#its him and his chaotic children against the world

[huachengslastbraincell]

#i think thry are pretty neat #someone on twt called dan heng a single mom of two and honestly i agree #its him and his chaotic children against the world #lol pls this is joke #hsr #honkai star rail #honkai female mc #dan heng #march 7th #honkai march 7th #honkai dan heng #meme #honkai meme #rpg #video games

[tflaw]

Bless u for papa neuvi 😩👌

now im brainrotting about the melusines that absolutely treats neuvi’s son like their own little brother and helps the reader takes care of him whenever his papa’s too busy with a trial 😩😩😩

౨ৎ ⋆˚ where the heart is ft. neuvilette. reader is referred to as ‘wife’. fluff — or at least an attempt was made ;; ++ here’s another one of papa!neuvillette <33 enjoy !! this is not proofread.

—

having a kid results in a lot of different things. one of which is a perpetually chaotic house right at the crack of a glorious morning. it’s particularly in disarray during weekdays and whenever court necessitates neuvillette’s absence from home.

“i’m sorry to leave you alone this early, darling. but i must, so i can be home before the sun goes down.” neuvillette kisses the top of your head while carrying your little boy in his arms.

“you needn’t worry; this little guy and i can manage. right, sweet boy?” with a smile, you poke at your son’s chubby cheek, earning a soft giggle from his precious lips. “you’ll help mama clean up, won’t you?” he merrily claps his hand in response. “see? that’s our boy.”

“it seems like we have a gentleman in our midst,” neuvillette comments, soft delight evident in his eyes. “take care of mama for me, alright?”

and it’s majestic: the scene before you. neuvillette has struggled a long time to morph emotions that can suffice his heart’s content. looking at him now standing against the sun, its rays forming a halo around his and your son’s bodies while the latter sizes up his tiny hand with his father’s huge one, sudden warmth caresses your chest.

you clasp both their hands tightly with your own, tip-toeing to bestow neuvillette an airy kiss on the lips. “take care, my love,” you murmur.

the unforeseen affection blows open neuvillette’s eyes, casting a hue of glowing red on his cheeks. you’ve been married for years already, and yet his world keep tilting upside down whenever your lips collide. as though the eruption of his world seems not to bother him, he leans in for another kiss— fervid with passion this time.

neuvillette brushes your forehead with his lips as a final seal to the magic you shared. you close your eyes, drinking in his scent, before responsibilities stow him away and buries him neckdeep in work.

“come on, darling.” the little boy lifts his arms reluctantly to you. under his curling brows, on the verge of tears, are twinkling eyes glued to his father.

the father takes his little chin, leaving the little one with a promise of returning home as soon as work permits. then, neuvillette tramps towards the door, only to see three melusines carrying their baskets, smiling from ear to ear.

“father!” they call in unison. sundry of greetings soon followed; each of them eager to wish neuvillette an agreeable and smooth journey ahead. “mother!” they beam, canting their heads to peek at you from the doorstep. it’s mamere, puca, and canotila.

neuvillette steps aside to let the children inside the house. they dash for the boy, faces gleaming with joy at beholding their sibling’s little frame.

“will you stay with mother while i’m gone?” neuvillette inquires, crouching to meet the melusines’ level.

three heads nod at once. neuvillette opens his arms, then, to embrace the three melusines. they murmur their goodbyes and promises that you and the baby will be alright. albeit flooded with the need to stay, which is exceedingly evident on neuvillette’s face, he departs for the court of fontaine. and thus, your day with the children begin.

“who wants to help mother bake?”

all three jump on their toes; puca and canotila have followed you to the kitchen, while mamere occupies herself by playing with your son.

not a day goes by that your house wouldn’t be flooded by the melusines. they contribute a great degree in making the air much vibrant with all their jovial disposition.

it’s a life you’ve been well-acquainted with ever since sealing the vow with neuvillette. the melusines are a part of you as much as their father is.

—

people used to name neuvillette as an immovable pillar; before the heaps of paper on his desk, he’s a man of patience and perseverance. he passes the opportunity of sleep without second thoughts if work demands his extended time in attending matters concerning the region.

however, he has acquired a strict sense of time after his marriage. once the clock finally signals his departure, it matters not whether papers keep piling on his desk, neuvillette will stand up and journey towards home.

he cannot help it; the tightness between his ribs and the ever-growing need to be with his family are too palpable to ignore. and it would seem as though a great part of him is being cut down the longer he’s away from home.

only the image of the house, with lights glowing from the inside, has been a salve to his rather impatient need to be in your arms.

“welcome home—”

he embraces you, then, cleaving the words you wish to speak. he embraces and sniffs at your hair, letting the heat of your body travel to his own, caressing the coldness away.

“i’ve missed you dearly, my love,” he murmurs, a little embarrassed, yet a whole lot fulfilled.

you giggle against his chest, the sound going straight to his heart where it marked yet another reason of why neuvillette loves you more than life itself.

“we’ve missed you, too. come into the house, darling. taste the cake we’ve made.”

“where are the children?” neuvillette asks, noticing the silence prevailing inside. normally, the melusines together with the little boy would be all around the house this time around; laughing and filling the corners with their merriment.

“oh, come! let me show you something.” you tug at your husband’s hand, exuding radiance that almost blinded him. “all of the children are currently in dreamland.”

you open the door to your room. upon the sight which greeted him, all the day’s worries and baggages shred off his skin. there, on the bed, the melusines are sleeping soundly. they’re formed in a cirle around his little boy, their chests heaving slowly. everything is peaceful.

“welcome home, my love,” you whisper once more, squeezing his hand and rubbing your cheek against his arm.

voice mixed with a sweet cadence, he answers, “i am home.”

#neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

It genuinely keeps me up at night that when Van Eck attempts to reveal to the Merchant Council that Wylan can’t read, they all react exactly as Wylan feared they would. (Spoilers ahead!) Of course since they don’t believe him and Wylan’s brilliant memory for Jesper’s words protects him we don’t see the full force of their response, but it is made PAINFULLY clear that they all would have responded the same way Van Eck did - “How could you say such things about your own blood?”. It’s an incredibly meaningful and arguably subtle detail that Bardugo implements to remind the reader that although Van Eck was our main antagonist in this case, there is no singular villain in this story because what the characters are fighting is an ultimately unbeatable source. The system is impossible to truly defeat because it is a hydra, we see that when Dryden’s father died he took on the role of the Council and acted the exact same way he did, and if Van Eck had raised Wylan to one day take over from him then he too would have been forcibly moulded into that shape by the poisonous environment of this governing body. The defeat of Van Eck, had Kaz not amended his will to name Wylan his inheritor, would have been only that: the downfall of a singular man, to be easily replaced by another with the same dangerously capitalistic values and crude methods of implementing them. It would not have been any change in the system that oppresses the main characters - I think it’s kind of similar to the Hunger Games (spoilers ahead) when Katniss chooses to kill Coin instead of Snow because she realises that killing Snow doesn’t actually change the system if someone else will simply step into his shoes. We also see this reflected in Kaz and his mission to destroy Rollins, since by doing so he too has taken the actions Rollins did. When Inej points out their similarities he denies it, saying “I don’t sell girls, I don’t con helpless kids out of their money”. Inej replies with the gentle, HEARTBREAKING sentence: “Look at the floor of the Crow Club, Kaz”. And this is so important because Kaz has no consideration for what happens to those people once they step outside his door. How do they fair after he scams them? How many of them have had no other money to fall back on? Did one of them sell their daughter to be able to pay off their debts to him? He’d never know, he just had the money and that’s all he thinks about. But if that girl survived long enough to want revenge, who would she blame? Say she didn’t want to blame her parents, like Kaz doesn’t want to blame Jordie, then who becomes the manifestation of all her hatred, the one thing she has decided that destroying will cure her? Kaz does. Just as Rollins has for him.

Every system of this city is a hydra, and there are so many beautifully written reminders of this without forcing it down our throats, but there is also the hope of genuine, real change. In Wylan, joining the Merchant Council as someone opposed to its views, as someone who has lived in both sides of this city and been abused by both of them, as someone who understands that real change is hard to implement. In Inej, as she journeys against the system that abused her not for revenge, but for the protection of all the children who have been hurt and killed, of all the children being hurt and killed, and of all the children who would have been hurt and killed if she didn’t stop the slavers who sought them, as someone who knows that real change is action. In Jesper, as someone raised far from the suffocating closed-minded atmosphere of the Merchant Council and who can support Wylan through it, as someone who knows that striving for real change is messy and chaotic, but that it’s where he thrives. In Matthias, who died believing that the world could truly change, who died believing in Nina, believing in himself, and believing that his death was a necessary sacrifice to real change, even though he wanted it to be peaceful. In Nina, as someone who had learned that real change cannot always be won with violence, as someone who will learn to use her new power to restructure a civilisation, as someone who will spend the rest of her life striving for change because nothing could ever be worse than her beloved having died in vain. And in Kaz, in the small ways, in the fear of what he could become that will hold him back from becoming the next head of the hydra, in his love for Inej shifting his perception of the world, and in his slow journey of healing, maybe one day killing Rollins will be enough. And if that doesn’t work, he’ll burn the world down and start it all again.

#every so often I start to think I’ve run out of posts for you guys #then something like this hits me #there’s always something new to say #i love it #grishaverse #six of crows #leigh bardugo #crooked kingdom #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #nina zenik #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #kanej #wesper #helnik #book analysis #fantasy books #soc analysis #soc analyst #soc meta

[cinewhore]

The Wrath of a Mother

Pairing: Thomas "Tommy" Shelby x fem!reader word count: 3k warnings: violence, heavy angst, kidnappings, blood, gore, guns, fighting. summary: Thomas Shelby discovers his wife's past. A/N: more peaky blinders brain rot for you all. not much else to say. no beta cause I say so! Enjoy. Credits to the gif artist.

The chaotic melody of jazz was cut off by the sound of screams.

Tommy didn’t like jazz which is why you waited for him to leave before putting the record on. It had been a tiresome day, dealing with the children, being the lady of the house. You sent the majority of the staff away, with the exception of a few maids to help with your children. The girls were young and foolish, always giggling behind their hands. 

You pay the shouts no mind, until they grow louder, the high pitched squeals of the girls being intertwined with the yelling of men. 

Suddenly, a shot rings out. You instantly cut the record, dashing into the children’s room. Oliver wakes up with ease while Alice fusses. You hated disrupting them but had no choice, telling them they were going to have a special sleepover in the guest room. 

“Now, mommy is going to go and grab some snacks. I’m going to lock the door, to keep the pesky monsters away! Mommy or daddy will come back to get you, ok?” 

Your oldest nods, the best big brother to his sister. You press a quick kiss to both their heads, not daring to look back at them before shutting the door. 

The world seemed to slow down after that. You weren’t aware of how much time had passed, couldn’t ignore the ringing in your ears, the exhilaration of shock and adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream. 

It was enough to blind a man. 

Someone was hollering your name but you couldn’t make out whose voice it belonged to. 

Hands abruptly clasp your shoulders and you shriek, twisting your body in a way to fend off whoever dared to attack you next. You try to ram the knife into the arm of your assailant but another pair of hands snatch your weapon away, leaving you defenseless. 

Tommy crawls on his knees in front of you, grasping the side of your face tightly. You squirm and squirm but stop as he shakes you. 

“It’s alright! It’s me! It’s just me!” He could tell that you were trying to comprehend what was happening and that your body was moving on its own accord, still engaged in fight or flight mode. 

“Arthur, let her go.” 

The oldest brother shoots Tommy a look. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes!” 

Arthur drops his hold on you and you sag forward, arms wobbling against the wooden floors, hands drenched with blood. 

“It’s alright, love. You’re ok, it's finished now.” 

It was over. You had won, however, the thin veil between this life and the old one had been hastily torn down. 

“Where are the children, hm?”

You shake your head, his words unclear to you. 

“Our children, where are they?! Alice and Oliver, where are they?” 

You raise a weakened arm and point towards the end of the corridor. “Guest room closet…I locked it-” 

“Michael, go check!” Thomas shouts. His cousin takes off without another word.

It was all too much. The noise, the lights, the commotion. Pushing yourself up on your knees, you combat Tommy and the grip he held on you, dead set on getting into a place where you could shut it all out. 

You stumble down the hallway and the flight of stairs, only tripping a few times before making it out the front door. You make it just past the hedges and collapse, stomach churning while you vomit.  

Arthur was close by, tentative of his approach. He didn’t want to scare you off further. He advances steadily, arms outstretched to show that he meant no harm. 

“It's ok, love. It’s just, Arthur. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” 

You nod, wiping at your mouth. “There were so many-" 

“Yeah. Yeah, there were. You fought them all.” 

“I didn’t- didn’t mean to kill anyone-” 

You let Arthur close enough so that he could hold your hands, uncaring of the blood smeared across yours. 

“Listen to me, eh? You’re gonna have the shakes. Your hands are gonna feel like they’re made of fucking lead. S’all normal. I just need you to breathe cause it looks like you’re gonna faint.” 

You mimic Arthur as he breathes in and out, slowing down your beating heart. You surge forward and hug your brother in law, catching him by surprise. He panics for a moment before hugging you back, rocking the two of you. 

“You did good, sister. You did good.” 

You didn’t speak about it for two weeks. 

You knew that he wanted an explanation, you felt it every time the two of you were in the same room. There was a lingering stare he would give you that he gave to each of his enemies. It was menacing, calculating and ominous. You knew the longer it took for you to offer up clarification for your actions, the more he began to suspect that you were placed in his house, in his bed, based off of an ulterior motive. If that were the case, you would’ve killed him by now but Tommy was no fool nor was he new to this type of life. He knew when people played with their food before eating and he refused to be swallowed by you. 

His lovely, little wife. 

It was a pleasant Sunday morning. You figured after breakfast you’d take the children into the gardens, perhaps have them splash around in the pond to tire them out before lunch. Tommy’s side of the bed was empty and cold by the time you woke up, which didn’t surprise you. 

The lack of boisterous noise coming from the children is what tipped you off. 

You remain calm as your lady’s maid helps you dress for the day, swapping out your gowns for a nice riding outfit. 

“Lily, where are the children?” you query the young girl. 

“Mr. Shelby arranged for them to spend the day with Ada, madam. She collected them this morning.” 

You rock your jaw, vexation settling into your features. He secluded you, tapered off the one distraction you wouldn’t be able to use against him. 

“Thank you, Lily. Where is Mr. Shelby?”

“He’s awaiting you in the dining hall for breakfast.” 

Nodding, you finish your last little bit of preparations before seeking out your husband. 

Thomas was a sight to behold. He sat in the chair facing away from the window, the morning glow casting a hazy aura around him. He held the newspaper in front of him with rigidness, eyes covered with his spectacles, long eyelashes gracing his cheeks whenever he looked down or blinked. 

You don’t bother clearing your throat, knowing your husband was programmed with an innate capability of being able to detect when he was no longer alone. He huffs out an exhale, flipping the pages of the paper. 

Frances pulls your seat out for you and you thank her, watching as she pours you a cup of coffee. 

“Shall I crack your egg for you?” 

You shake your head. “No, thank you. I actually find that I don’t have much of an appetite this morning.” 

“Shall I ask the cook to prepare something different for you? Perhaps you’d like some fresh fruit? We just received some apples.” Frances tries again. 

You give a sympathetic smile to the older woman, always grateful for her thoughtfulness and warmth. “I’ll just have some water.” 

Frances pours you a hefty glass, bowing slightly as she exits the room. 

You take a quaint sip from the glass as Tommy folds the paper, tucking it underneath his plate. 

“Are you sure you’re not hungry? The toast was quite delicious.” 

“You sent the children away without telling me.” You place the glass carefully on the table, using the condensation to wet your neck. 

“I am their father, I can make decisions about where they go.” Tommy hums, rolling his neck to finally get a look at you. Even on low hours of sleep and no makeup, you were a natural beauty. You fixed your hair up in a way that he especially liked, the pins keeping it held firmly in an ornate fashion. 

“You don’t send my children anywhere without me knowing about it.” You bite back coolly. 

“Well,” He claps his hands together. “I figured we could use a day to ourselves. Frances has made us a nice picnic near the edge of the garden, our horses have been saddled and for the ultimate surprise, we’ll be shooting pheasants for dinner.” 

You force out a grin, swallowing down the lump that was squirming its way up your throat. “What a perfect day.” 

The picnic was gorgeous and you hated the way you tore into your food after skipping breakfast. Tommy made little conversation and you obliged him for the time being, willing yourself not to disassociate. 

He was setting you up. While you remained neutral about the usage of guns and their place in the house, you always refused to shoot one if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Tommy had given you one for protection and you kept it locked in a box, stored in the back of your wardrobe. The last thing you wanted was for the kids to find it. 

Maurice, a stablehand, was already stationed near the edge of the forestline, a trap full of pheasants at his disposal. Tommy hands you a shotgun and the both of you prepare them for the task. He’s the first one to shoot and achieves a few hits, your duo of foxhounds sprinting to capture them. 

You check over your gun once more, ensuring that it wouldn’t backfire and injure your shoulder. 

“I’ll take four.” You tell Maruice and he gawks at you before straightening his posture. 

“Are you sure, ma’am?” 

Raising a single eyebrow was enough to get the young man to hush, nodding his head that he understood. “Be quick when handing me the other gun.” 

“On your signal.” 

You raise your weapon upwards, relaxing in your stance and emitting a low release of breath. 

“Pull.” 

The flapping of wings alerts your senses. Watching them disperse into the sky, you aim your gun a few paces ahead, striking two birds instantly. Rapidly swapping out guns, you anchor yourself a bit before plucking off the remaining two. The dogs are happy as they trot to gather the rest of the birds. 

Maurice seeks to hide his amusement but fails. “Great fucking shot, Mrs. Shelby!” 

“Thank you, Maurice. Hang two of them for dinner, please.” 

You don’t say another word as you set off for the stream nearby, Tommy close behind. 

You strip off your shoes and socks, placing your slightly blistered feet into the running waters. Tommy takes a seat beside you, lighting a cigarette. 

“Are we going to talk or keep playing the silent game?” 

“You’re the one who makes speeches.” 

Tommy chuckles. “You’re a great shot.” 

“I know.” 

“I just want to understand how a woman such as yourself swore of guns but managed to take on six armed men with the precision and execution of someone who enlisted.” 

You snap your head over. “What, so you think I’m a spy now, huh? Is that it? A Soviet spy sent to crush Thomas Shelby and his empire from within? Give me a fucking break.”

“I’m not picking a fight with you-” 

“But you are! That’s what this is, isn’t it? A fight that has gone on for far too long.” 

Tommy goes silent, like he always does. At this point the both of you realize that you were no longer referring to the conversation at hand but what was left unsaid in between the lines. You let yourself wallow in the anger for just a few more moments before exhaling deeply.  

Absent-mindedly, you pick at the tiny blades of grass, ripping and ripping until they scatter out of your hands like confetti. 

“I was framed,” you start. Tommy perks up at the sound, lighting a cigarette. He attempts to pass it to you but you refuse it. “I was young, barely a teen. An orphan.” 

“The New Prospects Orphanage in the Netherlands.” Tommy comments and you nod your head. 

“On Wednesdays, we would take walks around the city so we could be shown what proper ladies were like. There was a girl, Claire, who would sometimes sneak in our group and walk with us. We were friends. The older girls were vile and teased her. Pushed her down a flight of stairs. She cracked her skull.” 

You stop at the mention of your old friend, rushed memories of that fateful day speeding through your mind at the speed of light. You remember the blood slowly leaking out from behind her head, staining the white hair bow she wore. 

“I reached out to try and grab her, if anything we would’ve fallen together but she slipped right through my grasp. I was blamed and whilst they were discussing what to do with the police, I took off.” 

You look at Tommy, who was already eyeing you with precision. “I apparently made some very bad fucking enemies that day.” 

He began putting pieces together mentally, filling in the gaps of his research. From what he had gathered, you were at an orphanage until you were twelve, moved to the States until you were eighteen before making your way back to London. You remained lowkey, worked jobs mostly as a secretary and lived a bland existence until he met you a few years after being back from France. 

You steal his cigarette, sucking on the stick like it was the last one on earth. 

“Claire came from a notable family within the Netherlands. Her brother wouldn’t stop until he saw my head on a stick. They sent people after me.” 

Tommy sticks his tongue out to wet his lips briefly. “Eli Delbeke.” 

“Eli Delbeke.” you repeat. 

He was one of the six bodies Tommy discovered after the carnage. He knew who you were, the woman you tried to hide behind. He hunted you until he cornered you in your own house, threatened to feed your children to his dogs. Eli had sent nearly every thug, gangsta, and man for hire after you. You managed to defeat them all.

You didn't like how easy it was for you to snap someones neck, hated the way blood circled the drain during a shower.

“He knew you were going to be alone.” Tommy concludes. “He knew about the rally.” 

“As far as I’m concerned, there shouldn’t be any more of them alive. I survived the onslaught. And you want to know what lesson he could’ve learned?” 

You put out the cigarette beside you, coughing. “Grief isn’t good for business.” 

It happened so fast that you didn’t have time to blink. The foundation was in full swing at its grand opening, members of high society swarming all around you. You wouldn’t lie and say you were thrilled to be there but this was Tommy’s moment and as his wife, you had to play your part. 

Photographs were taken and you smiled politely, Alice in your arms and Oliver hiding behind your leg. The boy was utterly shy and you hated placing him in situations like this. Balancing Alice on your hip, you shoot an apologetic look at Tommy and the others, awaiting a photo op. 

You brush back Oliver’s hair, trying to coax him forward. “Come on, Oli. It’s ok! We’ll smile very quickly for a photo and then we can go wait outside for daddy.” 

Tommy grows impatient and grabs Oliver, taking him by surprise. He begins to sob and thrashes around in Tommy’s hold. 

“Shelby family, look this way!” The photographer instructs and you all oblige. The flash goes off and the crowd around begins to disperse.  A woman in a maid outfit reaches for Oliver and Tommy hands him off willingly, eager to get away from the clamoring of chatty women. You were busy adjusting Alice’s dress, setting her back down on the ground.

You look around for Oliver, noticing you couldn’t hear his cries anymore. 

“Oliver?” you call out to no avail. “Oli?” 

Clutching Alice’s hand, you ask around the room if anyone has seen a little boy. All people shake their heads, your panic grows more by the minute. 

Polly senses your agitation. “What’s wrong, dear?” 

“It’s Oliver. We just took a photo, I sat Alice down but when I looked up, he was gone.”

Polly gives you a look you know too well and your face drops. “Oh, Poll-” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” 

Polly alerts other members of the family, sending them in different directions. She then escorts you out into a more secluded area of the building. 

Ada and John join you, all with forlorn expressions. 

“Nobody has seen ‘em.” John reports, Ada backing his claim. She places a protective hand on your back, guiding you to sit on a bench. 

“Let me hold her.” she says calmly and you reluctantly let go of Alice. 

Arthur and Tommy march up to the family, fists balled and faces set like stones. 

“He was seen being taken in a car by some woman.” Arthur shares, eyes downcast. You stand up abruptly, stepping a few paces away from everyone else. Breathing becomes a difficult task and you clutch at your chest. 

The familiar sensation of rage and anguish sneaks upon you, digging its sharp claws deep into the fiber of your being. 

Tommy folds himself over you in an endeavor to console you. “This is all my fault. I will fix it. Don’t you fucking worry, I will fix this. Those fucking Italian bastards will not get away with this. It’s going to be ok, I promise.” 

You cock your head to look at your husband, the only thing visible from beneath your hat was your red brimmed eyes. A lone tear escapes and you refuse to let any others do the same. 

It was if you were possessed by the devil himself.  

You straighten yourself up, sniffling quietly. “Ada, give me my child.” 

Ada does as she is told and if you were being more observant, you might say that Ada feared you in that moment. 

You were going to see to it that whoever took your child would die by your hands. 

They weren’t going to fear you as Tommy’s wife nor as a Shelby but as a fucking mother. 

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #Thomas shelby x fem!reader #Thomas Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x fem!reader #fic: The Wrath of a Mother

[sadhornyygirl]

Kinktober

Day 18: Hate-fucking (billy loomis)

- Fear? — Eric repeats the same question in a provocative tone.

She turns her face in the macabre, dimly lit environment, letting me see her irritated expression.

— It’s going to take half an hour, damn it — He says between his teeth.

Jack barks and tries to go after a doll that walks by us singing a little children's song that isn't peaceful.

Eric laughs, but stops when a bloodcurdling scream rings through the room we're in. More people who entered with us begin to scream and scatter throughout the house, disappearing from our sight.

— You talk about me so much, but you're also peeing your pants — Briana teases Eric.

— Oh, shut up and walk — He orders, pushing us forward.

When I go to stow my small bag on my shoulder, my eyes lock on the person with a mask and black hoodie staring at me through the countless pieces of glass. My heart accelerates and I look back, seeing him disappear through a door.

— I don't think we should have come to this shit — I say, still staring at the door where the clown disappeared.

—Are you scared? — Briana laughs, but seems nervous.

— I have a bad feeling... — I say, looking around.

I feel something strange and the masked man intrigued me, even if he was just another attraction.

— Have you seen the place you are in? — Eric is sarcastic, but I see his throat swallow hard.

We move to another room and I scream softly when someone runs their hand through my hair, and when I look back, there's no one there.

— Someone also touched my arm! — Eric says, looking around.

Jack barks and growls, position ready to attack.

— Relax, they're just fantasy people... — She stops talking when a faceless, all-black figure advances towards her. Briana does the most unexpected thing in the world. She punches him.

The figure, which appears to be a guy, staggered back a few steps with his hand on his non-existent nose. Jack barks, but at least he doesn't seem aggressive.

- Cum! — Briana curses, grabbing the hand she used to punch the man.

— Shit, Briana! — Eric says, but he seems to want to laugh — The guy is just working — He walks up to the guy.

Briana rests her hand on her heart looking at her victim with an awkward smile, but I can say for sure that the blood has disappeared from her well-defined face.

Eric laughs, but it stops when zombies start coming through the door Briana is heading towards. She stops in place and starts walking backwards, pulling Jack with her.

— I... I'm afraid of zombies... — Eric whispers next to me, his eyes wide.

When I least expect it, he runs through the other door and Briana follows suit, tugging at the skirt of my dress so I can follow them. Jack tries to stop in place when I see that I haven't even left mine and barks, as if calling me.

My breath catches when I see a spider crawling up the face of one of the zombies, specifically in its eye. Or what's left of it. I scream and run in the direction my friends went.

I see Eric running in another direction and when Briana goes to follow him, a woman dressed in white blocks her path, making her go in the opposite direction. As if her neck was broken, she slowly turns it towards me, fixing her eyes on me.

She walks towards me and I look at the door next to me, seeing the zombies coming. Unable to follow my friends, I run in another direction. I clutch my bag against my stomach, fearing it will fall in the process. A man with a knife comes up to me and I widen my eyes, entering the first room I find.

I slam the door, locking it and move away from it a little. Someone turns the doorknob trying to get in, but fails miserably. I sigh, relieved that at this moment I have at least a little peace in the chaotic environment.

That's what I thought, but chills rise throughout my body and I swallow hard, looking back. Standing just a few meters away from me is the same masked guy who stared at me in the mirror. He takes a step forward and I take another step back.

I turned my back and walked towards the door, grabbing the handle. Just as I'm about to turn it, a hand slams against the old wood, making me jump in fright. My heart is in my mouth, refusing to beat properly again.

He's after me, and has me right where he's wanted me this whole time. Alone.

I take my pocket knife out of my bag and slowly turn towards him, raising my eyes to him.

- Who are you? — I ask with a trembling voice, gripping my knife tightly.

The stalker is leaning on the door by his elbows, his arms on either side of my head, trapping me in his cage. And I don't know if I'll be able to get out of it.

- What you want? — I insist, ready to kill him if necessary.

The stalker tilts his head to the side, seeming to study me.

— I won't ask again — I say through gritted teeth — Who. Cum. AND. You? — I ask for the last time.

He takes one of his hands away from the door and carefully, I see his hand go up my neck, his fingers sliding over my skin in a gesture that I almost don't feel. He grabs my neck, pressing me against the door.

The gesture is so familiar that my heart missed a beat when I recognized it.

146

— Billy… — His name leaves my lips in a whisper.

For proof of something I feel deep in my bones, I reach for the back of his head, and rip off the mask in a quick motion.

A gasp escapes me as I stare at the messy strands falling into the cruelest icy eyes I've ever seen. And they're staring at me with unparalleled amusement and mischief.

—Are you calmer, love? — He asks in a hoarse voice, looking into my eyes.

I swallow hard, trying by some miracle to get through the door with the strength of my mind. He's too close for my own good.

— Are you silent now? he asks, stroking my chin with his thumb.

His eyes scan my entire face with a kind of adoration, but there's also anger in them.

— I told you to leave me alone, you psychopath — I find my voice, moving his hand away from my neck.

Even though my skin misses your touch, I ignore it.

— And I said you only had a few hours to calm down — He says, resting his arms on either side of my head — Tick tock, time up, little monster... — I smiled.

I take a deep breath, clenching the blade.

— I don't want you anymore, can you understand that in that sick mind of yours? — I touch my own temple — We're done here, whatever shit we had — I lift my chin.

Billy laughs softly, shaking his head. I just feel the anger slowly grow in my chest, radiating throughout my body.

— Own, I love your naivety — He leans towards me until our noses almost touch — You'll have to kill me if you want this to end — He slides his nose along my cheek.

— As you wish — I reply, raising the knife towards his neck.

I don't know if it was anger or an impulsive desire, but I really intend to kill Billy. But he notices it too quickly, managing to dodge in time. But not enough to stop me from cutting your left cheek.

Billy lets go of me, taking a few steps back. He touches his cheek, staring at his blood-stained fingers. Then he lifts his head, letting me see the small cut, about two centimeters long.

I slightly widen my eyes when I see his darken darkly. I move my gaze down when a bulge in Billy's pants catches my eye. He's hard?

In response, I clench my thighs as I feel my core throb.

- Congratulations love. You just need to be more accurate — Billy says through his teeth in a dark voice, approaching me with blood running down his cheek.

He makes to grab me, but in one quick movement, I manage to hit his groin with my knee. Billy lets out a grunt, falling to his knees in front of me. I don't think as I turn to the door and open it.

Before I can pass it, a huge hand grabs my ankle and I turn to Billy. I kick his face with my other foot, making him fall on his side and consequently letting me go.

— If you wanted to play tag, you just said so, love! — I hear Billy scream, and it seems so, so close.

Desperate, I quicken my steps, feeling my heart want to come out of my mouth. It's like a horror movie and Billy is the ghostface trying to kill me. Following me. He comes without rushing because he knows that at the end of this, he will eat me alive.

I go into a room where there is no one and lock the door.

— Little monster... — Billy knocks on the door — Let me in, okay? You don't want me to blow and knock it over... — He says between his teeth, then laughing.

— Fuck you, you sicko! — I growl, running towards the other door that will lead me out.

— I bet you're wet right now... — Billy says, making me stop with my hand on the doorknob — Are you turned on by all this chasing? Is your pussy dripping for me, love? — He asks in a hoarse voice.

I rub my thighs together, denying myself. Refusing to believe that I'm enjoying this. No, I abhor what he's doing now. Because admitting that his pursuit turns me on is also admitting that I'm just as sick as he is. I ignore how affected I am and open the door, running into the other room. I need to get out of here, I need to find my friends and get out of this damn house.

I walk past her when they grab my hair from behind and pull me back inside, making me scream. I try to hit Billy again, but he grabs my arm and pins it behind my back, turning me to face him.

- Let me go! — I command, trying to pull my arm from his grip.

Billy looks up at me and my breath catches in my throat when I see the cut I made on his cheek and the thin, short trickle of blood escaping his nose. Consequence of my kick.

— Every time you use that knife on me, I get harder — He says, licking his lips while staring at mine.

Yes, I can feel the bulge poking my belly.

— It's because you're crazy — I say with disdain, raising my chin in affront.

— Yes, for every detail of yours — He says between his teeth, grabbing my hair with one of his hands again — But damn, I want to kill you now — He growls, squeezing my throat.

I stand on my tiptoes as his grip becomes almost unbearable and I feel my pussy throb. Traitor.

— She calls me sick but she's rubbing her thighs like a masochistic little bitch just because she's being hanged — She tilts her head to the side, looking at me.

— I knew you were sick, but not to the point of delirium — I tease with a smile, my voice muffled by his hand on my neck.

— I love your debauchery, but I'm very angry with you, love... — He says — You hurt my dick, but I'm sure it wasn't because you wanted to, right? — He asks with an affectionate intonation.

— I'm sorry, next time I'll make sure your heirs aren't born — I smile disdainfully.

I try to free myself once more, but it seems impossible.

— Next time, they'll be growing in your belly — Billy smirks, letting go of my hair and running his thumb along the wrist of my neck.

— Kneel — he orders, making me throb.

— I'm going to hate you at the end of all this, Billy — I whisper.

He nibbles my lip.

— Lie with your mouth on my dick — Send it.

He squeezes my scalp and I moan, falling to my knees in front of his body. Looking from below, it gets even bigger. It's like a giant that can crush me at any moment.

He lets go of my hair and takes his own hands to the zipper of his pants, pulling it down and undoing the button. He reaches into his underwear and pulls out his dick. It stands before my lips and I sigh, seeing it harder than ever.

The head is so red and the veins stand out around it. The pre-cum leaks out, sliding through him.

"Him," Billy ordered.

Looking at him in defiance, I place the thick head of his cock in my lips, sucking it. The salty taste of cum explodes on my palate and I go down even further, putting almost half of it in my mouth.

I see Billy throw his head back and groan, but still looking down at me. I narrow my eyes at him the moment I bite down on his dick. He curses, gripping my strands hard enough for me to let go and walk away.

— If you only knew how much this turns me on... — I smiled, sliding the head of his cock past my lips.

The gag reflex kicks in but controls it in time, at the exact second that Billy drags himself out and comes back with a vengeance. Tears well up in my eyes from the lack of air, but I find myself relaxing my jaw and moaning around his cock. My thighs tighten and I try to keep up with his rhythm.

He doesn't let me reason when, with his hand in my hair, he pulls me up. Billy turns me onto my back and presses my cheek to the cold wall, and I feel his cock between my thighs. He lifts my dress and then I feel a tug and the sound of tearing fabric. My panties.

- What are you doing…? — I ask even though I know the answer.

Billy doesn't answer me, he just shoves himself inside me and in a quick gesture my eyes widen at the sudden intrusion, my head kicking back and a scream escaping my numb lips.

— Fucking beg — He orders, his hand grabbing my neck.

I smirk slightly, pulling the knife away from his neck and grabbing the back of his head as I lean towards him. My lips brush his as I wrap one of my arms around his shoulders, hugging him.

— Please fuck me. Take me…” I whimper, pulling his lip towards me.

I scream loudly when in one quick movement, Billy thrusts himself inside me without an ounce of gentleness at the same time he bites one of my nipples hard. I should be disgusted by all this violence towards me, but I look more and more ready to explode.

I hate that. I love that.

I scream as the orgasm explodes, taking over my entire body and clouding all my senses. I hear nothing but a thin buzzing sound and see nothing other than the stars twinkling in my field of vision.

I whimpered as my orgasm-sensitive pussy contracted around him. Around your dick that seems to want to tear me in half. He fucks me so hard that I choke and I don't know where he starts or where I end.

— S-Stop... I can't take it anymore — I moan, scared by the desire that grew again in my stomach.

Billy's laugh makes my pussy throb and suck him in, like it's hungry and only he can finish it.

My body is turned sideways and one of Billy's hands is on the side of my head, while the other is holding me by the thigh, pulling me against his body. This position allows me to feel his cock from a different angle.

It feels deeper.

— I...I'm going to cum again — I cry. I'm so sensitive it hurts.

His hips don't stop and my breathing quickens.

— I-I'm going to... I'm going to pass out — I whisper with a broken voice as my legs shake.

But Billy ignores me, his hips speeding up and his thrusts becoming more animalistic. I cry, shaking my head as I flatten my hand on his broad chest through his sweatshirt.

— Even if you deny it, your body is mine, as is your heart. And no one else can have them, love.

Just when I think he's going to continue, his whole body goes rigid and he stops abruptly, spilling himself inside me. Hot jets fill me and it's impossible not to moan and whimper at the sensation.

— You have until tomorrow at 11:59 pm to stop acting like a spoiled brat and start believing in me again. — Speak, giving me a peck.

#slasher smut #scream smut #billy loomis smut #scream #billy loomis x reader #halloween #friday the 13th #michael myers smut #jason voorhees imagine #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[rottenpumpkin13]

You've put me in the mind for angst.

Scenario at HQ in which Hojo has had enough and just utterly mentally breaks Sephiroth. I mean beyond his usual shit. He doesn't need a Nibelheim situation. He just BREAKS him 😈😈😈

You got it!

-

Every time Hojo sent for him, a part of his body braced for impact. Sephiroth woke up some mornings nauseated, as if his nervous system had grown accustomed to presenting him anxiety first thing in the morning like a cup of coffee, and the only way to drink his fill, so to speak, would be to refresh his inbox and hope Hojo’s name wasn’t there.

As a child, it was his limbs and outer body he dreaded being submitted to Hojo’s hands. Sephiroth had sensitive skin that would bruise easily, a height the scientist deemed 'unsatisfactory' but perfect to overpower, and lungs too small to hold the amount of Mako pumped into them.

But Sephiroth grew up, his body hardening into an unbreakable shell no man could harm in a way that mattered. But his spirit waned. Children have the advantage of easily collecting hopes and dreams like seashells on the beach. It came so naturally to him, even in a childhood spent in isolation and forced labor. By the time Sephiroth became an adult, that wonder that kept his childhood body alive had waned. It was his mind that took the tolls now, as if his spirit stood at the frontlines of a war against him and the world, defending his fragile psyche against the things that could make his body shut down.

The morning Hojo would call him to his office for the last time was no different—an ironic thought, once you take into account that had Sephiroth known it would be the last time, he would’ve gone about it with a spring in his step. But he didn’t.

He left his mountain load of work that afternoon and set off towards Hojo’s personal office, dreading both the encounter and the lost time he could’ve spent getting things done. SOLDIER was understaffed these days, with Genesis, Angeal, and most of the operatives gone. Sephiroth remained. Sephiroth always remained.

Hojo's office, unlike the meticulously organized laboratories under his jurisdiction, was a chaotic mess. Papers littered the floor, items lay haphazardly strewn across the desk, and the air was heavy with the scent of dense chemicals and disinfectant. It was a stark contrast to the precision and orderliness that typically characterized Hojo's domain. Sephiroth liked the mess. He liked seeing something Hojo touched reflect the pervasive foulness that lay within the man.

He knocked twice, dread seeping through his skin the minute it made contact with the door, as if the very door of the office was caked in the same discomfort promised to him on the other side. There was no answer, something which would’ve made him ecstatic and leave quickly had he not known Hojo. If the professor had it his way, he would’ve dragged Sephiroth back in there by his hair if he dared defy him.

So he sighed and tried again.

Still nothing.

Sephiroth pushed open the door.

Confusion etched itself into Sephiroth's features as he scanned the room. Hojo was nowhere to be found. Instead, a lone box sat atop the disheveled desk, as if it had been purposely left behind for him to discover. Maybe if Sephiroth had known that it was indeed intentional, he would’ve left. It would’ve saved him the grief he was set to bear the minute he cautiously lifted its lid.

Inside, amidst a jumble of forgotten artifacts, were old photographs, their edges yellowed with age. As he gingerly plucked one from the pile, his breath caught in his throat.

In the photograph, a younger Hojo stood beside a woman, her features eerily familiar yet distorted through the lens of time. Sephiroth's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the figure beside Hojo—his mother, Jenova. It had been years since he had last seen a photo of her, and she looked just as beautiful as the day he last saw one. Jenova had long, healthy brown hair she kept in a yellow ribbon. Her face was soft, gentle, the same qualities Sephiroth daydreamed about whenever he imagined her voice.

But something was off about this photo. His mother wore a lab coat bearing the name: Lucrecia Crescent.

Sephiroth pulled the photograph out of the box fully, his eyes widening as a stunned silence took over him. There had to be a logical explanation for it. No, Hojo wouldn’t—

Sephiroth let his grip falter. He dropped the photograph on the desk. Hojo would. He dug into the box again, pulling out yet another photo that had his mother in it. She wore the same lab coat in this one, and yet again the name Lucrecia Crescent was stitched onto the white fabric. Anger, betrayal, and a profound sense of loss warred for dominance within him, threatening to consume him whole.

The heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor snapped Sephiroth out of his reverie, his muscles tensing in anticipation as the door to Hojo's office swung open with a creak. In strode the scientist himself, his expression satisfied as he took in the sight of Sephiroth with the photo in his hand.

Sephiroth lunged forward, his voice rising to a furious crescendo as he brandished the photograph. “Who is this?” Sephiroth's voice reverberated with barely contained rage, his eyes flashing with an intensity that bordered on madness. “Why does she—Her name was Jenova—why does it—” He couldn’t form proper sentences, unable to get his rage out with the dozen questions quickly forming in his mind.

Hojo chuckled, a hollow sound that sent shivers down Sephiroth's spine. It was mocking, tantalizing in a way one would hold a piece of meat over a starving lion’s enclosure.

"Do you really expect me to stand here and argue over the name of a woman who’s dead, and will remain dead no matter what namesake you give her?" Hojo shook his head. “I have better use of my time, Sephiroth.”

The dismissive tone of Hojo's response ignited a white-hot fury within Sephiroth, his patience worn thin by the weight of years of deception and manipulation. With a scream that tore his throat raw, he launched himself at the man, his fists raining down upon Hojo's frame with unrestrained fury.

"Tell me the truth." Sephiroth demanded, his frustrated blows fueled by an anger born of desperation. "Now!"

But Hojo remained frustratingly silent, his stoic demeanor a stark contrast to Sephiroth's frenzied onslaught. With each unanswered blow, Sephiroth felt a gnawing sense of desperation clawing at his insides. He threw the man against the wall, and not even the satisfying crack of his spine against the door frame could mollify Sephiroth.

Hojo sighed, fixing his glasses as he picked himself up, acting with a nonchalance of a man who was at most being mildly inconvenienced. Sephiroth watched him take a seat behind the desk, and motioned for him to take a seat across from him, his expression inscrutable as he settled into the worn leather chair.

When Sephiroth did not comply, Hojo snapped his fingers. “Sit. Now.”

With a heavy sigh, Sephiroth reluctantly complied, his breathing ragged and eyes blurred with tears.

Hojo leaned forward, his gaze locking with Sephiroth's as he began to speak.

Sephiroth never wanted him to sugar-coat anything, not that he believed the man knew how to address a child with that brand of care, but he did want the truth. He’d plead as a young boy, begging to know where he had come from, who his parents were, and when half of that question was answered like a slap in the face, who his mother was.

Jenova was her name for as long as he knew of her. She died during childbirth. Jenova, his mother, died during childbirth. That’s all he knew, with a picture of her to verify that she did indeed exist.

"You were created as part of the Jenova project, a culmination of years of research and experimentation."

Sephiroth’s fingers were numb as he pressed them into his lap. Hojo was speaking, words were coming out, and yet everything became white noise as he processed the initial revelation. "Jenova," he whispered, “The Jenova…project.”

"Yes. Jenova," Hojo confirmed, his tone grave. "If the name is to your liking, you have Gast to thank for it. He named her, after all, after he exhumed its remains.”

Sephiroth kept silent.

Hojo leaned back in his chair. “Jenova is an alien, Sephiroth, once mistakenly identified as a Cetra. You know how Shinra is. The idea was to create an Ancient who would lead us all to the promised land.”

Sephiroth asked “Me?” only in his mind. No words came out.

“The result of the efforts between myself, Gast and Hollander were…unsuccessful, for Shinra’s initial use, anyway.” His eyes shone as he looked at Sephiroth. “But you, Sephiroth, you are the shining jewel of the Jenova project.”

Hojo spoke more. He explained the use of Jenova’s cells, how his and Hollander’s methods differed, and took pleasure in explaining why Genesis’s and Angeal’s bodies had degraded.

A flicker of confusion crossed Sephiroth's features as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of what Hojo was telling him. "Then who...?" he trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper. “...Lucrecia…”

Hojo's gaze softened ever so slightly as he met Sephiroth's searching stare. "Your biological mother was Lucrecia Crescent," he revealed, his voice tinged with a melancholy that sent a shiver down Sephiroth's spine. “My wife.”

Sephiroth was paralyzed. Hojo continued.

“A brilliant scientist, when her judgment was not clouded by over-sentimentality. She agreed to use you as a test subject when you were but an unborn concept.” He placed both hands on the desk, pulling himself closer to Sephiroth. “You were implanted with Jenova’s cells when you were an embryo.” Hojo laughed, giddy. “How quickly she was willing to give you up for the pursuit of greater knowledge. It amazes me to this day!”

Sephiroth sank back the more Hojo leaned forward.

“Not many mothers would sacrifice their children like that. No, it takes a special kind of mother to allow alien cells to be implanted in her child.” He pulled back, bracing his elbows on the armrests as he shook his head. “But you are a special man, Sephiroth, and your mother was a special woman.”

Sephiroth couldn’t say a word.

Hojo hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling to the cluttered desk before him before meeting Sephiroth's gaze once more. "But she died," he replied simply, his voice heavy with regret. "Suicide. But rest assured, her legacy lives within you, as does Jenova."

As the weight of Hojo's words settled upon him, Sephiroth felt his chest rise. Hojo could sense Sephiroth’s impending loss of composure, and it was leading him right where he wanted him to be.

“Isn’t this more than what you asked for?” Hojo asked, feigning excitement. “Why limit yourself to one mother when you have two?”

Hojo's laughter filled the room. Sephiroth felt the contents of his stomach churn, spreading an icy feeling throughout his abdomen. He sat in silent agony across from the man who had orchestrated his existence, the one who was so unrelenting with his words.

"You killed your mother. She killed herself because of you. The one thing you want most in this world is long dead because you're breathing right this moment."

Sephiroth's chest tightened. Hojo began to rise out of his seat.

"She didn't care about you, Sephiroth. She experimented on you as if you were a rat infesting her womb.”

Hojo stood over Sephiroth.

"Even Professor Gast, who you had such an attachment to as a child because he was soft with you, he didn't care," Hojo sneered, his words like venom. "He only cared to keep you blind to what he really thought of you. Do you remember how much you screamed Sephiroth? How much you cried the day you found out he died?"

Sephiroth averted his eyes.

"Well? Scream now. Cry now. Call his name now that you know the full extent of who he was."

Sephiroth had clung to the memory of Professor Gast as a beacon of light only to discover that even that fragile illusion had been shattered beyond repair.

“I know you, Sephiroth. I know your feelings just as well as I know your abilities.” As Hojo's tirade continued, each accusation more cutting than the last, Sephiroth felt himself unraveling at the seams. "You feel like a weapon. You feel like you’re trapped," Hojo taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. "Take that away, what are you? This is what you were meant to be, Sephiroth. What other use is there for an alien crossbreed who was raised to defeat an army with a single flick of his sword?”

Had Sephiroth been in a better state of mind, he would’ve seen right through Hojo’s intention and questioned every blow to his ego. However, Sephiroth was slipping away—quickly.

"And I know that what you really want is not a mother, it’s not a family, or friends specifically. You want to belong to something that will love you," Hojo spat, his words a cruel mockery of Sephiroth's deepest desires. "When you already belong to the people who created you. You already belong to me.”

Sephiroth felt a drop of blood roll down his leg. He had sunk his fingers too deep into his thighs.

"You are my greatest achievement," Hojo's final words echoed in the declaration that followed, “You are mine.”

Sephiroth remained motionless, his silence a testament to the storm of emotions raging within him. He did not cry, he did not react, did not speak. He simply absorbed every word like a condemned man exposed.

Hojo watched Sephiroth walk out of his office that afternoon with a single thought in mind. He wondered if he had finally done it, and how long it would be before something happened. His only regret was not bringing Jenova’s remains to Midgar, to fully exploit what he believed was a ticking time bomb he wanted to assess before it detonated.

No one saw Sephiroth for a week. Rumors said he had been sent on a classified mission, Director Lazard didn’t mind his impromptu break but would’ve appreciated a heads-up, and a few people claimed they saw him in the R&D department’s archives, stalking its shelves like a wraith.

And then he appeared again. Sightings of Sephiroth spread in a small village at the foot of Mt. Nibel, in the western continent. Quietly, they sent the only other first class and two infantrymen to investigate and hopefully convince Sephiroth to come home. Zack feared Sephiroth had joined Genesis and abandoned Shinra, Cloud wondered why Sephiroth chose Nibelheim of all places.

Neither one expected to show up and find the entire village up in flames.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #ffvii crisis core #final fantasy vii #ff7 crisis core #writing

[historia-vitae-magistras]

If I remember correctly you said that baby Jack had to be held a lot because he was so clumsy. Would Matt have been big enough to do the same when he first meets him. You could get the family tradition of older siblings carrying their younger ones around everywhere. Let Matt get adorable little germlins to carry.

I did! And I've actually thought about this. The little things that carry from person to person. If Australia is a consequence of the American revolution, he also saw the turn of Matt from younger brother to older brother. What Matt knows about any concept of family, he learned at Alfred's elbow. Peak indulgence for Matt is when it was cold and Matt was small, Alfred would heft him up and carry him places. So picking up Jack? Hell yeah. Jack was very sturdy even for a young child but Matt was in his early teens in the regency era. Wee Jack gave him anxiety. All children are little shits, bouncing off and into mischief and being clumsy but even by that standard Jack is chaotic. Where Matt was a very self contained child who could be put into the corner and given books or blocks or even nothing and he'd occupy himself, Jack is a curious wee thing. He always has questions, he always wants to hear music, he always wants to chat, and play and move. Baby's first labour strike was protesting until the turnspit dog gets friends. He liberated the chicken's Matt's in charge of, let the goats loose and set the parlour on fire because he got bored and tried to figure out how the oil lamps worked. He broke so many priceless antiques that Arthur may or may not have stolen.

In early 19th century Georgian society where childhood is newly important but Jack's still a third rate penal colony at the end of the world, he's kind of miserable and everyone would want to indulge him, stuck half the world away from everything and everyone he's ever known in the miserable libertine environment that is regency England, It's a strange thing, for Matt to be a brother again, much less with one that will be so briefly this wriggly and adorable before shooting up within a century to end up about 20 kilos bulkier than him.

The image of Matt as his anxious but fairly normal 1805 self popping Jack up onto a hip he doesn't have enough of to keep him there and then doing the same thing in 10 years when he's gone back to setting fire and committing war crimes against Americans is so fitting. Like it doesn't matter what anyone thinks, they're stuck together. Also its so goddamn funny to think of Matt like "I just set the White House on fire, I am not in the mood for children." And Jack and Zee don't give a flying fuck, they have a book for him to read and the aren't leaving him be until he fucken reads it. He's grumpy about it, even though he knows he'll prize those memories long after the relationships themselves have been resigned too history.

#the ask box || probis pateo #jack || a land of summer skies #matthew || my country is winter #zee || ahakoa he iti he pounamu #jack zee and matt || battered bonds once so strong #Jack Zee and Matt || battered bonds once so strong

[bestworstcase]

Any thoughts on what the role of the Maidens are in the overarching narrative of RWBY. Because they are developed as characters and not as just keys to get the plot coupons of the relics.

conceptually the maidens represent ozma's dedication to the divine mandate, right. reading between the lines of the fairytale in context with what we know about how ozpin operates, it is pretty obvious that he empowered the maidens intending them to act as his agents in his crusade against salem. in this sense his present-day conspiracy's dehumanizing treatment of the maidens as relic-guardians is not a corruption of their "true purpose" but the extreme logical end result of what ozma made them to be.

with respect to ozma as a character, the obvious symbolic line between his four daughters and the four maidens suggests some things about how ozma might have viewed his own children—particularly if taken into consideration with 1. his abject horror when the eldest turned out magical without the blessings of his god, and 2. all four girls vanishing from the scene as ozma moves to attack salem, which presumably indicates he has no idea what happened to them after that point. we don't actually know why ozma tried to sneak the girls away that night, and the common assumption that he feared salem was a danger to them and went down fighting to protect them from her has some obvious holes (the girls are not shown during the fight, ozma isn't even depicted as fighting defensively at all, and when the smoke clears after the castle falls, salem's a pile of ash).

and then there's this in his commentary on 'the story of the seasons':

However, despite the prevalence of powerful wizards and witches in our fairy tales, the world has never known the levels of magic described here—for which we should be grateful. I fear that if unrestricted magic use were possible, the results would be chaotic and catastrophic. Better to leave such fanciful notions comfortably in the realm of fantasy!

given how ozma reacted to his daughter's magic, and how tightly ozpin controls the maidens, "unrestricted" strikes me as the key word here. the god of light told him that humankind was diminished, a mere fraction of what they once were, without the brothers' presence and ozma understood that to mean "humans can't have magic except by divine fiat" and his ideological view on magic is accordingly uneasy.

i think the narrative purpose of the maidens is to interrogate that discomfort: he created them by imparting his own god-given magic to young women he trusted to faithfully serve his divine mandate… and then he lost control of that power because it developed an inheritance system directly at odds with his intention. (if a maiden dies violently, and her killer is a young woman, the magic will most likely be inherited by her killer; and if she dies without a suitable candidate in her final thoughts, the magic chooses a new vessel in accordance with its own will. ozma cannot use the maidens to attack salem without effectively ceding that power to her. i am inclined to think that's precisely WHY the magic passes itself on in this manner.)

and of course the narrative thread connecting each seasonal arc is that the maidens are all in some way breaking free from ozpin's control: cinder kills him, raven walked away, penny chooses who she wants (winter) instead of making the pragmatic choice (weiss), winter leaves ironwood behind to fall with his city. by virtue of being the literal keys to ozpin's reliquaries the maidens are sort of the locus of his ideological failures; literally human beings reduced to objects.

(<- all of this is one of my reasons for thinking the branwen twins' shapeshifting is the key to whatever additional protections ozpin put in place to conceal the beacon vault.)

salem's side of this is also interesting in that she has always struck a rather ambivalent tone with cinder regarding the maidens: "your newfound strength brings with it a crippling weakness," "remember that it comes with a cost," and so forth. notably, her interest in the maidens is strictly in relation to the vaults, which have only housed the relics since ozpin's tenure as headmaster, and both ozpin and qrow have referenced circumstances in which the identity of the maidens became "unclear" (as opposed to maidens ending up under salem's control). i am unconvinced that salem cared about the maidens in the slightest before ozpin decided to link them to the vaults.

i do think there is probably a thread being developed here in regard to the ozlem girls, if only because the symbolic line is very clear (the original four maidens in the fairytale were sisters and their colors match the ozlem girls); i don't think the maidens are the daughters in any literal sense, whether whole or in part. the implicit similarity between ozma's exploitation of the maidens and his interest in ruby's silver eyes—when silver-eyed bloodlines originated from him—is probably telling. his implicit assumption that salem intended to use their daughters, coupled with his obvious projection of his own suicidal ideation onto her, likewise. we know that he lied to and manipulated salem throughout their marriage because the god of light told him she was irredeemable; to what degree would that perception of her color his relationship with their children?

<- the maidens are inextricable from this question because he made them by sharing his magic between four sisters whom he apparently, if the fairytale colors are any indication, emotionally associated with his daughters. and in the broader sense, the maidens represent the family he sacrificed on the mandate's altar; representations of his daughters that he can use as pawns in his crusade against salem.

there's also a more general purpose the maidens serve in relation to salem's "no victory in strength" thesis in that the point of a character becoming a maiden is not to Be Powerful, and in fact the maidens are all defined by their vulnerability:

amber is introduced in a coma pending extraction of her soul

pyrrha is coerced into becoming a vessel for someone else

cinder loses her eye and her arm as a consequence of becoming the fall maiden

the last spring maiden died under circumstances that have left raven emotionally shattered more than a decade later

fria is subjected to extreme medical neglect in a futile attempt to control her final thoughts

penny is mutilated, infected with a virus to strip her of agency, and ultimately murdered because of the maiden's power

winter receives the magic as a gift but spirals into guilt-stricken despair because she couldn't save her friend or her sister

all underscored by salem's repeated warnings that the power comes with a cost and various illustrations of how "godlike power" not only isn't a trump card but becomes a liability if treated like a trump card (see: amber vs CEM and penny vs ace-ops). so the maidens are an important building block in that theme as well.

[soupmanspeaks]

EVERYONE EXPECTS FOOSH TO BE THE CHAOTIC CONQUERING ONE THAT DOESNT HAVE TIME FOR FAMILY, ONLY BUILDS, BUT HE CARES, SO *SO* MUCH, AND HE IS THE ONE TO BE NEUTRAL AGAINST CONFLICT,

AND BAD, HE IS THE CHAOS STARTER, THE CONQUEROR, THE ONE WITH BIG PLANS FOR THEIR KID, BUT ALSO WOULD SACRIFICE THE WORLD FOR HIM

AND SLIME, *SLIME* HE HAS SUCH A MESSED UP HOME LIFE WITH HIS PARTNER, BUT HE NEVER ONCE FALTERS HIS LOVE FOR HIS KIDS

AND THE COOLEST PART? THEY ALL LOVE THEIR KIDS, THESE THREE ARE VERY DIFFERENT BUT THEY SHARE THAT ONE TRAIT, EVEN IF ITS SMALL, ITS WHAT DRIVES THEM ASWELL, LIKE IT SUBVERTS WHAT EVERYONE THOUGHT. EVERYONE THOUGHT THAT THE EGGS WOULD DIE WITHIN THE FIRST FEW DAYS, BUT *NO* JUANAFLIPPA ONLY DIED BECAUSE OF A MISCLICK, THIS FAR, AND EVEN THOUGH ITS HEARTBREAKING, SLIME DIDNT GO ON A RAMPAGE FOR A RAMPAGE SAKE, HE WENT BECAUSE HE WAS GRIEF STRICKEN FOR HIS DAUGHTER, AND THOUGHT THAT THE LIVES OF ALL THE OTHER CHILDREN WOULD BRING BACK HIS OWN.

THEY ALL CARE SO DEEPLY AND LOVE THEIR EGGS, AND I LOVE THAT SFIDJOGJDNGFKDFNG

#q!slimecicle #q!charlie #q!foolish #q!badboyhalo #qsmp #I LOVE THEM 3 SO SO MUCH

[topazy]

Inside, outside

Pairings: 10k x reader, Addy Carver × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence

Chapter: 5.01

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story! I'm feeling a little sad but looking forward to writing the final season of the chaotic love story between Astra and 10k💕

You swing the hammer in your hands fast, cracking the skull of the Z in front of you open, flinching as its blood splattered over you. Turning on your heels, you bury the claw into another Z’s eye socket before using the blade in your other hand to stab it in the side of the head.

“I give you mercy,” you say, wiping the blood off your face with the sleeve of your jumper before putting your hand flat against a tree. You lean against it and catch your breath.

Thinking the coast was clear, you’d split off from the rest of your group momentarily to go for a pee, but ended up being chased by the undead on your way back. As you walk up a hill in the direction the rest of your group is going, you spot Doc running with a brunette by his side towards them, then hear the familiar sound of gunshots as 10k and Sarge take out a handful of Z’s.

“What’s going on?”

“A Z just said ‘no’,” Murphy replies.

“What?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “A Z just said ‘no’ right before 10K shot him.”

“Right,” you snort, before leaning up and kissing 10k on the cheek. Dropping your backpack to the ground, you open it and rummage inside it before pulling out a bottle of water that you hand to the brunette Doc rescued, saying, “hey, I’m Astra.”

“Hi… Thank you,” she shyly accepts.

Since being unable to stop the black rainbow, the survivors of your group decided to head to Newmerica, and along the way, you helped anyone you came across. It was hard given the lack of water, food, and ammunition, but humanity needed to look after one another again, even strangers. It was the only way life in the new world would work. Maybe it was hope of a better life, but the sky seemed clearer, the grass was healthy and un-stained by blood and zombie guts, and the air was much fresher.

Once everyone had something to eat and drink, Doc declared it was time to move on before any more deaths came.

While heading back to the vehicle parked at the bottom of the hill, Murphy leans into you and says, “I don’t know about Granny; she doesn’t look so good. I swear to God I saw her cough up a hairball.”

He was right; the elderly woman who claimed her name was actually Granny looked as if she'd been sick for a long time. 10k and Doc saved her and her adult children from a horde of Z’s days prior, and initially you thought their sickly appearance was due to exhaustion, but now you weren’t convinced it was the only reason. You were worried Granny wouldn’t even make it to Newmerica. You whisper, “I think we should be ready to show mercy at any time.”

When a couple you rescued let out a deep, chesty cough behind you, Murphy looked back and waved to them. “How y’all doing back there?”

“We’re good,” the man replies. “She’s actually feeling better, and my stomach cramps have stopped.”

Murphy laughs cheerfully before turning to look straight ahead again. “If they weren’t talking, I’d swear they were Zs. What are they still living for, huh? I’d say just die already.”

“I say the same thing about you all the time.”

He glares at you, “brat.”

You laugh as Murphy walks faster to catch up with Doc, no doubt to argue about whether Warren is still alive again. The subject of their arguments caused knots to form in your stomach. You knew what it was like to have nobody believe you that someone you loved was still alive, but then again, you only experienced that with 10k because Murphy put you through it.

You step to the side to wait for 10k, who is at the back of the group making sure the dead don’t creep up, but as the others walk by, you do your best not to gag. Not only did the people you rescued look dead, but they also smelled like death.

—

Your eyes flicker between the road and the figure disappearing into the distance. Murphy had just split off from the rest of the group on his own to go search for Warren while the rest of you headed to New Mexico. Although you had a history with Murphy, you didn’t like that the group was getting smaller, plus you doubted he would survive long on his own.

“A few hundred more miles and we’ll be in Newmerica,” Doc says, railing everyone together. He stopped driving half an hour ago so everyone could stretch their legs.

Sarge stands beside you, mumbling to herself while looking between the different people. Suddenly she turns to you and says, “Oh shit, we’re a person down.”

You do a mental check of everyone that’s there and realize Granny is missing. “Hey Doc! We’ve lost one; Granny’s gone!”

Everyone splits off into pairs to try and find the elder women. Granny couldn’t have gotten far, but in her confused state, she could have been a danger to herself.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for 10k to find her. She was hunched over, eating brains from a rotting corpse. “That’s disgusting.”

When Granny’s son pulls her back, she claims to have no idea why she ate it. It scared you to see how zombie-like she was becoming. Doc quickly orders everyone to go back to the truck. You go to leave, but 10k grabs your hand and pulls you back slightly. “Do you think Granny is a cannibal?”

“Possibly, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it. They all seem so sick.”

“Do you think the black rain caused it?”

“God, I hope not; what if everyone in Newmerica is like that?”

He lets out a deep sigh and says, “We’ll figure it out.” 10k eyes soften as a smile plays on his lips. “Just think, once we are there, we can finally start to spend time together, just us, with no interruptions.”

“I can’t wait.” You press your lips against his, but pull away when you hear the sound of an engine being turned. “We better hurry before Doc sends a search party.”

Still holding your hand. 10k leads the way. Most married couples got to spend their first few weeks of marriage doing nothing but have sex, and it was growing increasingly frustrating how difficult it was for you to not even be able to spend ten minutes alone with 10k without being interrupted by the undead or someone in your group.

“Front or back?”

You squeeze his hand before letting go. “I’ll go in the back.”

You jump into the back of the truck beside Sarge; the tension between you is gradually getting less awkward. You sit with her facing the others while 10k gets in the front beside Doc.

“Alright, let’s go, kids!”

—

It made you nervous seeing how sickly everyone in the back looked aside from Sarge. The two of you kept glancing at each other, sharing a knowing look. The people you’d rescued all looked as if they were dying from some type of flu. You feared things would turn bad at any moment, and seeing the way Granny’s face began to twitch, you gripped your blade just in case she turned.

As Doc starts to pull over, you look around confused. He was pulling towards what looked like two men selling stuff at the side of the road from a camper van. Not exactly what you envisioned the new world would look like.

Feeling that something wasn’t right, you hang back by the truck as 10k, Doc, and Sarge go over to speak to them. Something didn’t seem right. You jump out of the truck and take a few steps forward, but turn back after hearing a grunting sound. You see Granny struggling to get out and offer her your hand to help her down, but she slaps your hand out of the way, jumps down, and runs towards Sarge.

“Brains!”

You get whiplash from looking back and forth between three different people who your group had taken in because they had turned nearly completely Z-like; they didn’t appear to be fully dead or alive.

When one of the men who was sitting by the stop point aims his gun at Granny, a young woman with short, slicked-back black hair appears and gently gets him to lower the gun. Her clothes were clean and fresh-looking; it was obvious she hadn’t been roughing it like the rest of you. She walks towards Granny, who was being restrained by 10K and Doc. She clicks her fingers to get the older woman’s attention and pops a black biscuit into Granny’s mouth, which turns her back to normal. Granny gives the woman a cuddle, then steps back to cuddle her son.

The woman looks at Doc and says, “How long has she been dead?”

“Dead? We just thought she was sick. She’s talking.”

“No, she’s dead. So are those two,” she says, pointing to the couple your group rescued. “They’re talkers.”

“How is that possible?”

“Since the black rain, people don’t just turn like before. Their bodies are dead, but their souls remain conscious. The dead don’t just walk—now they talk.”

Oh shit.

The mysterious woman hands more of the biscuits out to the half-dead people and explains that there are supposedly traces of brains and something else that prevents them from fully turning. You notice the similarities between the women and the figure of someone on the posters hanging up on the camper van.

“I’m George,” she says. “And this is my friend, Lieutenant Dante.”

Lieutenant Dante was most definitely already dead. Your group really messed up with the black rain; now the world has talking zombies.

“I’m Astra; this is 10k, Sarge, and Doc.”

“Sweet names. So what are you guys doing all the way down here? No offense, but you look as if you’ve been through hell.”

“We are looking for Newmerica.”

George tells you that Newmerica is just an idea that will hopefully become its own nation, and everyone, dead or alive, is welcome to vote. Dead or alive.

Doc shrugs and says, “Sign us up.”

#z nation #10k x reader #10k x you #z nation 10k #inside outisde #z nation fanfiction #10k z nation #murphy z nation #z nation doc #z nation x reader #z nation fanfic #10k fanfiction #10k/reader #10k/you #tommy z nation

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

Oooooh could you tell us more about Moth/Leaf/Crow in your rewrite

Mothwing/Leafpool/Crowfeather

This trio! The world's most inconvenient polycule!

Leafpool is given the go-ahead by Bramblestar after Crowfeather shows himself at the border. He figures that Leafpool has done so much for the Clans, she deserves this. Crowfeather wants to be a part of Thunderclan, and after losing a large chunk of cats to The Great Battle and The Great Storm... They let him join.

Besides, is Starclan REALLY gonna try to punish Leafpool? The cat who discovered the Moonpool?

Yes, actually. They did. Moon Flight was FURIOUS.

But that's a story for another day.

Mothwing is having a pretty rotten time in Riverclan. She loves fish (and girl can make a MEAN Salmon Bun) and she loves her family, but Riverclan's general lifestyle (and political atmosphere) do not suit her. Where Hawkfrost is focused on staying out of the spotlight and under radars, and Tadpole is actively working to push things in a different direction, Mothwing's philosophy is "if it sucks, HIT DA BRICKZ"

Which she finally does, during TBC. Mistystar doesn't get the satisfaction of exiling her, Mothwing leaves before she can officially say it.

Thunderclan's atmosphere however, is even worse. Crowfeather got himself Dishonor Titled for simply talking about his dead mother to help another cat suffering with grief. Bramblestar having renamed him Lostfeather. A missing feather that doesn't seem to know its place. A drifting feather that will guide youth (his apprentice) astray.

Yeah... No thanks. Leafpool is wonderful, and their adventure together during Squirrelflight's Freedom was downright magical... But that is not worth it. Skyclan is staying neutral and rabbit makes Mothwing feel gross... Shadowclan ain't so bad, right?

Her strong bond with Leafpool stays strong throughout the books, the two openly affectionate with one another. She loves how quietly strong Leafpool is, how selfless she has been, and just how protective Leafpool is of her loved ones.

On Crowfeather's side of things, he leaves Windclan after The Last Hope, as a storm gathers on the horizon, he finally departs from the Clan he didn't want to stay in and joins Thunderclan, becoming Leafpool's mate and doing his best to bond with his children to varying degrees of success.

Lionblaze was a wee bit too busy at first, with Cinderheart going into a false labour making him the world's Most Anxious Man. Doesn't help that Crowf just... Cannot do labor. He is the man who faints moments after telling you to take deep breaths.

Jayfeather was in a depressive spell and didn't want to speak with anyone, especially after the death of Whitewing. He... really beat himself up about it.

Well... At least Hollyleaf made a joke about them being good night hunters thanks to their dark coats.

He is trying his best, and they do come around. He reassures Lionblaze that he'll be a great dad, helps Jay with his depression management and PTSD, and supports all of Hollyleaf's ambitions. (He also makes an effort to be good with Breezey-P.)

He isn't in love with Mothwing, and Mothwing isn't in love with him, they both love Leafpool, and they are good friends. He continuously works hard to be the best mate he can be to Leafpool, with gifts, assistance whenever it can be given, as well as lots of nice massages after a long day of medical work.

Now, on for the third member of our trio:

Leafpool! Now SAVED from a pathetic death and getting to stay alive during the chaotic events of TBC. She is also Dishonor Titled, given the name Mothpuddle. It's a strange name, one that sends a very clear message to her that "Bramblestar" knows something he shouldn't.

More on that later. She and Mothwing were also strongly bonding during The Great Journey, and she debated asking Mothwing to run away with her, only deciding against it because Riverclan didn't have another Medicine Cat, and it wouldn't have been fair to make Moth decides between her beloved career and a life out in the sticks.

She loves Crowfeather for his passion, his wit, and his soft side that emerged while they traveled together through the mountains. She loves Mothwing for her ingenuity, her grace, and her ability to take charge when needs be.

It helps that they love her kids. Mothwing gets along beautifully with The Three, especially Jayfeather.

They finally get together during Dark Times/ASC's ending, when Mothwing leaves Riverclan once and for all to enjoy a peaceful life in Thunderclan. The Clans are about to enter a very tumultuous time, with Skyclan being leaderless, Thunderclan and Windclan's new leaders not having their 9 lives, while Riverclan and Shadowclan's new leaders having been given a dark blessing off of gray wings.

#mothwing #leafpool #crowfeather #crowfeather x leafpool x mothwing #warrior cats #warrior cats rewrite #wcr #warriors #asks #relationship page

[beanghostprincess]

HiyorixKuina anon again!

I was thinking about Kuina more than average and I came up with this concuction.

So you often see that in many Modern AUs you have Perona and Zoro being Mihawk's adoptive children, and while I like this what if Kuina 2as also his adoptive daughter???

Imagine, you have Zoro being an orphan from a young age so he gets taken in by his relatives. But then something horrible happens (could be Kuina's mom dying or Koushiro kills her since everybody seems to agree he is murder coded) so Kuina and Zoro are taken away by CPS and are assigned to Mihawk, who had already adopted Perona. (I hc that Moria would be her bio dad, and he lost custidy due to his experiments on corpses and other stuff)

What we get is a sit-com like dinamic of middle aged single parent swordsman with 3 kids: one is goth, one is insane, one is bith and they are all gay.

I think that Kuina would really like Mihawk since he would teach her and not discriminate (as far as we know) and he would also reconize that Kuina is a better pupil than Zoro, which would add another layer to their rivarly and relationship.

Plus Perona and Kuina being vastly different older sister who are the two opposing extemes on the lesbian spectrum but still come togheter for each other when they need it and to annoy their dumb little brother would be so funny to me. I think Kuina would protect Perona from bullies and general pricks and they would both do wierd shit togheter like mutilate their Barbies to scare people.

I think Kuina would really get along with Zoro's friends siblings, obviously Ace and maybe also Sabo since they both reject the bigoted values that some people impose, but I think she would like Nojiko as well. The two of them both know the horrors of the real world so I think they would use some of the darkest humor ever with each other. And all of them would obviously keep talking about their siblings, that can't be avoided.

I also think Kuina might be Sanji's rival too. After all he treats women vastly different from men (even if its with benevolent intentions) and Kuina woukd interprete thus as Sanji thinking women are weak. So its Zoro and Kuina coming togheter against their shared rival: swirly eyebrowed dumb cook. But ironically Kuina would be fond of the dumb cook's boyfriend, after all Usopp is also a very underrated genious who defyes people's expectation to prove himself as strong and worthy.

Bonus headcanon: Yamace and Hiyoku double dates. Wlw and mlm solidariety at its finest.

HEY BESTIE!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAA I love all of this. It's awesome. I just know Kuina and Perona would be complete opposites but would love and protect each other a lot. Like, they're weird in their own ways. People don't like Perona because she's all dark and creepy and with a very princess-like personality and people don't like Kuina much because she doesn't fall in the standard men have for women and swordsmen. So they fit together perfectly even though they're different. And they'd take care of Zoro and also make fun of him 24/7. This is great. Also, Mihawk be adopting children every fucking where. I don't know if I should be sorry for him or not. At least his family is cool. Perona is his princess <3 Kuina is his fav pupil!! And Zoro is Zoro. He's just Zoro.

This is basically the situation:

(He does care btw, he's just shitty when it comes to feelings and Zoro isn't as cute as his girls)

And yes, Kuina would definitely not stand Sanji but love Usopp. I agree completely. Their views don't match at all but well, Sanji can live with it (he can't. He's crying).

AND YAMACE AND HIYOKU DOUBLE DATES!!!!!!!! CUTE!!!!!!!!! It'd be a bit chaotic, honestly. Both couples have such a different energy 😭😭 Ace might seem a bit more relaxed but the second Yamato goes insane about something, he probably does too if he likes it. So I can definitely imagine Kuina like "I wanted this to be an actual date,, I am sorry, I should've thought about this better-" and Hiyori would just laugh softly at Yamace's shenanigans because she's having the time of her life.

#aghh they're all so cute #this is really funny we just gave another child to mihawk to take care of #at least kuina acts more like an adult than the other two #one piece #kuina one piece #perona one piece #roronoa zoro #dracule mihawk #kozuki hiyori #hiyoku #yamace

[rivuletmansion]

Mansion AU’s Cast: Part 1!

The first part of the colorful cast of the au, introduced in order of left to right!

Rivulet, The Mansion Owner (They/Them)

The titular character of the AU, Rivulet is the crazed and chaotic owner of the cursed mansion, who delights in throwing parties and causing chaos for its residents (and sometimes the people in the nearby town) on a daily basis. Armed with oddly friendly mannerisms and even odder whimsical desires to create fun, happy atmospheres for everyone in vicinity, this undead ex-assassin is sure to either brighten up your day… or make it very wacky- Often times, both! Just don’t piss them off (which is quite difficult), and you’ll prolly be fine- unless you’re not a fan of dark and gallows humor, which Riv loves to indulge in!

Artificer, The Mother of Six (She/Her)

The mansion’s first living visitor and inhabitant, Artificer is a fierce fighter in her own right who will fight tooth and nail to keep her family safe, and do whatever it takes to make them have the happiest lives they could ever ask for. Yet underneath this strong front lies a gentle, sensitive and surprisingly shy soul whose scarred heart is as big as the world she lives in… and as fragile as glass at her lowest moments. Her family’s previous poor living conditions was due to a terrible betrayal by those she once held dear- a part of her past that she hesitates to speak about, and has been trying to move on from. But maybe, just maybe, her heart has room for one more chance at love?

Saint, The Light Priestess (She/Her)

In this world, priestesses and monks also double duty as protectors of the living who are tasked with fending off threats against towns and cities- especially ones of the supernatural variety. Saint is no different, and thus was horrified when she first discovered the cursed mansion. Before she could do anything about it though, Rivulet found her and forced her on a tour similar to Arti’s first time, and made her swear to keep the mansion a secret. She eventually complied, first begrudingly and later happily, too curious about the mansion and the nature of its inhabitants to hold any ill will. She visits the mansion every weekends, not just to keep an eye on things but also to keep her eyes on Arti… who she has been developing feelings for! Now, Saint is, as you’d expect from her name and position, usually a dignified slugcat who uses her light magic prowess with grace. But she also has a surprisingly short temper (that Rivulet loves to stoke, resulting in many comical chase scenes), a childish sense of humor revolving around memes, and overall cares way too much about the state of her hair!

Spearmaster, SRS Riot Police Captain (He/Him)

Adorned with a fancy cape, the ability create to makeshift spears out of his tail and mastery over various weapons and firearms, Spearmaster is the iconic captain of the Seven Red Suns Riot Police Force (SRSRPF) and the paragon example for many police officers. Loyal and brave with a strong sense of justice, he’s an old friend of Arti who’s been trying to track her down so that he can do something about her poor living conditions. When he discovered Riv’s mansion and the fact that she lives there, he was quite suspicious about the mansion owner’s possible nefarious motives. While willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, Spear makes it a point to visit his old friend twice a month to catch up and keep an eye on things. It’s in his visits that he reveals himself to be something of a dork- someone who tries his best to look “cool” to Arti’s kids, only to falter hilariously due to his fear of ghosts and jumpscares, something that the mansion has no shortage of. Thus, he’s often the target for pranks courtesy of the mansion owner, much to his chagrin!

Survivor, The Silent Sister (She/Her)

The oldest of Arti’s children, Surv takes on the role of a quiet, kind and caring sister towards her younger siblings. Due to past trauma, she’s selectively mute and thus struggles to voice out her feelings vocally. That however doesn’t stop her from being very expressive- both in terms of facial expressions, and when writing out messages on a small whiteboard (that she always carry around) for others to read. She’s also very animated when she wants to be, using exaggeratedly dramatic gestures and body languages to get her messages across. Around people she’s comfortable around, Surv is actually quite sarcastic, with a sense of humor as dry as desert and a sharp wit that ensures no one wants to be on the receiving end of her ire!

Monk, The Sunshine (He/They)

Despite being the 3rd oldest child of Arti’s kids, Monk is nonetheless fussed over by his siblings and mother a lot, due to a mobility impairment that prevents him from walking on his own. He is also very physically fragile, and is more sensitive to pain than most, making injuries feel all the more awful for him. But this doesn’t stop him from being the most happy-go-lucky and positive child of the group, who often has to act as a mediator (alongside Surv) whenever arguments between siblings happen, and has an extremely friendly and social demeanor that makes him very likeable. Out of everyone here, he is the most tolerant of Riv’s antics, and is more or less amused by them most of the time- but he can still get annoyed if pushed too far, like being reminded of his inability to walk. He can also sass his family and especially Riv all day, if he feels like it, so don’t get on his bad side!

Hunter, The Fierce (She/Her)

The 2nd oldest sibling only behind Surv, Hunter used to help her mother forage for food using her agility and quick thinking to get out of dangerous situations. Now that she no longer has to do any of that after the family’s relocation, she has taken to instead training with practice weapons so that she can one day become a professional bounty hunter. Passionate and stubborn, she won’t let her blind left eye and PTSD regarding fire hinder her from becoming a world known fighter that’d make her family proud. Hunter doesn’t like accepting help, as it wounds her pride, but she’s willing to set her ego aside when it comes to her family and friends. She knows she has a long way to go before she can reach the top, and until then, she’ll keep on training hard- especially with her mother, Riv and Spear giving her fighting lessons!

Gourmand, The Innocent (He/Him)

The youngest and tiniest of Arti’s children, Gourm often gets fussed over just as much as Monk. He inherited his mother’s oversensitive nature, and this alongside his separation anxiety has caused him to be prone to crying a lot, though he’s been trying his best to work on that. For being as young as he is, Gourm is very smart for his age, and although the more mature stuff often eludes his childlike innocence still, he’s always eager to learn something new. He’s also quite knowledgable about cooking, and while he needs help when preparing the ingredients, he knows a lot of his family’s favorite recipes by heart and loves seeing his family enjoy a good meal personally made by him!

Marine, The Determined (They/Them)

Eager to please their family and even more eager to learn new things about weapons and firearms, Marine looks up to Spear as their idol and strives to one day become like him. Being the 2nd youngest sibling of Arti’s family also doesn’t stop Marine from trying to take on the role of a responsible sibling, which they succeed at very well for their age, and they can often be seen helping their mother and/or Surv at anything they can and with all the determination that a young child can muster... so long as they're not in the mood for causing mischief, that is. No matter what they’re doing, whether it be simple chores around the mansion, combat lessons taught by their idol or silly pranks they want to pull on their siblings and mother, Marine always give it their all. And if you think constant nightmares related to their insecurities and their lack of tail will slow them down, think again!

Wolf, The Wild (He/Him)

Out of all the kids living in the mansion, Wolf is the one who prefers the outdoors the most. His love for nature makes him very in tune with wildlife, and animals often flock to him whenever he gives them any attention. Wolf can often be seen tending to his personal little garden by himself, not just because he enjoys the activity, but also because he’s very self-conscious about his anger issues. He tries to limit his interactions with others for fear of snapping at them, though he’s been making steady improvements towards self-control and socializing more. Wolf is very protective regarding his family, and will not hesitate to direct his aggression towards anyone who wishes his loved ones harm, no matter who they are. He’s the first one of the family to openly show hostility towards Riv, back when the family had just relocated, and the mansion owner was so impressed by his guts that they’re currently tutoring Wolf on controlling his “inner beast”!

#rain world #rain world au #rain world downpour #rivulet mansion #rivulet's mansion

[spotsupstuff]

the ending to my Children of EO playlist drives me fuckin wild cuz like-

those are sorted in the order according to who gets ascended by Saint at the end of it all. it's all instrumentals (except the last one). they no longer sing- they are unable to. their cogs are only left to stutter at this meek ending of their lives

it all starts with Boreas who's still kicking quite well thanks to his self-repair ability. he's still grand and strong, even if he's wavering and so damnably lonely. HE's the only one who puts up a fight against Saint. the instruments crescendo with all of his might and then-! ...then he fails and falls to the floor of his chamber defeated. everything goes quiet. the soft flute bids him farewell as he finally allows himself to pass on to Rubicon. finally lets go of his anger. there is nothing left- the flames of a fight have no place in these blizzards, stop lying to yourself. you are only twisting melancholy into a blade in your heart. come rest...

then Saint comes across Notos. the remnants of its chamber are chaotic, without any order at this point. the fireflies made homes in the gaps between the dislodged plates of its chamber, in the darkness they play charades- inventing new constellations with their bodies. but its still here. its still alive. it wants to help- let it speak to you. Notos' story can't be over, yet- it REFUSES an ending. it will bite and claw against death if it has to. "please, let me be your guide." begs an unusually large and sturdy overseer. you accept. the melody will accompany you still

Zephyr is a mess when they finally make it to her. she's so weak and vulnerable to everything, hardly even present- she's only here because as an Iterator there's nowhere else to go for her. complete death isn't an option. the puppet has been crushed into so many bits and blown away by the wind that she cannot be ascended as normal. it's horrifying. but it's... her corpse is beautiful, in a way. the light filters through cautiously, it's warmer than outside, animals sleep on the edges of what once used to be her ramshackle hardware. the gentle sadness and quiet despair that wandered along with her anger her whole life fades away carefully to the tones of bells as they find her heart. she finally doesn't have to hurt anymore...

they make it through the thoroughly rotted innards of Euros last of the Anemoi Iterators. it's all chaos inside- the rot may have died at last, but dangerous fauna And flora has spread through him. it's panic, it's a rush rush rush, swelling of the melody until finally... Finally they get to the puppet chamber. the melody resolves, finds some kind of order. it calms. he's lying right there, torn clothes, curled into himself

AND THEN "GROW" COMES ON AND ITS A HAHEEHOO, IT'S *SUCH* A GOOD SONG TO LEAVE THEIR STORY OFF, THEIR ENTIRE PART OF THE WORLD- ALMOST ALL OF IT FITS THEM AND THEIR CORNER SO NICELY AAAAAAAAAAA

#Spot says stuff #rw #oc tag #i have YET to organize the entire playlist but This Fucking Ending. MWAH #its kinda sad i dont really have a song like that for fish and haboob but ah... #-shakes fist- gog feckin dang it these lil shits just get to me sm. who wouldve thot prioritizing ur own enjoyment would be so Nice

[taravangianlistenstothebeachboys]

☕ Carridane Farrier

Haven't read the third book yet, but I am in LOVE with how Dickinson uses Farrier, in two regards specifically: his metaphorical use as a political ideology, and his relationship with the OTHER major metaphorical character, Cosgrad Torrinde.

I might be using misleading language when I say Itinerant and Hesychast are metaphors; its more that they both employ their belief systems to such a massive degree that there is little about them that ISN'T their beliefs made manifest. Farrier is a monster of meritocracy and neoliberal imperialism, Torrinde of fascism, and that is what it is to be them. 

Even what little personality they display seem like natural extensions of their politics: Farrier is charming, open to new ideas, ready and willing to learn from new cultures (or at least their surface-level aspects). He is occasionally self-effacing, and willing to laugh along with the satirist griots making fun of Falcrest and its strict customs: after all, the people of Falcrest are not yet perfect, and as people are what their culture makes them, Falcresti culture must not yet be perfect. It would be foolish to push back all foreign practices when they could point the way towards improvement.

But that doesn’t mean he sees other cultures as equal to Falcrest. He is, after all, the Cryptarch most fond of unleashing a good plague, burning the keepers of old culture while collecting children in his walled-off schools to learn Falcresti ways, releasing them as good incrastic citizens. They need to be taught the right of things, after all. Saved from their own ways. And Farrier is the surgeon’s hand who severs them from their culture, the smiling voice who pitches friend against friend, the paternalistic force who doesn’t tell them that he knows best but nevertheless forces everyone around him to believe it. He wants you to be your best self, and will kill your father so the grief will motivate you to achieve it.

In contrast, Torrinde is proud, always willing to show off his bodily perfection (though this doesn’t extend to his member, demonstrating his prudishness and discomfort with the sexual). He is noted by the Oriati to be excessively disgusted by nudity and fertilizer—the twinning of the two together suggesting that he views them as fundamentally of the same nature. There is some neurological evidence that conservative political beliefs are positively correlated with strong disgust responses, and Hesychast operates accordingly: his fear of racial degeneracy and impure acts is the same as the fear of creeping rot and infectious parasites. Its no wonder he programmed the Clarified by using threats of maggots. More than fear of the impure, however, Torrinde is afraid of the world itself:

As much as he styles himself a scientist, Hesychast is someone who has constructed a theory of how the world works and is relentlessly trying to force the square peg of the world in all its complexity into the round hole of simple hierarchies and distinct categories. Farrier seems much more willing to embrace a chaotic picture of the world; like his favorite accountant, he recognizes that the world is made up of thousand of interlocking forces, moving together in a tangled melody. And he can to that tune exceptionally well.

But more than any of the contrasts one can draw between Itinerant and Hesychast, it’s their relationship to each other that makes them both so brilliant. That they both hate each other, are both working towards goals that are obstensibly not only different but opposite, yet work under the same master to the same ends—it is a level of subtle storytelling that I needed.

There of course could have been the option of having them be uncomplicated enemies, having Farrier be the hero to Torrinde’s villain, in a way that so many other stories have done. It feels natural, familiar, the path of least resistance—of course the man who believes everyone has a chance at greatness is the hero, and the racist eugenicist the villain. By showing them instead working together, by clearly displaying Farrier’s atrocities, Dickinson shows how powers parading around false egalitarianism and a toothless aesthetic of cosmopolitanism can pursue the same ends as out-and-proud racist fascist powers, even as they fights fascist forces in many areas.

I also think that making them actually hate each other is almost as important though—depicting neoliberal meritocrats as all just being masked fascists is an unhelpful oversimplification, one that leads to misleading rhetoric and misguided strategy. Recognizing that they hate each other even as they replicate each other is necessary to defeating both of them.

#chaoticrushu #sorry this is such a late response I wanted to finish monster before answering it #and that took a lot longer than I was expecting for various reasons #baru cormorant #seth dickinson #the masquerade #ask game #leo says #leo answers

[serpntinc]

❛❛  since the very moment i emerged into this WRETECHED world, an insatiable hunger gnawed at my being, a VENOMOUS CRAVING that demanded to be sated. they dismissed my wrath as inconsequential, blind to the ardor of my RIGHTEOUS FURY, but i, the harbinger of destruction, reveled in their inevitable demise.

even as my physique morphed into this figure, the hunger persisted, a SERPENT of entitlement coiled deep within my being, its venom pulsating with every beat of my NARCISSISTIC heart.

contains mentions of: death, substance abuse, psychological abuse and mental disorders

— BASICS.

Name: Heathcliff James Morgan

Nickname: Heath

Age / D.O.B.: 53 / March 22, 1970

Gender, Pronouns: Cisman. He/Him

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Hometown: Dallas, Texas

Occupation: Retired F1 driver / Leader of The Snakes

Affiliation: Snakes

Languages: English, Spanish, Italian, French, Portuguese, Russian, German

Relationship Status: Divorced

Children: Two

— PHYSICAL.

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Eye Color: Dark Brown

Height: 6 ft

Scars: A thick scar on his neck. Courtesy of a past ally who turned against Heath and tried to kill him

Tattoos: 19 tattoos. The largest being a serpent covering his back.

— MENTAL.

Personality Type: ENTP

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Positive Traits: Indomitable, Eloquent, Assertive, Cunning, Dominant, Ambitious, Bold, Decisive, Resourceful, Self Disciplined, Confident, Perceptive

Negative Traits: Brutal, Volatile, Manipulative, Cynical, Rough, Competitive, Vengeful, Malicious

Mental Health: (Undiagnosed) NPD

Narcotics of use: Cocaine

— FAMILY .

Parents: Clark Morgan, Midge Davis

Siblings: TBD Morgan, TBD Morgan

Cousins: TBD, TBD, TBD

Ex wife: TBD

Children: Willa Morgan ( daughter, 6 years old. NPC ) . TBD Morgan ( son, 27 years old. WC ) .

— BIOGRAPHY .

Heath was born in Dallas. His mother was a burlesque dancer and his dad a mechanic. His mother was an alcoholic and abusive, she also struggled with drug addiction and would constantly disappear from home for weeks at a time. His father got tired of this and moved with his children to a trailer park, where he raised them as a single dad.

His father was part of a motorcycle gang, mostly former by getaway drivers with criminal ties, the kids spent much of their time under their protection, they considered them family and that was where Heath developed his passion for cars.

He started driving karts, the first step in the craft of racing, learning from control to adapting to the race track for speed. He entered karting competitions, was skilled and started to attract attention from sponsors. Different local and national competitions, getting a few good wins under his belt.

His father was killed in a confrontation between the group and the police, which made Heath responsible for his younger siblings. Due to family connections, they found their way to NYC. Necessity made him join the criminal world for a quick way out, doing the unimaginable to guarantee their survival since they no longer had protection.

He built for himself a small group of criminals that he had met along the way, they lived in the shadows. Started with small thefts and riots, until they evolved into kidnapping, blackmailing, extortion - and murder. yes, they knew it would reach extreme measures as soon as attacks on government buildings and high ranking individuals started to happen. It was a common fact among the powerful, they always had the fire lit faster when someone was about to die. And he wanted that kind of attention.

As the years went by he could see the improvement, they were far from being rich but now they had their own small house and were comfortable for the first time. Decided to return to amateur kart competitions and attended different educational programs pursuing technical and mechanical backgrounds knowledge. Sponsorship and funding allowed him to get his full competition license, building a career.

After getting a FIA international grade A license, he began competing in the lower-tier series, getting the right kind of networking and catching the attention of team owners, opening doors to opportunities in high levels of F1.

Heath was superior to the majority. Amidst the clamor, the chaos, the endless hours of practice, he remained unbroken, untouched. His power hunger surpassed that of his peers, a relentless drive to go beyond, delve deeper, and endure farther. While many found themselves in a competition for attention - he simply prevailed, unequivocally. And he deserved it. He deserved to be seen and be heard, eat the rich as they devour everything around them.

At twenty-six, he had his first child with his girlfriend at the time - who would become his wife in the not-so-distant future. After the birth of their son, they moved to London, where they had connections that could help his partner while Heath was away competing in Formula 1.

Seven years later, Heath formed the Snakes in the heart of London with an initial goodwill intention — shield his family from the rampant criminality engulfing the city. The gang was conceived as a protective force, standing against the shadows that threatened the well-being of those he held dear. However, as the Snakes grew in influence, Heath’s power hunger nature and the complexities of survival led them down a darker path. The once virtuous mission became entangled with corruption, and the gang found strategic advantage in expanding their business ventures. Meticulously chosen individuals, whose every weakness could be exploited and shaped into a weapon.

After winning F1 world championship for the eighth time ( six times consecutively) at forty three, he decided to retire. He got bored. Not just of his career, but everything else. Everyone who crossed his path tried brutally to tame him, breaking him into a thousand pieces, tirelessly seeking to reshape into different individuals. His essence could never be affected, you cannot corrupt something that has been rotten for a long time. He could feel all that poison in his blood, every step he took was like the tick tock of a time bomb about to burst - all those vile urges were devouring him from the inside out.

Ten years into his leadership of the Snakes, his personal life began to unravel as Heath’s emotional detachment and toxic behavior took its toll on his marriage. The once-strong bond between him and his wife gradually eroded, undermined by Heath's relentless focus on the gang's affairs and his growing disconnection from the needs of his partner, ultimately culminating in a divorce that mirrored the shattered fragments of a life once built on love and commitment.

The year is 2024, and it has been 20 years since the beginning of his empire. New adversaries appeared on the way, more organizations than they could count, but nothing that couldn't be turned into a vile public message of what would happen to anyone who got in their way.

— F1 TIMELINE .

1988 : got his FIA international grade A license. he was 18

1991 : started competing for ferrari. he was 21 years old

1992 - 1999 : won six world titles consecutively

2000 : signed with mclaren.

2007 : won his seventh world title

2009 : won his eighth and last world title

2013 : retired. 43 years old

— EXTRAS .

has a labrador retriever named Buddy

always wears leather jacket or flannel shirts. wears a black wild rag around his neck

cowboy vibes and southern charm

— WANTED DYNAMICS. (self explanatory mostly, but always game to brainstorm !)

ex fiance / have i killed you before? : ( thats actually a wanted connection, all the details can be find here )

girltoy : they have similar personalities and knew better than to mess around each other. However, their thirst for chaos and the tendency to fall into old patterns got the best of them, and they can't get rid of each other. a true emotional power struggle.

protege : heath has a over protective dynamic with this character. the reason can be discussed by us. is someone he keeps on good terms and constantly assists them in some way.

nemesis : preferably someone from an opposing gang or a government character. they mirror many common personality traits, but differ greatly in ideals

old friends / past group members

someone he's blackmailing

past lovers : in short, he has been out there. most of the time short and superficial relationships, he usually gets romantically involved with easily manipulated people.

baby mama : one night stand that resulted in their six-year-old daughter. it could be an unknown character or someone who already knew heath in the past. they get along smoothly, tried to form a family in the past, and it didn't work, but they raise their daughter on good terms

patron saint of lost causes : a good natured character who insists on trying to see any kind of goodness reflected in heath. hero complex, constantly creates excuses for why he is the way he is and tries to "save" him from his inner demons.

do you want to make a deal with the devil? : someone he is trying to corrupt. the members of the snakes are meticulously chosen, the criteria are high, and most importantly of all it has to be someone who shares the same ideals. heath saw potential in this character ( what caught his attention can be discussed by us ) and believes he can be useful in some way, trying to identify his character's weaknesses and what actually motivates them.

#talesfmintro