#sense you can see that he COULD be in his old tattered clothes from then. AND ALSO THE WALLS BEHIND THEM

[rervraiilstew]

THEM.

[highseas-swede]

Becoming Real

Recently Good Omens Prime Twitter account posted a BTS photo of Aziraphale and Furfur and it started the gears in my head turning, trying to parse it. It's only just now that it finally coalesced into a proper thought.

I kept thinking Aziraphale reminded me of something, especially when compared to the other angels. Look at him next to pre-Jim Gabriel, Uriel, Michael... heck, even Furfur, who he's standing next to right now.

Furfur is a demon, but his outfit is impeccable, it's sleek and stylish. The angel's suits in heaven are all pressed and flawless and New.

But not Aziraphale. He's dressed in old human clothes, his waistcoat is worn and tattered and long-loved. Aziraphale is, as Michael put it, like an old sofa. Worn and comfortable. He could choose to look basically however he wants, but instead he chooses to clothe himself in actual human clothes, to eat human food, to enjoy human entertainment - books, music, plays, etc. He does this despite the fact that it actively makes the other angels dislike him and find him unpalatable.

And that's what stuck out to me. Because unlike those other angels and demons, Aziraphale doesn't feel distant from humanity. He might be odd or eccentric to humans, but they don't question his humanity. He doesn't stand out to them in the way that the other angels do when they show up.

It occurred to me that this is because unlike the other angels... Aziraphale is Real.

Have you ever read The Velveteen Rabbit? There's a scene in it where they talk about what it means to be Real:

This made me think of Aziraphale. About how the other angels are these pristine things, kept aloof from the world, and then there's Aziraphale, who is worn and shabby, who's lived on earth for millennia among the humans. He's loved and learned and experienced what being human is like and because of that he's Real in a way that the other angels aren't. Humans have personhood, a sense of agency, a sense of self. Angels and demons have only the divine plan, as Beelzebub and Gabriel noted, that's all they live for "if you can call it living".

But what strikes me the most is how potentially devastating Aziraphale's Realness will be to Heaven. They only succeed at keeping angels in line because they're undistracted from the Great Plan. We see how Gabriel - as Jim - takes to cocoa after trying it. We see how quickly Muriel becomes fascinated with books.

Now consider that this is the angel they're putting in charge of Heaven. This worn, shabby, old sofa of an angel who has an endless well of love, for Crowley, for the world and the humans in it. He doesn't seem dangerous in the slightest. He seems Fragile.

But he is dangerous. So very dangerous.

But it's not because he's a guardian, not because he's a warrior, not because he's the Angel of the Eastern Gate who leads a battalion and was issued a flaming sword. He gave all of that away and it's worth noting that this is the first actual choice we see him make in the show, the thing that sets him apart in Crowley's eyes, and it wasn't even Crowley's doing! Aziraphale made a choice to give the mortals his sword out of compassion and it is a sense of compassion we don't see from the other angels.

His deviations all stem from that initial act. It takes him from being this two-dimensional cardboard entity existing only as part of the Divine Plan and set him on the path to actual Personhood.

It doesn't happen right away, of course, because as the Skin Horse says:

"It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

And doesn't that sum up Aziraphale? He's shabby and worn and he's beautiful to the people who understand and appreciate that being Real means being imperfect, and that every imperfection is still beautiful.

No wonder the angels mock his corporation, his flaws, all the things he enjoys that make him less than what they think he should be. We see evidence over and over that Aziraphale is essentially "ugly" to them. But that's because they don't understand.

Aziraphale's Realness, his personhood, what Crowley has helped nurture from the Wall of Eden all the way to that last desperate kiss, is what really matters. Good Omens has always been about People being fundamentally People. It's the underlying current that ties everything together, for good or for ill. People have agency. People have self-actualization. People have the ability to make their own choices, for good or for evil.

And now Aziraphale has that too.

That's the very real danger he presents to heaven.

Because we've already seen that any angel, given sufficient time and interaction with humans could be like Aziraphale. All it takes is one small opening, one bite from the apple. Whether deliberately or not, Crowley tempted Aziraphale into every step, the way he tempted Eve in the garden. He gave Aziraphale the knowledge of Right and Wrong, presented him with the option, the way he did with humanity. Were they even really human before Crowley? Did he give them free will? His actions cast them out of paradise, but did it ultimately set them free? Has he struggled for millennia to do the same for the angel he's loved so well and for so long?

Does Crowley know how horribly, wonderfully well he succeeded?

Bringing Aziraphale back to Heaven, putting him in charge, was the absolute worst thing the Metatron could have done for keeping the status quo and it's not because of Aziraphale's fighting prowess. It's because of the small Human acts of kindness and pettiness that Aziraphale is capable of. That's not going to go away when he's in Heaven. It's going to spread. He's going to infect Heaven with Humanity. It's going to be so slow and gradual that they won't see it coming until it's far too late.

It's not going to be the way that Aziraphale intends to change Heaven and yet, it will surely ultimately be what really makes a difference.

I wonder too, if maybe that's some subconscious part of it. After seeing Gabriel change, seeing Muriel change, I wonder if there's not some part of Aziraphale that realizes that Heaven is a miserable place that makes miserable people. He'll extend compassion to them that they don't deserve and don't know they're missing and he'll surely go on with whatever his own Plan - with a capital P, of course - is and he won't even realize what he's actually done.

And then, like the ending of S1, like the ending of S2, the ultimate deciding factor will not be who is the best warrior, who is the strongest. It will be about the Human element.

Metatron thought he could control Aziraphale, bring him in line by bringing him back to Heaven. He wants to take away the human element of Aziraphale and shove him back into that Obedient Little Angel shaped mold and he doesn't realize it's not possible anymore. Aziraphale's grown. He'll never fit, he'll never be that again. There is no going back anymore.

As the Skin Horse says: "Once you are Real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

And Real things, things with depth and purpose and will, are impossible to ever truly control.

[feroluce]

So I've already seen this one pointed out, but in the new CG, Boothill's older human form doesn't really match what people thought it should. Of course it could just be neglect on Hoyo's part like I've seen speculated, but personally? With the other lore we got from this patch, combined with some of the stuff we already had, I'd love to think there is a possibility that is way, WAY more fun.

(fun for me and all the other whump enjoyers, anyway, RIP Boothill fjkasjkdj)

In Boothill's lc, we see him in the middle of his surgery where he threw away his flesh and bone body for steel and cybernetics. We know it was The Big Surgery and not just like some sort of tune up or modification because of the description attached to the lc:

Which is where a lot of the dissonance comes in, because in this lc, Boothill's hair is much, much longer than in the cg.

And as someone who also has super long hair, I can tell you that it would take like. Multiple years to grow it out to this length.

There's also the fact that these cybernetic arms don't even match, the lc is the one that looks like our Boothill does now. And there's no reason for Boothill's shirt to be ripped up and in tatters like that; it even states he takes off his clothes before the lc surgery. If it were a matter of Hoyo needing to censor nudity, there were plenty of other methods they could have used that would make more sense, like a hospital gown, a blanket, surgical partition, etc

When will I get to see Boothill with all his scars, Hoyo, when, quit cockblocking me!!! OTL

But there was also another piece of new lore this patch that hit me like a fuckin' brick- the fact that Boothill was tortured by the IPC.

He just drops this out of nowhere! Just says it and then moves right along!! BABY, PLEASE. I WANNA KNOW MORE SO GODDAMN BAD.

But anyway as Hydrachea pointed out to me, this means the torture definitely had to happen before the lc surgery, because being whipped with a belt soaked in saltwater (fucking OUCH) wouldn't work on someone with metal skin.

So, we know that the IPC did, at some point, capture Boothill. And this is reaching further back to previous patches, but we also know from the Luminary Wardance event in 2.5 that the IPC also dabbles in cybernetic arms, because of the one they foisted on Luka.

The model there is a new one they're debuting, but we see in a flashback sequence that the IPC has been part of the cybernetics game for at least 700-800 years, because they also manipulated Igor into getting one too, and this could have only happened before the Eternal Freeze on Jarilo-VI.

It's never stated just how old Boothill is, or how long ago the genocide on Aeragan-Epharshel took place.

But I doubt it was more than 700-800 years ago.

I really don't think Boothill is that old, or has been doing this for that long. So he definitely would have been captured at a point that the IPC was manufacturing cybernetic arms, and had a known history of amputating perfectly healthy patients to use them.

I wonder if all their test subjects were willing.

(This part is entirely unnecessary for the new cg showing Boothill being a forced lab rat as part of the IPC torturing him. But it is a fun, delightful, bloodily gruesome twist of the knife nonetheless.

Boothill was also betrayed by his own brothers-in-arms on Aeragan-Epharshel. For the IPC. Just saying.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

When your shift ends, you leave the shop, heading down the same way you came. You stop at the corner of Mason and think better of going that route. You take that man’s advice and go along Doxtator instead. It’s quieter, there aren’t as many businesses so not as many people loitering and tossing cigarette butts.

You come up to the shared house and enter through the side door as usual. You wouldn’t call it routine yet, you haven’t been there long enough, but a ripple of deja vu comes over you. You keep your head down as you enter the kitchen. As you do, there’s another person in there.

You don’t know if you should say hello. You haven’t seen this man before. He must be one of the others. He pulls a box of rice crackers out of the cupboard and ignores your presence. You follow his lead and don’t say a word as you set your bag on the counter and pull out the drawer. You write your name on the few items you got from the store before you left; a box of cereal, a carton of milk, and some packets of ramen.

You put it all away as the other resident traipses off down the hallway, shuffling footsteps reverberating off the shabby walls. You shut the fridge as you hear the outside door open and shut. As you turn, the other man enters; the big one with the shaggy hair. S as you think of him.

He nods at you as you fold up the paper bag and shove it in the bin. He goes to the cupboard and opens the door. He sighs and takes out the same box of crackers as the last man. He shakes it and tuts. You see then the S marked on the side.

You leave, not wanting to get involved. You feel bad that someone else took his food but you also don’t need the drama. You hate conflict. At least now, you know to watch your things. Maybe later you’ll sneak out and retrieve your ramen so you can preserve a few meals.

You’re not very hungry. Your appetite is sparse these days. Maybe it’s this place. You can’t quite settle in, maybe because you hope it’s only temporary. Yet, you can’t say if that’s because you’re holding onto hope that by some miracle you could go back to your former life or that you might even forge a new one.

You lock the door and turn on the standing lamp. You fold your coat over the metal frame of the bed and sit to untie your shoes and peel off your socks. You change into a loose pair of sweatpants and a plain tea with a Pepsi logo on it. Not your clothes, another set of charity tatters.

You lay down and stare at the wall. You used to have a television in your room. You’d watch the old sitcoms they replayed on the public access channel. Or you’d listen to music and knit something. You had at least a dozen scarves more than you needed. You might be able to afford some needles and yarn after your first pay.

The cone of light casts a low haze through the tight space. Your eyes slowly close as thoughts of shutting off the lamp fade into your subconscious. You’re asleep before you can feel yourself drift off.

🚪

You wake to a strange sound. Your eyes flick open to the yellow lamplight as you lay stiffly on your back. You groan as your cramped muscles tug. You stretch and the bed frame creaks with your movement.

The scratching continues. You’re not surprised. You would expect mice in a place like this. There were some at the shelter too. They mostly left you alone, just skittered by as they searched out crumbs.

It gets louder as you sit up, tilting your head as you try to loosen the knot between your shoulders. You stand slowly, daunted by the pang across your hips. The mattress is thin and you can feel the frame on the other side.

“I know you’re awake, sweetie,” the voice startles you as it slips beneath the door. You stop your arm midreach as you go to click off the lamp. You peek over and see the shadow shift under the door. “Sweetie? I can see your light’s still on, why don’t you open the door?”

You don’t know the voice. It’s pitchy and uneven. The sickening tune behind it makes your stomach wrench. You stay far from the door as the handle jiggles, the deadbolt keeping it from opening.

“Sweetie. I just wanna talk. You don’t have to open the door. Just talk to me…”

You hug yourself and gulp. There were men in the shelter who tried to talk to you, the ones who got too close, who would stand over you while you slept. You were lucky they went away when they were caught.

There’s another shift and the floorboards groan. You hear an odd scuff and see something slide beneath the door slowly. Little by little. It’s a hand mirror, just thin enough to fit. Oh my god.

“Sweetie, I wanna know your na–”

The click of a mechanism and the grind of hinges interrupt your unwanted visitor. The mirror stills and the floor creaks again. You chew your lip as you listen with bated breath.

“Oh, hi,” the same voice greets someone.

“Go,” the deep voice orders gruffly.

“You can’t make me–”

“What are you doing out here?” The other man asks. You recognise S’s timbre.

“N-nothing. I live here too. I can be in the halls,” the strange man responds.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“I wasn’t making noise.”

There’s a pause. Footsteps follow, getting closer, and you hear the squeaky voice utter a ‘no’ as the mirror wiggles slightly then is kicked further inside, scuttling over the floor.

“What the hell?” S growls, “you leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t bothering her–”

“I know what you were doing. I know who you are. What you are. So go before I crush you like the worm you are,” S’s words make even you shrink in fear.

“Ha, you think you deserve her. Because you look like you do,” the other man accuses, “you don’t scare me.”

“I don’t care if I scare you, I’ll break you in half if I see you at her door again,” S sneers and there’s a thump on the door, followed by an ‘oomph’. “Got it?”

“Got… it,” the breathy hiss chokes out, “let me go.”

A sudden scramble of footsteps, as if thrown off balance, clatter across the floor. They continue, quicker and quicker until you can’t hear them. You hear a sniff, then a sigh. A shadow appears at the bottom of the door.

“Hope you’re okay in there,” S says, “I’ll keep an ear out for that creep.” He pauses as if waiting for an answer but you can’t find one past the hammer of your heartbeat, “have a good night.”

The floor groans with his weight as he retreats and his door gently clasps. You can’t move. You lean into the wall and let your legs fold as you slide down onto your bottom. You’ll leave the light on for tonight. You don’t think you can face the dark.

[justwinginglife]

The Start of Forever

25 Days of Simpmas: Day Eighteen December 18th: Ban, Rank 8 Anime: Seven Deadly Sins Event Masterlist

As the mayor of Delulu/Selfship Land, I would just like to say, guys, I'm back at it again, rewriting/ignoring canon lmaoooo. Let's just say Ban barely even met Elaine. Let's just say, he stole a sip from the Fountain of Youth on his very first try for the purpose of this fic, okay? Lol, IT'S FINE.

You were having the most bizarre reunion of your entire immortal life.

Ban was alive, nearly a hundred years after you first met him, looking exactly as he had when you last saw him. And he was laughing. You forgot just how much you missed his laugh.

��Still kicking and breathing, huh?” He teased. 

You grinned. “You know it. Can’t get rid of me that easy. So what’s your excuse for not kicking the bucket?”

He shrugged. “Ah, you know me. Stole a chalice from the fountain of youth.”

You laughed, shaking your head at him. Same, old Ban. “Sounds just like you.”

Some of your best memories were stealing things with him. You remembered, one year, you’d had a competition to see who could steal the most expensive thing without getting caught. And then you’d gifted it to each other for Christmas. You had both laughed, looking at your ridiculous reflections in the river. There you were, smudged with dirt, adorned in rags, and he’d gotten you a sapphire brooch. And there he stood, right beside you, clothes ripped and ragged, hair wild and unruly, and you’d gotten him a gold chain necklace. Even as absurd as you both appeared, somehow the trinkets you’d gotten each other just made sense. He was always telling you that blue brought out your eyes and you were always telling him that he had a heart of gold. So what, if your accessories didn’t match your tattered attire? They matched your ideas of each other. Even if you never had anything nice again, at least you had a reminder of his affection.

But your favorite memory of him, the memory to top all memories, was the day you first met him. 

You’d stolen a sack of apples, but discovered it was unreasonably heavy. Not wanting to give away your jackpot but not wanting to lug it around everywhere you went, you settled on hiding it in a secret location. Then you went about your day, bathing in the river, sneaking around town, foraging in the woods, just doing whatever you felt like. When you came back to have a midnight snack, you could’ve sworn that the sack felt lighter, but you figured you must’ve overestimated how much you’d stolen. When you came back the next day, it was even lighter than it had been before, but you figured you’d just forgotten how much you’d eaten; after all- you had been half asleep. It wasn’t until you checked it a third time that you started to wonder if maybe an animal had started snooping around your goods. You were lost in thought, wondering if you should just take the sack with you (after all- it was much lighter now) when suddenly a kid your age appeared, with a scowl on his face.

“You know it’s rude to take other people’s things, right?”

You scoffed, straightening to defend yourself. “This is my bag, what are you even talking about?”

He crossed his arms. “No it’s not. I found it a couple days ago, so it’s mine.”

“Yeah, well, I stole it a couple days ago, so it’s mine.”

He stared you down, debating if he believed you or not. “Well if it’s yours then why’d you leave it here?”

You gestured to your scrawny physique. “Do I look like I can carry a bag that heavy around? I just stashed it and I’ve been coming back to snack on it here and there.”

“Here and there? Wait. Are you the reason the bag felt lighter yesterday? And the day before? I knew I wasn’t going crazy!”

Suddenly you burst into laughter.

He raised a brow, looking you over curiously.

“I thought I was the one going crazy. I thought I imagined the bag getting lighter, it was really messing with my head.” You admitted sheepishly.

“So… I guess we were both taking from it then.” He laughed awkwardly, shifting his weight back and forth, as though he were nervous how you’d react to that information.

You took a step towards him and his posture stiffened, readying himself to go on the offensive at any moment. But then you smiled and suddenly everything was okay. “I don’t mind sharing if you don’t mind sharing.”

He lifted his chin to look away from you. Finally, after debating it, he grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. But just know, I’m gonna eat a lot more now that I know I have competition.” 

You laughed and his heart stuttered in his chest. “It’s not competition. If anything… we’re a team now. How about this? Whatever I find, I’ll share with you and whatever you find, you share with me. Honestly, it’ll be so much easier with two of us working together, so whaddya say?” You held your hand out for him to shake. 

He stared at it for a moment. 

“You’re supposed to shake it-”

“I know what it’s for! I was just thinking!”

“You take a long time to think-”

“I DO NOT! Did you ever think that maybe you don’t take enough time to think??” He demanded.

But you smiled at him again and there was that same fluttering feeling in his chest. So he took your hand. Shook it, and shook it hard. And he agreed to your demands. 

You both laughed about the whole thing later that night, once you’d stolen a cake from a bakery together and cut up some apples to garnish it with. You said it was to commemorate your friendship’s “birthday” and he rolled his eyes at how cheesy you were being but he went along with it anyway, pretending to blow out fake candles, even shyly singing the birthday song with you. 

You never forgot about that night for as long as you’d lived. And you’d lived a very long time by now.  

“So… immortal Y/N. What a terrifying thought.” Ban teased.

You snorted. “Oh please, I’m the terrifying one? Who’s the towering giant clad in red leather? I’d be significantly more afraid of him living forever. Also, I’m not sure how I feel about this color on you. I think you’d look better in-”

“-Gold?” Suddenly he pulled a necklace from his pocket. 

Your heart stopped. It was the same one you’d given him all those decades ago. So he still had it. “Maybe I was gonna say blue.” You turned to show him the brooch that was still sitting neatly in your hair like it had every day since he’d given it to you.

“How ‘bout that? You still have it.” He said, breathlessly.

“And you still have yours.”

“Course. I’d never lose it.”

“You did lose it once.” You laughed. 

He groaned. “A hundred years later and you still can’t let it go.”

“Hey- I worked hard to steal that for you. I can’t believe you dropped it in a river of all the places. Almost drowned trying to fish it out. ‘Member that?” You teased, poking his nose.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll never do it again. So, you gonna tell me how you’re still alive? What’d you do, steal from the same fountain?” 

You fidgeted with the edge of your jacket. “Nah, my story isn’t nearly as fun as yours. Cursed by a demon. You know- the whole ‘doomed to watch everybody you love die’ thing.” As you spoke, the weight of your words hung heavy in the air. Your eyes seemed to dim even if only for a second. 

He wanted to touch you. To hold you. To make everything okay again. He didn’t know how to do it but he’d do anything for you. He’d never seen that look on your face before and he hoped you’d never have to make it again. 

In all his years, he’d never regretted choosing immortality; because of that, he’d never thought that maybe there were people who wouldn’t have wanted it, who wouldn’t have chosen it. But you’d had it forced on you. And then had to deal with its repercussions. What must that have felt like and who did you lose to make you feel that way? He confessed to feeling somewhat jealous; he hadn’t found anyone he cared about enough to mourn losing them to time. You were the only one he’d ever mourned.

You had spent every waking moment together as children, but once you’d grown, you’d both realized you wanted different things from life. He wanted to travel the world, do what made him feel good, what made him feel alive. You wanted to stop your shenanigans, maybe get an education, maybe settle down. In the end, you loved each other but it wasn’t enough. You parted ways as amiably as you could, but the “what-if’s” never went away, and when you had both finally realized how much time had passed, how much you needed each other, all you had left to cling to were regrets.

He’d regretted the way he’d left things with you. The way you looked as you watched him sail away, the way your lips quivered as you tried to send him off with a smile, the way your eyes nearly squeezed shut for fear of the tears spilling down your face. The way he tried to convince himself he was only seasick and not simply homesick. He regretted it all.

You’d regretted the way you’d left things with him. The way you hadn't tried hard enough to tell him to stay. The way you'd said goodbye instead of see you later, like you were fine with closing the chapter when you knew you weren't. The way you missed him but never looked for him, for fear that his life might be all too grand and great without you. You regretted it all.

But it was clear now that fate had given you a second chance.

And you were not about to waste it.

Neither was he.

He nudged you with his arm. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore, not now that I have you beside me at long last.”

Your smile returned. 

God, he loved that smile, he loved it so damn much. That smile that crinkled the corners of your eyes, the smile that softened your cheeks into a rosy pink, the smile that was forever engraved into his dreams, into his soul. The smile he never thought he’d see again. And he wasn’t going to lose it- not again, not now that he finally found you. Thank god that he found you. Thank every god that did or didn’t exist that he found you. He’d never been the religious type but he’d get on his knees to praise whoever brought him this miracle. 

“You know, eternity’s a long time. Sure I won’t drive you crazy?” You teased. 

He chuckled. “You definitely will- that’s a guarantee. But I’ve missed it. And I won’t take it for granted, ever again. I won’t leave you, ever again.”

“Well then, I suppose we’d better get started on forever.”

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

[dokifluffs]

Can we get Kageyama x Reader Domestic when he's in charge of taking care of his bb girl while Reader is on business trip 🥺🥺🥺💝

HEHEHEHEHE HEY LEXI HEHE i like this one.

note after writing: this is not a crumb. I repeat, this is not a crumb.

The house was in tatters

The sink was almost starting to overflow

in your and his daughter's room, the floor could barely be seen through all the clothes and toys littered all over the place

Kageyama slept peacefully, sprawled out from a mix of exhaustion but also bliss from getting to sleep in on his day off with no practice or games coming up

but it wasn't an entirely free day off

"dada." The little girl with raven hair like her father crawled onto the bed, pulling at the sheets, his legs, his pants, everything her two-year old little body could muster up to pull herself up

she of course gained success

but that was when kags half asleep, half awake, probably not even knowing what was happening, rose from his sleep and instinctively lifted her up and into his arms

She giggled going up all of a sudden and then was laid beside him as he hugged her in his long arms

she laid there for a bit, playing with the hem of his shirt sleeve, his arms before turning and playing with his face, pressing her little hands to his cheeks and his face

this went on for about 2 minutes before kags couldnt sleep anymore plus it was time to start his little girl's day

He yawned and sat himself up, sitting his little girl up too and grabbing the first thing he saw on the bed and handed it to her to keep her occupied while he quickly got himself ready for the day

"play with mama's volleyball plushie, D/N~" he nuzzled the back of his finger knuckle into her small, plump cheeks, a soft smile spreading on his lips just watching her for a moment

She played with it, grabbing the little limbs with her hands in her little crow pattern pajama, even losing balance sitting and rolling to her back with it, her hands still holding onto your plush

He was quick on his feet and now that he was a dad, knowing the mornings were a rush

he wasted no movements and got himself ready within 5 minutes and now it was time for his little girl's

"D/N~" he called as he went back to the bed, seeing his little girl rise to her feet on the bed, wobbly on the squishy surface. "Upsy daisy," he hoisted her up, her hands still holding onto your plush

He took his time, carefully washing her little face, moisturizing it but of course accidentally using a little too much lotion, which he then put onto his own face

Then took her back to her room to choose an outfit for today

Okay kags as a dad

The morning routine you had to teach him to do it in the correct steps and you made sure to watch him before leaving on your trip

Plus his fashion sense wasn't... the best..

the pictures you had been receiving recently had you worried about what others thought when he took her out on errands or just to play 🧎‍♀️ you didn't want people to think that you guys didn't care for your daughter

But today he chose simple black overalls with a red onesie to wear

At least, he learned from hinata, that the overalls should be put on over the sweater

But he was surprisingly good doing her hair

He put them into two little pigtails at her sides

his cooking skills were okay.. not the best but he was getting there with more experience

He occasionally stirred the miso soup while cooking the salmon and luckily

The rice had finished while everything else was just about done too

He took occasional glances to the living room to check on D/N, still seeing her coloring, somehow holding onto your plush still

He placed the dishes down on the kotatsu she was at on the side away from her coloring book and crayons spread out all over the place

He pulled out her little seat and placed it right beside him

he had a small bowl for her and a bigger bowl for himself

He took a bite, testing the temperature in his mouth before he grabbed the little spoon, puttling a little bite of rice onto it and blowing on it

"careful, it's hot," he continued blowing and leaned close as he pushed the bite into her wide open mouth

she chewed carefully and slowly on her food as kags fed her, occasionally taking 2 bites for himself as he fed her the rice and other dishes

After eating, he finally tackled the dishes swiftly and all the toys and put the laundry into the basket, making a note to wash them sometime later instead

Usually his day's were busy and packed, mostly at the long practices for a couple of hours and then back home, spending time with you two but you were away for a few weeks for work

This wasn't the first time but it definitely reminded kags of how hard you worked for work and also for the family

He thought if this wasn't something he could handle while you were away, how could he deserve to be with you?

on these days with no particular plans or anything, all his attention was devoted to his little girl

he sat beside her, drew and colored with her

read her books

which eventually would lead to maybe a short nap time

if she wanted to watch cartoons, the tv would be turned on, but only in moderation

if she wanted to go out, it would be time to get ready for a trip to the park

He took her on walks through the neighborhood

to Hinata's house to play with his kids

to the park

he loved his daughter so much

but he loved the three of you all together the most

it felt like there was a puzzle piece missing while you were away

you two did talk and call as much as possible, but with the time zone differences, it was hard to stay on call with you as long as he would like

"just one more week," he breathed to himself as he walked, his arms holding D/N who looked happily at him at eye-level, pressing her hands to his face again

"one more week until mama comes home," he leaned close, pressing a kiss to her cheek, making her giggle

[yanderes-galore]

yandere zombie John hcs?

Here's icky zombie man, hope you love him because he loves you.

Yandere! Zombie! John Marston Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Slight gore/blood, Possessive/Protective behavior, Murder, Forced companionship/relationship.

Honestly, this could go one of two ways.

You knew John back in RDR2 and met him again during this outbreak, unfortunately he's infected.

That, or, you have never met this man in your life and now you have a zombie following you around.

What's even worse is the fact John isn't entirely mute as a zombie.

Most of the others have the benefit of being mute when they turn.

John? Nah, with him you get what sounds like the equivalent to the screams of the damned.

At least... That's according to his 'Undead Cowboy' outfit.

John failed to survive this outbreak and now he's left to shamble through the west with seemingly no direction.

It could be interesting that he found you and recognized you as an old member of the gang...

That or he just found a human he could get attached to, following them around like some lost puppy.

It doesn't matter how you meet him, you nearly have a heart attack regardless.

I like to think you're helping out a settlement or looting some abandoned coach... Only to turn and see John staring you down with glazed over eyes... pardon, eye.

John's lost an eye, his lips have rotted away, and he has a horrid green complexion to his skin.

His clothes are tattered and bloody... yet he seems oddly docile.

Knowing you can't afford to waste bullets or fire on a zombie such as him, you keep your eye on him and ignore him.

Hopefully he just wanders off... even he just seems to stare at you.

I like to think John is partially blind, too.

His sight is rotting away so he can't entirely see you.

But he does know you're there.

You only ever run when he makes an attempt to come closer, making a raspy yet loud noise as if trying to call to you.

It's then, regardless of if he's an old friend or not, you ditch.

You leave so fast when John tries to shamble after you.

Unfortunately, this is not the first time you see John.

You see John plenty after this, actually.

While his face is mostly rotted, it appears John can still smell you to a degree.

It's small but... he can sense you.

The good news for you is he's rather blind and can't smell all that much.

If you really wanted to... you could probably keep him around as a pet in a way?

You will eventually learn he's docile only towards you and probably use it to your advantage.

Originally you think he's just docile because he's weakened.

Although... It appears your new zombie companion has other motives.

John seems to listen when you talk to him.

Although when he starts trying to talk to you... You quickly shush him.

He's so loud and it's hard to understand him.

You're thankful you have gloves... whenever John tries to talk to you just, hold his jaw closed.

Which then leads to John making upset grumbles.

John isn't as affectionate as zombies like Sean.

He mostly respects your space and just likes to stumble around you.

Before you took him as a companion, John would stand at a distance from wherever you're staying.

He's outside abandoned cabin windows, just beyond your tent...

The weirdest thing is you've noticed he can use firearms... somewhat.

While John can indeed pounce and bite like other undead creatures...

One time you were in danger, disarmed in an attack.

Then John shot one of your handguns at a zombie, before gesturing for you to light it on fire.

It... surprises you that he's retained basic survival skills.

He isn't entirely a feral beast.

This event may actually be the one that makes you keep him.

Much to his pleasure.

John is actually aware of being dead.

This is no doubt one of the reasons he isn't affectionate towards his obsession.

He is completely aware that you'd find that weird.

Especially since he keeps gooping everywhere....

John retains quite a bit of humanity as a zombie.

He doesn't particularly like indulging in human meat.

When you offer him the corpses of bandits, part of him yearns for it...

Although he ends up just stealing animal meat or something.

He... doesn't want to scare you.

In a strange way John cares for you and despises the idea of harming you.

He's less of a guard dog and more of a bodyguard since he lacks a feral demeanor.

Eventually you can make out basic responses in his rotting voice.

Things like 'Hi', 'Thanks', 'Yes', 'No'...

All very basic communication but it's something.

One time you could even make out a 'Sorry...' when he spooked you.

Many find it strange and odd you managed to tame a zombie.

John makes no effort to attack you, following you the best he can.

It's not like you need a lead or anything.

The one issue is horses...

You have to find a wagon or something to put on your horse in order to have John stick with you.

John's only ever hostile towards threats.

Other zombies, violent humans...

Survivors just trying to survive are spared by John.

You often look away when John attacks people....

He doesn't like eating people... but manages it because sometimes he has to.

You try desperately to ignore the sickening tearing and squelching noises made... along with the screaming....

John's mostly protective, yet he can be possessive too.

He hovers around you, 'watches' your every move...

He never wants to leave you.

You could easily get rid of him, yes.

But he's also your best weapon in this environment.

Having a clingy zombie is a small price to pay for safety, right?

For the most part, John is just overly protective.

He's possessive if people get too close.

Although... let's be honest... who's getting close to the person with the zombie following you around?

John's just about your only companion...

He'll be yours until you die... Even then, he'll still have you for as long as your body's still functioning after death.

[goatcheesecak3]

i’ve had this one on the dome for a while so walk with me picture a lawrence x reader that is so ‘lawrence sees so much of adam in you that he’s subconsciously using you as a way to right his wrongs of leaving that poor boy down there’.

for an extra level of stress for larry imagine a reader who actually knew adam very well and that’s why the similarities between the reader and adam exist and larry can NEVER tell them about what happened

basically this is chainshipping angst once removed do you get me did i explain the idea well ? idk i feel you could SLAY THIS CONCEPT HARD ok bye

Longing

Lawrence Gordon x Gn!Reader

Fic type: angst

Warnings: mention of missing person

A/n hello!!! Sorry it's been so long since I've written anything, I've been feeling pretty uninspired, but I'm feeling it more lately!!

Thank you so so so much for this request! Sorry it's so short, but I really enjoyed writing it, so i hope you enjoy reading it <3

Lawrence had been seeing y/n for a while, now. When they first met he wasn't sure why, but he felt like he already knew them somehow, they had a familiar charm. He'd never been with someone like this before, he was so used to clean cut and straight edge partners, but he liked that y/n was a little rough around the edges. He liked that they could shotgun a beer, he liked that they always wore tattered and baggy clothes, he liked their dry wit and feisty attitude. Hell, he even liked their obsession with photography- the way they constantly took pictures of him should have been annoying, but something about it made him feel comforted. Their presence in his life was warm, it satiated a sense of hiraeth for him, like a hug from an old friend, filling a void he didn't know he had.

He was unsure why this was, until one faithful day.

Sat on the small balcony of y/n's apartment, y/n pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

"Greatest invention on this planet" they had chuckled, lifting the cig up to their lips.

Lawrence felt his heart stop, his throat became dry and his eyes widened.

"Why did you say that?" He asked urgently.

"What do you mean?" Y/n looked him, puzzled as to why this had illicited such a strange change in their partner's demeanour.

"I-i" Lawrence scrambled for an excuse for his outburst, realising now that he shouldn't have given away how visceral his reaction was, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, it's just that I'm a doctor, I see bad things happening all the time because of those," he motioned towards the cigarette, "it took me by surprise to hear you speak of them so highly, that's all"

Y/n smiled at him softly.

"I don't actually think they're the greatest invention on the planet, I mean, a couple when I'm stressed is like a godsend, yeah, but that whole 'greatest invention' thing is just an old joke between me and one of my friends."

Despite all better judgement, Lawrence decided to probe.

"Which friend is this?"

Y/n took a drag, and stared off into the distance

"His name was Adam"

Feigning ignorance, Lawrence probed deeper.

"Was?"

Y/n sighed.

"He was my best friend, he's the one that got me into photography, but he went missing about a year ago. I don't like to think about it too much, he was in with a kinda bad crowd, I don't wanna imagine what happened to him."

"Y/n, I'm so sorry" Lawrence said, his heart ached knowing what he knew.

"It's fine, " y/n waved her hand, as if to shoo away any bad thoughts, "when I miss him I just imagine that one day he took off, maybe following a band on tour, maybe he's off in another country chasing his dreams - he loved animals, maybe he's got a new life on a farm or some shit, I dunno.." y/n's voice trailed off, "maybe someday he'll come back with a great story, and I'll kick him in the balls for disappearing on me, then I'll give him the biggest hug I've ever given anyone"

"Do you really think he's happy out there somewhere?" Lawrence asked, guilt's tight grip pulling on his insides and twisting them around.

"I have to." Y/n responded solemnly, "it's the only way I can live"

[kiriganarchives]

the wedding

*ੈ₊˚. matthias and nina hc | 1.2k words

One of the few chapels in Ketterdam was a crumbling old building, weathered under the weight of neglect and decay. Fortunately, it was tucked away in Black Veil, keeping them close to their hideout. Nina examined her surroundings, the dim light barely illuminating the peeling paint and cracked stone. The room was dark, and a steady drip echoed from a leak in the ceiling, punctuating the silence. They shouldn’t be here—not at this hour. Kaz would undoubtedly have their heads for it, but that was why Inej was by their side. Nina hoped that with her presence, Kaz would be more forgiving. Also, Inej was the only one in their crew who spoke to the Saints. Her devout spirit lent a symbolism to the occasion, and even more so, she was Nina's closest friend. It was important to Nina for her to be there, and meant more to her than she could say. 

 “Sorry there wasn’t a better option,” Inej said softly. “This was the only chapel we could reach without being noticed.”

Matthias glanced around, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. “I can see why,” he muttered.

Nina rested a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. “It’s fine,” she said, her eyes shifting between him and Inej. “I’d marry you anywhere, as long as you were beside me.”

A faint smile broke through Matthias’s somber expression. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”

Matthias approached the remains of what had once been an altar, the edges of the stone barely visible under layers of dust and ruin. Nina moved to the start of the aisle, each step heavy with anticipation. Inej stepped beside her, slipping her arm through Nina’s, offering a small, steadying smile as she began to walk with her. Nina’s heart raced with each step forward, and she felt her Heartrender abilities useless against the surge of emotion tightening her chest. She met Matthias’s gaze; he looked as worn as the crumbling chapel surrounding them, exhaustion etched into his features, his clothes tattered from days spent hiding in Black Veil. His once-neat hair now fell in disarray, far from the disciplined Fjerdan soldier she’d first met on that ice-bound ship. But none of that mattered. Saints, his eyes—those eyes that burned with fierce, undying love for her. She knew she must look the same, that he could see the raw, undeniable reflection of it in her gaze too.

Inej unthreaded her arm from Nina’s, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “What you’re doing is beautiful. I am truly happy for you,” she said, her voice trembling.

Nina hastily wiped away the first tear that slipped down her cheek, taken aback by Inej’s vulnerability. “The Wraith is crying? It must be that the Barrel has been turned upside down and shaken violently,” she laughed bitterly. “Thank you, Inej,” she whispered, her smile softening. She embraced Inej tightly before reluctantly pulling away.

The last few weeks had been marked by chaos. Even after rescuing Inej from Van Eck, the crew was teetering on the edge, pushed to their limits. Kaz was already plotting their next move, and Nina couldn’t shake the feeling that this one would be the final gambit. Matthias sensed it too. The night after Inej’s rescue, the consequences of her use of parem surged through Nina like a tide, pulling her under. She felt the darkness creeping in, the edges of her strength fraying. But Matthias was there, and he held her close, offering comfort in the quiet, a balm for the pain that threatened to swallow her whole.

That night, Nina nestled against Matthias, her heart racing with a mix of fear and longing. She could feel the remnants of power still coursing through her veins, a reminder of what she had sacrificed for strength. The whispers of the drug clawed at her mind, seductive and insistent, tempting her to surrender to it once more. But as she looked into Matthias’s eyes—those fierce, steadfast eyes—she found the resolve to fight it.

“Why did I let it get this far?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in her words hung between them, heavy and charged.

Matthias traced a thumb over her cheek, anchoring her in the present. “No use dwelling on what’s already gone,” he said, his voice steady, a quiet strength meant for both of them. “All that matters is this—I'm here. We are here.”

Nina lifted her gaze to him, eyes shining, her hair a soft whisper against his chin. “Matthias, it hurts,” she breathed, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what tomorrow holds. All I want is to be with you, and I ask the Saints—why not now? Can’t it be now?”

Matthias frowned, uncertainty clouding his eyes. “What are you asking?”

Nina inhaled slowly, the breath heavy with the weight of her heart, and the parem. “Be with me, forever. Promise me things, even if the world doesn’t let them happen.”

A twinkle shone in Matthias’s eyes. “I never took you for a romantic,” he said with a soft chuckle, though the humor felt hollow.

“Maybe I’m just tired of hiding, of waiting,” she confessed, her voice no more than a breath. “I want something we can hold on to, no matter what tomorrow brings.”

Matthias’s gaze softened, his grip on her hands tightening just slightly. “Something that won’t slip away with the night,” he murmured, as if testing the thought aloud.

Nina nodded, the ache in her chest easing ever so slightly. “Exactly. Something that’s ours, even if the world tries to take it.”

He studied her, the tension in the air crackling between them. “We will make this permanence,” he said, his voice firm. A smile broke through the shadows that had lingered in his eyes.

It had only happened a few days ago, yet the memory lingered vividly in Nina's mind. She needed to hold onto it, especially as she stepped closer to Matthias, and a wave of fear washed over her. She fought to push it away. She knew, deep down, that this was what she truly wanted. When Nina finally reached the altar, her fear melted away, replaced by the undeniable love she felt for the man standing before her. The Druskelle, her warrior.

Outside, the world felt on the brink, shadows dancing in the flickering light of the lanterns that lined the narrow streets of Ketterdam. The city was a living beast, wild and untamed, and they were caught in its jaws, waiting for the moment to strike back. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the crisp night air, determined to face whatever awaited them.

“I don’t know what will happen,” Nina said, her voice trembling, but a smile broke through.

“I do,” Matthias declared, cradling Nina's hands in his own, gently tilting her chin to meet his gaze. “With these vows, we will be forever bound. No matter what tomorrow brings, we will love each other fully and completely. It doesn’t matter when or how. I am here now, Nina. If you will have me.”

Nina squeezed his hands, warmth blooming in her chest. “Of course I will. Will you have me, Matthias Helvar?”

“Until death,” he replied, his eyes aglow with fervor. “In the eyes of Djel, the Saints, or whatever heavens may be watching, I will choose you—today and always, Nina Zenik. I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.”

[alicenaivory]

☦︎; 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒—𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃-𝐈𝐕 ☦︎; ⛧

𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡? To be cradled in hands that ruin, kissed by lips that taste of endings. To be worshiped in agony and held so tightly you fracture but never allowed to slip away.

Love like this does not save you. . .

it devours.

The night had settled around me like a velvet shroud, my home bathed in candlelight and it was quiet as I liked it. I cradled a glass of crimson wine, savoring the stillness, letting it wash over me like a lullaby but suddenly there’s a flicker. A shadow moved in the periphery of my vision. My grip faltered. The crystal glass slipped from my fingers, shattering against the floor.

Blonde hair.

For the briefest of moments, terror seized me in a way I scarcely recognized but then the figure stepped forward, revealing familiar features.

Alessa.

She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes as she took in the sight of me, visibly shaken. “That’s new.” she murmured.

I quickly masked the momentary lapse, composing myself with a sharp exhale. “Stalking me everywhere I go? I’d hate to have to vervain you, starve you and then bury you alive so you can spend the night clawing yourself free.”

Alessa didn’t flinch at the threat. Instead, she moved with vampiric speed, kneeling before me to sweep up the broken shards before pouring me a fresh glass as if nothing had happened. She held it out, eyes flickering with something softer.

“I’m worried about you.” she said. “You’re usually sharper. I’ve never been able to sneak up on you as much as I have in the last two days.” I shrugged, dismissing it with a wave of my hand. “Tired is all.”

She didn’t buy it, settling onto the couch across from me. “Mother… what happened when you went to see Avery?”

The name struck like a dagger to the ribs. A chill crawled up my spine, my mind unraveling, dragged mercilessly back to the moment that had broken me all over again.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒．

I had known, deep in my bones, that something was wrong before I even stepped inside. The abandoned house loomed in the night, its silhouette jagged and skeletal, a thing long forgotten by time. The air was thick with dust, stagnant, heavy with the scent of decay. For centuries, I had mourned Avery’s absence, convinced that the vacancy in my soul meant his death. . . but Sabine had given me this address and she would’ve never sent me on a wild chase.

I hesitated at the threshold, my fingers ghosting over the doorframe, dread curling around me like a noose. I stepped forward.

“Avery…” My voice was barely above a whisper. A creak. The sound came from deeper inside. I followed it, my breath shallow, my senses sharpening and then I saw him.

Avery sat slouched in an old chair, his body still as stone. His clothing was worn, tattered by time and neglect. Yet he wasn’t pale. There was life in him but it was… wrong. He looked withered, stripped of something essential.

For a moment, emotion stole my breath.

It had been lifetimes since I had last seen him, since I had felt the presence of my brother.

“Oh, my god. Avery.”

I stepped forward, hesitation melting into something softer and fragile. I reached for him, arms wrapping around him, embracing him as if he might vanish but he did not move. Did not even breathe.

“Avery?” I pulled back, my hands lightly gripping his shoulders, my heart twisting at his silence. “It’s me… Alicena.”

Finally, he moved. His head lifted, eyes locking onto mine and in his gaze, I found nothing.

Then his grip shot out, fingers closing around my throat.

“Am I to leap for joy?” His voice was venom wrapped in ice. His hold tightened, cutting off my breath. “Are you here to find some weakness?”

Before I could answer or even process the shift, he hurled me across the room. I crashed against the floor, the impact rattling through my bones, the air torn from my lungs.

Avery rose, looming over me like an omen, like a shadow resurrected. His next words dripped with disdain.

“Are you hoping to find some thread of love for you in my soul, 𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟?”

I scrambled to my knees, staring up at him in disbelief. This was not the brother I had known. The brother who had once shielded me from our parents cruelty. The brother who had promised to always protect me.

My voice cracked. “Avery… I’ve spent hundreds of years in agony. Unnecessary agony, mourning your death and you’ve been alive all this time!”

Silence. Then, without warning, his foot came down on my ribs, a sickening crack splintering the air.

Pain lanced through me but worse than that was the sheer brutality of it. The way he looked at me with such apathy. The way it mirrored…

𝑀𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝐹𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.

A choked breath left my lips then another kick, another crack.

“Avery…why?” I needed to understand 𝑊ℎ𝑦 my brother was doing this. 𝑊ℎ𝑦 had a bond once so pure twisted into something so violent? Avery was never like this before… so 𝑤ℎ𝑦 did he look at me with such disgust, as if I were a thing to be repelled, rather than the sister he loved?

I gasped, shuddering, the room tilting around me. I tried to crawl away but Avery’s hand fisted in my hair, yanking me back toward him.

“You mourned me?” he sneered. “Is that what you tell yourself? That you grieved? That you suffered?” His fingers curled around my wrist.

𝑆𝑛𝑎𝑝.

A sharp, blinding agony as my bone shattered in his grip.

I screamed so loud it felt like a blade was dragging down my throat.

Avery didn’t stop. One by one, he broke my fingers, watching as they healed only to snap them again. A cruel fascination gleamed in his hollow eyes, as if he were testing the limits of my endurance.

Then his hand moved lower. I barely had time to register what he was doing before his fingers plunged into my chest. A guttural, choking gasp tore from my throat as he wrapped his hand around my heart.

My heartbeat is now slow, sluggish and unlike a human’s but steady nonetheless. He exhaled, almost as if in wonder. His grip tightened.

“𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡?”

He pulled, the muscle straining, agony so sharp it stole my breath. The edges of my vision blurred. I writhed beneath him, clawing weakly at his arms but he didn’t relent. He wanted to see if I would break. If I would beg.

Suddenly something shifted. His fingers trembled and he stilled. His cold, dead eyes flickered with something I couldn’t name. His grip loosened and the moment it did, I choked in a ragged breath, the pain subsiding just enough for me to register what was happening.

A single, bloodstained tear slid down his cheek. His gaze flickered as he yanked his hand away from my chest as if burned. He’s stumbling back.

“Leave.”

His voice was quieter now but no less cold.

I lay there, trembling, body battered but already healing. But my heart. . .

My heart would never heal from this.

I am jolted back to the present as Alessa’s hands grip my shoulders, shaking me. My breath is unsteady and it’s only then that I notice the warm streaks of blood staining my nightgown. I swallow the pain, forcing it down like poison.

“Alessa, stop asking me about him!” My voice is sharper than I intend, cracking under the weight of something I refuse to name. “Don’t say his name again!”

[talenlee]

Cox: Wander

This is an explanatory writeup of one of my Original Characters (OCs). Nothing here is necessarily related to a meaningful fiction you should recognise and is shared because I think my OCs are cool and it’s cool to talk about OCs you make.

Lean, whiplike and tattered, the hero you see has a ‘costume’ that looks like he made it in a thrift store. A mask made from an early pandemic rig, a scarf to hold it in place, his clothes are second hand, his shoes are battered. Hair’s immaculate though.

The boy is maybe in his early twenties but speaks of times almost a century ago. He has an obvious mystical air about him any mage can notice but no ability to describe even fundamentals of magic.

But don’t worry. He’ll show up when he’s needed.

Wander is a martial artist, first and foremost. You can observe his form, his patterns of behaviour, and the way his kicks and punches demonstrate a practiced, repeated pattern. It’s not a recognisable one but it’s also not alien to most. He does seem to be the kind of martial artist who has no plan for getting grappled, but that seems reasonable when you are as quick as he is — Wander’s hands and feet are so quick that sometimes he seems to teleport on the battlefield. When he wants to be unseen he disappears from sight, and he doesn’t think overmuch about conversations where people think the point is ‘ranking fighting styles.’

What truly sets Wander apart, though, beyond his basic skillset as an athletic, physically fit, shockingly quick-handed melee combatant, is his ability to go anywhere. It is shocking. It’s an escalating power, too; the first time you might bump into him in an out of the way place, it might be seeing the violence hobo showing up at a University event that he doesn’t attend, or at a fancy soiree. Then it starts getting weirder, where he shows up in a secured facility, or a military base. By the time he’s appearing walking around inside satellites and lunar bases, it gets obvious this is something weird and he’s not sure how he does it.

“You’re in space?” “Seems it.” “How are you breathing?” “Oh I did all my breathing earlier.”

Some people who study magic have made it clear that whatever Wander is doing it somehow relates to chronomancy, the category of magic that relates to time, but he taps and uses it not with memorisation of words, but positions of energy in his body (as indicated by poses in his martial arts). That is why he is so fast in combat and why he can travel to seemingly impossible locations, though it does introduce the question, where did he learn time martial arts from?

Wander, when asked about it, can attest to some kind of backstory where he had a mentor, who trained him on the streets of Paragon for a long time. It did involve a little bit of thievery and some chicanery around who does or doesn’t own fast food, but the thrust of what he remembers is about living unhoused while learning how to do ‘kung fu shit,’ as he phrases it.

Mechanics

Um, so here’s the odd thing. I don’t think I have a build for Wander any more. I had the costume files laying around for his base costume, which I could then tighten up a little, but the normal detritus I use to rebuild an old character is seemingly lost to me. Which makes sense — I made this character back when City of Villains launched in February 2006, and he was around in 2012 when the game shut down, and still hadn’t hit level 50 at that point.

If I was going to try and do his concept again, I think he’d stay a melee character. If he had friends who wanted him to head up a group, I’d go for Super Reflexes/Martial Arts Tanker, if he was duoing with a defender he’d be a Street Justice/Super Reflexes Brute, but really what I’d want is to make him with a group where he could afford to be the damage of a group, where he’d be a Street Justice/Super Reflexes Stalker to represent being able to pop out of nowhere in a strange way, with the vibes of a powerful martial artist.

History

Wander is probably my first Hero character. I have hazy memories of making a Dark/Dark Brute and maybe getting to level 6 and then abandoning the server that character was on forever, heading to hang out with my friends on Freedom, the most populous server, before I abandoned them for Virtue, the most well populated roleplaying server.

I don’t remember much of his early history, well. It was before I was keeping regular diaries. Before I had a blog. I may have notebooks from around the time with drawings and references to the character in there, but hell if I can remember them and don’t even want to look at them for fear of confronting my own agonising mediocrity. All I have is what I can remember of my mind from when I was maybe 24 years old.

I remember being sour about not knowing the game well.

I remember being bitter.

I remember being an awful player to play alongside.

There are people I can reach out to right now and say ‘hey, remember this?’ and apologise to. I don’t know if I would, because I don’t know if they want to remember me being a shit when I was in my twenties now I’m in my forties. That feels almost like a joke of what people do when they grow older.

But more than all of this, I remember being deeply offended that there was this game and I wasn’t at the end of it and I wasn’t good at it and other people were more established at it. There was a part of me that imagined being good at games as important to my identity, and I didn’t like feeling like I wasn’t good at this very easy game designed for people to have fun in. Mostly, I think I was overwhelmed and sensitive and made that other people’s problems, which is okay if you’re six and kinda rotten as an adult.

Wander was also part of how I handled being overwhelmed, and it was a trick you might see done in a different, less hostile way: Wander was, essentially, the same thing as an Amnesiac Hero, someone who has no memory of how they got there and where they were going. This is a great trick for a new player in a new setting who doesn’t know what’s going on but wants to be there as part of the experience for their friends, and therefore, they don’t ever have to answer questions about ‘where are you from?’ or ‘what do you think of this new experience presented to you?’

Wander went the other direction.

Wander was homeless. I didn’t need to be able to tell you anything about the city he lived in, because he didn’t live anywhere in particular, didn’t need to know street names or districts or neighbourhoods or even important details about them. He could act bored and dismissive of almost all the problems around him, because he had a bigger problem. He could address immediate problems like gangs and head with other heroes to deal with things without really belonging to the world. This was an obvious problem because any superhero character with some degree of infrastructure, like a superhero base or whatever, would immediately offer him lodging and then his homelessness was ‘solved’ or he was a jerk to another player.

From there, I just kinda rolled with making his powers, his martial arts, mysterious. He had a magic origin, a thing I may have had an idea for originally, but whatever it was I forgot it eventually. He was even part of a love triangle from the period in my life when I didn’t realise it’s actually 100% okay for characters to be bisexual and polyamrous since that just makes everything infinitely more convenient and also scares off weirdoes.

(I didn’t handle that well either, I don’t think)

But… he stayed around. I never deleted him. He languished on Freedom, along with a host of other characters that sat around there for nothing and no purpose. And when the server shut down, I still saved his costumes, and I still hung onto the memories of him. When I filled in the big spreadsheet, I wound up including him and writing up as much as possible as I could.

I like Wander. I like the concept I have now, of time-based martial artistry, which is at war with your own ability to perceive the passage of time. I like what he became, and I like what he can do. I like the way that he fits into the space of ‘superpowered martial artist’ without just copying tropes and language I don’t quite understand. There’s definitely an element of Anime Nonse to him, but he’s not just ‘a guy who can do martial arts good,’ and that unlocks something impossible.

Still.

Wild.

This character is approaching twenty years old.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[shieldkeeper]

Writing Prompt: Dowdy Word Count: 684

For whatever reason, something about Garen appearance wise seemed to somehow attract these rich boy types that wished to fix him—or at least, his wardrobe. As though they could sense a precious jewel beneath it all.

Thus was the case with the first (who opted to simply let him be). Thus is the case with the second who let him get by at first, but overtime steadily recommended it. It would be his treat after all.

Garen denied he had need of any new clothes at first. He had plenty of it! Even if most of it had been shredded to tatters or dented armors from much of his adventuring around. There was still some of his clothes that he kept out of the fray and wore on a more casual basis!

But even those had grown rather worn-down and shabby over time. All hand-me-downs and woven clothes back from the southern islands that hardly fit in with society of the today times. Looking like your stereotypical sailor who wore things down to the very last thread. To the point the brine and scent of the seas clung to its very essence.

Totsuka had enough of it. The longer Garen put off the inevitable, the greater the necessity to put a day aside for a full-blown shopping trip!

“Like it or not, your clothes are old and messy. Barely clinging on and fitting anymore.” The younger lalafellin would chastise him, urging Garen out the boat and towards the nearest apparel shop. “You don’t have to get rid of them, but you certainly could do with a little more style to your wardrobe!”

Garen groaned and whined that all was fine. That he hadn’t the coin to pay him back nor did he wish to be in one’s debt! But Totsuka only loomed over Garen with determined eyes—he would pay for it all and take not expect a single coin back out of it. If Garen really wanted to pay him back, he had an idea or two of how he could get even…

Ahem.

“What’s wrong with trying things on? You can do at least that much.” Totsuka grinned mischievously, still tugging Garen along for the ride and soon finding a shop with a plethora of options nearby.

“It’s so much work…” Garen grumbled beneath his breath, crossing his arms over himself. “And a pain besides.”

“Who knows, you might find something you actually like.”

“Mmm…” Garen glanced about the shop, unsure where to even start. Everything had been labeled with sizes and fittings, fancy and casual, lads and lasses. So much to see and look through.  

While he wasn’t looking, Totsuka was swiftly amassing a pile of clothes for him to try on. Not just clothes in general, but shoes! Accessories! Bits and baubles one wouldn’t normally think about it! He had a plan for to get this man to dress nicely for once and by the Twelve he knew he’d be stunning in all of it. If he’d just try…!

“Wha—What’s all this!?” Garen had rejoined Totsuka only to see the mount of clothes awaiting him. Sweating at the prospect of just how much he would need to try on. He had picked out just one tiny thing that had caught his eyes whereas Totsu here… “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Oh, but you will.” Totsuka smiled oh so nonchalantly. He had the mind to get this seas boy a whole new wardrobe by the end of today. “And you’ll look good doing it! I picked out quite a bit, so you’ll definitely find something you like!”

“You don’t say… ye sure you didn’t just grab every different garment in sight?” He looked around as if to confirm. The walls and hangers did appear as though they were a bit lacking now.

“Mostly. Anything that didn’t look appealing in the slightest I left be. But everything else…” He motioned to the mound once more before Garen let out yet another sigh.

This was going to be a long day. But at least Totsuka seemed to be enjoying it and the views it would bring!

[writingwife-83]

Am I starting another multi chapter? No… probably not… honestly idk. 😆 All I know for sure is that while I was listening to Taylor Swift’s “‘tis the damn season” today this scene legit just popped into my head. I had to get it out lol. Thanks to @thisisartbylexie for pushing me to just do it! I don’t usually share the whole fic on here anymore, but I think tumblr did something that made AI scraping less likely, right? Anyway, hope you enjoy this little modern au one shot. Will I ever do more with it? Who can say? Again, I just had to get it written. ❤️

Hometown

The floorboards creaked loudly when she stepped up into the attic, sounding as angry and bitter as the late owner of this old house had been.

Rey walked around the boxes and tools and junk, silently cursing her grandfather for leaving all this for her to deal with. Not a word of love or care in all these years since she’d left. Nothing but a cluttered old house, left to her out of legal necessity.

Her eyes soon narrowed in on a box in the corner with “Rey” scribbled on the top. Crouching down, she ripped the tape off the box’s seam, opening the top to reveal the contents. She found herself instantly transported back to another time. Another life.

Rey pulled out a little doll, tattered and worn after all the years she’d clutched it close in the nights she’d cried herself to sleep. She swallowed a jagged lump, setting the little thing aside and continuing to pull items out. There were books and clothes and shoes, and little scraps she’d collected as a child. It might have warmed her heart to see that these things were kept, but she knew it was only for lack of care that these random items were all swept into a box and placed in the attic, her grandfather as content to forget her as she was him.

When she reached the very last item at the bottom of the box though, she instantly froze, sitting back against her heels, almost afraid to touch it. Hesitant fingers finally reached out, grasping the weathered red flannel, pulling it out and allowing herself to hold it close for the first time in so many years. Rey’s eyes clamped shut… she could smell his soap. Maybe the cling of the subtly spicy and woodsy aroma was long gone from the fabric and this was just a memory. It didn't really matter. Because either way, just like that, it filled her senses all over again. He filled her senses.

The slow walks in the woods, the long country drives going nowhere, the late night laughter over nothing at all, the almost daily light hearted arguments because neither were good at admitting when they were wrong.

And the way his arms wrapped around her body had taught her what it was to want something more than friendship from a boy.

Before Rey knew it, she was slipping her own arms into the flannel and pulling it up over her shoulders, allowing herself to get as close to those memories as she could. She was swimming in the thing, just as she was the night Ben put it on her as he walked her home, grumbling about how she was always cold and never remembering her own jacket. But he didn’t mind, not really. She could tell. He looked almost pleased at the sight of her in it, but his lips twisted away the smile that threatened for just a moment. So quick, you could almost miss it. But she didn’t, and it warmed her almost as much as the flannel that still carried the literal warmth of his body.

God, if she could only go back to that moment, and a hundred more just like it. If she could only have stayed in this town a little longer, to see where those moments would have led. To see if one night his arms might have stayed around her a little longer and held her a little tighter.

But they never got that chance. Ben seemed almost as eager for her to leave town as she was, to get away from her grandfather and to make something more of her life after high school. He was excited for her. Sometimes she wondered what she might have done if instead Ben had begged her to stay.

But he didn’t.

Rey hugged the flannel a little tighter around her body, realizing that her eyes had started to cloud. She had to sniffle genuine tears away, even though she wasn’t sorry for the loss of any other part of her life in this town. The loss of him was more than enough.

Shaking her emotions off and standing up, that old shirt hanging almost to her fingertips, she looked around at the seemingly endless work it would take to unload this house. She wondered how long she’d have to stay here and be away from the city. This wasn’t exactly the vacation she’d been wishing for, but it had to be done regardless. And maybe something good would come from all of it.

Not that she could hope to see Ben Solo again, she thought to herself with a little laugh, hands absentmindedly smoothing up and down the comforting fabric against her arms. What were the chances he’d still be here in this town?

Right here where she’d left him seven years ago.

Read on AO3

[faresong]

with a personal headcanon that Kai has unfinished irezumi, and that it is inevitable for Kazumi to find out about Kai's past in the ytts simulations... here is a small part of a much larger fic!

"I'll take care of him.” Kazumi snaps. “You make sure that—thing doesn't return before then."

Q-taro hesitates by the door, but nods firmly. "Got it. You be careful too now… Just holler if y'need anything."

His throat feels too dry to speak, nor could he begin to trust himself to level his tone at the moment. He simply nods and returns all attention to Kai, weakly curled inward and staining the cot with his bloodied clothes. Although it seemed he was no longer actively bleeding, that brought little relief with how much had pooled beneath him on the sand. Even now, his chest rises only with pained, ragged breaths; pushing himself to survive.

Kazumi hastily removes his ruined uniform to assess the damage—his breath hitches at the sight of a deep burn embedded in Kai’s lower stomach, but he quickly realizes that sight to be an old wound. The flares have begun to sink into the skin, still raw but no longer as vibrant as they must have been when first inflicted. Two old scars cut across his chest, neither having been reopened, yet a fresh one blooms blood against his collarbone where the assault missed his neck. It’d been smeared by the collar of his uniform, but was otherwise no cause for immediate concern; he needed to check where Kai had been struck on his back.

Lifting a knife to cut the excess, Kazumi's own hands begin to quiver despite himself. He takes immense caution in slicing through the rest of the tattered sleeve, allowing the remains of the uniform to drape over the side of the cot so he may now focus on Kai himself. His arms are covered in streaks of blood far worse in appearance alone. Despite being uneasy to leave it be, the bullet impacts on his shoulder weren’t from this incident, so he mustn’t linger. Kazumi sets down a spare comforter against the wall to help prop Kai against; ever careful, he lifts him enough to observe the extent of the wound.

Yet Kazumi's heart stops.

The silence pierces them. Suffocating. Taunting—this is what Kazumi sought out so fervently. Now he can scarcely move. An open wound cuts between his shoulder blades, with blood pouring across his back, but nothing can conceal the daunting irezumi beneath. A koi curls around as if fighting against the crimson's relentless downward current. Smudges of blood destroy the lilies tracing its path, all trailing to the small of his back where the burn wound continued. Nothing untouched by the detail, by the blood, and—

Kazumi drops him. Unable to keep his strength in these trembling hands, he’s then met with a hushed whimper of pain—with it, the wanton reality coldly slaps him:

Kai is hurt.

Beyond the chill in his soul, Kazumi instead burns with guilt. The only impression in the silence remains Kai’s heavy, uncertain breathing and the echo of his unconscious plea. However shakily, he again brings Kai upright and tentatively raises the wet cloth to the blood streaming down his back. Cleansing the wound, yes, but slowly unveiling the tattoo with it. His heartbeat erratically pounds in his ears.

Kazumi methodically wrings and soaks the cloth. His mind won’t pause. It races, all at once unable to process anything worthwhile. Nothing coherent exists between the fear thrumming in his chest, the insistent whisper of betrayal building in his heart:

Kai is a yakuza.

In something as simple as spatial awareness, it's as if anyone nearby steps in a web the moment they arrive; he always was eerily aware of the situation at hand. It was a rarity to see him break composure in any meaningful sense, always a step detached, quick to reevaluate any situation he was given. Utilizing a strategic mind to arrange for weapons against these assailants within the first two weeks of observation was further unsettling; instructing to stab not cut, to disable these machines as one would a human, or otherwise disarm them. Each word was nothing short of calculated. Insistent upon efficiency, perhaps disguised in his phrasing to do as little harm as is necessary. To then witness him fight and do well on assembling these scattered hints of advice over their weeks together was terrifying, yet—

Kai is his friend.

[foxydivaxx]

Sanji: Chronicles of King Nasty Chapter 2

Now this is where things get sad. Trigger warning: mentions of sexual abuse and high sexual content

Atlanta was a completely different vibe compared to Brooklyn. For starters, the people there are a lot more energetic which caught me offguard when I started school. Speaking of school, my siblings and I had to change school multiple times because Dad kept on showing up and causing a scene all over the place. Sure, we dealt with bullies and whatnot but that was not much of a problem as Dad's continued presence was.

The next couple of years were peaceful for the most part which was a a good thing for all of us now that I think about it. Mother resumed work again and kept on pumping out music much to our collective delight. I had never seen that woman that happy in a long time and seeing her that happy was so relieving to me. Plus it was great to see her do what she loves best which was to sing.

It was during this time that our respective fashion sense began to develop. All of us, yes the boys included, would sneak off into Mum's room and raid her wardrobe and mess around in her clothes and makeup. Now you know where my flair for dramatics began. I literally tried on her heels once and tried to do a model strut in them and fell over and hurt myself. Mum was laughing so hard.

I have gotten loads of compliments for my performance style and dancing. I blame my mother for that one because that woman is one dramatic performer. Like have you seen that woman bring the house down on stage? Runs in the family I guess. Had to honour her legacy in my special way. Another thing we all inherited was cooking because Mum would cook scrumptious meals and we would all gather and ask her to teach us. My siblings and I are all amazing cooks so no worries about that part.

Another thing that runs in this household, at least with the boys, is perverted behavior. Anytime we see someone hot, heart eyes everyone, just like a certain pirate cook. Gets to the point that we all start fighting over who gets first dibs for the date. Those arguments get really heated and Mother loses her shit over our behavior and kicks our sorry asses. There was this time Ichiji and Niji fell in love with the same girl and were arguing over who she would fall in love with first. Unfortunately for both of them, the girl had eyes for another guy and ended up dating him.

Now in regards to my own perverted nature and sexual appetite in general, this is where things get really messy. One day as I was walking home from school, I ended up losing my way ike the little idiot I was back then. Then suddenly, a black SUV pulled up close to where I was and out came two hefty men who just grabbed me and dragged me into the car.

Father was in that car with the most evil smirk on his face. I struggled to break free but alas, what can an 11-year-old do? Puberty had not yet hit. Plus the old bastard was bigger and more muscular than I was at the time. I was wondering if the man wanted to punish me for my previous utterance back then when he shot Mother. I began to say a silent prayer in my mind to the Man up above to save me.

The old fart was staring at me with the most unreadable look on his face. I could not even speak at all. I just froze, fearing for my life. The next thing I knew, the man came closer and began to unzip my pants. That took me by surprise. I thought that maybe he was going to spank me or something so I tried so hard to break away. I remember the depraved look he gave me as he looked at me.

"Better than I expected," he says. He then inserts two fingers into my hole and begins to finger me. I screamed and tried to run but these men held onto me. That bastard then began to suck me off right there and the next thing I knew, he began to fuck me in that SUV alongside those two men and that torture lasted for hours. I was in tatters. Why would my father hurt me this bad?! After hours of torture at the hands of this bastard, he dumped me off on the streets of our home. There I was lying down helplessly, in tears, completely violated.

My siblings soon found me and my brothers were able to put two and two together about what happened and told Mum. How did my brothers know? They were also victims of similar abuse at the hands of this bastard. Mother was horrified and immediately filed a restraining order against Dad. I was put into therapy but it could only do so much as I never felt the same way since that day.

School was torture for me as I would try and chase girls, just like my character in One Piece, yet there I was also fantasizing about boys as well. The old bastard seriously fucked up my mind. It certainly did not help that a lot of guys in school suddenly started getting attracted to me. Like I would be walking down the hallway and they would all be staring at my ass, some even going as far as to grope my ass.

Why were they staring at me like that? I was not being sexy or anything, yet they gave me attention. I was a confused boy as the whole concept of sexuality was foreign to me. For years, I battled with my sexuality. I thought that I was going insane. But in reality, it almost felt like maybe this was who I was meant to be.

One particular day, I was in the bathroom and I noticed this Hispanic guy looking me up and down as I washed my hands. "Whatcha staring at?" I remember asking.

"You silly because you are the finest specimen I have ever seen," he replied. I laughed because that was the weirdest pickup line ever. He then came closer to me and began to rub my crotch. On a good day, I would have said no but deep down I wanted a release. Plus I enjoyed all that attention as well. To my then underdeveloped mind at the time, attention equaled love. So I let him give me a blowjob. That guy became my first lover. This was the beginning of my playboy lifestyle and I was only 13 by this point.

I began to engage in a variety of wild sexual behavior. I would invite a variety of guys in school to the bathroom stalls or somewhere outside and they would fuck me on the spot. A couple of girls threw themselves at me as well and boy was I a bad boy back then. This was the birth of one of my stage personas King Nasty. I was going out of control without realizing it and my brothers and Reiju noticed and tried to stop me.

I proved to be a little rebellious and ignored them. I was in my little world and became a hard-drinking party boy. I entered clubs at a young age at the time and engaged in all manners of reckless behaviour and also began to indulge in excessive drug use and started smoking by that time. I began to inhale a lot of cocaine at that point. I also worked briefly at a strip club for like 3 months. Plus I did a nude photoshoot at the time for money. That will come back to haunt me years later.

Around that same time, I signed a contract with Deevee Records and released my debut single Get Back which got zero attention and led to me getting kicked out of the label soon after. One of their producers Max discovered me at one of the clubs I was hanging at and offered me a record deal on the spot after hearing me sing.

I hated that song yet the label forced me to sing it. Cringey lyrics and even worse low budget video.

Ah and a special fun fact. I met a certain special someone during this time. Who am I referring to? None other than my beloved current husband, Zoro or Marimo as I love to affectionately call him.

Yes, Marimo and I actually go way back. You see, Zoro had started his musical career then as a member of Gear V whom I happened to be a huge fan of.

I met Zoro at the recording studio one day. I noticed the way he kept staring at me and I gotta say, the feeling was mutual. Marimo was so handsome, so fucking sexy. I have a weakness for bad boys, similar to my mother. The fact that I remained attracted to him years after shows how much I loved him. Yes, I have always been in love with him and he with me.

We both recorded songs together which I never got to release. Still, I managed to get my hands on the demos and re-recorded after Aogiri debuted and I launched my solo debut. We even shot a music video for one of those songs years later which happened to be my debut solo single. Yes that trash mess from the early days does not count as a proper debut in my book.

Zoro and I hit it off right away the moment we met and we even had a brief sexual encounter. We were friends with benefits at the time before becoming full-fledged lovers. More on that later.

During this time, I met a pretty lady named Charlotte Pudding. Yes, that infamous Pudding. I fell in love with her, thinking she was the cure to my problem. The truth is far more complex than that. You see, Charlotte knew the family I was from and intended to use that to her advantage. I did not notice as I was extremely high at that point in my life.

She took advantage of that and had sex with me at the strip club. Unbeknownst to me, she had someone secretly film our sexual encounter. What made me to finally break up with her was that that same night immediately after having sex with her and taking her virginity, she was also having sex with my then-so-called best friend Fred in my presence. I quit my job at the strip joint and broke off contact with her. She tried to beg me but I was not having it.

I got checked into rehab and came out sober for a while. I also lost my friend Reggie after he got gunned down by some thugs. It was during this time that an ad for a TV show named Popstars: The Rivals was advertised on TV. Mother encouraged me to audition. At first I was hesitant because of what had just happened but after some nagging from Reiju, I finally agreed and signed up for the show. Little did I know that my life was going to completely change from here on out.

[virgeandhis-pocket-protector]

Seven Snippets Tag

Bro i love these even tho i can NEVER pick between my babies

Anyway @late-to-the-fandom tagged me in this chain on my other blog but I'm doing it here because I got all SaSi fics at the moment B)

No-pressure tags: @i-will-physically-fight-you @glacierruler @prince-rowan-of-the-forest @lily-janus @groovyghostie @vinbee631 @girlboypatton be free to lore dump !!!

If you haven't done a writing tag game b4 no worries. This one's prompt is to put seven snippets (or as many as you can find) that you like from your WIPs or favorite fics in a post and bam! you've done a tag game

Because i'm Me(TM) i gotta set a requirement for myself for fun so it's gonna be whichever number that snippet is, it has to have that many characters talking/mentioned/in the snippet/etc. for fun! this is not a necessary requirement btw

Hit read more to see the snippets >:D/\

One Character (from "Brothers by Blood")

A inky one-way-window, long and thin like a serpent, spread across one side of the room. Faint shadows moved behind it. Left of it was a matte metal door; scuff marks on the floor showed where it would swing inward. In the center of this room, a young boy sat on one side of a white folding table, rigid in a matching folding chair. His curled-up poise could have been mistaken for that of a panther: lean, scared – ready for a fight. Layers of black, baggy clothes were his tattered fur. Bushy brown hair was his ruffled mane, lined with old streaks of violet meant to distract from his sore eye bags and heavy eye liner. The boy seemed sweaty, despite the cold, and smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals. He fidgeted absent-mindedly with his chain necklace. Shivering. He glanced up at the clock, squinting, and snapped his head back down as if out of fear of being caught.

2. Two Characters (from "The Prince and the Snake Charmer")

"Sorry, just-" Roman paused, steadying his breathing, "-just a bit jumbled up in the head." Janus nodded in understanding. "That's alright. It might take a second before you can think straight again." "I'm not straight, so it's not a problem," Roman replied on instinct, immediately turning bright crimson at Janus's startled reaction. "I mean, as in thinking-wise," Roman covered up, "I don't think straight ever, y'know? Like, because I'm dumb, and, y'know. Dumb, like really, uh, stupid, right?"

3. Three Characters (from "He Who Holds The Ruler")

Roman nodded. "Y-yeah, I mean, I guess. My brother Remus has a boyfriend. They more so…don't care." Patton nodded and was quiet again. "Maybe you should try telling them over lunch," Patton suggested gently. "I'll be there will you. I'm sure they'll at least try to be understanding." "Yeah," Roman said, nodding. "Understanding." Patton sighed sadly, but smiled reassuringly. "I'm sensing the need for a hug, I think?" "You never have to ask first, you know," Roman mumbled thankfully, hugging Patton around his side. "The answer will always be yes."

4. Four Characters (from "Kingdoms for a Mind 1")

"I would not phrase it as a 'quest'," Logan commented, "Maybe a 'reluctant onus'?" "Oh, hush, Specks," Roman snapped, "You'll get used to our adventures! It 'tis inevitable. With the same ease as the sun rises and falls, you shall soon fall in love with-" Virgil cleared his throat. "Wait a second," he began, looking to Roman, "What did you say about King Dolion 'disturbing peace'?" Thomas started fidgeting with the tablecloth, looking anywhere but at them.

5. Five Characters (from "Takeover" — Zombie apocalypse AU)

“Well, it’ll make great fertilizer!” “Remus, that is disgusting,” Virgil complained. “Stop kicking it!” Stepping back into the garage, Janus made a face. “Dios mío, this truck looks terrible.” “Agreed.” Logan said. He spritzed Lysol on the chair were the zombie once sat, stirring up a wave of dust. “Even my abuelo would not drive this,” Janus muttered, squatting down to look underneath the haphazardly off-balance vehicle, “And he drives the worst AMC Gremlin you will ever see.” Out on the lawn, Remy waved Remus away from him, demanding that he take a shower. This most certainly prompted Remus to ask if he could "join in." Virgil practically fled over to the garage to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of that conversation.

6. Six Characters (from "Kingdoms for a Mind 2")

"Forgive me if I'm rude, I've not seen anyone in months," Hypatia said, taking a seat at the head of the table. "But what are you doing here?" The princes glanced around at each other, none really wanting to explain. Janus sighed and put down his spoon. "We're traveling," Janus said simply. "Though we hadn't planned for this long of a trip. Running short on supplies." "Mainly medical supplies,” Logan said. “And enough rations for everyone,” Patton mentioned. "And weaponry," Remus added. "And sanity," Virgil piped up.

7. Seven characters oh god (from "Takeover")

“Crazy Dave’s not here to reinforce us,” Emile said monotonously. Roman sighed. "That game isn't even good." "Says you." "Well, do one of you have a better suggestion?" Logan asked, slightly exasperated. Patton leaned forward and rested his chin on Logan's shoulder gently. "Could maybe ask Janus…" Virgil wondered out loud, glancing outside, "He's a mechanic at his abuela's shop. Could maybe, with luck, possibly fix the truck." Logan nodded, writing it down quickly. Remy raised an eyebrow. "That's all peaches and cream, babes, but that big-ass zombie wedged in the front seat?" they asked, "Who would be insane enough to even touch it?" WHAM. "I'M BACK, MOTHERFUCKERS!" The front door was kicked wide open by a tall, broad-shouldered figure in loud a punk jacket, which could be described using both definitions of 'dirty.' His grimy combat boots, covered in spikes, had left brown sludge on the window. A name-tag on his shirt, from when he’d worked at a soup kitchen, said, 'Hello! I'm: Remus EVIL BITCH OF THE WEST'.

Sorry for the length. This was fun though >:D/\