#thanks for writing this all out wow

[everybody-loves-purdy]

The Genetic Journey of Two Sisters: an Analysis of ThunderClan’s Gene Pool

Flashnose and Daisytoe made their debut in Goosefeather’s Curse, and are revealed to be sisters born to unknown parents. Although these sisters fade into the rest of ThunderClan’s old history, their genetics encompass the entirety of ThunderClan, bleeding into two other Clans. Here is an analysis of their profound genetic impact, starting with Flashnose. (Cats who’s names are red have kits)

Flashnose + unknown tom have a single daughter together: Swiftbreeze. Later in life, Swiftbreeze and Adderfang have five children: Leopardfoot, Patchpelt, Redtail, Spottedleaf, and Willowpelt. Leopardfoot and Pinestar have Tigerstar, Mistkit, and Nightkit. Patchpelt and Goldenflower have Swiftpaw & Lynxkit, while with Robinwing, he has Longtail. Willowpelt, with unknown toms, have Darkstripe & Graystripe. With Whitestorm, she has Sorreltail, Rainwhisker, and Sootfur.

→ Tigerstar and Goldenflower have Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt, and with Sasha, Tadpole, Hawkfrost and Mothwing. Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight have Sparkpelt, Alderheart, Dandelionkit, and Juniperkit. Sparkpelt and Larksong have Nightheart, Finchlight, and Flickerkit. Tawnypelt and Rowanclaw have Tigerstar II, Dawnpelt, and Flametail. Tigerstar II and Dovewing have Lightleap, Shadowsight, Pouncestep, Birchpaw, and Rowankit, while Dawnpelt and Crowfrost have Strikestone, Sleekwhisker, and Juniperclaw.

→ Graystripe and Silverstream have Feathertail and Stormfur, and with Millie, he also fathers Briarlight, Blossomfall, and Bumblestripe. Stormfur and Brook have Pine that Clings to Rock, Lark that Sings at Dawn, Feather of Flying Hawk, and Breeze that Rustles the Leaves. Blossomfall and Thornclaw have Stemleaf, Shellfur, Plumstone, and Eaglewing. Stemleaf and Spotfur have Stempaw, Graypaw, and Bristlepaw.

→ Sorreltail and Brackenfur have Cinderheart, Poppyfrost, Honeyfern, Molepaw, Lilyheart, and Seedpaw. Cinderheart and Lionblaze have Fernsong, Sorrelstripe, Hollytuft, Spotfur, Snaptooth, and Flywhisker. Fernsong and Ivypool have Thriftear, Flipclaw, and Bristlefrost. Sorrelstripe and Dewnose have Bayshine and Myrtlebloom. Spotfur, as previously mentioned has Stempaw, Graypaw, and Bristlepaw with Stemleaf. Thriftear and Bayshine have Moonpaw.

→ Poppyfrost and Berrynose have Cherryfall and Molewhisker.

→ Lilyheart and Snowbush have Larksong, Honeyfur, and Leafshade. As previously mentioned, Larksong and Sparkpelt have Nightheart, Finchlight, and Flickerkit.

This wraps up Flashnose’s genetic line, moving us into Daisytoe’s genetic line.

Daisytoe and Rooktail had Moonflower and Goosefeather. Moonflower and Stormtail had Bluestar and Snowfur. Bluestar and Oakheart had Mistystar, Stonefur, and Mosskit. Mistystar and Blackclaw had Reedwhisker, Primrosepaw, Pikepaw, and Perchkit. Snowfur and Thistleclaw had Whitestorm. Whitestorm and Brindleface had Ferncloud, Ashfur, Elderkit, and Tulipkit. With Willowpelt, he also had Sorreltail, Rainwhisker, and Sootfur. Ferncloud and Dustpelt had Spiderleg, Shrewpaw, Birchfall, Larchkit, Hollykit, Foxleap, and Icecloud. Spiderleg and Daisy had Toadstep and Rosepetal. Birchfall and Whitewing had Dovewing and Ivypool, who’s mates & kits were previously mentioned.

Although Daisytoe and Flashnose’s bloodlines began separately, they converge at certain points (i.e. Whitestorm x Willowpelt, Tigerstar II x Dovewing) to form an extensive genetic pool that is responsible for 30/46= 65% of the current ThunderClan population (as of Wind) & 6/30= 20% of the current ShadowClan population. Holy shit.

I’d add Robinwing x Fuzzypelt as an honorable mention, but given the fact that their son (Dustpelt) and their granddaughter (Ferncloud) have kits, their line merges with Daisytoe’s since her great-grandson is Whitestorm, who’s also Ferncloud’s father. Alternatively, we could focus on Frostfur, but since both of her sons took mates from Flashnose’s genetic line, their entire family line is one with Daisytoe & Flashnose’s.

Times like this make me feel very fortunate that certain information was retconned. If the fact that Redtail & Brindleface had Sandstorm remained canon, this would make Squirrelstar, Leafpool, Lionblaze, Jayfeather, and Hollyleaf all related to Flashnose. Which raises that ThunderClan percentage from 65% to 76%. This would also make Lionblaze and Cinderheart related.

Seeing how much ThunderClan grew from these pair of sisters is always a “wow” moment for me. Their spirits have likely faded from StarClan’s ranks, but I can’t help but wonder if they ever looked down on their descendants and felt proud of how big their families have grown.

I’ve never seen the exact percentages before that’s absolutely wild. It’s insane how these one off characters that no fan would really remember otherwise, let alone remember they are sisters, have ultimately become the root of most of the current ThunderClan incest problems.

[desceros]

Mr. LEON (think late 30's/early 40's) reuniting with his spouse after a long time away. It's sweet, it's silly, it's followed by absolutely nasty half-clothed, sweaty sex.

me, asks for rise leo prompts, instantly regrets it also i'm not saying this is a tactical!leo fic, but i'm also... not NOT saying it leonardo/reader, EXPLICIT, female reader, 2.6k; leo comes back and wants to smell like home again. filthy nasty smut, soft doki dokis, lame married people jokes, one (1) defiled couch

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, you don’t think twice when you see the rustle of your curtains. Not when you’ve finally, finally trained your stupid heart into not thundering out of your chest when you see it, thinking he’s back when it’s just the breeze. Today, you hardly even glance at them as you continue watering your plants, unbothered, humming, unsuspecting.

It’s so, so typical of him to wait until now to come home.

“Boo!” 

Your scream fills the apartment as you flail, pulse rocketing to the atmosphere in panic when you’re very suddenly not alone. Hands catch you mid-flinch, and it takes you a second to realize that your assailant is, in fact, perfectly safe and didn’t deserve the mighty swing of your watering can. 

Except actually, yes he did, this little asshole—!

“Leo!” you wail, letting him gather you close and press him to his plastron. Your hands clutch at the edge of his keratin, face burrowing in his throat. “You fucking asshole, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Couldn’t resist,” he says, his laughter still rolling at the crown of your head as one hand spreads into your lower back to press you close and the other cups your nape. “You just looked so cute, y’know? My adorable little wifey, wearing my shirt and humming in our living room.”

“Stop talking,” you mutter sulkily, wrapping your arms around his neck and swallowing the tears you feel burning at your eyes as happiness swells in your chest like a mighty wave. He always makes fun of you for crying when he comes home, and you’re already a little miffed. 

Your ire dies as you feel him nuzzling behind your ear with his beak, his lungs expanding as he inhales your scent. He’d confessed to you once, a few years into your marriage, that this was his favorite part of coming home; more than the sex, more than the home-cooked meals, more than sleeping in the same bed two nights in a row. He caresses the line of your throat with his beak, stitching your natural perfume back into place in his mind, sinking into you because it’s not the walls around you that he calls home.

“…Missed you,” he murmurs, making you sigh as he brushes lovesick kisses to your shoulder. 

“You were gone too long this time,” you tell him, lowering one arm to press a palm to his plastron when you feel his lips seeking more skin, letting him pull the neckline of his shirt away from your clavicle. “Thought you were the breeze, coming in.” 

His mouth curves into something filthy at the dip of your throat, his hands finding your hips and giving them a squeeze. “Yeah? Funny. I plan on coming in something, all right.”

You laugh way too hard, a little mortified that after all these years you still find this clown funny at the lamest lines. Worse still is how he watches you do it, his face going stupid with naked fondness like making you laugh is the best thing he’s done all day.

“You are such an unfunny loser, oh my god,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. 

“And yet you’re still laughing,” he says, his smile widening when you roll your eyes. 

“I’ve been stockholmed,” you tell him, reaching up your hands to cup his beak and pull him into a kiss. 

Leo has always been good with his mouth, in every way, all the years you’ve known him. His kisses are no exception; seconds into it you’re purring, the sweet friction of his mouth against yours warming you from the inside, parting on a soft sigh when a hand grips your nape and tilts you just so. 

“I wanna fucking eat you alive,” he mumbles against your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours once, twice, three times before he sinks his teeth into your lower lip and tugs. You tremble, and you know he feels it as his hands go a little tighter. “Missed you.” 

Your fingers find the tails of his mask, tangling in them and using them to pull his face away, just a little. He growls, but you ignore him easily. “Don’t you want to take a shower, baby? Get comfy while I cook you something to eat? You smell like work.”

“I know,” he says, his other hand sliding down to the cloth shorts that are barely visible beneath the hem of his shirt, his fingers gliding up the back to cup the curve of your ass. “And I wanna smell like you, now.”

…He gets like this, sometimes, when he comes home. Touchy. Possessive. You’ve always wondered if it has to do with how he doesn’t smell himself on you when he’s been gone, or if it’s because you start wearing his clothes like he’ll feel it wherever he is. The longer the separation, the worse he gets. 

The worse he gets, the better it is.

“Yeah? You wanna smell like me?” you echo as you trail your touch along the red crescents prettying his face, playing into his turtle-brain, feeling your eyelids close as his fingers flutter on your skin. Oh, he wants it bad. “What do I smell like, handsome? I smell good?” 

“So fucking good,” he groans, his huge hand releasing your nape to grip your jaw, pulling you into a kiss that’s wet and deep. It feels good, claws a mangled moan from your chest that has him mirroring the sound himself. He pulls his head back, pressing his thumb to the corner of your mouth and sliding it under your lower lip where you feel the slick mess of his kiss. “…Open,” he says, making your lip pucker under his touch. 

You obey, watching his pupils dilate as they lock onto your mouth, then your tongue when you let it press against the pad of his thumb where he’s holding you open.

“Shit. You’re so hot,” he says, a wounded rumble that makes your lips curl into a coquettish smile before you wrap them around his thumb, sucking and lathing it with your tongue, pressing your teeth in and closing your eyes when you hear him moan. 

“Not gonna smell much like me by staring at my mouth,” you tell him when you let him go, your hooded eyes meeting his as you smile.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he wheezes, and with three steps he’s got you splayed on your couch, the weight of him pinning you to the cushions while his mouth fucking devours you. All you can do is hold on, one hand tangling in his mask tails and the other clutching as his carapace, crushed and absolutely thrilled about it.

When he breaks the kiss to grip his hands in your shorts, pulling them down, you laugh, drawing his hungry gaze even as he doesn’t stop disrobing you. 

“What?” he asks, mouth going just a little crooked in a smile of his own as you shake your head, staring at him adoringly. 

“Just love you,” you tell him, shifting your legs to help him out a bit and biting down on a grin when you can finally spread them and slink your knees to either side of his hips. You slip one of your arms over your head to grip one of the throw pillows, your other trailing down your throat to entice.  “C’mon, pretty boy. Let me see you drop.”

Leo maintains the stare as he straightens his spine, his hands going to his belt buckle to slide it out of place with a metal clink. The button is quick to follow, and when he unzips and slides his pants down just enough for his cloaca to glisten in the afternoon sunlight, you press your fingers to your mouth, tongue instinctively seeking contact. 

“God, look at you,” you whine, your thighs rising to cup his hips and squeeze. “I wanna lick you. Come up here?”

He shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into your open mouth and pressing on your tongue. “Later, baby. If you want a show, you’ve got, like, thirty seconds for it.” 

Moaning, you soak his fingers with your spit, watching with hazy eyes as he brings them to his cloaca and slides in to the knuckle. He’s always rougher with himself than you are with him, even though he’s told you again and again he prefers it when you’re the one fingering him. 

He makes pretty little gasping moans as he fingers himself hard, his arm flexing and drawing your hungry gaze. He’s gotten so god damned big over the years, making you feel small every time he does something that highlights the difference. It feels good, makes you feel kept, protected. So long as Leonardo Hamato draws breath, no harm will ever come to you, a promise he has the strength to keep.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, eyes squeezing shut as the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of himself get wetter. It’s a familiar sound that makes you ache, craving the thick cock you know is about to slide out like it’s air. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, Leo,” you babble in praise, knowing he likes to hear it, that you like telling him. “Handsome as fuck. God, I can’t believe you’re mine, that you let me see you like this—”

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling his fingers out of you and pressing his cloaca to your cunt, his wet fingers gripping at your hips as he rubs your slick against his. “You can’t talk like that, baby, I’m gonna—”

He cuts himself off on a low groan, his hips rolling against yours and his tail pressing hard between your thighs to garner the friction. It feels so good, so fucking good, your skin burning hot with each messy glide of him against you. Your head rolls, fingers gripping in the pillow behind your head and back arching to try and writhe closer. 

“Leo,” you keen, breath heaving when he releases his death grip on the back of the couch to plant his hand by your head, his back arching over you and blocking everything else out. 

“Don’t come, don’t you dare come,” he hisses, lips curled into a bit of a snarl. “Not until I’m inside, understand?” 

Eyes wet, you nod, choking back the shimmer on your skin that builds as he keeps rubbing cruelly. With one particularly good roll of his hip, you snatch a hand to his bicep, trembling. “Stop, stop—!”

He pauses, letting you claw away from the brink to obey. Sucking in a long breath, you open your eyes and see that he’s staring at you like he’s gone mad. 

“Okay?” he asks, voice fucked out, and you nod, whining when he resumes rubbing his cloaca against you, your eyes falling shut and head lolling to the side as you start the burning process all over again. 

“Feels so good, Leo,” you breathe, skin glowing when you feel him duck in close and glide his tongue up the side of your neck. You’re soaked all over with sweat and slick, every muscle in your body trembling from taut desire that’s just shy of too-much, leaving you delirious and stupid.

With a hitched breath, Leo reaches between you, fingers preparing you for the familiar penetration you want more than anything else. With a hiss, his body goes taut, his cock dropping and sliding inside like his katana into its sheath; like you were made for him, perfectly molded, expertly designed. 

“God, fuck,” he wheezes, his forearms framing your face as he leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss that breaks on a low moan. He pumps his hips against yours slowly, shaking with each breath that has him bottoming out where he belongs. “You feel so—I missed you.” 

Floating with pleasure, you cup his nape, wrapping your legs around him as best as you can to pull him deeper, needing to feel him in your throat. Your hands find the back of his head, sliding easily on his rough, sweat-slick skin, seeking his kiss and finding it. “Oh, Leo, love you, love you so much.”

He marries his mouth to yours as he fucks in in in, feeling a bit like he never pulls out for how full he leaves you. Every neuron in your body stands at attention, taking note of his weight crushing you, the smell of his salty skin, the taste of his tongue as it curls against your own. 

“Look at me, look at me when you come, pretty girl,” he chokes, because he knows your body better than you do and can tell you’re close before you feel it. You open your eyes and meet his, untying his blue mask and letting it slide to your chest right as you feel your orgasm rising. 

“Leo, gonna come,” you whimper, watching as he nods, one hand finding your cheek, his thumb tracing under your eyes where they’re wet. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel it.” 

Like you do with everything else, you obey and come. It’s a long, wrenching thing, the pleasure washing over you like waves of a mighty ocean as he keeps moving, prolonging it, intensifying it. On and on it goes, your body awash with ecstasy and Leo, always Leo, there to hold you and let you fall. 

“Please,” you gasp, clenching at his carapace, begging him to meet you here in the glow. “Leo, please—” 

His hand drops down to your throat, fingers ever so slightly curling around as his hips thrust a little harder, the wet sounds of your hips meeting loud in your ears now that you’re listening for it. It’s filthy, his mouth hanging open and eyes going wild as they gaze at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. 

With a wounded sound he comes, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and hand going a little too-tight on your throat as he fills you over and over again, each hot thread coating and claiming in equal measure. You let one hand grip the back of his wrist where he’s choking you, crushing him in harder as he groans and presses into you even further as he finishes, watching as the edges of your vision go a little hazy before he releases you and lets you suck in a gasp of air. 

After a few moments of catching your breath, he picks up his head, his beak wrinkling a bit as he stretches his leg out with a hiss. “Gah, fuck, we’re getting too old for couch fucking. Made a fucking mess.”

“Never too old for couch fucking,” you rasp, causing his eyes to fall to where there’s a mark on your throat in the shape of his hand. He licks his lips, and you feel his cock give an interested twitch. “Oh? You gonna make good on that?”

“Too old for back-to-back marathon fucking,” he pouts, though he does arch his hips once in a good sport try that makes your skin light up a bit. “Gimme like, fifteen. I’ll eat you out while we wait, then we can do something about it.” 

You raise an imperious eyebrow. “Fifteen minutes of you eating me out? You? Leonardo Hamato? Only fifteen? I can’t believe an imposter of my husband is here when I was so sure it was him.”

He grins, a boyish thing that makes him look younger and captures your heart all over again. “…Yeah, okay. Let’s be ambitious and say half an hour.”

You settle into the couch, waiting for his cock to retreat back into his cloaca and spending the meantime trailing your fingers along the back of his nape, sighing out in delight. 

“…I missed you, too,” you tell him, watching as his face smooths out and every concern flies away like a butterfly startled by the breeze because he loves you so, so much and you know it. Then, realizing you hadn’t said it yet, “…Welcome home, Leo.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, bending down and nuzzling his beak against your temple, inhaling deeply with a smile. “I’m home.”

[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[soosoosoup]

Haaayy can you tell us more about your au where branch finds cooper's egg?

Hiiii!! Thanks for asking! And of course :)

lol turns out I had a lot more thought out. Fair warning, none of this is concrete, this was thought up a while ago and uhhhhh… writing is not my strong suit lol

In this au I had debated whether to make copper a little bit younger, I already hc him as the youngest of the snack pack so idk if its needed lol.

While in the beginning of making his bunker, branch (who’s maybe 7??) would travel farther out into the forest and gather supplies to build when he stumbles on what looks like an egg? Just in time too, ‘cause Coops pops out like in twt, does his little groove, & then proceeds to flop over to nap (being baby is tiring work).

Branch is just ??? cause like what?? Baby? Way out here in the woods?? Why does the baby have 4 legs??? Why is said baby all alone? And that last part makes b pause for a sec bc where’s his family? Did he lose them? Or is it even worse…was he left behind? (He might be projecting a lil).

Cooper and Branch proceed to live where other kids w/o families go. Caretakers try to care for cooper & he is not having it. After all, branch is the first person he’d ever seen, was the first person who’d carried him. He’s imprinted on branch and whole heartedly believes and he is his family. So if C needs to be taken care of B has to be there. It goes on long enough that the caretaker decides it'll just easier if branch helped take care of him; and who knows maybe he'll regain his color being around such a happy little goober.

At first, branch doesn’t realize how much he means to C and assumes his attachment will fade. After all why wouldn’t it when he’s being doted on by warm and cheerful trolls. But nope! Whenever the caretakers aren't taking cooper around the village, Cooper is always following Branch. Around the pod, and through the woods. Branch looks out for him, talks to him, teaches him what he can, and even plays games! I think the fact that branch has been a part of Coopers whole life gives him a sense of obligation perhaps like a big brother?. It's easy to be open to him.

All attempts to foster Cooper are unsuccessful. It's not that Cooper doesn't match the family, it's that he just doesn't want to live with them. Imagine a foster family having the time of their lives singing & playing around & when the time comes Cooper's like 'I had a lot of fun today! Time to go! what?? Stay here? be a part of your family? ...Nope :D

When the time comes that the bunker can feasibly house him, (preteen?) Branch packs up what little he owns, and prepares to leave that night. It's not like the anyone at the orphanage would chase after him. Well, except for one trolling.

It's been years, long enough that their bond is strong, they're brothers in all but name. At least unnamed on branch's side, he kind of refuses to acknowledge it.

Anyway- Branch waits until everyone falls asleep and sneaks out. He doesn't even make it out of the room lol. One foot out the door and a sleepy voice is asking him where he's going. Branch just says he's going to the bunker, that he'll see him soon, it won't be forever you see what im trying to parallel? and it's true. It's not like he's leaving to who knows where. Cooper just nods & yawns out a "bye, see you later". Love me a parallel

Branch lasts an hour or two in the bunker. He's on edge the whole time, racked w/ guilt. Has a little mental spiral until there is just one loud thought of 'what am i doing? there's someone waiting for me' and runs back.

In the joined room, Cooper fell asleep on branch's bed waiting for him. So making sure not to wake him, Branch rests coopers head on his lap. Leaning against the headboard Branch just stares at his vest left at the end of the bed & has a moment of clarity. Like oh, that's why i felt terrible, i left my little brother behind. (Keep in mind that no, he didn’t really do that, but he’s a kid and that whole ‘see you later’ really shook him so he’s making some jumps in logic)(there some projecting happening as well)

So yeah, gained a brother!! yay!!! Cooper beat you to that revelation yeeaarrrss ago lol.

One thing I like about branch being a big bro is this idea that the more he learns about what it means to be one, the less he can understand his brothers. And are they his brothers?? Over the years it’s not looking like it.

[wispscribbles]

hi i hope this isn’t annoying and i am taking all my bravery just to do this off anon, however i just stumbled across your account this morning and read all of NRFTW in one sitting and this is the first time in so long ive read a whole fanfic, LET ALONE one that made me gasp out loud and giggle to myself and ALL THAT CRAZY SHIT!! your writing is what i aspire to reach (as one writer to another)! all the callbacks and flashbacks were so perfectly placed and written. reading that was truly a fuckin MAGICAL experience dude. keep it up man :3

Aaaah thank you so much!!! No need to be nervous writing me, I love receiving asks (but also, I get it, I’m the same) - and asks about NRFTW??? My bread and butter, I am so so happy that people are continually finding and enjoying that fic. I put my sweat, tears and half a year into that thing, and while I keep finding more and more flaws if I read through it, I still think it makes up for it with… soul?? Idk, I’m just happy that it’s a good read for so many folks. To hear I can inspire you and your writing is genuinely all I could hope for. I’m still learning and working to improve - we’re out here together !! Thanks again, and good luck writing 🫡❤️❤️

I hope it’s ok that I answer these asks in a single post - they have a bit of a theme, so it feels right

That’s dedicated reading! It’s fun to see ppl reading it in a few hours - makes me think of the poor souls who waited from chapter to chapter. ANYWAY, thank you so much for reading!! I kinda hope I’m struck by inspiration to write more for that universe some day, but everything was wrapped up fairly neatly, so it’d almost be a shame. We’ll see! (I think the characters would prefer if I let them be, given my tendency to… blow stuff up) (in fics!) Thank you for sending an ask my way ❤️

@maraskywalkers hiii!! Thank youuuu !!!! I’m so happy you enjoyed it 🥰 It’s nice not being alone in enjoying something a little more soft for ghoap, despite the nature of canon. Thanks for reading !!

@sir-boggy-himself (GREAT name, Sir Boggy) Thank you for reading! In one sitting, too?? There’s something so fun in knowing some folks experienced that whole thing in one go, that’s gotta give some emotional whiplash along the way 😭 I’m happy you enjoy both the art and the fics. I hope I can keep making good stuff 🥹 Thanks again !!!

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hunting for Clues (Dad Squad)

(@nancyheart11 @telemna-hyelle @smilesrobotlover @skyward-floored + @ whoever else wants to be tagged)

The air was uncomfortably thick as a heavy blanket of moisture clung to Rusl's skin. It felt like summer in Ordon Village, except he was in no place to be stripping off his shirt and going swimming to cool off.

Well, swimming might be involved. It depended on if there was a clear path to their destination.

They were following a lead he'd gotten from a nearby village. After the cucco incident, all it took was some conversations to figure out that a local cave had suddenly become more dangerous, that people were being harassed and attacked when they approached it. It didn't take much to ascertain, then, that if the Yiga had a holdout nearby, and a cave was being guarded, it was likely that the group would find Yiga there.

Abel led the group, tense with anticipation. Fierce was last, surveying the area and watching their flank. Rusl kept his eyes alert, wiping the sweat on his brow with his headband. His heart beat hard and fast, not so much from the exertion of climbing along the hill as they followed the river, but in the hope that they would find Link. It had been far too long since his capture, and though Rusl tried to stay focused on the objective rather than worry, the anxiety had steadily been growing.

It had been too familiar, having one of his boys kidnapped. He hated it. He'd been eager to push forward and find him. But when he'd realized he was in a completely different Hyrule, he'd recognized that he'd have to take a step back and figure this out. But now they had a lead, and now there was tangible hope that he could get to his boy, and now nothing was going to stop him from getting there.

They eventually reached the waterfall that supposedly hid the cave's entrance, and Rusl walked up to stand beside Abel.

"No guards," Abel noted quietly, his voice barely audible over the crashing water.

Worry wormed its way around Rusl's heart and mind. Abel was right, after all - the reason they had learned of this place at all was because people had been warded away with violence. The fact that no one had even tried to stop them was telling - either they were walking into a trap, or their lead was an old one.

"I have not noticed any scouts, either," Fierce added as he caught up with them easily. "This does not bode well."

Rusl drew his sword. "Then we should be ready for anything. Let's go."

The water was refreshingly cool on his skin as he passed through, bowing his head as the weight and pressure briefly beat down on him. He opened his eyes again quickly, blinking water away and surveying the area.

The cave was enormous, with moss and glowing mushrooms lining the stone path leading far beyond where he could see. He grabbed a lantern and quickly lit it, leading his companions into the darkness.

Bearing a torch and a sword while looking for lost children. This is too familiar. Rusl bit his tongue, shaking the thought away. He had to focus.

A particularly large water droplet fell from the ceiling, splashing on the top of his head and startling him back to reality. He gave a quiet huff, thanking the goddesses for the help focusing, and gripped his sword more tightly.

The farther they walked, the worse it felt. The waterfall drowned out any sound that could have tipped them off if there was someone nearby, and the very distinct lack of people made Rusl's skin crawl. The Yiga had already tried to ambush them once, and they were defeated fairly easily, but still... a place like this could make matters difficult if they were attacked.

There was a faint glow ahead, bluish in color. Rusl lowered his lantern slightly, squinting and looking for movement. He pulled the wick back a little, dimming the light so they wouldn't be as obvious as they approached. Though Fierce's steps were much louder than theirs, he still tried to creep along as quietly as Rusl and Abel did until the trio had reached a bend in the long cavernous pathway.

When Rusl peeked around, he saw litter and debris, and he immediately knew they were too late. The tension drained out of him with a heavy exhale, disappointment filling the void. His eyes were attracted upward, however, to trace the blue light to its source. It was a strange, frog-like creature clinging to the stony walls and hopping around easily. Rusl stared at it in wonder, reminded of the light spirits, and wondered if it was kin to them.

Abel swore softly, walking into the room, seemingly ignoring the creature altogether.

"Hello, little sprite," Fierce called to the animal. It turned, glancing at him, and continued to bounce around cheerfully.

"What is it?" Rusl asked, curiosity holding his anguish at bay.

"I am not entirely sure," Fierce answered, catching Rusl off guard. "I can sense its magic, though. It is not of the Yiga."

With that little knowledge, Rusl returned his attention to the large room the creature was illuminating. The room had a few barrels, a desk with some notes, but most of what was there had been removed. Abel was busy perusing a book of some sort that was on the desk.

Approaching, Rusl asked, "What did you find?"

"Notes," Abel answered simply, engrossed in his reading. Rusl didn't bother pushing the matter, waiting for him to finish.

The loud meow that emitted from one of the barrels distracted him well enough. All three men turned their gaze, though Abel resumed his reading quickly, and Fierce and Rusl walked to the nearest barrel.

Inside was a kitten, creamy white fur blending with patches of buttery brown. It meowed again as it looked up at the pair.

"What are you doing here, little guy?" Rusl asked as he cautiously reached in. The kitten didn't swat at him, allowing itself to be hauled gently out of the barrel where it had been trapped.

When Rusl turned to ask Abel if he had finished reading, he saw the knight staring at him with wide eyes and a furrowed brow, as if he'd just been given some sort of life altering news. Ice filled his veins, worry for Link immediately shutting out any other thought. "What's wrong?"

"The Hero of Time," Abel said. "That's... your son is the Hero of Time?"

Several thoughts clamored for attention all at once in Rusl's mind. The Hero of Time was a figure of legend, and he had been the one to train Link. Did.. did that mean Link inherited the title? He supposed that wasn't unreasonable. But that meant the Yiga had written about him in their log, and that meant he had to be alive still, because his title would not have been the first piece of information Abel had clung to if it were otherwise.

Hopefully.

Rusl walked to his companion in three large steps, the kitten bouncing in his arms, and he demanded, "What did they say about him?"

"T-they..." Abel glanced between Rusl and the kitten, temporary confusion flitting across his face at the sight of the animal before he continued, "They said he's---he's, ah, been fighting them off."

Rusl's dread vanished in an instant and was replaced with hope. "What? But..."

They hadn't captured him after all? Was he out here somewhere, lost and injured and alone, searching for Rusl as desperately as Rusl was looking for him?

"They escaped," Abel explained, holding the book close to his chest. "They escaped the main Yiga stronghold. They've been spreading their forces to find them."

The kitten was suddenly plucked out of Rusl's arms, held by the scruff of its neck by the fierce deity as he stared at it. "And this tiny furry creature was supposed to track him?"

Rusl's eyes stung unexpectedly with tears, and he let out a wet laugh, blinking them away. "I think maybe this little guy got lost."

"The kitten was supposed to be bait..." Abel added with a tone that was just as confused as Fierce's. "Apparently to lure the dog in."

Rusl whipped his head towards the knight. "Dog? What dog?"

Rusl immediately snatched the book before Abel could answer, courtesy abandoned, and the knight snarled, grabbing it back.

"This isn't time for your paranoia," Rusl snapped. "Whatever you're hiding, unless it has to do with my boy, I don't care. Let me read it."

Before either party could continue the argument, the book was taken out of Abel's tight grip with ease, making the knight yelp. The Fierce Deity flipped it in his hands, reading it aloud. "We have arrived at the designated site per our leader's orders. We're currently looking for a good way to lure the wretched heroes. The Hero of Time has been a constant thorn in our side in every encounter. He even took our bananas during the last fight."

Spirits above. Link's alive. He's alive and he escaped.

Of course he did. It was Link. His boy had fought Zant and Ganondorf, had been trained by the Hero of Time (the previous Hero of Time...? Did they all have that title, then?), had been forged into a strong warrior through the dark flames of twilight magic. Link could handle anything. Rusl shouldn't have worried.

Except he still did. Because he didn't know if Link was hurt. He didn't know where Link was, and the Yiga were hunting him.

What did these people want with him?! All Rusl knew of the Yiga was that Abel said they were traitors to the crown who wanted to see Hyrule fall. He said they were a cult of sorts, and they worshipped a demon, the same one that had destroyed Abel's Hyrule.

The deity turned the page with a thumb, carelessly tossing the kitten towards Rusl, who jumped, startled, and quickly caught the frightened little animal. He leaned it against his chest to soothe it as Abel grew steadily more wound up watching their companion.

"We've got a lead on their whereabouts," Fierce continued reading. "It appears the Hero's condition has improved somewhat, or at least enough that he is still alive. We have to ensure we catch him before he dies."

Rusl's breath was stolen from him. "What?!"

Fierce also stared worriedly at the pages, reading silently to gather more information quickly. It left Rusl in too much suspense, and he said, "Fierce, tell us what the hell is going on. Is my boy okay?"

"They're referring to three figures," Fierce answered as he read. "The Hero of Time, the Hero, and the dog. Sometimes they mention a mutt... I assume that must be the dog."

The uncertainty and anxiety were going to drive Rusl insane. "Just read it aloud. Please."

"Our camp was raided by the Hero of Time last night," Fierce obliged. "He took all our food and smashed all our bananas. One of our scouts spotted his dog but then we lost contact with him."

"We've made a discovery. The dog likes hanging around other animals. One of our scouts saw it playing with some kittens. We've since acquired one of the kittens and will be utilizing it to lure in the dog. If the mutt comes, then the Hero of Time will follow. Then all we have to do is find his base of operations to get the Hero."

"We've been in this cave for two weeks, and it's been almost a week since there's been any sign of our targets. The kitten ploy has not come to anything. Another group reported in that there are warriors looking the heroes. We will attempt to set up a trap for them. In the meantime, I've decided we need to move camp."

The longer Rusl listened, the more he realized that the Hero of Time was not, in fact, his Link. He could easily see his boy attacking the Yiga encampment, but he wouldn't simply raid it for supplies and leave. Link was too self reliant for that - he would gather his own supplies. He would only enter an enemy camp to eliminate it. His sweet boy was gentle in all ways but battle, after all.

Also, he knew, out of any group of boys, who would go running to the nearest pile of cuddly animals.

He knew exactly which one was his Link.

Which meant...

Rusl glanced over at Abel, really looked at him, and he saw the subtle signs in the man's stony demeanor. He saw the worry, the fear, the way the man's hands trembled.

"The injured one... that's your son, isn't it?" Rusl asked quietly.

Abel's expression darkened, a fierce, nearly feral glare crossing his face. His look dared Rusl to say anything else.

So this was the unspoken fear Abel had been carrying with him. This was the reason he didn't dare speak much about his boy. Had he thought they'd take advantage of his boy's vulnerable state? What else was Abel hiding?

"The Hero of Time is my child," Fierce said firmly, closing the book with a quick snap. "That is his title. And his tactics match. One of your children is missing."

Rusl bit his tongue as he smiled and choked back a snort. "Well... we'll find my boy. Let's start by finding yours."

"The Hero you've been protecting is the Hero of Time?" Abel confirmed.

"Yes," Fierce answered with a nod.

Abel let out a sigh of what seemed to be relief.

"What's wrong with your son?" Rusl asked gently.

The knight closed his eyes, his body stiffening. He didn't trust them. Rusl almost felt hurt, but then again... he had just withheld vital information about his Link as well.

But why wouldn't he? Telling them his boy could turn into a beast was a recipe for disaster.

Then again, them not knowing was equally bad. He knew that from experience. They'd already had to battle one pack of wolves and he'd nearly had a meltdown. He had had a meltdown.

What secret was Abel keeping to protect his boy?

Rusl's train of thought was interrupted when the strange blue bouncing creature hopped over, hovering directly over Abel. Seeing as the man wasn't reacting, Rusl hesitantly pointed to it. "You... can see that thing, right?"

Distracted, Abel glanced upward. Then he huffed. "It's a bubbulfrog."

"A what?"

"Bubbulfrog," Abel repeated, glancing at the pair. "Legend says if you strike one down you can obtain a mystical stone from it."

"You don't seem very fazed by this," Rusl noted.

"Link and I have found plenty in different caves when he was little," Abel sighed. He raised an eyebrow as he looked up. "I'm surprised this one isn't blowing bubbles at us, though."

"They do that?"

"Often. Link loved popping them. But we... never got this close," Abel went on uncertainly. "I wasn't sure how dangerous they were. They usually stay away from people."

"It won't harm you," Fierce said.

"Either way," Abel continued with a dismissive wave. "They don't hang around people. If there's one here it means the Yiga left long ago."

The kitten meowed again, pawing at Rusl's tunic. The Ordonian smiled down at it before looking back at Abel, whose gaze had grown distant. Meanwhile, Fierce turned, motioning towards them. "We should move on. It is clear the boys are not here and have not been in the area for some time."

Nodding, the two men followed him out of the cave. Rusl ran a hand gently over the kitten, which purred in response, relaxing him a little. They really needed to get to the bottom of all of this. Abel needed to open up and tell them more about the Yiga. And maybe... maybe Rusl should tell them about Link's transformative abilities before something terrible truly did happen.

Rusl sighed, looking around as the humidity came back in full force upon exiting the cave. This was... a mess. But at leas the knew Link was alive, and that was all that mattered.

[benevolenterrancy]

AND IT'S COMPLETED! Last chapter finally posted!

The Torchwood team manages to get themselves dumped into the middle of the Korean War and have to struggle their way through injuries, medical staff, time anomalies, demon hunters, and more general confusion than even they're used to dealing with on the regular in order to find a way home.

Meanwhile the MASH crew get a bunch of British spooks who just may win for being the weirdest patients they've ever had, and that's saying a lot.

[daily-scott-smajor]

Day 99- Simplified!

[xlmibby]

i'm a bit emotional about being a guest in xlmi zine because i remember when i was a baby writer. back then, i used to watch big amazing famous writers creating for zines and having a lot of kudos under their fics and getting artworks and a lot of love for their works. one quiet thought in my mind was "i wish i could be like that one day"... and look at me now being like the writers i used to look up to😭😭

[scionshtola]

with certainty

summary: Corisande was forced to heal her own injuries following their battle in Cape Westwind. Y'shtola is none too impressed with the job they did. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul (pre-relationship) word count: 1666 | read on ao3 notes: everything about healing in here i made up. and supplemented with things i saw on grey's anatomy. sorry in advance. and spoilers for the end of ARR. [divider credit]

Behind Corisande, Castrum Meridianum loomed in the distance, the glow of its shields bright against the night sky. Before them, the Alliance troops prepared for the next phase of Operation Archon, spurred on by their successes at the other Garlean outposts thus far. Corisande watched them work, running here and there, voices blending with the sounds of weapons being tended.

If all went well, the troops in front of her would engage the Garlean forces outside while Corisande snuck into the stronghold and disabled its magitek shield generator. If it did not go well, if Corisande let down all of the brave people before her, those willing to risk their lives on the misplaced hope that she succeeded—

They shut their eyes, pushing the thought away. There was always a way for things to go wrong. Now was not the time to dwell on the possibilities.

“Ah, there is our Warrior of Light.”

Searing hot metal closed over Corisande’s wrist. Rhitahtyn sas Arvina stood over them, yanked the chain that linked them and sent them stumbling toward him. She dug her heels into the ground, struggling for purchase in the mud and the grass, churned together by his relentless attacks. It was no use. He was far bigger than them, far more prepared for battle in close quarters, and the manacle on their wrist was blisteringly hot. Pain greater than any they had ever felt before radiated through their arm. She needed distance, needed time to cast, needed her hands free—

“Corisande,” he sneered down at her. Around them, the battlefield was ablaze, flames licking their body as they continued to struggle. She aimed her grimoire at his head, tried to shove him away, anything to create the time and space to cast a spell. If I can just summon Titan… “Are you well?”

They blinked, and the flames receded. The manacle fell from their wrist, leaving behind a phantom pain, as if their skin had been scalded all over again—but it did not truly hurt, not anymore. They had made sure of it.

“Corisande?” Y’shtola’s voice broke through the haze of imagined pain. Where Rhitahtyn towered over her a moment ago, Y’shtola stood peering up at her, her fingers wrapped loosely around their wrist.

“I’m fine,” they answered, and tried to cover the suspiciously quick response with a smile. She tugged her arm free, the tips of Y’shtola’s fingers trailing along the back of her hand, and let it fall to her side, fighting against the urge to cradle it protectively against her chest.

Unsurprisingly, Y’shtola did not seem convinced. She trained her gaze on them, unwavering, concern evident in her bright teal eyes, and reached for their arm again. She took it with a practiced hand, pushing their sleeve back to reveal the web of mottled scars encircling their wrist, a wide, morbid bracelet, the tendrils of which stretched across the back of their hand. 

“When did this happen?” Her touch was firm but gentle as she turned their arm over, examining the scarring from all sides. 

Corisande hesitated, reluctant to do or say anything that might distract from the next phase of the mission. Reluctant to relive the pain in the retelling of it. But she has kept little from Y’shtola in the course of their friendship and as much as she wished not to speak of it, she did not wish to hide it from her either. 

 “A few bells ago,” they finally admitted. “At Cape Westwind. I am afraid I got a little too close to my adversary.”

“A few bells...” Y’shtola prodded at the scars, her eyes narrowing when Corisande did not react. She turned their hand over and skimmed her fingers along the inside of their wrist, brushing the singed edges of what was left of their wrist wrappings. They had not found a moment to replace them since the battle, swept from one task to the next as they were.

“Pray, which healer is responsible for this remarkably poor work?” The sharpness of her words contrasted the gentle hold she kept on their arm. “I should like to have a word with them. A burn so deep as this one appears to have been would take hours to heal properly.”

Corisande would laugh, if it did not feel like so much work. If her skin did not itch, did not feel stretched taut over her bones, fragile and paper thin, at war with the ironic spark of warmth blooming in her chest. Still, that Y’shtola should take such immediate offense to the shoddy quality of care they received was enough to bring a small, fond smile to their face. If only they had someone else to blame. “I will keep that in mind for next time.”

Y’shtola’s eyes widened, gaze flicking between their face and their scar. “You healed yourself?” she asked, at once both incredulous and irritated. “Reforming the layers of skin, repairing the nerves, not to mention the debridement—the pain would have been excruciating. Even more so if not given time to rest between stages. Why did you not come to me?”

Corisande had hardly been able to take two steps after defeating Rhitahtyn, the pain had been so overwhelming. They had tried—one foot in front of the other, just until they reached the others, but they hardly knew where they were going, the pain blinding them to everything around them. Every step had jostled their arm, lightning bolts of pain emanating from their wrist. She’d held her arm to her chest, but every brush of her open wound against her clothes had set her wrist aflame all over again. It had been impossible to think straight.

They had only meant to heal it enough that they could think about something else. Anything else. But Y’shtola was right—the pain of healing had been excruciating, so much so she could hardly keep her eyes open to watch. But she had. She’d watched as the seared bits of her gloves fell from the wound, grit her teeth as the skin began to reform. They had meant to stop, meant to leave the rest until they could find a real healer—until they could find Y’shtola.

But they had never had much control over their healing, had always neglected the study of it for the more interesting act of summoning. She could hardly tell what she was doing, her own cries ringing in her ears, unwilling tears blurring her vision. It had been hard to see, so hard to think about anything but the pain—until there was no pain at all.

“I only meant to make it bearable,” Corisande answered, meeting Y’shtola’s gaze. Her expression flickered, melting from a borderline scowl into softer concern as she looked into their eyes. It lasted only a moment, and then she dropped her gaze to their wrist once more. She prodded at it with cool fingers, then pressed hard against their skin, almost a pinch, pursing her lips when Corisande gasped.

“‘Tis not the prettiest work, but your nerves are intact,” she said neutrally, and let their arm drop to their side.

“You could have just asked.” Corisande rubbed her wrist, though she could not quite hide her amusement at Y’shtola’s straightforward approach. In fact, she found something rather comforting in her lack of gentle bedside manner.

 “Had you proper knowledge of healing magicks, there would be far less scarring,” Y’shtola continued, as if Corisande had not spoken. “But we must make do with what talents we have on the battlefield. That you have healed is of greater import than the manner in which it was done.”

“Come to me should you need any further healing,” she added, in a tone that brooked no argument from Corisande, then narrowed her eyes at them. “But do not expect that I will let you get away with subpar healing forever. A mage of your skill should know how to properly heal themself.”

The laugh that Corisande had struggled to produce moments ago burst easily from her lips now. “I look forward to your lessons, Master Y’shtola.”

Y’shtola smiled, pleased, a touch of mischief in her eyes, and Corisande’s heart swelled with affection, an answering grin forming on their lips. Until Y’shtola’s eyes darted over their shoulder, at the fortress still looming over them, returning to the forefront of their mind all the worries that had fallen to the side when she had first touched them. 

“I would prefer that you rest, but there is still work to be done,” Y’shtola said, staring up at Castrum Meridianum with steel in her eyes. Corisande turned to face the fortress, and for a moment they stood side by side in silence, contemplating the task before them. One more step on the path to Eorzean liberation.

Y’shtola grasped Corisande’s hand. This time she did not look away when their eyes met, and instead returned their gaze with an assurance in her eye that calmed them. “I will see you when you return, Corisande,” she said, giving their hand a comforting squeeze before slipping away to resume her duties amongst the troops.

Corisande took one last look at the looming castrum and let the sound of the battle preparations taking place behind her wash over her. The fate of Eorzea, of everyone behind them, very likely rested on their shoulders. The thought was nearly enough to send them running for the forest they had come from. 

Instead, she turned toward the crowd of people working behind her. Cid was somewhere amongst them, beginning the preparations for the infiltration, and it was past time she sought him out to assist. 

They worked their way through the encampment, a certainty rising within them as they walked. Y’shtola was right—they would see each other again. They were as sure of it as Y’shtola seemed to be herself. 

And they found, suddenly, that they could bear anything, so long as they had that to hold on to.

[end-orfino]

ahhhhhh i remember why i dont read comics & books and watch movies as much as I should. Because they make me lose it

[despairforme]

[hazeism]

[writereleaserepeat]

Chemical Romance

Loosely inspired by @justplainwhump's story Pet Safety. In Pet Safety, the MC drops some details that suggest Romantics in their universe can be chemically altered to need another person nearby. I thought this was a brilliant idea and ran with it for a short story (that I haven't really edited or revised, fuck it we ball).

Summary: After countless trials and many failed experiments, X001 is the first chemically-altered Romantic available for sale. The scientist responsible watches over his subject as she is introduced to her buyer - and carefully-tailored chemical match - for the first time. X001 soon learns what it's like to need someone more than she needs life itself.

CW: institutionalized slavery, implied medical whump, chemical modifications, fade to black noncon/dubcon

X001 knelt patiently on the plush carpet beside the chaise. She could sense that her handler wasn’t quite as patient, particularly with the way he kept twisting the leash between his fingers, a gentle tug on her collar each time.

Perhaps her handler was just as excited as she was. Not just excited, but nervous. X001 hadn’t been this nervous since her first days in training. Today she was going to meet her new owner, her Master, the very person she had been working so hard to learn how to please. A chill ran up X001’s spine, a sensation she was barely able to swallow down. She couldn’t let her nerves show, not now, not when it mattered the most.

Voices murmured outside the door, warm words running together, the comforting hum of idle conversation. No commands came for her, not yet. X001 was certain if there was a command, she wouldn’t miss it. Every sense was attuned to her handler, and soon, to her Master. Her handler had told X001 that if her new Master was satisfied with their trial, she would get to go home with them.

Home was what she had been working so hard towards, wasn’t it? It's what she was made for.

---

“As you can see, ’01 is a physically spectacular specimen,” Val said as he gestured towards the one-way glass. The girl knelt unmoving where she was nestled in the thick pile of the carpet, her posture perfect, and her brilliant green eyes fixed glassily on some distant point. As unflattering as the training facility uniforms could be, it was hard to mistake the delicacy of her petite figure, and impossible to tear one’s eyes from the thick russet curls that cascaded down her shoulders.

At least, that’s what Val had been told to regurgitate from the facility’s marketing materials.

“That’s why I chose her,” the buyer said, his gaze transfixed on the subject, not once turning his attention back to Val.

Perhaps Val would have been irritated if he was in marketing. But that wasn't his business, never had been. He continued, unbothered.

“As you’ve surely been reminded by the purchasing agent, X001 is the first product available for sale with these particular modifications. Although our experimental models have shown great success and promise, there is no guarantee that X001 will perform to specifications.” Val also regurgitated this, all but verbatim, from the materials he’d been given. He wasn’t a salesman, no, he was a scientist.

It had been years of hard work and tireless nights. It had been dozens of destroyed products, specimens that were ruined beyond refurbishment, and millions of dollars of company money poured into equipment and supplies. It had been begging his superiors for another chance, promising them that he would make the company's next cash cow.

Eventually, it had also been a success.

“I hear you,” the buyer said, the patience in his voice slipping. “I’ve been told that same thing at least ten times now. I think it's worth the risk, especially for a pretty thing like that.”

Val’s grip on his pen tightened. He’d waited for this moment for many months now, and it was finally here. It was time to prove himself.

His heart thundered inside his chest, and Val nodded to himself as much as the buyer.

“Very well. Are you ready for your trial to begin?”

Lust dripped from the buyer’s tongue as he answered.

“Absolutely.”

---

A clicking tone came through the intercom, a sound which seemed to signal something to X001’s handler. She didn’t move as he unclipped the leash from the ring on her collar and pulled away. He took a single step, then paused, and she felt his hand rest gently on the top of her head.

“Remember your training. Don’t disappoint me, ’01.”

“Yes, sir.” The demure whisper was one she’d practiced until she’d become hoarse, but today, it was as smooth as honey. X001 was merely grateful it hadn’t cracked under the nerves that strained her body.

The comfort of the hand disappeared. Her handler exited the room, leash in hand, leaving X001 alone.

She knew what came next. It would settle in her stomach within the next thirty seconds, and over the course of five minutes, it would buzz throughout her body like electricity. That insatiable longing, the primal need to be close to a human person, would begin to broil to the surface. Her skin would get covered in gooseflesh, like she had been plunged into an ice bath.

To be isolated like this, utterly alone in a room, would slowly become agony.

X001 thought back briefly to the time before her body had been weaponized. Early in training, before she’d been dragged to the medical wing every morning for new injections and infusions, she hadn’t felt like this. She could be alone in her cell for hours, sometimes days, and be perfectly content with the solitude. Not just content, but grateful.

That had changed, though, and she didn’t know why. They'd done something. Something she'd never have the privilege of understanding.

All X001 did know was that she needed someone. She needed them now, at her side, before the pain in her chest became unbearable. Her handler, a different handler, her Master. Anyone would be enough to settle the unease.

---

“As you can see,” Val explained as gestured towards the subject that sat beyond the glass, “we’ve engineered a nervous response upon isolation from human contact.”

It had hardly been a minute since Handler Jones had left the room, and already X001 was trembling where she knelt. Muscles strained beneath her supple, tanned skin; her effort was apparent as she tried to keep still. Those stunning green eyes, once unblinking, now fluttered nervously.

The warmth in his stomach spread as he watched his experiment succeed, fulfilling his decade of promises to his superiors. Val continued his explanation eagerly.

“Part of this response is conditioning, and part of it is the chemical manipulation I discussed earlier. Her very brain chemistry and nervous system function have been altered to make her not just crave human contact, but require it for survival. The moment you walk in, you should notice her relax. She’ll be inseparable from you. Even in her sleep she’ll reach out for you, her body telling her that she needs your touch.”

The buyer hummed beneath his breath, and he watched ’01 tremble with a languid smile.

“And what if I do leave her alone?”

“That, sir, would be one of the most painful things you could do to her.”

---

Seconds became minutes, and the aching in X001’s chest mounted. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably, her muscles ached, and her head spun. Her training slipped away so easily when she got like this, when she was alone. The only thought she could hold on to was the thought of touching someone, curling up against their body, sinking against their naked skin. It was the only cure for her present sickness.

She dug her fingernails into the soft skin of her palms. Her hands were still folded neatly in front of her, but the subtle flexing gave her something to distract from the pain wracking her body.

No, it wasn’t pain, not exactly. She knew pain, she’d grown accustomed to it. This sensation was need. It was like thirst, or hunger, or desperation for air. Every part of her thrummed in its cadence.

Then the door handle clicked open.

It took all of X001’s training not to throw herself at the man who’d walked into the room. In an instant the discomfort in her body began to ebb, but the fluttering of her heart continued. She wanted to be touched, held, comforted. It was the only cure for the ache deep in her bones.

Although she hadn’t looked up at the man’s face – she wasn’t permitted to – she was drawn in by the intricate designs on his well-polished shoes. The well-tailored pants and unscuffed leather dripped with and air luxury, and a scent of burnt vanilla and whiskey seemed to follow as he entered.

The man sat down on the chaise beside X001, and she had to clench her teeth to stop from leaning into him. Her handler had made it incredibly clear that she was to remain in position, as perfect as she had been trained, until she was granted reprieve. She listened attentively, straining for the sound of a command, hearing as he settled into the soft plush of the furniture, then-

“Release. Come up here with me.”

X001 didn’t need to be told twice.

---

Val couldn’t help but smile, his cheeks aching as he watched years of work pay off before his eyes. ’01 slunk up onto the couch with that effortless fluidity all Romantics were trained in. She slid into the spot beside the buyer’s body, already cozy against his chest without a moment of hesitation. Her chin tucked against his collarbone, her nose buried against his neck, and her body shifted with a deep sigh.

“Shit, she never had this reaction with the test sticks you had us use in training,” Handler Jones said with disbelief.

“That was a very low dose of the buyer’s pheromones,” Val explained, attention only partially on the handler. A mere handler could never understand the beauty and complexity of what was unfolding beyond the glass. “She’s never been given unrestricted access to the source. It must be overwhelming her.”

“Bitch better be able to remember what we’ve worked on these last few months,” the handler grumbled.

If she couldn’t, Val wouldn’t be surprised. The experimental models had been almost delirious when they were first introduced to their chemically engineered pheromone match. This had been the most successful of the chemical alterations he had been pioneering, and X001 was absolute proof of that.

All humans had this reaction, at least, to some extent. Despite having some of the weakest noses in the animal kingdom, the human body still sends messages to other humans in smelling distance. And in these messages the body conveys arousal, genetic compatibility, and desire.

What Val had done was nothing more than play with these senses inside a laboratory's sandbox. It had taken a couple of years of development and chemical tweaking, but Val had finally developed a course of treatments that would make the buyer’s scent irresistible to the product. The treatments overrode the product’s innate senses, the natural desire to find genetic compatibility, something that only the subconscious animal mind could know.

A few weeks of daily injections and that innate instinct was overwritten. The product's true nature had been wiped out, replaced instead with the extact chemical makeup of their new buyer. The scent of the buyer would be irresistible, intoxicating. It would immediately invoke lust, and when coupled with a Romantic's conditioning, it would naturally create the ideal product.

The waitlist for chemically-altered Romantics had already surpassed the waitlist for standard-issue Romantics. After all, who wouldn't want their perfect match, a divine creature that believed in its animal mind that its owner was its perfect match?

---

X001 had never experienced anything like it before. The scent flooding her senses was not merely sweet. Sweetness was something found in baked goods, or the treats that her handler snuck her when she was performing well. This was ambrosia, a full-body sensation that drew her ever-closer to the man on the chaise. It was like the space beside him had been built just for her.

No matter how close she drew herself to the man’s skin, she couldn’t get enough. It was all she could do not to drag her tongue across the hot flesh. She was burning with need, the urge to sink deep into him and never leave.

Hands ran through her hair, across her hips, but she hardly felt them. Instincts from her training took over and she let them move her body. All she cared about was getting closer, her skin warm with the desire for contact with his. All of X001’s instincts were filling her with the need to be with the man, a need even greater than her own need to breathe. It was beyond intoxicating.

Relief and pleasure coalesced as his smooth hands grabbed her hair, her waist, her neck. Bliss. Relief. The understanding in her mind that this was her purpose, and this man is exactly who she was meant for.

If this was truly her Master, she couldn’t imagine anything better.

---

"Hey, labcoat, isn't your job here done?" Handler Jones asked as the buyer began the more intimate engagements of his trial run with X001.

Val pursed his lips and reclined in the seat in front of the one-way mirror.

"I'd like to see the fruits of my labor in action. You've worked in X001 for what, four months? I've worked on this project for more than nine years. This is my moment, my success."

"Whatever you say, man," Handler Jones muttered. "Call me when the bitch has had her fun. I've got two new trainees to worry about, no need for me to watch the show."

Val merely waived the handler off. Solitude is what he needed now, the opportunity to bask in his own success. After all, he deserved it.

No, the thought idly as a grin crept onto his face, I deserve one of these for myself.

[behold-its-something]

“IT’S OKAY HUMAN! YOU HAVE BEEN SO BUSY FACING NEW CHALLENGES AND OVERCOMING DIFFICULTIES. THERE WERE SO MANY OPPORTUNITIES TO GIVE UP OR NOT TRY BUT YOU PERSISTED AND STAYED DETERMINED. LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE ACCOMPLISHED! DON’T JUST BRUSH IT UNDER THE RUG, SILLY HUMAN. EVEN THE LITTLE THINGS WERE STEPS TOWARDS BIGGER THINGS AND YOU SOMETIMES EVEN MANAGED TO MAKE GRAND LEAPS FORWARD, IT LOOKED REALLY COOL WHEN YOU DID THAT, NYEH HEH HEH! SO PLEASE, REMEMBER TO ACKNOWLEDGE YOU ARE MAKING PROGRESS. YOU HAVE BEEN SO STRONG IN WAYS THAT MAY NOT SEEM OBVIOUS BUT CAN BE IN THE MOST IMPORTANT WAYS. CAN’T YOU SEE WHAT I SEE? SEE WHY I AM SO PROUD OF YOU?”

Sometimes I get really sad that my spark of creativity has left me again. I know it will come back and it may be in a different form or medium but still, I miss it. Haven’t been able to enjoy Undertale or the fandom like I used to, makes me feel like I’ve abandoned something I cherished so deeply. All of it still holds a special place in my heart, I just can’t access the same passion I used to have. Though, I can’t help but get a little emotional imagining what Papyrus would say if I apologized for being gone for so long and that it still might be a while until I return.

[roseytoesy]

Disvord snippets 50

number 50! lets gooo! And for this one, we have 3 huge blurbs about music, tastes, and performing with voreish twists!

*first idea. Different musical talents taste different! Say like a specific prey sings heavy rock music. They taste sharp and tangy. Or maybe a pop singer. They could taste sweet or somewhat spicy. This could also work for instrument players! Like say… a violin player tasting very sweet and light. Maybe with some subtle undertones depending on how they play. Like a fiddler would have very strong flavors that fade after a bit. And classical is steady and mellow. Most string instrument players taste light and sweet. Brass players taste slightly metallic (obviously) and have more bold and sudden spice flavors. Woodwinds are very light as well but with more Smokey and meaty? Flavors to them. Percussion obviously is strong flavors and accents. Some taste like energy drinks. Some like ranch or like peppers. Some could even taste like something exotic

*Second idea. A prey is panicking and they need somewhere to hide from the world so the pred swallows them and tries to get them to calm down with some breathing but it seems the prey can’t hear them over their panic. So they use the universal language that anyone can understand. They start to sing. They sing their heart out about how much they care and are worried for the prey. How they want to be there for them and are here around them. The prey may not hear them at first but the vibrations and gentle voice full of care and love would help them calm and as they relax they can finally hear the lyrics and they can’t help but smile and snuggle deeper to feel and hear more of those soft words.

*third idea. Imagine a pred who has amazing talent but is so scared and has stage fright. So what better way to have moral support than from the inside. Maybe they have to sing in front of an audience. Their little friend will be there to help them breathe and ground themselves. Maybe they just focus on their prey as they sing and maybe they even forget they are in front of an audience and start to enjoy the thing they were dreading before. The prey rubbing when they get too tense and even pushing or pulling the walls behind them to help remind the pred to breathe.