accepting any and all illustrations of our tripod aliens as canon, I'm feeling very attacked right now. And who was it who first described the Martian machines as a milk stool, hm?

The internal anatomy, I may remark here, as dissection has since shown, was almost equally simple.

I love these delicious little hints of a post-Martian world 🥰

They did not eat, much less digest. Instead, they took the fresh, living blood of other creatures, and injected it into their own veins. I have myself seen this being done, as I shall mention in its place.

Virgin digestive system (humans) vs Chad vampire metabolism (Martians). Also, I'm having a bad feeling about the fate of the Curate...

Their undeniable preference for men as their source of nourishment

[Audio and video description: Official YouTube music video for the US version of "Maneater" by Nelly Furtado, an uptempo electro-pop song with an infectious, thumping beat. The video is set to start at the chorus (timestamped 2:12), depicting Nelly Furtado dancing in a dimly-lit, dilapidated warehouse, interspersed with shots of the crowd dancing in other rooms of the warehouse:

Maneater, make you work hard Make you spend hard, make you want all of her love She's a maneater, make you buy cars Make you cut cards, make you fall real hard in love She's a maneater, make you work hard Make you spend hard, make you want all of her love She's a maneater, make you buy cars Make you cut cards, wish you never ever met her at all

End description.]

These creatures, to judge from the shrivelled remains that have fallen into human hands, were bipeds with flimsy, silicious skeletons (almost like those of the silicious sponges) and feeble musculature, standing about six feet high and having round, erect heads, and large eyes in flinty sockets. Two or three of these seem to have been brought in each cylinder, and all were killed before earth was reached. It was just as well for them, for the mere attempt to stand upright upon our planet would have broken every bone in their bodies.

[Audio and video description: Scene from "Chocolate with Nuts" (season 3, episode 52) of SpongeBob Squarepants. SpongeBob, with a bandaged head and two crutches, and Patrick, with a neck brace and both arms in casts, knock on the door of a potential chocolate customer. The customer wears a full-body cast, eyepatch, and ventilator face mask, with an IV drip attached to his right side.

The video begins with a close up of the customer's face, who laments, "Ugh, some guys have all the luck. I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning, I break my legs, and every afternoon, I break my arms. At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep." As he speaks, a violin begins to play, and the shot cuts over to SpongeBob and Patrick, who look like they're about to cry.

Right as the customer finishes his speech, the mobility device holding the customer's leg out from him falls. A wire snaps, sending the customer tumbling down the stairs to the sounds of shattering glass and cries of pain.

End description.]

In the next place, wonderful as it seems in a sexual world, the Martians were absolutely without sex

Ace pride 🖤🤍💜

The last salient point in which the systems of these creatures differed from ours was in what one might have thought a very trivial particular. Micro-organisms, which cause so much disease and pain on earth, have either never appeared upon Mars or Martian sanitary science eliminated them ages ago. A hundred diseases, all the fevers and contagions of human life, consumption, cancers, tumours and such morbidities, never enter the scheme of their life.

Yes! I'm so glad this's been finally addressed, because it was the first thing I was curious about. It's a little inconceivable to me for life to exist on other planets without microorganisms, but that may be a lack of imagination on my part. What's more interesting is what this might mean for Martian immune systems...

[wordveined]

Burnished Night

Category: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Rating: PG/SFW Genre: Fantasy Word Count (currently (all parts)): 2635 Status: Incomplete

Summary: A second chance at life is hard to come by; one granted when the first was all but forfeit is unheard of. Even so, Edelgard survives; unprepared to face the Fodlan that greets her when she awakens, but not alone in the slightest.

This is a sequel to Tarnished Dawn. It is highly recommended to read that first, though not necessarily required.

Directory: I (you are here)

***

Chapter One: Woke Up In Chicago (And The Sky Turned Black)

chapter title taken from June by Florence + the Machine

She feels it like a whisper, at first. The hint of warmth, faint but steady in the way it seems to wrap around her where she lays. Edelgard flexes the fingers of her right hand, where the sensation is strongest, and is startled to find that she cannot move them much at all, restricted as they have been by that warmth. Then the sensation tightens; her hand lifts, though not of her accord, and a voice she will always recognize speaks softly near her ear.

"El?"

Dimitri?

Her childhood moniker slips from his mouth like a sigh, all quiet and soft. A beat passes, then another, and when she makes no move to respond, that feeling - his hand, she realizes - tightens again, and something gentle brushes against her knuckles, the touch featherlight. His voice, when again he speaks, hums against her skin there like a vibrato. 

"El, can you hear me?"

His words almost seem to trail off at the end; to quiver, as if afraid to be left unanswered. For how long he has sat at her beside, how many times he has gone without a reply, Edelgard does not know. But she does know that she does not have it within herself to hear his voice tremble again.

When did I become so soft?

It takes far more effort than it should, but slowly, Edelgard manages to crack her eyes open. Just a sliver, enough to make out a portion of the room and some blurry shapes contained within. It must be enough, for she can hear Dimitri suck in a breath and hold it, low though it is. His grip on her hand tightens once more, and as she works on getting her eyes open wider, the blur to her right shifts closer and becomes clearer, and then she finds herself looking up into Dimitri's face as he stares back down at her.

It is a hauntingly familiar position to be in, even if she is bedridden instead of kneeling in defeat. And there are other changes, too. He still wears an eyepatch, his one eye still the same cerulean she remembers; but gone are the deepest lines of fatigue that decorated his brow. Some smaller ones linger still, but he no longer looks to be carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders. And where before his hair hung unkempt and limp, it is now tied back at the sides - it leaves the whole of his face open and unhidden in a way Edelgard has not seen since their days at the academy, and for a moment it throws her. But whatever shock she lets slip on her features is composed soon enough, and then she opens her mouth to speak.

Or she tries, at least. But what comes out is little more than a croak, the rasp of a voice gone unused for far too long. Dimitri shifts at her side, glances away for a moment before he turns back and there is a glass of water held to her lips. At first she accepts a small sip, then another; before she knows it Edelgard has gulped down the whole thing, her dry, greedy throat rejoicing at the sensation of relief the cool liquid brings. She relaxes back into the pillows with a sigh, and this time when she speaks, her voice is clear, if not a touch quieter than she would prefer.

"... Thank you."

Dimitri nods, sets the glass back down with a quiet clink all without ever taking his eye off of her. Edelgard is a little unnerved by it, at first, but when all she can see in his gaze is concern, rather than resentment, she exhales a little breath she hadn't known she had been holding in. Dimitri gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and it's only then that she realizes he hasn't once let go of it since she awakened - though she is quick to push that thought aside.

There are more important things to focus on than that, right now.

Edelgard clears her throat softly, glad to find it no longer feels raspy or dry. Then she speaks, her voice a quiet hum in the otherwise silent room. "How long has it been?"

"About a month. Wyvern Moon is almost here," he replies. The first thing he has said since she awoke, and though his tone holds composure, it is still soft - and it softens further still as he continues. "I am glad it's not been longer."

A month. This revelation surprises her, but only in the fact that it has not been longer, indeed. When she had used the Hegemon Husk in Enbarr she had been fully prepared to die, and the weakness that had suffused her limbs moments after its power was extinguished had been all-consuming. She still feels some of it, in her extremities and her core, but it is far duller than she presumed it would be. To have awakened after only a month…

Well, it is both a curse and a blessing, she supposes. Clearly the world is not finished with her yet.

"I must extend my thanks to your healers, then," Edelgard murmurs, her gaze shifting to meet Dimitri's once more. "They are clearly very skilled, to have brought me back so quickly."

For the first time, Dimitri’s expression changes, and his lips mold into a small half-smile as he nods. “Mercedes and Marianne have barely left your side, these past weeks. Even when the Imperial Physicians began to waver, they were not deterred.”

Edelgard’s eyes widen in surprise. “The Imperial Physicians? Are we still…?” she trails off, uncertain if she should finish. But Dimitri simply nods again, and answers that silent question all the same.

“We are still in Enbarr, yes. Your condition was too critical to be moved anywhere else,” his smile disappears, and though he does not frown, Edelgard can see that it is more out of restraint, rather than a lack of unease. “Those first few days were… especially rough.”

Though he falls quiet once more, Edelgard can hear his words on repeat in her head. Especially rough. Perhaps she had been closer to death than originally presumed. The thought of that brings a number of questions to mind, but at the forefront of them all is one she knows she has held onto since she remembers looking upon him last. And though perhaps it is not the time, nor the place, Edelgard cannot help herself from asking it of him, anyways.

But she cannot meet his eyes while she says it.

“Why did you let me live, Dimitri?”

He sucks in a sharp breath. Silence follows, thick with tension, and Edelgard wonders if maybe it really was the wrong thing to say. But after a moment that feels longer than it truly is, Dimitri exhales; the sound slow and controlled, and the hand that still clasps hers relaxes its grip as if to let go, but still does not pull away.

“I went into that battle prepared to extend mercy, should you have chosen it,” he says, and in his voice she hears an echo of that day, of the plea he had not given words to but could not hide from her all the same. “And it was not out of pity or sympathy; if anything, it was born out of my own selfish desires.” Dimitri pauses, as if to brace himself, then continues.

“I am done losing the people that I care for, Edelgard. And despite the last five years - or perhaps in spite of them, this includes you.”

Edelgard’s breath escapes her in a rush; only then does she realize she has held it since he began to speak. Her gaze darts back to him, sharp as she meets his one-eyed stare. But no matter how hard she looks, how determinedly she searches, Edelgard can detect no lie in the azure she looks back into; only sincerity.

She doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Maybe he can sense that he’s unsettled her thoughts, for suddenly his hand slips out of hers and he rises from his seat at her side. “You should rest up - I imagine you are still exhausted, given everything. I’ll have a healer come in to check on you shortly.” And before Edelgard can protest, even utter a syllable to the contrary, he slips from the room; the soft click of the door as it latches behind him the only sound left to accompany the mess that is her thoughts.

***

True to his word, Dimitri must have spoken to someone fairly quickly; for it’s only minutes later that Mercedes comes bustling into the room, a basket of what she can only presume is medical supplies clutched in her hands. So when the other woman settles herself into the chair and opens it up to instead reveal a sizable pile of sweets, Edelgard can only raise her eyebrows in shock as she looks upon it. Mercedes must see how wide the Emperor’s eyes have gotten, for she lets out a pearly little laugh before she reaches into the pockets of her dress and retrieves an Elixir bottle from its depths.

“You shouldn’t look quite so surprised, Your Majesty,” she says as she uncorks it and hands it over, mannerisms clearly conveying that Edelgard should down the contents - she does so without complaint. “After all, it has been a whole month since you’ve eaten last, and I find there’s not a better way to both perk someone up and build up their energy than with fresh-baked sweets.”

“Well… I suppose when you put it that way, it makes perfect sense,” Edelgard concedes as she sets the bottle down, lips now curved into a slight smile as she accepts a pastry from the blonde. She takes small, cautious bites at first, uncertain as to how her empty stomach will take to the food; but when it sits without incident, she becomes a little more gregarious in her eating. When it is gone, she is only mildly surprised to find Mercedes at the ready with another to press into her grasp, but Edelgard accepts it without issue. Even prior to her extended rest, she had kept her consumption of sweets and baked goods to a minimum; this feels purely decadent, and given that she lives when before she had fully well expected not to, a little bit of indulgence seems warranted.

When the second pastry is finished, she accepts another Elixir from Mercedes, then settles into the pillows behind her with a sigh. She allows herself a moment to enjoy the sense of calm that has suffused the room, then turns to Mercedes with as much purpose as she can currently muster.

“What can you tell me about all that has happened since the battle?”

Mercedes hums, the sound thoughtful as she closes the basket and sets it aside. She doesn’t seem at all shocked that Edelgard has asked - indeed, she rather looks as though she expected it. “Well, we’re still in Enbarr; several of the healers - myself included - had actually wanted to move you to Fhirdiad, as the School of Sorcery is closer by if any complications were to arise, but your condition was rather unstable, and neither Dimitri nor Hubert would hear of it.”

“Hubert is alive?!” Edelgard can’t help it; she starts at this revelation, pushes herself up from the cushions with as much force as she can muster. She must look near-ready to swing herself out of the bed, for in seconds Mercedes is on her feet, hands on Edelgard’s shoulders as she gently - but firmly -  presses her back into a reclined position. She leaves her hands there, perhaps afraid that Edelgard will try to rise again as soon as she lets go.

“Yes, alive and well. His injuries, while bad, weren’t anything quite so severe as yours. He was up on his feet maybe a week after the fighting stopped,” she explains. All of Edelgard goes limp in relief at her words, sinking into the cushions, and Mercedes sits back down. “I’m quite surprised he wasn’t here when you woke up, actually. It’s been almost impossible to get him or Dimitri to leave your side.”

There it is again. She had almost missed it before, as struck as she had been by the knowledge that her most trusted friend still lived, but with Mercedes saying it so casually, Edelgard can’t help but get stuck on that thought.

‘Neither Dimitri nor Hubert would hear of it…’

‘Impossible to get him or Dimitri to leave your side…’

Hubert, she understands. Of course he would resist her being moved to Fhirdiad, regardless of the resources available there - truthfully, Edelgard thinks he would have resisted even if her condition had been stable, so stubborn is the man. And for him to refuse to leave her but for short periods of time runs par for the course, as it has since her return from exile in Faerghus more than a decade ago.

But Dimitri… surprises her. That he was with her at all when she awoke was enough of a shock; but his earlier admission, coupled with this discovery that he has been remiss to leave her sickbed, is…

Well, it’s rather a lot to deal with all at once.

Edelgard sighs. There is no use dwelling on it, not while she is still bedridden and with other things to worry about. She pushes the thought from her mind, and Mercedes seems unsurprised when she avoids the topic entirely upon speaking again. “What else? I know that Leicester has been ceded to the Kingdom - has Dimitri spoken of his plans regarding it, or the Empire, for that matter?”

Mercedes shakes her head. “Not a thing that I’ve heard. I know that when Claude first left, Dimitri tasked Lorenz with managing all former Alliance lands in the Kingdom’s name, and Hubert has been taking care of matters here in your stead - but outside of that? I couldn’t really say.”

This news feels both unexpected and unsurprising, and it’s an odd combination for Edelgard to contend with. On the one hand, it wouldn’t have been without reason for Dimitri to simply conquer all of Fódlan under the banner of Faerghus, to install loyal, Kingdom-born vassals as rulers over new administrative regions - it’s what Edelgard herself had nearly done, and would have had she been the victor. But such a move would be unlike Dimitri, this much she is certain of, and to instead leave lands in the charge of those who would best know how to govern them… well.

It makes her wonder just what Dimitri has in mind for the future of the continent as they know it.

So caught up in her musings, Edelgard hardly notices as Mercedes rises from her chair; only glancing over when she sets the sweet basket and a few additional bottles of Elixir and water on the chair within the Emperor’s reach. She gives Edelgard a soft smile when she notices her stare. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day, Your Majesty. If you need anything or if there’s any trouble, a guard is posted just outside of the room - just ask him to fetch me and I’ll come running.”

Edelgard returns her smile - it’s hard not to, what with the older woman’s calm demeanor being so infectious. All the same, however, she is grateful for the promise of solitude. There are too many things running rampant in her brain to parse through while in the presence of company, and it must be evident in her features for how efficiently Mercedes excuses herself from the room. 

The door clicks behind her, just as it did for Dimitri earlier, and for the first time since she woke, Edelgard is alone with her thoughts.