#look i wrote something for this au!!!

[imaredshirt]

Give me a Stan who thinks Fiddleford doesn't know how to throw a punch, much less defend himself in a fight with your average goon, so one morning he takes it upon himself to show the nerd a few basic jabs and hooks and maybe an uppercut or two behind the cabin, because let's face it, there's gonna be a time when Stan can't be there to take a hit for the guy or defend his nerd butt. So he's gonna teach him some stuff for his own peace of mind.

Fiddleford just kind of genially goes along with it, following Stan around the back of the cabin and watching with hands on his hips and a smile as Stan gets into position.

"This is one of the most basic punches in the world, so pay attention, 'cause I'm not gonna show you again," Stan says, knees slightly bent and fists up.

Fidds nods. "You've got my full attention, Stanley."

Stan isn't sure if he's imagining the way Fidds is eyeing him up and down, but he automatically flexes his arms a little more than he needs to. Up ahead, Ford is sitting on a tree stump and taking samples of the air or something (Stan had stopped listening to Ford's explanation once his words went from interesting to Big Science Shit that Stanley Does NOT Care About) and he's watching them with this amused grin, rolling his eyes skyward when Stan won't stop flexing and showing his arms off.

Stan ignores him and rolls his shoulders before jabbing his fists forward in a quick one-two. "There - you catch that?"

Fidds has got his arms crossed now and gives Stan a thumbs up. "Sure did!"

"See, just like this," Stan says, and shows him again despite saying earlier that he wouldn't.

He shows him a few more punches, going over each one a couple times before telling the engineer to mirror him, even getting in close to adjust the guy's scrawny arms and balled fists. He's being real professional about it and everything and doesn't understand why Ford keeps grinning and shaking his head at them, which is making him a little incensed but he stamps it down because Fidds is watching him with this nerdy, dopey smile while letting himself be maneuvered around and he's gotta learn to defend himself 'cause Stan can't stand the thought of some jerkwad wiping that smile off the nerd's face.

"See," he says near the end of the lesson, tapping his fist right against Fidds’s chin. "Do it right and your fist'll hit right here."

Fidds tilts his head a fraction at the touch. "Well alright then, seems easy enough."

"Yeah, like I said, if you do it right. Gimme your hand-" he takes Fidds’s wrist and taps the guy's balled fist against his own stubbly jaw. "Right here. You got that?"

Fidds nods. "Sure do!"

"Good." Stan drops Fidds’s wrist and gets into position again. "Then come on - lay one on me."

Fidds pulls back and blinks at him. "Come again?"

"Hit me!" Stan taps his jaw. "Right here!"

The guy suddenly looks nervous and galnces over at Ford for help. "Hit you? Stanley, I don't think-"

This is what Stan means. Fidds isn't always gonna be able to look to him or Ford to save him. He gets this weird, uncomfortable feeling in his chest at the thought of Fidds facing off against some asshat on his own, and that alone is enough to keep him from letting the guys off easy, if only to get rid of the weird feeling. Maybe a bit selfish but he doesn't care.

"Ah, come on, one little punch ain't gonna hurt ya, Fidds."

"I'm not worried about me," Fidds says, and then frowns when Stan barks a laugh.

"You think you're gonna hurt ME?"

Fidds is still frowning when Ford calls over in an amused, warning tone, "This is not a good idea, Stanely!"

"Just worry about your air test or whatever and leave us alone," Stan calls back. Ford shrugs and scribbles something in his journal, and when Stan turns back to Fidds, Fidds is finally getting into position.

He looks unsure, watching Stan nervously as Stan stands before him with his arms crossed.

"Hey, not bad form - you ready?"

"Well, I suppose so," Fidds says, accent coming in a little thicker than before. "Stan, if you're sure, I should probably warn ya-"

"Don't tell me nothing, just punch me!"

Fidds presses his lips into a line and throws his fist - and jabs Stan on the chin just hard enough to tilt Stan's head half an inch to the side.

"That's it?" Stan guffaws and shakes his head. "That was barely a tap!"

"I don't wanna hurt ya!" Fidds says, sounding so conflicted that Stan gets this urge to pull him into a headlock and ruffle his hair and drive the worry away.

Instead he riles him up.

"Please," he says. "Fidds, look - one of these days I'm not gonna be there to take a hit for you, and then what're you gonna do? Just let some jerk punch ya around?"

Fidds looks slightly perplexed. "Where is this all comin from? No, Stanley, I am NOT gonna just let some jerk punch me around."

"Good! So you gotta learn to defend yourself!" Fidds still looks unsure, so Stan tries a different angle. "Okay, how 'bout this - what if some jerks are beating up on me and Ford, huh? You're just gonna let em?"

Fidds looks up. "What? No, I am not!"

"You're gonna defend us?"

"Dangnabbit, Stan - of course I am!"

"Not gonna let us get our teeth kicked out?"

"What!? No!"

"Then show me!" Stan slaps a hand against his own chin. "Right here, come on! I'm some jerk who just threw your friend Stan to the ground and I'm about to kick him in the gut, what're ya gonna-"

The blow lands hard. Stan's head jerks to the side and he's thrown off balance, and he sees actual stars before his vision clears again and he realizes he's crumpled on the ground. His head swims as hands pull him around onto his back.

"Mother o pearl!" Fidds gasps. He's got his hands on Stan's face, careful touch at complete odds with the punch he'd just landed in the same place. "Are you alright? I am so sorry! I hit ya and you weren't even ready and - you just got me so riled up and I tried to tell ya and I shoulda said earlier instead o just lettin ya show me all those moves, but I just wanted to, well - goddangit, Ford, this ain't funny."

Ford's laughing as he comes up behind them, looking down at where Stan is staring kinda dazedly up at Fidds, who's kneeling by his side in the cool grass. "We did try to tell him, Fiddleford."

"Tell me what?" Stan demands. His jaw is already aching but Fidds’s hands feel kinda good so he doesn't tell him to move.

"Fiddleford was a boxing champion back back in his hometown," Ford says.

Stan blinks. "Bwuh-?"

"Not much of a champion," Fidds says with a wince, but he's blushing a bit as he goes on, "It was never anythin official, but - well, I did win more than a few matches at some backyard parties, see, and - well, people usually don't think I got any hittin power or can defend myself, but my Ma's been all too happy to teach me since I was little, and-"

The guy's rambling, and Stan quits being able to understand what he's saying half way through cause the accent is coming in thick and Ford’s chuckling and standing there looking proud of his best friend and Stan’s a little worried that he's still jarred from the hit, cause when he looks at Fidds kneeling there, one hand one Stan's chest and the other bashfully rubbing his neck while he rambles on - he's still seeing stars.

Later, while Stan sits in the living room with an bag of ice in his jaw and Fiddleford sitting next to him, still rambling about all the times he'd knocked a few guys into the mud in some backcountry hoedown get-together or whatever, Stan can lean back and relax and grin, knowing Fidds is gonna be just fine.

He can't wait to teach him wrestling.

[nomsfaultau]

Lord what fools these mortals be!Philza is a little silly shall we say

[phoenixtakaramono]

🔞 ‘The Price of Milk’ Butchlander Threadfic 🥛

For Butchlander Week 2024, DAY 2 PROMPT: Milk

SUMMARY: Have you seen Karl Urban’s obscure New Zealand 2000 movie: The Price of Milk? That’s it; that’s the plot. The gist of this short 🔞 oneshot threadfic is Butcher has been working undercover as a devastatingly sexy but unremarkable dairy farmer, and the main twist is the handsome amnesiac “John” who’s been temporarily lodging with him “until he regains his memories” might be hiding a little secret of his own. I am agog that seemingly no one’s written this fever dream of an AU before, where Butcher’s actor is a literal dairy farmer and you got Homelander with his milk fetish?? …Very well. I volunteer as tribute!

(The rest of the threadfic can be read here!)

If you don’t have a Twitter account, I have screenshotted the rest of the spicy half below the line break:

A/N - Thoughts? Opinions? I'd love to hear them! Sorry for the somewhat abrupt ending but this was 67 tweets long when I'd originally planned around 25, haha. If I'd do anything differently, I think I'd keep Butcher's alias as "ordinary civvie dairy farmer who immigrated from England" when the lovers reunite. That way it's even more fun(ny) when the truth comes out that Butcher is actually a badass secret spy working for the US government.

I want y'all to know he goes from this 👨🏻‍🌾 ➡️ to this 🔪 (iiiiit's the contrast)

(Now that you’re done reading, you can read my other 🔞 “milk” threadfic here. They’re unrelated alternate universes.)

[kinaesthetiqueer]

"no, wait, we were just trying to find a viable back up pulse point–! we were only practicing–! i mean, we were experimenting–! we were just testing something new–! we just didn't want to try it on the bed–!"

nora... there is no hetero explanation for this.

and once she comes down from that bloodhigh? weiss is gonna have a fucking fit.

[no, this scenario is not series canon for 10,001 reasons. yes, there are still a variety of later-series easter egg spoilers because i am incapable of shitposting inaccurately. yes, the femoral artery is located on one's inner thigh. no, this really isn't a euphemism; it just looks super suspicious to third parties. it actually is just the usual arterial blood drinking.]

[brutal-nemesis]

big question!! dude can we please see a scene in the AU where castys has his tongue cut off and he has to deal with that? like man, the shock and the pain and the fuckin grief? and neteri just being herself ofc

anyway the latest erebus chapter was heartbreaking you’re so good at being awful to these lads (i can’t stop reading)

Thank you I try,,,,,

Okay strap in fellas I think this is banger as hell I had a great time and let me know if you have any other requests for the AU!

Castys & Terror AU Masterlist - Castys Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: shockingly, tongue gets cut off! some suffocation as well

Castys wasn’t great at sitting in chairs normally, something his parents had always reprimanded him for, but, hey, they’d never taken it as far as to fucking tie him to one, and Castys was grateful. This shit was uncomfortable. Like, yeah, the rough ropes around his wrists and ankles were tight and itchy, but also the position just sucked. Not that he’d rather be standing or something-

“You must be Castys!” The door had swung open, and now this little lady with a white coat on was walking up to him. 

“Yes, I’m Castys,” he said flatly as she scurried behind him before coming back without her bag. And then she just…stared at him. Castys wasn’t sure what she was looking at, since there really wasn’t much to see, just, like, him. Eventually her eyes wandered up to his, and she jumped in place a bit.

“Oh, right, I’m Neteri.” She stuck her hand out like she expected him to shake it.

“You know I’m tied up, right?”

“Ah. Yeah.” Her skin was dark enough that it wasn’t immediately obvious that she was blushing, but Castys was pretty sure she was. She ended up awkwardly grabbing his right hand and shaking it a bit. “I, um, I’ll be preparing you for this afternoon. Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Well, you’re not tied to a chair so I think you’ll be okay.”

She laughed. “You’re right, you’re right, but I’m just…I think I’m going to do something I’m not supposed to do.”

Castys raised an eyebrow. “Let me go because I’m funny?”

Neteri rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, so clearly she did think he was funny. “No, you’re staying put, sorry bud. But I think I’m going to keep you. You’re kind of perfect.” She tried to cup his cheek in her hand, but Castys leaned away, staring at her with wide eyes.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His mouth was really dry all of a sudden, he wasn’t perfect, he was a fuck-up, a useless heir, that had been his goal, he wasn’t good at anything he was supposed to be good at, he wasn’t well-mannered or polite, he had a huge fucking scar on his face and a lopsided smile because of it, he was filthy and vulgar and didn’t have any interest in getting married he was absolutely anything but perfect. So why the hell did she want him?

“It’s not important right now. You’ve got a big day ahead of you!” She clapped her hands, dismissing the subject entirely. He wanted to press her further, but after seeing the lovely object she pulled out of her pocket, everything else was forgotten.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aw, what are you gonna do about it, Castys? I thought you were tied to a chair!” Great, now it was his turn to feel his face grow hot, because, yeah, what the fuck was he gonna do?

Normally, he doubted he’d immediately recognize it for what it was, but today, right now, after just being told this lady wanted to keep him, it was instantly clear. And Neteri was right, he was only able to squirm uselessly and lean away as she wrapped the collar around his neck without much trouble. His first swallow after she’d sealed it shut felt horrible, and he absolutely did not want to get used to it.

“See, it’s not so bad. It looks cute on you!” She ruffled his hair, which only made Castys more uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to be cute. I’m not a fucking dog.” He wasn’t sure whether the collar was part of Neteri’s weird desires or just to humiliate him, but either way he hated it.

“No, you’re not, but you’re also not a prince anymore, and you’re the property of the Xernan Empire, and this is a good reminder of that,” Neteri said as she walked around behind him, probably to her bag. Castys rolled his eyes. He didn’t need to be reminded that he wasn’t a prince, since it was his favorite new development in all of this. Unless…unless it wasn’t just a reminder for him, but for everyone else, too…He really, really hoped there wasn’t going to be some sort of public display, but given how Neteri’d said he had a “big day” ahead…fuck, that was probably the case, huh?

“Now, I’m going to…oh, I might get in so much trouble for this,” Neteri muttered as she stared at the floor, standing in front of him once again. She had leather gloves on, which would have been nice earlier when she was touching him, and she was holding…a pair of shears? He didn’t think she’d put on gloves if she was just going to cut his hair, and given that she thought she might get in trouble for it, it seemed like she was going to…maim him somehow. Castys curled his hands into fists as Neteri slapped her cheeks with her palms, still talking to herself. “No, I’m going to do this. I deserve it. It’s not that far off from what the emperor wants. Okay,” she held the shears up and gave Castys a concerningly bright smile. “Any last words?”

For once, Castys didn’t take the opportunity to speak.

Instead, he locked his jaw shut tight, teeth clenched so hard it hurt, lips pressed together, walls of protection around his tongue. 

That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Neteri cocked her head, watching him. “Nothing to say all of a sudden? No jokes?” Her smile disappeared as her eyes narrowed. “You figured it out, didn’t you, Castys? What I’m going to do to you.”

He didn’t bother nodding.

Neteri stepped up to him, her knee on the chair in between his legs, leaning over him, her face right above his as he craned back to avoid her. “You’re going to have to get used to obeying me, Castys.” The cold metal of the shears rested on his cheek. “So open your mouth.”

If there’s one thing Castys was good at, it was disobeying orders.

After a few moments of neither of them moving, Neteri pinched Castys’s nose shut with her free hand, not saying a word. Fine, he could play that game. Hold on as the pressure in his chest built, as his head started to spin, as his vision started to darken, every fiber of his being screaming at him to just give in to the inevitable and take a breath. He could do it quick, a little gasp, fast enough that she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Okay, three, two…

The exhale was shaky, but it was fine, just a quick inhale as he snapped his mouth shut-

His teeth scraped against metal, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

Neteri stared at him with a detached coldness as she rotated the shears, forcing his jaw open wide, wide enough for her to stick her hand in and grab his tongue, pulling it out despite his attempts to pull it back, turning the shears to the side now, opening them up, the cold blades-

Snip.

Castys’s mouth was hot it was burning he was choking the smell of blood was so strong he was suffocating on it her hand was still in his mouth her fingers pressed against his wound magic piercing through his jaw he’d scream if he had the air and then that was it her hand was gone he lurched forward coughing and spitting blood and saliva all down the front of the threadbare shirt he’d been given and once he saw the discarded little piece of pink flesh on the floor he couldn’t look at anything else he couldn’t believe that was it it was gone it wasn’t in his mouth his mouth was empty there was only the blood still dripping out and when Neteri laid a hand on his back he wanted to growl at her not to touch him but he couldn’t he couldn’t say anything anymore he was quiet nothing to say no thoughts or opinions of his own just how his parents had wanted him-

“It’s alright, Castys, just breathe. It was a little more difficult than it needed to be, but you did it.” And why did it need to be at all? “Just two more things left today and then you can rest. And then hopefully…” Her hand slid up, resting on the back of his neck, on that awful collar, and Castys wanted to scream. He never, ever wanted to belong to her.

But what he wanted didn’t matter anymore.

Castys was dragged out and whipped and branded and left out on display, brought back and patched up by Neteri and given soup that he couldn’t taste, and when the door slammed shut behind her, he finally allowed himself to cry.

His back and chest hurt, of course, the wounds aggravated no matter how he moved or what position he laid in, but he could deal with it. It was nothing compared to what he’d lost, the little pocket of empty space inside his mouth.

Words were all he’d ever have to really fight back, complaining when he was forced to do things he didn’t want to, scaring off all the suitors his parents picked out, jokes keeping him calm when he was scared or upset, even when he couldn’t do anything he could still say something, make sure everyone knew how he felt, and now he was more helpless than ever before and he couldn’t say a single fucking thing. 

He didn’t even know where he was going to end up, either sold off to some asshole or left in Neteri’s clutches, and no matter what, he wasn’t going to be treated like a person. The collar made it pretty clear. He was less than human now, a pet, a lab rat, property, something that didn’t need to have thoughts or opinions anymore. 

He’d rather be a prince after all.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump 

@starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump​ 

@painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​

@whumpedydump

[illusion-of-sea-axes]

Your eyes used to be brown, right, Tucker?

[stevieraebarnes]

No Brakes This Time, I Slit the Line

jaydick | T+ | 8k words

Here it is: the F1 au I've been working on for years. Finished with the help of @justtoarguewithyou and the @jaydick-week WIP bash 🎉🎉🎉

[cowgurrrl]

Raining in June

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: I’m as surprised as you are tbh

Summary: “Nothing is better than to live a storyless life that needs no writing for meaning— when I am gone, let others say they lost a happy man, though no one can tell how happy I was.” - Missed Time by Ha Jin, aka you and Joel get married

Warnings: none but this is unedited and is going straight from my notes app to tumblr so good luck

Unlike most things in your life, there’s not much to the story. There are no nitty-gritty details or descriptions of gore to tell. No names said with a reverence reserved for the dead. No emotional distance. It was just a Tuesday morning. It’d been raining and small mudslides near the mountains made some people nervous. Not you. You and Joel were tucked away in your bedroom as Ellie slept down the hall and cold rain knocked on the windowpanes like an uninvited guest.

You woke up around the same time, each with your own little gasps and starts as you breached consciousness. He wrapped you in his arms and hummed contently when you kissed his jaw. You talked quietly about how you slept, the rain, Ellie’s parent-teacher conference, and whatever else was on your mind that early. It was normal. You didn’t think anything was off when you got up to go to the bathroom.

The orange light of the vanity was too harsh for your eyes and you had to squint as you washed your hands. You remembered thinking you needed to go to the store for toothpaste or a new set of razors for Joel. You were about to ask Joel what else he needed when you stepped out of the door but the look on his face stopped you. He shifted from lying down to sitting on the edge of the bed, the weight of the world seemingly heavy on his shoulders. Big, emotional eyes stared into yours and something in the air shifted. You couldn’t describe it. Something was just different. He was different.

“Marry me.” He said so softly you swore you misheard it.

“What?”

“Marry me,” he said again and opened his hand, beckoning you to him. You went to him, took his big hand in yours, and his thumb immediately rubbed against your skin. “I don’t have a big, fancy ring or anythin’, but I’ll work and I’ll get you one. I’ll give you whatever you want. I will, I swear it. And I know I’m not a half good enough man to get to marry you but I love you,” he smiled big and crooked. “And I kinda think you love me too. Unless I’m crazy?”

“Not about that.” You laughed and he did too. It was bright and happy. You remember the way it made your heart flutter.

“So, whaddya think? Will you marry me?” He finally asked. You must’ve nodded or said yes or something because suddenly you were both smiling and kissing and the world felt like yours.

There’s not much to the story. There wasn’t a ring or a secret party waiting downstairs. You cried and kissed and laughed. But it was just you two in your bedroom surrounded by the sounds of a thunderstorm and warmth. That’s all you needed. When Ellie woke up, you told her the plan. She was just excited she got out of school for it. Together, the three of you went down to the George’s metal shop and asked him to make rings. Nothing special. Just simple gold bands to fit on your left fingers. Still, when you tried them on, both of you smiled like idiots.

Ellie grabbed Tommy and Maria as you two walked hand-in-hand to the courthouse. Tommy had about a million questions, starting with, “when the fuck did you even propose?” Joel just laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. Maria called you crazy. You didn’t deny it. When the registrar called your names, you, Joel, and your posse stepped up with you.

There’s not much to the story. There weren’t any flowers or cake. You weren’t even wearing white. Ellie served as ring bearer, person of honor, and witness. You held Joel’s hands and repeated the vows the officiant fed to you before slipping his new ring on. He did the same, even winking at you when he put your ring on. You kissed. Ellie and Tommy signed their names on your marriage license, and that was it.

So, one day, years down the line, when Charlie asks, “what was it like when you and Dad got married?” You’ll laugh and catch Joel’s eyes from across the kitchen table. He’ll wear his glasses to read and you’ll both be graying. And he’ll wink at you before returning to his book, smirking to himself. You’ll look at your daughter who looks too much like your husband and shrug.

“You know, there’s not much to the story.”

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha

[heich0e]

aran second in command right hand man 🫡 what about suna...

i've said it before and i'll say it again yakuza!aran is the most eligible of all of the inarizaki bachelors because he's the most normal, all things considered.

suna's the same rank roughly as the miyas. like a guard dog that gets sent out to keep problems at bay. but unlike the miyas he's rabid.

[tar-maitime]

rearrange the stars, pull them down to where you are

Rating: G Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekano, Ereinion Gil-galad Additional: modern AU, baby fic, surprise baby acquisition WC: 1k

For @russingonweek Day 4 - Peace Prompt - Fluff

“Finno?”

He could hear Maedhros coming in and shutting the apartment door behind her. “In here, Russe!” he called from the kitchen.

Fingon had gotten a start on fixing supper after she’d texted, during his own commute home, that she’d be a bit late home from work. This was a much less frequent occurrence since she’d gone to work for (of all people) his dad’s firm, so he hadn’t worried, and now he couldn’t imagine what could have her sounding so hesitant and half-guilty.

Then he turned as she entered the kitchen, and lost his train of thought entirely.

Maedhros was holding a baby.

“Russe...” he began, and then had no clue where to go from there. The baby wasn’t theirs, he was almost positive; aside from the fact that he would’ve noticed Maedhros being pregnant, they’d been starting to suspect that she couldn’t have kids, at least not easily. It was wrapped up in a grimy bluish blanket and was fussing quietly, while Maedhros automatically soothed it even as she looked at Fingon helplessly. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said. “There - there used to be a baby drop box down the street from my office, but it moved a few months ago. I was walking home and this woman came along who I suppose was looking for it. But when she couldn’t find it she just turned and handed me the baby. I swear I’d never seen her before in my life; I have no clue why she handed me her newborn, but when I tried to hand him back or even get an explanation, she just said, ‘It’s you or nothing.’ Then she turned and walked away.”

Fingon blinked down at the baby in Maedhros’ arms. It - he - was slightly squashed and red in the way all newborns were, but was fundamentally adorable, with a tiny fuzz of dark curls already. He couldn’t grasp why anyone would be able to just give him up.

Oh, no.

He looked away from the baby for a moment and finally registered the shopping bags hanging off of Maedhros’ arms. “Did you...go load up on baby stuff?”

Maedhros flushed red. “Kind of. Yeah. A lot. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have --”

“-- tried to navigate all that with a baby and without calling me in as a second pair of hands?” Fingon finished smoothly, and Maedhros did a double take. “Russe, he’s beautiful. Of course you want to keep him.”

“There’s no way it’ll work,” Maedhros said miserably. “We can’t just - sooner or later someone besides us would have to know about it - if nothing else when we take him to a hospital to get checked up - and then there’ll be a pile of legal stuff and they won’t let us keep him. He’ll end up in the system or something and --”

“And then we can do our best to make sure we’re the ones to adopt him,” Fingon said gently, placing a calming hand on her arm. “Or, honestly, we could claim a distant cousin gave him to us because she couldn’t cope; that’d give us a better claim.”

“If they did a genetic test...”

“Adopted cousin,” Fingon added. “Russe, I can see how much you want this baby. Any fool could. And I love you, and I already love him, and I will help you do whatever it takes, all right?”

Maedhros’ shoulders slumped slightly. “You’re insane, you know that? Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Well, you knew that going in.” Fingon wrapped an arm around her to hold her and the baby both. “And I know you were coming up with plans and ideas yourself the whole way home, so why don’t you tell me about them, while I help you clean him up and set things up.”

***

Two months, several legal consultations, and a stunning amount of paperwork later:

“It’s a good thing I went to work for your dad when I did,” Maedhros commented, hoisting their now-official son onto her hip. “Can you imagine Bauglir and Gorthaur letting me work from home this much? And I know for a fact their maternity leave policy was the worst.”

Fingon grinned, leaning over to claim the baby and steal a kiss on the way. “Well, I’m certainly glad it was my dad you switched to,” he returned, “since he’s willing to enforce me getting my share of Gil days. It’s my turn today, remember? And we’ll be just fine. No hair-brained mischief.”

Maedhros blinked. “Is it Thursday? I could have sworn it was Wednesday.”

“It’s definitely Thursday. My day,” Fingon assured.”

Maedhros’ eyes narrowed. “There’s no way it’s Thursday already. Are you sure you aren’t trying to trick me?”

“As generous as Sulimo’s been about my working from home, I don’t think he’d go along with this kind of prank,” Fingon said dryly. “We’ve been getting up a lot lately with Gil and you’re tired, is all. See, look.”

He held up his phone, and they both stared at the date on the screen before nearly collapsing into laughter.

“Well, I was right that it couldn’t be Thursday yet,” Maedhros finally said, wiping away tears of mirth, “but I think we’re both tired from getting up all night.”

“Perhaps,” Fingon conceded. “But more importantly - it’s Tuesday, so I still get Gil for the day.”

“All right, you win.” Maedhros let out a mock-put-upon sigh. “Just for that, watch me bring home another random surprise baby.”

They both snorted at that, but Fingon raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Something you haven’t been telling me, Russe?”

Maedhros shook her head firmly. “Oh, no. I promise. No more for at least a couple of years, remember? I did agree.”

“Fair enough.” Fingon raised Gil’s tiny chubby fist. “Wave goodbye to Amme, Gil. She’s got to go fight the forces of evil.”

“Ah, yes, the dread powers of darkness known as legal depositions,” Maedhros said, deadpan. She kissed each of them quickly. “If I survive the great battle to come, I’ll see you tonight. Love you both.”

“Love you, too. So does Gil, even if he can’t say it yet.”

“That’s all right.” Maedhros smiled down at their son once more before she turned to go. “I know anyway.”

[voidbeau]

🌿Promises, Promises🌹

---

Thorn x Mr. Flower fic i wrote spontaneously for me. i need.

so sorry if some things don't make sense lmaooo

Mild hurt/comfort, mild angst, some fluff, mentions of blood and injury.

Thorn and Mr. Flower have a conversation about some things.

---

As per usual, when it happened, he hadn't been told much.

Workers in the manor sprinted to and fro and much to Mr. Flower's annoyance, grew hushed whenever he'd draw near.

It was all the same vague answer.

"There was an accident." Said the maid, the nurse and even the bodyguards who were often the ones dragging a half beaten Thorn in from god knows where.

And never did the explanations come with any further details.

So there Mr. Flower stood, in the middle of the foyer, body as tense as his face was stern.

Nurses stood at the ready, quietly and uncomfortably whispering to each other.

It seemed they were called on short notice and they themselves had only been apprised of so much regarding Thorn's recent situation.

Or so Mr. Flower was told, which of course only made him that much more tense.

The gnawing anxiety that made his mind race and his stomach flip were never not the driving force behind Mr. Flower's insistence on trying to get as closely involved as possible and to drag out every detail possible from whoever he could.

Because he knew he wouldn't be getting it from Thorn.

But that wasn't going to stop him from trying and he had a few choice words for the rose man for making poor Mr. Flower worry so often.

The heavy double front doors crashed open almost at the same time the thunder rolled from outside, pulling Mr. Flower from his thoughts.

His eyes widened as he watched the now wide open front entrance intently.

The biting winds cut through the foyer and the heavy rains speckled the cold marble floor of the manor.

There, with either arm draped over the shoulders of two of his bodyguards, Stag and Leo, was Thorn.

He was a mess. Rips in his suit like he'd been attacked by a wild animal, blood dripping from freshly torn wounds, bruises on his face. His neck appeared to be missing a few of his protruding thorns as well.

Mr. Flower winced upon seeing his partner stumbling through the doors as he was.

While Mr. Flower had certainly seen Thorn, Stag and Leo struggling up the driveway, to see Thorn up close was a different matter.

Mr. Flower's ear petals closed up tightly against his head. Simultaneously, Thorn in his half alert state seemed a little startled to see Mr. Flower there with everyone else and Mr. Flower knew it was because Thorn had no intentions of letting Mr. Flower see this.

Much as it irked and confused the floral creature.

As Thorn was being held up by two different people, it was clear Thorn was unsteady for the moment. But he seemed well enough to flash Mr. Flower one of his typical toothy grins.

"Sorry I'm home so late babe, there's a- was an accident." He slurred, before completely slumping over unconscious.

Anything Mr. Flower was about to say was gone. His stomach dropped almost in tandem with Thorn's battered body. His expression had instantly gone from stern to scared.

Wordlessly, Mr. Flower rushed towards Thorn, along with the private nurses who had been notified a little earlier to be on stand by.

Nothing was said in that moment, aside from shortly phrased and direct instructions from the head nurse to promptly get Thorn to the medical wing and start treating his wounds.

It was a bit of a blur from there for Mr. Flower, all he could do was try to keep up. Admittedly he did feel somewhat under foot the entire transition from the foyer to the medical wing, but he didn't want to leave Thorn's side.

For a mercy, it seemed like most people in the manor understood that now. Especially when Mr. Flower was allowed to linger when so many times before he'd always be gently escorted out.

He wasn't sure if it was because the nurses were distracted as things were, or if everyone was aware of the nature of Mr. Flower's involvement with Thorn.

It wasn't exactly a secret, the budding romance that had grown between the two, but it wasn't something that was outwardly broadcasted either.

At least not on Mr. Flower's part. There was never any doubt of interest on Thorn's end and as such, their relationship always held a kind of ambiguity among manor staff.

But of course, folk gossiped.

Mr. Flower sighed, sitting stiffly in a chair in Thorn's room, off to the side but where he could watch the nurses as they worked.

According to one of them, Thorn had lost quite a bit of blood and on top of it was going to need to have some of his wounds stitched shut. But it seemed his private set up here in his own home was well equipped to deal with that.

No doubt that was a detail that was among the many, myiard questions Mr. Flower had for Thorn.

For now though, the rose monster was still very out cold on his hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and carefully patched up.

All that was left was to wait.

And wait Mr. Flower did- Or at least he tried.

It was already late into the night as things were and somewhere along the way, Mr. Flower had drifted off in his seat. But when he had awoken, things had quieted down considerably.

It was just him and Thorn for now, though no doubt someone would be in and out periodically to keep tabs on Thorn's vitals.

Mr. Flower yawned, quietly stretching his arms and legs out in his chair.

He scanned the room for a clock and then patted himself down to see if he had his phone on him.

Thankfully he did, flipping it open to read, "2:33 am".

Seemed Mr. Flower had been out for at least an hour, a fact backed up by the stiffness in his neck which he tried for a moment to fruitlessly massage out with his free hand.

The creature snapped his phone shut, tucking it into his back pocket as he rose to his feet.

His eyes fell upon the still unconscious form of his poor monster.

Mr. Flower approached, with almost careful steps, as if the state Thorn were in were fragile enough to be disturbed by one wrong move.

Mr. Flower knew Thorn better than that of course, but it was still difficult to see him in such bad shape.

It had been one of the worst conditions Thorn had ever come home in since Mr. Flower began working with him months ago. Every time Mr. Flower struggled to extract details from Thorn and every time Mr. Flower was met with insistence that he needn't be so concerned over the incidents.

"It was just a minor scuffle! Don't you worry your pretty little petals over it, alright?" Thorn's voice rang through Mr. Flower's head as he recalled a conversation they had had during the first few weeks of Mr. Flower's employment with Thorn.

"Well these minor scuffles seem to be happening more often. Just this week you've gone through two different vehicles because one was covered in bullet holes and the other was almost completely shredded!" Mr. Flower replied, his voice raised slightly, "it was like a beast had sunk its claws into it! What on earth are you doing out there?" Mr. Flower demanded, arms crossed as he stood before Thorn's desk.

The rose monster scoffed, flashing Mr. Flower an unbothered grin as he shrugged in response.

"What can I say, Void's a wild place." Thorn said, all too casually, reaching into one of the side drawers of his desk and retrieving a pack of smokes.

Mr. Flower was not the least bit amused.

He watched with a frown and knitted brows as Thorn lit a cigarette for himself, taking a long drag as he remained reclined in his large leather office chair, bandaged and bruised for the fourth time in almost a month.

"You'd think by now you'd learn to at least be a bit more careful." Mr. Flower muttered, the intensity of his gaze barely waning.

Thorn's however expression however, did soften from an almost teasing grin to a much more empathetic smile as he happily gazed back at his fiery flower.

"C'mere..." Thorn said, sitting upright in his chair as he beckoned Mr. Flower over.

Mr. Flower hesitated for a moment before he dropped his arms and made his way around Thorn's desk to stand before him.

Without warning, Thorn reached for Mr. Flower's hands, gripping them in his own gloved ones as he looked him in the eyes with such a reassuring smile.

"I promise you love, if it there was anything you needed to be concerned about you'd be the first to know."

That was what he had the gall to tell Mr. Flower all those months prior to this moment, but as Mr. Flower looked on the unconscious Thorn, one hand gripping his other arm nervously, he felt ill.

Whatever was driving Thorn to keep putting himself in these dangerous situations felt like something Mr. Flower should already know about.

"So much for that promise..." Mr. Flower said under his breath, his petals falling slightly just as his shoulders did.

It was late enough as it was, and it seemed to Mr. Flower that Thorn was likely going to stay out for the rest of the night.

Seeing as Mr. Flower was confident the nurses had things in order the tired creature felt he had no further reason to stick around.

Thorn was for the moment safe and that was all Mr. Flower could ask for but, just as he turned to make his exit he felt a firm, warm grip encompass the wrist closest to Thorn's bed.

Mr. Flower's ear petals perked and he jumped slightly, but quickly composed himself as he turned to face Thorn who still lay with his eyes closed.

His chest rose and fell steadily, then expanded in one big inhale as the wound riddled monster took a deep breath, as if he were just waking up from a harmless nap.

Thorn turned his head towards Mr. Flower, his spiral eyes fluttering open and he dared to greet Mr. Flower with such a soft smile.

It was of course, quite irksome for the creature then to find himself responding with such an overwhelming wave of affection and of course, true relief to see the rose monster awake again.

"How long was I out..?" Thorn asked, yawning as he spoke.

So annoyingly casual as usual, but perhaps that was a good thing in this case.

"Couple of hours." Said Mr. Flower. He looked at Thorn's blood bag, roughly a quarter of the way gone. "A nurse will probably be in soon to check in on you."

"Great. What time is it?" Thorn asked, head lolling back onto the bed as his eyes fluttered shut. Drowsy most likely.

"Almost three in the morning." Said Mr. Flower.

A thoughtful and affirming "hm" left Thorn's chest as the hand that rested on Mr. Flower's wrist gently and ever so slightly, worked its way up and down the creature's forearm.

Mr. Flower's ear petals twitched at the warm sensation of Thorn's hand on him. He almost wanted to grab the stupid thing and intertwine those fingers with his own.

But he had his priorities.

"It's late. You should be resting." Thorn mumbled.

Mr. Flower tensed lightly at that. "Can't. Needed to be here to make sure you were okay." He said. His voice still soft, quiet, but there was a subtle bite to the statement.

Thorn's eyes opened again, his hand stopping but still lingering on Mr. Flower's wrist as he met with Mr. Flower's sullen gaze.

Thorn seemed to contemplate something for a moment and for that moment, Mr. Flower braced himself for Thorn to make light of the situation as he normally did.

"I'm sorry." Were the unexpected words to leave Thorn's mouth, leaving Mr. Flower noticeably stunned for a second.

He quirked a brow as if questioning the validity of the simple claim or to wait for some sort of addendum. But nothing of the sort came.

Thorn sighed as a sad half smile brushed across his face and he shrugged somewhat.

"Well don't look so surprised, sweetheart." He said, "Look, I know I put you through a lot, and maybe things seem hard to understand right now, but I promise it'll all make sense." Thorn said, trying to adjust himself in his bed so that he might be able to sit upright, but was impeded by the sudden sharp and searing pain of his wounds.

Thorn grunted in pain and Mr. Flower grimaced along with him, as he sighed and shook his head.

"I don't understand why you can't just tell me what you're doing." He said in exasperation. "Do you not trust me? Have I not been good enough for you in all of this?" He went on, sounding more desperate as he spoke.

Thorn wanted to stop him, but struggled to get his voice out over the pain as he tried to settle back down in his bed.

He was forced to sit and listen, his hand leaving Mr. Flower's wrist to rest on his stomach.

"It's been almost two years since I met you, and almost a year since I started getting involved in your 'work'", Mr. Flower spat, "...but the only thing I've understood is that you don't want to tell me the full story of what it is you're actually doing around here! What is it all for!?" Mr. Flower went on. "And is it really worth all this?" Mr. Flower desperately questioned, motioning to the entirety of Thorn's bruised and tattered form as the rose monster sighed pathetically in place.

Thorn winced, finally finding a comfortable position, then looked up at his angry flower and simply smiled through knitted brows.

"Well, I think you make a lot of things worth it honestly" He said simply, and Mr. Flower's frown deepened.

"Don't. Don't make this out like this is all for me." He said bitingly, shaking his head as he spoke.

A soft breathy single laugh left Thorn's lips as he barely had to think about it.

"In a sense." He said, his gaze wandering to the floor for a bit, "I would have given up a long time ago if I hadn't met you." Said Thorn thoughtfully, fondly even.

Mr. Flower's frown softened and while his crown of petals drooped sadly, his ear petals had perked ever so slightly.

He was already feeling the creeping, annoying defeat crawling up his back as he looked at Thorn, who looked back with sudden unwavering enthusiasm.

"Maybe it was better we never met then." Mr. Flower tried to say, but the horribly optimistic look in his monster's spiral eyes ignited that terrible, comforting warmth inside of Mr. Flower. Like for a second, he could believe that maybe things would be okay.

"Can't really imagine things without you love." Thorn had the gall to say. "And that's why I need you to trust me." He said so boldly, so confidently. That ambition that fuelled Thorn constantly day in and day out was hardly obstructed by the state he was in and by whatever encounter had put him in it.

The way Thorn always looked at Mr. Flower made him wonder if he really was somehow at fault for that awful inextinguishable flame.

"I-... You're not giving me a lot to work with." Mr. Flower sighed, "not when you constantly leave me in the dark and leave me wondering if the next time I'm going to see you is in a body bag." He said with a heavy sigh, crossing his arms as his shoulders fell.

"Ha! you're not getting rid of me that easy." Thorn said as his usual sharp toothed grin returned to him in full.

Mr. Flower took a moment to take it in, feeling some tension leave him as he did. And still...

"I wish I could believe that."

Thorn's grin softened to a warm smile as he reached out for Mr. Flower's hand, who acquiesced after a moment's hesitation, ear petals pulled back yet still fanned out slightly.

"Well sweetheart, I haven't died yet," Thorn said matter-of-factly, "and I promise I have no intentions of dying before my plans are through." He finished with a grin, ending the claim with an assuring squeeze to Mr. Flower's hand.

The creature sighed and allowed himself to give way to a soft smile, still adorned with knitted brows but he smiled all the same. To the best of his ability.

"Fine, but that's a promise." Said Mr. Flower, and as Thorn planted a kiss on his hand he replied, "That's a promise."

Just as their conversation had come to an end, one of the nurses entered the room, her heels clicking steadily against the tile floor.

She came to an abrupt and slightly startled halt when she saw Mr. Flower with a very awake and seemingly alert Thorn.

"Oh-! I hope I'm not interrupting." She said, her eyes flicking between the two lovers. "I just came in to check up on things.

"Oh of course. I was just leaving." Mr. Flower said with a polite smile.

"It's probably for the best. It's late and you should get some rest." Thorn added, "I'll see you in the morning?" He went onto question, still holding onto Mr. Flower's hand, caressing it with his thumb.

"Yeah, of course. Good night." He said gently, giving Thorn one last affectionate gaze. But Thorn wasn't entirely satisfied with that, not until he abruptly pulled Mr. Flower forward and down enough for a quick kiss and a quiet "I love you" between them, knowing Mr. Flower wasn't always the fondest of open displays of affection.

So Thorn kept it brief and chuckled a little when he watched his flower exit the room a little bit flustered as the border collie nurse looked on with a stoic face but a wagging tail.

No doubt she'd have a lot to tell the other nurses later.

[doodlingwren]

The brainrot is speaking... I need to create a side account for my DnD AU of Saint Seiya or I might turn evil for real this time

[kazz-brekker]

somewhat annoyed by a post that keeps crossing my path about how deadpool and wolverine is a really queer movie because there are so many other places to seek out meaningful queer representation other than the mcu, particularly a film where the marketing seemed to boil down to "lol isn't it funny to market this movie starring two guys like a rom-com" and also as as an x-men comic connoisseur i am fully aware that, despite what i would wish, the 616 wolverine is not canonically queer and neither is gambit

[snowangeldotmp3]

hello, back again with more supergirl robin! this was also written a little while ago, but idk i might actually pick this au back up sometime, just for funsies. who knows.

Supergirl takes a deep breath.

“I spent so much of my life trying to fit in and be normal. Not to draw any attention to myself, to make myself smaller and fit into this box that everyone else seemed to fit in to. And I could never make it work. No matter what I did, or how hard I tried, it’s like everyone knew there was something… different about me. 'Course, they just thought I was a little weird, not that I was a literal space alien.”

Nancy smiles softly, something warm stirring in her when Supergirl grins back at her. She understands, kind of. Of expectations and following them and fitting into a box you’re not meant for. She gets it. 

Supergirl continues. “And it’s hard, you know? All of that weight on your shoulders. Especially at fifteen years old. Like high school isn’t already hell on Earth.

“But then I think you get to this point where the dam just, breaks, you know? There’s a point where you have to realize that you will never fit in, you’ll never be what they want you to be. So you have to make that choice. Do I want to keep pretending to be what I’m not? Or do I live as myself, regardless of others think?”

Nancy nods, humming in agreement. She hadn’t expected Supergirl to be so profound. She’d fully prepared for this to be a ‘never meet your heroes’ moment. That it was all an act with Supergirl, that she put on this persona of hope, help, and compassion for all, that once the cameras stopped rolling, or nobody else was there to see it, she'd be a completely different person.

She's not. 

Nancy wants to be surprised that Supergirl’s so genuine. She should be surprised, especially since she was so worried. But it just rolls off of her. Nancy doesn’t write this down, the whole interview is recorded anyway, but there’s just something so personal about this, that she knows it would take away from the moment. She can’t help but be drawn in by Supergirl’s words, either. It’s magnetic, hypnotizing, and weirdly inspiring.

Supergirl crosses her arms, leaning against the balcony facing Nancy. “It’s not easy to be yourself, but it lifts that weight off your shoulder,” she pauses, and a chuckle escapes her. “Sorry, it’s just… It’s funny, you see it everywhere, too. ‘Be yourself,’ she air quotes. “But they don’t mean it. It’s ‘be yourself’ until you’re too weird or too gay or, hell, not from here. It’s a marketed version of yourself. Which is worse, I think.

“But it’s hard sometimes to be honest with yourself. To figure out who you are and where you fit. Sometimes you don’t fit, sometimes you have to carve out a space for yourself and say, ‘No. I do belong here.’”

And it’s…wow. The emotion in Supergirl’s eyes, it’s raw. Nancy can tell this is not some hokey hope and acceptance speech. This is, was, Supergirl’s life.

Nancy does write that down. 

She wants to say something. Something smart and intelligible and how Nancy agrees with everything and how she understands where she’s coming from. 

Except…

The only thing Nancy’s mind seems to focus on is the fact that Supergirl is gay.

Nancy remains quiet, taking in and processing the information that’s just spilled in front of her, ignoring the way her face heats up the longer she thinks about it. About how Hawkins' one and only superhero, is gay. Supergirl must take this as a bad sign, because she’s quickly filling the silence again. “Sorry. For rambling like that. It’s like my brain just decided to word vomit.” She winces, arms crossing over her chest, caving into herself.

For a moment, Nancy is reminded of Robin, of rambling words and hands moving while she talks. She can see why they’d be good friends. 

“No! No, don’t worry about it at all.” Nancy crosses her arms, forgetting the notebook. “I get it, actually. Trying to be something you aren’t.”

Supergirl quirks a brow. “Really?”

Nancy nods. “Like you said, High school’s hell on earth. I thought I could balance being the perfect daughter and the perfect student and the perfect girlfriend. And I couldn’t. I was living a lie.”

She doesn’t give her the full story. Supergirl might be open and genuine and able to talk about all these things, but Nancy is not. Some of these wounds are still fresh, Nancy’s walls are still up. Besides, this is supposed to be a professional interview, not a sleepover where they share their deepest, darkest secrets.

Supergirl must see through some of it, see some of Nancy’s pain. Or maybe she’s just an empath. Maybe that’s a secret power she has. She places a firm hand over Nancy’s, and whispers, “I’m sorry.” 

And it’s so warm and gentle and heartfelt that Nancy… Nancy doesn’t know what to make of it, but she knows she’s got to change the subject. Fast. She cannot develop a crush on Supergirl.

[averlym]

pleaaase may i have 28 and 29 aramour angst ✨ i crave it

28: “Move out of my way before I make you.” // 29: “You deserve better.” (prompt list here)

click for better quality!

[justanothergeneralkrow]

The World of Sayuri: A Palace of Humility

Palace Ruler: Humilitas Kitagawa

Yusuke’s palace is a fledged out world of the Sayuri painting made up of colorful buildings and flowing landscapes. Everything is a perfect still, a perfect piece of inspiration for an artist’s landscape painting. Simultaneously made of real, or more accurately realistic seeming objects, and of careful brush strokes. A world that is never static and constantly reconfiguring itself to suit and inspire every single cognition housed within it. The palace was made as a hub of artistic expression with Yusuke encouraging his constituents to work on different pieces of art year round to be presented at the large and ornate Arts Festival where the pieces can be critiqued by other artists. This event is how the palace citizens negotiate their social standing, by 1. Creating iconic, masterful and deeply meaningful pieces of art or 2. Becoming the great critiques of art and helping to elevate the vision of other artists through meaningful advice and critique. The main goal of the festival as stated by Yusuke himself is to celebrate different forms of art and help the artists improve so that they can make better and better pieces.

Unfortunately for Yusuke his palace plans didn’t go as planned, a small group of the artists grew sharper tongues and their critiques became malicious. Rather than appreciating the pieces and looking at the ways the artist has either failed to fully portray their ideas or ways to improve their technique. This new group of artists began to champion Yusuke’s art as the best and deviation from his style and technique was seen as bad form. Their structured mindset became popular and started to spread among the other cognitions and Yusuke responded by sectioning off his palace into different tiers. This causes Yusuke to go from a passionate mentor of his subjects to a lackadaisical artist who only appears during the Arts Festival. To enter the deeper areas of the palace a test was set up where a painting by Yusuke would be presented and the person or people viewing the work would be tasked with critiquing the piece. Those who made critiques that furthered and met Yusuke’s goal for his palace would be allowed to go further. There were three palace segments and of course this means there are subsequently three tests.

The first test presents a painting titled “Of Sun and Wine” which depicts Yusuke drinking wine from Dionysus’ hands and basking in the light of Apollo’s sun. The second test presents a painting titled “Rebirth” which depicts the Shibuya Teikyu Building Accessway with warm sunlight shining through the accessway windows, a black cat with a yellow collar and blue eyes laying on the floor sleeping and absent of people and vehicles. The third and final test presents a painting titled “IS DESTINY MADNESS” which depicts Yusuke and Madarame’s face melding together with Yusuke’s face contorted into a terrified expression and Madarame’s smiling maniacally with sweat dripping from his forehead.

The first test has been passed by a majority of the palace goers, the second test has been passed by a minority of the palace goers and no one has been able to pass through the third test. The test presents the Infiltrators with a variety of ways to explore further into the palace depths. It is possible to get through the palace by never participating in the test instead fighting their way through the guards. However this will prevent them from gaining access to equipment that will let them enter rooms that give access to Yusuke’s will seeds. The rooms are themed around the artists: Yayoi Kusama, Takashi Murakami and Chiharu Shiota.

Within Yusuke’s palace his treasure takes the form of an ornate paint brush hidden under the floorboards of his private painting room. When the Infiltrators arrive to steal the treasure the roof of the room opens and Yusuke snatches the brush away from them, the walls falling to open into a battlefield. The brush grows in size becoming the length of a spear and Yusuke unveils his persona, St Francis of Assisi.

Finally Yusuke himself appears in the palace reclining on floating clouds wearing a painted obi and an elongated Yukata that trains behind him. He wears his hair up with a topper to accentuate the hairstyle and a bit of hair covering one eye. Additionally he wears a face of makeup inspired by traditional Japanese makeup.