#like does he even have a liver at this point

[bone-apple-teeths]

yes you could draw arthur with yellow irises, very cool. or or or you could draw him with normal irises and make the white part of his eye yellow. like he's got jaundice. like he suffering from liver failure. because he probably is. reject modernity, embrace tradition. make him look like the sickly malnourished Victorian boy he is.

[o-sachi]

Can't Hold My Liquor - Headcanons (Blue Lock Chars.)

ᯓ how do the blue lock boys handle a drunk reader? ᯓ characters; michael kaiser, oliver aiku, sae itoshi, barou shoei, karasu tabito, yukimiya kenyu ᯓ tags; mentions of alcohol and being drunk/tipsy, just fluff, established relationship gn reader, no y/n

[🐟]: Obviously, I don't condone underage drinking or any unresponsible consumption of alcohol. I purposely chose characters both based on the request and their ages. So, yes, they're of legal age. Drink responsibly! (I wish I followed my own advice).

Michael Kaiser

"Hm? What's that? I can't understand you if you're mumbling~"

This ass would take funny videos of you first before helping you at all. But not to worry, the videos are for his eyes and his amusement only. Maybe if you were REALLY upset, he'd consider deleting them.

While he does help you, Kaiser will still find a way to tease you or make fun of you. You're slurring your words? Funny. You can't walk straight? Funny. You're spilling a life's worth of secrets? Could be funny—depends.

"Mhm, and what happened next? C'mon don't leave me hanging here."

He'd hate having to deal with puking (that is, if you do happen to end up in that unfortunate situation). But he'll reluctantly gladly help his s/o clean themselves up and drink some much needed water.

But it's highly unlikely that you reach that point because he stops you from drinking too much anyway. He'll refuse any more drinks in your stead and if anyone offers you more, he'll chug it down himself.

Actually enjoys carrying your drunk self. He likes it because you become clingier and more dependent on him. He'll soothe you until you eventually fall asleep (which is fast). He likes pampering you when you're all disoriented like this.

Oliver Aiku

"You're quite cute when you're drunk."

It's not that he likes torturing your liver, but he'd gladly take care of you when you get drunk. He just loves it when a different side of you takes over... thanks to the alcohol.

He'd be so touchy—keeping you in his arms to help you sit up straight, holding your hand when you need to take a trip to the bathroom, supporting the back of your head when you're taking a sip of water so that you don't fall over, and so on.

"Hey, hey, sloooowly. You're gonna get water in your nose."

He'd go along with any of your drunken antics. If you decide all of a sudden that you wanna go up on the table and dance—he's going to join you.

But he'll gently calm you down if you get ahead of yourself. His voice would soften as he cups your cheek—trying to knock some sense back into you.

Also enjoys carrying you, but prefers to give you a piggy back ride. Last time he did a bridal carry... it upset your stomach and you know the rest...

Sae Itoshi

"What a pain... You're lucky I have a soft spot for you."

He doesn't enjoy drinking and even more so the atmosphere associated with it. But he tries it once because you wanted to. He thought it wouldn't be so bad. Spoiler alert: he now regrets his decision.

He won't drink for 3 reasons: 1) Again, he hates it, 2) he's the designated driver, and 3) he knows he will have to take care of you.

Sae has a poker face the whole time, but deep down he's amused by your change of demeanor. It's not that he's loathing the situation he's in (he is) but in reality, he's just observing you closely.

ALWAYS REMINDS YOU TO DRINK WATER. Even when you're not drinking actually. He'd prefer it if you sobered up faster.

When you do get too drunk, he'll carry you out of there especially if you go drinking at a place with a bunch of strangers (like a bar). It's because he doesn't want you to find yourself in a compromising situation in public or possible humiliate yourself. Aww...

He'd gladly give you a shower to help you clean yourself and cool off. While you're still disoriented, he'll take it as an opportunity to talk with you (more of a monologue) about things he can't say to you while you're sober.

Barou Shoei

"Tsk... seeing you like this... now I have to be there whenever you decide to get drunk huh?"

HE IS MOTHER. He's not usually overbearing, but he is when you're drunk. Hell, Barou's not even sure why he supported this decision of yours in the first place.

But then again... he figured if this would make you happy, then he'd just have to do what he can to keep you safe and sound.

He tries not to show it, but he's actually super anxious while watching you drink and have the time of your life. His leg's bouncing so much that it's almost a workout.

"Jesus. This smells like the shit you use to clean bathrooms." / "Hehehe... it means it's strong." / "God, give me strength...."

Will definitely give you a lecture on the way home and until you're sober. But he can't reallyyyy be angry with you. He was just insanely worried and this is his way of diffusing it.

He'll set you on the bathroom counter and do your skin care for you since you're so out of it. You won't be able to remember it well, but he'll have a look of utmost focus on his face as he rubs the product into your skin. SUCH A CUTIE.

Karasu Tabito

"Yer a wild one, ain'cha?"

He has a really high alcohol tolerance, so he doesn't mind drinking along with you and taking care of you right after (if you can't keep up with his pace.)

Karasu hates spoiling your fun. But once you're reaaaaally drunk, he has to do something about it. So he may or may not take a glass of juice and pass it off as alcohol just so you can continue to "drink".

He's like your own personal bodyguard, especially if you decide to go drinking in a public establishment. He'll be hovering over you protectively, observing the people surrounding you, and making sure you don't faceplant into the ground.

"Woah, woah, what do ya think yer doin'? Waltzin' over 'ere like ya got business with my darlin'?"

Does your whole night routine for you once you get back home. He'll be so slow and steady with you. Karasu will also make sure that you've had your meds before totally passing out to hopefully ease the impending hangover.

He will continue to take care of you even in the following morning. He'll wake up ahead of you and start with the breakfast, wanting to surprise you.

Yukimiya Kenyu

"Don't worry about a thing. I got you, okay?"

He thinks of himself as a social drinker and finds parties to be just fine. But he'll have a grand total of one cocktail and maybe 1 shot if he was urged to have one. So yeah, he can take care of you if needed.

His trick is pulling you to the dancefloor and keeping you busy there so that you don't have to go back to the bar and drown yourself in more alcohol.

Yuki will make sure you look dashing as ever throughout the night. I mean, it's no surprise that at some point you'll be looking disheveled. He'll fix your hair, your makeup, and even if your clothes.

"Come with me for a sec... let's get you freshened up."

HE WILL BE GUIDING YOU EVERYWHERE. Doesn't matter if you're only walking a couple of steps—Yuki will be there to hold your hand so you don't trip on air.

He'll seriously entertain your drunken ramblings while he tends to you and your night routine. If you ask him anything (even a stupid question), Yuki will give it some thought and actually answer back is if he were talking to someone sober.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[comatosebunny09]

heel | sylus

summary: he knows without looking that you’re beside him once more. you always are. like a faithful crow perched on his shoulder, awaiting his command. he wouldn’t have it any other way. warning(s): reader is implied to be female, reader has hair, guns, mentions of violence, implied minor character death, innuendos, you’re a little unhinged and sylus is here for it, & maybe he has a thing for you, scent kink (?), mdni notes: idk what this is. i just wanted to write something about sylus having a bad-ass lapdog. inspired by that unleashed movie with jet li. might continue this. thank you for reading!

He can’t focus. Not with you smelling like that behind him.

It’s an arresting scent. Sweet, floral, nostalgic. Intertwined with your natural fragrance, it’s quite a heady mix.

He first catches wind of it when you angle yourself over the table beside him to place a case—heavy with military-grade weapons—onto its polished surface. Your warmth fades along with the aroma, the wispy tendrils of your hair grazing his neck.

Sylus finds himself chasing the smell when you ease back to rejoin the twins. He peers at you over his shoulder as if to convince himself he isn’t imagining things.

You bear a deceptively innocent smile. Acknowledge Sylus with a nod, and your eyes darken into something indistinguishable. Mischief? Admiration? Murderous intent?

You’re always itching for a good fight. Vibrating with the need to protect and maim at the drop of a hat. At the subtle tremor of Sylus’ fingers.

Sylus shakes his head to dispel the tension, smirking down at his lap and returning his attention to the table. Regains his composure, fixed on the gentleman seated across.

“Ten million,” Sylus simply states through the lazy furl of cigar smoke. Beneath the sepia-toned veil cast by the filament lights overhead.  

The portly man on the opposite side of the table harrumphs. Gradually erupts into a fit of laughter mixed with coughing and wheezing. Sylus winces. Maybe he should give the cigar a break.

As if reading Sylus’ thoughts, the gentleman does just that. Signals to one of his bodyguards—one of ten. For little old Sylus? He then snuffs out his smoke on the summoned guard’s palm, not batting an eye.

Disgusting, Sylus thinks, lips twitching with the urge to sneer. How could humans make themselves so disposable?

“Mister Sylus,” the gentleman begins, disrupting Sylus’ inner monologue. He folds his fat, liver-spotted hands on the table and leans forward until his chair creaks. “My family has worked with you for years—”

“Your point?” Sylus interjects, his brow ticking. He’s trying to keep his cool. Trying to maintain that poker face. Between this deal sapping up more time than he initially anticipated and your heavenly scent beckoning to him like ghostly tendrils curling under his chin, he’s more than a little antsy.

The gentleman clears the phlegm from his throat. Tugs on the round of his tie, disbelieving Sylus’ gall. He tries again, sitting up a little straighter.

“My point, Mister Sylus, is that ten million is a little…eh, steep.” Leaning back, the man’s lips crook into a smirk. Sylus narrows his eyes. He knows this song and dance. This fool thinks he’s already won. “Especially given that these weapons are mere prototypes—”

Sylus doesn’t have to speak. Couldn’t even if he wanted to, that fragrance once again pervading his senses like creeping mist. It’s accompanied by a swift breeze caressing his cheek. By the clack of something metallic set on the table. He knows without looking that you’re beside him.

You always are. Like a faithful crow perched on his shoulder, awaiting his command. He feels it rolling off you in waves. The vitriol, the malice.

Down, girl, Sylus thinks, eying you in his periphery. Swells with pride. Leans back in an easy slouch, crossing his legs with humor gracing his features. He pushes that bewitching smell to the backburner. There’s money to be made and a scourge to be wiped from the face of the planet.

The room had lapsed into an impenetrable silence when you slammed a pistol on the table. A show of power. A threat bleeding into a promise.

All eyes are on the shiny gleam of the revolver.

The gentleman swallows thickly, fretting with his tie, Adam’s apple bobbing. He glances between you and Sylus, and it’s comical how a bead of sweat forms on his mottled temple.

He swiftly feigns nonchalance, throwing his hands up as he cackles with his guards over his shoulder. Red-faced like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “What is this? Am I—am I really supposed to be intimidated by that?” He gestures to the revolver like it’s something of child’s play.

Another gust of air grazes Sylus’ skin. He’s bereft of the scent you carry, finding his wits scurrying back to him. Like you released him from a spell.

In an instant, you’re behind the gentleman. A deviously soft hand presses between his shoulder blades. You pitch yourself forward over his shoulder, your lips brushing the outer shell of his ear.

“No,” you whisper, and the man shirks away with a shriek pinched from his throat like he’s seen a ghost. Your accompanying giggle bodes danger. “But you should be scared a’ me.”

The click of various weapons shifting to semi surrounds you. Ten guns aimed at your back, threatening to rend you to sinew and bone. But you’re too quick. In the blink of an eye, you’re seated on the table before the gentleman, one leg crossed over the other, leant back on your hands, your head coyly cocked to the side.

You’re a cheeky little shit. Sylus wouldn’t have you any other way.

The man’s tie is suddenly between your fingers. You’re admiring the texture of it, lids lowered, lips pursed whilst you tug him forward. Your breath fans over his blanched skin, and you scrutinize his features like a curious feline. He’s petrified, his men’s weapons poised at his back.

You grin something sultry, toying with the gentleman’s tie. Gaze flits between him and his goons, signaling for him to call them off. They’ll have to riddle him with holes to get to you. Have them do the dirty work for you. Crafty little thing.

His bodyguards acquiesce when the man raises a trembling hand. Reluctantly lower their weapons, a symphony of quickened heartbeats and clenching buttholes invading the air. The man’s stricken by your beauty and otherworldly speed. He thought this would be cake. Figured he could pull one over on Onychinus’ notorious kingpin, unaware that he would drag his guard dog into the fray.

Sylus sighs, shifting in his seat. Stuffs a hand in his pocket, nothing short of amused. “And here I thought you were a smart man,” he huffs, examining his nails. “This could’ve all been so very easy.”

“But you had to make it hard,” you tack on against the swell of the gentleman’s lips. “Not that I’m complaining.”

At some point, you pilfered the man’s phone from his pocket.

You hold it to his face, unlocking it with his biometrics. His bank app has already been cued up with Sylus’ information. Your humored visage ebbs in and out of focus as the gentleman peers between you and the screen.

The man swallows again, his throat clicking. He cautions another look at your boss, silently willing him to call you off. Sylus does no such thing, instead holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Shakily, the gentleman keys in the proffered amount. Presses send, the chime of it the only sound heard in the tense atmosphere.

You look at Sylus over your shoulder. Smile sweet as sugar, and something in Sylus’ chest pulls. He nods once he’s received the transaction. Quietly praises you with a smoldering look before maneuvering to dismount his seat with a flourish of his coat. Luke and Kieran flank him without a hitch, snickering at his sides.

Sylus smiles, playfully waving his phone in the air. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, moving to the room’s only entry point with the twins in tow.

The man bristles, sweat coasting in rivulets down his neck. He moves to stand, but you bar him, blotting out everything from sight that isn’t you. You twist his tie around your fist, wordlessly telling him to heel. He’s already lost. Already tried to undermine the devil and failed. No sense in prolonging his sentencing.

Not that Sylus intended to let him live from the start.

“Oh, and, sweetie,” purrs Sylus, halfway through the threshold over his shoulder. Your gazes interlock for the briefest of seconds. He does so love it when you look at him like that. “Have fun.”

You need no further goading as the door slips shut with Sylus’ exit.

Your body hums with the prickle of your Evol, and a crazed smirk warps your countenance as the gentleman’s bodyguards close in.

[z3nitsusgf]

Megalomaniac

ford/reader: NSFW, oral, fem!reader, manipulation, intoxication, drugging, bill being creepy (normal), ford needs therapy after this

Stanford, in his right normal mind, would never dare to step foot in a place like this. This shitty depraved club, full of young bodies that didn’t have a care in the world other than to blow coke and drink till their livers hurt.

The music, some up-tempo beat that pulses in his ears, has everyone swaying and pressed against one another. Vulgar and unsanitary and so very alluring.

“What even is this shit?”

Ford mutters, Bill laughing and scanning each person under the neon pink and fluorescent blue.

Ford knows, faintly, that this isn’t his style. The back part of his subconscious screaming that this is irrational - a sick demented game that’s spurred on by the demon in his mind.

Cipher is singing in his head, his voice cawing like a bird over the Savanah. He is absorbing everything. Sights, smells, sounds - tastes.

Ford has no clue how long he’s been here. In all honesty, he doesn’t remember walking in or drinking or- his nose burns. When he goes to scratch he feels some powdery substance falling like snow. What in the hell? He blinks rapidly under the pulse of the strobing lights.

“Bill-“

“Lighten up Specs, relax.”

He does it without question. His body almost immediately fell into place without his consent. Bill is a demanding creature; selfish, cruel, and unreasonable. Bill is playing Ford as his own personal marionette. Moving his body through the crowds of hot sticky bodies. Flesh, bone, blood, marrow- Ford’s mouth waters uncontrollably. There is something wrong with him.

“I gotta say, Sixer, this is some hot shit.” Bill coos, piloting Ford’s body through to the bar. A sleek counter made of dark wood, various sticky stains of alcohol line it, and the glow of bottles illuminating behind the barkeep is almost entrancing.

“Cipher… what’s the point of this?”

Ford is growing irritated. He doesn’t understand the need for this… recklessness. He was never meant for this, Stan was more equipped to handle outings like these. Especially with the people that occupy this place. Ford purses his lips, there is a feral gnawing in the back of his throat.

There are women everywhere in tight dresses, too-short skirts, and low-cut bra-less tops that let him see the swell of their breasts. He averts his gaze the best he can without Bill rearing back to stare. Ford has this horrible thought of splitting them apart, he bites at his lip until he tastes the sickly sweet iron that pools on his tongue.

“Well my good friend, you are in desperate need of a break. As much as I hate to say it. You need to let loose, have some fun. Can’t have you croaking and ruining everything.”

So simple when it comes from his mouth.

Ford purses his lips, unsure and weary. Bill hasn’t been wrong yet, and he’s too scattered to even argue.

“Couldn’t I just, I dunno, stay home and read a book or-“

“No! You’ll just end up working again. And besides, you’re a good looking guy, you need some serious lay.”

Bill laughs in his head, he laughs even more when Ford blushes and looks down.

“You know I’m not used to-“

“Come on Sixer, look at that one, she’s exactly your type.”

Bill forces his head up, making Ford look at a gorgeous woman. A gorgeous woman who plops next to him at the bar.

You’re wearing a dress? Or what he assumes is a dress. Is this even clothing? He wonders. The other downside of having Bill in his head is that he can hear the dirty thoughts that filter through Ford’s brain.

“Jesus Christ, look at that hottie. Talk to her Fordsy, or I will.”

Ford grips the glass of liquor in his hand, when did he get that? He can’t even remember ordering. It’s bourbon, he thinks. Or he hopes. He doesn’t know. It burns its way down his trachea, leaving behind the aftertaste of burnt wood and orange peel.

His body is tingling, he wonders if his pupils are blown and if the sweat is really sweat or something else. He trails his eyes over your body, blinking rapidly at the colors spraying new hues with each second. Perhaps he is in the dreamscape, this is all some demented dream crafted by Bill. But that doesn't mean he can't indulge, right?

Your dress is tight, hugging you close and short enough that if you were to bend over, Ford is 100% sure he’d be able to see your panties. The strap of your bra is showing, and the plunging v on your dress shows that it’s lacy. He wonders, faintly, what you would look like inside. Blood, sinew, tissue; red and bleeding and torn into pieces.

God he’s becoming unhinged.

You slink next to him, legs sliding onto the stool and your strappy heels hooking onto the rungs. You have nice legs, pretty and smooth and trailing up to the expanse of your thigh he can see the peeking of tattoos and if you turn he can see your cun- he needs to quit.

You yell to the bartender for another cosmo, chest pushed up onto your forearms. Ford tries not to stare at the way your tits push up and almost out of your dress. You’re about to pay, pulling a wad of cash from your purse.

Make your move Six, I’m about to jump in for you-

“No!” Ford spits, you jump at his voice and Ford internally curses when he realizes he’s said it out loud.

“No?” You tilt your head, confused and a little nervous. Hands playing with your purse as you brace yourself to get up and leave. You have dark polish on your nails, your wrists embraced in golden bangles.

“I mean- fuck, I mean no, I’ll pay.”

You raise an arched brow, fiddling with the glass stem and tapping your fingers on the wooden tabletop.

“Okay… thank you.”

He stares at your face. The wild mused up licks of your hair, the smoky dark smears of makeup under your eyes, the full plushy softness of your parted lips. You’re dewy and sparkly and goddamn you’re gorgeous.

You look at the man in front of you with owlish observation. Looking at the button-up that’s open at the top, the cool slate-colored khaki pants. He’s older, much older than you are. But he’s still very very handsome. Handsome enough that you wouldn’t mind jumping his bones for a night.

He’s a little shy looking, and you find it funny that an older man like him is so nervous to talk to a woman. You give him a sweet saccharine smile, lips all glossy and smooth that Ford wants to lick the sheen right from your mouth.

“You gonna pay or?”

The bartender breaks the ice cold tension between you. And Ford is slapping down a $5 bill and practically shooing the bartender away.

"That’s what I’m talking about you old geezer! Nice. Now take her home and fuck the shit out of her."

Ford's mind can’t keep up. He’s distracted and confused and his head is full of mysterious liquor and drugs and god - he can’t think straight. All he knows is that you’re inching closer and closer to him and you’re so close he can smell the lime and tequila from your mouth.

“Never seen you around before, handsome.”

You graze your nails along his forearm, the hair on his skin raising with goosebumps at the prickle-like sensation. He blinks hard, glasses foggy and his vision bleary. You’re fading in and out of his field of view, he doesn’t mind though. He wants to take a bite out of your neck, imagining how beautiful you'd look. Like a misty mosaic of broken glass turned diamonds, he feels a stab of hunger for you.

“So you’re a Doctor?”

Ford snaps back to reality, has he been having a conversation with you? What have you been talking about? He just nods, “Yes, uh, sort of. I mean, I have a PhD and all that, but it’s more of a research thing-“

You giggle, it’s muted over the bass-blasting music but still, it’s sticky sweet like honey and your skin is so shiny, almost glittery. He wants to lick the perspiration off your neck.

“Wanna go somewhere quieter?” You ask, talking into his ear so he can hear.

“Yes, of course.”

-

Time doesn’t exist. Ford doesn’t know if it’s his state of mind, or Bill. All he knows is that he blinks and you two are in a private back room. You’re seated next to him on a cherry leather love-seat. Legs dangled over his lap and dress pooling up over the tops of your thighs.

He’s got his hands on your skin, gripping at the meat of your thighs, closing in on your ass. It’s soft, malleable between his palms. It’s weird, he can’t tell if it’s the dreamscape or real or a hallucination or-

You’re kissing the side of his neck, mouthing sloppily at the hot skin and Ford is whining. You're staining his neck in dark pomegranate-colored marks, chewing on him like a dog, like meat left on bones.

“Is this what you want, baby?”

You mumble against his flesh, he swears he can feel the sharp razor edge of your canines in his jugular. He dismisses it. He wants you entirely, forever and ever.

He nods, hands gripping your hips with his head thrown back. The room smells like liquor and cigarettes and something faintly sulphuric. The faintest of alarm bells ring in his brain, he’s too high and far away to care. There is a pang of consumption in his belly, that need.

"Yes," he pants, your tone is velvet and Ford can't resist.

And Bill- Bill is whispering depraved things into the spongy linings of his mind, soaking his brain with thoughts that would have anyone slack-jawed and in awe. He's aware of his... inexperience, it only makes it more tempting to ruin it, smash it apart like how he deserves.

Ford is losing his fucking mind. Time is leaking out of his mind, fading and bursting in maniacal bubbles that have him reeling. Animal-thirst that melts into his spine and he's too far gone to ever argue against it.

-

He comes to when he feels a jolt of pleasure throughout his body.

You’re devouring him, literally and figuratively. If he focuses too hard on the way you work your mouth on him, he’ll end up cumming.

You’re bent over him like a preying tiger. Back arched in a sinfully beautiful way, the curve of your hips sloping into your ass has him biting his lip. The lacy stripes of your thong are digging into the plushy softness of your skin, that teasing line drawn down to your center.

He fists the cushion, nails sliding across the leather. He can’t quite grasp it, it’s slipping like sifting sand through his fingers. He doesn’t know if he should grip your hair or the armrest or just sit up and fuck your throat. Could he even do that?

“How are you- oh god,”

You’ve got him down to the base, tip hitting the back of your throat. You take it like a grade-A pornstar, not even gagging once. When you pull off, you don’t stop. Moving your hand up and down like you’ve gone mad. A half-hard grip that makes him buck his hips. He had no idea if this was even real, it sure as hell felt like it.

Eerily enough, Bill has gone silent in his mind. Which gives him the faintest of relief that the man demon isn't watching this unfold. This debauched spectacle of depraved carnal lust.

“Jesus, why are you so good at this?” He pants, tongue heavy like lava on his palate.

His vision is blurry, his glasses are foggy and god- you’re like a fucking nymph with the way you suck him off. He thinks you’re perfect. You’re a dreamy watercolor expression that’s painted across his lap like a heaven-sent dove. Sweet and sticky like warm caramel.

You swipe the pad of your thumb along the underside of his cherry-red head, spreading the saliva and pre that’s slicked the thick shaft of his cock.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You purr, humming softly when he whines a soft yes.

You lick a fat stripe from base to tip, tonguing at the thick vein that pulses along the underside. He might just be in love, this intimacy was foreign, and he's going mad with touch.

“Holy shit-“

You giggle, hand working sloppy smooth jerks on his cock. You lower yourself, kissing and sucking at his fat balls, lapping at in a way that has him nearly howling at with the feeling.

His hips buck into your palms, he’s tightroping the line of falling straight into your trap and just taking you for himself. He’s too oblivious to see the flash of yellow in your pupils. He’s not used to this, not at all.

"Don't run from it." You murmur, skimming a free hand up his thigh. Nails dragging across the skin, sharp and unforgiving.

If he were sober, he’d be unable to do this. Unable to handle the attention, the touch. He grabs at your hair, fingers running through the strands and feeling it. Real as he can believe.

“You gonna cum for me?” You murmur, the vibration of your voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through his spine.

He moans, nodding so hard you’d think his head would fall off his shoulders. The back of his skull hitting the headrest of the love seat.

He’s so close, so close that it’s winding up in his stomach and about to explode.

You pull back.

It’s like cold water has been thrown on him. He gasps, fists clenching the seat cushion and hips frantically chasing your hand, your mouth, anything. The moments are slipping, hand in hand like a timetable turned over, desperate.

He tries to zero in on you, you’re blurred. Your eyes are dark, lips curled. He’d be scared if you didn’t look so hot. You sit up from your knees, standing and leaning over him.

“Why?” He gasps, the high fading and he’s tempted to just finish himself when you grab at his wrist.

Unnaturally strong, he thinks.

You tsk and wrap your palms around the thick of his wrist, carpal bones shifting and you maneuver it to the apex of your cunt. Grazing his fingers against the lacy surface of your thong.

“Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?” You purr, voice sultry and so sugary sweet that Ford could get a toothache. He groans, he can’t move away so he flexes his fingers against the sopping wet cover. You’re drenched.

You straddle him, cupping his face and leaning down to his ear. You swipe your tongue along the shell, sucking at the lobe and smirking when he shivers. His palm is flat against your cunt and you grind yourself into it, letting him feel the slickness.

“You wanna fuck me, hm? Wanna feel me?”

Ford nods, humming as he pets your mound. He's stuck, stuck between making himself cum and fucking your mouthwatering cunt.

“You said you were going to leave Gravity Falls, I’d be so sad if you did.” You murmur.

Had he said that? He doesn’t recall ever speaking about that, but then again he doesn’t care right now.

“I wouldn’t want this to be a one time thing, ya know?” Sighing as you go to lift yourself off.

Ford whines, grabbing your hip to keep you centered. Could he truly leave after this? He thinks, as clearly as he can, what would he go back to? Nothing.

“No! I-“ his tongue is sticking to his gums, “I’m not leaving, can’t-“

He doesn’t ever want to go without you. He barely even knows you, but to think you’d do this, indefinitely… he doesn’t see the reason to leave.

Maybe the loneliness would go away and it would be bearable to stay.

"Perfect." You murmur, looking at his glazed eyes and slack-jawed expression. He looks like he wants to eat you alive.

-

Good job, hon. You’ve got him.

Bill pats your head, circling around you like a hyena. You nod, blowing out a puff of smoke. The demon finally creeps out from the shadows of the room.

Now he won’t ever think of leaving Gravity Falls.

“Damn, he’s out cold.” You nudge him with your foot, and Ford is practically dead to the world.

"A shame, I wanted to keep going." You're pouting, smoking on your cig, and disappointed. Too bad, you'll get more chances later.

Bill chuckles, Maybe I’ll have a little more fun with him.

-

When Ford wakes up he is sure that he had the most lucid dream in his life. He stretches on his bed, shirtless and… pantless? His body aches something fierce, like he’s ran a triathlon in the desert.

He has cottonmouth, coughing on the sheer dryness on his tongue. He winces when he feels a stinging itch on his lower back, his fingers going to grace over the skin, and he finds an unfamiliar patch that’s risen.

“It cant be another one-“

He gets up, staggering with a blinding headache to the mirror. Turning around to look and he almost dies of embarrassment. There, on the small of his back, the most atrocious tattoo he’s ever seen. Sprawled cursive with fake pink kissy marks that read, ‘Flirty Gal’.

“Oh my god.” He groans, the rising anger for Bill and how his body has been used.

“I think it’s cute.” Ford jumps at your voice, looking up to see you there. You’re in the doorway to his bedroom, wearing nothing but a spare shirt and your underwear. He flushes, so it wasn’t a dream.

“What even happened-“

You frown, a sappy dopey little frown, “You don’t remember?”

You’re sauntering over, Ford gets flashes of intermittent memories. Your lips on his neck, your fingers in his hair, your legs around his waist, your mouth-

He shivers, it's almost haunting.

“Ah,” you drag your finger across his jaw, “you do remember.”

You lean into his ear, “I’m glad.”

"Let's have some breakfast," You mumble, kissing his chest and turning on your heel. He watches you saunter out, a dark fluttering in his gut.

"We have a lot to talk about."

[icarusredwings]

I still can’t believe there’s not a fic about the first time Logan sees Wade without his mask

Im not sure why there would need to be one tbh. In the movie he dosn't really seem phased about it and only asks why there's staples in his head and when wade tells him because he stapled his hair on Logan is almost amused and slightly annoyed. Like "oh my god this fucking idiot. Why is he so stupid." And wade judt smiles at him all cutely.

This scene is actually one of my favorites because it reveals so much to us. Wade eating uncooked spam out of a container, him jumping when logan slams the cabnit open, wade saying "fuck that liver.. i guess." When he watches Logan down rubbing alchool. When logan comes to sit with him, wade giggles at him and you see Logan get up and move as if wanting to distance himself further.

The body language alone in this movie is hella insane to the point where even on mute you can clearly well that in this scene Logan wants to be vulnerable but dosn't allow himself to.

I genuinely think it went

Wade: *takes off mask*

Logan: *fucked up look and head tilt* whats wrong with you?

Wade, because hes known to lie when insecure: Oh this? Epic knife fight. You should have seen the other guys.

Logan, not believing it: *snorts* yeah okay what ever you say.

Wade: Its true! 50 of them agaisnt one of me.

But when logan eventually does find out the truth, he feels terrible and awkwardly apologizes later on. He said a lot of hurtful things in the void and honestly? They stayed there. Once they left the void Logan was stuck to him like a puppy before "Logan!" Scene even.

[yyokkki]

Vil Schoenheit

A famous celebrity! He grew up in NRV when he was a child but moved with his father to the city after his dad hit it big. Has been an actor since young.

Moved back to NRV when he was older for peace and to escape paparazzi but is gone for the entire spring season every year for film shoots. He often expresses his dislike for being typecast as a villain.

He often helps promote some of the local farmers on Magicam if they impress him.

Seems to have taken a local farm boy named Epel under his wing as he sees potential in him.

He goes for morning runs nearly everyday, sometimes alongside Jack.

Holds film appreciation events with Ortho at the library every Thursday. Sometimes arranges plays for the children in town to act in too!

Loved Gifts: Smoothies. Universal Loves

“Looks like your taste in gifts isn’t as abysmal as your taste in clothing. Fufu, I’m kidding, thank you farmer.”

Hated Gifts: Any Unhealthy Food, Any Mayonnaise, Universal Hates

“Disgusting.”

Rook Hunt

A hunter who lives off of the forests! He does not own a house and nobody knows where he sleeps at night but he’s doing swell!

Good friends with Vil who often fusses over him. He’s also a ultra mega fan of his works as well as Neige’s. (Do not enter his tent; it is filled to the brim with limited edition Vil and Neige merch to the point he had to dig a hole in the ground to make more space).

Helps Trey out with his experiments every Friday and occasionally joins Vil and Ortho in the library for film appreciation.

Often digs in the garbage cans not for food but for information. (Bro has read every letter you’ve received).

Goes down to the mines sometimes to gather iron for his arrows!

Is often found just hanging out with Vil, down in the mines or in the forests hunting or foraging.

Loved Gifts: Liver Pâté, Bait, Royal Sword Cola, Universal Loves

“Beauté! You have captured one of my many hearts, Mon Trickster!"

Hated Gifts: Garlic, Universal Hates

“My, my, I’m afraid even prey wouldn’t take this kind of bait, Mon Trickster…”

Epel Felmier

A farm boy! His family owns an orchard that grows many different fruits throughout the seasons but specialises in apples! You buy most tree saplings from him.

Lives with his grandmother at the orchard and often helps out.

Vil (forcibly) took him under his wing and has been trying to correct his speech patterns.

He really wants to join the adventurers guild and explore the mines but he can’t get past Rook.

Plays rugby with Leona and Ruggie every sunny Sunday.

Sometimes helps Deuce out while he’s working on his motorcycle (He’s so hype about it).

Is often found around Vil and Rook or in the orchard.

Loved Gifts: BBQ Meat, Macarons, Wool, Apple, Universal Loves

“Yer the best farmer! But don’t tell Vil, got it?”

Hated Gifts: Pears, Universal Hates

“Dang, son of a- ahem… You can take this back.”

---

TWST x SDV Masterlist

Tag List (Interact with the linked post to be tagged in future updates mwah)

Tag List Below Dropdown

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa @neuvilletteshusbandd @multifandomlazywriter @whimsybloom

@petaled-pages @blerp-22 @lazy-raven @the-ghost-0f-t0m0

@iamlowkeycrying @sleep-ydragon @loopdydee @hrhqueenfox

@mielle-estelar @cerisescherries @asillysleepy @sarah22447

@iamstillalive158 @fatally-incorrect

[randomnameless]

In a way I realise the issue with Fodlan is pretty similar to the one found in Tellius regarding Brandeds, but refusing to acknowledge part of the issue, the games pushes for a less than ideal solution, especially with this ending.

You summed up Claude and his routes as fuck the past and the traditions associated with it.

And I'm thinking, with hindsight, about Rhea's words here.

In our absence, future generations are likely to repeat the foolish actions of their ancestor.

And when that happens, who will be left to stop them? This land has suffered enough as it is.

Nabateans are associated in this route, but Rhea and her Church in general, to the "past and traditions".

In VW, Rhea reveals the truth and is put in the fridge (dying off screen).

And who pops up when we're sure Rhea won't return ?

On the one hand, we can see Nemesis's sudden return and ultimately, final death, as the occasion to cleanse Fodlan from all of its past history and secrets, no more Seiros, no more Nemesis, we get a blank canvas to work with.

On the other hand... Even if the canvas is now blank, what is going to happen next ?

As you pointed out in your post :

but now the false history of Fodlan has been corrected. People now know what the past really was, not some glamorized image of it from the Agarthans nor the story told as part of a peace treaty. The Church is still going to be there, helping to rebuild Fodlan after the slate was wiped clean, free to spread it's messages without having to also recite falsehoods that can give people mixed messages

Will the Church really be free to spread its messages without falsehoods ?

And that's where the Tellius parallel comes in, Fodlan refuses to engage with Nabateans.

Will the Church really reveal that Crests come from Nabateans, and the origin of relics ? Will Flayn will free to show her ears to the world and not be afraid for, idk, potential kids she might have being turned in poleaxes ? Or bled, like she was, to get power ?

VW doesn't answer, hell, no Fodlan game gives an answer.

Hell, we can even make a link : the second she reveals the truth about relics and crests, Nemesis and his Elites, living (well) proofs of human greed and lust for power return.

Rhea sealed Nemesis, just like she "sealed" the truth about Fodlan and Nabateans with her lies.

When the jig is up, Nemesis and his allies return-the game reminds us why those lies were created in the first place.

Some people meme'd and called Nemesis the "ceo of racism", but Nemesis is only an example of human greed/lust for power :: we got Supreme Leader and, arguably, Claude in GW and, even if it ends on a positive note because Claude has a treaty in his hands, the ending mural imo still has one party holding weapons when the others aren't.

VW is painfully silent on the aftermath of Rhea's big reveal - no one reacts to it because, well, Fodlan game means we dgaf about Nabateans but hey, Lorenz just learnt that slaughtering people with pointy ears can give him a relic and a super powerup. Lorenz isn't the kind of person to abuse his power (at least not in VW), but if this "truth" is told to Erwin? What if Erwin immediately wants to secure a marriage between Lorenz and Flayn to get future "super human" heirs? Or maybe, use her in, uh, a more "Agarthan" way to get a poleaxe and new crest for a future line?

Are Nabateans really "free" to live and spread their teachings in a world where there are no lies, and the truth is revealed?

Imo, VW doesn't end with the blank and "new" dawn presented by the game, but it's, again, a return to a past state : an era where humans and Nabateans lived together, but humans knew what kind of power they could get from a Nabatean...

And we know how that ended!

Maybe it was just a "skill" issue and like, where Nabateans and Sothis herself failed to curb down human greed and envy - which led to Zanado's party and Nemesis - maybe Billy and Claude will do better...

And yet, it's just some "maybes" and, at the end of the day, sort of headcanons?

"Telling the Truth" and "Smashing the lies" effectively means painting a giant target on every Nabatean's back. From now then, we won't know what will happen - but we know what happened the last time humans got this knowledge.

And the game, this route's lead (bcs let's be honest, Billy is as relevant as a flower pot in this route) doesn't even take this, say, immediate consequence in consideration.

Rhea conveniently dies at the end of VW - while Seteth'n'Flayn are pretty much ignored in this route as Nabateans - but if she didn't and Claude told her he was going to reveal the "Truth" to get rid of Fodlan's past and traditions, to make a world where everyone can live together regardless of race, etc etc.

Wouldn't Rhea just look at Failnaught, and tell him that Sothis/Nabateans already tried to live with humans - without any lies or omissions, but when Humans desired more power, Nabateans ended up as glorified weapons?

What is going to prevent Claude/Billy from making the same mistakes (slaugther Nabateans to get weapons/trust humans with their secret and hope they won't kill the remaining Nabateans?) their ancestors (Riegan, but also, in a way, Sothis/the Nabateans themselves!) made?

Why were those lies built? Is the "truth" and getting a blank canvas - to create a new society - more important than the lives of a few people ?

I agree with you when you say VW doesn't end up with a "traditional jp" ending, because VW (or maybe I was too influenced by discourse) ultimately champions the "Getting to know the Truth/ending lies" is more important than anything else, regardless of the consequences - I know this also parallels a cultural difference between some parts of the world, lying can be seen very negatively but in some other areas giving half-truths and omissions are more "accepted", especially if it's to protect/bury something important.

Is revealing the Truth and ending Rhea's lies going to benefit Fodlan ?

We don't know, but we know why those lies were made, which VW reminds us through its final boss.

Supreme Leader sacrificed people to get power/for her IdEaLS (even if VW still has her line refusing Flayn's place in Fodlan because of her race!), Nemesis massacred people to get power, in an alternate world, Claude will also kill random people for his IdeAlS (and to get more power!)...

Is it the same of VW!Claude? To make a new world with new values, he sacrifices the few remaining Nabateans?

And in a way, it's annoying because Claude, through WC when he realises Tomas was Solon, understands that piercing the church's secret (aka the Immaculate One and her crest stone) is less important than, in this case, refusing to saddle the Church with another problem/issue and taking part in Solon's plans, aka, Claude could determine that there was something else at stake here than "getting to know the truth and ending lies".

But when Rhea gives her infodump? The end of VW? After knowing why those lies were made up?

"Fuck the past, fuck the traditions associated with it, let's end those lies" which, implicitely but ultimately leads to "fuck Nabateans and their survival".

---

Much like Tellius who goes "lol" about, arguably, one of the reasons why the Big Bad does Big Bad things - none of Fodlan's endings (bar Tru Piss lol) deal with the crux behind Rhea's lies, which is often cited as one of the reasons why "the war" happened.

Is there a future for Nabateans to live as Nabateans (aka not hide their ears and maybe transform in front of people) in Fodlan?

Sadly... none of the endings (again, save for Tru Piss) give an answer, and VW, in this way, returns to the situation that existed pre Agartha War. Will History repeat itself again, with a new Red Canyon and a new Nemesis later down the years? We won't know.

I know Claude (and Dimi!) can marry Billy and Flayn, thus, technically, it means they could get (through Flayn?) part Nabatean children... and yet, would those children have to hide like Flayn does in the current Fodlan, or free to bare their ears - if everyone, from Bob the Carpenter to Derrick the soldier, that the Queen/Prince/Princess can be turned in a shiny poleaxe and grant them super powers?

I don't think that's what the games wanted to say (especially with Tellius lol), but that's the conclusion they lead to.

VW ends as a new dawn for Fodlan, it's supposed to be full of hope and a joyful ending !

And yet, just like Tellius that ends with Beorcs and Laguz joking and getting alone, there's still the biggest question left hanging : can they really get along if Laguz die when they "get too close" and racial segregation, at least when it comes to breeding, is the only way they can survive?

VW ends with a positive note between Almyran (or Dagdan?) armies and Fodlan signing a peace treaty, and yet we still see the "foreigner" army with weapons when Fodlanese people have none, besides, there's no Nabatean (no Billy) in this scene, so what, for humans to get along, Nabs have to put under the bus? What of Relics and Crests, is that secret out in the wild and the reason we don't see any in that mural, or they still exist but the game pretends no one will ever give a fuck about it?

Granted, unlike Tellius, I can chalk Fodlan's lack of, uh, resolution, to crap writting and the devs prioritising something else than coherency in their world (tfw no continuity guy and the "uh we added things here'n'there to make the world seem bigger and that's why we left some stuff hanging but don't worry we have our 10k years of lore notes somewhere" from the interview...).

With the last few points in mind, we can see how SS, AM and VW are may be somewhat radical from a Japanese POV.

In SS, Byleth's leadership goes against a very common mentality in Japan where it's viewed as wrong to give people money they did not earn, even when that person is in dire straights. In fact, begging for money is actually illegal over there. So with that in mind, Byleth focusing on reconstruction of Fodlan in addition to the Japanese text saying he supported “every soul” in a motherly-fashion, it does point to Byleth's rule being one that looked out for the people.

It also has elements associated with oudou, considering the Sword of the Creator's Japanese name the Sword of the Emperor of Heaven. Emperor of Heaven is term for the Jade Emperor, the deity that oversees Heaven's mandate (Mazu, the Emperess of Heaven, is commonly depicted in red robes... but she's associated with water as a sea goddess, not fire. She's also said to be an incarnation of the Jade Woman of Marvelous Deeds, and associated with a star in the big dipper, who is said to oversee all aspects of life and death and help those who call upon her. So, Edelgard's color scheme itself might be a red herring, as Sothis is the one associated with water). Byleth judged Edelgard as unworthy of following, rejecting her and in turn leading the Black Eagles to do the same. They no longer bend the knee to their emperor simply because she is their emperor, they take a stand against her actions and work to remove her from power. And this is consistent for them regardless of whether Byleth taught their House or recruited them to another House, not joining Edelgard is tied to their character development (see Ferdinand and Caspar's paralogues not being available in Flower).

Dimitri takes Byleth's supporting the poor a few steps further, believing change has to come from the people and giving them a voice in politics while at the same time supporting them. He empowers the masses, and on top of that even has focus on improving relations with foreign nations (whereas the Japanese text indicates Edelgard begins invading other countries). Dimitri is also meant to represent oudou himself, a benevolent ruler justly governing the people.

Claude also identifies Edelgard's rule as oudou, stops her, but then puts Byleth and his version of oudou in charge of Fodlan. I think the best way to put how Claude is radical is, to put it bluntly, fuck the past and fuck the traditions associated with it.

Claude's goal in coming to Fodlan was to learn from it in order to change Almyra, and he got that in Verdant Wind. He begins transforming his homeland into a trading powerhouse, works with the Church in order to bridge the two nations, and can even introduce magic to his country in one ending. On top of that, people have noted that he embodied a very negative stereotype of his people in Hopes, so his character growth proved beneficial. He's no longer the type who will flee to save his own life rather than protecting his people, he stops trying to manipulate everyone and instead work with them as well.

When applied to Fodlan, it's not saying that the Church is bad. It still continues to exist, but now the false history of Fodlan has been corrected. People now know what the past really was, not some glamorized image of it from the Agarthans nor the story told as part of a peace treaty. The Church is still going to be there, helping to rebuild Fodlan after the slate was wiped clean, free to spread it's messages without having to also recite falsehoods that can give people mixed messages. And on top of that, there's also support for other faiths and customs to be brought in, accepted and learned from. The game really drives home it's the dawn of a new era for a reason.

So, we have that. Meanwhile Edelgard trying to set the clock back on Fodlan, spouting ideals informed by Agarthan manipulations, and trying to conquer the world... this is all supposed to be tyranny according to the devs. SS, AM and VW all support some form of progress whereas Flower, once you see through the cracks and get to know Edelgard, is supposed to be regression. To return to old ways, old traditions, that the Church put a stop to for good reason.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

The appeal of a villain friend in fiction is more often than not the thought that someone out there would choose you over the entire world.

The members of the League of Villains were anyone's priority. They felt replaceable or even worse, they knew they were replaceable. They weren't pretty enough, strong enough, normal enough, cool enough. They were wrong in the head, were too violent, too weird, too creepy.

All the rage? The hurt? They were told to swallow it because it was making people uncomfortable.

Stain was their inspiration, but he wasn't the one to pick them. He wasn't the one who looked at them and told them "you have a place". That was Giran. The manga tells us that Giran was putting together a sort of friendship group for violent outcasts like them. That he formed the League for them to have company, a reason to fight for, to exist.

There's a sort of catharsis that fictional villain friendships give that you can't find somewhere else. A sort of short-lived relief that comes when someone sees you being mistreated and decides retribution is needed. Wouldn't it be wonderful if revenge had no consequences and the damage it caused was at once lasting and non-existent?

That's what fiction is for. You put all your feelings there and create scenarios where you purge those feelings. No one gets harmed and you come out of it cleaned, renewed, with a clear head.

So when Tomura Shigaraki creates the League of Villains, it is an instant click for people who had been wronged and are seeking catharsis of their negative experiences and feelings.

The League of Villains punishes someone with torture and failure for misgendering and hurting their trans friend. A shonen manga does that, a gender where nonconforming people are a joke by tradition. Do you get what that means to some readers out there?

Tomura claims to hate everything and everyone, but when Toga asks him, he admits that they are his exception. He wouldn't destroy something they loved. His prioritizing their wishes and their likings. There was no one else above them for him and no one was as important to him as they were.

Suddenly, they are someone's number one people and not out of manipulation. They recognize in Tomura a man who really cares.

Tomura was shown to live in total neglect. He had poor hygiene, was isolated almost completely from the outside world, talked with maybe three or four people tops, ate whatever, liver whatever. He didn't care about his living conditions. It was only when the League asked for clothing and food and other stuff that he began to care. For them.

He wants them to live, to succeed, he wants to hurt anyone who hurts them, to protect what is precious to them.

And now we got confirmation that they matter more to him than his own past.

Tomura would destroy the world simply because they asked him to, because they promised to. He would destroy himself trying because he must be their hero. Remember how every time a villain would question him about his motivation or his ideals, he would talk about his hatred or his need to destroy. We've gone past it and at his very core we found that the thing that truly fuels him is the desire to be a hero.

For them.

It's really something to see people wondering why a reader would be fond of Tomura Shigaraki or the LOV in general. Is it that hard to understand?

Again, that's the appeal of a fictional villain's friendship to real life victims:

To be important, to be picked, to be prioritized, to be felt, to be seen, to be understood, to belong to and be considered, to be irreplaceable. To be all those things to the point the weight of it shatters the universe.

So much love outplacement in someone's love— to matter so much to someone —that to see you hurt would make them want to destroy the world.

[atlasscrumpit]

The Devil Before Me

Hannibal/Will x Reader

(gore and violence. Pretty typical for the show)

(This is literally just me practicing stuff I’ve learnt in my course so far, enjoy anyway)

The house she had seen a thousand times in her life stood in front of her mocking her as a reminder betrayal. 

The large structure used to make her feel comforted and safe, Will and Hannibal always having drinks together with her, laughter and deep conversations. 

Now, it was a stark reminder of the lies she had been fed…similar to a few human livers she had probably digested by now. Her worn  boots trudged along the stone path that had probably been carved out by her own footsteps over the years. 

She felt the cool touch of the pistol tucked into the back of her jeans, making her feel even more confident as she slowly opened the large ornate door. 

‘He lied, Will lied…they both lied.’ She reminded herself over and over, betrayal slowly turning her heart into nothing more than an organ to pump venom through her veins. 

The hallways were silent, nothing but the sound of her shoes against hardwood floor, her heart pounding as she braced herself to stare the devil in his cold eyes. He would be expecting her, she knew he would be. 

She opened the doorway to the dining room, the scent of blood and sweat hitting her nose, a contrast to the usual smell of mahogany and expensive wines. 

Her eyes followed a path of blood until her eyes met the ones of the man she once loved, he sat there, covered in blood and bruising, arms bound behind him to a wooden chair, his tired eyes met hers. 

He shook his head and started to beg her…or maybe even a god he knew didn’t exist.

“Get out, please. Go, go!”

She remained still, staring at him in disgust as she heard footsteps behind her, knowing exactly who it was from the sound and pattern. 

The devil spoke behind her.

“Perhaps I underestimated you.” His voice which once made her feel at ease now made a shiver run down her spine. 

“Perhaps you did, Hannibal.” She replied, trying her hardest to not turn and shoot her ex friend in the gut. 

She ignored the devilish presence behind her and walked forward towards Will. 

“You were in on it too, weren’t you? You knew he killed her.” She said as Will looked up into her eyes, guilt bubbling up in his throat. 

“Yes… I helped him.” Will said. 

Her eyes turned cold as she glared at him picturing her best friend being killed by the man she loved, any love she ever had for Will was gone as soon as she stepped foot in this place. 

This whole time Will had been lying to her, holding her hand while she grieved the death of her best friend...when in reality he was the reason for her death. 

“You love him, don’t you?” 

“Please, just try to…”

“Answer the question!”

“Yes! Yes, I do!” 

The devil still stood behind her, a smirk on his face as he watched the man he had turned into nothing more than a puppet confess his love for him. 

“It was rather touching to watch you fall in love with him. Your once innocent heart now corrupt and darkened by the truth. You’re hurting, aren’t you, little one?” Hannibal taunted, his body closer to hers now. 

“Innocent.” She said, letting out a dry laugh. 

“It seems I’ve fooled you both then.” She said, reeling her leg forward and then thrusting it back to kick in Hannibal’s knee. 

With a gruntled cry he fell to his knees, her hand grasping the pistol and pointing it at his head. 

“If you kill me, my dear. Does that make you any better than I? To become a killer is a big leap, one you aren't strong enough to take.” He said, a small smirk on his face, he wasn’t afraid of a fragile doll like her. 

“It’s sweet that you think this would make me a killer…truly naive to think I haven’t already killed.” With the pistol gripped in her hand she quickly turned, shooting Will in the ribs causing him to cry out in pain. 

“No!” Hannibal shouted, his facade cracking. 

She turned back to Hannibal, a wicked smile on her face that he had never witnessed. 

“Is that emotion I hear in your voice? Do you care for him like you pretended to care for me?” She said, her knuckles turning white from gripping the pistol so tightly. 

“You were just a bargaining tool, my dear. Don’t take it to heart.” He said, he moved quickly, a blade in his hand as he swiped at her, slicing diagonally down her face. 

With a scream she grasped at her face in pain before Hannibal grabbed the pistol from her and aimed at her. With a hand over her face, blood poured from the deep gash and a wicked laugh escaped her mouth as her one good eye looked into the devils eyes. 

He pulled the trigger, a shocked expression washing over his face when he realised there were no bullets. 

“Oops.” She muttered, her manic laughter filling the room. 

A voice came from behind her, exhausted and close to death. 

“Stop… Please, I’m sorry.” Will spoke as she slowly turned around, taking her hand off her face and letting her blood fall freely, not caring that her eye might fall to the ground at this point. 

“Sorry.”

“Sorry?” 

Her laughs grew louder as she stared at him. 

“Sorry doesn’t bring her back!” She screamed like a wounded coyote before she felt a sharp pain in her torso, Hannibal’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him, a knife plunged into her stomach. 

“Shh.” He whispered, his voice soothing as she gripped his hand that held the blade. 

“I really did enjoy our time together, my dear.” He whispered into her ear as she chuckled breathlessly. 

“So did I.” She said before forcing his hand to rip the blade out of her stomach, she disarmed him easily just as Will had showed her, plunging the blade into his neck. 

She laughed, staring into his eyes as he gasped for air. 

“Save a spot for me in hell, you son of a bitch.” She hissed, forcing the blade across his throat, severing as many arteries as she could. 

He fell to the ground, sounds of struggling and gasping coming from him as she turned to Will, gripping the almost dead man by the hair. 

“Watch!” She screamed, forcing his face towards Hannibal who lay dying on the ground. 

He let out a strangled sob, her blood dripping from her face onto his as he watched his love die on the ground in front of him. 

She let go of his hair and watched Will slump against the chair, taking his last few breaths. 

She knelt down and moved forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cold lips.

“Only the devil can judge you now.” She whispered, a smile forming on her face as she watched his eyes drain of any sign of life. 

With a laugh she fell flat on the floor, the blood loss clouding her vision as a warm feeling crept through her body. 

The one eye she had left looked at the devils lifeless body and she let out a small laugh. 

“See you soon.”

[shiveringgroovy]

for those drabble requests. can gender neutral reader cuddle up in fyodors ribcage all comfy like.

bonus points if it’s written in a sweet/fluffy tone despite the viscera the request implies but go crazy go stupid

Crawling into Fyodor's Ribcage!

Contents: Crawling into Fyodor's ribcage. As one does. Pairing: Fyodor/GN!reader, no y/n or physical descriptions used Warnings: Gore, body horror, unrealistic/fantasy situation, breaking bones, it's all consensual though don't even worry Notes: Anon, this has got to be the best first request ever. I love to torture my homunculi and get all up in their organs. [Coughs, the Fyovan fic]

You originally introduced the idea of "crawling into his skin" as an off-hand joke. Fyodor was experienced in the medical field, having performed fringe surgeries and operations on many people he came in contact with, perhaps even you. You could never be too sure with him, he could've very easily had you microchipped. You weren't exactly sure what he'd say to your request, but he responded by wordlessly handing you a scalpel. Shocked, you sat dumbfounded. "Are you serious?" You stammered, holding the scalpel with shaking hands. Not out of fear, no. Excitement. He nodded. "Go ahead," getting up to lay on the floor, smiling up at you. His black hair framed his face like a halo as he began unbuttoning his shirt. You knelt at his side and felt the protruding ribs under your fingertips, the rise and fall of his chest, and the beat of his heart. You wanted to be closer to that beat, those soft insides that invite you just beneath the dermis. He held your hand and guided the scalpel just above the sternum and led it down to the pelvic region, dodging the navel. The cut was sloppy due to your shaking hands and his limited vision due to positioning, but it worked. You gingerly slid your index finger past the cut, warm blood gushing from the wound like a lazy stream pooling on his abdomen. Fyodor hummed, signalling you to keep going. "It doesn't hurt, love. You don't have to be so gentle with me." He assured you with a hand on your shoulder. You felt your face burn up at his words and used both hands to seperate the cut, tearing more skin. The sound wasn't too pleasant, but the great reveal of his insides made your stomach turn with delight. You plunged your hand into his viscera with newfound vigor, it almost felt like being in a hot tub. You loved that sensation and your remaining hand joined the other. Fyodor gasped. You had been so preoccupied with his insides that you hadn't gotten a glimpse of his face for some time. His face was flushed pink and sweating, saliva trickling from the corners of his lips. It was pretty, you thought. "Doing okay?" You chuckled. Fyodor nodded. "Mhm... It feels nice. Different, but nice." His voice was wavering, struggling to keep composure, but he was clearly enjoying it. You noticed his ribs you so revered on the outside, now finally fully exposed. Hungrily, you hooked your fingers under the costal cartilage and pulled outwards, the sickening crack paired with Fyodor's pleased sigh filling your ears. Everything was exposed beautifully, the heart, lungs, liver, diaphragm... all for your eyes to drink in like fine wine. Then, an idea crossed your mind. A little voice telling you to crawl in there and cuddle up closer than anyone ever has. You nudge and adjust some organs out of your way, gently lowering yourself into his chest cavity. Your entire body was soaked in his blood, caking and cracking. The metallic smell overwhelmed both of you, hanging damp in the air like fog. You could taste the blood if you so much as opened your mouth to speak. Fyodor was still fairly quiet, save for a few gasps drawn from his bitten and bloodied lips. You rested your head on his throat, holding his heart in your hands and feeling it beat. "This is nice." You hummed, craning your neck to kiss his chin. "It is," Fyodor agreed. You two didn't get up for a long time.

End notes: "I'm in your walls!" Oh yeah??? I'm in your thoracic cavity feeling your heartbeat up close and personal. Loser. Also, I'm a horror writer and most of my stuff revolves around gore and body horror. I hope I did the fluffy part justice :P And if my anatomy and physiology teacher happens to see this, can I get extra credit or something 💯

[spooky-luvur]

Eyeless Jack x m!Reader Pt. 2

(A/N i didn’t reread this at all so sorry if something doesn’t make sense. that’s usually the case ha)

Shivering even under the thick blanket, you run your fingers over the sore scar tissue. Part of you is scared if you move wrong or press too hard the skin will split open and stain your sheets. Maybe he smells blood. Like a shark.

Freak, you think to yourself.

A sudden knock at your door makes you jolt and freeze up in pain. You yell at whoever’s at the door to wait a moment as you pretty much fall off the couch to tug some clothes on.

Your hand pauses over the doorknob for a stiff moment. What if you open it and he’s there? Will he take your other kidney? Or maybe your liver this time. Forget shark, is this guy a zombie? You force yourself to open the door.

“Hello, dear. How are you?”

You relax against the frame and smile tiredly at the woman.

“Hey Miss Zhao. I should be asking you that.”

She shuffles past you to set a casserole dish on the table next to the door.

“Oh, I’m alright. Jack is good company, you know.”

“Jack?” You echo, folding your arms against your chest- subtly wincing in pain as the movement pulls on the raw skin. “Is that the new neighbor? I saw them in the lobby the other day, I think.”

Miss Zhao laughs and waves her hand.

“No, not them.”

Your brow burrows but the smile doesn’t drop from your face until a figure steps into view behind the stout woman. Your side aches at the sight.

He has the nerve to casually wave at you.

You stutter as Miss Zhao says something about feeding time and goes back to her room, leaving you with the very thing that’s been haunting you like a ghost.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Wha-“ Is all you allow yourself to say before promptly slamming the door shut. You stand there for a few moments, half expecting the man to open it and thrust a knife at you. But he never does, and the door stays firmly shut. You find yourself glaring at the poor wood before stomping away.

A nice shower, you think. Thats exactly what I need.

You strip yourself of what little clothes you were wearing. Grumbling, you pivot to the bathroom hallway and come to an abrupt halt. There he stands, hands in his pockets. How is that even fucking possible?

You stare at each other in silence before his head tilts down not-so-subtly.

“Nice,” is all he says.

It takes you a moment to realize this masked murderer that literally took one of your organs the other week is currently scrutinizing you.

“FUCK you!” You cross your arms over your chest which is about all you can do at the moment. “What the hell do you want? My other one?”

“Not today.” He frees one of his hands to point at you. “How is it? The scar.”

You subconsciously reach down to mess with the puckered skin.

“Fine, no thanks to you.”

“It is thanks to me, actually.”

“What?” You hiss.

“Well, it was me that fixed you up instead of leaving you to bleed out on the floor like a hog.” He shrugs his broad shoulders.

“Ugh, right,” you rub a hand down your face, exasperated, “the tub. The damn ice. What the hell even was that? Who does that?”

“Do you really want to know why I took it?”

“You’re a psychopath that won’t even show his face. My guess? You’ll be caught as soon as next week.”

The man does that stupid quiet laugh again and lowers himself onto your plush sofa.

“Kick up your feet why don’t you! Make yourself comfortable. Actually, get the fuck out.”

He folds his hands in his lap like he’s about to have a very nice conversation with your mother “I think I’ll stay.”

You’re about to snap at him again, start yelling, maybe throwing things, but you choke on the words as you remember exactly who you’re about to lash out at. This man who is obviously stronger, faster, and smarter than you (and has no problem proving it) is giving you little to no options. Part of you doubts he would hurt you again, but what’s stopping him? Nothing.

So you bite your tongue and simply glare. After hesitating a few moments longer you turn away to go take your well needed shower.

Jack pulls out his (untraceable, courtesy of a ffffffffriend) phone once you round the corner. His mouth twitches in annoyance at the messages on the cracked screen.

B:

wya?

B:

wyd

B:

you ar not supplied to be out today

supposed

Jack:

ben

B:

ohhhh i get it

B:

its that guy

Jack:

ben

B:

dont worry ill keep your secret

Jack feels the need to have eyes to roll as he slips the device back into his pocket. God forbid that kid keep his thoughts to himself.

“So, I should call the cops. Right? That’s what I should do.” Is what you tell the man relaxing on your couch once you face him again. He looks over at you and you almost shiver at the sight of the goo slowly sliding down the blue face.

“Sure.”

“You’re really confusing, you know?”

“Ha.”

Your eye twitches in annoyance before you give up, heaving a heavy sign and taking a seat in the recliner beside the couch. Your hand absentmindedly wanders to caress the puckered skin of the healing wound.

“Let me see.”

“Huh?”

“The stitches. I can take them out now.”

You eye the man on your couch warily. What is this guy, some kind of doctor?

“You want to…take the stitches out.” You parrot. He nods and stands from his seat and push yourself further into the chair the closer he gets, like a picky child that’s being fed peas.

“You want them out. They’re itching.”

“Are you a doctor or something?” You snap out your previous thought causing him to stop in his tracks. You spot his hands twitch before he stretches his fingers out.

“I know what to do,” Is his reply.

Really, what other choice did you have? Going to the hospital to get undocumented stitches out would raise a few questions…not to mention you’d never be able to pay for it.

“…Fine. But I’ll catch you in the nuts the second you do something funny.”

“Noted.”

You gasp as he grabs you and pulls you up and then a second later you’re laying on your stomach on the couch. You can’t even spit out a retort when he tugs your shirt up to get better access. The cold leather against your bare skin causes you to squirm for a moment before a hand is holding itself against your back.

“Stay still.”

“You-“

He must sense your coming fit and slips his hand to lay gentle but firm across the back of your neck. Words die on your tongue as you go lax like a kitten that’s just been picked up by its mum.

“Whatever…”

You feel his hands poking and prodding before the tug of stitches being cut.

“Is it even ready?” You ask the man who is currently leaning over you on his knees like you’re on an actual operating table.

“It is.”

“But are you sure? If it isn’t healed-“

“It’s healed.”

“You love cutting me off!”

“Hush.”

You resist the urge to kick him in the face.

After a few minutes of silence he leans away, running his fingers across your skin.

“Done?” You crane your neck.

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t very sanitary. I should-“

You sit up and turn to look at him but pause at the sight of his hands retracting. The color makes you gasp and almost fall off the couch to grab him.

“What the fuck?” You hold his arm and push up his sleeve to see more of the man’s skin as he simply watches you basically feel him up.

“I don’t get a lot of sun.”

You glare at him for the joke.

“This is…so weird.” You release him and scrub a hand down your face as you relax into the couch. He takes a seat next to you like you’re two friends catching up. “What’s wrong with you?”

You close your eyes and wish your mouth had been sewn shut instead of your side but he huffs out a laugh and you look at him almost timidly.

“Shit, I didn’t mean- I mean I did but like- okay, I’m done.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Oh yeah? An interesting one?” You lightly pry. Whatever happened for him to look the way he does- for him to be some kind of kidney-stealing grey skinned freak has to be more than ‘oh yeah I got the flu real bad once.’

“Hm…maybe.”

“Are you…gonna tell me? I feel like I’m entitled at this point.”

Jack folds his arms and you hear him hum in (probably fake) contemplation.

“I’ll tell you…once you trust me.”

“Trust you?” You gape at him in disbelief. “Why would I- you tried to kill me!”

“No I didn’t.”

“Then what the hell was this?!” You gesture toward your scarring angrily.

“Not enough to kill you. I could have, though.”

Your mouth clicks shut at the new tone in his voice. Dangerously territory, this conversation. So you drop it.

“Okay. Fine. So…what’s with the goo?”

[tigergirltail]

TIGER HRT CHAPTER 6 - MONTH 6 - THE CAGED BIRD

CONTENT WARNING - This chapter contains mentions of medical injections, bigotry, child abuse, self-harm, and attempted suicide. Reader beware.

FIRST - PREV - NEXT

I had my six-month check-up with Dr. Erian, an online appointment just like last time. No particular medical issues this time around, bloodwork checks out, genetic reconfiguration is stable. We can't do a thorough physical exam over the internet, but according to him, I am "the very picture of health, by the standards of your species". I'm a bit curious what standards those are, given that I have yet to hear about any other tiger therians. Hopefully there ARE standards, and he's not just giving me empty reassurance.

We also spent some time going over dietary concerns - am I getting enough meat, am I reducing my fruit and grain intake appropriately, that sort of thing. I assured him that I'm eating real meat with every meal, just like the booklet said to, I've been limiting fruits and vegetables, and I don't even have an appetite for anything grain-based. I'll probably miss what fresh bread used to be like, but I just can't bring myself to want it anymore. Apparently not every therian is following the diet they're supposed to, but the doctor didn't have any concerns about me, "assuming your answers are honest, Miss Alexis". What, does he think I'm about to lie to the one person who knows how species transition works?

At one point during the discussion I thought I heard him mutter something about a "foolish undine", but I must have misheard. Undines are water spirits or elementals or something - a fictional creature. Then again, so are dragons and lamias, but the first well-known humanity remover was a dragon-girl, and I've been hanging out and playing online games with a lamia. At this point you could tell me there's someone out there transitioning to Sonic the Hedgehog, and I might actually believe you.

I've hit the point of full fur coverage, so no more awkward bald patches! Unfortunately, this does mean I need to start taking my estrogen in a form other than skin patches, because there's nowhere left to stick them. After a lot of agonizing over the pros and cons of potential liver damage from pills versus facing down my needle phobia, I opted to ask my endocrinologist to train me on injectable estrogen. She made a somewhat tone-deaf joke about not being trained in veterinary medicine, but she was otherwise very patient and reassuring, so I let it slide.

I do want to state for the record that I am a big scary tiger who's not afraid of anything and I only cried a little bit the first time I injected myself.

My ears are definitely becoming much more sensitive - I keep hearing really annoying high-pitch noises when I'm around heavy machinery, and that happens a lot more often than you might think. My office at work is right next to an elevator, and whenever someone uses it, the motor lets out this gods-awful whine and I have to plug my ears until it stops moving again. My local grocery also has a few freezer units that give off a similar sound, constantly, and I've had to start wearing earplugs to go on food runs.

As for visual changes, I can see in the dark reasonably well, but I've also started getting headaches and discomfort when I squint or try too hard to focus on something. I guess I should probably just… try to not do that. I have spent a significant portion of my life staring at a screen, so my eyes probably aren't in the best shape overall.

Now that my physical changes are pretty much done, most people just assume I'm wearing a very intricate costume - at least, until they get close. No costume has mouth movements or facial expressions this realistic, and believe me, our top furry scientists and engineers have tried.

At one point there's a conversation on the humanity removal chat server about the political climates in our respective areas towards therians. Obviously, a lot of the right-wing talking-head shows have been shitting themselves inside-out about the idea of people giving up their humanity, especially the ones with a more religious bent. "How dare these freaks forsake God's holy image", "Humanity is a divine blessing and must be cherished", "We call on the one true God to smite these worshippers of the Beast", and so on like that. Excuse you, but I've never worshipped your discriminatory god and I'm not beholden to their 'holy image'. My goddess is one of beauty, love, and artistic expression, and the entire reason I'm changing myself in the first place is as an expression of self-love.

Most of us agree, though, that the absolute worst of the 24-hour news cycle doesn't have anything to do with how regular everyday people see us. In fact, we're rare enough still that a decent proportion of people don't believe we exist - they think that tabloids made us up to sell more copies. I don't know if that's better in terms of acceptance, but I'll take it over a torch-and-pitchfork mob running me out of town.

The conversation shifts to us sharing our locations, those of us who are comfortable doing so at least. We generally keep it vague, but most of us are at least alright with saying which country we live in. I narrow it down to a province for myself, mainly because my province alone is larger than some countries, but also because once we start to get noticed by the media and the world, there'll probably be no stopping our locations becoming known.

It's also going to get interesting if anyone starts asking how most of us are going to the same medical provider when he requires that consultations be done in person, or why the location he operates out of - Hyper City - doesn't appear on any map. Truthfully, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself.

The next day, I get a private message from the girl with the corvid avatar:

"Hey I saw your post when everybody was talking about where they are! I live there too!! We should totally meet up sometime ^v^"

…This is a dilemma. Obviously, I'm worried about the optics of a teenager meeting up with a 39-year-old she met on the internet, there's all kinds of ways that could be taken the wrong way, but dammit, I still don't know anyone like me in this part of the world, who knows if I'll ever find anyone else who's local? …I really want to try, but I should at least give her a warning, and a judgement-free out.

"Uhh I get wanting to meet up, but I'm more than 20 years older than you, would your parents be anywhere near cool with that??"

There's a long pause. I see her start and stop typing multiple times. I'm worried I've upset her. Eventually, she sends another message:

"I don't give a fuck what they think"

I'm taken aback by the harshness of the reply, and don't manage to type anything before another series of messages pops up:

"and they don't care what I do anyway so it's whatever" "if anyone asks I'll just say you're my weird aunt" "you have no idea how bad I want to meet someone who GETS IT" "humanity is a curse and I want to be free"

'I want to be free'. Something about that phrase hits somewhere deep, in a source of pain that never fully healed. Freedom from pain, freedom from self-hatred, freedom at any cost, even if it meant my life. I remember how that desire for freedom feels.

The only thing I can think to do next is ask if she's okay. Her response is to ask if I can go on a voice call. I'm not sure if she wants some confirmation that I'm a real person or if she just doesn't want the next part of the conversation preserved in the text log.

"Hey…", I begin cautiously as the voice call starts. "Can you hear me okay?"

There's a suppressed sniffle on the other end. "Yeah… I hear you."

For a moment I entertain the thought of going all 'when I was your age' and explaining that I was always cautioned against talking to strangers on the internet, but it's probably not the time for that. Read the room, Alexis.

She's not saying anything. I'm going to have to start this off, I think. Something harmless, something value-neutral…

"So from your icon, I'm guessing you want crow HRT? Raven HRT, maybe?"

"Crow HRT.", she states simply. "Crows are everywhere here, and I've always loved them, always been jealous of them. They get to go anywhere they want, do anything they want…" She lets out a groaning sigh. "Augh, this is stupid. You probably think I'm stupid for wanting this."

I can't hold back from giving a little bit of a laugh. "Hah! Young lady, one year ago I went to a doctor and told him to his face that I wanted him to turn me into a recessive-gene variant of an endangered species that doesn't even live on this continent, and then I threatened to bite him if he wouldn't do it. Fantasizing about being a crow is just about the normalest thing I can imagine compared to that."

"…You said you'd BITE him?"

I grin, though without a camera set up she can't see it. "Every one of us who seeks out humanity removal therapy is already a little bit inhuman, even if we don't fully know it yet. After all, why would we remove something if we felt emotionally attached to it?"

Another audible sniffle. "Holy fuck, you DO get it…"

"I sure hope I get it, it's not like I can un-grow the fur and the tail."

She gives a laugh, then there's a long pause. "…Does it hurt? Is it scary?"

"Sometimes. My fingers were REALLY sore while my claws were developing, and having your entire facial structure rearrange is no joke. As for scary, well, I sure get stared at a lot more, but I think I scare people a lot more than they scare me."

"Heh, maybe I want to be scary."

I frown a little. "I don't. I just want to be true to myself."

There's an awkward silence. After a while, I decide to bring up something I was curious about:

"So I remember you asking if there was a way to get species HRT without your parents noticing. I'm guessing they're not exactly supportive?"

She lets out an uncomfortable groan. "Mmmngh… They watch a lot of those news shows, you know, the ones that only run angry sensationalist bullcrap? Dad gets furious at the idea of anyone changing themselves, something about the 'holy sanctity of the human body' or whatever. He even thinks tattoos are blasphemy. Mom says it's the most horrific thing she can imagine, she nearly fainted when she caught me watching a stream of this one dragon girl talking about her changes."

"And here you are, wanting to be a bird… I'm sorry, that sounds really rough."

"It… It is." I can hear her voice faltering. "Hearing nothing but how terrible a waste it is, and how awful and horrific they are, and the whole time knowing that I'd give ANYTHING for it to happen to me, I just… I'm sorry, I just…"

"Hey, you don't need to apologize… I'm not going anywhere."

"I just… don't know how much longer I can take it!"

"…Take what?" I'm afraid to ask my next question, but… I just have to. "…What are they doing to you??"

Somewhere deep inside her, the dam just… breaks. She starts sobbing as she tells me about how her parents yell at her over every single mistake, how she gets shoved or hit just for being in the way, how she hurts herself just so the pain gives her something to feel and to focus on, and how she… How she once climbed up to the roof of her building and took a flying leap off. She had every intention to end her own life, but in the moment her feet left the ground and she felt the air under her arms, she experienced a rush of euphoria, for the first time she can remember.

…And a moment later, she broke a leg and several ribs when she hit the ground.

She explains that she spent over a month in hospital, a captive audience for her parents to yell at more, when they even bothered to show up at all. I'm too stunned to even react.

She's spent the years since then chasing that high, climbing trees and jumping off, finding rooftops and hilltops to go stand in the wind, looking up online videos of parachuting and wingsuiting and hang gliding, and when she first heard rumours about medical treatments that can alter one's very species, she started frantically researching. That's how she started finding other therians to reach out to, how she got involved in the group chat.

"Have you… had an appointment with Dr. Erian yet?" I have a feeling I already know the answer - something something, 'letter from a physician, two psychologists, live as your preferred species for at least a year'. The same horseshit I had to listen to.

"No… I tried to get one, but he won't see anyone under 18 without parental consent, and fat chance of ever getting that."

Huh. I hadn't expected that, it feels surprisingly principled for him. Though at the end of the day, it's probably just another liability thing - ol' Teddy Erian covering his own ass as usual.

"I just…" She's started crying again. "I just want to turn into a beautiful black bird and fly away from all this, forever… I just want to live my life on the wind, going wherever I want, never having to see a single human again…"

I can feel my own tears welling up, and that's the moment I make my decision. I'm going to meet up with this girl, and I'm going to find a way to help her. Maybe she doesn't need humanity removal, maybe she just needs to know someone who understands.

We decide on a place and time to meet up. There's a little cafe I like nearby, run by a trio of neurodivergent queer women. It's a public place, and about as safe for weirdos like us as you can get. Corvid-girl tells me she'll be the one with a feathered headband and a crow-skull necklace. I tell her I'll be the one with white fur and a tail. That manages to get a laugh out of her. I choose to take that as a victory.

There's something about the way she laughs that sounds a bit like a crow's call. I wonder whether that's intentional on her part…

A few days later, I'm sitting in the cafe enjoying a hot chocolate and a roast beef sandwich - extra meat, naturally. Dr. Erian said I have to start cutting chocolate out of my diet because cocoa is going to become toxic to me, but… chocolate! I did ask for a lighter mix though, so what I'm drinking is actually mostly just hot milk. Maybe there's a cocoa-free substitute out there I can look into…

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by a squeal of delight emanating from the front door. There's a teenage girl standing there, staring directly at me with a look of amazement on her face. Dark clothes, pale skin, black hair, headband with feathers in it, and hanging from her neck, an amulet in the shape of a bird skull. I smile and wave a paw at her. She practically bounces as she walks up to my table and takes a seat.

"Holy SHIT, you're… And you even have the… Your face looks just like… Can I touch your paw??"

I laugh and hold out my paw. "Haha, sure, just watch out for the claws, they don't stay all the way inside just yet."

"Oh, it's okay, I'm used to sharp things!"

I wince as I think back to our voice chat from the other day. I REALLY hope she doesn't mean what I think she means, but I can't help noticing she's wearing long sleeves, even though the weather has been getting warmer.

She turns my paw over and squeals. "OHMYGOD you even have the BEEEEANS!" I can't resist smiling as she starts poking and prodding at my pawpads. "You look SO!! AMAZING!!"

Corvid-girl starts frantically complimenting all my animalistic features - "Your stripes are so pretty!" "I love your tail!" "Ohh, your fangs, they're so COOL!!" - and I start uncontrollably blushing. I never would have thought species affirmation would feel this euphoric… Naturally, being a teenager, she takes this as an excuse to push even harder, and I start covering my face with my paws, thoroughly embarrassed.

"You look just like the tigers they have on stage for those shows in Vegas!"

"H-hey, that's actually not okay…"

"You know, I bet you'd look good up on a stage too! Everyone would love to see you!!"

Instinctually, I let out a growl, louder than I actually want to. It has the intended effect, in that she stops dead and stares at me, but so do a few other cafe patrons. Oh gods, here comes the embarrassment again… "H-hey, look, it's just…"

"Sorry." She's gone completely deadpan, and stiff as a board.

I close my eyes tightly. Gods, why did I DO that?? First the waitress at that seafood place, and now an actual CHILD. I REALLY need to start getting a handle on these predator instincts. When I open my eyes again, she's still standing there, and she looks like she's on the verge of a panic attack.

I need to calm her down, need to bring her back. "No… I'M sorry. I shouldn't have done that, I just… The animals they use for those stage shows get abused all the time, and it's kind of a sore spot for me."

"…Really?"

Okay, she's talking, she's distracted, maybe I can still salvage this. "Yeah… Every species has baggage, it's one of the shitty parts of being therian, and tigers, white tigers especially, they're treated like show pieces, or worse."

"…Well shit, I knew they're endangered, but… fuck."

"Yeah, it's a whole thing, I try not to -"

Our conversation is interrupted by one of the staff tapping corvid-girl on the shoulder and asking to talk privately. She reluctantly agrees to go to the back of the store and talk. At first I think maybe she's being chastised for being a disturbance, but the barista who pulled her away is giving me some very pointed looks. Worried looks, I might even say.

If I angle my ears just right, I can almost hear them through the noise of the rest of the cafe.

"…other patrons were concerned… …young lady so close to a dangerous creature…"

I wonder if the barista notices the indignant look that crosses my face when they describe me as a 'creature'.

Corvid-girl lets out that bird-like laugh of hers. Her voice is a lot more distinct and easier to pick out:

"It's just my aunt! She's not a 'creature', she just takes meds to look like that!"

The barista doesn't protest as corvid-girl returns to our table, but they're still giving me a very 'You'd better not try anything' kind of look.

Corvid-girl sits down, seemingly a little more grounded, a little more sobered. "…I guess I never thought to ask, why a white tiger?"

I lean forward, head in one paw, and give a bit of a shrug. "I relate a lot to them."

"To… being treated like a show piece, or whatever you said?"

"…Yeah. When I was little, they called me 'gifted' and put me in a separate school. I remember being excited about it, but it turns out it just meant getting more homework."

"…Ew."

I smile a little bit. "That's what I thought too! They wanted me to be some brilliant prodigy, a genius in the making, but the reality is I was just more observant and better at math than most people, that's all. I actually had to take an extra year of school because I was so bad at it."

"EWW!!"

"I KNOW, RIGHT?? But, then I went to college and graduated at the top of my class, so the joke's on them in the end."

"I wasn't even planning on staying around long enough for college…" She still has a bit of a depressed air about her, but she's not going into a panic. Maybe I'm better with kids than I thought.

"Yeah, I remember, you were going to turn into a beautiful crow and fly away forever." I try to give her a reassuring look. "But hey, the human world isn't ALL bad."

"Says the woman who's turning herself into a wild animal."

I snort quietly as I hold back a laugh. "Okay, fair, but wild animals don't get the internet, or nice little cafes where weirdos like us can just sit and talk."

"Hah, yeah… Weirdos like us." She gives a smile. An actual, genuine smile. Suddenly all the awkwardness is worth it, to see someone so deeply unhappy smile. "That reminds me, I saw on the server you're into witchcraft, can you… teach me?"

Somehow I feel like I should have expected this. The goth-looking crow girl is into witchcraft, big surprise. "I… guess? Maybe? I'm not like an expert or anything, I've just read a few books and cast a few spells is all."

"Ooh, what kind of spells??" And now she's back to her enthusiastic self.

"Just some protective charms on people who needed them, a few card readings with a tarot deck, nothing much really…"

"Does it really work??"

"I mean, the people I cast those charms on ended up safe in the end, but who knows if what I did made a difference? Some of the card readings were scary-accurate though, I think I might have a talent for divination."

She laughs. "Gonna have to get you to read my future sometime."

We end up spending the next hour or so making small talk, getting to know each other, talking about the ins and outs of humanity removal, complaining about Dr. Erian, until…

"Hey, I gotta go catch the bus back home, but… this was nice." She gives a bit of a smirk. "Cool to meet another weirdo."

Before she leaves, I ask her name - I still don't know it, I've been internally calling her 'corvid-girl' this entire time.

She gives me a disgusted grimace. "Ugh, it's 'Margaret'. I'm named for my great-grandmother, it's SUCH an old-lady name."

"Margaret, like Maggie, as in magpie?" I smile a little. "Those are corvids too, you know."

Her expression softens a little. "…Never thought of that. Still don't like it, though…"

"Well, is there a name you'd like better? I can start calling you that if you like."

She freezes. Somewhere in her eyes I can see her mind working to process what I've just said. "…Nobody ever asked me that before. I'll… think about it." She turns to leave.

"Wait, hold on a sec."

"WHAT!?" She outright glares at me, then seems to soften. "Sorry, it's… never mind."

That… was an EXTREMELY sudden mood shift. Trauma response, maybe? "I… was just going to ask if you wanted a sandwich or something to take home."

"…Didn't bring any money…"

I shake my head a little. "That doesn't answer my question. Would you like me to BUY you a sandwich or something?"

"…Egg salad if they got it I guess…"

I go up to the counter and buy her an egg salad sandwich to go. She looks like she's going to cry when I hand it to her. I… probably shouldn't make a big deal about that, but somewhere deep inside, my heart breaks a little. Does she never have anyone just… offer her food?

I'm beginning to understand why she wants to leave behind the curse of humanity. I chose this path, I wanted to be a tiger, I'm running towards something. Corvid-girl, though? She's running away from something.

I walk her outside, and she starts to walk away, but suddenly stops, and turns back to me. She walks resolutely up to me, then grabs me in a hug.

"Soft…" Her voice is muffled against both my shirt and the fur underneath. "You're very soft…"

Once I get over my surprise at the sudden gesture, I hesitantly put one arm around her shoulders and pat her on the back. She pulls away after a few short moments, and walks away down the sidewalk without another word.

I touch my shirt where her head was leaning, and notice a small wet spot.

---

Time to play "Spot the References!" Intentional references below:

"something about a 'foolish undine'" - welldrawnfish (Fish HRT)

"the first well-known humanity remover was a dragon-girl" - ayviedoesthings (Dragon HRT)

"I've been hanging out and playing online games with a lamia" - ariathelamia (Lamia HRT)

"someone out there transitioning to Sonic the Hedgehog" - sonic-spirit (Sonic HRT)

"watching a stream of this one dragon girl talking about her changes" - Rain, by Jocelyn Samara D. (Dragon HRT)

[amuseoffyre]

Thinking again (thanks to the dead bird site) about Stede rebooting his worst day ever, aka the traumatic flashback he has multiple times across both season, only this time he gets the acceptance and approval he has craved for his entire life.

The Worst Day Ever is the day his father teaches him to kill, slaughtering a goose and spraying blood all over little Stede's face. He then grabs his son by the arm and drags him out to verbally excoriate him and tell him he is worthless and useless, "a soft-handed, weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy".

Faced with the prospect of killing for the first time sends Stede into a panic spiral including that flashback.

It's referenced again throughout the season, but especially in 1x02, loosely in the fever dream in 1x04 (he was scared of geese for Christ's sake!), and 1x09, when Stede is struggling with his guilt, self-recriminations and self-doubts and also being confronted directly by Chauncey.

But the most significant return of the Worst Day Ever flashback is immediately after Stede kills Ned Low, his first real deliberate kill.

Our man is very much Not Okay. The fact that this memory is front and centre shows exactly how much that day - that moment - impacted on him decades on.

He does his usual thing when he's upset - isolates and closes himself away somewhere else, shutting himself down and using the tried and true conceal-don't-feel approach.

The difference this time is that someone comes after him to offer him emotional support, comfort and care (much like Ed did on the beach in 2x09, and this time, more kisses as well). So for a little while at least, Stede is distracted and wrapped up in Ed's affections and can put Ned's death to the back of his mind.

But the trouble arises when they get to the Republic and suddenly, for the first time in his life, he's being praised and celebrated. And, of all the people for him to gravitate towards, he ends up choosing to spend his time in the company of Blood-bucket Bill, an older man in a blood-smeared leather apron, who keeps telling him how cool and amazing he is.

And, after Stede kills in front of him, we get another twisted up mirror of the Worst Day Ever. Instead of his dad dragging him out to humiliate him, Bloodbucket Bill grabs him by the arm and hauls him up and tells everyone "the Gentleman Pirate is the fuckin' dude"

And as the episode continues and Ed leaves, Stede retreats to the bar with Bill, trying to take comfort from the man who has been telling him how good he is all day.

"At least you like me for me," he says to the deranged blood-smeared groupie. "Bonnet, I'd fuckin' die for you" Bill tells him and you can see that it isn't bringing the assurance Stede thought it would.

And to ice the cake, even when he's holding onto those last little vestiges of "yay I'm cool", Izzy shows up and dismisses Bill with three words and Bill doesn't even try to stay. "I'll fuckin' die for you" becomes "yes, right away, Mr Hands".

And the framing. omg the framing in the scene. It is, once again, a deliberate and pointed call back to Stede's Worst Day Ever. Once again, an older man is looming over him and Stede is just waiting to have emotional strips ripped out of him again ("have you come for your victory lap?"). This is the first and only time I can think of Izzy looking taller than anyone, especially Stede.

But unlike the horrendous abuse he got from his father, the abuse Stede expects yet again, the same old patterns happening over and over, Izzy changes the script and tells him "I think you're good for him. You balance each other out".

And if not for a group of his crew - his family - choosing to leave him as well, it might have been enough. But when he's already fragile over the loss of one person precious to him and reassured that he's good for people after all, the threat of losing more of his beloved people pushes him straight back into the reckless behaviour that has filled the rest of his day.

(brb wailing into a pillow that we won't get to see him have a chance to process any of this stuff)

[woodywood101blog]

Experimental (Part 2)

7 weeks

Yazan did not grab Mike’s number after their one night stand. He thought about it, but had a feeling he wasn’t going to be back in Australia anytime soon, even if he still had this lingering urge to be fucked by Mike all these weeks later.

Yazan found it difficult to understand what came over him that night, because he never bottoms. Yet somehow, almost right after he met Mike, he could not stop thinking about his chiselled jaw, his billowing pecs, his tight abs, his thick thighs that led to his…

“Yazan?” Randy, one of his colleagues at the hospital, lightly shook Yazan.

“Sorry, just off with the fairies again.”

“You know, if you are tired, you should go home. You clearly look like you need a rest!”

“It’s fine, just thinking about something that happened back in Sydney.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to describe it, but have you ever seen a person somewhere that was so perfect that you would do anything for them, and I mean… anything in the bedroom?” Yazan asked.

“I mean, I’d have my limits, but if the person was that perfect, then I guess I’d let my ego slide. What happened, Yazan?”

“Nothing bad, I swear!”

“Well, it’s a random question that clearly shows you should just sign out for the day. I can take your patients if you want and explain to the chief.”

“Well, if you insist, fine.”

Yazan took the opportunity to go and get some fresh air. After dropping his work gear at home, he switched into some exercise gear and went for a walk through a nearby nature reserve.

The whole time, Yazan had his experience in Sydney playing on loop. From going to the Oxford Hotel, to meeting Mike, to walking back with Mike to Yazan’s hotel, to them fucking endlessly that whole night and next morning. Then, like many other one night stands, Mike completely avoided Yazan for the rest of the conference. When Yazan did see Mike, Mike would quickly turn around and walk away. He was so confused - Mike seemed so cool, calm and collected, like a lot of the other Aussies at the conference. What happened there?

Yazan had one other thought while walking: his nipples were rubbing up against his shirt the whole time, to the point where he thought he was either going to rub them raw, or accidentally cum. What’s happening there?

***

Mike was mortified. He didn’t expect the hormones to work that quickly with Yazan. He thought the hormones would take 24 to 48 hours to kick in, not 2 hours! While it meant he fucked one of the hottest men to come from the United States, he still couldn’t believe it worked. In the event the pregnancy wasn’t viable, he could market this as the next best thing for male sexuality since Viagra.

He continued to flick through his research to understand what happened, and whether it could mean bad news for Yazan. All that he could see was that the excessive increase in hormones may result in an intense hormonal overload for the person, but that’s assuming the pregnancy is viable. It could mean some issues with Yazan’s heart, liver, pancreas or prostate, but it could just pass over time.

Mike was also kicking himself with how he treated Yazan over the rest of the conference. He was so embarrassed with how intensely he leapt into the opportunity to fuck Yazan, plus the risk that he may have gotten Yazan pregnant without him knowing, that he wanted to run under a bed cover and never get out again. At the very least, he should’ve given Yazan his number, because if he does get pregnant, he clearly would need some medical support.

[autistic-mandalorian]

I would love to hear this

Oh sure! Fair warning, this gets long, so it's under a cut:

So I have looked carefully at Maul post-bisection, specifically at where his abdomen ends and his prosthesis begins, and I believe that he was bisected between the L3 and L5 vertebrae, or just above his pelvic bone. Here is a diagram I drew on of where he was cut:

Image Description: The first image is a screenshot of Maul with his prosthetic legs from TCW. The screenshot is annotated to note where exactly Maul is divided between flesh and prosthesis. The second image is two diagrams side-by-side, one of the human body focusing on organs, and the other of the spine. Both have a line drawn around where the belly button is to note where Maul was bisected. End ID.

So in terms of what he lost, it was a LOT. Not just his legs, but most of his intestines, his bladder, his pelvis, his gonads, half his bones, most of his blood volume, and a lot of his abdominal and back muscles (as well as their attachment points, making the remaining muscles limited in their usefulness).

Image description: A diagram of the human musculature, from the ventral and dorsal sides. The diagram has a line drawn across it to show where Maul was bisected.

Fortunately for him, most of the organs in humanoids are located in the chest cavity (because the intestines need a LOT of room to work), so he kept his kidneys, liver, stomach, lungs, hearts, pancreas, gallbladder, etc etc. However, his intestines are interesting in that by getting chopped in half, his small intestine was actually disconnected from his large intestine. The small intestine connects to the large through the ileocecal valve, which is located on the left inferior side of the abdominal cavity. He got chopped right through the middle of the abdominal cavity, so he lost his entire cecum, the majority (if not all) of his ileum, and the valve that connected them. This means that anything he digested would just ooze into his abdominal cavity even after the giant wound repaired itself, unless he got surgery to reconnect them. We will say for the sake of the story that he fixed it with The Force while living in his trash hole.

Now, it is possible for people to be bisected like he was and survive, just only in a medical environment. It's an extremely rare and radical surgery called a hemicorporectomy. It's the last of the last resorts, because it leaves you with a lot of problems. Here are some of them:

Maul would need both a colostomy and urostomy bag, since his rectum and bladder are both gone. These would need to be regularly cleaned and emptied.

His missing intestines would also result in his not digesting most of his food fully, so he would need supplemental nutrients to help combat malnutrition. He obviously does not get these for most of his life (if ever) so he is almost certainly malnourished.

Due to his newfound Nightmare Castration, he would need regular doses of hormones or would risk osteoporosis. Which hormones is up to the reader (I nominate estrogen)

His spinal cord is, thankfully, fine--- it doesn't actually extend past L1-L2. However, he did lose the filum terminale, meaning his spinal cord is kinda unanchored in his spine and floating around, which isn't great and could lead to nerve issues down the line. Some of the nerves that were cut in his lumbar spine (specifically, the L4 lumbar nerve supplying the quadratus lumborum muscle) could also cause partial paralysis in his back, as well as some wicked back pain.

Shoutout to @necropocene for inspiration as well as the following headcanons:

Maul's lungs and other organs are constricted by his intestines being forced upward into his chest cavity, reducing his lung capacity

Maul suffers from chronic nausea

Maul's prosthesis needs to be very well-cushioned because the waist is not a load-bearing structure (too squishy!)

Now onto my specific headcanons for his prosthetics and mobility devices:

The thing about pelvises is not only do they let you use legs, they also allow your organs and muscles to attach to something rigid. For this reason, I think Maul should have two pelvises: one internal, being more like a metal frame that his abdominal and back muscles attach to, and one external and connected to his legs.

The lumbar spine and sacrum are what allow the spine to connect to the pelvis, so in order to use his prosthetic legs, I think it would be prudent to give Maul a prosthetic spine, Borg Queen-style. Now, this would admittedly be a pretty big infection risk (piece of metal sticking through the skin and all) but I think it's cool so I am invoking The Rule of Cool on this one.

Maul's legs are not something I spent much time on, because his canon ones are fine.

I do have headcanons for a wheelchair, though!

His wheelchair wouldn't be designed like your average wheelchair, because those are generally designed to accommodate people who have pelvises. His would probably look more like a plant pot or a baby bjorn, imo? It would have to support him without putting too much pressure on his torso, so I think a sort of foam well with a backrest, attached to wheels would be a good design.

I also think that his prosthetic spine should be able to dock with the wheelchair so that he can control it as an extension of his body, like the prosthetic legs.

Image description: Three pencil drawings on notebook paper. One is of Maul post-bisection, with each of his organs labeled and colostomy, urostomy, and gastronomy ports. The next two are of his wheelchair, which follows the description previously given. End ID.

And yeah, those are my headcanons! Thanks for asking :) I love talking about fantasy biology!

[maxwell-grant]

hi. you've mentioned Donald Duck a few times in your posts, with scrooge being one step removed from pulp heroes, Donalds Paparinik (Italian superhero identity which I love, the new PK Adventures where lovely) in terms of their relation to the Diabolik line of European superheroes and Donalds general tendency to run head first down slippery slopes. so I'm wondering if you have any further thoughts on his comics and weird place in the superhero/pulp world

Oh God, do I. I mostly wanna talk about the superhero side of things but I feel like it's worth mentioning I grew up with Donald Duck comics, specifically the Carl Barks ones. The picture above wasn't taken by me but I own and recognize like 7 of the books in it, my mom always bought these that collected several of his stories and had these beautiful painting covers so we could read them together, and I still flip through them on occasion and love them very much (I really wanna buy a translated edition of Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck to read with her but those cost a liver). Donald Duck was one of my childhood hyperfixations and I got my hands on all the comics and movies and cartoons I could find with him, and I actually did read several of the Italian comics, I could go down the stationery right now and grab 5. I first stumbled on Paperinik via those, and for long I didn't think much of it, because Donald Duck moonlighting as a superhero for decades isn't the kind of thing that comes up often. I just thought Paperinik was a weird but funny idea for the longest time and always liked rereading a story where he puts on the costume to scare a rich jerk into leaving his granny's farm alone. And THEN I stumbled onto PKNA, Paperinik New Adventures, and oh my god this rules so much.

Actually one of the best superhero comics I've ever read, it's just constantly and consistently doing these wild absurd stories and swings into genre territory and quality storytelling. It's famous for opening it's first issue with aliens genociding an entire planet and I thought that was kinda overselled, and it's not frequently this dark (sometimes it actually gets darker though, and I probably stopped before it could really get there), but it is a very weird comic. It's more akin to Fantastic Four's serialized consistency than any kind of graphic novel prestige storyline but it is frequently so good at what it does, even the lamer issues are still worth reading. I like describing it as Donald Duck falling headfirst into Batman-level resources, forced to deal with Superman problems (on both the "huge sci-fi horrors" and "people being really, really irresponsible dicks" ends), while trying to stay Ditko's Spider-Man and failing. These do not feel quite like any Donald Duck comics I'd read before and while they would hold up with a different character, I do think they deserve credit for how they make it still always feel like you're reading a Donald Duck story, if a slightly different one. In fact I'd even say PKNA actually makes the concept feel more suited for Donald Duck in a way that brought the idea full circle.

To those of you that don't know, Paperinik started as a villain, or more of a revenge fantasy. By that point there was a tradition of doing a lot of parody stories with Donald that started in 1953. By the late 60s, readers were dissatisfied with Donald Duck always constantly being mistreated by the rest of the supporting cast and losing unfairly, so it was decided to have one of those parodies feature Donald Duck as uncovering the fortune and resources of "Fantomius" and becoming a masked rogue able to get back at them by achieving the impossible, in that he both steals from Scrooge and defeats Gladstone's luck by framing him for it.

He had a stint as a master thief until it was decided it made him too mean, so he morphed into a superhero trying to overcome his prior bad reputation and using his new skills and gadgets (still prone to malfunctioning) to deal with his typical rogues and new ones, and having the admiration of his nephews who don't know that Unca Donald and Paperinik are the same. PKNA, in turn, was sort of a reboot, shedding the previous history and pretty much getting rid of Donald's traditional supporting cast and having Donald stumble onto a different set of resources and means to fight crime, but keeping the idea of Donald Duck having a superhero alter-ego that nobody suspects. The scale and menace of the threats he's up against DRASTICALLY increases, and if anything that fact is crucial to what allows these to still feel like Donald Duck stories, even with Paperinik being a genuinely impressive and cool hero able to save the world. Nobody believes Donald Duck could be a cool and impressive person if he tried, and so Paperinik becomes not just a power fantasy, or a call to something better or be someone better, but it becomes a key component of Donald Duck stories: a thankless job he's expected to do that he doesn't want to do until his pride or something crucial is on the line. These are still parables about human failures and what can be learned from them.

I'd even say a big part of why they succeed is because they introduce a character who can pick up Donald's slack as a comically unpleasant ill-tempered grouch in need of a lesson protagonist in Angus Fangus, a character who's sort of J Jonah Jameson meets Harvey Bullock. Angus has it out for Paperinik and gets up to a lot of the antics you would traditionally expect Donald to be doing if this was a classic Donald Duck comic (and even has a Gladstone-esque rival of his own in another reporter), and getting to learn lessons and be humbled and even have his own set of impressive moments. The choice to give an entirely new cast around Donald greatly added to the comic's ability to experiment and do new things while still keeping the core of Donald.

I actually like a lot of these new dynamics better than the ones he traditionally has, I love The Raider and Lyla and One and oh god Xadhoom, Xadhoom is so fucking cool, such a cool design and name, this powerful roaring supernova stickbug alien person in a crusade of murderous vengeance who names herself her language's equivalent of creditor because the death of her entire planet is the DEBT SHE WILL COLLECT IN BLOOD ENERGY and she is just the most 90s anti-hero ever made except she's stuck in a Donald Duck comic getting into comedic situations and learning to laugh and feel emotions and learn from her mistakes again whether she likes it or not. These two are so good together.

Even with a superhero lair and supercomputer and gadgetry handed to him, Donald Duck is so comically outmatched against his opponents he still winds up winning through guile and will and comedic trickery. Donald desperately wishes he could go on self-serving ventures or just sit at home and enjoy tv, and not get dragged into dealing with murderous alien invasions, or cyberpunk revenge stories, or collapsing future timelines, and still having to solve those problems so there's a world to come back. The stories are frequently fun and they are prevailingly comedic and very good at it too, but they also get a lot out of taking weird turns into unexpected territory.

I haven't finished it because I wasn't able to find it in full or keep track of what's the og series and what's the reboot, still trying to sort that out, but god what a find this series is. What a great strange turn in the history of this great strange character.