#my art wouldn't exist without her

[chasseusedetoiles]

he must like me for me

twisted wonderland

rookvil

first/third year rookvil

2129 words

did a little thing with them, couldn't help but imagine how Vil felt during the time Rook decided to transfer to Pomefiore, and especially how he felt seeing Rook with his new hairstyle!! I love headcanoning Vil as the one who actually gave Rook the haircut...let's see if you like this! many thanks to @oncloudatlas for beta-ing this fic and for the lovely banner!💘💘💘

english is not my first language, please remember to be kind!❤️‍🩹

and lastly, enjoy!

It happened so fast his body registered it even before his mind.

There was a sudden breeze, the window opening, and the unmistakable sound of his feet touching the ground. It didn’t matter if there were many saying his steps didn’t produce any sound, saying he resembled more a ghost than a person. Vil heard his footsteps. Vil learnt to recognize the creak sound of Rook’s worn-out boots on the marble, the dull thud of his soles on the refined carpets of Pomefiore’s dorm. Vil learnt to perceive him, maybe in a way that was solely fabricated by his mind.

He still felt Rook was there.

“I wonder if you’re some kind of an expert in the art of cutting someone’s hair.”

Rook jumped in his room passing through the window, and Vil thought on how much he was lucky, that none of his roommates were present at the moment. If the dorm discovered the presence of a Savanaclaw student between its wall, little time would have passed for the entirety of Pomefiore to cease its existence. Not that Vil cared. After all, Rook didn’t possess a single pound of the arrogance of that dorm’s members. There was no need for his dormmates to lose their minds over Rook. 

Vil turned a little, abandoning his studies. If his roommates had plenty of time to adjust to magic, as their powers awakened at an early stage, Vil discovered them later. That world, for him, was completely new, and vast somehow. He struggled a bit in not falling behind, but luckily enough he didn’t have to sacrifice precious hours of sleep to study. He seemed, according to the professors, that magic came natural to him as it was breathing. 

However, Vil didn’t intend to slack off because of their praises, otherwise his reputation would’ve been affected in an irreparable way.

“I’m not an expert to the point I would trust myself with my own hair” Vil started saying. He moved the chair a little to look at Rook. Even thought the colors of the Savanaclaw uniform were so bright and warm in comparison to Pomefiore’s furniture, Rook seemed to him more at ease in the dorm than Pomefiore’s student directly selected by the Dark Mirror. Rook didn’t posses a single trace of fear in his eyes. There was only pure audacity, and maybe a bit of recklessness. Could there be someone without any glimpse of fear in his heart?

“But I’m quite good at cutting other’s hair for sure.”

“Merveilleux!” 

Rook got closer to him, and Vil caught him unrolling the page of a magazine hidden in his jeans’ pocket. But Vil got distracted by Rook’s scent. It was strong and stinging. Rook wasn’t really accustomed to perfumes, yet his scent seemed to mingle with the environment he immersed himself in. Rook smelled of musk, now. Of earth. Of rain. Which was bizarre, as in the campus rain wasn’t frequent. Especially in Savanaclaw. Vil came to know that the weather was controlled by a special barrier placed all around the school; rain, as snow too, was annoying to many, but the headmaster didn’t want them to forget the natural course of seasons, or something similar.

Vil would never forget that scent. Rook seemed to bathe in those perfumes who knew where, even if his dorm was known for the dry climate typical of the savanna.

Maybe it was, again, a joke of his own mind.

“How do you believe I would look with this haircut?”

Rook showed him the model’s profile printed in the page. The model’s hair was styled in a short bob, the effect simple but elegant. Near the main photo there was another one, with the haircut before the bob; the model had been completely transformed, as if he was under some kind of spell.

Vil’s eyes moved from the magazine to Rook, his mind trying to capture how the young man would’ve looked like with the new style.

How unfortunate, he caught himself thinking. Vil had, at least, the decency to not speaking his mind out loud. Rook’s hair was a disaster, burnt because of the sun and the lack of care. This didn’t mean his hair was ugly, though.  Rook’s hair was the color of the mature wheat, of the sun; it exuded warmth and strength together, even though everything appeared to the eye as a messy nest made by a distracted bird. Vil didn’t have any doubt; with the right care, Rook’s hair would’ve shined more than a diamond.

So, when Rook had proposed the new cut to him, Vil couldn’t help but thinking it.

How unfortunate. 

Thinking it, not saying it out loud. Not allowing his thoughts to gain a voice.

“I believe it would work fine” Vil found himself answering, in a cautious tone. Not to ruin Rook’s excitement, no. It seemed it was more to handle himself, actually.

“But it’s a very radical change. Are you sure?”

Rook was about to start jumping from joy. It was as if Vil’s next words missed his mind completely. Rook focused on his approval only, and Vil didn’t quite grasp why that excitement of Rook made him feel uncomfortable. He thought…no, it wasn’t a matter of importance. Vil silenced those words in his head, and came back to Rook.

“However, we will need a private space for the haircut. I can’t do it here, nor we can’t in your dorm. Only the Seven know how those beasts of your dormmates would react. I’m going to book the alchemy lab. You’re kindly requested to not being late.”

But he didn’t even have time to finish his sentences that Rook already vanished from the window, the door opening only to reveal one his roommates coming in. In the place once stood Rook, there was now a freshly picked rose. Vil collected the flower before someone could see it.

Professor Crewel was always delighted to leave the laboratory in the hand of a capable Pomefiore student, but he seemed even more pleased if Vil was the one asking for it. If that was for Vil’s reputation as a model or for his brilliant talent in alchemy, the boy couldn’t tell. He didn’t even care about it, actually. Vil only wanted to find a place to complete his task without interruptions.

Now, Rook sat diligently in front of a mirror, waiting patiently for Vil to start his work. They left the magazine’s photo on a stand so Vil could check it whenever he needed to. 

Vil felt agitated, but he knew he needed to calm himself, or Rook would’ve noticed it. Rook would notice his tension, that indecision of his, as if it was Vil the one under the scissors’ razors, and not Rook that was happy enough to sing a little tune.

“Why this decision so suddenly?” Vil asked in order to distract himself, to cover the sound of the scissors cutting the first lock. A bunch of frizzy hair fell to the ground, and Vil was almost scared to look at it. Why was he behaving in a such odd manner?

“Is it perhaps related to that scrappy idea of yours to change dorm?”

Rook talked about it to Vil before winter break. It had been a surreal conversation, ended in Rook filling the air with his laugh. 

Wouldn’t you love to have me as one of your dormmates? he asked with eyes shining fearless, eyes who belonged to someone who knew what he wanted, who knew how to obtain it even if it meant fighting an ancient magical artifact like the Dark Mirror.

No, Vil had answered, perplexed by Rook’s idea of following him in Pomefiore.

Rook then laughed, laughed against Vil’s eyes becoming more confuse, lost. For what reason you want to transfer to Pomefiore? Vil tormented himself with that question day and night long. You won’t like being too much near me.

That, he had never said it. Vil didn’t dare giving that thought a voice not even in his own dreams. Rook was the first person after a long time with whom created a sort of bond, if their talking, looking out for each other could’ve been defined like that. Rook was the first peer that didn’t stutter in his own words while talking to him, or that didn’t look at him with haughtiness, as if to protect himself from a light Vil was unable to see. 

Damn, even Pomefiore prefect seemed uneasy every time Vil talked to him. Rook had never had any problems with him.

But they knew each other so little-Vil didn’t know every thing about Rook, and Rook didn’t know every thing about Vil- and Vil thought, subconsciously, that it was supposed to be like that, to stay like that. That if Rook would dare to get too much closer to Vil, he would’ve discovered Vil’s light was actually an enormous expanse of darkness. Vil felt uncomfortable because Rook’s unpredictability made him uncomfortable. In a world where he managed to contain himself and his emotions, Rook made him derail from his tracks without leaving Vil the time to collect himself again. 

“That is not the only reason, I must admit it” that was Rook’s answer. The young man lowered his head without protesting when Vil pushed it abruptly.

“I believe I need a change of style. To hunt better, to enjoy the landscape during my walks, to change dorm. For myself.”

“For yourself” Vil echoed, perplexed. He doubted Rook was doing it solely for himself, but decided to not stress it.

“I honestly fail to imagine how my prefect would react” Vil kept going, in that plan of his to make Rook desist on his transfer. The headmaster, despite the initial shock, gave his approval, and Savanaclaw seemed ready to launch a party anytime soon after the news. Vil was left alone in that battle of persuading Rook to simply give up. To let Rook know that Vil wasn’t very enthusiastic about his transfer.

However, Rook was able to read Vil’s heart more than Vil was.

“These are not problems that concern me” Rook commented with eyes closed as Vil was fixing his bangs. They would turn out shorter than they were in the magazine, but time would’ve helped in letting them grow at the wanted length.

“They’re gonna hate you a lot” Vil kept saying.

You’re gonna hate me a lot, were the words stuck in his throat.

“I’ll survive” Rook laughed. For a brief moment, Vil felt that the sound of the scissors stopped burdening his heart.

-third year

A lot of time had passed since the day Vil fixed Rook’s hair. His overblot, then S.T.Y.X., and then again the Malleus’s thing got in between their ritual, and Vil felt the desperate need to resume that. Vil cancelled the club’s activities -it was a Friday, and the weather was nice enough to organize a little trip to the beach- and then called Rook in his own room to have him all for himself. 

Rook now sat in front of his desk mirror, with Vil checking for the haircut to turn out correctly.

From the balcony they came sounds of birds chipping, and the soft warmth of summer approaching.

“If we continue like that, you won’t be able to see a thing” Vil said. Rook kept himself still under Vil’s expert movements in the bangs fixing. They were now so long they  passed the line of Rook’s eyebrows.

Rook cared about his hair.

Rook cared in particular about that cut, but in the last months they let theirselves go a bit too much, and that was now the time to react.

When Vil finished his work, they stared at each other from the mirror. 

He reminisced the first time he saw Rook’s face becoming so light because of the new haircut. It had been a strange feeling. Rook had always been beautiful, but something, in Vil, suggested him that was wrong, that Rook wasn’t the one he came to know in a bench near Sam’s store. Now, the mirror reflection returned to him an image of Rook Vil learnt to know, to love. An image of Rook that belonged to him, to his daily life like the sound of Rook’s light footsteps, or the sound of his kisses.

Vil dived his face in Rook’s hair, and hugged Rook from behind.

“Mon amour” Rook laughed, clinging to his hands.

“Is everything okay?”

Vil found himself slowly nodding, breathing in the scent of Rook’s hair, of Rook. He still smelled of musk, earth, and rain. How did he do without using perfumes was still a mystery to Vil. Perhaps, Vil simply associated those scents to Rook.

“Can we stay like this a little bit longer?” Vil asked. Maybe it was stupid, but he didn’t want to move. Not from that nice place, not from that hold, not from his room in where Rook sat on a stool and looked at him with a gentle smile.

The emerald eyes looking at him were the same of that day.

“As long as you wish, my beautiful Vil.”

Those eyes had always loved him. 

[cluescorner]

There's no feeling stranger than knowing that something is bad but liking it anyways. Not in a 'it's so bad it's good' way. Because that implies that it has become good. I'm talking like this thing is just kinda bad in the normal ways things are bad, but i like it anyways.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Spiritual Siblings

Bruce: My assassin kid can't be that normal!

Damian: Well, I’m completely emotionally stable by Amity Park standards. The problem is with you. Obviously.

~~~~~

Damian had long found peace and home in Amity, so he did not worry that the new family and Gotham might not accept him.

Sure, Al Ghul had lived without any contact with his biological father all these years but he could safely say that he had a happy childhood. First years were hard and he was raised more as a weapon than a human being. Even so, after that a ghost who decided to become his brother appeared and everything changed.

Damian still does not know what Ra's owes Phantom but Danny has a right to take him, without prior notification, to live with Fentons, to visit Aunt Alicia at her farm, and to make Vlad’s weekends much less calm and boring. Danny jokes that he just steals him as a hostage when Al Ghul does not pay taxes for using Lazarus Pits. Whatever the reason, he already has a family that loves him.

However, he still wanted to make an effort to fit in this one too. The model of conduct certainly was his older brother. No, not the oldest, of course. To be honest Dan wasn’t the kind of a man that could charm you from the first minute. But Danny, in Damian’s experience, had a calming effect on people. So he tried to act like him.

And, yeah, for lack of experience, he was more fun!Danny at home and super!Danny on patrol but he also really tried not to get any of his own assassin personality in his new-self and was tired of it. He couldn’t get a 100% match. Fine. Still doesn’t look like anyone in this house really likes him, so whatever.

Damian understood why Bruce didn't like his company. Jazz had long ago explained to him the importance of voluntary consent. His mother did a terrible thing. Al Ghul was not a child and therefore he was ready to admit it. However, he also understood that children were not responsible for the actions of their parents.

As a biosocial being, he wanted to be more than just a painful reminder of what had happened to Bruce. Wayne's ignoring of his existence was rude. But Damian wouldn't force this man to spend time with him just because he was legally obligated to take care of his well-being. He wasn't going to prove anything to Batman, and he definitely didn't need his attention. The care of his real family is enough.

But Damian really tried to get along with new potential siblings. He even shared Sam's and Danny’s special jokes with some of adopted kids 'cause he didn’t want them to feel like he put himself above them. He wasn't good at showing emotions but he was as open as the assassin could afford to be to strangers.

But they all obviously expected something from him. And it reminded him of the League in an unpleasant way. It was easier with Fentons. Almost everyone in Amity Park was saying what they thought, and Damian didn’t have to waste time decoding potential conspiracies.

Damian missed movie marathon nights with Sam, Tucker, and Danny. And he hoped Dani had time to bother Vlad in his absence.

It was so weird here. When Danny and Valerie were fighting, they would gather at the dinner table anyway. When Damian wanted to have combat training with Drake here, he was forced to stay in his room. A very strange punishment. And undeserved one too.

Al Ghul felt quite calm and fine sitting at his easel and painting the people he left behind. An unusual subject for his paintings. But, Ancients, he missed Amity.

He missed Jack's bone breaking hugs, Maddie's Ecto-Contaminated food, arguments of Sam and Tucker, cozy art class with Mr. Baxter and even Vlad's done look. He missed Danny telling him about the stars. He also missed sword practice with Dan's boyfriend Fright Knight and he missed Dan's stories about his other youth. He missed literary evenings with Mr. Lancer, Clockwork and Ghost Writer. He even missed the hours-long Jazz lectures. He missed the dance of death and life. He missed being looked at without expecting anything from him. He missed the crowd. In the league, he was never at one with himself and in Amity he was always surrounded by people who were not afraid of his fate as the heir to the said League. This Manor was full of people, but for the first time in his life he felt lonely. Damian has to admit that he felt left behind. Of course, he understood that people needed time to build relationships, but he could have sworn that even he didn't need that much time to connect with Fentons. Maybe this is one of the tricks of the Clockwork? Then this one is not funny at all.

~~~~~Phone call~~~~ Damian: Mom, I want to go home. Maddie: I'm so sorry to hear that, sweetheart. What happened? Damian: Just…Nobody likes me. Why was I sent here? I'm not weak. And my brothers are quite capable of protecting me from Raas. I don't need Batman for this. Maddie: We'll figure it out, champ. Moms love you, remember? I'll talk to Talia, okay? Your brothers and sisters are already on edge and ready to steal you right during the patrol. Damian: It would be nice, but it would put a bat on their tails. So lock them in thermoses if they bother you too much. Maddie: But that won't stop Jazz. Damian: I missed the part where that's my problem. Maddie: Well, it will be your problem if she comes to your doorstep with your childhood photos and moralizing.

~~~~~~~~

It's his birthday. And he was always excited about it. But now, looking at the pile of gifts, he realizes that these people don't know him at all.

And this is the family of the best detective in the world? Maybe yes, but none of them bothered to really find info about him or ask him about his likes. Damian's a stranger here, and that's obvious.

The lunch container, which he will obviously give to the Boxing Lunch when he's in the right time interval, tennis rackets that Youngblood might like, The Graveyard Book…

Valerie had already read it to him and Dani before it was published. Thanks to Clockwork for his little miracles. The book reminded him of home.

Obviously this one is from Jason. And well, Damian doesn't think it was a pun on his life in Amity, more like Hood's inside joke about death but Dami will definitely leave this thing in the room at the Manor and maybe take it with him to the GZ or Amity Park.

~~~~~~~

When they gather at the festive table, Damian realizes that he has to make some kind of speech. He tries to be as brief as possible in his report.

Damian: Todd, your gift is appreciated. And I found a potential use for items that were given by others, Bruce.

Damian never called Batman his father. With Maddie and Talia, calling both moms wasn't weird, especially when Jazz explained to his biological mom that he wasn't trying to replace her. But with Wayne, it was different. Both women took care of him, they deserved this title. Wayne provided for his needs, but his core heart didn't feel like they were close. Surely there's nothing wrong if they're just Bruce and Damian? Obviously, they both don't enjoy each other's company.

Jason: So, do you like books, little demon? Damian: Sometimes reading is quite relaxing, I should point out. I'm not indifferent to Stephen King and Lovecraft. Jason: Personal recommendations? Damian: Cujo is one of my favorites. Jason: Not a common opinion, huh. Damian: It reminds me of my family. Damian tries to smile like Danny does, but Jason's twitching eye clearly indicates that he screwed it up.

~~~~Dick and Jason synchronously drop their forks as an excuse for a conference under the table.~~~~ Dick*whispers*: How's the situation? Jason*whispers back*: If the boy asks for a dog, don't be fooled. He will be happy to dance on our graves.

~~~~Cass knocks over their heads, urging them to return to their seats.~~~~

Damian: So how good you are at fading and sliding,Todd? Jason: Why did you ask? I can't, of course. Damian: Because you're dead. It seemed to me that this was a completely understandable interest. Jason: Wow, what a jerk. Damian: I wonder why your own incompetence makes me a jerk? Even my sister could do this when she wasn't dead for even a month.

Jason, for some reason, looks awkward, although he has never been embarrassed before by the idea that a girl could be stronger than him.

Jason: Your sister? How old was she when... So it's all about age. Damian rolls his eyes.

Damian: We're the same age. It seems like it was four or five years ago. To be honest, I don't remember. I wasn't around then. I'll ask Danielle the next time I go to the cemetery to visit her. Dick: I'm so sorry, Dami. Where is she buried? We can take you. Damian: There's no need. She has no grave, as there was nothing to bury. Bruce sighs loudly and covers his eyes with his hands. Damian: It's just easier to contact the afterlife in places like this, you now? Duke: We are very sorry, dude. Damian: Don't be. People come and go, and then come back if they haven't finished annoying you. There's no point in regretting the past. Her creation was not the most ethical thing but everything is going as it should. At least that's what Grandpa says. Considering that the old man is older than time, I prefer to believe him. No one plays with fate without his permission unless they want to get hit by the clock. Tim now looks like he's going to throw up and Damian hurries to move his plate closer to him. Jason: Yes, Bruce, this is definitely your son. Damian: Did I say something wrong? Dick smiles faintly at him but still doesn't find anything to say. Damian shrugs and goes back to eating asparagus. People outside of Amity are so weird.

Signal looks at Damian suspiciously as he carefully rearranges the plate of soy sausages away from himself. Did he take him for an idiot? Everyone knows that even vegetarian sausage bite and fight no worse than those with meat when they come back to life. It's not Damian's fault that he doesn't have an ectoblast with him and wants to have extra distance from the opponent.

~~~At the same time, in the walls of Wayne Manor~~~ Dani: The operation codenamed "Get Haunted Idiot" is declared open. Danny and Dan *salute*.

~~~Several Days Later~~~

Damian: So, this is Dan. Danny says we keep him as a GIW repeller. Dick: And Danny and Dan are.. Jazz: His brothers. I'm Jazz by the way. Elle and I are his sisters. Damian: I feat the criteria to participate in their name cult, so they took me. Dan, Danny, Dani and Dami. Dan *ruffles Damian's hair* : I prefer to call this biting threat Damn, to be honest. Dami: Shut up, DaNtE, they almost wrote Dark in your passport, you idiot. I can't believe I thought I missed you. Danny: Wow. Rude. Your grandpa would be disappointed. Great job, lil one.

~~~Several years later~~~

[allfearstofallto]

Do you think Childe would get jealous is reader spent to much time with the kids or would he just appreciate her not being miserable 24/7?

Childe is jealous because HE can't spend lots of time with the kids. He's unreasonably happy that you and the children get along so well, but he hates that it comes at the cost of him not having a place to fit in.

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: Reader has children, yandere themes, general angst

It was a thought that lingered in his mind more than he wanted. Despite the fact that he was adamant that he wouldn't let it bother him, it still crept its way into his brain during moments of silence. It was eating away at him, the one thing that he couldn't fight off was going home every night and noticing it. Noticing the silence, the lack of toys splayed about, the lack of laughter, the mess.

When he was a child and even up until long past his teenage years, he remembered not being able to walk two steps in his home without stumbling over a toy or board game or even some mysterious mess. He's aware that he has significantly less adolescents in his own house now than he did as a kid, but it doesn't change the fact that his his kids are just so clean. and quiet. It's almost unnerving how little he sees of those existence in the home.

And when he returns, even if there is still sun beaming down on the packed snow of Snezhnaya, his son's will already be up in their rooms. Whether it's to nap or do some schoolwork, the second he steps foot into his own home, they become unavailable, shying away from him as if he were the monster under their bed.

“Why are the boy's always busy when I get home,” he asked over dinner. A quiet dinner of just you and him. He hadn't eaten a meal with his son's in months, almost as if you wanted him to forget their existence.

A look of fear crossed your face, then confusion, then a weak, fake smile. Those smiles of yours. Forced quivering lips and wide eyes, how much longer could you continue to smile at him like that? How much longer would he allow it?

“They're both still young, Ajax, they don't want to be under their parents constantly,” you tried to assure him, following your words up by filling your mouth with food to not have to say more.

“That's bullshit,” he slammed his fist down on the table, scaring you even more in the process. You could see that he was seething with rage, close to having an outburst before taking a deep breath to calm himself. Still, his words were slow and concise as he spoke against, a growl present in his voice, “You can't even sit Damon down for a minute without him crying till he's blue in the face.”

There was nothing you could say to disprove what he was saying. He was correct. Damon was typically glued to your hip, throwing fits whenever you let go of him. He was always a clingy child, vastly different to Adonis, who only wanted you around to show you a cool trick he'd learned or an art project he'd made. But both of them would grow pale when you said that their father would be returning home soon, and even if you wanted to, you couldn't make them leave the confines of their rooms, knowing that Childe was lurking around the corner.

“I want to see my sons,” he said without waiting for your response.

“They're probably long asleep by now,” another lie. You couldn't get Adonis to go to bed without a fight most nights. You knew he was still up, possibly playing with his action figures once again, but if he heard the sound of his father's footsteps coming up the stairs, he'd be in bed with no hesitation. You remember a night where he thought it was Childe instead of you opening the door to his bedroom. He was curled up in his comforter, with it pulled up to his eyes. Peeking at the door like he was expecting the Boogeyman.

“I won't go in tomorrow then. We'll have the whole day together,”

You had nothing to say back, but also no way of forcing the boys to spend time with him. Rather, you silently picked at your food, a lump starting to form in your throat. Dinner was eaten in silence, with you only occasionally stealing glances at your husband, who was still angrily eating. Your heart sank thinking of the ways the boys would cry, but knowing that there was nothing you could do for them. Except be there as he forced himself into their lives. He was doing to them as he'd done to you. And helplessly, all you could do was watch.

[ot3]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What is it, and why you should read it.

(Art by purple)

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is a currently updating webserial by author Lurina. It's one of my favorite things I've read in a long while and I'd like to convince you all to give it a chance.

My elevator pitch is this: A time-loop murder mystery directly inspired by Umineko, with a lot of similar vibes to the Locked Tomb Trilogy - partially due to it's meditations on grief and mortality and partially due to it's far-future magical sci-fi world where we follow a fucked up lesbian necromancer on a task she is determined to see through to the end. A deeply complex, unique, and believable world that plays hosts to one of the best interpersonal dynamics I've read.

In a future so far-flung that it is past the heat death of the universe, humanity has constructed a new society that is post-scarcity but not post-stratification. Utsushikome of Fusai is one amongst a class of prodigious young medical arcanists (essentially grad students) who are invited to visit a recently legitimized conclave of top-of-the-line researchers studying immortality. Accompanying Su is her best friend Ran, a fellow arcanist. Over the course of the novel we begin to slowly unravel exactly what ulterior motives have brought them to this conclave and how events in their childhoods and years of working toward their shared goal has warped their relationship into what we now see. This relationship is the crown jewel of Flower's narrative, and getting to peel back the layers of it as you read is a delight.

Like Umineko, Flower is a murder mystery that prevents itself with in-universe Rules that dictate the murders' parameters, meaning there's a lot to chew on for anyone who likes solving mysteries. For those that don't, like myself, Flower offers instead a richly developed world and plenty of open questions about the sociopolitical and metaphysical implications of its own worldbuilding.

Below the cut, I'll go into more detail about the series (without spoilers!) for those of you whose interest has been piqued.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is currently ongoing, updating every few weeks. It's several hundred thousand words, so if you're looking for something substantial to keep you entertained, you've got it. As you might expect from the length, the pacing is decently slow. I don't see this as a bad thing at all, because within this pacing Lurina dripfeeds the readers enough new and interesting information at a regular rate that it never feels like your time is being wasted. But if you can't handle slow burns, I wouldn't recommend this one for you.

If you enjoyed the Zero Escape series and liked that they stopped solving murder puzzles to infodump about fringe science, I think you'll get a lot out of Flower. Characters are frequently interrupting their life-or-death scenarios to have lofty, philosophical and political discussions. It's a ton of fun if you like reading characters argue.

'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.' But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born. If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

Along those lines it's just got a sense of humor I really enjoy. Pretty dry and cavalier. It manages to keep the mood light without feeling like it's undermining it's own stakes. I'm particularly fond of Su's penchant for telling incredibly depressing suicide jokes that just Do Not Land.

The peer pressure cut into me like a hot knife. I hesitated a little, biting my lip. "Well, uh, okay. I'll just tell a quick one." I swallowed, my mind quickly scrambling. "Okay, so, there's a woman who runs a dispensary for second hand goods. She sees a man come in who's a regular customer. He's kind of a mess-- Has a big beard, a bad complexion. He buys a razor, and tells her he needs it to clean himself up, because he has a date." I could see that I now had Ophelia's attention and that Kam was looking pleased with herself, but Ran was watching me, too. I could see the look in her eyes. It screamed at me, with such vividity that it could be sold at an art gallery: You better not be telling a suicide joke right now, or we're going to have a talk. But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion.

As I mentioned up top, the relationship between Ran and Su is just one of my favorite interpersonal dynamics ever. Period. The author is playing some insanely complicated 5th dimensional yuri chess and I am absolutely here for it as someone who likes characters who are deeply devoted to each other in a way that is deeply deeply fraught. I cant emphasize enough how obsessed I am with what they have going on.

Additionally, as stated, the worldbuilding in Flower is top tier. The author clearly understands how every part of her world functions, which makes the moral quandaries and politics presented all the more impactful because they're very believable. It's hard to talk about Flower's world without spoiling too much of the specifics that get slowly revealed, but it doesn't fall back on any typical sci-fi standard fare and feels like a breath of fresh air amongst recycled and repetitive worldbuilding tropes.

A lot of really fun side characters. Strong voices for all of the supporting cast (♥♥Kamrusepa♥♥) and even though not every character gets their own arc, they all clearly have plenty of interiority. Once again, another thing that makes Flower feel very believable despite it's absurdities.

Autism

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with anyone?" She eyed him. "Anyone who seemed tense?" "Saoite, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but half of our class is so autistic that they constantly seem tense. You might as well ask me to find a specific turd in a sewer." "Just answer the question, please," she replied flatly.

Guys it's really good just trust me I don't want to spoil you for the more intricate plot beats but they're doing some crazy shit here. It's never a bad time to support an independent author's project. If you're sick of corporate mass-media and stuff needing to be marketable, getting into independent works owned and supported by individual creators is a great way to push back against that. I highly recommend it.

[atlantahammy]

Hamato Clan Pallets | So, part 2 of my project I started because I noticed a number of the colors from @pluvionpc's color pallets were Season 1 exclusives, or were tinted by the scene color overlay and thus not the true bases. (No offense to you man, you did what you could and without them, this wouldn't exist) The purple dragons were surprisingly hard to get colors for, because they only appear, in light / neutral lighting, in 1 episode of the 3 they appear in, either dark in the next or on a screen. That and I kept fucking up the pallets with errors, can ask those in @elliwoods Bean Server... There was screaming and crying into 2 AM as I live-blogged spotting the errors, after dropping it there like... 6 fuckin' times and dying each time I saw a new one. /rage.

I maaaay have psyched myself out a bit on Big Mama's spider form pallet because I thought it was going to be painful... It wasn't, It was easy, and the fastest, I got it done in less than an hour.

Also, fun fact, Big Mama's Spider form is one of the few whose mouth gets colored in black. She also seems to have 2 web colors, that purple, and the silvery purple that is her human form's hair color.

Sunita was also pretty easy, as she's one of the few characters that have had their turn around posted, that I could pull base colors from, even from her Googlyschootz sheet, which has the opacity effect (I think it is around 80% or 90%)

On that note, Sunita still has the default mouth colors, but they're layered on top of her green color + opacity lowered.

Fun fact: Sunita inadvertently confirms that while 'Yokai' is the general term for all the "mythical's" (IE: Like ''Humans") in the world, they all do have individual names, IE: She and her dad are Googlyschootz. (Also the fact I had to go to the transcript to get her race name, instead of it being listed under trivia on her wiki page, greatly irritates me.)

Drax's villain armor was... Easier than I thought, I kept procrastinating on it because I thought it would end me out of frustration and it would end up being bigger than it was... Though it is clear his design had a few color changes before the show aired by all early art being all colored differently.

I also didn't do Huginn and Muninn with Drax's as I gave Mayhem is own, might as well give the two their own pallet too.

———————————– My Commissions | .Carrd | Ko-Fi

[sinizade]

Pam, The Necromancer Druid

Class: Druid (Necromancer subclass)

Normal Tav (evil ending)

Romance: Minthara

Besties: Midnight/ Scratch/ Owl bear

Pam used to live with her parents in the middle of nature, as druids they always taught her the way of Sylvanus and his ways so that nature always remained in balance, but since then the girl has demonstrated a spirit that is indifferent to life beyond animals, people have always been the source of her main contempt no matter what race they are. The girl always used to stay away from even her own parents, preferring to stay among animals and, no matter how hard her parents tried, they could never make her comfortable in her own home.

Her adolescence was lonely as she decided that the best way to please herself and her parents would be to leave home, she started to live in small huts that she used to set up in the middle of the forest and honestly, she lived well without being forced to live with all the stress that I experienced when I was forced to live with other people. Most of her time she spent in her wolf form, hunting, helping them, being part of a pack. Talking to some wolves she managed to be convinced that her place was with the people, as much as they loved her and she loved them, she should go back to her people and try to have a good life beyond the forest. Baldur's gate wasn't pretty, it wasn't pleasant, the smell of that place made her want to vomit and there were a lot of people who looked at her as if she were some kind of monstrosity, of course, she was dirty, half-naked and aggressive, but it wasn't a reason to treat her. her as a monstrosity, but the real monstrosities emerged when she saw a ship in the sky.

Pam is now forced to live with this bunch of chatty misfits, the only one who doesn't lose her patience in that environment is Lae'zel who only says what is necessary so that everyone there can at least get out of this situation alive and without becoming Illith, but that sanctuary, those refugees... That made her furious, how dare those hellish creatures? How dare a druid tarnish the sanctuary like that? She needed to get them out of there, she needed to end Khaga's existence and at first allying with that drow seemed like a good option... She was charming Pam needed to admit that, but she would never forgive herself if she killed those hellish creatures for no reason at all. Your best option was to eliminate Khaga in the bud, killing her and the shadow druids who were on her side, as for Minthara? She wouldn't be a problem if all that goblin scum were dead so Pam just knocked her out so she wouldn't cause any more problems. Her conscience didn't weigh as much as she thought it would, she actually felt relieved and after that massacre in the Grove she received even more relief from Minthara who seemed to develop an interest in her.

Minthara was right, what would be the point of going so far and not taking something in compensation? What's the point of almost dying so many times in exchange for nothing? Pam understood that that choice would weigh later, but she couldn't- She shouldn't allow people to destroy anymore... Being the Absolute would give her the power to improve things in her vision, improve life, improve the forest, with her beloved Minthara by her side, Pam would now have the power to take it all and finally bring true balance to nature.

Some extra information about Pam

Pam's grandmother was a Nymph

Pam can use her blood to create any type of plant and managed to improve this by studying necromancy, starting to use the blood and bodies of other people.

Pam's first time was with Minthara

Pam has a pet crow named Midnight

I also made a small time lapse of this art and posted it on my Twitter in case anyone wants to see it!

[ginnyruin]

i'm sorry but the nurchie "art" is clearly AI generated??? can we please stop sharing and praising shit that some algorithm spat out without ever asking the original creators whose work it steals and regurgitates for their permission

- sincerely, a pissed-off artist

Hello,

I’m going to set the record straight, and I��d suggest you read carefully before making any more baseless accusations. Nurchie is an actual artist—a trained one, with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in digital art and two-dimensional studies (drawing and painting) from a prestigious university. She has 16 years of professional design/digital art experience, and a publicly documented portfolio going back well before AI art even existed.

go look at her earliest work on Deviantart and you'll see how precisely detailed she draws hands, fingers, and clothing. Everything, really.

If you had bothered to do any homework, you’d see that her work reflects thousands of hours of dedicated practice and the expertise of a seasoned digital artist.

Calling her work AI generated is BEYOND insulting. it’s lazy, dismissive, and downright disrespectful to a person who has spent years honing her craft.

She doesn’t ask for clout, she doesn’t do commissions, she doesn't have a patreon or Kofi. She only made a Twitter years ago because I asked her to share her talent with the world or she wouldn't even bother.

This tendency to label any polished work as “AI” just shows ignorance, plain and simple. Real artists deserve better than to have their skills lumped in with AI machine-generated content by people who can’t tell the difference.

Each of her digital paintings takes anywhere from 30-80+ hours. For Altered State specifically, she's been working on all these art pieces for months while I've been on a posting hiatus. Her incredible work keeps me inspired; I would have literally quit ages ago. We go back and forth on details from the writing in the fic and I see these changes she makes in real time.

She paints in her limited free time for these niche fandoms because she loves the stories and wants to support the writers in it. In a world where fandom is becoming increasingly commodified, she is a rare gem.

I didn't even want to bother Nurchie with this silly comment of yours, but she's such a good sport she just laughed at the idea that anyone could accuse her art of being AI generated. She uses a combo of adobe CC suite and clip studio to draw.

nurchie messaged me this, and I asked for her permission to share it: [I just think they are probably some struggling artist, upset that they feel replaced by soulless AI and are lashing out any time they think they see it. I'm sympathetic to their feelings, and understand the annoyance. I've been battling the improper usage of it in my workplace. AI is not AI but just a data collection tool, and I completely agree that the human eye could never be replaced by it.]

yeah, she's the most chill, sweetest person ever, too. So maybe think twice before throwing around accusations you clearly can’t back up. You're trying to hurt a real artist.

-sincerely,

A writer who knows a real artist

https://www.deviantart.com/nurchie/gallery

edit: also accusations like this drive away real fanartists. Why should they bother sharing their work if their talent and skill are being dismissed as some algorithm's output? it's toxic. fandom spaces will be flooded with AI-generated content in the future because all the true artists will have left.

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 18

Part 18:

"Why are you walking in circles around my house?" Art looked amused as he opened the door and leaned against the doorframe. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, and that he was a bit of a jerk for enjoying her embarrassment so much. But her flushed face and the staged eye roll were worth it.

"Because I was early." Liana muttered. "How did you know I was here?" she asked, stepping closer to him while he stayed put, taking his time to look at her. Still amused but also trying to hide his concern. He hadn’t heard from her for three weeks. Not since Atlanta. Until she sent a message yesterday asking if she could come over.

"I have windows in my house and you've been doing patrols here for ten minutes. The option to ring the bell exists, you know." He said, keeping his tone light. "I have a friend who always says that being early is just as rude as being late. You could have had plans." She said and shrugged. As if he would make plans half an hour before knowing Liana was supposed to come over. After five years of not being alone in the same room.

"I didn’t have plans and you can always come early when you come to me." He rolled his eyes. If he had the courage, he would have told her what he wanted to say and offered her a key to his apartment under the excuse that he wasn't always home, but if she was early, she could come in. He desperately wanted her to feel comfortable entering his home. Without knocking. Without ringing the bell. Just come in and sit on the couch or open the fridge. To be an active part of his life. The life he was trying to build for both of them.

"I brought wine. It's cheap, don't be a snob about it." She showed him the bottle and walked past him, causing him to move a bit but not manage to ignore the sensation of her body brushing against his for a second. He knew leaning on the doorframe like a douchebag was a good plan. God, in moments like these, Art felt so pathetic. "Put it in the fridge if you want. There's a bottle of white wine there, we can open it in the meantime." He shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. As if he hadn’t put that bottle there especially because he saw her order white wine that night.

"So we won't drink my cheap wine?" she asked, opening the fridge and pulling out the cold bottle that even looked fancy. Annoying. "If you prefer the wine you brought, I can open it, it doesn't really matter, it'll just take time to chill, and there's already a cold one." Art said. He didn’t want to come off as condescending. He knew she hated that. He wasn’t trying to buy her friendship with money. He knew he couldn't. They both grew up in abundance, Liana never lacked anything. He wouldn't buy her with wine. But the hangover from the wine he offered would pass faster than from the one she bought.

"I don't know." She really thought about it.

"Next time you come and we want wine, we'll open the bottle you brought, deal?" He liked the sentence that came out of his mouth. As if stating she would come again. She just rolled her eyes. "You think that was smooth, don't you?" she asked and laughed. "You have to admit it was something." He retorted, seeing her move to the living room while he pulled out the wine and took out two glasses.

"Hey." He said after he sat next to her on the couch and they both took a sip of the wine. "This is really good wine. I kinda hate you." she said in response and he laughed. "It's whatever." He shrugged. "Hey." She replied, looking at him. "You disappeared on me." He said quietly, not taking his eyes off her. Art Donaldson had a way of examining Liana as if he saw all of her. As if he had all the time in the world to look at her, and he would use all of it. She felt her ears turn red under the intensity of his blue eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, Art. It makes me nervous." She sighed, and he shrugged again. "Do I have to think twice now about how I look at you so you won't get nervous? You're a big girl, stop getting nervous from looks." There was amusement in his voice. It was friendly but had an additional layer that Liana couldn’t quite put her finger on. "You're such a dick." Another sip of the wine.

"Tell me about those weeks." He stated. Almost not giving her a choice, there was no question mark at the end of his sentence. "It was a great fun, I watched all seasons of 'Gossip Girl' from the beginning." She smiled a forced smile.

Art recognized the exhaustion. She looked tired and sad, trying to hide it with excessive perkiness and humor. He didn’t want to give her the pleasure. He wanted her to talk to him. He wanted honesty and he wanted it now. He wanted to touch the raw flesh. He wanted to know her level of loneliness, if she was thinking about Patrick. If she was in contact with him. If she planned to forgive him.

"Liana." He sighed, running a hand over his neck as he took another sip of the wine. "You want to hear that it was shitty? Because I didn’t come here to cry, Arthur. I'm kinda tired of crying." She lifted her legs onto the couch and put her head on her knees.

"Then don’t cry. Just tell me what's going on here. I never know." He said, gently pointing at her head as she smiled a sad smile. Art thought that smile hurt him too much. He didn’t know that someone else’s smile could hurt him in his bones. How is that even possible? What kind of connection is this? How long has he felt this way? Did he feel her inside his body since he was born? Will it pass with the years?

"I miss him. A lot." She said after a few seconds of silence and didn’t look at Art. "I know it's not what you want to hear, Art. But that's the truth," she returned her gaze to him, her head still on her knees. Art moved close enough so he could hug her. He didn’t know what got into him, but she looked so small on his couch. So fragile.

"Can I?" he asked after her head was already on his chest, as if the question even mattered. He put down his glass and with his free hand ran his fingers through her hair. Inhaling what he could of her scent. "It doesn’t matter what I want to hear, Lia, I just want you to tell me something. It doesn’t have to be good this time." He muttered, wondering if she could hear his heart beating as she curled up on his chest.

"I feel so alone here, Art. Sometimes it hurts my whole body. It's like everyone dressed in white, and I dressed in black. And losing Patrick for so long was really too much. I feel crazy," her voice was so small and he knew her eyes were full of tears even without seeing her. It made him close his eyes and take a deep breath.

"You're not alone, Liana. Not in America. Not when you and I are in the same time zone..." He moved for a moment, missing her touch automatically. He felt the need to look her in the eyes when he spoke. "You could have called me. I would have come. I would have stayed with you." He meant every word he said. "You know that's not possible, Art, right?" she muttered, her voice accompanied by a faint sob. "I can't be what you want me to be right now." She looked back at him. Big green eyes full of tears. "You surely know by now that I'll take whatever you give me, Liana. If you need a friend, I'll be your friend. It doesn’t have to be more than that." And that probably hurt him to say more than it should have.

"You don’t want to be my friend, Art." She said, taking a sip of her wine that stood next to his on the table. "I want to be what you want me to be." And in Art's opinion, that sentence was the most logical thing that had ever come out of his mouth.

When Liana entered her apartment, she wasn’t drunk. She was tipsy. The boxes she had packed for Patrick were no longer in the middle of the living room, and getting to the kitchen to grab a glass of water wasn’t as complicated as it had been a few hours ago.

“Hey.” She heard from behind as she took a sip of water. “Fuck! Patrick!” she screamed a second after the glass fell from her hand and shattered on the floor. “Shit, don’t pick it up with your hands, wait a second.” He mumbled and went to get a broom and dustpan. She sat down on the kitchen chair and looked at him. He looked neglected. His stubble was long and messy, there was a stain on his shirt, and in her untrained opinion, he had lost weight.

When he finished cleaning up, he stood in front of her. Neither of them said anything; they just stared at each other, and Liana felt that if this silence continued, she would burst into uncontrollable tears. “Why are you here, Patrick? I gave you plenty of time to collect your shit.” She sighed. “I needed to see you.” He said quietly, leaning against the counter, not taking his eyes off her. “You’ve seen me. Now you can go.” She swallowed, afraid to stop looking at him.

“No. Liana. I need…” his eyes reddened. He tried to hold back the tears. Seeing him like this made Liana want to forget everything. To overlook. To let it pass. To give in. Because who is Liana Levy without Patrick Zweig at this stage of their lives? And how can she let him leave her (their) apartment when he looks like this? How can she continue living without knowing if she will ever see him again?

“I’m sorry I told you like that about the baby. It wasn’t right.” She said, forcing herself to keep looking at him, because turning her head now would be insensitive. Patrick respects her more when she doesn’t avoid looking at him. Why does she still care if he respects her? He definitely didn’t respect her in Atlanta.

“Can you tell me about it, please?” he asked in a choked voice, and she sighed. “There’s not much to tell,” she took a deep breath, hearing the tremor in her own voice. The whole situation was strange, “I don’t know if you remember, but about half a year ago, there were a few days when I felt really bad? I threw up a lot?” she asked, checking if he understood what she was talking about. He nodded silently.

“I didn’t know who to talk to,” she continued, and this time he looked away. As if to say what they both knew was in the air;  Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you talk to me? “I talked to Tashi…” his gaze returned to her, surprised. “She went with me to the clinic, and that’s it.” Again, deafening silence.

“Do you want to know about Atlanta?” he asked. “Will it help you to know?” he added quietly, wiping away the tears and continuing to look at her. “What will it give us, Pat?” she asked with an exhausted chuckle. “Why didn’t you talk to me?” he asked what had been on his mind for the last few minutes. Maybe for the last three weeks, since she had venomously yelled at him about the baby, trying to hurt him as he had hurt her.

“Because I no longer think I know how to talk to you.” This time she couldn’t stop the tears. She was choked with them. Her hands covered her face from him, and he automatically moved closer to her, detaching from the counter. “Lilo, look at me for a second.” He asked softly. Where was this softness in the last few years? Where was the man she thought she knew so well?

She stood in front of him, letting him hold her hands by her sides. They looked at each other, his tears dried up while hers still flowed uncontrollably, her lip trembling almost as much as her leg. She just wanted one more moment. Just one. A good one. One she would remember fondly. “It’s me. It’s still me. I got a little lost, but it’s still me.” He said, wiping her face once more. Again, gentleness, again, tenderness. “I don’t know how to find you, Patrick, and I can’t keep wasting my life searching.” She hugged him suddenly, pressing her cheek against his chest while he wrapped her in his big arms, the ones that always promised it would be okay. But how would it be okay? How would it be okay if he left this apartment and didn’t come back?

“I love you.” He whispered above her head. “I love you too.” She replied. It was the truth. “I just don’t think it’s enough,” she pulled away from him.

All that was left were two people who knew each other perfectly. Every smile and every freckle. Every facial expression. Every emotion, but they caused each other more harm than good. “I wish you had told me.” He meant the baby again, and she nodded, “I wish I could have been there for you.” He added.

“I wish a lot of things.” She sighed.

She kissed him suddenly.  It wasn’t full of passion and wildness like most times their lips met, it was heavy and tense. A feeling of necessity and fragility conveyed in salty lips from tears. Tongues slowly uniting, an understanding of an end. Of something that would never return. Patrick’s lips parted from hers only when they were both desperate for air. His forehead touched hers amid short breaths.

“I love you so much, Liana. I don’t know who I am without you.” He said again. Like a child’s confession. Like a convict’s confession who received a death sentence. “We owe it to ourselves to find out. I have to learn to love myself enough alone. And you have to find real reasons to get up in the morning.” She responded After a few seconds. “I’m afraid that I’ll leave here and won’t have a way back into your life, Lilo. I’m afraid you’ll erase my existence as I can never erase yours.” Another confession. His eyes were closed; this time he couldn’t look at her. Not when he was this exposed. Not when he had no defenses.

‘So why did you do it?’ That’s what she wanted to ask in response. ‘Why did you throw away four years of our lives and many more years of pure friendship? Why didn’t you give us a real chance at any stage? Why do you always give up on yourself? why did you give up on us?’ “It hasn’t been working for a long time, Pat, we were just afraid to admit it.” She sighed again. “And if I’m still afraid to admit it?” Another quiet question. A rhetorical one because what else was there to say.

“I love you. I will always love you.” He said for the third time and placed his key on the table. His fingers touched hers for one more moment.

“Maybe in another lifetime, it’s enough,” she said with a forced smile as another tear fell. “Maybe there’s a world where Liana and Patrick are in love, and it’s enough.” He nodded and chuckled in defeat. “Sounds like a beautiful world. Call me when you find it, okay, Amanda?” He asked in a broken voice and left the apartment.

“I promise.” She said, but no one heard her.

Hey again, how are we doing with all the angst? I swear, this part was almost too sad to write, but I feel like it's important to have some healthy conversations. It helps them all to grow. As always, I love it when you message me what you're thinking, so use that askbox PLEASE :)

taglist (if anyone wants to join, just ask) @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[bethanysmiled]

uughghg I feel so disconnected from this username but I'll put it under a cut. CW: suicide/death mention

As an artist, I'm always changing in some way. I always accept the changes wholeheartedly, bc that's what growth is. I feel this username is associated with a part of me who is gone now and I worry sometimes people except a certain sort of content, which I obviously wouldn't force myself to produce. I heavily associate this username with a horrific time in my life bc things began to get really rough around the time I began to use this username and then ofc I went on long hiatuses during the use of this username. My sister's death was not an overnight event. Her physical and mental health deteriorated over the course of years. During those years, it consumed me entirely. Mind, body and soul. That's when I became less and less active. That chapter of my life was horrific, but it has passed. When I say 'passed', I mean to say that my sister is gone and will never come back to me. I am existing in a way I never have before, I'm learning to cope and carry on without someone who made up half of my fucking soul and shaped me in too many ways to count. I'm now in a new place mentally and physically, and using this old username really just reminds me of the difficult times and the art I had created back then. I also draw Fortune much less bc my sister and I heavily bonded over her. She became a comfort character for my sister, and she drew her almost daily for me and made me various other gifts. I often see Fortune now as someone who harbors sadness and loss. It's not entirely the case, but in a lot of ways its hard to draw her now. She was my happiness, and I am blessed she was happiness for my sister too. Now, it's hard to find that comfort in her. Anyway, those reasons are why I want to change my username but have no ideas! ALL of my usernames have been inspired by BMSR/Tobacco in the past but I haven't really connected to any songs lately. WOW rant but it's been on my mind for years. If I go with a new username, I won't abandon this account or anything. At least I'm super happy to say I've finally connected to a new nickname! I have been going by Pony for a long time now, I wish it were my real name lol But it's really really nice to have found a connection with a nickname. Anyway thank you for reading and for following me through all my ups and downs and hiatuses and changes.

edit also:

I still heavily associate with the word ‘hole’, so it would be cool to find username with that word. I love the idea of holes and not knowing what is in them. I also have a connection to sunflowers in more recent years, but the word is so long. Idk! Usernames tend to just come to me, so that’s partially why I haven’t officially moved on from this username even tho I have tried 💀 I always revert back bc others didn’t feel right. Anyway.

[wreckingtickles]

Onsen Nonsense

Inosuke sneaks into a supernatural onsen and meets a woman who claims that she can remove his weakness.

An SFW, lee Inosuke fic for the amazing @lovelymessybubbly, who helped me pick out his spots! This story wouldn't exist without her art, as I've never read/watched Demon Slayer but her peices for it are just so good. Sorry it took me so long, I ran out of steam towards the end again.

Words: 7,559

WARNING: semi-intense and possibly slightly spicy tickle torture under the cut.

"An onsen?"

"So it seems."

"In the middle of a rocky desert," remarked Zenitsu, spying from behind a jutting crag, his hands trembling as he clutched his weapon.

Where moments before there had been nothing but an endless expanse of gray rock, a wooden structure shrouded in low mist now stood.

“Can we go around it?” pleaded Zenitsu.

“I suppose we have no reason to fight. Wait, it’s…”

“...vanishing?”

The mist around the onsen grew thicker, fully obscuring the structure from view, then fainter and fainter, until the bone-dry rocks where it had just stood came into view again.

“This is too freaky,” complained Zenitsu. “Let’s leave.”

“Wait.” Tanjiro grabbed his sleeve. “Where’s Inosuke?”

—

Inosuke had snuck in through the open front door, the soft thuds of his sandals absorbed by the tatami. The mist behind him was absolute, having engulfed the entirety of his vision except the corridor wrapping around the onsen. A sourceless light lit it, leaving no shadows to hide in.

A human form, kneeling on the ground. A woman.

“Greetings, warrior,” she proffered. “My name is--"

Inosuke dashed forward, swords in hand, cleaving an X into the woman, his motion carrying him forward.

“I don’t care. Die, demon.” 

“There’s no violence here. No pain,” explained the woman. Inosuke turned around, raising his guard: the woman, even her kimono, were completely undamaged. She was regarding him with a polite smile, her eyes two crinkled fissures.

“I am no demon, but a mere scout, wandering endlessly to procure clients for this onsen. The warrior need not fear me.”

“Fear?! Ah!” laughed Inosuke. “You’re freaky, but I’m too strong to be afraid of you!”

The woman cracked a smile. “I offer respite to the weary traveler. The onsen will deposit the warrior back where it appeared once it is time. In the meanwhile, I will cater to the warrior’s desires. The waters of this onsen wash away all that is unwanted. Pain. Ailment. Weakness.”

“Are you calling me weak?!” flared Inosuke, lifting his swords again.

The woman’s polite smile didn’t waver. “I am claiming that I can make the warrior even mightier.”

—

Inosuke stomped after the woman as she glided with practiced grace down a corridor. He’d gorged himself until he was practically bursting and changed into the onsen’s gray-lavender robe.

“So where’s this magic water?!” he repeated for the twelfth time.

“If the warrior would follow me,” she reiterated calmly. Inosuke hadn’t noticed it when she had greeted him, but now that she was standing, she was a full two heads taller than him.

She stopped in front of one of the countless sliding doors in the maze-like onsen and opened it.

A thick wooden pole jutted out from the floor at the center of the room, reaching at about the woman’s height rather than touching the ceiling. Five levigated logs were tied together to form a sport of bench, one end of which was attached to the pole itself. A cushion had been placed on the bench next to the pole. The walls were entirely made out of sliding doors.

She motioned for him to stake a seat on the cushion, and he complied. She then knelt down next to him and produced a long crane feather from one of her sleeves. She then lowered her other hand. “If the warrior would kindly lend me his foot sinistral.”

“Uh?”

“His left foot.”

Inosuke eyed her for a brief second. What was she scheming? He couldn’t begin to guess what a feather might be for. Her smile did not reach her eyes, her professional politeness an impenetrable mask. But he didn’t want to give her the impression that he was afraid of her, so he complied.

She placed her palm under his heel, lifting his square, broad foot, knitted with muscle like every part of him and still red and raw from the day’s travel, so it was level with her chest. Then, she rested the plumed tip of the feather on the heel.

“GYAAAAH?!”

Inosuke flew out of his seat, leaping several paces away from the unfazed woman and landing in a combat pose. “What the hell was that?!”

“I know not of what the warrior speaks,” explained the woman, tilting her head slightly. “This is an ordinary feather.” and to prove her point, she ran it along the length of her palm, then showed it to him.

“I felt… You did something!!” he insisted.

The woman’s smile grew imperceptibly. “The warrior has an extraordinary sense of touch,” she remarked, laying the feather on her lap. “Unfortunately, his formidable senses also allow weakness to fester inside his body. Notice how sensitive he is to the most superficial of touches. He hardened his body to withstand injury and pain, but has left it vulnerable to gentler torments.”

“Vulnerable?!” he shrieked in outrage.

“Vulnerable,” echoed the woman. “Why else would the warrior be unable to withstand what I can?”

That was all it took to get him to furiously stomp towards the bench.

“I can withstand anything!! That’s just a stupid feather!!”

“Tis a mere feather indeed,” she conceded. “And a warrior has no reason to dread its ilk. Its purpose is to make him aware of the chinks in his armor.”

“I’ll show you a chink!” he protested, the wood groaning under his weight as he dropped on it, thrusting his foot forward so hard he nearly kicked her in the chest. “Come on! Get it over with!” he yelled.

She gently cradled the heel again. “If that’s the warrior’s desire…”

The feather drew closer to his sole again, and Inosuke crossed his arms, scrunching his face so hard his jaw was vibrating with effort.

The feather touched down on the mound of his heel.

“PPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT!!”

Inosuke sprayed spit like a bathing elephant as he tried and failed to hold the gales of laughter that wanted nothing more than to blast out of his lungs. It… something so much!! What was happening to his body?!

Starting from the bottom, the feather circled around the callused heel, then cut across the mound and headed higher. The woman noticed how his struggling intensified as the feather began its descent up the arch, skillfully dodging the protection of his hardened skin…

“GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Tendons and muscle put up a useless resistance as the tiny barbs nestled in every minuscule wrinkle on the more sensitive arch, a journey that to Inosuke felt endless as the feather slowly rose to meet the mound of the ball, crawling up the cleft in the middle of it where the muscle parted, dodging the callus and unearthing a treasure trove of nerves in that valley.

“NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

It had only been a few seconds, and Inosuke was a rich shade of purple.

Next, the feather circled the ball before swiping horizontally across the base of Inosuke’s toes.

The sudden acceleration caused a startled cry to escape his inflated cheeks. “AAH!” But somehow, he managed to keep his foot in her grasp.

“I would urge the warrior to keep very still for this next part,” requested the woman was she positioned the feather between Inosuke’s big and second toe.

She swiped.

“NNNNNGH!!!”

She repeated the motion between the next set of toes. And the next, and the next. 

“GHA!”

“UGH!”

“HAA!!”

Inosuke felt genuine gratitude when the feather began to brush the top of his foot, but it was a relative relief. He was still struggling incredibly hard to keep still when every nerve was screaming at him to get away from that cursed feather, which then proceeded to trace the outline of his foot. “NNH! GH! NEH! UAH!”

But his plight was far from over, because the feather swiped at his ankle, then crawled up his calf, and the closer it got to his knee, the higher the pitch of his stifled hysteria. “NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNIIIIIII!!!”

Mercifully, the feather left the underside of his knee alone… only to unleash a much worse sensation as it began to travel up his inner thigh.

“KSHNTSHSHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!” It was unbearable, and Inosuke’s hand shot to intercept the woman’s wrist before the feather went too far up his robe.

“Stop right there, woman!” he thundered. She offered no resistance.

“I will spare the warrior his modesty,” she assured amicably, lifting the feather upright as a show of sincerity. Inosuke glared at her for a few more moments before relaxing his grip.

“I must, however, test the other leg.”

“You must wha-NAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA STAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAPPP!!” screamed Inosuke as the feather began its descent down the other leg.

By the time the barbs left his heel, Inosuke’s chest was flushed and heaving with the double effort to endure the agonizing sensation without pulling away, having shuffled off the upper part of the robe in a desperate attempt to escape the heat welling up inside him.

The woman didn’t seem to mind his heavy breathing as she slid closer to him, pushing her fingers against his left wrist. “Now for the warrior’s torso.”

Although he wished nothing more than to make a run for it, Inosuke followed her gentle pressure and lifted his left arm.

“The warrior’s musculature is a thing of beauty”, stated the woman as muscles and tendons harmonized to allow that simple motion. But before Inosuke could think anything of the compliment, he felt the feather dance down his bicep, starting at the elbow, and he forced his mouth shut again.

The feather located the groove at the intersection of Inosuke's bicep and his tricep, arching slightly under the pressure of the fingers that pushed it inexorably closer to his armpit.

"GGGGGGGNNNNNNNN..." 

Ok, that wasn't too bad, it didn't make him want to set his skin on fire, he could do it.

The tip reached the outer ridge of his underarm.

No, he couldn't.

"PPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!"

He didn't need to look at the feather to know that it was starting a clockwork revolution around his hollow, its plumes nearing his scapula, then turning inward, approaching the protruding pectoral muscle, teasing its very edge, closing the circle ...

There were actual tears at the corners of Inosuke's eyes.

Then the feather cut vertically across the hollow.

"ACK!" he exclaimed, pulling at his arm to protect the area, and for a fraction of a second, he was met with the invincible resistance of the woman's grasp, but it came undone before he was able to think much of it.

"Enough! How is this helping me get stronger?"

The woman regarded him dispassionately. " The warrior shouldn't despise the instrument that reveals his weakness, but embrace it to bolster himself."

"I'm not weak!" Inosuke protested, spittle spraying the woman's face, but she maintained her posture, an invitation to resume their weird investigation.

"I'm not," whined Inosuke before letting her hold his forearm again and expose his underarm. 

"The warrior need not stifle his natural impulses," said the woman as she dragged the feather across the inner part of his hollow again.

But Inosuke wouldn't allow himself to laugh.

The feather began to trail along the lower curve of his pec, burning its way to his sternum, then up, to the base of his neck" his Adam's apple, the base of his jaw, the back of his neck, his shoulder, his clavicle...

Inosuke was trying so hard not to move he forgot to breathe, his cheeks puffy and his face beet red.

"The warrior is enduring magnificently," praised the woman, the feather skating diagonally across his chest.

Touching the top of his ribcage.

"PPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

Too much. It was too much. Somehow, Inosuke managed to force himself to withstand the maddening kisses of the feather as it counted each and every rib on its way down to his sides.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!!!"

It was unbearable, and he could have sworn that she was going slower, she had to, it was just so bad, how many ribs could he possibly have?!

Like closing a dam in a raging river, Inosuke was finally able to shut his mouth when the feather reached his side, though he was still vibrating in place; but this would prove to be a pyrrhic victory, because all too soon the feather skirted the edge of the robe along his waist before starting its final ascent between the ridges of Inosuke’s six-pack, circling each of them, dusting around and inside his bellybutton, lovingly caressing the sculpted muscle over and over…

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! HHAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!”

The dam broke, having already been eroded by all of the feather’s previous touches, culminating in yet another unbearably sensitive spot it was just having a field time exploring. Inosuke wanted to suck in his stomach, but the deep laughter he was forced to produce made it impossible, so the ticklish muscle kept pushing into the barbs themselves. He despised the sensation, but curling into a ball like he so wanted would have meant admitting defeat, and he couldn’t allow it!

A new torrent of laughter spilled out of him when the feather traveled up his other flank and over his ribs, repeating the horrible ups and downs from his left side. 

When the feather finally left his right elbow, he felt as if he’d been exercising all day.

“Unf… unf…” 

A rivulet of sweat ran down his spine, his skin glistening with perspiration. Was it over? Was he stronger now?

The hated feather disappeared up the woman’s sleeve. “The warrior will have to labor intensely to rid himself of all his weakness,” she estimated with her usual polite smile. “I propose we concentrate our efforts on the four most critical areas, four being the number of death that weakness pulls us towards.”

Inosuke was extremely wary of the woman’s polite tone, as if she hadn’t just subjected him to some unknown form of torture; that said, she was right. She had proven that there was weakness in him, and he had no idea how to stamp it out on his own.

“Ok,” he growled. “But no feathers!”

The woman smiled complacently. “Though it would be a marvelous tool to achieve our goals, the warrior’s skin is too moist now for it to be employed efficaciously.” 

She rose to her feet, towering above him once more. She pointed to the sliding door at the back of the room. “The warrior may bathe whilst I collect the tools.” 

—

The warm water melted all of Inosuke’s tension, including his concerns about this weird onsen and the woman manning it - the only person he’d seen in that massive structure. Well, magic was magic, no use trying to explain it. He relished the sensation of his powerful muscles unwinding, his skin coming alive in the warmth. He felt… clean?

When he heard the woman call him from the adjoining room, he got out of the bath, dried himself off, and tied the robe around his waist, though he didn’t wear the upper part, letting it hang behind him.

The bench and pole looked much more ominous now, as ropes had been coiled around each of the logs of the bench and around the top of the pole. At the opposite end of the bench there was also something resembling a vertical board with two large holes, as well as a basin in which floated two scrub brushes.

“What are you scheming, woman?”

She was kneeling next to the bench, motioning for him to take a seat.

“The warrior is mighty indeed. Although no harm can come to either of us in this place, I would prefer he not strike me while I administer his treatment.”

Inosuke was unconvinced.

“The warrior might be better able to endure if he needn’t restrain himself. He should not let fear stand in the way of strength.”

“I’m not afraid!!” yelled Inosuke mechanically, stomping over to the bench. As he did, the woman pulled a latch on the thick board, causing it to part halfway, splitting the two holes in half. She motioned for him to place his ankles in each opening, after which she shut the stocks and locked them. She then proceeded to tie the ropes secured to the bench around his knees, then lifted his arms up, tying his wrists together to the pole behind his back, so Inosuke’s vision of most of his body was partially occluded by his own biceps.

Inosuke pulled with all his strength. The restraints creaked, but neither the ropes nor the stocks showed any signs of giving.

“How long will this take?” he asked, beginning to regret that arrangement.

“As long as necessary,” replied the woman. “Or till the warrior resigns himself to his limits.”

He didn’t like the way she said that one bit. It felt like she was trying to manipulate him from behind her polite mask. But he was no longer in a position to do anything about it, beside calling quits. But he wouldn’t do that.

“I shall proceed soon,” informed the woman as she reached for a bowl into which she had mixed salt and oil. Then, she rubbed the mixture onto her hands and proceeded to massage it into his skin, starting at his shoulders and working her way down his body.

“Is this too much for the warrior to handle?”

On the contrary, it felt… weird, but quite pleasant. He still felt that odd, sharp sensation when her palms, textured by the salt and lubricated by the oil, massaged certain spots, such as his armpits, certain parts of his chest, and he actually hid his mouth behind his bicep when she began to work his ribcage, then moved down to his flanks and belly, the salt coagulating in the deep grooves of his abdominal muscles.

She then repeated the process on his legs, rubbing his thick thighs one at a time, and he couldn’t help the little shudders when her fingertips trailed along the inner portion. Fortunately, his shins would prove to be less sensitive.

“This area will require a lot of preparation before we can begin to cleanse it of weakness,” she announced as she began to massage the salt and oil into his broad soles. Inosuke wouldn’t have expected it, but he found himself enjoying the attention, though that weird sensation that shot up his leg whenever her touches softened prevented him from relaxing completely.

“The ensuing step may be slightly unorthodox, but a skin as tough as the warrior’s demands it,” she expounded while lifting the two dripping brushes out of the basin. A hint of concern showed from between Inosuke’s arms when he saw her move them closer to his torso. 

It finally clicked. “Wait!”

But there was nothing he could do to prevent hundreds, thousands of soft bristles from being pressed into his skin as the woman proceeded to obliterate Inosuke’s underarms with furious circular scrubs.

“WAHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIHIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! HAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Up and down, left and right, the two brushes removed every spec of salt on the muscular outer ridges, the sensitive hollow, then the curves of his chest, effortlessly and torturously gliding along the thin film of oil.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!! THIHIHS SUUUUHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHACKSSSS!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!”

The vigorous scrubbing gave a vibrato quality to his laughter, as if the sound was attempting to empty his lungs to settle there. 

Inosuke became rapidly and keenly aware that the bristles of each brush were arranged in three separate rows, each capable on its own to cause untold mayhem on his skin as it exfoliated it in the most excruciating way.

The woman’s motions became broader to encompass his entire chest, causing Inosuke to shimmy comically as he laughed his frustration at the ceiling, higher pitched staccatos intruding when she ventured too close to his ribs.

“HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!!! Haahahahahahaha…”

Inosuke’s laughter tapered off for the briefest moment while the woman dipped the brushes into the basin. 

He didn’t get to savor the brief moment of respite before she started scrubbing his midsection.

“Ha… What the HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELL!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA HAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAA!!! NOHOHOHHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!”

Inosuke pulled at the ropes, hard, forgetting for a moment that he was supposedly undergoing some form of training, the sensation simply too much for him to bear.

The bristles bending a little bit more when they encountered the ridge of a rib, then snapping forward after cresting it, descending into the groove like the tiniest fleet defying a tall wave, only to do it all again at the next rib, and then backwards, over, and over, and over again.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHA!!!!! SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAAHHATTT!!! HAAHAAHHAHAHAHA HAHAHAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHHA!!!”

The woman was indefatigable, her practiced motions seeding a completely new sensation deep inside Inosuke that wasn’t pain, but that he couldn’t help trying to escape anyway.

“I do believe I have located the warrior’s greatest weakness,” she said with a too satisfied smirk that Inosuke wasn’t able to register, his restraints preventing him not only from shielding his ribcage as he so ardently desired, but even from doing more than catching glimpses of the despicable torment that his sense of touch went into overdrive to faithfully transmit, searing his nerves and leaving him helpless in the face of unbidden hysteria.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!!! EHEHEHEHEHNOOOOOOUHGH!!!! EHEHEHEHEHENAAAAAAAHAHAHAAHHAAHHA WIHIHITH THEHEHEHE RIIIIHIHIHIHIBBBSSS!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

The relief he felt when the brushes began to go lower and target his sides and stomach was minimal, the two spots proving to be marginally less sensitive, much to Inosuke’s chagrin. The brushes followed the curve of his snatched waist like a lover’s hands… well, the hands of a lover who was very aggressive in their desire to send him ballistic and its execution.

“OOOOHOHOHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!! OHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! HAHAHAHAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

The bristles exfoliating his toned abs awakened something primal in Inosuke, like a wild animal trying and failing to shield its soft belly from a predator, but the ropes wrapped around his knees and the pole behind his back severely limited his range of motion.

And to top it all off, she wasn’t done with his bottom ribs either.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! CUHUHUHUT IHIHIHIHTTT OOOOHOHOHOHOHFF!!! IHIHIHIHITS CLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAAAAAAANN!! IHIHIM CLEEEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAAAAAAAANNN!!!”

To an ordinary person, the woman's ministrations may have been painful; but since Inosuke's skin was as tough as the hide of the hogs he was named after, the outcome was a harmless response that his enhanced sense of touch turned into excruciating ticklishness.

"The warrior is enduring wonderfully," she claimed, as if he were handling the process better than most instead of having a complete meltdown barely three minutes in.

The woman devoted copious attention to his midsection, rewarding the training that led to Inosuke's chiseled physique with a torment he was unequipped to deal with. He'd never felt anything like that sensation before.

Splash. The brushes were dipped into the water again.

"Now for the lower half," she announced with a serpentine crinkle in her smile.

"NO!" yelled Inosuke, his fury spoiled by the dopey grin still on his face. "This isn't making me stronger! You're... You're..." He had to pause, as he had no idea what the woman was actually doing or what she might want. "You're just making fun of me! So let me go or I'll free myself and kick your ass!!"

It would have been hard for anyone to take his threat seriously when he was flushed pink, he had to scream between his biceps, and his panting like a bellows was due to a few minutes of tickling.

She waited a few moments before stating, "The onsen will return the warrior to his world soon enough. If he wishes to withdraw from the treatment, that is indeed his prerogative."

"Stop talking all flowery and cut me loose!"

She lowered her voice as he raised his, forcing him to quiet down. "However. I believe I have demonstrated the warrior is burdened with a weakness to which he was previously not privy. I also believe I have not done any harm to him, nor warranted suspicion of nefarious designs. Therefore, it may behoove the warrior to entertain the notion that my vow to rid him of his weakness as well as the necessity of the treatment are, likewise, truthful."

Inosuke understood a word in three, but he got the general gist: he was proving to have a glaring weakness he knew nothing about, and that woman might be the only person capable of  ridding him of it. He could go back to his companions empty-handed and defeated, or he could tough it out and maybe get something out of it. He could always murder the woman later.

"Make it quick," he growled.

She nodded and lifted the brushes again. The warm drops dripping on his right thigh warned him of what was about to happen.

"Oo crAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAPPPP!! OHOHOHOH THIHIHIHIS SUHUHUCKS SOHOHO MUUUUUUUUUUUHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHACCCHHHH!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

There was also a brush scrubbing the upper portion and the outer side of the thick muscle, but the one harassing the inner right thigh was the only thing that Inosuke could focus on, even though he would have loved to be able to take his mind off it.

That spot felt like it should never be touched, though he’d felt that way about his pits and toes too, and his midsection… but this was different. Though Inosuke had been fighting against his bonds since the brushes first made contact, the tendons under the offended skin writhed like enraged snakes, his leg spasming involuntarily, like it was trying to ditch his body to escape.

In a way, it was somewhat more bearable than what she’d done to his midsection; in another, it seemed to push his “this should not be happening” button even more furiously.

“GEEEHEHET OHOHOHOOOOFF!!! GETOFFGETOFFGEHETOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFF!!! OHOHOHOHOHOHOFFF!!!” he demanded, the line between an order and a plea beginning to blur.

And the woman did comply, eventually.

Only to repeat the exact same process on his left leg.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! THIHIHIS IHIHIHSS NOHOOOT WHAHAHAHAT I MEHEHEHEHEHHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-- LEHEHHET ME TAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHAAHA!!!”

In spite of his considerable physical prowess, the ropes held him firmly in place, making sure he wouldn’t be able to avoid even a sliver of torture.

“BWAAAAAAWAWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHA!!! YOUHU WIHIHIHIHTCH!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!”

Having withstood it once already, Inosuke had some sort of sense of when all of the salt would be scrubbed off. Any moment now…

When she was satisfied, the woman began to scrub the inner part of both of Inosuke's thighs, an act that would have been immediately apparent to him as gratuitous and malicious if he hadn't been too busy laughing his head off.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAH!!! GHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! IHIHIHITS GOOOOOOHONE IHIHIT’S AAAAAHAHAHAHLLL GOHOHOHOHOHONE!!! HAHAHAHAAHHAHAHA!!!”

“I have to be thorough, the warrior must understand…” murmured the woman by way of explanation, which got drowned out by his mirth.

The first sensation that hit him when the brushes ceased their merciless attrition was a sense of rejuvenating coolness, and only a few moments later did he realize that he was no longer being tickled, the sensation on his inner thighs still feeling much too vivid.

“Uuuugh…” he panted. He’d insisted she kept going. Why had he insisted she kept going?

“The preparations are nearly complete,” declared the woman, taking three steps before kneeling down once again on the opposite side of the stocks. There was only one spot on his body that was still covered in salt.

"The warrior may state his preference."

He was really starting to hate the sound of her voice.

"I may treat his feet one at a time, which would be easier to withstand but would prolong the treatment," she began.

Inosuke cut her off. "Both," he grunted begrudgingly. He just wanted it over with as fast as possible.

"As the warrior wishes."

He wouldn’t laugh this time. He could take it. Yeah, he could take it.

She started scrubbing.

“NNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

Oh, hell. It wasn’t the worst. Sure, the bristles ravaging his soles, scrubbing the salt into his skin, adjusting to the imperfections and wrinkles so as not to leave a single spec untouched, did fill him with the urge to get the f out or, lacking that, to produce more of the sound he’d come to despise, which would at least drown out the scrubbing noise he couldn’t help but perceive as a taunt.

“TCH!! KKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGH!”

At first, the occasional giggle only spilled out when the brushes reached his toes or the rare patch of uncalloused skin, resulting in a motley and unpredictable pattern of stimulation. It wasn’t easy, as each brush was constantly hitting multiple such spots at once, and he’d signed up for having two going at the same time, and he was starting to regret it.

“GGGGGGGGGGGGGNNNNNNNNNNNN!!! Eh! NNNNNNNNnnnnoooo! TCH! HeHE! NNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGHH!!!”

But as the woman kept on scrubbing, it became harder and harder to take. It wasn’t just his self-restraint eroding - the sensation was getting worse. With each pass, the salt and oil stripped more dead skin and callus from his soles, smoothing them, making them more tender, vulnerable, sensitive.

“PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT!!!! NNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!! Y-You caHAn’t!! I… I…!”

The scrubbing went on undeterred by his pitiful prohibition, uncovering soft, pink skin that hadn’t been buried by years of feral existence. Civilization was being brought to his soles, and oh, how it tickled.

“NnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHO!!! DAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHMN IHIHIHIHIHITTT!!! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHA!!!”

The woman hadn’t changed her approach in the slightest, repeating the same movements over and over, fully aware that her persistence would finally break the floodgates open.

“GHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHPPP!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!”

As if she’d been waiting precisely for that moment, the woman introduced some variety in her approach, alternating between scrubbing both feet and directing both brushes to assault them one at a time, one ravaging the toes and ball, the other the arch and heel, lavishing attention even on the sides.

That seemed to be even worse.

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! YEHEHEHER DOIHIHING IHIHIT OOOOHON PUHURPOOOOOHOHOSE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“It cannot be too much for the warrior to bear, can it?” asked the woman, her tone flat but the inherent mockery plain to hear, though Inosuke was primarily experiencing it through touch.

Heel, arch, toes, ball, sides… the bristles were everywhere, scrubbing away his defenses.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! SSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAAHA!!! HAHAHAHAhahahahaha… HAHAHAHA hahahaha hahahahahahaha… hahaha…”

He hadn’t heard the freeing “plop” of the brushes as they were dropped into the basin, but the rush of cool air on his abused soles let him known that they were no longer in use. Perhaps he should have been wary of her, but after what he’d just endured, he was even grateful for the pressure of her palms, a gentle but firm massage tha rubbed the phantom sensations from his feet, her hands warm and rough sliding easily on the--

Rough? Not her hands, she was rubbing something coarse and grainy on his soles.

“I fear one more pass is required to extirpate the dread callus, lest it be shield and shelter to your weakness.”

She reached for the brushes again.

“No, shit, that’s enough!! That’s enooooooooouuuuahahahaahHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!!! NOOOOOHOHOT AGAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAIIHIHIHIHIHNNNNN HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

By the time she was done, Inosuke’s core had undergone a full workout, and his soles were unblemished as the day he was born, and just about as sensitive, every possible obstruction between the most pristine layer of skin and whatever cruel tool the woman planned to use, removed.

“For this last part, I will need the warrior’s cooperation.”

“NO!” shrieked Inosuke, huffing steam out of his nose. “I’ve had enough of whatever this is. You’re full of crap, and if you don’t let me go right now I’ll cut your head off!”

“Can’t the warrior withstand for five more minutes?”

“Shut your… Five minutes?”

The woman nodded.

 “In five minutes, you will be returned to your world. One ought not choose the ailment because the medicine is too bitter, but if the warrior has reached his limit…”

“Don’t put words into my mouth!” he barked, desperately trying to cling to a semblance of dignity.

The woman seemed unperturbed as she instructed, “Very well.Then we should make haste, lest this opportunity be squandered. I shall untie the warrior, and he shall turn around, kneeling on the bench, his feet hanging off the edge of the bench. I shall move the cushion accordingly. Then, his ankles shall be locked into the stocks and his wrists secured to the pole again.”

Inosuke tried to picture what she was describing. So he’d be kneeling with his ass up, and he’d have an even harder time keeping an eye on her?

His every instinct was telling him to refuse, that something smelled fishy, and besides, he’d be forced into such a humiliating position… but wouldn’t it be even more humiliating to chicken out now? Through all her fancy talk, that seemed to be what the woman was implying. She called him weak, but she didn’t act like she was stronger.

“Fine,” he grunted. For five minutes, he could handle anything.

She untied his hands first, and he immediately knocked her hands aside to worry at the knots binding his legs, but she loosened all of them before he could even undo one. Only when she unlocked the stocks did he proceed to rub the circulation back onto his wrists, as the woman massaged his legs to that same end.

Now that he was free, he really didn’t want to be tied up again.

“Five minutes,” she reminded him with a smile. He groaned but obeyed, kneeling with his shins flat against the cushion, which she’d pushed closer to the other end of the bench, and putting his feet through the stocks again. She then tied the ropes around his calves and secured his forearms to the pole. His chest was almost parallel to the bench, his back only slightly arched upward, and he was off-balance, the pole keeping him upright and the leg restraints preventing him from falling - or throwing himself - sideways.

He felt a lot more vulnerable and a whole lot more embarrassed than he’d anticipated.

“Hasn’t it been five minutes already?”

“Five minutes after we begin,” clarified the woman from somewhere behind his butt..

“So get on with it.”

“I shall. One last thing.”

He heard the sound of a string instrument being plucked, and an invisible pressure stretched his soles taut, pulling his toes towards the bench until there wasn’t a single wrinkle left on his feet. Only unblemished, defenseless, superhumanly sensitive skin at the mercy of a woman who had none.

“What did you do?”

She didn’t reply. As she approached him, he caught a glimpse of her left hand. She was wearing a fingerpick on the tip of each of her digits, and he wouldn’t have been more worried if she’d bared a set of monstrous claws.

“I shall start low and build to your greatest weakness,” the woman informed him from the bottom of the bench. He tried to see what she was up to from between his legs, but the robe and the stocks were in the way. He could almost feel her fingers hovering over his soles.

“What are you waiting fohohohohohOHOHOHOHOHORRRR!!! HOHOHOHOHO NOOOHOHOHOHOHO!!! IT’S SOOOHOHOH BAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHADDD!!!”

There was no buildup or warmup, but eight claws running from his heels to the very base of his toes, then back up again, taking note of how his laughter rose in pitch and the muscles twitched under the skin when certain spots were hit.

“The warrior appears to be struggling more than I anticipated,” declared the woman as she changed her method, scratching multiple times at each spot before continuing first down, then up his soles.

“Y-Youhuhu thihihink that hihHIHIHS!! Thahahahahat thihis wihihihilll--! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! L-LEHEHEHEHET MEEEEHEHEEHEH FIIHIHIHIHIHNIHIHHIHIHIHSSSSHHH!!!”

Inosuke felt naked. It wasn’t the state of relative undress, as he was arguably more clothed than usual. But from the way his feet were reacting, shocking him with jolts of ticklish electricity, he felt as if he had been stripped of a layer of protective pelt, leaving him to the hunter’s claws.

The woman’s methodical approach made it apparent to Inosuke and, almost simultaneously, to the woman herself, that the bottom of his arches close to the heel and the base of his toes were the most responsive areas, so she focused most of her attention there, making sure not to ignore the ball and arch as she alternated between those two spots.

His toes paralyzed by the invisible strings, the woman appeared to be particularly fond of scratching at the uppermost reaches of the ball, proceeding as if she was searching for something. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be the button that made Inosuke ballistic, as she seemed to be finding nothing but.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAHAAHA!!!! THIHIHS IHIS HOHORRIIIIBLEHEHEHEHEH!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Some part of Inosuke was probably aware of the passage of time, and he should have rejoiced that she was spending so much of it on his feet and not somewhere else. However, baffled by the intensity of the sensation, he could feel no relief. The woman plucked at the strings of his nerves and his lungs responded explosively. But no matter how beautiful, every piece has to end.

“Ah… This… thihis had to be… five minutes…” demanded Inosuke, even as he somehow felt his trials weren’t over.

“Correct. Five minutes precisely,” concurred the woman.

His ears perked up, and he hoped. “So we’re done?”

“Not quite,” said the woman with a smile.

“You said five minutes!!”

“Five minutes per area.”

“That’s not what you said before!! Let me go right now!!”

“I don’t doubt the warrior can withstand,” she claimed as the fingerpicks descended on the back of Inosuke’s thighs.

“SHIHIT, YOUHU SUHUHUHUHUCK!!! HAHAHAHAHAHhahahahahahahahaahhaahahaha!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahahahahaha!!! HAHAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHA!!! Hahahahahahahaha!!!”

He tried to leap forward and out of her reach, but the ropes around his calves and the stocks prevented his legs from moving, and the way his arms were tied to the pole made it impossible for him to block access to that sensitive area by sitting on the back of his legs.

It wasn’t the worst tickling Inosuke had been subjected to that day, but it was the most embarrassing, and his position wasn’t helping. Nor did the woman, as she allowed her fingers to wander inward towards an even more sensitive area of his thighs.

“HahahahahAH NAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!! AAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! IHIHIHI HHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHTE THIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHISSSS!!!! D-DOHOHON’T! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!”

Those fingerpicks really did not belong on his thighs, and he wanted them off. But there was little he could do beside interspersing his laughter with tittering demands and pleas.

The pressure of the picks rippled out as if a much wider area was being touched, but it also dove deeper, awakening the tendons and muscles, sending jolts up and down Inosuke’s legs that resulted in a unique form of tickling that filled him with flighty energy he simply couldn’t let out.

But he found out he could get even worse when she began pinching. In his words, he yelped; in her words, he shrieked.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHK!!! SHHAHAHAAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHHATTT!!! DOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOHON’TTTTT!!!! FIIIIIIIHIHIHIHVE MIHIHIHIHNUUUUUTEEEESSSS!!! IHIHIHIT’S BEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHN FIIHIHIHIHIHIVE MIHHIHIHIHIHINUUUUUUTESSSS!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAHHA!!!”

“It has not,” remarked the woman, using one hand to squeeze the hard muscle and the other to run her fingers on the sensitive skin. “Is this too much for the warrior? He hasn’t faced the worst of it yet. Would he rather I returned to his feet?”

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA STOHHOHOHOHP PIHIHIHIHINCHIHHIHIING!!! SHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAH!! YES! YEEHEHEHEHEHEHHSSSS!!!”

“This is confirmation that much weakness dwells in this area, but how could I go back, when the warrior was begging me so fervently to leave them alone?”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! SHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT UHHHUHUHUHUHUHUPPP!!”

“But as the warrior insists, I’ll be sure to treat his soles again once we are done.”

“DOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHN’T YOUHU DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHREEEE!!!”

She went on clawing and pinching like she was playing a musical instrument, one whose strings were flesh and tendon and whose music was hysteria, for what felt much closer to 20 more minutes.

But he was given no reprieve as before he even realized the picks had left his thighs when they began to gently skitter along his flanks, his kneeling position making it incredibly easy for her to torment that spot.

“OOOOHOHOHOH!!! STOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAP IHIHIHIHAHAHAHAHAHAHTTT!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

It was unacceptable. She was barely touching him, the picks making the lightest contact that his skin would register, so the intensity of the sensation was absolutely disproportionate. Like the feather from before, it triggered his enhanced sense of touch, straining it to the utmost as it tried to figure out what the hell was crawling up and down his body.

Inosuke was basically doing a strung-up worm in a futile attempt to escape the tickling. It was humiliating, but saving face was no consolation when her fingers converged on stomach.

“HAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! BREEEEEEEEEEEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!! IHIH NEHEHEHED A BREEEAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAKKKK!!”

“There are no breaks allowed.”

A fresh batch of tears rolled down his nose and fell on the plank, his toned stomach proving no match for the soft assault. Every frenzied inhale pushed his belly into the fingerpicks, momentarily transforming the torment from one into a deeper, more burning sensation.

Turning the body that bore witness to Inosuke’s relentless training into a source of defeat was no small achievement on the woman’s part, yet there he was wishing that the gentle pressure would chip away his abdominal muscle if it would make it tickle any less. At the same time, he lamented the weakness of his sides, not shielded by muscle, a cognitive dissonance he lacked the ability to unpack there and then.

And when the fingertips finally reached his bottom ribs, he knew it was all over.

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAH!!!”

She started pressing a bit harder, going slightly faster too, the picks making short work of his ribcage. Not being able to see her hands despite them being so close to his face made it even worse. He pulled at the ropes around his arms with all his strength, trying to break them, the pole, heck, even his own arms would do, anything to escape those horrendous claws.

“TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHO MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHAHAHAHAHAAHAHCCCH!!! IHIHT’S TOOHOHOHO MUUUUUUUHUHUHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAH!!!! NOOOOHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAAHAHA!!!!”

He was done. He was so done. He’d withstood the unbearable long enough, he wasn’t going to put up with it any longer.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH CAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHNT IHIHIHIHIHAHHAAHAH CAHAHAHAHAHAHN’T HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHH CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHN’T!!!”

“I am certain the warrior doesn’t intend to admit defeat when he’s so cl--"

“STAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHPPP!!! YOUHU MUHUHHUST STAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHPPP!!! GIHHIHIIHIIHHIVVEEEEE!!! IHIH GIIIHIHIHIHIVEHEHEHEH!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHPPP!!”

Her fingers somehow got even faster as she gravely asked, “Does the warrior wish to surrender?”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAH!!! YEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHHEAAAAASSSSSS!!! JUHUHUHHAHAHHAHAST STAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAPPP!!!”

But the claws didn’t leave his ribs.

“IIHAHAHAHAHAAH SAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAID EHEHEHEHENOAHAHAHAHAGH!!! I SURRAAHA-- NAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAAHAHA!!!!”

“What a shame,” she uttered, her voice dripping with disappointment as she finally stopped tickling him, but Inosuke was too busy panting to listen to her, content with letting the ropework hold him up.

For a moment, he thought he was going unconscious, but it wasn’t him: the sourceless light that lit up the entire onsen dimmed to the level of a small brazier, radiating from the center of the room outward so that Inosuke could see his own shadow and the woman’s on the wall from around the pole.

Inosuke didn’t like that. “We’re done here. Lehet me up.”

The woman’s shadow T-posed. "I'm afraid it's no longer your choice, little warrior."

Something pulled back her large sleeves all the way to her shoulders… Elbows. Two extra sets in each sleeve. Six arms.

The woman stood up to her full height, the hem of her dress lifting to reveal not human feet, but an extra set of hands. She lifted herself up in the air by pulling on invisible threads, the motions of her shadow calling to mind a spider crawling on a web toward its next victim, until she was hanging directly above him.

“You’re not human!! You tricked me!!” yelled Inosuke, redoubling his efforts to break free.

“Look who finally got smart,” mocked the woman, her voice much viler than before. “I’m not done with you, little warrior. Not by a long shot.”

He heard several clicks, and a droning like the sound of angry bees, which would have frightened him far less than the eight rotating brushes that descended on his body all at once.

His ribs. His sides, abs, thighs, and feet. All of them, ravaged by hundreds if not thousands of soft bristles spinning like it was their mission to murder him.

Inosuke opened his mouth to laugh, scream, shriek, but no sound came out.

“Oh? Is this too much for you? It tickles even more after a good scrub, doesn’t it? So much more. Remember that you were having trouble with a feather? A single feather? What about now? With your super touch, you must be feeling each and every bristle. How unbearable it must be for you.”

“......................................................................................AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAGAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

Foreign and unbearable, the sensation consumed him from the outside in. The brushes were large enough to cover his feet heels to toes as well as most of his abs, leaving hsi sides, thighs, and ribs no chance to escape them at all.

“GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! YOOOOOUUUUUU’RE KIIIIIIIIHIIHHIIHHIHIHIHLLLLIIIIIIIING MEEEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAH…………………………………………………………….HAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAH!!!”

He wheezed, coughed, struggled, would have pleaded. The woman whispered through his mop of blue hair. “Like I care. Shut up and laugh, dumbass.”

“.................................................EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHKKKKK!!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“So much weakness in these parts, we gotta do something about it,” taunted the woman, the spinning brushes continuing to ravage Inosuke’s unblemished skin.

The last words Inosuke could make sense of before his mind melt into the lattice of ticklish overload were, “You’re going to be here for a long while, little warrior.”

—

When Tanjiro and Zenitsu found Inosuke, he was passed out on the rocky ground, wearing his usual clothes, his swords resting parallel to him. A huge, dopey grin lingered on his tear-streaked face.

“Is he ok?” worried Zenitsu.

“He’s fine. He’s just unconscious… what’s with that grin?”

“Nothing,” replied Zenitsu, looking first at the rictus etched on Inosuke’s face, then smirking at Tanjiro. “I’ve just had an idea for when he wakes up.”

[twistofstory]

A bit old, but still cool fanart for an incredible @castoff-comic >:3 First one's Vector in a buch of outfits from different chapters (yes I did nerd out on that front for some reason.... also his ch10 "disguise" is extremly cute!), and the second one's just no-nonsense Ari And go check Castoff out, this comic is SOO good!! Starting from characters to writing and more technical art stuff, it became such an inspiration for me

Also side note: funnily enough, my ramblings brought into comic my best friend who doesn't know english very well, and now she's checking out new pages before me 😭 (I'm serving as her part-time translator and personal lore enciclopedia lol) These drawing wouldn't even exist without her, honestly. She encouraged me to try and sketch something with Vector - for some personal reasons I'm very scared to draw fanart of things I'm really passionate about - and look how far it got XD

[badkitty3000]

What did you think was ooc for Five?

Great question, and I have already covered it a bit in my post here, but I could probably yammer on all day about it, so I'll add some thoughts.

Season 1 -3 Five was focused, determined, manic, arrogant, sometimes mean, violent, out-spoken, and full of love for his family above all. Yes, he insulted them and had no time or patience for their shit, but considering everything he'd been through and what he was up against, there was a reason for it. Season 4 Five? Ok, yeah, I can buy that maybe he was depressed and didn't really know what to do with himself anymore. Myself and others have certainly written him that way a few times. But, damn, he spent like all of season 3 bitching about wanting to be retired and here he could be! He could have played the stock market a few times, bought a little place somewhere, picked up a nice lady at the local Bingo hall and lived his peaceful live he deserved. Instead, he works (inexplicably) for the government and just wanders around with his sad little trenchcoat and CIA-issued pistol and flashlight, taking orders from The Man and just...existing I guess. I could see if they made it so that he joined the CIA to get inside info on Reginald and he had spent the last 6 years quietly plotting to take him down and get his revenge or set the world straight again. But no...he apparently hadn't even tried to look into anything Reggie was doing? Like he was just "*shrug*, it's probably fine".

Five loves his family above all else. We know this. If not, he wouldn't have spent decades alone fighting to get back to them and save all their stupid asses. Now, all of sudden, he just doesn't seem to care? Yes, he's present and has obviously kept in touch. He goes to the birthday party, etc. But there is zero interaction with Klaus, or his nieces, or even Viktor. When at the end, he finally gets some fight back (although for completely absurd reasons) and snaps at Luther, the whole family gasps in shock like this is some new occurence that Five would be mean to them. And he'd said much worse to them before! So, that leads me to believe he just has spent the last 6 years being a completely different person and everyone forgot he's actually an asshole?

And back to the family thing...fighting his brother over his wife? Falling in love with Lila, the same person who: conspired behind his and Diego's back in Season 2, was raised by his villainous boss, was the daughter of two innocent people he killed, tried to kill him with her fists, a frying pan, her feet, a knife, electrocution; and who he tried to kill multiple times as well. Yes, they have had time to heal some wounds and they have a shared traumatic experience with The Handler but come on...he would never! He would never be attracted to her that way. He would never betray Diego that way. And he certainly wouldn't fight him over her, not when she and Diego are married and have kids together. I don't care how many years they were together alone...just no. Best friends? Sure. Lovers? Fuck no.

Physically, where was his prowess? Five is supposed to be the all-time badass assassin, trained in martial arts and weaponry. His body is young at 19-20 years old, and at the peak of his physical fitness. Even without his powers he should be able to kick some ass, or at least try to. And then when he does have his powers, he just doesn't know how to use them correctly anymore? And again, he looks slow and weak in a fight. His solution to taking down the big Bennifer blob thing was to fire an entire clip at long range at it, and then just go "huh...weird that didn't work". Why wasn't he looking around the mall for a weapon? An axe? Something else to fight against it! That's what he does...that's his THING! We were fucking robbed of a Five-centric badass fight scene, when there were so many opportunities for one. Hell, he could have taken down a room full of Keepers with a fucking ballpoint pen while singing along to Abba's Dancing Queen! Why didn't we get that?

Meeting with Reginald. Remember in Season two when Five met with Reggie at the Tiki bar? He sat and had a drink with him, but it was still tension-filled with a lot of emotion there. Then in Season 3, when he was basically like "you're a sadistic lunatic that is going to kill all of us" and got right in his old man's face and told him he was a giant dick? This time...he's just standing around Reggie's house shooting the shit and not even acting like he's mad. That is just not the same guy. I realize this was supposed to be Viktor's fight with Reggie, but they still could have shown Five to have a little emotion there.

So, there you have it. I could probably keep going, but this is way too long as it is. It's just heartbreaking, really. This character that we have all come to love for all of his complexities and faults and heroics was just diminished to a one-dimensional, uninteresting character with no regard for his family. Basically, just undoing three season's worth of plot and character development. And it's not Aidan's fault. He did the best he could with the shit he was given, and I feel sorry for him. For as much as we love this character, Five was his. He made him come to life and there's not many other actors his age that could have pulled that off. So, I'm sad this was his end. They really did him dirty.

[verstarppen]

A THANK YOU LETTER

an apology and update! for all you beautiful people - 2 for the price of 1

hello! over the months i've written and deleted this letter because i was too much of a coward to show my face after i left. i contemplated if it would be adequate enough, if it even matters. At the end, i owe this fandom too much, so here it is:

THE APOLOGY

i am truly sorry. there's no better way of putting it.

the more i create the more i realise how this fandom held my hand and i simply wouldn't be the person i am now if this blog never existed. i've always struggled with sharing art and writing online, as i thought it was too lame and took the coward route of keeping it to myself and my closest friends.

ever since this blog, i've found that less of an issue. the more i think about how much i let you and myself down by disappearing the more i feel the shame weigh me down. i never wanted to leave, but life has this funny way of forcing your hand when you least expect it.

without getting too personal, this year hasn't been great for me or anyone close to me - friendships died, family members were hospitalised, university crushed me, expectations from everyone around me made me question if i'm failing in every aspect of my life, i lost passions like art - something i've always thought of as my dream career, and i fear the stress will only grow rather than die down.

in some of those harder moments i would always turn to a distraction, create something for a fandom i enjoy to get my mind off things. to see your comments and your messages always kept me going even when i physically couldn't take the stress of everything around me anymore. being busy made my flame for F1 dwindle, too. it's one of the main reasons i didn't return earlier. I've missed half the races this year, yes that includes both lando and oscar's wins, and although im looking forward to the summer break ending and the racecs coming back, i don't think the enthusiasm will ever return to the way it was when this blog was at its peak.

i feel like a coward for disappearing and it's a big regret of mine this year. i can't promise to write for F1 again, but what i've made will always be archieved here :)

THE UPDATE

not great. i can't even lie i'm not doing too hot right now. i promised i would return to writing when things finally calmed down and yet the more stress there was the more one off projects i made to combat it. throughout the months i've accumulated a lot of side projects for different fandoms like star wars, star trek, dc, merlin and lesser known fandoms such as heavy rain, mortal kombat, the sims (no seriously have you seen the lore) etc. that i have nowhere to post. in april i decided i can't afford (literally) to distract myself with any hobby projects for the sake of my situation and thus... i was an idiot and i deleted my ao3 account. there weren't that many stories on there anyway, but i regret it even if it was the right decision.

i owe @wtfisakilometer2 so much for telling me that the people who love the blog wouldn't mind what fandom it is as long as it's by me, even if i don't fully believe it. it did open my eyes to finally write this, though, so direct all your love to her.

so that leaves me here, sort of homeless on my own blog and with very conflicting feelings about it's direction. i intend to preserve it as an archive of my F1 writing without messing with it, but still let you know about my new ao3 and everything on it so i can keep both our interests in mind.

thank you for reading if you made it this far, i hope you have an awesome day and a lot of cat memes in your pinterest. thank you for all the lovely messages (i read everything) and thank you for everything this fandom has offered me. i will truly never get over you guys.

- star :)

[erabu-san]

Hello!!I want to start off with the fact that i ABSOLUTELY LOVE your art!!The way you draw characters is amazing,you draw them nearly the same as i hc them

I was scrolling through your blog (the art is beautiful please dont ever stop) and i saw some anons complaining and insulting you for drawing some characters (mainly characters from natlan and sumeru) with different shades of skin.While i dont know much about this topic i just wanted to share my opinion.

Sumeru is based off of middle east,the majority of which has tanned skin (but its very mixed from what i know!).Natlan is based off of a lot of places (which is honestly another sign of racism in my opinion)I myself am from Turkey which can count as both middle east AND Europe (even turkish people dont know what we count as).I have a lot of middle eastern friends as well (Iran,Iraq,Sauda Arabia,Syria…) and they are brown or tanned and one of them is white!

i saw a lot of people say that “not every character needs to be black/brown” and i answer this with not every character has to be white.White,brown,black,asian,native american and every other race exists and every race deserves to be respected.No race should be insulted for wanting representation.No race should be seen as outcasts either.Wether that be white or black,no one deserves to feel like they are not fine the way they are.

I myself hc Zhongli as pale as a ghost to indicate that he is a god (as being pale is associated with being a superior being in chinese culture).I hc Xiao as tanned due to him spending all his time,day and night,fighting monsters.I hc Neuvilette has slightly blue-ish skin bc hes the hydro sovereign.I hc as black bc i like him that way.I hc Alhaitham as brown and so many more characters.Nobody would want to play a game in which there is no diversity.Diversity helpes the characters feel more real and gives them character depth.Diversity helps make Teyvat feel more real,like Earth itself.

But anyways this is just my opinion,i would love to learn more and hear everyone’s opinions.And if someone doesnt like your art they should just block you if they dont want to see it🤷‍♀️ Your art is amazing though so please dont mind those buffoons 🙏

Sorry it this got too long or complicated.English isnt my first language and im still learning

And dont even get me started on the body shapes of the characters

Hii !! Thank you so much ! 😭😭🙏

Yesss I completely agree with you !

And if I can be honest, I wasn't aware of this question of representation and diversity before Genshin Impact. Once, I saw a fanart with someone making a white character black, and in all of my ignorance, I was wondering why (a genuine question). So I asked my friend her thought (because I love hearing her opinions) and she makes me aware about representation in media, and issues they are facing to. And, wow, I learnt a lot ! Maybe it is a bit silly but, I always tend to focus on canon content, and all my HC was around interactions or their behaviour, and I never thought about their body appearance HC. And since I learnt that, my creativity developed a new skill ! So it is only recently I put HC on their physical appearance (like Sethos with dimples KKGEKDJS it ain't that much but it is fun, I guess HC on physical appearance is not my domain)

But it is thanks to Genshin, a game about exploring a whole world with diversity lore in each region, and what representation Hoyoverse used for making their game that I started to be into it. So yes, there is a lot of problem in genshin, making some rep worst. But without this, I wouldn't be able to learn more about SWANA culture with a thread I read on Dehya Nilou Tighnari Faruzan, Japan with Wanderer, Chinese with Yun Jin or recently on Hawai'i with Mualani and even on France United Kingdom with Emilie (i think I also read a thread about GaMing too...?). And what a surprise, I am close to France and UK but I never knew about Emilie's inspiration. Not only on character but also lore, and how some desert name in genshin is also part of culture (I don't remember where I read it tho !! Gosh i wish to reread it again).

I love genshin for its diversity whatever on region or lore but even on gameplay it offers us in our adventure. But I also agree on those who complain about character design ! Not only about representation, but about storytelling in character design (for example, you can't guess Xilonen is someone who forges ; her nails, accessories and hair would be on her way). And it happens that I receive some hate message (on tumblr and twitter. Mostly twitter) saying "this game is not for you, just leave" with some insults that I prefer to not share lol

I agree and also disagree. What do you mean this game is NOT for me ?? Searching our lost sibling, tragic lore, wholesome encounter, satisfying gameplay, vivid color landscape, with great characters, ALBEDO ??? Not for me ?! 🤨 My love for genshin is immense. But, I agree on the fact that.. yes. Indeed, I am not the target for genshin character design. I played a lot of gacha game, and it is mostly based on collectioning waifu with big boobs and big ass (you were a great game, Epic Seven...). When I look at hater's account on twitter, there is a pattern : throwaway account, account full of problematic opinion, or full of porn 2d woman with the basic hourglasses morphology big boobs big butt even on characters who are flat. It is undeniable that most of genshin characters are sexualised, and this, for sell them better. And, making them white is one of criteria to sell them better to those type of client 🙂‍↕️

I study sociology (i am a newbie tho, nothing deep) and I can extend this light analyse on what I learn : the success of Genshin, why there is such a contrast between Genshin players and their different profiles, the benefits Hoyoverse do and how difficult it is to satisfy all players (and so sacrifices are made, like characters design). It is all supposition tho BGKEJGJS but maybe if I do my last year of sociology and still into genshin, why not making my essay on it bahahaha

BACK TO THE TOPIC !!! (SORRY I HAD A LOT TO SAY) don't worry, since this anon hate, I tend to block everyone who try to argue or insult 😭 and just mostly shock how people are openly racist when they are behind a screen WOW lucky me I am not affected by those words ☠️ and all of this just because I draw Kinich black skin or Xilonen with a bit more textured hair...? That's so crazy ! Anywaaaay diversity is great and it works also on creativity too !! World is boring if everything looks the same, and it is also the same in Genshin ! Imagine in 4 years, genshin only released mondstadt 1, mondstadt 2, mondstadt 3.... I believe the game would be dead sooner if it was the case bahaha

And thank you again for all your compliments about my art anon !! I love drawing so much, and it is my source of fun and happinness <3 There is in some drawings I thought "wow !!! I improve !!" And i am so happy when people notice it too! 😭🙏

Don't worry abt your english, mine isn't the best neither BAHTVZJHGJZGAA

[vesora]

is it a real problem or are you trapped in your mind?

this one goes to my anxious girlies

the past few weeks I've been extremely trapped in my mind, ruminating whether someone would backstab me or whether a friend would leave me and of course there is no evidence of that in real life, it's all in mind. that being said, deep down i know that nothing would happen and im sure deep down you all know as well that nothing would happen. but the what ifs are so strong that you can't handle yourself practising the law.

this doesn't mean you can't manifest during this time, we always manifest, just now you can consciously manifest things you want. e.g. I wanted a psychic message from someone and I received it; I got money when I needed it; I never wait for public transport even if the app shows that it is coming in like 30 minutes (because we don't pay attention to 3d). I've noticed my anxious and extremely intrusive thoughts never manifest, especially after learning the law so I don't want you to be scared of your own mind. You, as the supreme being and consciousness ARE your mind but your mind is not you. In the grand scheme of things, the mind is unreal so what would the "3d" listen to? Some jumble of anxious fearful thoughts that do not exist except from when you aware of it or the command of God themselves?

all in your (unreal) mind:

don't punish yourself, stop harming yourself by trapping yourselves in your mind. simply drop the thought. if you find that hard, you can work on it by eliminating the possibilities but from experience, that still never makes the fear go away. the fear is so primal, so noticeable that the only way it feels it can go away for me is if I end everything and thats not good right? why would God be a victim to her character's thoughts? Why wouldn't God just change the garment?

The hardest thing is to just ACCEPT. "Just accept you have it" was the hardest thing for me to apply because soras entire life was just finding every possible solution for the worst case scenario in case people hurt her or I am seen in a way that doesn't represent her (aka being misunderstood). See how i am using her and sora to describe things I experienced? It's because I have the POWER to completely eradicate any trauma or any pain by just choosing to adorn myself in another state. I am not sora but sora is me, therefore I have control over soras experiences. You are not a victim to your circumstance, when you find the law you have the power to create your own life, you create new circumstances by adopting a new version of yourself. You are in control no matter what the unreal mind says.

breathe in, breathe out:

Excuse my language but honestly fuck the mind???? It only knows what it has learned from its surroundings and you are above the surroundings so why would you listen to such a limited thing?

Do you think if you dismiss the thoughts you won't be prepared for what you think is about to come? Do you feel you constantly have to be on defense mode protecting yourself either from physical or emotional harm?

I understand, I was the same way and sometimes I still revert back to it. However the thing is, who is creating whats about to come? YOU ARE! Don't you get it? Nothing can happen without your consent (once you accept your power of course). You are not a victim to circumstances. You are never the receiver, you are always the creator. Bask yourself in lovely states with lovely thoughts. It is okay if you do not believe it or if your body is resisting it, just please persevere. We can't let anxiety win. What is anxiety to a God?

our negative beliefs falling after we disown them:

Read this by Edward Art