#<- hi snuf btw!!

[orangekingfisher]

i have so many thoughts about rpbg he's floating in my head constantly like a blorbo

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw(Here!), Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Leona Kingscholar

Let’s just rip the bandaid off. Leona dates to marry. He’s not someone to invest his time in something troublesome, and frankly? Not many people catch his interest. Sure. He might think someone is physically attractive, but there’s a difference. He doesn’t follow the traditional path either. The ‘dating’ stage doesn’t last long because he’s already made up his mind prior to it.

Dating is pretty much just formality. The moment you agree to it, you’re essentially agreeing to marry him. He’s not going to put in effort for just anyone. Bonus points if he’s the one to confess his feelings first. That is basically concrete confirmation that he intends to marry you.

Leona proposing is inevitable. Only two things stand in his way: time and pride. Time, because he is no idiot. Your ways are unlike his people, and unlike him. He’s patient. He knows how to play the game. He can wait, but not forever. He’ll observe you over time and slip in questions here and there about your goals in life. Then he’ll find a good time frame. Please remember that Leona is not just an ambitious hot-head. He’s a smart one.

Then there is his pride. He will not put himself in a position that has a chance to fail. No. He will play dirty, and wait until you are tinkering with the idea of marriage. He’ll steer conversations towards talks of the future, and make it so you’re the one who starts them. All to get you warmed up to the idea of spending your life with him, and to a stage where he can clearly tell where you lie emotionally. He might appear neutral on the outside; however, it’s all according to plan. While you are just beginning to imagine your lives together, Leona’s already had the thought process long prior. You don’t need to know that though.

The icing on the cake is when you visit his home. Checka is Leona’s secret wingman. Your soft spot for the boy is something he takes advantage of, and lets Checka consume your attention during a tour of the palace. You meet his elder brother, who irritatingly pries for details about your relationship. Leona lets it go. Just this once, because he knows you feeling at home is more important in the long run. You share a room with him during your stay, and he made arrangements for small changes according to your tastes. You’re also gifted with a new wardrobe of traditional clothes for your stay, and given free reign of the area. Naturally you are guarded in secret, as per the King’s orders. His brother knows as well as Leona does that it is imperative that your stay goes well.

You will be touring landmarks and tourist spots within the continent as well. While Leona would much rather laze his free time away in his room (away from his family), he goes. Word spread that he was bringing home his partner. Thank the gossiping maids for that. Walking with you makes the rumors official, and is safer than having you walk alone with Checka and some royal guards. That would have arisen suspicion, and been troublesome. More troublesome than walking around and confirming to the public that you are not to be touched.

Ignoring the many remarks about how Leona is unusually active during his visit (thanks to you), his pride is high. You’ve thoroughly been slotted into his life, and are accepted. Any apprehensions about you denying him were snuffed out. The way you took to living with him so easily proves it. If you weren’t welcomed by his family? Well, it wouldn’t change anything. This scenario just makes what he’s about to do easier.

The first night you arrived, Farlan presented Leona with a Kingscholar family heirloom. A ring that has been in their family for generations. Not meant to be worn permanently, and only for proposals. Farlan used it to propose to his wife, and at the ceremony presented her with the ring he picked out. Now Leona will use it to propose to you.

One look at it and Leona declined. He’s spent his whole life chasing things that he couldn’t have because of his birth status. He would not yield this moment to tradition. Farlan was shocked, but rescinded the offer with a supportive smile. His brother had found himself, and the King was proud.

On the evening of your final night at the palace - Leona finds you alone on the balcony of your shared room. If he was going to do anything, it would be now. Initially he was 100% confident in getting your acceptance, but the longer he watches the less sure he becomes. Deep down there is rooted fear that he will once again become second choice, and that you’ll choose to return to your world over him. His hands are in his pockets, and one of them fists around the ring he prepared long ago.

Right when he moved to back out, you turned to come back inside. Your serene stature brightened at the sight of him, and he gained back some confidence. If you could only look at him that way forever…well, here goes nothing.

What are you doing out there without a coat? It gets extremely cold in the Savannah during the night. Do you want to get sick? I won’t be the one taking care of you….,” he sighs, pushing the door open, “Stubborn mule. Make some room, I’m coming out there….I’m near-certain that you figured it out, but this isn’t just a normal vacation. I brought you here to ask for your hand. What?? Stop playing dumb. Not your ‘hand’ hand - oh, for crying out- marriage! I am asking you to marry me!….I am taking the laughter as a yes, now give me your finger”

{ 'Everything the light touches...is our kingdom' - A golden sunrise. Befitting. He used to hate them. Hate that phrase too. Yet you are the sun that Leona has been searching for. He continues to fight against fate in hopes that his efforts will bare fruit, and you are living proof that there is a chance. Maybe not easily. His life might not be what he originally dreamed. He may not get to sit on a throne of light . Yet there is a light in his life, and he likes to think that fate did not bring it to him. No, he found you all on his own.}

Ruggie Bucchi

'I don't see why you haven't proposed to that young darling yet. Keep waiting and you'll miss your chance, boy'

Well, of all the things Ruggie expected to hear during his visit home, that wasn't one. Normally he'd be nagged over being away too long, or not writing home enough. This? It caught him off guard. Grandma was always sticking her nose where it didn't belong...but, maybe she had a point this time.

Your relationship. It's not something Ruggie has given much thought. It's uncharacteristic of him to get comfortable enough not to look a few steps ahead, but he's gone soft. A fact that he begrudgingly accepts with a grain of salt.

Naturally, he doesn't admit this out loud and instead changes the topic. On the outside, he acts normal and helps out around the house. However, internally he is thinking over his grandmother's prying.

Marriage. It's not necessarily 'beneficial,' to say the least. With only a few months left until graduation, he'll finally be entering the rat-race to secure himself a comfortable position for life. He's worked hard and developed connections to make it happen. The finish line is right there.

Where does that leave you? He can't necessarily be as flexible if he has a partner to worry about. It's a weak link, and might cause problems in his plans. The smart thing to do would be to break things off. After all, how many school romances get a happy ending? It's so unrealistic. He'll be busy with work, you'll have your own responsibilities, and eventually it will be like you are strangers with a title tying both of you together.

This reasoning alone is enough to settle the problem. It's just - he doesn't like it. It's the most realistic path and he hates it. If it was about finding a companion, then he could do it later in life.

But when he tries to picture that lifestyle with anyone other than you, it doesn't sit right. It's physically upsetting, and makes him nauseated.

Sleep evades him that night. Ruggie finds himself sitting in the kitchen doing homework, burning the midnight oil until he can think with a clear head. Naturally, his all-knowing grandmother finds him there and makes him spill his thoughts.

She's direct with her advice. It's rare for Ruggie to be stumped considering his quick-wit, and understanding emotions is a wisdom you gain with experience.

For someone like Ruggie, who's always maximized every outcome and thought ahead - you're a weakness. Something that he can't control, and yet exactly what he needs in life. We don't get to choose who we love in life. Love is unpredictable, and Ruggie's found it at a young age. Career opportunities come and go, but he will never get back the time spent at your side...so why not maximize that instead? Hm?

He leaves for NRC the following day. For the last time, considering it is his final year. On the way he stops at multiple markets and dips into his savings. With nothing but a ring and an idea, he ditches his stuff in his dorm and heads to Ramshackle.

He's not nervous. That left his system the night prior. His grandmother's tough advice hardened that up quick.

He knocks on the door, half expecting one of the resident ghosts to answer. Instead it's you, and he's down on one knee before you can speak. With one hand, he holds out the ring. The other itches his nose in attempt to hide his wobbly grin.

"Shishishishi~ I don't have to explain what's going on, right? I'm sure you can put two-and-two together quickly. Are you really so surprised that you have nothing to say? Hmm, I guess that I can take the lead. Pretty soon I'll be leaving. You still have another year here, and I can't promise that I will be around much. Until now, I had no plan for us. Likely because being with you is the most natural thing I have experienced. I've always aimed for a life of comfort, but now I want you in that picture too, y'know? So...when you graduate next year, will you marry me? I'll be patiently waiting, shishi~”

{Rose Quartz. The symbol of unconditional love and family. Something Ruggie hasn't experienced much in his life, and is grateful for. Ruggie did not want to choose a generic gem. Not for this. He may be known for cutting corners, but this is too important. He has done his fair share of trading, and knows exactly what to look for when shopping. No salesperson alive could convince him otherwise. You may not understand the meaning behind the gem, but that's alright. He doesn't mind, because this is the ring he'll see on your finger until you're both old and grey}

Jack Howl

Jack takes the longest out of all in his dorm. In result, his proposal is the most natural. Not to say that he does not put thought into it! Oh no, this poor lad hella overthinks the event. It's just getting him to the proposing stage is - well, anticlimactic?

All Jack requires is time. Once you've both settled in to your lives on an individual standpoint, with time comes thoughts of taking your relationship to the next level. As adults who have been together for years, it's only natural? At least for Jack. He has never been for or against getting married. So, there really is no internal battle for him to fight. He just? Lets himself be happy with the idea? I know, I know. It sounds too easy - but think about it. Jack is responsible, kind, and a bit like a golden retriever (or should I just say wolf?). He doesn't ignore his feelings. So if he feels that he want's to marry you, then why not? The worst that can happen is you say no.

There was no epiphany. No spark or overwhelming feeling of affection that made him want to marry you. No impending doom, nervousness, or special moment that he can pinpoint as 'the moment'. Nothing. You weren't even around.

He was merely finishing up morning jog and heading home. The thought casually entered his head, and he let it stay. Over time it reappeared over and over, until he felt that he'd heard it enough to act on it.

Jack is high-key observant and knows your likes and dislikes by heart. He feels that such an important moment is something he needs to think through deeply, and on his own. Many have been at the receiving end of his determination, and that doesn't exclude you. Once he's set his mind to something, there is no holding back. Over the course of weeks he proceeds to undergo self-reflection, and craft a proposal that he feels is perfect.

One question he spends time thinking about is 'where,' because Jack would prefer to do an intimate act like proposing somewhere private. The last thing he wants you to feel is pressure to accept, so he chooses to propose on a late night walk. This might arise suspicion since he isn't in workout gear, which is rare. Yet it's a price Jack is willing to pay. He's never been great with surprises anyways.

He tries to uphold some element of mystery though. Do not laugh, but he put the in a plastic bag and hid it inside the container for his protein powder. When times get tough, you have to get a little creative.

Right before your evening stroll, he says that he wants to make a shake (under the pretense that afterwards he'll work-out). In actuality, he takes an empty bottle and slips the ring inside.

While you're both walking, he shakes it around and 'complains' that nothing is coming out. With you completely unknowing, he opens the cap and feigns surprise. It makes you curious, and he hands over the bottle a bit too eagerly

It's light, you note instantly. A glance inside reveals the ring, and when you pull it out Jack stops walking. His face sets with determination despite the red hue overtaking his neck and ears.

Will you marry me?? -- oh wait, that was too blunt, wasn't it? Hang on!, " he takes a breath, and coughs into his fist, "So. I've been doing some thinking. We've been together for years now, and to me you've become irreplaceable. I don't know how else to describe how I feel, other than to say that you are the person I want to spend my life with. I can only hope that you feel this way too,"

{He isn't a man of the arts. Jack has no eye for fancy jewels, or what's an appropriate design. He originally thought to have the shop keeper help him decide. Yet, that felt impersonal. So he perused many stores, and did his best to imagine your reaction to seeing each ring. Nothing caught his eye until this peridot. A simple cut with an eye-catching color. Sure, it's not what others would recommend but he liked it. Who would Jack be to deny his gut instinct?}

[aayakashii]

Hiii I was thinking a first kiss scenario (❤️21) with Lyca would be fun! Either fluff or smut works :)

21❤️ First kiss

Did I project myself into this? Yes, heavily. So I'm very sorry if some parts of it are too specific skdjdksjs 😭 but here it is!! Very fluffy btw!

You looked to your side and pursed your lips into a thin line so you wouldn’t break into a loud laugh.

Lyca was right by your side, legs crossed while he snuggled one of your pillows, with a bright and furious shade of red on his cheeks, neck and ears.

The poor boy was struggling, but powering through the grueling task he had forced upon himself.

All of that just because he asked you if you two could try to watch a romcom together.

“Why would you ever want to watch a movie like that, Lyca?” you had asked him, befuddled.

He growled, an angry pout plastered on his face.

“The blonde gigolo said I am not strong just because I can barely interact with girls! And he even said I would probably die if I ever watched a romance movie, so I have to prove him wrong!” he clenched his fists, absolutely mad with indignation.

You rolled your eyes. You had to have a serious conversation with Rui about him picking on poor Lyca, because you always ended up mixed into their mess.

“You’re walking right into his trap, Lyca. This will prove absolutely nothing and you will definitely hate it.” you tried putting a little bit of sense into his brain, but he was stubborn.

“But what if he really thinks that?! What if it's not a trap?! I have to prove it to him!”

You let out a loud sigh. There was no convincing him otherwise. He was willingly walking towards his own torture and all you could do was stand beside that dumb werewolf.

And it turns out Rui was almost right. Lyca did look like he was about to spontaneously combust while he watched those romantic scenes. You kept one eye on the movie and one on his reactions, eager to know how he would feel once the kissing scene popped up.

You didn't expect to feel disappointed though.

As the two main characters kissed passionately on the screen, Lyca began staring at the scene with what looked like curiosity. The furious blush was still there, on his cheeks, but more than anything, it looked like the gears in his mind were working overtime.

And then, he turned to you.

“Have you… have you ever kissed someone before?” he asks in a mumble, glaring at you from under his long lashes, like he was ready to fight and not talk.

The question took you by surprise. It wasn't really something you liked talking about, but you also had a weak spot for Lyca. If he was curious about it, then you wouldn't mind answering.

“Just a few times, I guess” you shrugged. You decided not to mention you regretted it mostly every single time. That was the type of talk you didn't really want to have with him, of all people.

Lyca growled and angrily pouted beside you, crossing his arms. Your hand went straight to his hair, scritching his scalp soothingly.

“Why are you mad?”

He grabbed your wrist, withdrawing it from his head. You gave him the sad puppy eyes – trying to use his own weapon against him – but he turned his head away and was adamant in not looking at you.

“Hey, tell me why you're mad. Did I upset you?” you asked, genuinely concerned.

He pouted even more.

“You already had all these experiences.”

You blinked, confused.

“And…?”

“It makes me mad!” he huffed.

You paused to think about his words. A little part of you tried to entertain the thought that he was jealous, but you quickly snuffed that little flame out. Maybe he was upset that you both had similar ages and he hadn't done the same things. That was more likely. But it’s not like his circumstances allowed him to have said experiences, though. Lyca's life was anything but mundane like yours used to be.

You put your hand back on his head again despite his warning growl.

“You don't have to be mad about that. I only did it because people were pressuring me. I have never actually kissed anyone I liked.”

It was a half-truth. Intimacy was actually a very sensitive topic for you. You always watched in horror as colleagues and friends around you had such an easy time mindlessly locking lips with each other. 

For you, it was almost physically impossible even thinking about doing that without caring about the person you'd kiss and consequently, you ended up not kissing anyone for a long, long time. 

Embarrassingly long. 

Eventually, you had forced yourself to get your first experiences out of the way just so you'd stop thinking there was something wrong with you. Obviously, they were all with people who didn't care much about you.

And you didn't exactly regret it. It made you realize that things like that aren't that big of a deal and, honestly,  sometimes it could be a sensory nightmare. So it's not like you'd be missing that much.

But deep, deep inside, you kind of wished you had them with someone you liked and who liked you back.

“Why would you do something you don't like just because of other people?” Lyca had now turned towards you, ears perked up and one eyebrow raised.

You sighed. Sometimes you think that if the world was as simple as Lyca thought it could be, everything would be a lot better.

“I'm sure you've noticed humans are very weird and stupid sometimes. That's another proof of that.” you didn't feel like explaining too much.

He hummed, deep in thought.

Suddenly, as you searched for whatever else he was thinking in his golden irises, you felt anxiety bubbling up in your stomach. Your mind was plagued by the thought of him being kissed by some random and uncaring person and you definitely didn't want him to make the same mistake as you.

“Listen. I don't want you to feel pressured when it comes to these things though.” you blurted out.

He looked at you quizzically, and then scoffed.

“I'm not feeling pressured.” he puffed his chest, as if the thought was unimaginable.

“No, I'm serious.” you tugged his hoodie's sleeve to keep his attention on you. “Even if it's not a big deal, I don't want you to kiss someone you don't like.”

He stared at you.

“Why?”

You felt your cheeks get warmer under his gaze.

“... Because I want you to have good memories. I want you to be able to remember most of your experiences fondly. I don't want you to regret anything nor feel hurt.”

Lyca stared at you, thinking. He had no problem with making eye contact even when he wasn't speaking and it served to make you even more embarrassed. Were you crossing a line? You were extremely protective of him, but he never asked any of that from you. What if you were just meddling in his business and annoying him? What if you were being a hurdle he had to cross over in order to feel more like a human? What if–

“Can you do it then?” Lyca suddenly said, snapping you out of your thoughts

You looked at him, eyes wide. Maybe you heard him wrong.

“What?”

“I wouldn't mind if you were the one who kissed me for the first time. I don't think I would regret it.” he said, scratching his head and, finally, breaking eye contact. 

He was embarrassed.

You blinked fast a few times, trying to gather your thoughts.

“A-are… are you sure?”

He dropped his arm to his side and nodded, serious as ever.

“Uhum. I am sure.”

“Don't you want to save it and do it with someone you like?”

“I like you.”

Oh god. Oh GOD.

“N-no, Lyca, I mean-”

“You don't want to kiss me?”

You rubbed your face with your hands, feeling how hot your skin was, and groaned.

“It's not that! I do want to- to kiss you! It's just-”

“Then do it.” he said, as matter-of-factly as he could possibly say.

You sighed and shifted in your seat.

“Are you sure?” you asked again. He rolled his eyes.

“I already said I am.”

“But are you REALLY sure?”

Lyca began growling, his wolf ears going flat against his head.

“I am sure!”

“Okay, then” you gulped, straightening your back and gathering all the courage you had inside “I'll have to come closer, okay?”

“Okay.” he nodded, also sitting up straight and watching your every movement.

You tentatively reached your hands towards Lyca's cheeks. He flinched as you touched him and you mouthed an apology before cupping them gently. You could feel how warm his skin was getting as you got closer and closer to his face.

His eyes were wide, and his shaky breath fanned your skin as your lips were barely apart.

When you locked your lips against his, it felt like he was melting under your touch – you felt his shoulders sagging and he unconsciously placed his hands on your waist.

It didn't feel like any kiss you had before. He was clearly clumsy and didn't know what to do (and, honestly, neither did you), but the warmth of his body embraced you gently and, when you glided your hands to his neck, you could feel the fast and loud drum of his heart under your fingertips – it was so endearing, it made you dizzy.

As you softly sucked on his bottom lip, you wondered why it all felt so sweet – were you falling for him? –, but right as you began thinking too much about it, he let out a little gasp that scrambled every coherent thought.

You brought him closer to you and pressed your lips flush against his, squeezing his shoulders with your hands before letting go and finally pushing him away. You didn't want to cross any boundaries by deepening the kiss without his consent, after all. Just touching him without having him bite your hand off was a huge achievement, so the kiss felt like a trophy.

Once you opened your eyes, Lyca was already watching you with pupils blown wide; his golden iris was barely visible and he stared at you, wide-eyed and breathless.

“Lyca! You're supposed to close your eyes when you kiss.” you playfully tapped the top of his head.

His face was scarlet red and he hid it behind the sleeve of his hoodie.

“We-well, you have to tell me that first!”

You sighed, smiling at his embarrassment, but you were sure you didn't look much different.

As you tried to calm your own racing heart, a loud thump-thump-thump caught your attention, and you peeked behind Lyca.

You gasped, trying to suppress a giggle.

His tail was wagging wildly, hitting the couch in a steady rhythm.

“I guess I don't really need to ask if you liked the kiss, do I?” You teased him, hiding how big your smile was with your hands.

“ARGH” he pushed his tail down, trying to immobilize it. “Shut up!”

You didn't know if he was talking to you or to his own tail. You let your arms fall to your sides.

“Hey, it's okay, I really liked the kiss, you know? Don’t be embarrassed.” you said, between chuckles.

He stared at you wide-eyed, searching your face for any hint of a lie or of a joke. When he couldn't find any of that, his tail began wagging once again, much to his dismay.

“T-thank you.” he grumbled, again avoiding your eyes.

Right then, as you watched him blush and fidget on his seat, you thought that maybe you could say that was your very own first kiss as well.

[highlordofkrypton]

my ACOTAR wips // you wanted a villain?

I've been sitting on this one for a hot minute. I wrote this as a response to my annoyance with the shift in narrative, specifically towards Rhysand in the ACOTAR series.

So, I figured I'd introduce my morally gray boy (idek if he's gray, either), and see how it holds up, but then I got attached to the sibling dynamic with Amren. I also really enjoy writing ancient horrifying creatures, so...

Not sure if I'll continue this, but it was cathartic to write.

TL;DR - There's a new menace in town, and he's... Amren's older brother? Beware of depiction of violence, if ever you're not cool with that. Read the WIP under the cut.

TAGS: YOU ASKED FOR MY OC, YOU'LL GET MY OC. @watcherintheweyr @amalhe-kofee and @feyres-divorce-lawyer this is my anti-IC WIP that I mentioned... IT'S NOT FEYRE FRIENDLY BTW IM SORRY

The House of Wind rests on the side of a mountain, atop a valley, overlooking the beautiful city of Velaris. It is the throne upon which the high command of the Court sit, watching over the peasants who rebuild after war and knitting fanciful tales of proximity. From high above, behind their wards and between wild oak walls, they tell themselves—these are my people, this is my court. 

Lights wink shut across the city, like candles snuffed out by a violent breath. The darkness creeps in from the outskirts, slithering towards the House with frightful purpose. A blanket of silence hushes the people, though most are already asleep. There is no such thing as the winds of change; change simply happens when it is least expected and least desired.

A mouse tiptoes against marble floors, silent as ever. Years of hunting to survive have taught her the habit, even if the need for discretion has long vanished. This is her home and these are her people. She has nothing to hide. (Oh, but who said she is hiding?) The smile that spreads on her face is wicked as she circles her prey, settled in the foyer, looking pensively into the fire. The bond between them remains firmly shut, an important part of her game, and the rest of her family has been ordered to bed in hopes of avoiding an… unwanted spectacle.

Rhysand looks as handsome as ever, if not more tonight. He stands tall and confident, broad shoulders in a dark suit that seems to drink up the dance of the flame. Feyre yearns for him—her love, her male, her mate. She creeps closer and closer, until she can wrap her arms around his waist. She has to stand on her toes to kiss his neck, nuzzle the fine hairs there and breathe in the scent of him. Crisp, cool, like the evening breeze. 

“You seem different today, I like it.”

Rhys always finds a way to take her breath away. The house rattles with the impact of Feyre's body against its walls and she sobs.

“Do not touch me,” he clips.

Rhys always takes her breath away, and he would, had he been the one here.

One by one, the Inner Circle of the Night Court appears. First are the three Illyrians, two of which are armed to the teeth. Their armour and weapons are familiar—discarded iterations of better inventions that this realm never did see. Their battle stance implies that they are trained, but not enough. Not for the villain they face now. 

“Let her go.” The very shadows warble around them as Rhysand makes his demands and utters his threat. “Or I will tear your throat out.”

Johan’s icy gaze slithers from the pseudo-Fae to the false prince. His face remains handsomely impassive.

“Oh, would you? I’d rather like that.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that betrays the rest of him. His tone is dead, like his soul at this very meeting. Is this all they are? The famed Night Court? Children, all of them.

The High Lord of the Night Court moves. Probably to save his mate. The second he starts, Johan squeezes harder. Feyre’s head turns red, then a little purple with suffocation. Her eyes bulge a pretty hazel. It is still a struggle, after all this time, for him to piece together recognition in the form of faces. He can scent the anger, the soaps they use to clean themselves and even the nature of their magic, but he cannot—will never—see them.

Threat of his mate’s death is enough to stop Rhysand in his tracks. The other two had started to circle him and they mirror the movement of their lord. While the demonstration of reason is reassuring, the clear weakness is disappointing. Johan squeezes a bit more, each increment with the end goal of snapping her neck and watching the life blink out of her. An unsatisfying end, but there are many of them here and he has many questions. One answer for one life, that should do. The first murder is always meant to send a message.

“Hanni?”

Amren enters the room, her voice so soft, it’s unrecognizable to the Illyrians she’s known for years. The way she looks at the stranger makes her seem much younger than her fifteen thousand years; it’s the longing that fills her expression, shattering every knowledge they’ve had of their friend. (Did they ever really know her? A creature this old and devastating?) She spares no glance at the violence against her friend, only bolting towards Johan to tackle him in a tight hug. He remains unmoved.

“I have missed you.” Her eyes wrench shut as she holds him. Not even the sound of Feyre hitting the ground and her friends darting to care for the once-human High Lady will take this moment from her. “You’re back.”

Johan’s hand rests in her hair, jet black to mirror his. (And their eyes, brighter than any stars in the Continent’s skies.) The touch is awkward. Stunted. “I am.” He says, flatly.

“You know this asshole?” Cassian whines.

When she pulls back, Amren puts little distance between herself and the visitor. “Yes, he is my brother.”

“Your brother?” Cassian sputters, choking on his own saliva. The room stills, every soul in it staring at their ancient friend who only ever hints at her past. The thought that Amren, a creature just barely contained in her flesh, could have family is beyond them. The younglings swallow audibly. They are afraid.

They should be.

Rhysand stands while Morrigan tends to the High Lady of Velaris, a boy defending his territory. “Tell your brother he is in my house and he will not lay a hand on my mate.”

How could you mistake him for me, his voice echoes down the bond and into… nothing?

“So long as I am here, all bargains are off,” Johan drawls. Even the ones made with the heart and the soul. Something he said must be amusing because he can feel Amren’s amusement bubbling up beside him, despite her mimicking his impassive expression. 

The rest of the children in the room are of mild interest to him, part of a task. Nothing less, nothing more. Tilting his head, he inspects Amren. He towers over her, both in stature and demeanour. If she was cold, then he is the ice that drew the world to a standstill. If she is distant, then he is the yawning crevasse between humanity, faeries and whatever they are supposed to be.

A metal finger slides beneath her chin, tipping it upwards towards him. His lips part to speak to her, but before he can get a word out, a wheezing useless sound interrupts him.

“What does that mean,” Feyre breathes, struggling to her feet. It would have been a better show of strength, had she not needed two people to keep her standing. “What… happened to the bond? Amren?” She looks to her friend, expecting their relationship to sway the situation in their favour how it always has.

Amren rolls her silver eyes towards Feyre, then back to Johan. “These are my friends.” She chooses her words carefully. For they all have been through together, the being before her would not understand the notion of family. Not with these people.

Johan’s handsome features twist into a brief scowl, but he smooths his expression just as suddenly. Her relationships mean nothing to him. They are infinitesimal before Amren, even smaller compared to himself. It is only out of affection for Amren that he does not flay the once-human. He does not bother with answering her question, he owes her nothing.

“What are you doing here, little one?” He finally asks, gleaming the answers from the cosmos in her eyes. “This is not your home.”

From the outskirts of the room, Amren’s friends flinch. Velaris had been her home. For now.

“I was trapped in this realm when you all left.”

A frown mars Johan’s features, no matter how slight. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers. She does not need to say it for him to understand. Left behind. He mourns the injustice in his own way. “Do you wish to return home?”

It’s not a question she can answer now, not without betraying one (or both) of her families. Amren steps back, schooling her emotions into their usual iron. Johan’s gaze follows her with the same attention a predator would offer his prey. One wrong step and he could have her between his teeth. All this time, she wrought fear to all the Fae around her—a bedtime story to keep them in line—but she is nothing compared to her brothers. (If Johan is here, then the Other must be, too, wreaking havoc across the continent.)

“Why are you here?” She speaks on behalf of their house.

You know why.

“Speak it, so that we all may hear.” The order is bold, a risk she has weighed out. Her friends stand at the ready; she’s still on their side and they trust her.

Johan surveys the cast before him, properly this time. There is Amren, standing in a new light by allying herself with children playing politics and heroics. The High Lord shares a handful of similarities to Johan, calling back to the origins of his line and his Court, but still only a shadow of its former glory. He is pleased to see the way Illyrians have developed. Still strong in build and character, with no visible adversity to techno-magic (despite its archaic shape). His gaze lingers on Azrael. Not his face, never the face, but the whole of him. The fae’s magic whispers to him—shadowsinger—and Johan’s nostrils flare in the only visible tell of amusement. This will need to be revisited. There is the female fae who is of no discernible interest to him and lastly, the High Lady who’s stature as fae decreases with every waking moment.

“This world is corrupt. I am here to return it as it should be.” Simple as that. “Your bond is no longer and so is your Making. Neither were earned, but if you are truly worthy, I am sure you will be able to gain one of those back.”

Shadows warble around the room as the High Lord winnows across the room, dagger in hand. He aims right for Johan's heart. Metal clangs loudly as the blade’s tip collides with Johan’s false hand. His other one slides behind the High Lord’s neck to pull him close. “Anything you can do, I can do better.” Johan purrs.

Rhysand would not be the ‘strongest of all High Lords’ if he did not have a vast arsenal of weaponry to use against any assailant. (In the background, Feyre tries to help, but stumbles when she comes to the sudden realization that she is no longer High Fae.) He barrels into Johan’s mind with the ease of daemati, and the mistake is his. Johan puts up no shields, welcoming him into the chaos of his mind. 

“Rhys, no!” Amren shouts, but it is too late.

Johan’s mind is—

A wasteland made of shadows. Light withers in his presence, basking him in primal darkness. Fear in its purest form lives in him, surrounded by the souls of the dead. (Failed experiments, blood on his hands and ghosts beyond even his explanation.) They haunt him endlessly, robbing him of the ability to connect with the living. (He is one of them and they will never let him go.) 

Rhysand claws at his face, fighting invisible monsters after spending a whole second inside the mind of an ancient demon. His eyes roll to the back of his head, body hitting the marble floors and seizing violently.

“What did you do to him?!” Feyre shrieks, crawling over to her mate and cradling him.

Nothing. Nothing was done to him, but the answer seems so obvious, it’s not worth speaking. What happened to Rhysand is a product of his own making. What point is there to all the power if he does not know how to wield it? Power pales in comparison to pure skill, and skill is nothing without the intelligence to know when and how to apply it. Johan simply tilts his head questioningly and looks down at the famed couple.

Cassian steps forward, ready to avenge his master, but the shadowsinger rests a hand on his shoulder, halting the thought with a shake of his head. Johan watches Azrael for a long moment.

Good boy, he presses into his mind. The thought is made of warmth and velvet. It slithers down Azrael’s spine and curls in his belly. The Illyrian flinches, glancing away from the invader. “What does that entail? Returning the world as it should be?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“What could—” Azrael’s question fades to nothing. Whatever he was going to ask, there’s no point. The man—the being—or whatever he was is already gone, clearly uninterested in entertaining their curiosity (and their fear).

Wisps of black smoke dance across the room as Amren is slammed into the wall. Johan manifests himself. “That is the last time you will question me on behalf of your mortals.” Her breath hiccups in her throat.

With that final word, he vanishes to finish his investigation of what this world has become.

[ikkosu]

HEATED

(prowl.gn.cybertonian.reader)

While rooked into a case he needs to solve, and aside from getting a new partner for, well, reasons — the enforcer is faced with a certain 'predicament' he needs tending.

reader is taller than prowl btw. like, a little bit taller. Or like super tall. I just like the height difference ok. ever since I saw this fanart I just went AWOOGA he's so ndjdjdn his waist damn. I need him submissive. posted this at one am too :D warnings : mild robot gore, and mentions of valve spike. all that stuff.

CHAPTER ONE

UP at the south, Kaon's underground road network hasn't been fairing well these last few solar cyles. The tunnel, swarthed in ink, stretched across from both sides of the labyrinth with each end unseen, fading off into the deep chasm. The only light source now was Swindle's flashlight that lit a soft halo on the ceiling.

The tunnel was extremely obscure under radar. After several Deceptions attempted another revolutionary feat it was then banned of entry. You can barely trace any energon trails entering and leaving the tunnel. Small wonder it was chosen as a hideout — disregarding, of course, the daily patrols now that occured at fixed intervals.

Grimacing, he shifted on his pedes to avoid the murky puddle on his right. The shroud of sulfuric egg, rotten scum and the churn of garbage danced by, and Swindle wouldn't have chosen this place at all if it weren't for the pleasureable sum he's about to be gifted with.

This better be a good deal.

And, on cue, the silhouette of a mech emerged from the shadows, quelling any sense of irritation he had for the late timing. Chastise would be normally an appropriate response. But he figured there'd be no point about huffing now when he's sure this mech's not a force to be reckoned with — and is frame shouldn't be : optics a darkly blue, gold platings a pulsing radiance under the beam of light.

He's a physical embodiment of a shanix-jacked aristocrat. The ones those 'cons' would surely give a good beating to. Him, on the other hand? They're good customers. The best, if any.

"Traffic, eh Senator?" Swindle approaches, servos itching for a good deal. He's already skimming through the many treats he's got under his sleeve.

"Hardly." He grunts with a dismissive wave. "Just some mindless cogs trying to interfere with my work. I ought to establish some policy to prevent them from being this, ugh, trying."

"Believe me, those coppas are as persistent as sparkeaters leechin' off a snuffed mech." He mused.

The mech laughs, a deep rich rumble pricely enough to conjure gold bars. "It's a mystery to know when they'll emerge unannounced."

" Now, onto business. What do we have, here?"

Between them, a barrier, is a table. Producing a rectangular black box from his subspace, the mech sets it down on the surface. Inside, a clink of something can be heard like wind chimes fluttering against the breeze.

"All the crystals from the best of all cities and planets." He said. " Iacon, Vos, Teran, Xaraen — Camien delight, your favorite, is also a plus."

"Ohohoho!" Swindle unlatches the cover and beams at the myriad of vibrant gems. "You can't be giving me these beauties all for nothing, eh? What do I owe you the pleasure of?"

"Oh, nothing grand. I'd just like the usual."

Swindle, for a moment, visibly sags. " Sorry to disappoint but with all the bots cracking down on all of my sources. I don't got too many interesting Intel these days from hiding."

"Oh, no, no,no, no." He waved a servo to stop him." Not the surveillance. I don't need that. I've got enought. What I need, however. Or, rather — my boys on the air has been lacking in some...condiments for their next heist. See to it that they're sufficiently provided."

Now, that's a target he could aim.

"We-ell, why don't'cha just say so?" Swindle grins, interest piqued. "Y'got a benefactor to spare?"

"Quite. He's not very compliant at the moment and I'd rather he is. Could you, perhaps, 'alleviate' that stubbornness of that dear mech?"

Swindle chuckles and does a half-bow, servo on his chassis."Well, my good sir. Anythin' for the customer is a good go. It's in my policy to do so much more than just alleviate his stubbornness." He pinched his foredigit and thumb. Then, rubs it." For a small extra charge, of course."

He throws in several more shanix onto the table.

"I take it you'll be swift?"

"Quick as a turbofox in heat, I assure you."

Ivory white flashes as he grins. "Happy hunting."

THE sun peered between the dark blue clouds of the smothered the sky. Iacon and it's stretching towers loomed above like jagged mountaintops, abstract and austere in all it's glory.

Prowl grips the railings tight. He leant over and rested his helm against the cool metal. Much too cool against the feverish temperature of his helm. Slow and steady he vents, attempting to cool down his heating frame.

The chronometer beeped five thirty. He's outside. Outside in the barely risen morning, disturbed from a barely slept slumber and dragged out to barely risen city straight into a murder scene.

The scenery fleets by in a thin film of blue. Enforcers litter the region, half a mile at most, rousing nearby apartments and living spaces for questioning. Gradually, front porches open. Dawdling mechs and their slow blinking optics, half sleep-induced, are jostled awake at the sight of the officers.

A passing mech was jogging around the vicinity when he supposedly stumbled over a concrete slab. A quick double take proved it wasn't a slab but a dead mech sprawled out on the road, a mini crater indicating the weight of his fall.

And, looking up to the nearby building, where he supposedly fell, a smashed glass on the perfect teeth of windows indicated clear where the incident occured. Obviously, the mech is long gone : grey and parched of color; helm tilted to one side, optics black.

Prowl let's out another breath. It seethed through clenched dentas, hissing out as steam. His servos shook. Footsteps patter behind and Prowl grips it taut to reign it in.

"Sir? Are you—"

"I'm fine." He cuts off the mech. " Who is it?"

The junior officer blinks in surprise, a waver in his voice. "Uh— they, uh. It's someone. They...They claim to be your partner, sir." He trails off, unsure and also surprised at the prospect.

Partner? Prowl skims languidly across the ample litter of mechs bustling about. Only until his optics land on a familiar one, he nods stiffly. "They're with me. You can leave, now."

"Understood."

And not long after did his 'partner' emerged, lifting up the yellow tape, chatting with the passing enforcers amiably before sauntering towards where he stood.

"Not so bustling as I expected to be." You said. " Is it usually this quiet? Or, you could say — dead silent?"

The smaller Praxian had to take several steps back to regard you fully, an unimpressed look on his face. As usual, a loose smile eased at the gesture but you turned away to hide it.

"Enforcer." You bowed and held out a servo.

Instead, he eyes you with a cold reverie, nose raised high and haughty. "Doctor."

"Spoilsport."

And that's what it only took to carve out the familiar, seething scowl. "It's Commander, doctor."

"Actually, it's medic." You mused, optics fleeting over his frame."New paint job?"

"Excuse me?"

Even when he's scowling, the confused puppy look and the flicker of a doorwing alleviated the intimidating factor.

"You look different." You said.

"I don't."

"You kind of do."

"Just—" He rubs his face. "Just what on Cybertron are you trying to insinuate?"

" Come on, now." You nudge him. "Can't a mech compliment a good polished frame?"

Prowl makes an exasperated sound when you gesture to his body. You can't help it when really is shinier than usual. The Ivory veneer plating is practically glowing under the soft rays of the sun. Prowl, however, rubs his face.

"I take it you're aware of your current position?" He eventually says after a moment.

You rubbed your helm thoughtfully, reminiscing the words of Ironhide this morning. All you remember from the debrief was: 'He's a stick down on tha mud'. And also, a stick up his aft? A stick in or stick out? You're not sure.

"Quite." You snort. "Takes a while to get used to it. Especially when Prime didn't inform the reason why. "

"You don't need to know the details behind the transfer."

"Oh, trust me." You said. " I dont think want to, Praxian."

He regards you for a moment before shaking his head, whirling around to inspect the nearby scathes and scratches. Meanwhile, you knelt next to the body and grimaced, sliding on protective gloves. From the corner of your optics, Prowl does as well and he does it with prim and precise movements. It's been a long time since you're out on the fields.

"Why do I have to do this, again?"

Prowl tilts his helm, observing the body at a different angle, the last digit slides inside the sleeve with a plap. "You're experienced with helmichular fracture. Or, working with Cybertronian helms, for that matter."

You scanned the dried energon smeared under the poor mech's helm. Primus, how in Unicron's two aft did he get here? You swivel up. Oh, right. Falling.

"I work with the inner parts. Nothing the same like Chromedome does. That's heinous work. Mine's more on the anatomy, actually."Plating fracture, check. Spinal strut loose and fragile — check. Stiff joints, check. " Couldn't you have figured this out on your own?"

You prod the neck cables, feeling it flaccid. Prowl was silent for a moment. If he was irritated, you could tell by the scowl deepening from the reflection of the puddle beside you.

" I could," he says eventually. "But I don't need your input. I simply.... require a presence to rectify my hypothesis."

Oh? "That's a statement I never thought I'd hear you say." You mutter.

Prowl knelt beside you. He angles himself in a way you would have to look over his shoulder to see the body. The soft scent of datapad and office paperwork wafts by.

"This mech, here, is Strongholt." He said. "He's a member of the High Council. Tasked with handling ammunitions. Obviously, on close inspection it appears as though this body is conformed to the fall."

With the way he worded it, you're sure he doesn't think that way.

"The spinal struts is smashed." You said, optics quick and scaning. "....and everything else is broken. It could be ruled out as suicide but with you here I don't think that's the case."

He lets out a sound you're not sure if it's a conceding one or something else entirely. But he juts out a digit and you look at where he points. Disregarding the scratched plating, some regions of the surface were unusually glossy and some were worn.

"He hasn't gotten his plating polished." Prowl says.

"A bit late for that now, don't you think so?"

"He rushed all the way here in the dead of the night. Why else would he do that?" Prowl rests a servo on his face, mumbling into it thoughtfully. " Senator Stronghold is have said to taken care of his plating with precise delicacy. But this time—" Slowly, he traces a digit along the platings. " —Observe the fringes. It seems indelicate along the seams. His arm is polished but the rest isn't."

"Oookay." You try to grasp the pieces together. Trying to fit in the missing cogs from the machine. "So, he didn't jump. Is that what you're saying?"

"Not suicide."

" Then, what could it be?"

"He brought himself to a place." He muttered. " To somewhere. Unless it's someone and if he complied then it's not a matter of force-handing, is it?"

"I'm assuming things aren't as what they seem to be, apparently."

Prowl taps his thigh in an irritated manner. Either he was talking to himself or to you, it was hard to tell. But with how he disregarded your questions and looks — it was obvious he's cooped up in his thoughts.

"Dragged up there." He continues the muttering to himself. You noticed he's a little restless with the mini-movements he makes. From the rock of his kneeplates and the subtle, but often, flick of his doorwings. " No, down here. He walks. Over there. Then, close to the pole. How many footprints?"

You snapped out of your thoughts with a jolt, scrambling for an answer at the sudden question. Lamely, you said. "Five?"

"No, it's three." He waves at you dismissively. "Foot prints indicate long exposure to standing. Disagreement ensues. Blunt force trauma to the helm. Dragged up—" On cue Prowl swivels up. "Then pushed. Guise of a murder. Two mechs. An accomplice, to be precise."

" A what— Wait— so, hold on." You tug him close, lowering your voice. " He orchestrated his own death?"

Prowl leans away.

"Were you even listening to what I said?" He gives you an incredulous look." If you have so much to lose, would you really do that?"

You groan. He's not helping one bit."You're being real cryptic right now and I'm trying my best."

"No, not orchestrated." He vents. " That'd be ridiculous. But miscalculations did occur during the 'composing' of the Orchestra. He's compliant all but for the money. Both a victim to his faults and thinking."

You turn over his words in your processor. The lingering feeling that this isn't some kind of suicide rules out clear and Prowl had, somehow, figured it beforehand.".... You dont need me here to help you figure out case, don't you?"

He gives you a look that basically confirms it : a smug, but begrudging tug of his lips.

"I need you to confirm a certain theory." He points to the helm. " Blunt force trauma — Zero point."

You move over to the chassis and unlatched the plating. As expected the spark chamber indicated clear signs of restrictive energy flow from the burnt out, damaged ports. This could only occur if—

"He had suffered heavy blunt force trauma." Prowl stands up, gripping the railings with a vent.

" So, this is murder." You follow him, pacing around, a bit reeling from the new turn of events. "Its— it's murder, right?"

" We can't prove it is yet. We..." He trails off, then shake his head. "Tommorow when the warrant comes we'll able to consult his company....and...."

"Prowl, mech. You good?" You turn to the Enforcer who's looking a little off to be well, right now. "Hey, you need a moment?"

Crime scenes aren't the most pleasing sight to behold. Especially, the brutality of it all. You just didn't expect Prowl to be affected this badly.

" I'll—" He clutches his chest, shudders and groans lowly, stumbling forward.

"Prowl!" You caught him before he could hit the ground and instantly limps against your body, venting hard.

His frame was warm. So warm that once you touched his shoulder every moisture on the tip of your digit sizzles into steam. He's shaking and Primus, he's burning!

"You're sick and you didn't tell me?!" You laid him against the railing, loosening his taut platings to let air inside. Steam practically chuffs out from the pistons, smoldering your face with vapor when you unlatched the clips.

"I'm not sick." Was his weak protest and he pawed your servos away, attempting to get up. "The warrant—"

"Don't even try." You push him down. "Your optics are glazed! Plating is burning even worse than a typical fan-clog fever!"

"I'll get through it." He grits out.

"I'm sending you back. Doctor's orders."

He lets out an exasperated sound. " You're stalling the process! I need to solve the case before some overcharged single brained processor messes it up. "

"And you'll smelt into alloy by then, little mech." You clicked on your comm. " I'll deal with the body and I'll deal with the paperwork. You, on the other hand, need ratchet. If you preach for efficiency — then be compliant to it. "

Prowl opens his intake but ozone burns his tongue and another shudder sears through his platings. He turns away from you, groaning lowly. Maybe it's better if he complied because, right now, all he feels, is like a mech doused in gasoline and set on flames.

"Will you be fine?" Ratchet cocks a brow

Prowl grunts, swinging his legs off the medical berth. " I'll manage."

"Sure? Your internal processors are charged up than usual, Prowl." Ratchet grimaces at the datapads. Doesn't look much too good, if he had to be hoenst. " I wouldn't recommend you going about your tasks if you don't want your battle computer burning out out."

Prowl keeps quiet. He can feel the wanton heat pooling in his panel, itching, clawing to be spring free and abuse.

" Prowl?"

He sucks in a breath. "I need to go." And with that he turns on his heel and leaves.

He shouldn't have known it would be today. Especially, when the signs are clear enough these past few weeks : frequent mood swings, strange cravings at strange hours

He could've have pieced it all together and prevented the inevitable — but when he onlined this morning on his berth and felt the familiar trickle of lubricant coating his inner thighs, it was over.

He was too late.

Heat cycles.

Just the worse.

It was easy to know when it's coming just as easy to know it's going to get worse : the numbness on the tip of your digits, restless frame, unfocused and glazed optics. The desire to lodge a hole into every walk you find. All typical sign.

Some frames are more accustomed to such a cycle. Unlike the smaller frames, larger ones are able to disperse heat more efficiently. So, it was a tolerable task to wait it out during work and return home and take care of whatever problem they had with their conjux. Even better, take heat suppressants and the charge, while not entirely taken care of, is reduced.

But given his Praxian frame slim build, demure size and all, the heat isn't so well dispersed and the intake of suppressants just happens to make it worse. His tanks are sensitive to the chemicals; he took it once and it wasn't fun taking turns purging his tank and satisfying himself.

Prowl groans, squeezing his thighs together as the words blur out from his optics. The datapad in his servos dented from his grip and he discards it on the table, landing across with a tack. Blasted report. He keeps reading the same line over and over and his processors won't digest the damn thing.

He leans against the chair and his helm tips back until his optics met the ceiling. An experimental servo glides down his abdomen and he shudders as it clamps on his heated panel. He gives it a little stroke, venting when lubricant smear the seams. A low whine churned from his throat. Prowl flushes, chagrined.

Mhn. Hot. He feels hot. So, hot. So Restless. He needs to purge out this excess energy or driving him insane. He could head out into the sparring range and punt in a few dents jn the testing dummies but he's too restless for that. He needs something and that something has to be inside and pumping his valve until he's all but a writhing mess on the floor.

The panel slides and a throbbing spike springs out. Ivory in color, grey outline, it stands at attention and the tip weeps with transfluid. Prowl slides his digits inside the swollen valve. He groans as he feels his calipers pulsing around his digits, spreading the folds out.

He can't keep going on like this.

On cue, the door opens. Prowl jolts in his seat and swivels up at the intrusion, lodging his digits deeper inside in tandem of his fluster. It was you. You're by the doorway. Stiff and straight to the brim, optics wide. The datapad you were holding drops from your servos just as your jaw had flung open in surprise

[nick-nocturne]

Hi Nick! It's Slendy from your chat last night. I just wanted to stop by and say thank you for such a fun and interactive stream. Truth be told I've been... in a bit of a bad rut mentally as my physical health seems to be in a steady decline as of recently. But you and your community really helped brighten up an otherwise dark outlook on life last night during your Slender: The Arrival stream. I know it might not seem like you did much, but last night you and your chat helped put a spark back into a light I thought was snuffed out long ago. Interacting with people, having a genuine giggle and a laugh over a spooky game I know way too much about that I'm... honestly too scared to play, was so, so nice. Like I can't even put it into words how nice it was.

It felt great to be a part of a community again.

And I have you to thank for that. 💖

Until then I'll try to focus on my health and not let the cards life's dealt me get me down. But if my internet ever gets better, I definitely want to try picking up streaming again thanks to you. :) It was one of the things that I honestly enjoyed doing in my spare time.

Btw here's this lil guy that I take care of. He just turned 10 last month. :) His name is Tony.

Bless you, Slendy, and bless Tony, too! I'm very glad (and know my community would be as well) to know the stream did anything positive for you. It's tough to go through hardship like this, but finding the light is what gets us through, and if the stream granted you that, then it's quite worth it to be streaming. ::3 Thank you!

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Bloody, Dead, and Sexy (DabiHawks/reader)

Explicit sexual content, MDNI

CW: threesome, knifeplay, choking, biting, spit, double penetration, rough sex, overstimulation, murder (not reader), blood

WC: 2.8k

Gender neutral AFAB reader

Title is the name of a band btw

The door squeaked as I pulled it open, rusty springs being nudged to life and quickly shooting back to a resting position. A rush of warmth from the space heaters wafted over my frigid skin. My eyes scanned the room before settling on a partially covered head of blonde hair.

“You got a light?” I asked, stepping toward the disheveled couch. The man reached for a pink lighter that sat on the fold-out table. He handed the lighter over to me. I grasped it in my frigid hand as my other fumbled through my pockets. I pulled out a single cigarette, perched it between my lips, and sparked the light. I held the flame up to the end of my cigarette and watched as small plumes of smoke began to rise. Pulling the light away, I held it out for the blonde and sat beside him. 

“Kinda dead tonight, huh?” I mumbled as I took a drag. 

“Maybe twenty, twenty-five. I forget how many I invited.” He spoke with a self-assured tone and a crooked smile. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I guess I didn’t realize you were the host,” I mumbled, looking across the room for an ashtray. “Let me put this out-”

“You’re fine, man, It’s all good.” He chuckled, putting his arm over the back of the couch. “It was mainly my…friend's idea to have this whole thing. I just wanted to get high and kick back.” He flashed a toothy grin and ran his fingers through his messy blonde locks. I quickly looked away as my cheeks began to heat up.

“I think I was gonna head out, but that sounds like a nice evening,” I smiled as smoke poured from my nostrils. 

“Come on, you’re here now. Why don’t you join me,” he leaned in, eyes flicking across my face. “Take some pills and play games with me.” He plucked the cigarette from between my lips and took a drag. His golden eyes were locked onto mine. His painted fingers tapped against the cigarette as he awaited my answer. 

“Okay,” I said with a small smile. He inhaled, hands reaching into his hoodie pocket. He pulled out a clattering bottle of pills and twisted the lid open. 

“Open your mouth,” He mumbled as he took a pill between his fingers. My eyes darted across the room as an intense heat sparked in my face. I opened my mouth and watched as he placed the pill onto my tongue. I closed my lips around his fingers and swallowed. His fingers nudged my mouth open, aureate eyes looked at my tongue. His lips curled up into a smile. He removed his saliva-soaked fingers from my mouth, only to grab another pill, this time one for himself. After swallowing he took a drag from the cigarette. The embers had consumed most of it. He snuffed the ashes out in an ashtray. He quickly leaned forward, hands coming to push at my puffer jacket. 

“It’s a bit too warm for this,” he spoke, eyes scanning up and down my body. “The pills make you feel warm too,” he pulled the jacket away from my arms and let it drop to the floor. I impulsively reached out and tugged at his hoodie. He chuckled as I pulled the fabric from his body. I couldn’t help but stare at his muscular frame. 

“I thought you’d have something on under that…” I mumbled as I handed the hoodie back to him. 

“It’s laundry day,” He shrugged, leaning in. He gripped onto the arm of the couch, caging me against the plush fabric. “You feelin’ anything?” He asked, chapped lips just barely brushing against my neck. A rush of euphoria flooded my senses, whether it was his touch or the pill, I didn’t know. I nodded. He pressed his lips against my neck. His hand moved from the couch to my thigh, tugging my body further down the couch. 

“What was that?” I asked, hooking my legs around his hips.

“Oxy.” He smirked as he rolled his hips against mine. I could feel his stiffening cock through the layers of denim that separated us. I whimpered and gripped his arm. Just over the sound of our voices and the faint pounding music ringing from the house arose a scream. My body stiffened, eyes jutting toward the door. 

“Baby, I’ve got you. Probably just pushed someone into the pool,” he slid his hand up my shirt. His frigid hands made goosebumps rise on my skin.

“It’s cold out though,” I mumbled. His other hand quickly yanked my jeans down my legs. I unhooked my legs from around his waist. “What if someone comes in?” I asked, gripping his wrist tight.

“It’s my fuckin house, I’ll do whatever I want,” he pushed my shoes off of my feet and continued tugging my jeans down my legs. Once they were off, he sat back on his shins, looking over my partially unclothed body. 

“What’s your name?” I asked, grabbing his hand and guiding his fingers to the waistband of my underwear.

“Keigo,” he smirked as he began tugging my underwear down. The seams creaked as he roughly pulled the fabric from my body. 

The door suddenly pushed open, I quickly grabbed my jeans and pulled the denim over my bare legs. My gaze darted to the door. A man with jet-black hair stood in the door frame. I quickly sat up off of the couch and pushed my body toward Keigo as my eyes met the splatters of blood that decorated his white shirt. The man dropped the stained knife in his hand. The metal clattered as it hit the concrete floor. 

“Bitch wouldn’t stop running,” the man groaned as he stepped toward us. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Keigo's lips as if he’d done it a million times before. Then his cerulean eyes dropped to me. My body was still pressed against Keigo. “Well you’re cute, ain’t ya?” He grinned, reaching out to grab my chin. “Forgive me for barging in so suddenly, but I think you were about to fuck my boyfriend,” his tongue darted out and licked across his lips. Despite my previous shock, I melted into his touch. My shoulders dropped, fingers losing their grip as I let my body loosen up. He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. I gripped his shirt with one of my hands and tugged the bloodstained cotton over his head. He broke from my lips just to pull the tainted shirt off. Keigo pushed me back onto the couch. I waited as the two men sat on either side of me. 

“Dabi, go get the lube,” Keigo pointed to a table in the corner of the room. The brunette got up off of the couch, cushions dipping as he moved. Keigo's hands pulled at my top. I let him slip the shirt over my head, leaving me completely bare. 

“This doesn’t seem fair,” I mumbled as I undid the button on his jeans. He bit down on his bottom lip and watched as I pulled his cock out. Spitting into the palm of my hand, I guided my slick fingers over his length and began stroking him. 

“Fuck-“ he groaned, hips bucking into my hand. He grabbed my face, pulling me close and smashing his lips against mine. The couch dipped as dabi sat next to me. His warm lips trailed across my shoulder. His fingers kneaded the flesh of my thigh. He tugged my leg so it sat on top of his lap, leaving me spread open. He spit onto his fingers and brought the soaked digits to my cunt. The tips of his fingers started moving in slow circles around my clit. My lips broke from Keigo. 

“Dabi,'' I whimpered as I palmed his hard cock through his blood-stained jeans. 

“You like that?” He chuckled as he slid his fingers down to my entrance. He slowly slipped inside of me and started a rough, slow pace. I nodded and leaned in to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. He pulled back. A glimpse of silver caught my eye. He flicked open a switchblade and pointed the tip at me. 

“Use your words.” He grunted. 

“I like it,” my words came out as a jumbled mess. “Mm, faster please,” I whimpered. He smirked and brushed the edge of the blade across my shoulder. He put pressure on the steel with his hands. A sharp sting pricked my skin. My breath hitched as his fingers sped up with every centimeter of skin he sliced. A flood of endorphins made my body quake. I clenched around his fingers as I came, gripping his wrist tight. My other hand stalled its movements as a haze washed over my brain. 

“Keigo, I think we got a real whore on our hands,” Dabi chuckled, bringing his soaked fingers to his lips. He moaned and stuck out his fingers for the blonde. Keigo opened his mouth and brought the fingers over his tongue, closing his lips and sucking roughly. Keigo moaned and pulled off of the fingers with a pop. He stood up off of the couch and moved between my legs. I watched as he tugged me toward the edge of the couch. His hot breath tickled my skin. His tongue darted out and quickly flicked over my clit. My hips jerked forward, my fingers locking onto his hair. A burning sharp sensation on my stomach jerked my attention away from the blonde. 

“Stay still,” a set of half-lidded cerulean eyes stared me down. He pulled the blade away and gripped the handle between his teeth. He began to ease his jeans over his hips. His flushed cock sprang free and hit his abdomen. I glanced down, noticing the array of silver that adorned his length. He gripped my chin tightly. The cool metal of his rings pricked my skin.

“Look at me, baby,” he smirked as he began stroking himself. I quickly glanced down at his cock. Another prick of sharp pain sprung up from my thigh. “Up here,” he spoke sternly. 

“Mm fuck- sorry,” my voice was broken, my words came out as high-pitched sighs between breathy moans. 

“You better be,” He said, pressing his lips to mine. Keigo slipped two fingers into my cunt. My thighs began to quake, muscles aching as I forced myself to stay still. Keigo moaned against my core, sending vibrations straight to my overstimulated nerves. Dabi pulled back, blue eyes scanning over my face. 

“He’s good with his tongue, ain’t he?” He said with a sigh as he stroked his cock faster. I could merely muster up an “mhm” as my body lit up. “You gonna cum, baby?” He said, pinching one of my nipples. Again, I could only speak in broken, incoherent mumbles. My hips jolted, toes curling as I came. A desperate cry slipped from my tongue. I leaned against Dabi, my body falling onto the cushions as he stood up.

“You okay, baby?” Hawks asked, peppering gentle kisses over my cheeks. He slipped his hands underneath my hips and turned me so my body was parallel to the couch. He quickly stepped out of his pants and moved to kneel between my legs. I hooked my legs around his hips, pulling him closer to my aching core. Dabi handed him the bottle of lube and a condom before removing his pants. Keigo popped the cap open and drizzled some over the length of his now-wrapped cock. I reached forwards, wrapping my hand around his cock and smearing the cool liquid over his heated skin. 

“You want me to fuck You?” He asked as he brushed the tip of his cock against my cunt. I nodded, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. His hand wrapped around my throat, fingers squeezing my carotids. I gasped, tongue lolling out of my mouth. “Want me to fill this pretty cunt?” He grunted as he slowly pushed the head of his cock into my entrance. “Fuck,” Keigo grunted. My blurred vision focused on the man behind him. His painted nails sunk into Keigos as he slowly sunk inside the blonde. Keigo pushed further in. His golden eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he started rough thrusts. His hands moved onto the armrest as he used the leverage to fuck me hard. My body bounced with the force of the two men.

“You’re sucking me in, baby” Keigos voice came out as a high-pitched whine of sorts. 

“I’m fucking that cunt next,” dabi mumbled as he kissed Keigos neck. 

“Mmf fuck-sogood,” Keigo moaned. Sweat began to drip down his forehead, rolling off his chin and down his toned chest. He brought one of his hands to my clit, index, and middle finger circling the overstimulated skin. My back arched off the bed. A suffocating heat wrapped itself around my body as I drew close to another orgasm. 

“Harder,” I squeaked. The couch cushions began to creak as I dug my nails into the fabric. My head began to smack against the armrest with the force of his hips. My breath left my chest, mouth agape as I panted. 

“I’m close, gonna cum in you,” he groaned, circling his fingers faster.

“Fuck!” The word fell off of my tongue, “cum for me, cum!” I panted. I gripped his biceps. Red streaks sprang up from his flushed skin as I scratched at his arms. His eyes squeezed shut, nose scrunching as he came. Static washed over me as my body was flung into another orgasm. My sore muscles and aching nerves cried for relief. The couch quickly shifted. 

“Hey,” dabi tapped my face. The white taking over my vision began to dim, revealing the flushed face of the brunette. He was smirking, canines showing as his eyes flicked over my fucked out form. “You on the pill?” He asked as he pulled the condom from his cock. I nodded and leaned forward to kiss him. He bit down on my bottom lip before pulling back to look at me again. “Good ‘cause I haven’t cum yet and I wanna fuck you raw,” he said, lining himself up with my cunt, “you want that?” He asked as he toyed with my chest. 

“Fuck me,” I mumbled. He stuck two fingers in my mouth, pulling my jaw down. He spat into my mouth, laughing as I quickly swallowed.

“Fuckin’ slut.” He groaned as he slipped inside me. He grabbed my calves and swiftly brought my knees to my chest, folding my body in half. He started a relentless pace, earning squeaks and creaks from the couch below us. “Oh fuck yeah, you like that?” He grunted as he leaned down to kiss me. His lips trailed down my jaw to my neck. I moaned as his teeth sunk into my skin. Something close to a growl emitted from his throat as he clamped down on my skin. He pulled back, just to mash his crimson-stained lips against mine. 

“Babe, you want in on this? ‘Cause I’m about to cum soon,” Dabi spoke between grunts. Blonde locks soon appeared by my side. The two men flipped me onto my front, laying on top of dabi. The brunette pressed a kiss against my cheek as he slid inside me once more. Cold, wet fingers prodded at my ass. Keigo pressed kisses along my bloodied shoulder. He slid his fingers inside, whispering praises with every inch. I moaned and leaned forward to press my chest against dabi. 

“They’re clenching hard,” Dabi said with a laugh as he wrapped his arms around me. “Put it in,”

I was met with a burning, stretching feeling. My eyes watered, clit throbbing as the pain blended with the pleasure of feeling utterly filled to the brim. The two started a slow pace as I adjusted to Keigo's cock. My voice was splintered, instead of moaning, I let out strained pants and clawed at Dabi’s shoulders. The slapping of flesh against flesh filled the room along with groans and grunts coming from the two. Their pace accelerated, and the movement of both of their cocks inside me was enough to flood my brain and scramble my thoughts. Drool spilled from my swollen lips as I approached another burning climax. 

“Mmmf want me to flood your cunt?” Dabi babbled as his thrusts became erratic. Keigo's grip on my hips tightened as he began to lose his tempo. My body began to quake in one final release. A scream crawled its way out of my chest, accompanying the flood of sensation that swept across my spent body. Trickling warmth spread through my insides as the two stalled their motions. 

“Shit…” Keigo muttered as He pulled out. A thud sounded throughout the room as he flung himself onto the other couch. Dabi held me tight, pressing kisses to my temples.

“Hey babe? Can we keep them?” He asked

[soxendanso]

Snuf and moomin resting during the comet situation. I might colour it... at some point...

this is the song snuf is playing btw i headcannon that his voice sounds like this

moomin looking like a rayman teensie fr

[emper1on]

Abueloier and Ghost story hc

the ghost was a member of the federation who started a family and had a son ( cellbit's dad ) the federation was small at the time but just as controlling over its members and island residents

the ghost similar to cellbit started to find out about the horrible stuff the federation was doing and was thrown in jail because of his snooping around. abueloier although probably in his 40s ( the ghost I think said he died around 40 years ago I think and I imagine abueloier is around 80 in current time ) and not senile he was still very... crazy he was very abueloier so he ended up in prison for his usual antics ( he's also a federation member btw )

and in the prison the two bonded, or maybe they already knew eachother. maybe when they were younger they were even more than just friends.. and maybe some of those feelings still linger. but either way the two bonded and started to plan a way to escape the prison. but abueloier had grown paranoid stuck in jail, he couldn't get over the fact that maybe his dear friend was going to betray him ( or something ) and the night they were supposed to escape together he killed him

I think abueloier was praised for this by the federation, that he snuffed out a flame of rebellion and he was allowed to stay on the island and watch his family grow! he got to see his grandkids grow up, one of them going on to join the federation as well the other... well he can't really remember what roier did

and one day he comes back onto quesadilla island because he heard his grandson roier is back! and he sees a face so familiar to him but he can't really place from where.. he sees cellbit and learns that he is roiers fiance and he can't let that happen he can't let his grandsons romantic life take a turn like his did he can't let that familiar face haunt his family

[theravequeen]

Weird Nightwing Powers Master Post

Hey gang these are all my Nightwing/Nightwing hybrids with weird mutated Nightwing powers. Enjoy!

Btw: Base used is by PaleoPrince on Toyhouse!

Starting off with my WoF Sona, Stormpetal!

Stormpetal has mind reading abilities, but they only work if she touches the dragon or which she wants to read the mind of. If she's in a crowded place, she can read anyone who bumps into her or who sits too close to her's minds.

Next up, we have Shiftbringer!

Shiftbringer has the ability to sense the aura of another dragon. He can tell if someone is approaching him before they even enter the room, and he can read the emotions of other dragons as well. He can even use his power to block his own emotions from other people. (I forgot to give him a teardrop scale 😭)(Honestly I wouldn't put it past him to like. Scratch it off.)

Next, Prismbreaker!

Prismbreaker has the ability to snuff out other dragons' powers. Even animus dragons. Leafspeak, Nightwing powers, firescales, frostscales, and any special abilities a dragon may have are snuffed by his power. Fire and frost breath are not. Neither are hivewing abilities.

Next, Dreamscape!

Dreamscape has a mutated version of mine reading, where if he is laying beside you while sleeping, he can walk into your dreams. (Sort of kind of like Jayfeather in warriors.) If it is a blood moon, sleeping next to him will cause terrible nightmares.

Lastly, Doomwatcher!

Doomwatcher actually has just normal future sight and mind reading, but he's basically cursed to see the worst case scenario, and they almost ALWAYS come true when he sees them.

That's all, I hope you enjoy :)!!

[tennessoui]

hi kit! I was rereading your playmaker au (I absolutely love it btw!!!) and I have soo many questions! Like? How does qui-gon react to obi-wan showing up to the ball/gala/thing(?) with anakin? is he angry? upset (probably not lol)? does he talk to obi-wan/anakin or does he just ignore them outright? does anakin provoke him (of course he does but howwww???)

also, obviously your writing is amazing and I love literally everything you do!!!! <33333333

here is what happens at the policeman's ball! told from mace windu's pov (in this au he was like obi-wan's supervisor)! i think qui-gon is definitely furious, but after this night he also pivots to try and get obi-wan's loyalty back -- but before that, there's the anger

(2k)

Mace Windu has a headache and a terrible feeling about this whole thing. He never likes anything that has to do with the City politicians, especially the Mayor, and the annual Policeman’s Ball is probably the thing he likes the least. 

It’s opulent and gaudy and uncomfortable to have so many eyes on him, on their work, as if they care about him and the department any other day of the year. But he knows as well as any of the detectives that this Ball is the bed they must get into with the politicians, the city’s most wealthy. Here is the night money slides across palms, deals are struck and good men leave their morals at the door.

Just for one night. Just for the sake of their offices, their men. Those who schmooze the best, woo the most politicians, the most wealthy elite, are the ones who get the better budgets, the newer equipment. And Mace is Coruscant born and bred: he, like everyone else, knows that morals are the first things to go when lives are on the line.

Maybe it wasn’t always like this, but Mace cannot remember another way. Not in this city where even the politicians don’t have the actual power nor the funds or means to oust the men who do--the men and women who cut through the crowds with sharp smiles and rough palms, heads high and proud, draped in diamonds and pretty things, suits clean-cut and perfectly tailored.

Members of mobs, inside the city and out. Leaders of far-reaching crime syndicates, the kind Mace has committed his life’s work to fighting, to rooting out of Coruscant.

Everyone knows who they’re climbing into bed with when they shake Asajj Ventress’ hand to seal a deal, when they laugh too hard at Rush Clovis’ comment, when they fall over themselves to give Anakin Skywalker their attention.

No one admits it. 

Mace has lost men—good men—in the pursuit of justice against the mobs of Coruscant, sure that with enough evidence, he can put at least one away for life. It’s a dream he and his captain, Qui-Gon Jinn share.

Tilting his head, Mace finds his superior in the crowd, the man’s tall and unmistakable hair making him stand out as much as his stony silence and refusal to play along this year.

He wonders if Jinn feels the same exhaustion as Mace does. The dream has never felt farther away. The price has never seemed so steep.

Jinn lost his son, not even six months ago. The boy had been bright and clever, and Mace had looked at him and felt hope for the future of the city, all bundled up in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s soft smile.

He never should have been sent undercover. Mace shouldn’t have allowed it when Jinn passed down the orders. Kenobi was too young, too willing to prove himself, too naive for the mission.

And Vader took him, made him into just another bright young light snuffed out before its time.

Mace downs the rest of his drink and cuts through the crowd to reach Jinn’s side when he notices the mayor approaching. Jinn had insisted on coming—truly, he couldn’t not attend as their captain—but he will not be at his sharpest, at his most willing to play along tonight.

Jinn has always had the strongest morality of any guy Mace knows in the force, but he’d been willing to say what he had to say in the past to look out for his men, play nice with the politicians for the better budgets, the new supplies.

Losing his son changed something in him though. Made him colder. Made him cling even tighter to his morals. 

With a dead wife and an estranged son, his convictions were all he had left—save for his job.

“Mayor Palpatine,” Mace says easily, holding his hand out to shake the mayor’s hand. “You’ve outdone yourself this year.”

The mayor smiles at him with a sick sort of grin, but his attention is almost completely focussed on Jinn. “You know how much I enjoy the Policeman’s Ball. All of Coruscant’s best and brightest in one place for one night…a marvelous opportunity to strengthen our friendships, build trust, and honor those who protect us.”

Jinn’s returning smile looks stretched far too thin across his face. Mace closes his eyes in silent prayer that Jinn will hold his tongue.

“All of the riches of Coruscant in one place,” Jinn says, “and those who are bound by duty to protect them.”

“And what a noble calling that is,” the mayor smiles and there is something wrong about it, something terrible. “Only few are truly cut out for such a path, Captain Jinn, and we thank you for your stalwart service.”

He pauses and his face shifts into one of regret. Mace feels on edge.

“In fact,” Mayor Palpatine says, “I was just chatting with your son, and he—”

“He’s here?” Jinn straightens his shoulders, posture becoming ramrod straight as his eyes leave the mayor to roam around the rented room. “How?”

“Oh?” Palpatine raises both his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“My son is no longer with the Force,” Jinn bites out, voice filled with more venom than Mace has ever heard before.  “He should not have been allowed to come tonight.”

“Ah,” Palpatine says. “I see there’s been some confusion. Your son is attending as Mr. Skywalker’s companion for the evening, not as a member of the police force. Though—there they are actually. I do hope I did not ruin a surprise visit!” 

Mace, with a feeling of dread welling up in his gut, turns his head to look at the two men Palpatine is now gesturing forward.

Anakin Skywalker prowls towards them like some great beast returning from a hunt with prey already dead between his jaws, or like an emperor returning to his city fresh from a conquering.

He looks neat and pristine, eyes crinkling with the force of his smirk as he guides Obi-Wan Kenobi to meet them with a hand pressed to the boy’s lower back.

Still some paces away, Skywalker leans down to whisper something into Obi-Wan’s ear, and the boy snaps back with a scowl, voice soft so as to hide his words.

The boy’s hair is short and rather awkwardly cut, but it’s the same strawberry-blonde Mace remembers seeing the boy’s mother wear. His eyes are hers as well, clear, light blue, though they have none of the softness Mace recalls him having before they sent him undercover.

He looks well-fed at least, and he holds himself close to Skywalker’s body, as if he truly feels safe in the claws of a dragon.  

Since the last time he saw the boy leaving the precinct, on his way into Skywalker’s arms, he has wondered how Obi-Wan liked his new life. If he felt like it was worth it, to lose his job and his father and his future for the mobster who would never be capable of loving him back, not truly. 

Looking at Obi-Wan now, dressed in expensive, soft-looking clothes, and carefully held in Skywalker’s arm, Mace can’t deny that the boy looks fine.

Healthy. Happy, if not for the current scowl marring his features.

“Gentleman,” Skywalker says when they reach them, holding out a hand for Jinn to shake.

Jinn does not move.

Skywalker’s eyes flash like flint sparking, and he adjusts his grip on Obi-Wan, pulling him fiirmly into his side and slightly in front of him, even as he drops his hand.

The tension in the air chokes any sort of conversation starter Mace can think of before it leaves his lips.

His eyes, without his conscious permission, remain stuck on the face of his biggest regret, unable to overlook the way Obi-Wan turns into the line of Skywalker’s body, as if taking comfort from his touch—as if Mace and Jinn are the lions and Skywalker Obi-Wan’s champion.

“I hadn’t realized you—” Palpatine starts to say, but he is cut off.

“Obi-Wan,” Jinn says suddenly, tone harsh, every inch the captain of the police. The tension in the air increases exponentially. Mace hadn’t realized that was possible. “You cut your hair.”

Something dark flashes across Skywalker’s face, and Mace watches as he moves his hand up to brush over the collar of Obi-Wan’s shirt, the exposed back of his neck.

“It’s in regulation,” Obi-Wan replies, looking for the first time this evening at his father. “Are you proud?”

The question is heavy, weighted: it always has been with Jinn and his son. Obi-Wan always did care less about if his father liked something he did and more about if he was proud.

“That your hair is in regulation?” Jinn’s lips are tight, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Obi-Wan, you have not spoken to me in six months. And you come tonight, to this event, on the arm of that monster, allowing him to move you about and speak for you, wearing clothes he bought you with money soaked in blood, and you ask if I am proud that you wear your hair to police standards? You have made a mockery of my life’s work, and you have lost yourself completely.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes look wet, and his hand is tangled in the pocket of Skywalker’s pants, seeking out connection. Mace closes his eyes and barely resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He has been witness to more fights between Jinn and his son than he cares to remember. 

Jinn always finds the worst words to say. 

And Obi-Wan learned how to fight from his father’s example. 

They’re ruthless and they’re cruel, and they fight each other like they’ll accept no survivors. 

“You are no son of mine, Ben,” Jinn says, even though Mace knows how much the loss of Obi-Wan has affected the older man, knows he misses him, knows he loves him still.

Obi-Wan blinks rapidly, hurt naked on his face, before he wipes it clean off and raises his hand to tuck a short piece of hair behind his ear. The motion is slow, pointed, and Mace’s eyes catch immediately on the angry red lines circling his wrist.

Handcuff marks. 

Mace takes a fortifying sip of his drink when he hears Jinn’s sharp inhale at the sight.

“Daddy,” Obi-Wan says, “can we go home? It’s close to the twins’ bedtimes, I don’t want to miss it.”

It’s Skywalker who responds, because it’s Skywalker Obi-Wan was looking at when he spoke. It’s Skywalker who wraps his arm securely around Obi-Wan’s waist and presses a kiss to his temple, dark eyes never straying from Jinn. “Yes, of course, sweetheart,” he tells Jinn, smirking like the cat who captured the canary right under the birdkeeper’s nose. “Gentlemen,” he says to Mace and the mayor. “Apologies for leaving early, but family calls.”

They are only half-turned around when Jinn recovers his tongue. “They are not your family, Obi-Wan,” he says. To Mace, he sounds as if he is begging. He wonders what Obi-Wan hears in his voice.

The boy turns his head to the side, posture perfect and nose pointed slightly up in cold disregard. “I would hardly call you an expert in family, Captain Jinn. You do not even have a son.”

Jinn moves sharply forward at this, reaching to touch his son’s arm. But before he can touch him, Skywalker intercepts him and grabs his wrist so tightly that Mace can see his hand flexing with the effort. Jinn’s bones must be grinding together. “Do not,” Skywalker says lowly and darkly, every syllable dripping with implicit violence. “Do not try to touch what is not yours, Captain.”

“Ani,” Obi-Wan murmurs, turning in his hold so as to rest his hand lightly on Skywalker’s chest. Mace tenses, wondering if Obi-Wan will be treated with the same violence, the same dark look for having the nerve to try and tame the beast. 

He is not.

The moment their eyes lock, Skywalker lets go of Qui-Gon’s wrist in favor of tucking a piece of hair behind Obi-Wan’s ear once again. There is nothing performative about the action now—just a man who cannot help but touch his—his lover.

The thought sickens Mace, and he knows it must be worse for Qui-Gon, who is still standing where he was left, hand halfway reaching out to his son and far, far too late to ever catch him.

[unreadpoppy]

The kids will be okay

Halsin x Tav (Gwen) + Natahlia and Reilyth

Read on AO3

Summary: Halsin struggles with his relationship with Natahlia, his step daughter.

A/N: I wrote this some weeks ago, it's basically Halsin x Gwen but focused on Halsin's relationship with his step daughter, Natahlia (She's Gwen's daughter btw). Post canon.

She had noticed in the afternoon, how Halsin was carrying a saddened expression throughout the day. Because of all the children they had to tend to, she didn’t find time to speak with him until night, after they had tucked all the little ones in bed and made their way to their own shared quarters.

“I didn’t think it was that noticeable.” Halsin sighed, sitting on the bed.

“For the untrained eye, it isn’t. But I know you too well.” She smiled, sitting next to him, a hand on his thigh. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s Natahlia.” He breathed out. “She tripped and fell today, while playing with Reilyth. I rushed over to help, but she denied it. When I pushed a little, she screamed, saying I wasn’t her father and ran off.”

“Oh…” Was all Gwen could say. In truth, her first daughter was in a peculiar situation. She wasn’t Halsin’s child, but Raphael’s. At first, when the pair discovered who the father was, they tried to hide it from the cambion, but it did not last long. Soon, after she was born, the devil came knocking on their door, demanding to see his offspring. To Gwen’s surprise, Raphael smiled while holding the baby, wanting to participate in her education.

Soon, an accord had been made between the three adults. Natahlia would be raised with her mother and Halsin, but, from time to time, she would have to spend a few weeks in Raphael’s House of Hope. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it was better than the alternative - the devil snatching her up for good.

And although she wasn’t his, Halsin treated Natahlia as his own child. He talked to her the same way he talked to Reilyth, trying to teach her about nature and the world. Things had gotten tense, however, after Natahlia suffered an accident while in her father’s house, scarring her face. That had been months and she hadn’t visited Raphael since, becoming more closed off and hostile towards the others.

“I-I just, I don’t know what to do.” Halsin said exasperated. “I do not want to overstep, but she’s just a child and I can’t not worry.” He turned to Gwen. “I know she’s not my daughter, but I want her to have a happy childhood, a good life and a good fa-” he cut himself off before finishing.

Gwendolyn took his hands in her, kissing his knuckles. “I know it’s complicated, my love. She’s only six years old and she is in a very different situation than any of her friends. She’s beginning to experience a lot of different emotions that she doesn’t know how to handle.” She put her hand on his cheek. “You’re good for her. Give her some time, let her process things and then talk to her.”

The two touched their foreheads and closed their eyes. With a sign, Halsin was the first to move away, snuffing out the candles and preparing himself to sleep.

…

The sound of small footsteps entering their room was what awoke the couple. Halsin, being an elf, didn’t sleep, instead entering a state of meditation, allowing him to be aware of his surroundings at night. Gwen, ever since her first child was born, had become an extremely light sleeper.

With a snap of her fingers, the candles in their room were lit and they saw their daughter, Reilyth standing at the foot of their bed, a teddy bear in her arms and her face stained with tears.

“Reilyth, what happened, my love?” Gwen asked, as she quickly hopped of the bed to pick up the child in her arms.

The little girl sobbed as she told her mother. “Natahlia’s gone.”

“What?” Gwen frowned and looked at Halsin worriedly.

Reilyth sniffed. “I heard some noise and woke up and I didn’t see her anywhere.” She began crying again. “I’m sorry mommy, I don’t know where she went.”

“Shh, it’s ok.” She said, hugging Reilyth close to her chest, looking at Halsin, who was already halfway through the door.

“Stay with the children, I’ll go find her.” He said, before shifting into a bear and running into the forest.

…

While in this form, it didn’t take long for Halsin to track her smell, considering that bears had a better nose than humans. He ran until he could see a small figure in a clearing. She was laying on the ground, crying and Halsin quickly turned back to his usual self.

Approaching slowly, he said “Natahlia? Is that you?”

“It hurts!” She cried, and as Halsin got closer, he saw what the problem was. There was a nasty cut on her leg, blood pouring out of it. In an instant, he knelt next to her, his hand glowing as he cast a healing spell.

“It will be alright soon, just hang on a little longer.” He said to her, trying to comfort her. Natahlia looked in awe as the cut soon closed, her leg looking as if it had never been hurt before. “See? You’re good as new.” Halsin smiled at her.

Natahlia gave a sniff, wiping her cheek. “Thank you.” She said and then looked down at her hands. Halsin looked at her, worried.

“Are you alright?” He asked in a soft tone.

“Why does he have to be my father? Why couldn’t it be you?” She whispered, and then looked up at him, her eyes glinting with tears. Halsin could feel his own heart begin to break. “He’s never around, and he doesn’t hug me after I get hurt. It's not fair!”

Halsin began to connect the dots as her earlier outburst started to make more sense. When she said he wasn’t her father, it wasn’t to insult him - it was her trying to deal with the reality of it all.

The druid shifted his position, helping her get up, and then supporting himself on one knee, trying to get to her height. “I do not know why things are the way they are, why do the gods give us the parents we have or the hardships we face.” He put one finger underneath her chin, raising her head up. “But I know that we don’t need to face things alone. You have your mother, your sister, your friends and you have me.” He wiped a tear that fell down her cheek. “I promise I’ll always be here for you.”

At that, Natahlia threw herself into his arms, hugging him. Halsin enveloped her in his arms, comforting her, his hand petting her hair. “I’m sorry about what I said.” She said, looking up at him.

Halsin smiled and kissed her forehead. “All is well now.” He stood up, picking her up in his arms. “Now, let’s get back before your mother dies of worry.”

…

The moment she saw Halsin arrive, with Natahlia sitting on his shoulders, she ran to them, with Reilyth in her arms. She gave her to Halsin as he put Natahlia on the ground.

Gwendolyn knelt on the ground and hugged the girl tightly. “You gave me such a scare.” She checked the girl for bruises. “Are you hurt?”

Natahlia shook her head. “Daddy healed me.” She said, looking back at Halsin, who was holding Reilyth. “He made everything better.”

Gwnedolyn hugged her again. “I’m glad you're ok but never do this again, you understand me?” She told her and Natahlia nodded. “Now let’s get everyone back to bed.” Gwen stood up and held her daughter’s hand, Halsin trailing behind.

…

After kissing Reilyth on the head, he turned towards Natahlia. Tucking her in, he said “No more scares for tonight, promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good.” He leaned forwards and kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

Natahlia reached forwards and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, daddy.” She laid down again and turned, closing her eyes. Halsin smiled as he made his way towards Gwen, who stood in the doorway.

She looked at him, smiling softly and placing her head on his chest, one of his arms coming around her waist, as she looked at their daughters.

Halsin sighed, relieved. “I think she’ll be alright.”

Gwen nodded, looking up at him and then pressing a kiss on his lips. “I believe so too. I think they’ll both be ok.” She moved away from the door, offering her hand. “Now, I think it’s our turn to receive some well deserved rest.”

[ottiliere]

oh my goodness your dios.. what a delight to see someone so fully invested in phantom blood dio wow. i am very happy. i love your 3D dios. really makes me want to sculpt him as well

Do it... clay is cheap bake it in the oven paint with 10 dollar set of acrylics your life will never be better. I adore phantom blood Dio so very much... years ago saw someone coin the term “phantom blood purist” and it's so funny I think about it literally every time I enter a Dio cycle. There are many aspects that go into this preference of course, and upon a great amount of time pondering i can say confidently that this is because mainly that:

1) I love history (especially the fin de siècle) and I love thinking about him in relation to Victorian values/etiquette/sociology in general... there's something so special about a society that enabled such a gross disparity of wealth&poverty while being so inherently pretentious that its asinine etiquette rules would completely elude you unless you were raised in an aristocratic family or had access to etiquette books. Dio absolutely read a great amount of these before going to the Joestar mansion btw, even before his father snuffed it I think. God help him he would not be doomed to look like a slovenly ill-bred gamin if and when he needed to manipulate the upper classes. I really can't think of a way for him to have developed these skills enough to outclass Jonathan otherwise. god and like thinking about him as a barrister too with his profligate fashion sense you just KNOW he gets drawn that way into all of the court sketches that go in all the newspapers since everyone loved to read about crime and there were a million papers for this in England alone... he'd get caricatured so bad sometimes and he is NOT happy about this.

2) You can probably tell from my indifference to the rest of the parts (except sbr; I call this the "diego rule") that I'm not the biggest fan of fantastical elements and I'm much more interested in interpersonal conflict/relationships in general... PB is extremely unique to the rest of the series because for five WHOLE chapters absolutely nothing abnormal happens and we just get to see Dio harassing Jonathan and his girlfriend until Jonathan snaps and humiliates him so bad in beating him up that he makes Dio cry. and then Dio kills his dog. Like it's literally just some impoverished child abuse victim bullying a spoiled rich kid who wanted to be his friend because lalala sunshine daisies only knows what "poverty" is from reading Oliver Twist and has no conceptual understanding of what the real-world implications of that are. That was the character development that needed multiple chapters to develop it's so fucking awesome. like yeah I'd read an entire novel of just this alone happening and how it impacts their relationship as adults no vampirism needed. I reread "dio the invader" so frequently I'm surprised the spine of my jojonium copy isn't cracked at the exact endpoint of it. I just adore him interacting with Jonathan so much it's hard to remove him from that… that's his FOIL... all the stories (some "AUs") I make with Dio involve the way he and Jonathan gravitate each other to some degree. we get the clearest view of who he is in the face of someone who is the polar opposite of himself. 🤯

2) This iteration of him is the closest degree of separation he has from his "humanity" (childhood), thus

3) I find him to be the most interesting, endearing, etc., version of him walking around, given that... well. behaviors stem from somewhere... the thematic & active severance of himself from a species he is fundamentally incapable of connecting with due to the way he adapted to help him tolerate his childhood... from his point of view I can't imagine that there is one convincing reason for him to continue being human after given the opportunity to deviate from it (despite likely still being inebriated when he vamped himself — very much an impulsive decision since he had, what, an hour or two to think that through? drunk?). If everyone's underneath him, yes, after the fact the choice seems extremely fitting. Maybe he'll cultivate a vast swathe of worshippers and disciples that obey his every command. Maybe he'll rule the world. And then, maybe, he will start to feel genuinely content for the first time in his life. But probably not. That's the drawback of having something fundamentally missing from within you.

4) He lacks a certain type of introspective awareness that 100 years alone in a box might enable him to develop... he's very animalistic to me and possesses a precarious/immature/nonexistent grasp on his emotions just given the fact that he exhibits enraged outbursts from perceived ego wounds (in both childhood and adulthood) + struggles with alcoholism due to an incapacity to self-soothe any sort of negative emotion that makes it past the self-aggrandizing filter he can't help but see life through; he really isn't in conscious control of anything happening inside of him despite needing control over everything and everyone so he can get exactly what he wants, and deserves, always. PB paints a very dim and pathetic view of his character by allowing us to see when he's most "vulnerable", which is the thing he likely hates being the most, so getting to see scenes where he's walking around publicly intoxicated and disparaging himself for acting like his father (implied: again), who he hates, and attacking men with a wine bottle for evoking the concept of his mother, who he also kind of hates but lacks the cognizant cogency to dissolve whatever cognitive dissonance is causing this mental incongruence, rules. he rules

tl;dr SDC dio is "iconic" but I feel like he misses a lot of the charm he had in part one, removed from the context of the society that had such rigid social boundaries and rules of decorum, in addition to his maladaptive approach to interpersonal relationships, his substance abuse issues, his humbling foil... he's too "cool" for me. In the end SDC dio is simply not my Dio... he is someone else's Dio. And that's okay.

[lookismfanfics]

HELLO can you PLEASE write a fluff for Jason yoon i love your works btw 😊💋🫶

yes

𝐂𝐚𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

G/N Reader Notes: I’ll die for Jason. He’s my roman empire. Anyway- some fem pronouns mighta slipped in there! Fluff... sorta!

Jason Yoon- the average-height drink of water that usually glues himself to someone else’s side. Anyone’s side… except for yours… it seems. Dark, brooding, intelligent; Jason could be found hovering around Jake Kim, rolling his eyes at the boss’ stubbornness and ill-timed humor. When he wasn’t with Jake then he was with Brad Lee; the two of them would walk wherever and whenever they wanted. Jason wasn’t even an extrovert… and yet you always saw him in the company of someone else. Well, actually, maybe he was an extrovert. Either way, he seemed to keep away from you. It was bothersome really. Jason had an attractive, captivating personality. A little brash sometimes, quiet and intuitive, but also stupid and hotheaded. He was a piece of work, honestly. Besides that… all he seemed to do was Taekwondo. You had nothing against it initially, but after a while it became the most attractive thing on the face of the planet.

That dark, sharply-angled glass of water… that stalky hunk, that mass of eye candy, never seemed to bat an eye in your direction. It’s not that you wanted his constant affection… but it was true that you hung around Big Deal more often than most. You were even considered friends with a majority of the highest ranking members. You weren’t overly attracted to any of them though. I mean… they were nice… but…

You sat on the stairs outside of a flower shop. Leaning against your knees, hands cupping your face, and feeling a little drowsy. It’s been thirty minutes since you arrived today to the street. Not very long. Half of that time you’ve spent here. On the stairs. Eavesdropping.

Honestly how can you not eavesdrop? The boss is washing his junky car, and his idiot goons (affectionate) are helping him. Lots of drama is bound to ensue.

At present Lineman and Jason are bickering about… the mental capacity of the other. You sit there, listening to them banter back and forth. While you admit, it’s not easy to tire from listening to Jason’s voice, or Lineman’s for that matter, it’s getting a little excessive. Especially when you try to interject and defend Lineman (who you’re pretty close to), only to have your words snuffed out.

Not glance your direction; not even a hint of acknowledging your words. At this point you’ve given up. You just watch as the two talk back and forth. “Don’t use the rough side of the sponge you idiot-”

“There’s no wrong side of the sponge! Look… they’re both soft-"

You sigh and refrain from smiling, watching as Lineman sheepishly realizes Jason was, once again, correct.

“Good try Lineman,” you chuckle. He turns to you with a slightly embarrassed smile. Jason, sure enough, ignores you again. He plows right on with a playful insult (at least it sounds more playful).

You furrow your brows slightly. You’re little hurt, actually. You understand, you can’t be friends with everyone. You’re probably not going to ever pluck up the courage to confess to him. Chances of ever being a couple are near zero. But still… something about him is starting to bug you. The hose nearby has fallen limp to the floor as the boys scrubs suds onto the car. You notice it’s still on.

Jason swats Lineman’s hand away as he begins invading his side of the car to wash. He shakes his head and tries not to smile, and succeeds. Lineman gawks, “What?”

“You missed some spots over there. Look-”

“(Y/N) might stare if you bend over…” Lineman mutters.

Jason whacks him with his soppy washcloth, glaring. Like he cares. He continues washing the left door of the car, shooting Lineman tiny glares when he can. “Hey Jason, d’ya think L-”

SQUIRT.

The entire side of the car is suddenly drenched in water. Including Jason. Lineman jumps backwards in surprise, staring down at his sopping wet arms and then back towards the car. The water turns off and drips from the hose, which then clatters to the floor as you awkwardly retreat.

Jason (and Lineman…. And Jerry now too-) stare back at you, exasperated and confused. Number Three stars to form a bitter glare, dropping the cleaning supplies and beginning to stalk towards you.

You take a couple steps backward, “Just… stop being such a jerk.”

You’ll admit… he was actually kinda… when he was all wet…

Arms wrap around your waist and you’re hoisted off the ground, carried and forced against the car… drenched in water yourself by Lineman and Jerry as Jason holds you in place.

Your sides hurt from laughing by the time they’re finished… and all you mind can think of is that Jason’s actually being chill for once.

Lineman turns off the hose, letting the water drip off to the side and grinning at your sopping wet selves. Jerry pats your head politely while you and Jason begin ringing out your clothes.

“I’m not a jerk,” Jason says.

“…Hey-! So soaking me out of spite isn’t jerky behavior?”

Jake calls from the opposite side of the car.

“He’s just being petty!”

[2nd-mushroom-circle]

lines that made me cry in my 3rd relisten to the chaos protocol ep 32 (MAJOR SPOILERS):

- “brother heed me, as you ought.” something about the way connie says brother this time… i will never be ok about sing and seir

- i mean i could say the entire rest of the opening monologue. but the little hesitance on “lover, hold me”? OW.

- THE WAY VAL’S VOICE SOUNDS ON THEIR FIRST LINE. illegal.

- similarly, the sobbing after “it is lost. forever.” always catches me off guard and RIGHT IN THE HEART

- the way connie just moves on to lumiéra after val says “something snaps”. cause there’s nothing more to say. nothing that can fix it.

- “a door that had been so carefully pried open slamming shut, and… he doesn’t feel.”

- “and he just… looks at where he should have been a shield.” have i ever mentioned that cai is a masterful storyteller? cause cai is a masterful storyteller and god. i’ll never stop feeling things about xainan esch

- this whole scene with xainan crumbling into dust destroys me.

- “you have always been half dead, xainan esch”

- connie calling oblivion the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen as xainan is drifting away from his own life sure is something, huh.

- “i think im just exhausted with being a coward” no cause i have so many feelings about lumiéra waiting, waiting, always a little too hesitant and afraid to tell sing how she really felt, even though sing felt the same, because it’s too scary because it’s too complicated because lumiéra is literally just fucking HUMAN and it takes so much to make that step - only for her to finally do it and it’s just. a moment. too. late.

- the moment when we move from lumiéra’s flashback to the present. the imagery of happy, triumphant, hopeful lumi giving way to lumi crouched over sing’s body, tear tracks staining her face.

- and the imagery of seir holding up lumiéra with his sister. fuck me i guess.

- THE FUCKING PERSPECTIVE SHIFT

- ok being fully fr seir’s monologue here is when i actually started crying in earnest this time. what the fuck val. not one line. all of them

- “the knife that is xainan” always hits me a little bit

- “whelming it’s pitiable vessel” is just such a good phrase. didn’t make me cry but i love it

- the music cue when artemis appears did make me cry though

- “eyes that immediately fall upon sing’s body” if i think too hard about artemis’s relationship with sing (artemis singing the twins to sleep, artemis signing her transfer request because artemis can see right through her, artemis giving them all the warning she can, artemis knowing when they die and appearing right away but unsurprised, with grief that has always been there, artemis making a choice) i will break. and start making some not-yet-canon assumptions about artemis’s own emotional state. so we are not thinking about that!

- “a lance in her chest” “bleeding.” ow ow ow the multiple possible readings of this line. connie and sea kicking off their insane narration chemistry with a lance to my chest. ow

- “those warm, gentle hands, that do not touch, that are so careful with their love” ok so when i said we weren’t feeling things about artemis? i lied

- “and when her hands pass through your flaming horns, snuffing them out like a candle at the end of its wick, it is not violent. it is not to put a cap on your grief, not to quiet you, not to for you into a box or a body that cannot contain you -“ “it is a mercy.” “it is the sweet mercy of rest when you have no tears left to cry.” the actual reason i’m relistening to this episode is to memorize all the words. so i can hold them like precious things in a box inside me. btw

- and artemis sings you and your sister to rest one final time.

ok. *wipes away tears.* anyways.

- artemis wiping a tear from lumiéra’s eye and calling her the bravest girl in the room .

- we interrupt your regularly scheduled tears to bring you: i’m gonna pull an øka* and punch fate in the fucking face. “this pain has a design”. yeah it’s called fate’s a BITCH and a BAD PARENT. and you can quote me on this

*i have not yet watched the second stranger only seen the clip of øka punching fate. so many times. i replayed that clip quite a bit after this episode.

- “and you cannot hold on to your life much longer. you are a dead man walking and you can go no farther than this.” ok back to crying! this is the sequence i was originally most abnormal about. and you know what? it still hits. so much. xainan my beloved

- sea and connie narrative trading my beloved.

- “do you want to live?” “i don’t know.” “then why don’t you come with me, and you can tell me your answer later.” god what a line. what a perfect response. there are no words that can fix this, but maybe with time and love and care someday you will want to live again. why don’t you come with me.

- “and she carries you home.”

- i don’t think i fully internalized the imagery of sing’s sword being driven into the earth by the roots of the world tree and the roots growing up around it before, but this time i imagined wildsailors hundreds of years from now coming upon this site and approaching it with reverence and love, knowing that it was here that something bigger than their world changed forever, holding sing’s eulogy in the very heartwood of the wildsea—yeah.

- “i love my dad, ok?” thanks abasi already sobbing.

- “it is effortless, the care that they hold for you. it is a reality unto itself.” just. cause. this is what i was hoping the whole time in the lead up to this episode. i know it would be awful and crushing and it would break them, and i was so worried that they would have to just. find a way to push on somehow. make plot happen anyways. but this, nova being cared for and held and protected in their grief? someone carrying them home when they can’t do it themselves anymore? this was just what they needed. and what i needed. i cannot wait for arc 2.

[psychewritesbs]

Chapter 212: Fester—Megumi's sense of self

Y’all.

Cursed JJK-Sunday.

So much for me being like “oh yeah catharsis is fucking amazing guys, you should defo try it every once in a while.”

And then laughing like a maniacal and tacky Mexican telenovela villainess because I loved the idea that Gege was about to make Megumi suffer and...

Joke’s on me... that cursed cat is a sadist and landed a low blow and now Megumi’s beautiful sense of self is... 

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS?!!!!!

It’s personal under the cut btw.

Literal picture of me waking up to see the JJK leaks first thing in the morning on Wednesday:

Just because I am not using the evil laughter doesn’t mean I don’t have other tacky af moments up my sleeves. 

But... as per usual, today I wish to go on a massive tangent. 

As I said above the cut, this got personal real quick.

Like, yes, let’s talk about how cruel it is for Tsumiki’s memories to be used against Megumi by Yorozu... 

And how cruel it was for Yuji to have to witness Sukuna take over Megumi’s body despite his best efforts to not just protect Megumi, but to save him...

Gege went to town with the irony this chapter... 

And how sad it is for Yuji to continue to undervalue his life as a mere cog that has served a “practical” purpose in the grander scheme of things. 

I personally really, really want to see Yuji love himself but like... I also know my kind and we can be very self-loathing.

Yes. All #the things.

Gege was seriously saving all of the good stuff for last. 

That said, I want to focus instead on how chapter 212 is a culmination point to a number of disparate and seemingly unrelated factors with one thing in common--Megumi and the major reorganization to everything that he is and stands for. 

Updated warning:

So today I am most interested in exploring Megumi’s sense of self because if there’s one thing that is clear to me is that I’m here for Megumi. 

As a result, this turned into a sort of introspective headcanon exploration on the nature of the sense of self or self-identity using my interpretation and relationship with Megumi as the basis for it. So just keep that in mind if you keep reading because as much as I care about “canon Megumi”, my interpretation of him, however “accurate or not accurate” it might feel to others, is inevitably a projection of my own psyche.

Thing is... and I am not sure that I’ve harped enough about it in my rambles but... as an amateur art historian, I see art as a mirror upon which we can see ourselves reflected both as collective members of humanity, and as individuals. One is a macrocosm to the other after all.

This is why I am a huge proponent of how the characters we love are reflections of our deepest sense of self whether we consciously recognize it or not. 

Megumi being relatable af

That said... Megumi’s sense of self has always been incredibly relatable to me and this post captures that experience really well from a personal perspective. 

So... yeah. Episode 23 in the anime is THE reason I read JJK.

I know I’ve said this three hundred million times I’ve been keeping track, but seeing Megumi step into a version of himself beyond his self-perceived limitations was one of the most inspiring and beautiful moments I have ever witnessed in animanga. 

It awoke in me a desire to do the same for myself and inspired me to find a way to go about it. A desire to exercise my free will to overcome my fate, to exercise my sense of agency to take control of my life. 

So to see Megumi’s sense of agency, his free will and consciousness get snuffed (even if it’s only temporarily) by Sukuna was... personal, not to mention a complete shock.

And yet... in retrospect it makes so much sense that things arrived at this point. Not just from a foreshadowing perspective, but from the perspective of the sense of self. 

For some time now I’ve seen Megumi as a character on an identity defining character arc. Meaning that the events in JJK were shaping how he sees himself in relation to others and his place in the world around him. 

Whereas prior to this arc Megumi was insecure and had a limited perception of himself...

During Shibuya he developed a confidence in himself and his ability to exert power over his environment that was not there before and that we got to see shine through in the events that followed Shibuya.

Perhaps that is why I always had the feeling that in the CG he was going to go through a reversal of his previous character development up to The Origin of Obedience arc where he kept “loosing” and bumping into obstacles he was afraid to tackle.

Rather, starting with Shibuya, Megumi kept “winning”. He was shown to combine his incredible intelligence (boy can manipulate people like a boss and there’s something very object-relations about it) with the new creative ways he was learning he could use his shadow-based Cursed Technique.

The sense of self and the proverbial glass ceiling

Now, given the nature of an identity-defining character arc, I felt like there would come a time when his current understanding of himself would be challenged by an outside force just as he was beginning to “coagulate” this new, more confident identity.

After all, Gege has shown us several times how when a sorcerer reaches the pinnacle of strength (self-knowledge) and takes it for granted, they get knocked down by their humanity (their shadow)--everything that they didn’t know that they didn’t know about themselves and the world around them.

Side note: I LOVE that Gege drew a soul in the panel above! This man is into soulmate bonds and soulmates recognizing each other and I love him all the more for it even after what he did to Megumi.

In other words, it’s like an invitation to never take our sense of self for granted. Because the moment you THINK you are The Strongest, you are quite literally putting a glass ceiling on top of who you THINK yourself to be. 

The moment you THINK you are “enlightened” you are in the ego’s grip, an illusion created by Wetiko/Mara that severely limits how you see yourself in relation to the world around you.

“No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell.” In other words, as above, so below--an enlightened being is most human insofar as their shadow keeps growing right along with them.

To be clear, I’m not saying that Gojo is not THE Strongest. I am saying that Gojo was so confident that he was THE Strongest, that he failed to take into consideration, not just Kenny’s existence, but his own human ego’s emotional attachments--an opening that Kenny exploited if you think about it.

For a limitless being such as Gojo, his downfall was his limited human ego attachments. He might be an enlightened being, but he’s still human.

Also, just a friendly reminder that ego is not good or bad. Don’t fall for the bad reputation that the word “ego” has picked up over the years. Psychologically speaking, ego is your sense of self and YOU NEED IT to move through and experience your reality.

Anyways... that’s how we got here... Gojo got sealed, which allowed for the chain of events to unfold as it did, and that brought us to this particular culmination point...

The reason I bring up Gojo’s “weakness” is because Megumi is going through the same thing. The moment Megumi THINKS he’s got everything under control, well...

Megumi is betrayed by one of his most important people’s, and as a result his consciousness or sense of self gets snuffed like a candle in the wind.

Enchain 恵+活

So, real quick before we keep going... Just to emphasize how important kanji is in JJK: the Japanese phonetic spelling for “enchain” is “kei + katsu” and the kanji Gege used is 契闊.

The individual meaning of each kanji character doesn’t matter as much as swapping kanji that have similar phonetic sounds. 

There are several kanji that mean different concepts that have the same phonetic sound, so you have to find the right combination: 

Like the kanji for 恵 (kei) + 活 (katsu). Which, if you recognize the kanji for “kei”, it’s the kanji used in Megumi’s name. As for the kanji that replaced “katsu” (活) it means “Live / Resuscitation / Being helped / Living”.

I think I read about this from this user.

Boom. 

Gege hiding clues in the kanji? 

Ok moving on...

We all know Sukuna wanted to use Megumi for something nefarious and that he was waiting for just the right moment to activate his binding vow.

What’s interesting to me is that the precise moment that Sukuna was waiting for had everything to do with finding the right opening for taking over Megumi’s psyche. As it turns out, that was when Megumi was at his most vulnerable, which is, as I’ve said over and over and over and over again, one of the qualities Megumi deeply rejects about himself. More on this in a bit.

Basically, Sukuna’s opening was Megumi’s sense of self being weakened by the utter emotional shock he was in because of the reveal about Tsumiki. 

Like... we seriously have never seen Megumi show this much emotion, this strongly. And there’s something almost... idk... infantile about the way he’s depicted? 

I’m just throwing arrows in the dark here, but I get massive “abandonment issues” vibes. Almost like we’re seeing Megumi’s ego regress to a stage in his childhood where he last felt the sheer terror of betrayal and abandonment.

Gege you sadist! He’s seriously out to punish Megumi like the wrathful “God” that he is.

But going back to the idea of Megumi’s vulnerability being exploited because he assumed that Tsumiki had awakened a Cursed Technique instead of being a vessel for a sorcerer from the past...

Not only is this, again, an ironic reversal on how he looked down on Remi’s vulnerability for believing Reggie’s empty promises (even though she probably had NO clue that her lover’s consciousness did not exist any longer), but, again, it’s Megumi feeling vulnerable, a feeling he rejects.

Self-obliteration vs. self-affirmation

I have to thank Fellow Fishie #7 for helping me see this because I was so caught up in the shock to my own ego and so engrossed in my own experience of Megumi that I had failed to notice how Megumi’s self-obliterating thoughts and behaviors were a big part of Sukuna taking over his body.

Not to mention the lack of self-affirming thoughts and behaviors.

And this REALLY got me thinking. Like... REALLY got me thinking about the nature of self-identity and self-sabotage and self-hatred and how despite our best efforts at developing a sense of self, we are afraid to interface with the world and choose instead to stay within self-obliterating comfort zones.

For reference, an example of a self-obliterating behavior would be “addiction” (as an extreme example) and a self-obliterating thought would be rejecting your vulnerability. 

How so? With addiction you are numbing the self, and by rejecting your vulnerability you are inherently rejecting a part of your self.

In Jungian Psychology, the goal of psychological maturation is wholeness--that is, bringing the contents of the shadow to the light of consciousness and being able to hold the tension of all of our contradictions as human beings.   

During maturation and identity-formation, however, the ego creates an idea of itself. As we experience unpleasant feelings like shame or guilt, a lot of the personality traits associated with those unpleasant feelings get pushed into the Shadow to protect the ego’s idea of itself.

i.e. you know that moment when you come to the cold realization that you have been doing the exact same thing you hate about others? It takes A LOT of psychological strength to be able to see this truth about oneself and not reject it.

If I am honest, this is why “anti” stances baffle me... 

So any time you consciously, or even worse, unconsciously reject aspects of yourself, you are self-obliterating. As a clue, projection is one way you can recognize when you are rejecting aspects of yourself.

In Megumi’s case, we know he rejects both good and bad people. Megumi is neither good nor bad. To Megumi’s consciousness, neither of these personality traits apply to him. Other people are good, and other people are bad. 

Meaning, good and bad exist outside of himself and he is not good because if he was good he would be weak-minded and pretentious...

And he’s also not bad because, if he was bad, he would have no brains and zero emotional capability what’s up with this translation omg now I want to go read the Japanese raws...

Actually, reading these panels I am noticing just how skewed Megumi’s opinion is of both. His take on both good and bad people is immature at best.

BUT ANYWAYS... the point I am trying to make here is that, despite how much more confident in his abilities his sense of self has become, Megumi still self-obliterates and doesn’t realize it.

I think the main reason I agree that if Megumi dies right now is inconclusive and anticlimactic, is precisely because his sense of self is a beautiful example of what is possible for our self-identity when we step outside our self-obliterating comfort zones and step into self and life-affirming thoughts and behaviors.

If I had to say what it is that broke my heart about Sukuna taking over Megumi’s body it is precisely the fact that I’ve been rooting for Megumi to keep growing, to keep bettering himself. So to see him loose agency over his soul and body it just... guh. It gutted me.

Again. It’s PERSONAL AND I CAN’T BE NORMAL ABOUT IT. LIKE... WHERE AM I SELF-OBLITERATING (other than the obvious) AND HOW DO I STOP MYSELF FROM SELF-SABOTAGING?! WHERE DO I NEED TO BE MORE SELF AFFIRMING IN MY OWN LIFE?

The thing is that Megumi’s confidence in himself might have increased, but his emotional intelligence and self-awareness stagnated. And again, what happens in JJK to a character whose self-awareness stagnates? They get put in the fucking corner after having their vulnerability and their very humanity exploited.

To complicate things, Sukuna is Wetiko personified, a sense of self corrupted by the illusion and trappings of ego. Sukuna is self-affirming but not life-affirming. So whatever actions Sukuna takes in Megumi’s body, again... it will be self-affirming but not life-affirming for Megumi’s ego.

In other words... if Megumi’s sense of self is still alive somewhere in there, this is the ego death I’ve been waiting for. 

IF he’s still alive, the real test to his sense of self comes after Sukuna leaves his body.

idk if this makes sense but the content of this lecture will be on your finals. Please study properly. 

All of this to say...

TLDR; in conclusion

You son of a....

How am I supposed to continue to call him Daddy Sukuna?!!!! It feels SO wrong on SO many levels.