#only dope face scars allowed

[thats-sir-dyke-to-you]

okay so pimple patches might actually be what i need to stop absolutely derma wrecking my face

[mintytealfox]

So, I have this shadows house AU (TLDR : There are creatures called shadows that don't have a face and to compensate, they have 'living dolls' to act as their faces. Also, shadows produce soot when experiencing negative emotions and said soot can be used for energy) for a while, so hear me out :

(There will be spoilers for Shadows house so be warned)

So basically Shadow! Alice gets invited to the adults wing and TLDR, the adults believes she's dead since when they opened the unification box neither Shadow! Alice or Doll! Alice is present. Still they keep it a secret from the residents of the children's wing as to not cause chaos and unrest, so Shadow! Norton believes that Shadow! Alice is alive and well.

Then, by some unknown means, Shadow! Norton gets upset, causes a soot explosion, and severely damages Doll! Norton face (Just like Barbara) and WHOOPS! That means Shadow! Norton can't become an adult cuz damaging your 'face' is a huge No No for the unification process, but the adults make a deal with him : Act nice, contribute to the children's wing, and heal the scar on Doll! Norton's face and he'll get invited to the Adults wing and become an adult!

(Only they won't invite him cuz they know Doll! Norton's scar won't heal and they plan on ising him like a living battery until he dies)

Boy, I love angst

Yoooooooo This goes HARD 👏👏👏👏🤌🤌 I had never heard of this before so I watched a quick recap to get more of the vibe and now I kinda wanna watch it fr fr lol

So some things I put in this lil thing are just where my mind went after all this COOLNESS and thinking 'if the kid shadow can't be allowed to go to the adult wing do they not age with the 'living doll'/human?' and I liked that thought so I drew kid shadow!Norton and then I saw the one shadow come back as the little part of itself that is left so I was wondering if that is what could have happened to shadow!Alice to help 'living doll' Alice 👀 (mainly wanted to draw the little lol)

This is a DOPE au though my GOSH 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

[foolishaetherguardian]

I wanted to add my two cents as someone who grew up studying about 7 different religions because for some reason my family thought I should. (I love it now. I wanted to die back then) The reason that blood and “water” came out of the wound is an interesting one. It’s a thing about how he was stabbed. The upwards stab from a very low position and with a very long weapon allowed it to pierce a bit of tissue that contained a clear fluid around the heart (can’t be bothered to look up the name of it). So basically that one random Roman soldier triggered a super rare kill animation by pure happenstance and inspired a massive section of literature and art by hitting that one random thing. Also the stabbing wasn’t unheard of. It only was done however when the crucified died before their legs were broken. So they got to Jesus and he had died before anyone else really ever did because of the blood loss of being whipped before being crucified. So in order for this one specific dope ass image to occur a series of hilariously specific circumstances had to occur. 1. Jesus had to be flogged nearly to death before being crucified.

2. The carpenter who walked everywhere and who was strong enough to beat the shit out of a whole temple full of con men had to die before the common thief.

3. The centurion in charge of the execution decided to actually check if the dude hanging several feet above his head was actually dead.

4. When it turned out he was instead of doing the lazy, easy thing, he decides to stand on procedure and stab the corpse.

5. The stabbing has to be vicious enough to penetrate through almost the entire torso.

6. It has to be at just the right angle.

7. And it has to be pulled out quickly enough that the blood and fluid don’t mix so they can be distinguished as different from a distance. In short the way that the records (not just biblical records but also later roman records) report this event means that so much went in the right way to give us that awesome image of a roman legionaire being bathed in blood and water by a ripped arab, with a mask of spikes beaten into his face, completely nude, and covered in scars, four to eight feet (1.2-2.5m) above him held in place by nails the size of railroad spikes is insane.

Being raised by areligious jews with 0 exposure to christianity outside pop culture is so fun. One time I asked my ex-catholic friend why a picture of jesus had a bristle crown and she looked at me like I was insane. One time I heard someone mention the "lance of longinus" and responded, word for word, "Like from Evangelion?" One time during a history lesson my professor described an important monk and scholar as "Dominican" and I spent the rest of class super confused and hung up on it because I was very sure that the Dominican Republic didn't meaningfully exist as an entity back then, maybe she meant he was a native Taino or something but that's a weird way to say that and I'm pretty sure this was pre- European contact? Really fucks people up when they realize I genuinely have no idea.

[diinferi]

ORIGINS

[PIRATE] Pirates, Buccaneers, Scallywags, whatever you want to call them. This option covers not only pirates, but anyone who can be said to work in opposition to the World Government and the established order. This means you could be a pirate, a mountain bandit, or even a revolutionary. Whatever you are, you’re luckily still under the radar of the Marines, as you haven’t made any waves just yet.

RACE

[HUMAN] Humans, Homo Sapiens Sapiens, I assume you know what these are. Due to their close relation to normal humans, picking this option will also allow you to be any of the number of near-human tribes from this world, like long-arms or skypieans, though you get no notable benefit, so choosing the three-eyed tribe won’t let you hear the Voice of All Things for example. Honestly, you can add pretty much any number of purely cosmetic traits, as there are some weird looking humans ‘round here. Also, humans have been seen from normal sizes to 6+ meters tall. You can choose any size within that range, maxing out at Whitebeard's tremendous 666cm height.

LOCATION

[DOUBLE TROUBLE] Well, at least it isn’t Impel Down? Flip a coin, it’ll determine which of two terrible locations you’re showing up on. Tails is instead the island of Little Garden, an extremely isolated ecosystem that seems to have never left the prehistoric age. Within the vast canopy you’ll find all manner of dinosaurs that didn’t get the memo that their time has passed, but that’s actually the least dangerous part of it. The diseases found here have never left the island, so foreign creatures, including people, will have no response ready from their immune system, not helped by the fact that all the diseases and viruses seem to be doping, with even diseases that exist in the wider world being far worse here. Doesn’t really matter if you can punch hard enough to reduce a mountain to rubble if you get so sick your organs liquify and leak out your every orifice.

PERKS

[GODA’S BLESSING] Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the average looks of people here, at least people of importance, is quite a few notches higher than you might be used to, and we can’t have you looking like some kind of side character, now can we? You’re sitting at a solid 8/10 now kid, enough to not look out of place standing beside a bunch of gorgeous protagonists. And considering how rough this world can be, you get the extra benefit of never looking worse, no matter how scuffed up and covered in mud and blood you are. Frankly, some ‘round here might say it adds to your charm.

[SMILE THROUGH THE PAIN] Y’know, for as idyllic as sailing the high seas with your friends might seem, there’s a depressing amount of darkness in this world. Slavery, murder, and more are not exactly uncommon sights ‘round here. But you find yourself able to grin through it all. You are utterly incapable of being permanently scarred or traumatized by your experiences. You could watch your home and all you cared for burnt to the ground, and still find it in you to joke and laugh with new friends, though only after some time. You can still be extremely sad, angry, and anything else, but you’ll never end up a broken, drunken wreck in a bar somewhere, no matter what you come upon. Even in the short term, you rarely give into despair, letting you focus less on the village burning behind you, and more on putting your fist through the face of the bastard who did it. It’d take seeing your brother die in front of you to really shake you.

[FAKE PIRATE] At least as far as Luffy is concerned. You’re exactly the kind of pirate the marines say you are, or at least you could be. You are scarily good at the whole looting and pillaging business. You’ve got an eye for value that lets you roughly estimate the selling price of anything you can lay eyes on. You’re great at finding the hidden stashes and vaults where people hide their true valuables. You’re fantastic at casing a target, whether that’s a bank on land or a merchant ship at sea. You’re even a fairly good negotiator, often able to rob people blind without having to fire a shot, just by convincing them that fighting will just make everything worse. Hell, you even seem to get a bit more out of the whole business than others. Nothing crazy, but enough to make sure you and your crew are all a very happy bunch if you play it smart.

[LOOK, MA! NO HANDS!] Not sure if you’ve realized yet, but this world is pretty damn dangerous. You can’t expect to solve every conflict by holding hands and singing a silly song. Instead, you should learn to use those hands to beat your opponents face in, it’s very therapeutic. By taking this, you gain skill in some form of martial art, roughly equal to Sanji at the beginning of the series. This can be anything from strict karate, to being a naturally skilled brawler, to even something like Fishman Karate. The martial art you learn is specifically centered around using your body, and won’t include much if any skill with weaponry. You have a natural talent for martial arts, enough to become legendarily strong just with this, should you train hard enough.

[WHERE THERE’S A WILL, THERE’S A WAY] Y’know, normally the endless willpower of a shonen protagonist is limited to just keeping them from dying or giving up, they usually can’t use it to see the future. You are both capable of, and fairly talented in, the uses of all three types of Haki: Observation, Armament, and Conqueror’s. You don’t start out very powerful in any respect, but we all have to start somewhere, and this is a better headstart than most get. With Armament, you start out capable of the simple invisible version of hardening, which while weaker than the coating form is still an impressive defense in the weaker parts of the world. With Observation you can sense the presence of people around you, even if you could not see them naturally, whether due to distance or an obstruction. With Conqueror’s Haki, you’re currently only capable of Domination, the act of dominating an individual's will to intimidate them. This is most effective against non-sapient species, who you can usually cow into submission easily. Humans are trickier, as with sufficient power, or generally high will of their own, can outright ignore this. There are plenty more techniques that you can eventually achieve, potentially including applications never shown in the series.

[CANDLEWICK BEARD] You know what’s just as important as strength? Reputation. Having strength without reputation means, at best, that you’ll have to deal with every wannabe pirate king or admiral throwing themselves at you until you get the reputation you deserve. At worse, it means that if you do get injured or otherwise weakened and word gets out, you can’t draw on an impressive reputation to ward away your enemies. Now, having reputation without strength is a whole other issue, but one that’s usually easier to solve. As far as the former is concerned, this should have you covered. You have a startling talent and propensity for developing an impressive reputation. Within just a few months you could have people watching you as an up and coming legend, assuming you went out and raised hell in that time. While your reputation tends to be a bit embellished, it’s rarely so much so that you can’t mostly meet expectations when necessary. Beyond just developing a reputation, something mostly facilitated through rumours after the fact, you also have an impressive capacity for being absolutely pants-shittingly terrifying. Just watching you get in a brawl with someone could leave their buddies shaking like a leaf, and should you actually commit acts of brutality or that would normally be considered scary, you could cause people to faint from sheer terror. This works in conjunction with abilities that work to scare, dominate, or otherwise crush another’s will with one’s own, such as Conqueror’s Haki.

DEVIL FRUIT

[ANCIENT ZOAN - ANKYLOSAURUS]

ITEMS

None

DRAWBACKS

None

FUTURE

[MOVE ON]

[autisticlancemcclain]

Sleeping has never been easy for Lance. Even as a baby – Mamá had told him that it was a rare night that he slept more than three hours. That followed him all throughout childhood and teenhood, too. He has several specific memories of sneaking out in the dead of night to collect shells that were abundant after the tide pulled in during the early hours of the morning. It’s not that he never sleeps, or anything – usually he makes himself lie in bed for at least 8 hours, so he’s at least rested. 

But sometimes he’s just bored. And fucking around at night is fun! It’s so quiet and still, it makes everything feel like an adventure. 

Tonight, especially, there’s no chance of him staying in bed and doing nothing. There’s no chance of sleep, either – he’s too excited! In – he checks his watch – ten minutes, he turns eighteen. An adult! In the eyes of the law! Yeah, sure, he’s in actual space fighting a literal war, so it doesn’t matter at all, but still. He’s allowed to be excited. 

He taps his hands erratically, humming to himself, trying to pass the time. After what feels like ten minutes, or close to it, he checks his watch again, and – aw, man. It’s only been thirty-four seconds. 

He stands up, spinning around until he makes himself dizzy, collapsing in a pile of giggles on the floor. He lies flat on his back and waits until the room stops spinning, and then some. He checks his watch again. 

Nine more minutes until midnight. 

Seriously? he thinks, Is time passing extra slowly tonight, or something?

He stands back up, jumping and hopping around, trying to think of something fun (or at least minorly amusing) he can do for nine minutes. In the end he decides on just parkouring around the bridge, leaping over chairs and doing cool run-flips off the wall. At one point he tries to use the corner of the wall to vault up to the ceiling, even though he knows it’s futile. He does not reach the ceiling (as it is something like 100 feet up in the air), but he does manage to get high enough that it hurts a little when he falls down, which is dope. (The footprint he leaves about 20 feet up the wall is less dope, and he is going to safely blame it on Keith as soon as possible).

After what he feels is at least ten-ish minutes of dicking around, he checks his watch and is delighted to find that he’s correct – fifteen seconds to midnight! Fifteen seconds until he’s eighteen! He starts counting down aloud, in the quietest whisper he can currently manage at this level of excited (which, honestly, is not that quiet, but if him jumping off the walls didn’t wake the team up then he’s probably fine).

“...Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! ONE!” 

As soon as the last count is out of his mouth, before he even has the breath to cheer, a video pops up in front of him. 

Lance blinks. “Huh?”

The video is staticky for a second, millions of black and white dots covering the hologram-screen thingy (Altean tech is wack, man). It goes on for a few more seconds, enough that Lance can feel some pressure building behind his eyes, but luckily the static blips away just before a headache starts to form. In place of the static, there’s a man. Lance squints. 

Wait.

“Luis?”

The man in the video chuckles, and Lance startles, just now realising that it is a video call.

“I’m not Luis,” says the man, and Lance’s jaw drops, because he knows that voice, even if it’s a little deeper than he’s used to.

“Me?!”

The man – Lance! Older Lance! – laughs again, smiling brightly, and that’s himself, alright. Lance knows what his own damn smile looks like. 

“Yep. I’m future you.” Future Him winks. “Pretty hot, huh?”

Lance tilts his head, considering. Future Him smirks and allows it. 

Honestly...yeah. He kind of kills it. His face is still pretty and angular, his eyes as brown as ever, and his smile looks the same – but there are definitely some changes. Apparently he goes for a sort-of undercut, in the future, and he has a wicked scar across his left eye. He really does look like his brother, too, only way prettier (sorry, Luis).

“Yeah,” Lance agrees after a few seconds of inspection, “we’re still hot.”

Future Him winks one more time, before his expression drops into something much more serious. 

“I didn’t actually call you just to give you a peek of your future serve –”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Future Him ignores that particular comment, although Lance is satisfied to see the corner of his mouth twitch in the way Lance knows damn well means he’s trying not to laugh. 

“– I came here to warn you.”

Lance panics immediately, dashing to his chair in the bridge, preparing to pull the alarm and wake the rest of the team. “Why wouldn’t you fucking lead with that, if Zarkon is going to attack we’re gonna need way more time to prepare –”

“It’s not an attack!” Future Him rushes to assure. “Sorry, my bad. I shouldn’t’ve worded it that way. I’m here to warn you, but you’re in no immediate danger.”

Lance glares at him. “Did the future make us dumb?”

Future Him chuckles again, nervously this time, scratching the back of his neck. “I really am sorry. I’m not supposed to say much, but ‘warning’ doesn’t mean ‘Zarkon’ for us anymore. I didn’t think about how that would affect you, dude. My bad.” Future Him says the last part with an embarrassed shrug, but all Lance feels is his whole body light up with a fiery hope.

Zarkon is no longer a concern for us, in the future?

“Really?” he asks weakly. “We end up fixing this shit, eventually?” 

“And we get to see Mamá and everyone again,” Future Him adds softly. 

Lance sits with that information for a few minutes, feeling something heavy and painful, a weight he didn’t fully realise he was carrying, dissolve in his chest. 

He’s gonna see his family again!

After giving him a few minutes to process, Future Him’s face turns serious again. “I do still have a warning for you, though, and it’s kind of time-sensitive.”

“Go for it,” Lance says, mission mode activated. (Despite what the team may tease, they all know Lance can be serious).

“Okay!” Future Him leans out of frame a little, and the sound of rapid typing is faintly audible. “I just sent you a file. Check your station.” 

Lance does, on it finding a document with nothing but a list of several coordinates, only a few that he recognises. 

“...Coordinates? What for?”

Future Him’s face turns hard, but there’s something… off, about it. Lance can’t quite pin it down. 

“This is a list of places you must, never, ever visit,” Future Him responds gravely. “Ever. Just completely off-limits. You’ll thank me, promise.”

Never… ever?

“...Right,” Lance says slowly. He crosses his fingers behind his back. “Of course. I’ll make sure I avoid these places. Got it.”

Future Him brightens, clapping his hands excitedly. “Wonderful!” he chirps. “Anyways, sorry I can’t stay for longer, but I have some stuff to do. Pidge said I couldn’t tell you much, anyhow, something about the space-time continuum. See ya!” 

He waves, and Lance waves back, and then the hologram disappears. Lance waits a few minutes, looking around, just in case Future Him decides to pop back up. 

When no future video pops up, Lance grins, uncrossing his fingers and sending the coordinates list to his holopad. He scrambles up from his chair, rushing out of the room and straight to Blue’s hangar. 

He really must have gotten dumber in the future, because Future Him is a moron if he thinks Lance is not going to hit each one of these locations immediately. 

In order, too.

[starlessea]

Doctor’s Orders (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Prompt: “Why’d you always have to spoil my fun?” and “You nearly died!” Requested by anonymous​, numbers #6 and #16 from this post.

Summary: Daryl isn’t too impressed when he finds you with a sling on your arm and a smile on your face.

Words: 1766

Warnings: Language, Injury.

There were many things you feared more than death. There were many things you feared in general. Whether it was heights or small spaces, or even spiders - those spooky, crawly bastards - you would easily admit it when you were afraid.

In this new world, death was inevitable. You didn't want to die; leaving your family behind was out of the question. Though, it didn’t frighten you, either. Rather, you often found yourself scared of the more mundane things - those things that you could control - over something that was completely out of your hands.

There were many things you feared more than death, and Daryl Dixon was one of them.

Denise had gone to get the man, despite your pleas not to. She'd been good enough to patch you up, and mend the small cuts over your skin. They were only shallow, so they wouldn't leave any scars. It was the sling you were more concerned about.

You knew when Daryl saw it, you'd be in for an ear-full. It wasn't that bad an injury, but Denise had still doped you up on some pain-killers before leaving to find the man. It was meant to be an in-and-out job, but things never really did seem to go as planned.

"Who're you trying to kill with that smile?" Denise teased, as she walked back through the doorway to the clinic.

You had barely realised you'd been grinning from ear to ear until she’d said it. She was alone for the time being, so you thought you should take the opportunity to cherish the peace whilst it lasted.

"Myself, apparently." You chuckled, but let out a wince soon after.

The small movement had reminded you to keep still. It was only a broken bone, and you'd had worse before, but it ached all the same. Denise shook her head in return, letting out a huff of air as she stared at you exasperated.

"You are the first person to come into my clinic beaming like that whilst injured." She muttered, and you sloppily shrugged one shoulder in response.

Then you heard the main door fling open, and slam into the wall - and sighed.

"Here he comes." You muttered, and braced for impact.

Daryl stormed into the clinic like he was on a mission. He was sweaty, and you noticed that he was missing his jacket. He rushed through the doorway and whipped his head around the room until his eyes finally settled on you, sitting on the bed in the corner. You offered him a sheepish smile, and raised your good arm to give him a small wave.

The man stalked straight past Denise and made his way to your bedside, standing over you in an instant.

"What the fuck were ya thinkin'?" He yelled.

It wasn't that you feared Daryl Dixon's temper - that, you could manage. What you feared was that certain look in his eyes, and you saw it now as you met his gaze. His chest heaved, and most would probably think it was from anger. But, you knew better than that. He'd probably run over here in a panic. That is what you could see in his expression - pure worry.

"Nice to see you, too." You joked light-heartedly, trying to mask your guilt.

Daryl glanced at you, letting his eyes trail over the shallow cuts on your face all the way down to your arm - which sat tucked away in its sling. He shook his head, and took small paces in front of you.

"Ya leave for a supply run-" he started, almost below his breath. "An' Denise comes to tell me ya jumped outta a movin' truck!"

His voice rose as he spoke, and his final words came out as a loud growl that made you swallow thickly. You were ashamed, but you also thought that the man worried too much. If it were down to him, he'd have you wrapped up in cotton wool everytime you left the gates of Alexandria.

"It wasn't even going that fast." You mumbled back, defensively.

Denise had her back pressed flat against the wall, inadvertently caught in the cross-fire. She was in too deep to leave unnoticed, and stood there awkwardly watching the exchange. You sent her an apologetic smile, before looking back up at the man.

"Why'd you always have to spoil my fun?" You teased, but felt like you might have stepped on a landmine when you saw him scowl.

Daryl threw his hands up in frustration, and narrowed his eyes at your injury again.

"Ya nearly died!" He shouted, his voice guttural as it cut through the room.

"Exactly." You quipped back, but instantly regretted it.

You'd only been trying to convince him that you were fine, but Daryl seemed inconsolable. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or perhaps the pain-killers, but you realised that you may have been acting a little too care-free. You weren't so much scared of Daryl as you were of hurting him.

"It's only a broken collar bone." Denise interjected, once she finally mustered the confidence to do so. "She'll be fine."

Daryl whipped his head around, as though he'd forgotten she was even there. He stayed silent, but you tried your best to help coax him.

"Listen to the doctor, Dixon." You reminded the man, but with a much softer tone this time.

Daryl stopped his pacing, and instead made his way back over to you. He closed the gap as he approached, and your knees knocked together with his from where you were sitting on the bed. You could still see the pain in his eyes, and it made you realised that you must be one of the things Daryl Dixon feared, too.

He rested his palm over your cheek tentatively, careful not to brush up against the fresh wounds that marred your skin. You leaned into his warm touch, and placed your own hand over his in return.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over me." You whispered, giving him a reassuring smile. "I promise I'll be more careful."

Daryl became like putty in your hands at that, and his expression softened like he'd only just allowed himself to relax. The entire time, it was as though the man had been running on pure adrenaline, and nobody could convince him that you were okay - even if he’d seen it with his own eyes.

In your peripheral, you noticed Denise looking at you - but she quickly glanced away when she realised she'd been caught. You could tell that she didn't want to intrude on the tender moment, but was curious to see Daryl so vulnerable at the same time.

The man stayed like that for a few seconds, letting your thumb rub over the back of his hand as he inspected your injuries some more.

"C'mon." He mumbled finally, and took a few steps backwards to let you stand up.

He retrieved your gear which had been left on a nearby chair, and slung it over his shoulder before walking to the door. You followed after him with careful footsteps, feeling as the pain jolted up your body. You sent a smile to Denise, and thanked her, but she shook her head in response - humble as ever.

"Look after her, Daryl." She called out to the man, as she saw the both of you off at the doorstep of the clinic. "Doctor's orders."

Daryl was normally a gentle man. He wasn't the type to have to be reminded to take good care of you. But, sometimes, he seemed to forget his own strength - along with his patience.

"Oww!" You shrieked, and flinched away.

The two of you were in your bedroom, and Daryl had been left with the impossible task of getting you dressed. He'd done a good job of it so far, but when it came your shirt all hell broke loose.

"Stop!" You yelled again, but the man had your arm tightly within his grip. "You're killing me!"

He'd gotten the first sleeve on just fine - but the other one was giving him grief. You'd slipped your arm out of the sling, but had trouble lifting it high enough to get your hand through the hole. The man kept trying to get you to straighten it, but you saw stars every time he did.

"So, wha'?" Daryl grumbled, seeming at the end of his rope. "Dyin' suddenly ain't tha' fun 'nymore?"

You winced as you jolted away too suddenly. At one point, you'd tried to convince him to just button up the shirt with only one arm in it - but he'd shot you a look and muttered something about 'making a fashion statement' under his breath.

"I ain't killin' ya." He continued, noticing your look of pain. "Jus' stop movin' an' it'll be over quicker."

You tried to do just that, but your arm wouldn't bend in the way he wanted it to - and you cried out again.

"It hurts!" You told him, and recoiled away. "You're pulling too hard."

Daryl wore an expression of utter exasperation, and opened his mouth to snap something back. Except, there was a knock at the door before he could.

You jumped again, having not even heard anyone come into the house - and breathed out through gritted teeth at the discomfort it caused.

"What the hell is going on in there?" A voice asked through the wall.

"Glenn?" You replied, immediately recognising him.

Daryl shot you a look, and you could tell he blamed you for all this. You rolled your eyes in response, and Glenn spoke again.

"Rick sent me to get you." He called, still behind the closed door. "Did you forget we had a meeting?"

Daryl let the sleeve of the shirt drop from his hand, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Ain't forget nothin'." He shouted back. "Jus' runnin' late 'cos of princess pain tolerance."

"Daryl?" Glenn asked, and you snorted.

You saw the handle on the door twist slightly, but Daryl quickly elbowed it shut before Glenn could enter.

"We'll be there soon!" You explained. "Daryl's helping me get dressed."

There was silence on the other side for a few seconds, and Daryl returned back to you - looking over at the shirt like he considered just taking it off again. You giggled at his expression, before you heard Glenn clear his throat from behind the door.

"Right." He said quietly, but you still caught it. "There are some things I'd rather not know."

A/N I broke my collar bone before and it was so painful... I remembered the struggles of getting dressed and HAD to write a scene about it.

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[redscorpiocat]

A while ago I was going through my old artwork from my elementary years and discovered this old artwork of my old persona from those years.

Upon looking at this artwork, I realized I completely miscalculated a lot of things on this design.

Allow me to go down the list.

Made the body abnormally long because I was drawing stick figure people around that time.

The right eye is supposed to go on the right side while the left eye is supposed to go on the left side.

8 feet is taller than the average 5 foot tall person.

Forgot to color the hair to match the persona I had around those elementary years. And a whole bunch of mistakes I did.

So I took it upon myself and redesigned this artwork and made sure I got everything right.

3

.

.

.

2

.

.

.

1

Le-boop!~

Redesigned to my liking and had all the miscalculations corrected.

Allow me to go down the list again.

Put the left on on the left side while I put the right eye on it's right side.

Made the killing machine capable of adjusting the high of her legs to either make look like she has stils, or make her shorter than 5 feet.

Feet can be used as weapons if necessary needed.

Face can split open like a Demogorgon from Stranger Things or the animatronics from sister location. But only if necessary needed.

Gave her a broken heart on her chest because yes.

She can retract the blades on her robot claw that was kept because I thought it looked dope as hell.

Gave her blade-like shoulder pads, gave her a stomach mouth, made the outfit red and black, gave a scar on her right eye, and gave her an expressionless face to add to her robot features. (Take Metal Sonic for ref)

Is waterproof so she can swim, survive rain and even just go underwater without getting rusty or malfunctioning.

Random Fact: Both designs were inspired by Deino3330's Calne Ca because I REALLY LOVE the design for her

I still love the design for Calne Ca to this day!

Still have a few of my old artwork that I need to redraw.

But for now, I'm still really happy with the redesign.

[rosy-cheekx]

from the dialogue prompts! 6: “go away” “no, not until i know you’re okay”

Oh boy this one was hard to write for whatever reason, but she’s done! just in time for us to pretend a world in which Jon or Martin’s lives are ever in real danger doesn't exist....right?

AO3 Link in source on OP

-

On Being Fine, Absolutely Well-Adjusted, and OK

Martin supposed he should count himself lucky. He hadn’t needed to go to the hospital after the Prentiss attack, had come out with only a few worm scars to show for it, god especially when he thought about Jon and all the worms he and Sasha had had to corkscrew out of him, his face and neck and arms and legs—

See? Martin shook his head, clearing his mind’s eye of the silver and crimson kaleidoscope. It could have been worse. He scratched at his calf, where a close trio of scars had begun to heal, skin-tight and shiny, and, at last, remembered he was supposed to be washing his hands. He was glad the unisex Archive lav didn’t have a mirror by the sink; he didn’t need a reminder of how tired he must look.

The return to work had been difficult, but not as bad as he had expected it to be. Knowing Prentiss was dead had made it easier to return home, though he had immediately spent his first pain-free day rearranging the furniture, as recommended by his therapist. (He had lied to her, of course, claimed an attempted break-in + assault had traumatized him. It wasn’t that far off from the truth, anyways.) So Martin had been spending his evenings repositioning, redecorating, cleaning; anything he could to erase Jane Prentiss and those horrid things from his mind. It wasn’t easy, and Martin still spent nights awake, hyperaware of the smallest sound of squelching or the smell of rot. But he was alive, he reminded himself at home in the mornings, concealing eye bags and trying to reassemble his appearance into some approximation of normal, and shouldn’t that be enough? He hadn’t been seriously injured, like Jon or Tim, hadn’t had to risk a lonely end save them all like Sasha. He should be the most well-adjusted of the three of them.

So why was he here, in the Archive toilet, gripping the edge of the sink so hard he might crack it?

Martin released his grip and watched his blood flow back into his fingers, flexing them. He should really go do...something. Work, probably, if Jon ever decided to stop speaking to him like he was a jigsaw with too many pieces. He splashed some water on his face and exhaled deeply. He was fine, he could-

 “Oh shit!” Martin yelped as he turned to face the door into the bullpen. In the reflection at the corner of the mirror that hung on the back of the door was a shiny, squat, silver worm. “Fuckfuckfuck!” Martin cursed, backing into the door and pulling his shoe off with one hand. He patted for his beltloop, where had taken to keeping his corkscrew, and huffed to find it gone. Of course. He was trying not to be paranoid.

Picking up his shoe, he threw it at the worm, half-hidden by the rubbish bin. It bounced harmlessly—or, maybe it hit? Martin couldn’t tell. Either way, the worm moved, and that was when Martin’s vision greyed dangerously, heart leaping to his throat. Oh god, he couldn’t breathe? Why couldn’t he breathe? Was it the carbon dioxide? No. The fire alarm wasn’t going off. Martin’s thoughts raced and he desperately jiggled the door handle, only to find it turning against him. Oh god, it was her. It was-

“Martin?”

It was Jon.

“Jon? Jon, fuck, hey, don’t come in, okay? There’s a worm and I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

…is what he would have said if he could catch his breath. Instead, all he could let out was a raspy, strangled “Jon.”

“Martin, are you alright in there?” Jon’s voice was too calm, too casual for the bile rising in Martin’s throat.

“W-worm.” Martin sputtered as he heard a click of a cane through the door; probably Jon taking a step backward at the word. “Got-gotta kill it,” he babbled, more to himself than to Jon. He could try with the shoe again, but it hadn’t worked the first time, and that would leave him unprotected if he wanted to step on it.

“No! Martin, don’t-”

Oh, he could step on it. Seized in a moment of something, a peculiar blend of bravery, fear, and plain exasperation, Martin crossed the few squares of lino between him and the worm and moved to step on it with precision. To his great surprise, it rolled out from under his foot, glinting against the overhead lighting.

“What?” Martin mumbled aloud, and the realization hit him all at once: this wasn’t a worm at all. Cautiously, he picked up the metal tube and spotted a small label on the bottom. The thin silver tube contained MAC #239: Not Like Other Girls, according to the reddish-brown sticker.

“Lipstick?” Martin whispered to himself, slumping against the wall of the bathroom and letting out a relieved sob. He had been terrified of lipstick?

The realization that should have calmed him down instead sent him spiraling. Martin Blackwood wasn’t always the calm one, but he was always the shoulder to lean on. He couldn’t do this, not have a breakdown in the middle of his workplace, not with—

Tapping came from the door outside. “Martin? Do I need to break the door down?” Jon was still outside, Martin realized with a start.

“Uh-” Martin choked back a sob. “No, no, it’s alright, Jon. I’m fine.”

“You certainly are not.”

“It was just a-a bloody lipstick tube, Jon, I’m alright. Just leave me alone.” Martin shuddered a breath as he swiped at his eyes with the hem of his sweater, praying to anything and everything that for once Jon would just do as he was told.

“No.” Of course not. “Not until I know you’re okay.” Jon’s voice was softer now, a part of Martin realized. The gentleness of his tone struck Martin and he found himself shakily standing and moving to the door. Unlocking and opening it, he saw Jon, leaning heavily on the medical cane he had been given after the incident, eyes a mix of panic and concern, like the way one might eye a wounded animal. Somehow, that look managed to make Martin feel small, protected, loved, and it warmed something in him.

It was that look that broke something in him and Martin felt a taut string inside him snap loose. Tears welled up in his eyes and he desperately swiped at them with the sleeves of his sweater, leaning against the doorframe. “I feel so stupid,” he mumbled, choked laughter mixing with his tears. He held up the lipstick tube, which he had pocketed earlier, and held it up to the light. “It doesn’t even look like them, not really, I-I-I just saw the squat and silver and panicked.”

Jon’s hand was on his arm, but he was quiet, not saying anything until Martin had collected himself, heaving sobs to hiccups to shallow breathing as he brought himself to baseline again. “Martin,” Jon said quietly, flexing the fingers that held his bicep, “I know you’ve had a rough few months.” Martin scoffed. “Fine, okay, maybe rough doesn’t begin to cover it. What I mean to say is, well…” Jon’s mouth floundered for a word properly, lips forming a few different shapes before settling on, “are you, you know, getting help?”

“Yes, Jon, I’m in therapy.” Martin surprised himself with his own honesty. “But there’s not really much I can say, you know? Not without getting carted off to a sanitorium or getting doped up on meds of some kind or another. I mean, evil worms haunting my house and my workplace? A worm woman determined to kill me and everyone I care for? Not exactly something cognitive behavior therapy will fix.”

Jon sighed in assent, nodding. “That’s fair, I suppose. I just-Martin.” The hand squeezed his elbow and Martin felt a jolt of electricity run through his skin. “You’re allowed to hurt, you know?” Martin’s eyes must have given away his thoughts because Jon continued, voice soft and gentle. 

“We all suffered, Martin, but you were the one who was locked in your home, and then the basement where you work, for months on end. Just because you’re not-” he shifts to wave his cane idly, “-doesn’t mean you haven’t gone through hell alongside us.” Jon’s voice has taken on a hardness to it, an insistence Martin last remembered seeing when they were locked in Document Storage together, when Jon was so afraid of being forgotten. It made Martin shiver, not from fear but from something in the way Jon’s eyes bored into him. He was determined to make Martin believe him. Who was he to refuse The Archivist’s words?

So Martin listened, letting Jon’s insistence settle in his chest. He had suffered; he had lost months of his life to Jane Prentiss, he couldn’t sleep without a fear of worms crawling into his skin and mouth at night. He didn’t feel safe until he was in the Archives at his desk, the one that surveyed the whole room and had two fire extinguishers still tucked into the drawers. As Jon spoke, Martin let his muscles relax slowly, until he was leaned up against the alcove in which the door to the toilets stood, helpless under Jon’s gaze and yet feeling the strongest he had in weeks, if not months. Tears welled in his eyes and he heard Jon hesitantly break off. 

“Ah-Martin? You-ah shit, I’m sorry.” Jon’s voice had lost the severity it had previously held and was back to its quiet insistence. “I’m sorry, you-you didn’t ask for a soapbox.”

“No, no,” Martin shook his head, raking his nails through his hair. “I...I think I needed to hear that.” He smiled; a shaky, fragile thing. He scratched the back of his calf awkwardly, trying not to dislodge Jon from where he was precariously balanced between the hand on his arm and the hand on the cane. “Thank you, Jon, really.” 

Jon smiled and shifted his hand from Martin’s arm to his hand, squeezing gently before releasing it and sliding the lipstick tube from his hand before turning to the bullpen. “Anytime. C’mon, let’s see if this is Sasha’s or Tim’s. I think it’s more Tim’s color, hmm?” 

[drabbles-of-writing]

I also got Hallow Knight because of your AU and I love it, any other type of games you know of that aren’t as popular?

Hallow Knight is so underrated, it needs more attention.

*slaps roof of Steam* this bad boy can fit so many dope indie games in it

Inside: already spoke of this, but I really do like the game. by the studio Playdead, your a boy in what seems to be in an apocalypse-like world and are breaking into a lab to do...something. the game never explains anything, though it gives hints. thats the fun of it. its a simple but still wonderful artstyle that gives none of the characters any facial features, making it more eerie in my opinion. theres seemingly walking corpses all around, and everyone seems to want to capture or stop you. its only about 4 hours or so (if you dont look for the little Hidden Achievements) but MAN that ending will stick with you. its a puzzle game of sorts, where sections require you to figure out how to proceed. really fun! little scarring! there are 2 endings, but the second one is REALLY hard to get to, so don’t worry abt it.

Journey: GOD this game is old but fun. you play as a strange red-cloaked creature as you, well, journey towards the mountain. along the way you will meet another player that is seamlessly connected to your game. but heres the twist: the other player has no nametag, and you have no way to communicate with them. no chatbox, nothing. you only communicate in simple chirps. and despite that, you team up with this person as you travel together through the lands, finding more pieces of your scarf, traveling the beautiful terrain, all to make it to the mountain. you’ll meet them at any part in the journey, so they could be there the whole way or just a little bit of it. its really fun, really sweet, and while its even shorter than Inside (about 2 hours), I replayed it a lot. the designs on your cloak change every time you play (up to the fifth play, then its the same) and if finding enough pieces to your scarf, can gain a white cloak. I really like this one!

Shelter (1, 2 & likely 3): made by Might and Delight, you play as a mother animal and must travel the land to feed your babies and survive in a harsh world. in the first game, you play as a mother badger with five cubs as you face eagles, floods, the monsters in the dark, etc. the game guides you along, but its still fun. Shelter 2 is where you play as a mother lynx w 4 cubs, and its completely open-world, with a notable few more enemies, but this game absolutely expanded on the first one. pulls at your heartstrings a bit and should you lose a cub, you can’t help but feel awful about it. plus, shelter 2 allows you to play as one of the surviving cubs in the family tree! they’re currently making a shelter 3 with elephants, and I am VERY excited for that. they also have Paws, which is a sort of prequel to Shelter 2 where you play as a lost lynx cub trying to find the meaning of family, and Meadow, which is where you play as other animals in a HUGE multiplayer open world just exploring with no real plot. I’m also especially excited for their other game, the Book of Travels.

Oxenfree: you play as a girl named Alex who travels to a mysterious island with your new step-brother, best friend, and 2 frenemies on some strange school trip of sorts. but as you stay there, you realize the island holds haunting secrets and is out to get you and everyone else. it feeds on grief, and reality itself is glitching and sporadic and you need a radio to figure it out and escape. it has multiple endings, and you can choose the dialogue. kinda like Night in the Woods, but with a LOT of differences. startled me a good few times when I first played it, and I like seeing the other outcomes I can accomplish. and let me tell you, when you play it again after your first playthrough, you’ll be in for a bit of a surprise.

Lost Ember: your a wolf who is the reincarnation of a long-dead human in an abandoned, healing world. a small spirit is trying to find his way into the afterlife, and you both team up to find the afterlife to see why this spirit can’t find it, and why you were denied from it. you find out you can possess other animals and play as them to get around the map and simply have fun! its very beautiful and as you travel you discover the story of your past, which was...quite tragic. also yr a girl n you had a gf so thats a bonus. its not a true open world, as your guided to certain spots, but the lands you travel to are Big and you can spend as much time as you’d like exploring them and finding little easter eggs. its real sweet, I liked it. also that last sequence before the ending *chefs kiss* made me Feel things. its just so PRETTY.

thats all I have rn, tho I imagine someday I’ll have more. these are all ones I own, so I obv can’t speak for other games that sound good if I’ve never played them. I would seriously recommend checking out these games, at least getting an idea for what it is and seeing if you might like it, you never know!

[collecting-stories]

Hunter - JJ Maybank

Request: Hey could you possibly do a jj x reader where they have never got on well but then you see him being sweet with your younger brother/sister and it makes you feel a different way about him, some kinda fluff. Your writing is honestly so good, I’m always checking back to see if you’ve put anything new up :)  

A/N: Though my sister is much older I based the little brother on my sister. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

“Alright,” JJ announced, crouched behind the back of your brother’s motorized wheelchair, “on the count of three, we’re gonna do it Harley Quinn style okay?”

“Okay,” he cast his eyes to the side as if he would be able to see, smiling when JJ appeared in his line of vision and gave him a thumbs up.  

JJ lived on the same stretch of road that you did and when your brother had spotted him walking down the street he’d immediately asked if JJ wanted to hang out. Though you weren’t a fan of the reckless, loud mouth, pogue your eight year old brother thought JJ was the coolest person in the world. He was funny, good at surfing, and he always stopped to say hi when he saw your brother, even if he was with friends.  

Your mom was gardening when JJ came up the driveway and she’d headed to the bed in the back, asking if he could keep an eye on your brother for a few minutes.  

“I want to put these last few plants in before it rains tomorrow and Hunter doesn’t want to go inside, he’s still amped up from being at his friend’s house.” Your mom had explained as she inched toward the backyard. You were still at work so for the time being Hunter was relying on your mom for entertainment.  

“No problem, Hunter can show me his new hockey moves.” JJ replied, grinning at your little brother. Hunter played wheelchair hockey and JJ had been to a few games whenever your brother had mentioned them.  

It was alone that the two of them had devised the genius (according to JJ) plan of recreating the Birds of Prey scene with Harley Quinn and the Huntress.  

“I mean you’re basically a motorcycle.” JJ had agreed as he secured rope to one of the metal bars that ran across the back of Hunter’s seat. “You’ve just got four wheels.”

“I actually have six.”  

“No way,” JJ stepped back to look at the chair, “dope.” He got on the skateboard you’d left on the front porch, holding the rope firmly in his hands and rolling back and forth slightly as he prepared himself to be pulled down the road by an eight year old.  

“Ready?” Hunter asked.  

“Ready.”

Your brother’s wheelchair could do a top speed of six miles an hour. Not nearly as fast as JJ’s dirt bike or the Twinkie but it awesome. He managed to skate around to the side of the chair so Hunter could see him, before letting himself be pulled again. If they picked up momentum correctly, according to science aficionado JJ, the trick would work.  

It was mid trick that drove passed them, sitting in the passenger side of your co-workers car. All you saw was Hunter’s wheelchair stopping and JJ whizzing passed him on a skateboard, headed straight for bushes.  

“Stop here,” you urged, even though you were a good ten feet from your house.  

They stopped and you got out, saying thank you before heading back in the direction you’d come from, where Hunter was now checking to make sure JJ was okay.  

“Only cars are allowed on the road.”  

“Is this not cars 4: OBX.” Hunter asked, spinning his chair around to see you. JJ stood sheepishly behind him, your board in his hands.  

“Hilarious,” you rolled you’re eyes, “what happened? Where’s mom?”

“Planting in the back or something,” JJ supplied, “I told her I’d watch Hunter.”  

“I guess we all make bad parenting decisions.” You remarked before turning to your brother, “come on, time to go inside. Both of you.”  

JJ smiled, following Hunter as he headed back down the road. You walked beside him, staring at the rope on the back of your brother’s wheelchair.  

“I know I’m going to regret asking this but, could you explain the rope hanging off your chair?” You asked. Hunter stopped, turning around so he could face you.  

“We tied it on so JJ could skateboard off my chair like in Birds of Prey.”  

You looked over at JJ and couldn’t help but smile, “I can see the resemblance, I bet you look fantastic in a gold jumpsuit.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He replied.  

“You realize you missed the obvious best mode of transportation right?” You asked, going around the back of Hunters chair to untie the rope. He tried to turn and you tapped his shoulder, a non-verbal request that he stay still.  

“What’s that?” JJ asked.  

“You ride on the wheels!” Hunter replied as you stepped up onto the covers that sat above the back wheels, holding onto his handlebars.  

You rode a couple feet before jumping off and Hunter told JJ to get on, leaving you to carry the rope and the skateboard. You watched him with Hunter, smiling when he leaned over the back of the wheelchair to make dumb faces at your brother. As much as JJ annoyed you, it was futile to pretend you didn’t get that tug in your chest every time you saw him with Hunter. Your brother had little trouble getting along with people but that didn’t mean that JJ had to stop and talk to him all the time, or ask about his hockey games, or invite him to the beach (though so far your mom had declined that one, not trusting JJ to not lose Hunter out to sea or something). And he didn’t do it because of pity, you knew pity. You saw it all the time. It was the look Hunter got from people who talked to him because they felt bad for him. JJ wasn’t that type of person.  

“Do you wanna come in?” You finally asked when you reached the front door.  

“Yeah, sure.” JJ nodded, unable to stop from smiling. You were being surprisingly nice to him.  

“I can get you some Neosporin for your cut.” You tapped the side of your forehead, mirroring where his cut was.  

“Can I get in bed,” Hunter mentioned, glancing your way.  

“Sure, bed first, Neosporin after.” You held the door open for Hunter to go ahead of you, JJ following behind. He walked with you down the hall to Hunter’s bedroom, standing in the doorway and watching as you lifted Hunter into bed and got him comfortable.  

“Tomorrow you’ll have to show me those hockey moves,” JJ commented, looking over the shelf of trophies and ribbons that belonged to your bother. “we could verse each other.”

“Hunter’s never lost a game.” You replied, looking over at JJ.

“Yeah, I’ll whoop your butt!” Hunter announced, smiling.  

“I look forward to it bud.”  

“I hate to break up this odd smack talk but I’m gonna steal JJ away to bandage that cut on his face.” You said, having finished adjusting Hunter in bed. You looked over at JJ, “wouldn’t want you to scar.”

-

JJ sat on the closed toilet while you stood in front of him with the first aid kit open on the counter. He had his head tilted back so that you could clean the cut above his eyebrow and the one on his cheek.  

“I just, wanted to say thanks for hanging out with Hunter...he thinks you’re really cool.” You said, dabbing one cut with alcohol. JJ’s nose scrunched up at the feeling.

“Hunter’s awesome.” He shrugged.  

“While I definitely agree with that I just mean, he’s a kid and you don’t have to be nice to him and you are. And you don’t baby him like some people do.” You admitted. “That means a lot to me.”

“Well I’m not doing it to win any brownie points.”

“I know.”

“I mean if you wanted to, ya know, show your deep appreciation for me you could definitely like, take me out or something.” He grinned, biting down on his lower lip.

“How about I buy pizza and you can pick which movie we watch with Hunter?” You replied, rolling your eyes.  

“Deal.”  

“Deal.” You repeated, leaning down and kissing his cheek.  

-

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @howdyherron @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @tragicmisfits @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @ssprayberrythings @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @jjsthumbring @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @jolomez @timotaychalabae 

[whump-town]

Tough Love

I’d like to thank my sociology professor for basing today’s lecture off of my favorite sociological phenomenon (anomie) and A Little Life for, once again, making me cry :) this one’s for you baby 

The hospital waiting room had chattered away. Mother’s impatiently fighting with sick babies, men crumpled in their seats waiting in misery for their name to be called, and three teenagers occupying a corner to just themselves. There, off to their own side, a bruised and battered man, a shadow, wedged between his old mentor and the only person brave enough to challenge the prognosis deeming Hotch concussion free.

Despite what Morgan thinks, he doesn’t have a concussion. There’s just only so much one person can take before they break. It’s just that Derek Morgan would rather a blow to the head be the reason his boss can’t even look him in the eye rather than the blood staining his swollen hands. One will heal with what can only be hoped is minimal damage. While the other might result in early retirement and a battle with depression or anxiety or something dark and murky. And Morgan is so fucking tired of the twisted way things keep panning out.

The car stops, auto-pilot bringing the necessary life to their limbs. Stepping out of the car, Morgan can’t consider himself surprised but he’s still taken aback by how quickly the other’s fill out the lawn. All of them standing and watching from differing levels of distance. Emily has planted herself right outside Hotch’s door and just as Morgan’s walking around she opens it.

If the darkness in Hotch had not concerned Morgan previously, the similar depth of Emily Prentiss’ eyes might startle him even more. But they’ve all found themselves lost to those thoughts and Morgan is already well aware of the complexity of the relationship between Emily and Hotch. Evermore, the similarities that damn them.

“Come on.” The moment that the curt order leaves her mouth several heads snap her way. Of all the comfort, the gentle hands, and soft tones, Emily has been the kindest. Quick to forgive Hotch’s temper flares and the first person to ease him into a hug. If there’s a partnership that will drag itself into the ground, it's the two of them. Defending one another even when they don’t deserve it.

It just seems… a strange turn of events that she’s the cold one. The angry one now.

Hotch just blinks at her from the back seat. He’s doped up and aching. Not that he’d been rather chatty on the way to the hospital or there, but he hasn’t said a word since they found him. Even sobbing in the hospital had been with his back turned to them and muffled by his hands, trying for some hopeless reason to preserve some part of his dignity. He had hardly managed to shake or nod his head to the questions the nurse was asking.

His ears are ringing and all he sees are her tight lips, pulled down into a stubborn but not unfamiliar scowl, forming words but he can’t make out a sound. “S-Sorry?” he winces when Reid moves and stops blocking the sun with his body. The rays came in to hit him in the eyes. He raises a bandaged fist to cower from the light.

Emily opens the door more, offering no sympathy. “Get out of the car, Aaron.”

Dave frowns at her.

They’ve just had an awful day.

Every single one of them on the phone call as Haley was killed. Forced to listen to Hotch’s pained cries following it. She’d seen him. The way he’d cradled Haley’s body to his chest. Hell, she had been the one to shush his sobs and help him rise to his feet. She’d cradled his head when he’d sobbed into her shoulder, hardly able to stand.

Where is this hard edge coming from?

Biting down a whimper, Hotch sits up. A pained grunt leaving his mouth as he eases his body from Dave’s car. His feet touch the ground and he tries but it hurts and he sinks back against the car to help hold him up. Derek moves mindlessly but Emily stops him with a simple shake of her head. “He can do it,” she affirms.

Morgan looks over his shoulder, shooting Dave a look. No one else can step in here, there is no authority that Emily or Hotch hold themselves to aside from one another. They pull each other from the ledge but Dave holds seniority and they know that he is the only person who can do anything. They both look to him for guidance. Now, as Morgan waits for something, anything Dave just watches.

Emily stands close but doesn’t crowd Hotch. He knows that if he really needs the help, she’s right there, and she’s watching for when his body decides it’s fighting a futile battle. If she’d allowed Morgan to step in, he would have panicked and fought back. Forcing him even further away from them.

Turning from him, she looks out at them. If she can feel them watching, there’s no way that he can miss it. “Go inside,” she instructs. “We’re right behind you.”

Again, Morgan looks to Dave but the older man simply does as instructed. Going as far as to tap Reid’s elbow and motion for the genius to follow along. The others move, JJ and Garcia talking softly to one another as they allow themselves back into Dave’s house without a fight. Morgan… he’s frustrated with what he perceives to be giving up. He wants to fight but, in reality, there is no threat to beat. There is only Hotch and Morgan is not angry with him.

The decision to return to Dave’s house was an easy one to make.

Knowing the ghosts haunting Hotch’s apartment, no one in good conscience could say they thought his own home is the safest place for him to be. Never mind that there is no way they were letting Jack stay in that apartment. To see him walk over the section Hotch had laid out on, bleeding for hours as Foyet tortured him.

So, JJ and Garcia had taken what they could think of from Hotch's apartment. Guided by Dave and Emily’s suggestions: a worn copy of Anna Karenina, sweatpants to change out of his suit, a few flannels, and (the crucial detail not to be missed) his heated blanket. He covets that thing and there will be not even the hope for rest if they forget it.

They’re both familiar with Dave’s house. The general floor layout is not complicated but the days they have both spent here-- camped out on his sofa or sleeping in his guest room-- are numerous. This is a place of comfort for them both and Dave doesn’t even have to say it because they know they’re always welcome here. Beaten dogs returning home.

He sits down on the corner of the guestroom’s bed, holding his side as he watches her pull out a duffle bag. She lays down the things she knows he needs, doesn’t bother with the rest. Things like his toothbrush, the Advil, or boxers are just not a priority. “Here,” she places the sweatpants in his lap. Unwinding his heated blanket cord and plugging it into the outlet by the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Though she’s seen him naked before-- in the mix of changing his shirt or in his boxers for a variety of reasons all not worth explaining now, she knows that he will not change in front of her. She’s seen the scars, changed his bandages when he was still weak enough to be unable to do it himself, but now she has to act like she hasn’t. Pretend to be unaware of the landmines carved into his flesh.

Closing the door behind herself, she takes a breath. She doesn’t want to be with any of them, not even Hotch. Which pains her. She loves them and she needs them for support but she can’t face them. She’s not strong enough for Hotch or broken enough to seek the other’s comfort. But she can not sit outside this door because she knows that if she hears his pained noises as he contorts himself into clean clothes that she will regret it.

“How is he?” She keeps moving, ignoring JJ’s softly asked question. How the hell would she know? But she has a better chance of understanding than any of them. He doesn’t tell them things. For months he’s pushed them all away. Keep them as far from him as possible but she’s allowed to remain close. To see the cracks where Foyet got in.

“Where’d Derek go?”

Rossi is making food. Pasta, she assumes, because that’s always what he makes them for comfort food. He looks up from the pot of water he’s heavily salting but doesn’t comment on his general surprise to see her so soon. He expected her to lock herself in that room with Hotch. “They called him back to the scene. Duty rang.”

She does not envy him.

“How’s he holding up?”

She shrugs, going to the fridge and pulls out a water bottle. Sipping the liquid she itches to go back to the room already, to get away from their whispers and glances. “He’s alive,” she answers. In her distinct dark way surmises, “but who knows how I’ll find him when I go back.” It’s not like they haven’t all thought about it. They know the signs and they’ve watched him pull away.

It’s not even the first time it’s occurred to her what he’ll do the moment he’s left alone.

No one comments, she’s not surprised.

“Emily--”

She puts the water bottle on the counter, knowing someone will probably finish it off. Someone says something, it might be directed to her, but she keeps walking. Headed back for the guest room.

She finds him wrapped around himself. Knees drawn up, arms curled to his chest. His face is turned, hiding the pained furrow and curls of his expression from anyone who might enter. Even the blankets drawn up to his chin are an effective measure to hide himself, to burrow deep and loose himself. She knows that he isn’t aware of the fact that she’s entered the room. Normally, she might find this fact more worrisome but the sensitivity, the vulnerability of this is more alarming than his ability to perceive his surroundings.

She knows that he won’t let her help, not in the ways that will actually produce effect. His pain is manageable. In the duffle bag, hidden deeply underneath gauze, antibiotics, and a plethora of drugs he is now required to take daily to live, is the prescription of opioid painkillers. The seal is unbroken. He will not touch them. She commends the effort, there’s something to be said there about his self-restraint but she knows it’s not some moral things. He’s punishing himself.

Without invitation, not that she would ask for it, she sits down on the corner of the bed. Despite this sudden invasion, he doesn’t move or even look over his shoulder. He already knows she’s the only person brave enough to break the vow the other’s have taken to leave him to his misery. Not out of insensitivity, it’s just better to leave some things to settle themselves. You’re not going to nuke a hurricane, you’re just going to wait for it to die down.

Drawing her legs up underneath her, she gets comfortable. Crossing her legs and settling herself right beside him. Her thighs touching his back, he continues to lay on his side ignoring her. “Dave’s making everyone some food,” she informs him. The heat of his blanket is nice and, despite this, she can feel him trembling and shaking as if chilled. “I assume your vow of silence has extended to testing just how long you can go without eating as well?”

She doesn’t really need to wait for a response, or lack thereof, because she knows the answer. She knows him. Humming, she rolls her eyes. “Noted,” she replies to his silence. Leaning against his hips she peaks over his back, frowning. “Have I told you that I hate you recently? I don’t want to say it too frequently but I can feel one building itself up.”

Again, she’s met with silence. “I know you’re not sleeping,” she informs him. “You snore.”

Just as she’s starting to give up, he cracks an eye open. It’s red rimmed, bloodshot from his crying and general lack of sleep. “Do not.” His voice is whispery, faint. It sounds entirely unfamiliar and it strikes her, makes her grit her teeth down against it, as she realizes there is still a very real, very broken part of him that she will never understand. Born from desperation and acts he committed today. That there is a damaged broken boy that he keeps so safely guarded that not even she will ever be able to comfort him.

It makes her feel strangely isolated.

Gently, he maneuvers himself. Wraps an arm around his ribs-- afraid that without the support he’ll simply come undone-- and uses the other to slowly push himself up. The low light of the room safely guards his features from someone who might be standing at the door but Emily is right beside him, now moving so they are hip to hip and he knows that she can see every micro-expression he can’t contain.

“Easy,” she breathes, her hand falling between his shoulders as he bucks against the way his entire body tries to pull him back down into the covers.

Humiliated, cheeks flush with sweat, he turns to her and softly admits, “I’m gonna be sick.” He knows he can’t get to the bathroom fast enough. That his legs will not bear his weight and even if they do, his chest cannot stand the weight of him sitting up. He will fall and he’s not sure he’ll get back up. The last thing he needs, atop the general failing of today, is to pleat to the ground with limp weight.

Emily effortlessly leans down and produces the trash can that Dave keeps at the bedside. It brings to him a memory from the hospital, of the fuzz and haze of his first hours of consciousness after the attack. Her coldness, her distance, but mostly of the way she spoke to him. As if he were a victim, the kind that he finds himself sending her to talk with. The kind that are one intimidating male away from coming undone. The kind that needs empathy and warmth and her impeccable ability to talk anyone off the ledge.

And as he chokes up vomit, crying as his muscles contract around his ribs, he realizes that he really is no different from the victims they see everyday. He is… He is a victim. Not even for the first time in his life.

He doesn’t fight the hand she presses to his face, gently guiding him back down into his blankets. She pulls his blankets back up to his chin, discontentedly scowling when she sees that he’s still shaking. “I’ll get you another blanket,” she offers, despite the heated blanket and comforter he’s got tucked up around him.

He swallows thickly, wishing that he had the strength to stand and get this taste out of his mouth. His throat burns but not nearly enough to distract him from the phantom pains in his chest-- but can they really be phantom if the scars are still lined with red anger? If he can feel the knife slipping in and Foyet’s weight settled across his hips?

“No,” he whispers and is silent for a moment. “Nothing will--” he looks away from her. “Nothing will help.”

“What can I do?”

“Stay.”

She lays herself down beside him, scooting under the covers, and pressing their sides together. It takes her a moment but she finds his hand and clenches her jaw when her eyes water as he grips her hand tightly. He turns his head and she welcomes it, reaching up to guide him closer. Her fingers pushing up the hair on the back of his head and they tangle together. “If you ruin our reputation as badasses because of this cuddle,” she admonishes, “I’m never going to forgive you.”

He manages to crack the faintest smile. The soft scabs forming on his lips peeling back and bleeding again but she won’t mind the blood. “I hate you,” he whispers so softly that she only knows he’s spoken because of the ghost of hot air that ghosts over her neck.

“I love you too.”

[satteanqueen]

I'd like to thank DrownRecluse for helping design my Oddworld fan species character named, Silvia Sylk. Please check their Twitter out for their fantastic abstract art! Not to mention they are still taking fantastical abstract commissions that look hella dope like Silvia for example!

Anywho, now to the characters herself. Silvia is a worm-like creature called,  Sylkiemite. They are known for being able to produce their own silk and weave it into clothing with their long fingernails. The Sylkiemites lived in a village where they made lots of lovely clothes, blankets, toys, and more. That is until one horrific day, industrialists planned to build a new fuel factory, and it's location would be none other than where Silvia and her village lived. With no warning Sligs came and burned everything to the ground forcing all of the Sylkiemites to run away in fear with no home to go back to. Unfortunately for Silvia, she tried to escape with her family, but was knocked unconscious a piece of hot rubble which caused a nasty purple scar to burn her face.

Poor Silvia awoken to a burned down village. Her home, clothing, everything she knew was burned to ashes. She couldn’t stick around either to grieve as she heard Sligs returning to finish the job. Silvia ran off to go find her family, but everywhere she looked they were nowhere to be seen. Silvia tried to ask nearby mudokon tribes if they had seen her family, but they seemed to focused on Abe’s uprising to help her. But she needed help now! 

“Abe This! Abe That! What About Me?!” Silvia cried, her tears stinging the nasty burn on her face.

With no signs of her family and no one to help her, Silvia began to feel like they probably didn’t care about her anymore. That she wasn’t worth saving. And no one wanted to help her because she wasn’t worth helping. She felt that if no one cared about her then she shouldn’t care about them. The only person she should worry about in this awful Oddworld is herself!

Giving up her nature ways, Silvia left to the big city where she could start her new life. ditching her silken robes for a dress blazer and a big hat to cover her purple scar. She started off as a small business selling her clothing. Over time her business began to grow and grow allowing her to have mudokon scrubs and slig security of her own. Her clothing factory being called, Sat Tean Gallery where she favors her own works of art more than any living being. Where she can strictly instill the ways of delicately working on illustrious designs to her workers. Even if it means making their poor fingers stuck stiff and their eyes dry from staying open. It’s her artistic vision and that is all that matters. Her way is the only way!

so yea...

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.3 (BAON)

Summary:   Despite the title, things are not exactly so, not by a long shot.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Certain Monsters possessed the skill of basic precognition, but Edge was not one of them. He was certain of it. It would have been a useful skill in Underfell so many years ago instead of relying on hard-earned experience or even as recently as a few months outside of the Chinese restaurant. There were many things in his life that might have veered down a different path with only a brief moment of insight into the future.

Of his many talents, the best he could offer in that direction was his intuition and perhaps that explained his vague restlessness that night as he sat on the sofa working on his laptop. As absorbed as he was in his work, Edge found himself shifting in his seat in a way that had nothing to do with his barely healed leg. A few times he nearly texted Stretch and resisted, not wishing to give off the impression that he was checking in on him. There was no good reason for him to feel uneasy about Stretch going out on the town with his best friend as he had many times before. There was even less for the prickling feeling crawling up his spine when his phone pinged with a text message in the chime he’d set for unknown numbers.

That prickling turned icy cold, skittering along his vertebrae as he read the simple message like the spiders he was still occasionally dreamed about on rare, awful nights. Three words. Not the ones he’d slowly grown accustomed to saying so often to Stretch, nearly torn from him the first time they were spoken and now said with ease, morning, noon, and night, as often as his love wanted to hear them and repeat them back.

These words made dread and fury lurch within his battered soul, tainted with fear.

We have him.

His phone chimed again but Edge didn’t have the chance to see the second message. At that moment, his front door burst open with enough force to slam against the opposite wall and Edge never hesitated. He hurled the attack on pure instinct and by the time he actually saw Antwan’s face, his dark eyes going wide, it was too late to pull it back.

Before the wave of bones could land, Antwan was yanked backwards out of the doorway by a sudden blue glow in his chest. The door swung back closed seconds before the sharpened bones slammed up against the steel, quivering briefly before vanishing without leaving behind a scratch or dent. His attacks were targeted at the soul and the physicality of the door was enough to stop them.

Edge was at the door before the last bone vanished, stumbling outside to find Antwan lying spreadeagle in the grass and his brother standing over him, his left eye still glowing with searing crimson and the spangle of blue at the fingertips of his left hand fading.

“fucking hell, dumbass, i told ya to stop!” Red snarled down at him. “lucky he didn’t turn you into a kabob, what the fuck were you thinkin’!”

Edge pushed past Red and fell to his knees next to Antwan, barely noticing the sharp twinge from his leg as he gasped out, “I’m sorry, I—" He fell silent as Antwan waved a shaky hand at him.

“My fault,” Antwan rasped. He sat up, and Edge could only crouch by him, his hands hovering but not touching as his friend coughed, dragging in a harsh breath to wheeze out, “Wind just…got knocked out me.” One harsh inhale, another, his breathing easing. “Don’t even try to apologize, he’s right, it was my fault.” Antwan staggered to his feet, barely catching his balance before holding out a hand to Edge. “Did you get a text?”

Red interrupted him with a short, sharp hiss before he could reply. “not out here,” Red said tersely. “both of ya inside, right now.”

Arguing would be pointless, Red would have things his way or none at all. The hard tangle of emotions in his chest, worry, fear, guilt, were ignored as Edge took Antwan’s hand and allowed him to help pull him to his feet. Now was not a time for anything as useless as pride and he forced it down with all the other emotions trying to boil their way up. He led the way inside, closing the door behind his brother.

But Red didn’t move further into the house. He stood on the doormat and held out a hand as he said curtly, “gimmie your phone.”

The instinct to protest was immediate, but Edge only hesitated a moment before handing it over. He wasn’t surprised when his brother entered the passcode and thumbed through his messages. He couldn’t even manage vague irritation. There wasn’t room in his soul for any other emotion, all of it viciously crammed together in a ball inside him, he couldn’t let everything demanding to be felt come through. His anger and fear needed to wait, the only thing he could allow was cool detachment.

Antwan had collapsed on the sofa when he came inside, an arm slung over his eyes. Edge left his brother to his snooping and went to sit by his feet, offering a quiet, “I am sorry. You startled me but that’s no excuse.”

Antwan only waved him off again. “Don’t, man. It’s okay, I was already unsteady on my feet, anyway. Your brother showed up in my house yammering about text messages and dragged me over.” His unpleasant chuckle turned into a groan and a stifled burb. “Your brother’s shortcuts are rough, no wonder you’re always about to upchuck after one.”

“bitch later,” Red said suddenly. He shoved Edge’s laptop aside to sit on the coffee table and his expression was not a soothing one, cold and grim. “gonna give it to you straight, both of ya, so brace yourselves. embassy took a call about ten minutes ago for a ransom demand.” He held up Edge’s phone between two scarred fingers. “included this same picture they sent you, boss, and if the time stamp is right, they were both alive when it was sent.”

Next to him, Antwan stiffened. It was strange to see him sputtering inarticulately, Edge noticed distantly. Always he was so eloquent in the courtrooms, arguing fearlessly for Monsters rights. To hear him now, struggling with words, was grotesque in a way, each one stumbling off his tongue, “They…alive? But how…what…they as in Stretch and Jeff? How the fuck, what the fuck do you mean a ransom demand, who the fuck...!?”

“Let me see it,” Edge demanded over Antwan’s questions. Even as he snatched for it, his phone disappeared from Red’s grip in a neat sleight of hand and he cursed aloud, “Let me see, damn it!”

“not a fucking chance, little brother.” The words were not unkind, only his brother’s dubious version of gentleness that Edge rarely wanted and certainly not right now. “it ain’t gonna do a damn thing to calm your tits.”

He closed his sockets briefly, then asked, low, “How much?”

Red licked his teeth, grimacing, “that don’t matter, neither. asgore’s all for payin’ it, no matter if it wipes out our accounts, but that’s ain’t gonna help. you know that.”

He did. Kidnapping and ransom were not uncommon in Underfell and he knew from bitter experience that ransom demands did not have happy endings. He forced those memories away, could not place his husband or Jeff anywhere within them, refused to even contemplate it.

His tenuous grip on his anger was slipping, his soul throbbing hot and heavy, ready to unleash his rage at whoever dared attack what as his. Useless; there was nowhere to direct it, not yet, and all he could do was get what information there was. “Then tell me where we are. What are we doing to get them back?”

“welp.” Red stood, tucking his hands in his pockets in a telling delay tactic that did nothing to soothe Edge’s burgeoning anger. “already sent a team out to where their cell and trackers are pinging, but they ain’t gonna be there ‘cause someone tipped ‘em off to ditch their clothes.”

“Their clothes--?” Antwan said, pitiful confusion swelling into his own anger. “you said they weren’t hurt!”

“said they were alive.” Whatever expressions were on their faces made Red grimace, “but yeah, they don’t look hurt, neither, which means the reports we’re getting’ that the honey bun was drugged at the bar are prolly accurate.”

Through his carefully cultivated calm, a sliver of his hope latched on to those words, not hurt, please, not hurt. “You said someone tipped them off. Why do you think that? Explain.”

Red pointed a sharp-tipped finger at him. “your liability ain’t a fighter, but he ain’t no slouch, either. he wouldn’t get in a car with a stranger no matter what candy they got, and he’d get the hell out of dodge before anyone snatched him up if things looked hairy. coupla rough shortcuts is hell on the equilibrium, anyone he was draggin’ along for the ride wouldn’t be in any shape to play these kinda games. but that ain’t common knowledge, so why’d they drug him and not handy andy, unless they had a cheat book.”

That made sense. Edge nodded, gesturing impatiently for him to go on and Red did, choosing his words with obvious care.

“already taking calls from the bar they were at, they’re the ones sayin’ the honey bun looked drugged. that takes some know-how right there, ain’t no wikipedia on how to dope a monster. descriptions are vague right now. humans, your basic white guy with dark hair generic bullshit. we’re gettin’ a copy of their security footage now.”

“So.” Edge stood and wandered to the window, tugging aside the curtain to look out at the night. The porch light cast a glowing circle of sodium yellow and within it he could see one of the flowerbeds he’d been working on before gardening took a brief backseat to building a small duckling a pond. In a few weeks there would be a riot of flowers blooming in colors he never dreamed existed before he came to the surface and it didn’t matter, none of it matter, he’d sacrifice any of it, all of it it, pay any ransom to have Stretch back here with him. He kept his gaze on outside as he said with slow deliberation, “What you’re telling me is we have no idea where they are, no idea who has them, and we know absolutely fucking nothing of any fucking use, particularly where they might have gotten this inside information!”

The last word ended on a near shout as Edge struggled again with his temper. This wasn’t his brother’s fault or if it was, he wasn’t the only one to blame. The failure to protect what was his was as heavy as lead, dragging him downward into the eager embrace of his LV, waiting to be unleashed.

Behind him, his brother drawled, “nope, that ain’t what i’m saying. that’s what i’m tellin’ you.”

Edge whirled around, snarling out, “you little bastard, you—”

“ah, ah, ah,” Red interrupted, eye lights flickering, and Edge shut his mouth so hard his teeth clipped the tip of his tongue, warm magic filling his mouth. “don’t try to sweettalk me, bro. i ain’t tellin’ you any extras ‘cause you need to be here, not out there gettin’ into shit and gettin’ into people’s way. we’re on it, i’m on it. you two are staying the fuck here ‘cause i’m already looking for two dipshits, don’t need to double it.”

Antwan let out an unsteady laugh. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but I’m a lawyer, not James Bond. I’ll stay. I’m trusting you to bring him home.” His voice broke then, that calm dignity wavering. In his lap, his hands were twisted so tightly together that his knuckles were bloodlessly grey. “Please, bring him home to me.”

Perhaps they were both too far from Underfell these days. That faltering gentleness rose again in his brother as he said, “already working on it, pal.” His gaze flicked back to Edge and hardened. “bro, look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” Edge ground out. Red nodded once.

“brother.” That single, stark word was like a jolt right to the chest, striking home. “i’ll get him back to you, you hear me? i promise.”

There was a beat of silence before Edge managed to nod. His head felt strangely heavy, wobbling on his vertebrae.

Suddenly, Red grinned, sharp-toothed and there was the cruel humor Edge knew so very well that his brother possessed. “one other thing you two gotta consider. of all of us, they snatched up stretch.” That grin widened, the wild, silent laughter glittering in his crimson eye lights nearly demonic. “gotta admit, the honey bun’s got a way about ‘im. wouldn’t want to be in their shoes right about now.”

Edge barked out a laugh, tight and pained, “That is a very good point. Of any of us, Stretch is certainly…creative.”

The last word caught in his throat, nearly choking him. He turned back around to escape from his brother’s penetrating look, staring again outside and this time he allowed his gaze to rise to the darkened sky, at the twinkling lights filling that velvety blackness as he thought, Come home to me.

He did not say it aloud, only looked out at the stars that Stretch loved so much and sent his silent wish to them with the desperate hope of one who needed to believe. Come home.

tbc

[pondermoniums]

A little post season 3 ficlet (2749 words) featuring some holiday fluff <3 See tags or read on ao3 here ~

• • • •

Billy still feels it. He wishes his muscle memory had died with him, but it just came back with him too.

The things he felt.

The things It felt.

Everything It made him do.

His psychiatrist tries to tell him that his scars are his body claiming his soul back. Billy couldn’t agree. He didn’t like touching the starbursts on his torso because the shiny scar flesh felt tissue-paper thin—not to his fingertips, but underneath. His heart trembled as if he could just push a little too hard, and enter his ribs—

“Hey, the new place opened up off Main Street. You know those new roads they’re building? There’s already a Greek place there. Let’s get a menu.”

Billy frowned at him. Steve Harrington. He’d been at the mall. Billy didn’t remember seeing him…during…but afterward. In the spotty shreds of memory that were all his own, he remembered Steve looking nearly as bad as he felt. The memories swirled together like a circus dream. Steve and…Robin. Her name is Robin…in striped costumes. Steve carried Max away from his body. Robin practically did the same for the girl with a number for a name. All of them glowed with Starcourt neon pink and purple and red.

Steve’s car hummed around them, and fell silent when he turned onto the fresh asphalt of Hawkins’ new road. Steve laughed a little. “Farmer Higgins is probably still fuming. Last thing the mayor did before he got booted out of here was steal land for these businesses.”

“What’s it matter?” Billy exhaled. There were less people in Hawkins to fuel the shady economy anyway.

“Well I can’t speak for your Camaro, but my car doesn’t last long, driving brodies with trees in the way.”

His little sapphire. A dark mixture of humor and apathy seeped into his blood at the memory of Steve Harrington, of all people, slamming into him. He didn’t do it hard enough.

Now he sat in the car Steve drove. Not because the Camaro couldn’t be fixed, but because Billy wasn’t fit to drive yet. Maybe there was something full-circle about it. Or a broken circle; an open-ended thing, like Billy.

“As if you could do a brody.”

Steve smirked. “Thankfully I’ve ruined enough fields for practice.”

And then he pulled right off the road, slipped through a tiny thicket of trees framing the road, and burst upon a dry, yellow field. He turned sharply, throwing Billy against him…until the car locked into a paradox of calm and chaos. The back wheels revolved around them to dig a doughnut in the earth. Steve let the wheel go, and they rocked as the car jerked with the front tires straightening.

Steve looked around them to find the road again and made a mock sound of getting sick. “Glad we didn’t eat first.”

He grinned at Billy, making him realize a smile had stuck on his face like a cramped muscle. He pushed a hand over his mouth, physically melting it off.

The food was good. The flavors shoved their way over his pallet. It was kind of hard to enjoy food now. He ate when his body needed it but he didn’t get the emotional reaction to it—

“I didn’t know we had Greeks in Hawkins,” Steve conversed openly. A small, lost part of Billy remembered Steve calling him out for being mouthy during basketball, but Steve could talk. He wiped his mouth and dug back into his rice plate. “Then again, Robin and Dustin always have something to say about authenticity. Like you spend a day outside of Indiana and you’re worldly.”

“Did you forget where I’m from?” Billy spoke before he meant to. California didn’t seem to matter much any—

“Did you?” Steve tossed back.

Silence fell over their booth while Steve waited. Then he went back to his food when Billy clearly didn’t care about responding.

Over and over again.

Steve picked Billy up.

Hospital.

Food.

Back to Cherry Lane.

Steve talked. Sometimes Billy replied.

Then things began to change. Steve took Billy to the grocery store after Billy’s therapy. Billy had emerged ruddy-eyed liked he smoked a pound of weed, and Steve had merely said, “I’m feeling tacos.”

Only instead of a restaurant, he took them to the store. And then the Harrington house. Billy talked more there.

“No, no, it’s queso fresco.”

“It’s just cheese, though?”

“Jesus, it’s like I’m the one who grew up with farmers. Different rain waters different grass. That makes different cows, which make different milk. Do you know anything about breweries?”

“Do you?” Steve challenged while they made a mess of his kitchen counter. Crumbles of white cheese, lettuce, and other tacos toppings littered the fancy granite.

“I know that breweries stay put. Because the water’s different. They have to have the right water to make the right beer. I haven’t had my favorite lager since I moved here.”

“What’s it taste like?”

Billy told him. Billy told him a lot of things. Steve just…got a rise out of him the way his therapist couldn’t. Then again, Steve never asked about all the things Billy wanted to burn out of his brain.

Then Cherry Lane fell off the list. Billy couldn’t say how exactly he moved into Harrington’s house. Maybe the food flowed into Billy falling asleep, and starting the next day from Steve’s house just happened too many times. Maybe Max used Steve’s pool too many times. Maybe it was when Billy realized Steve wasn’t just driving him to his physical and mental therapy sessions.

He walked out of the physical therapy gym at the back of the hospital to meet Steve in the same lobby they parted ways in. But Steve wasn’t there. Billy asked the nearby receptionist if “the guy with the hair” had gotten lost to the bathroom, but she only replied, “He’s running a little overtime, but he should be on his way.”

Billy’s appointments took hours. It made sense for Steve to leave and come back—

But the elevator dinged, and Steve was too busy reading something to not walk into a passing nurse. “Oh! Ow—sorry! Sorry,” he exclaimed, holding his arm…

He rolled the shoulder of that arm on the way through the parking lot, swinging the arm round and around like he was warming up for tennis. Inside the car, Billy cornered, “What were you doing in there?”

Steve glanced at him but shrugged as he turned the ignition. “Blood work. An IV drip. MRI’s. My usual stuff. The drip took longer this time.”

“Usual stuff? How come I’m just now hearing of this?”

“Remember, Robin used to meet us here? She got cleared faster.”

“Cleared out of what? How are you more broken than she was?”

Steve stared at him for an unnerving minute. “They…kind of beat the shit out of me. So… I mean, you pack a wallop, but Russians with an agenda put you to shame.”

Billy suddenly wondered if he’d overstepped a boundary. Steve just talked so much, and took whatever Billy gave him without flinching that he never considered…

“Getting concussed and doped up with unknown chemicals isn’t everyone’s normal Thursday.”

Billy had forgotten that Steve had been through shit like this before. Not with the same variables, but… “I forget that your normal got thrown out the window before I got here.”

“It’s not a competition,” Steve tried to say lightly. He waved a hand in front of the vents as if their lingering in the parking lot was just to wait for the heating to kick on.

“And if it is, who’d win?”

“Oh, I think Will Byers has us beat.”

That…hit differently than Billy expected. A laugh burst out of him, like it had just been waiting for a weight to lift off of him to break free. “Yeah. Maybe he does.”

Then they went to Steve’s house, where more and more of Billy’s clothes had accumulated. The kitchen had been stocked with food bought from Steve’s wage and Billy’s top-secret government allowance—which turns out, was rather high. Steve, for all his fancy furniture and basically bottomless bank account thanks to his parents, had to pick his jaw up off the floor when Billy finally revealed the monthly check to him.

“Holy shit. Don’t let the nerds see that; they’ll siphon quarters out of you for the arcade.”

“They’re old enough to want beer and condoms.”

Steve scoffed as he flipped their dinner pancakes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think they’ll sooner pop their cherries than go for beer.” Then he grimaced and waved his spatula. “New subject! Change the subject.”

Billy laughed from the breakfast bar, where he was arranging his medication into a days-of-the-week organizer. It was just a bar of little snap-closed boxes, but it helped him keep track of the pills he took—and the ones he ignored.

Steve had asked him once, “Why do you always leave the red ones?”

“They turn me into a vegetable.”

“Oh. You can’t, like…split it in half? Half vegetable?”

Billy couldn’t say why he felt comforted by Steve’s uniquely clueless way of thinking. Perhaps the guy actually made sense, or maybe he just over-simplified things in an over-complicated world.

Now, though, he set the spatula down with the announcement, “Oh! I got you something. Well, I hope I got the right stuff.”

Billy didn’t go with him to the garage, but he did follow Steve with his eyes. Blue irises locked onto the shockingly familiar box of lager when Steve returned. “Where in the hell did you find that?”

That dopey, thrilled grin made Steve glow like the Christmas lights they’d thrown all over the open floor plan. “Dude, there are professional shoppers! I mean, that makes each can like…a twenty-dollar beer, and this is the only box I got, but this is the stuff you were talking about, right? The lady on the phone said they released other flavors, but you only said ‘lager,’ so it’s what I got.”

The cans were practically frozen from being in the garage, but Billy tore open the box as well as he could to pry one out. “I don’t think I’ve been given the okay for alcohol.”

“We can water it down.”

“You don’t water down beer!”

“Then split one with me. I’ve chilled glasses somewhere…”

He went digging in the freezer drawer and pulled out plastic wine glasses. Billy snorted as he accepted one. “This is so cheap.”

“Yeah well, even mom’s fancy bimbo friends break wine stems around the pool. Gimme that.”

Billy appreciated that Steve made it sound greedy, instead of pitiful. Billy had trouble with his hands.

The can snapped open with a satisfying metallic crack. Billy teased as Steve poured, “Is this your first rodeo? Look at all that foam.”

“We’ve got time. The pancakes are almost done.”

Billy pushed his pill organizer aside to rest his chin on his arms, listening to carbonation sizzle while he watched Steve’s shoulder blades move under his sweatshirt.

“When do you get cleared for pot?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be officially cleared for that—hey, hey!”

Steve had turned around, leaning back against the counter with a pancake in his hand and a full cheek. “Whuh?”

“You’re eating my dinner! Dump the skillet over a plate and get over here!”

Steve came around to sit on the stool next to him with a pancake in his mouth and—

“Are those my slippers?”

“You mean my slippers that I hadn’t worn yet? Yeah, I took them back,” Steve retorted.

Billy successfully knocked one off his foot. “They still had the tags when I got to them. So dibs.”

Steve kicked the other slipper into the living room. “No dibs if you don’t have both.”

“You’re wearing my sweatpants. I get your slippers.”

“I get your beer and you get my pancakes.”

“Not if you eat all of them! Syrup, now,” Billy demanded with a grabby hand gesture.

Steve disintegrated into giggles that made him sound as much like a little kid as movie heartthrob. He finished pouring and passed the bottle.

So it went. Back and forth. Back and forth.

First Steve took Billy’s time. The minutes that built into hours driving to and from the hospital. Then Billy ate his food. Steve covered the restaurant tabs until they switched to cooking at his house. Steve washed his clothes and wore them like his own. Billy took Steve’s car keys and drove for the first time with Steve practically hostage all the way to the tree farm.

“I didn’t take you for a real tree kind of person.”

“You have the ceiling space for a nine-foot tree.”

“How the hell are we hauling a nine-foot tree?” Steve practically blanched. “And with what car?” He adjusted his earmuffs because he’d rather be caught dead than wear a proper hat. Billy, meanwhile, strolled through the greenery and the first snowflakes spitting from the sky with leisurely ease in his beanie.

He laughed, “I like how you’re not saying no.”

Steve didn’t do much to hide his mimicry as he trudged behind Billy, who chuckled to himself. “For once it actually smells nice. The trees really cover up the cow shit of—oh my god, there are actual cows.”

A line of tables displayed other living decorations like wreaths and garlands, but beyond them was a field of black and red cattle. Billy moved under a line of wreaths hanging over their heads to see how they actually had blankets on their backs. “Are the cow jackets norm—”

Steve caught his mouth in a quick, firm kiss. The sound of their lips parting echoed in Billy’s ears. Steve’s fingers lifted off his jaw to touch something noisy above their heads. Billy dumbly looked up to see the tiny bells interwoven with a mistletoe wreath. “Careful. We have real mistletoe here. Not whatever plastic California has.”

He left Billy stupefied, having the audacity to stroll away with a whistle on his lips before Billy snapped out of it and nearly tackled him. “OW! Agh, fu-shit, Jesus—”

“You’re better about planting your feet,” Billy breathed against Steve’s earmuff. He held Steve’s arms trapped against his body.

“Are you always this mean when someone kisses you?” he strained in Billy’s tight grip. The gravel under their boots grit and rattled as Billy dragged Steve deeper into the trees. “Alright! I should’ve asked! I’m sorry—”

Steve might’ve stolen the first kiss, but Billy shoved him into a tree and took it back. He took Steve’s cold shock against his lips, until hot breath warmed them up between nervous stares. Then Billy took his lips, his tongue, the taste of the mint brownies Steve ate on the way here. The cold tip of Steve’s nose pushed into his cheek, and Billy’s heart felt fragile against the softness of Steve’s mouth.

His breath trembled as he asked, “Why did you do that?”

Why do you give me rides? Give me food? Why do you cook every night? Why did you give me a bedroom? Will you let me into yours?

Steve’s arms around his waist moved, tightening a little but also moving up Billy’s spine as if to comfort him. To anchor them together. Steve swallowed, and the fragility in his eyes made Billy’s throat hurt. “I didn’t get to the first time.”

Billy couldn’t stand it. He pushed Steve’s earmuffs off in his effort to press his face against Steve’s neck. To absorb the delicious little sound that escaped him when Billy’s cold nose found the warm pocket inside his collar.

Billy didn’t think he’d be able to kiss anyone ever again.

Not after…

But all he wanted was to keep Steve’s lips on him. To steal him away like some fairytale winter troll and either keep him or devour him if he tried to leave.

“Billy?” His name was muffled against his own scarf, so tightly did Steve hold onto him.

But if Steve was taking…maybe Billy could let himself be stolen again.

“When we’re home…” he sniffled on his way back up to standing on his own. “Kiss me again.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

Billy laughed through his tears. “No, you’re buying me the biggest tree your car can carry. And I’ll steal that wreath while they’re distracted.”

“You have the money to buy it!”

“That’s no fun.”

[ask-them-bois]

A King and His Soldier, part 2/3

(Okay, well. Zeruki appeared ahead of schedule. Let’s figure out how the hell that happened.)

-AgressiveUndead began trolling GlitchingVampire!-

AU: Blxlit.

GV: AlMMawt.

AU: …

GV: … lMMao hi.

AU: Hello.

GV: What do you want?

AU: I need you to find someone for me. Ribbit.

GV: Oh yeah? Who? And also, why should I care?

AU: Xre you fxmilixr with x boy nxmed Ursidx?

GV: I think so? It sounds faMMiliar.

GV: oh.

GV: wait…

GV: ….

GV: Yeah I know that naMMe.

AU: I thought xs much. How do you know him?

GV: … I knew hiMM from the CoMMpound. He was the engineer MMy… designs… got sent to. He was, like, MMy assigned partner.

AU: I need you to find him. Ribbit.

GV: Why.

AU: Becxuse I need his xncestor on my side, before Mxddel cxn get him. Becxuse I know who his xncestor worked for, xnd I’d much rxther hxve them both on my side. It’d mxke this whole thing x lot exsier. Ribbit.

GV: I have no idea what you’re talking about dude, lMMao. But the answer is no. I’MM not gonna go find someone froMM the coMMpound. I blew up those bridges a long tiMMe ago.

AU: …

AU: I understxnd thxt, but I xsk you to reconsider. I wouldn’t xsk xt xll if it wxsn’t importxnt, Blxlit. Ribbit.

GV: What’s in it for MMe?

AU: Wow, rexlly?

GV: You realize what you’re asking MMe, right? You want MMe to go find soMMeone froMM a place where I was literally IMMPRISONED and ENSLAVED. A place I BLEW UP. What if he turns MMe in? I’MM a wanted robot, MMusrio. I can’t just get in contact with the Fleet like it’s no big deal. So if I’MM gonna do that, I want soMMething in return.

AU: …

AU: Blxlit, under thxt childish, prxnkster personx of yours, you’re quite… xstute, xren’t you? Ribbit.

GV: Bitch I built war machines. I MMake robots and eXXplosives. I’MM hella sMMarter than you take MMe for. I’MM hella ass-toot.

AU: Xstute.

GV: Ass-toot.

AU: There’s thxt childishness I wxs spexking of. Ribbit.

GV: lMMao

AU: Fine. Whxt do you wxnt, then?

GV: ... I don’t wanna say yet.

AU: Why?

GV: Because I’MM not ready for you to pay off the favor so fast. Having a zombie wizard at my beck and call? Who the hell would pass that up?

AU: I’m xn undexd necromxncer. Ribbit.

GV: Ass-toot.

AU: Ugh. Fine.

GV: Good.

GV: I’ll find your guy, AlMMawt. But you’re gonna owe me big for this.

-GlitchingVampire ceased trolling AggressiveUndead!- -GlitchingVampire began trolling SoldieringSkybear!-

GV: Hey you.

GV: Are you still alive?

GV: Been a while, huh.

GV: If you’re still in the city, MMeet me on a rooftop, okay? We need to talk.

-GlitchingVampire ceased trolling SoldieringSkybear!-

Corden closed down Trollian and spun around in his chair. Once, twice, and he jumped up, catching the chair before it knocked into the desk.

“Batmom, I’m gonna go out for a bit. You wanna come?” He spoke to a large meow-beast tower that stood next to the desk. After a moment, a very small bat poked her head out, golden eyes blinking sleepily.

She squeaked, and with a flutter of four wings, lighted on his shoulder.

“Cool.” Corden made sure to pocket his knives and a handful of gadgets, before he left his respiteblock. Jumping down the stairs two at a time, he stopped at the bottom and glanced around. “Ken-ken?” He shouted.

“Yo?” Makeno looked up from where he was laid on the lounge-plank, scrolling his palmhusk, hair still damp from a shower.

“I’m going out for a bit.”

“M’kay. Be safe.”

“No promises.” Corden snickered, extending two fingers as he walked past. Makeno reached up and connected two of his own fingers to Corden’s.

“Pale for you, Cordy.”

“Pale for you, too.”

Corden stepped outside, rolling his neck as he headed down the walk and made his way to the city proper.

Once he was among the towering hivestems and workhives, his tense shoulders loosened. The buzz of the city hummed in his ears, hyping him up until blue and red sparks were dancing along his horns.

He roamed the streets for a while, a vague plan beginning to form in his head. He paused on the sidewalk and craned his neck back, looking up at the soaring buildings. “If there’s one place to find him, it’d be up there, huh?” He asked Batmom.

She chirped, and he nodded thoughtfully. Turning, his cape swishing, he marched into a nearby alley between a hivestem and coffeehive. With a burst of psionics and a jump, he landed easily on the fire escape that went up the side of the hivestem.

The smell of the coffeehive’s garbage bin in his sniffnub, he quickly scaled the fire escape to… well, *escape* the smell. The higher he went, the bolder he became, his psionics swirling around him to keep him from falling if he slipped. His hair began to stand on end from the energy alone.

Wind blew it back from his face as he neared the top of the ninety-story hive. He vaulted over the lip of the roof and landed easily. Standing up straight, he looked around; it was a clear night, and from the edge of the building, he could see across the whole city. He stared at the millions of lights, almost entranced by their glow.

Across the city, hidden by the towering buildings between him and it, was the burned out, collapsing remains of the compound. The place he grew up, worked, and lived for the first sweeps of his life. The place he blew up, leaving virtually no one alive, in a daring attempt to escape. No one, save one person, who he’d sent a single message before it went up in flames.

Corden sat on the edge of the roof, dangling his legs. All he had to do now was wait, so he allowed himself to indulge in his memory files. He slid one hand over the back of his shoulders, where he could feel the tips of the scars that marred his back.

“Still don’t know why they thought flogging a robot was a good idea. All it did was tear up my exo-skin.” He said to Batmom. The tiny bat only trilled in response.

Corden sat there for a good half hour, watching the city as he got lost in painful memories. Finally, however, he heard the telltale sound of several jingling bells as someone vaulted onto the roof behind him.

“Ayyye, it’s the Cordy-bordy-robo-bro! Wassup manbot? Dude it’s been like- fucking sweeps huh? Fuck yeah man, whatcha been doing since the compound went-” The newcomer made several vocals to indicate explosions, before he laughed, his loud voice amplifying his thick lisp.

Corden held in a sigh as he got to his feet and turned to face them. “Nice to see you again, too, Engineer-class Fleetman Zeruki Ursida.” He said formally, his posture suddenly stiff as he swept into a low bow.

Zeruki stared at him like he’d grown a second head; at least, Corden thought he did. It was hard to tell with the hair. The tealblood’s tail lashed, sending the bells jingling vigorously.

“Oh, so we’re being all form-fit-finessed here, are we? Fine. Nice to see you, Gold-Station #315.184.514, Bloodline: Blalit.” Zeruki stuck out his split tongue in disgust, “WTF man, I don’t do that,” He blew a raspberry, “shit unless it’s with the ssssssuperiors. You and I are buddies, ain’t we?” He clicked his tongue, his tail bobbing and jingling again. He tugged on the lip of his helmet, nodding to Batmom, “Hello, missy ma’am.”

“Are we?” Corden repeated, his voice flat and emotionless.

Zeruki shrugged, bouncing on his toes. “I dunno. Sure. Yep. LMAO. Anywaysies, what didja message me for? I thought you never wanted to see me again, after you,” he waved a hand vaguely, making more explosive vocalizations, “ya knoooooow? After you killed all our buddy-bros and left me to clean up the mess.” His expression soured for a moment, before he was grinning again.

Corden frowned; he wasn’t sure what the meant. “I didn’t want to see you, but a… friend, asked I find you again. He needs you for… something.” He explained.

“Ah, dope. Totes. Uhhhhhh, he wouldn’t happen to be an olive dude? Real skinny, looks like a doritos bag? Got soda-cola-pop for hair?”

Corden frowned. “No… That sounds like Oliver, though. You haven’t been talking to her, have you?”

“Eh, meh, kinda, no.” Zeruki snickered, his tail shivering and jingling. “They approached me after I left the base a few nights back. Told me they wanted to talk, and started going off about some magicky-tacky-spooky stuff. Wanted my blood so he could meet some doctor or ssssssomething. No idea what that was about, so I bounced. Now your dude wants me, too? Didn’t know I was so famous.” He grinned with a mouthful of crooked teeth.

“I don’t think it’s you they want. They want your ancestor. But believe me, my dude is on the right side here. I can give you his Trollian Handle.” Corden pulled out his palmhusk and did just that.

“Freaky-deaky, dude-bro-bot, buuuuuut… I dunno if I’m down for this shit. I’m just trying to keep my skull off a threshcutioner’s sickle, ya know? I’m barely making it as an engineer, duder, I don’t need to get caught up in any of this shhhhhit.” Zeruki shifted his feet, frowning.

“I don’t know, but okay. Just give Musrio a message. I’ve done my job, so I’m going home.” Corden pocketed his palmhusk and turned way.

In a flash, Zeruki was at his side, his tail surprisingly dexterous as it wrapped around Corden’s metal wrist. “Yo, hold it up, brody-Cody! You just gonna hitch-snitch and ditch like that? Maybe I’ve got a message for you, too!” He said sharply, before looking down at the metal hand. “Yoooooo, that’s new.”

Corden wrenched his arm from the quad-horned troll’s grasp, before he raised an eyebrow. “A message?”

“Yeah-huh. Uhhhh… what was it.” Zeruki screwed up his face in thought, before he perked up, his tail wagging and chiming. “Oh yeah! You remember Fallen? The freaky-deaky-spooky dude who patrolled the compound sometimes, ‘cause his ancestor ran the place? He’s out, dude. You’ve got a mory-dory-morail right? They had history or some shit, didn’t they? Exes, or something?”

Corden stepped back, alarmed. “How do you know all that? Ken-ken never talks about his ex.” He demanded, one hand reaching for the knives at his side.

“Aye, dude, I got freaky ears, remember? These bitches hear everything!” Zeruki slapped the side of his helmet for emphasis, before he flinched, “Ow. LOL. Anywhoodle-doodle, he’s out of confinement again. Back on the streets, you get it? His daddy-oh paid his bail or whatevs.

Fallen is fuckin’ nuts, man, I’ll bet nothin-touchin’ he’s gonna come visit Makey-dakey-sharky-chef. He’s, uh… what do those weeby-dweebs call it? Yonder-wander. Sssssunder-thunder. Whatever, LMAO, one of those. He’s got a bone to pick with Faslet, and a general lack of a thinkpan. So…” He sucked air through his teeth and blew another raspberry, before popping his lips. “Yeah. Watch out for Fally-bally.”

Corden stared at him, before he nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll let Ken-ken know.” He heaved a sigh, stepping back. “Thanks, Zeruki.”

“Yeppers-peppers, Cordy-bordy-bro-bot.” He rolled his R’s, and made a buzzing sound. He raised an arm and rolled his glove forward, checking a device wrapped around his wrist. “Oh, brrr, I gotta get home. Mama’ll be wanting dinner before sunrise.” He snapped a two finger salute to Corden. “Until next time, bro-bot!”

With that, he turned, ran for the edge of the roof, and leaped off, shrieking, the fuzzy end of his tail the last thing to disappear from view.

Corden rolled his eyes, walking over to the edge of the building and looking down.

Zeruki was not a smear of cyan on the pavement, but instead a blur, bounding between the walls and roofs of the skyscrapers and buildings like a free-running character in a videogame.

Corden faintly heard him shriek again, cackling manically.

“He’s nuts.” Corden told Batmom, who chirped in amused agreement. “Guess we should go home, too, huh?”

Corden shook out his hands, a burst of psionic energy rocketing across his body as he stepped off the other side of the building and made his way home.

[briarrosescurse]

Heyo, hope you're having a wonderful day today 🙃. If it's not too much to ask, how about some lore for Shudain and/or the boys?🙂

SHUNDAIN

shundain in itself is known to be a very grounded dorm. the regular student, while looking like your typical meathead, is expected to show observational and headstrong traits. it’s essential to know a few wits here and there. here in shundain, you are expected to be able to take care of yourself, to be able to handle things on your own. if you fall behind, that’s on you.

as a dorm leader, you must show throughout a year long process that you are worthy of that title. while not perfection is expected, the dorm needs a capable and dedicated leader. the statement of “you’re on your own” and “brotherhood is essential” coexist here - both implying that you shouldn’t drag the dorm down. the dorm depends on their leader to show top leadership skills, but also to serve as an ideal role model that rightfully honors the conqueror, that the dorm has been inspired by.

within the dorm in itself, everyone is on equal ground! status, wealth, background and the like are forgotten - all that matters is that you show the qualities that are expected of you. there isn’t an ‘official’ ranking within shundain, however, it’s not unknown that xiang and occasionally chunying and sheng are trusted and consulted for decision making by chanyu.

shundain’s dorm terrain is much more rough and a tough one - opposed to, let’s say savanaclaw and scarabia, it’s a lot colder. this is one of the reasons why visitors of the dorm are usually guided to wherever their destination may lie.

common activities include morning practice around 5 am, usually split into two groups lead by chanyu and xiang, as well as falconry.

if you ask me, i think demons/the devil as shundain’s halloween costume would be preeeetty dope. i also considered the qilin for them, but i was worried it might be too similar with the jiangshi costume for diasomnia.

the dorm color would be this one (for now)

CHANYU

as of right now, chanyu is 20 years old, making him a tad older than most of his peers. his birthday is on the 16th of january, thus making him a capricorn.

his homeland is the vale of the solar deity (which is also where xiang and sheng reside in) - it’s a fairly big country but rather rural. it is said to be protected and guided by a holy deity known as the solar deity - as a result, you find plenty of temples dedicated to that deity throughout the lands.

he is the leader and founder of the falconry club ! he appears to be extremely fond of falcons and treats them very much with respect

his best subject is defense magic whereas his worst would be astrology - even then though, he has fairly great grades

he seems to be rather fond of cooked mutton and steamed dumplings, but very much dislikes gazpacho

he grew up in a rather ‘normal’  household - with a prideful father and a strict as well as a few younger siblings, chanyu had responsibilities to shoulder from a young age on, but he dealt with it quite well. he grew into a very responsible man, but truthfully, deep empathy and a knack for emotions hadn’t been on the list of his duties, thus making him appear to the majority of his surroundings as cold and cruel - which, admittedly, he kind of is.

he doesn’t smile often, but appears rather pleased and smirks here and there whenever things go according to his plans or he gets to have the upper hand. he enjoys using his wits in his favor.

his voice actor would be morikawa toshiyuki

XIANG

the vice dorm leader is 18 years old! his birthday is on the 20th of february, so he is an aquarius

as mentioned before, his homeland is the vale of the solar deity. he lives in a small community, quite close knit with his family and extended relatives.

his club is the basketball club, as he wanted to do something more different this school year! he gets along with ace and jamil quite well, although, funnily enough, he is rather wary of floyd... which is kind of funny to see

his best subject is stamina training whereas his worst is art and music; artsy things have never been his thing, but for that, he is one of vargas’ favorite students

favorite food is sichuan hot pot and least favorite is potato stew ! (he had too much of the latter in his life time...)

xiang’s household was a bit... difficult, to put it lightly. he rarely mentions what had been going on and only sheng seems to have a rough idea. but to summarize: from a young age on, xiang had been trained to be a child soldier by his merciless father, effectively taking his freedom as a child and his childhood away. he had been training from morning to night, almost without any breaks. (thus explaining all the battle scars on his body) around middle school to high school age, his father had died on a mission during battle, with only his arm being brought back to them. due to the shaken hierarchy of his family, xiang’s older brother was forced to break off his studies at nrc and take the position as the new head of the family - which allowed xiang to continue in his brother’s place instead.

his carefree and lax, but also painfully arrogant attitude is what causes many students of shundain to not take xiang seriously at first; however, that soon will turn out to be a mistake on their part, as xiang is quite relentless when it comes to training

his voice actor is junji majima

CHUNYING

this guy here is around 17 years old ! his birthday is on the 18th of november, making chunying a scorpio.

his homeland used to be the vale of the solar deity, but soon enough, his family decided to move into the more northern area of the land of pyroxene.

he is part of the loving mountains club. he never really takes it seriously and just joined so he can have a bonus on his resume.

his best subject is flying skills (not surprising) and his worst is summoning... he never got the point of that.

his top favorite food? salted milk tea! his least favorite? roast turkey... i think you can roughly guess why

chunying grew up in a relatively regular household as well. he has a few siblings as well. back in the vale of the solar deity, his family had a bit of a higher standing than most families in their villages, as one of the rare families of falcons. considering how treasured falcons are to their culture, chunying often had been perceived with awe for his elegant wings and his heritage. he was treated with a lot of respect and never has been reprimanded for his wrongdoings - thus making him a bit painfully narcisstic. that was one of the things that really boosted his ego. not being the oldest and one of the middle children, he sort of got often let off the hook by his parents and tended to goof off with his shenanigans. a brat to this day...

he is very well aware of the size of his wings, so him accidentally slapping you in the face with them is quite unlikely - so if he does it, it’s on purpose.

his voice actor is soma saito!

SHENG

sheng is the youngest of the four with 17 years young! he was born on the 13th of december, thus being a sagittarius.

his homeland is as well the vale of the solar deity! he lives in the same village as xiang and chanyu. he appears to be rather popular with the elderly and the wild dogs and cats.

sheng is a proud member of the falconry club! he sort of just followed chanyu into the club in his first year.

his best subject is magic practice and his worst would be alchemy.

his absolute favorite meal is khorkhog and is fairly well at cooking that himself ! however, he doesn’t seem to be fond of ice cream...

having grown up in the same village as xiang and chanyu, sheng is familiar with the two and their families. sheng himself is the oldest of five siblings and always looked out for his siblings on his own will. he also takes care of his grandparents frequently. his family was rather loving and coddling, but sheng was a hardworking kid either way. he has been often dubbed as too soft hearted by many of the men in his village, so he has been trying to “toughen up” and conceal that part of him. if they can’t view him as a respectable future head of his family, how will his family be affected by that? he sure doesn’t wanna find out.

despite the initial first impression, sheng is surprisingly dense and a bit of a himbo, honestly. romantical advances and the like are blocked by an invisible wall of giant, dense himbo

his voice actor would be minamoto satoru