#In reality it was to try to keep them as out of the way as possible so they wouldn't spread anymore bullshit to the rest of the engines

[hussyknee]

Okay, let's get one thing straight: the JVP never murdered Tamils. That's all JR Jayawardena's propaganda. He did Black July, the '83 genocide of Tamils that ignited the 26-year Sri Lankan Civil War.

When JR swept into power with the nation's first super majority, he established the Executive Presidency, stripped Sirimavo of her civil rights, aligned with the US and threw open the economy, doing nothing to absorb the shockwaves for the poor and working class that up to that point had formed the backbone of the failed self-sufficient policies of the socialist government. This obviously led to starvation level poverty among the rural poor and labourers, especially in the South, and trade unions and Marxist protest groups rose up. JR responded by hunting them all like dogs. His PM Premadasa was especially known for murdering trade unionists.

He also increased the militarized presence in the North and East by passing the Prevention of Terrorism Act of 1979, the single most enduring curse on democratic freedom in this country. Ostensibly to crack down on Tamil militant groups, in reality it unleashed a reign of terror by cops and army, escalating rapes, kidnappings and murders of Tamils in far greater numbers than seen since the '58 Gal Oya riots. This obviously caused the a stronger armed response by separatist groups like the LTTE, which is what JR wanted. He used the LTTE's killing of the 13 Sinhalese soldiers to deliberately inflame the Sinhalese all over the country, bussing in mobs and making the army aid and abet them to burn thousands of Tamils alive. Obviously, groups like the LTTE swelled overnight as a consequence. Again, a win for the militarized state and the powers it gave the Executive.

JR then killed two birds with one stone by framing the JVP as the instigators of the genocide. Sirimavo had banned the party after their first insurrection in '71, but JR revoked it as a populist measure just to spite her when he first came to power. Now, he banned it himself. This forced the JVP underground and to take up arms once more— another win for the military state. Ranjan Wijeratne and Gamini Dissanayake, JR's personal Goebbels and Himmler, along with his PM Premadasa, wanted a "Jakarta Method" cleansing of all communists and unleashed another reign of terror against Sinhalese youth in the late '80s. Their death squads and black sites claimed upwards of 60,000 lives, including school children, most of them for offenses such as pissing off a government spy and refusing to have sex with a cop.

But make no mistake, the JVP wasn't much less ethnonationalist than the two major parties. In fact, the South's sense of disaffection and resentment directed against the elites was also turned on what they saw as "special dispensations" for Tamils to occupy it by achieving higher education and government positions. Even then, there existed a tentative Marxist solidarity between the JVP and Tamil militant groups who exchanged weapons against the SL Army, the Indian Peace Keeping Force, and the LTTE, which was trying to purge all the other Tamil factions as their competition. However, once the JVP joined politics in '93, they spent the next ten years nurturing nuclear racists like Wimal Weerawansa and throwing in with the saffron mob (Buddhist priesthood).

The JVP did have a special grievance against the LTTE specifically. When Ranasinghe Premadasa became President after JR in '89, he decided he wasn't going to fight a bunch of militants in two fronts, especially considering he had to figure out a way to kick out the Indian Peace Keeping Force. (The IPKF were supposed to be Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Ghandi's emissaries sent to mediate between the government forces and the LTTE. In reality, they turned out be a band of out of control terrorists that preyed on civilians worse than either). Therefore Premadasa made a truce with the LTTE to join the Army and run out the IPKF, but also enlisted their help cleaning up the JVP cadres in the East and Central Provinces. The Army and LTTE were very chummy up until Premadasa caught and killed JVP Leader Rohana Wijeweera in November that year, even as other Tamil militants were supporting the JVP. The LTTE rewarded Premadasa's machinations by assassinating him in '93.

This does not excuse the JVP marching against Ranil's peace package offered to the LTTE in 2004 and fully backing Mahinda Rajapaksa's push to launch a "final solution" military offensive against the North. By doing that, they became fully party to the 2009 Tamil Genocide that killed upwards of 170,000 civilians in the North and East. Even though they were one of the first to defect from the Rajapaksas five years later, and has been a consistent thorn in the Rajapaksas' side ever since, none of it was out of recognition of their war crimes or concern for the ongoing ethnic cleansing and persecution of the North and East. I don't ever expect Tamils to forgive that, and the NPP winning the Tamil and Muslim areas actually broke my heart a bit, especially given how the Sinhalese on social media spewed hate at them for failing to vote for AKD in the Presidential election.

On the other hand, the NPP is the only party that didn't run on a racist platform since...2015? 2010? Which is the literal bottom of the fucking barrell, and also no small thing considering the fact that Sinhalese Buddhist chauvinism has been most non-minority parties' bread and butter from the beginning. Their every rally and parade have been bolstered by the most virulent saffron jackals they could find, and even SJB party leader Sajith Premadasa, who was supposed to be the minority-friendly option against the Rs, decided to court their favour in both elections. (Apples, trees, etc.) The NPP is the only party that attempts some separation of church and state (or temple and state, as it were), paying only lip service to the niceties of our wannabe-theocracy.

Also, not for nothing but Dr. Harini Amarasuriya was the director at the Open University of the program that teaches about the Tamil genocides, Tamil struggle, Sinhalese Buddhist historical revisionism, the creation of the ethnostate, the violence of the military state et al. She's one of the reasons I began to support Tamil resistance. Now she's in a party surrounded by racist ballsacks who can't be arsed to provide translations for Tamil speakers. (For the thousandth time, I appreciate your intentions but, woman. What are you doing?)

Like, I excused them not campaigning in the North and East in the Presidential election because I believe they didn't have the funds, but the General?? Bussing in people from other provinces in their Northern rallies? Not having a single Muslim in their Cabinet? It's not great to be passive about your racist past and lack engagement with minorities in your ostensibly non-racist present, but to start out your super majority government that way when they voted for you is completely inexcusable. I am, quite frankly, worried. They've also said they're leaving the Prevention of Terrorism Act alone (which I thought might just be trying not to rock the boat before the General—the JVP was literally hunted and massacred under the PTA, what the fuck) and have said nothing about demilitarizing the North and East, when the harrassment and persecution of the civilians there are getting ever more dire.

I don't believe they're going to rain hell down on minorities the way the other two parties have historically, because they've made a concerted effort to distance themselves from that kind of MO. It is, after all, a reason they won the Muslim and Tamil vote, a bar in hell as it is. But completely ignoring a wounded and ailing demographic is also as a great a violence. So I don't know. But I think the worst outcome is simply that nothing changes for Tamils, rather than more mob violence and harsher military response. Both have always been circuses for the government to distract from the lack of bread, and now we can't afford either.

Edit: okay, so I might have been a bit unfair and misinformed about their efforts in Jaffna. The NPP's candidates seem to be well chosen by both the party and the electorate, and now-party leader Bimal Rathnayake has spent a good amount of time and energy on Jaffna. And there are two Tamil Ministers in the Cabinet. The quality and focus of the representatives have changed in the North and East just as much. Here's hoping they receive the solidarity and allyship they need to make real change for their constituents.

Trying to explain what the fuck just happened in Lankan politics today.

The leftist party has won 159 seats out of 218 in the Parliamentary elections. The single biggest landslide win since we broke from the British and achieved universal franchise in 1948.

Any party achieving a super majority in the executive and legislative is, objectively speaking, bad. It disables checks and balances, which is a catastrophic thing for any democracy, and the only two other times it's happened for us has irrevocably eroded the fabric of civic rights and democratic freedom. Also, the reason the NPP won the North and East is that the colonized, genocided and subjugated people there have no faith in electoralism anymore. The way this government has engaged minority issues has been utterly abysmal and now they've been rewarded for it.

On the other hand:

The winners. Are all. Grassroots. Candidates.

We have voted out every single career criminal that's been barnacled into the Lankan political arena since before I've been alive. The fascist party has only three seats. The other fascists didn't win a single seat. The neoliberal legacy party won none. There are only forty people in Parliament that represent any sort of dynastic political legacy. After 76 solid years of nothing but political dynasties.

This is barely five years after the Rajapaksas swept in and absolutely glutted the Parliament with their family members and cronies end to end.

This is the illegitimate interim government we had for most of the last 18 months. We literally, physically, chased the Rajapaksas out of the country and this fucking demon set up a puppet government just so he could finally sit in that goddamn chair and be the despot he'd always dreamed of in exchange for letting them all come back. He's now gone. His entire circle is gone.

THEY ARE ALL FUCKING GONE.

In US terms, just imagine the entire GOP and the worst of the Dems destroyed and purged from Congress and Senate, the Green Party in control of all three branches of government, an unmarried abortion rights activist Vice President, and the Dems reduced to barely 20% of the House. Five years from now, when Trump's GOP has control of everything.

This is my anthropology professor. She joined politics from the small nascent leftist coalition to help keep the government accountable. She's now the Prime Minister and the most popular Parliamentary candidate in the nation's history.

On the other hand— the woman who helped make me a radical anarchist and literally helped write a book on political dissent and resistance...now is the state.

But there are so many women in Parliament! We had the lowest female representation in a South Asian Parliament and some of them were from the list of seats reserved for parties rather than elected ones. Most were either anti-feminist conservative embarrassments, widows and daughters of elite politicians and neoliberal shills. It's still only an increase of a few percentage points but now we have elected academics, feminist advocates, activists! THERE IS A REPRESENTATIVE FOR MALAIYAHA TAMILS IN THE CENTRAL PROVINCE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY AND IT'S A YOUNG WOMAN! This is the plantation community that still live in conditions closest to the slavery the British forced upon them two hundred years ago!

I'm like. Completely mindfucked. To be very very clear, these people are not Marxists or anything near; they're mild social democrats who would only be threatening to like, USAmerican liberals, who are now center-right. The actual chances for radical reform are still quite low, and the opportunity for further erosion is extremely high.

On the other hand:

What the fuck.

Sometimes living through historical events is really damn amazing.

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter eight)

18+ 5.5k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, forced relationship, slow burn, suicidal ideation/close call, dubcon, oral sex, penetrative sex. fic directory | AO3

It isn’t love like they tell it in fairy tales. It’s love the way the poets write it. It’s blood and tears, a gnawing hunger that eats you from the inside out, leaves you empty and clawing to cram something into yourself as replacement. It’s love like an infection, a fever that never fades. It’s devotion and yearning that runs so deep it turns into violence.

For the next several mornings, you make breakfast as usual.

The heat of the gas range and the hissing sizzle of the eggs are always slightly muffled. Time itself moves strangely around you, like you’re standing under a waterfall flowing in reverse. Minutes tick on like hours, but the hours go by without you noticing them at all. 

As the days–they could be weeks, you’ve stopped keeping track–pass, that night of intimacy with Homelander feels more and more like a fever dream than a memory. If you really try, however, the details of it are simple enough to recall, if not a touch hazy. 

The part of it that’s a struggle is believing any of it actually happened. When you do put your mind to remembering it, it’s as though it happened to someone else. You were an outsider to your body, and now that you’re yourself again, you’re left to ponder the actions of that stranger.

It’s your body that holds onto the reality of it for you. Your stomach still feels faintly tender from the nausea and vertigo of flying. The penthouse air feels stale in your lungs compared to the winds whipping above the city. Your heart pounds whenever your jaw feels tight with the memory of his hand clamped over your mouth, but perhaps the most vexing aspect of it all is the way the throb of your pulse now echoes loudest between your legs.

How your fear now comes laced with an unwanted tinge of arousal.

You’d been left alone that night while Homelander attended a Vought function. He hadn’t been gone long; just long enough for you to bathe. You hadn’t felt up to eating, but he didn’t notice. He’d only cared about coming home, about taking you back into his arms, about breathing in the shower fresh smell of you and exhaling mine into the crook of your neck.

Never before have you felt more like a toy, a possession, a belonging than you did in that moment.

He hasn't touched you like that again since, though you think he aches to. You feel it in the way he squeezes your thigh when you watch movies together, how his hand drifts gradually higher, but it never progresses further than that. Sometimes he’ll press against you in bed, but so long as you lay very still, he eventually drifts to sleep.

When he’s gone, you touch yourself. The ache is there, the pleasure faint, but it’s never quite enough to put you over the edge. It’s never enough to give you the kind of relief–the kind of escape–you felt with him. Your body feels like kindling without a spark, the sensations empty.

You wonder what it would take to prompt him back into that kind of frenzy, that single-minded drive to pleasure you. Would he do it again if he saw you crying?

I’m doing this for you. For us. I’m doing this because you don’t know how to let yourself be happy.

Could he have been right? Have you ever really known how to make yourself happy?

A touch to your waist snaps you from your introspection, startles you into jerking. The pan in your grip would have gone flying if not for Homelander’s hand on your elbow, steadying you.

You completely forgot you were cooking breakfast.

“Eggs are burning,” he tells you, reducing the gas to nothing. They’re far from black, but it doesn’t take much to turn eggs from edible to rancid, the sulphuric smell burning your nose. You can only imagine the havoc it’s wreaking on him.

It isn’t the first time you’ve burned a meal since that night. His tone indicates he’s come to expect it.

“Oh,” you say noncommittally, staring at the curled dark edges, the solid yellow yolk.

His hand slides absently from your hip to your waist. He’s become so familiar in these casual touches, they don’t even make your heart lurch in your chest anymore.

“It’s fine,” he says, clearly reading disappointment in your indifference. The timbre of his voice is ambiguous, but somehow you don’t really think it’s fine. He must be losing his patience with you. His arms slip around your waist like two coiling serpents. “Plenty of time for you to start over.”

Still, he wants you to fix it. Burned eggs don’t suit this idyllic fantasy.

Why bother? you wonder. He peppers light kisses on your neck, lips brushing over a kiss-bruised patch of skin. The heat of his mouth makes you shiver, makes your belly feel tight and hot. You can’t tell anymore whether the heat is anger or arousal. You’re not even going to eat it.

Nevertheless, you scrape out the botched eggs and start over, keenly aware of your pulse echoing faintly between your thighs, and the weight of Homelander’s gaze on you.

Predictably, you eat, and he toys with his food like it’s all a silly game of make-believe. Plastic eggs, foam toast, pretend girlfriend. Homelander’s obsession exists not in what’s real, but in the performance of domesticity. Every day, the idea of what’s real becomes a little more subjective. A little more abstract.

When he goes to leave, he kisses your cheek.

“Thank god it’s Friday,” he says, your chin pinched between his bare thumb and middle forefinger knuckle. He’s taken to touching you more and more without his gloves on. “I made sure I don’t have any weekend obligations, which means you–lucky lady–finally get me all to yourself.”

That’s new. Normally his weekends are even busier than his week.

Sensing his anticipation for your positive reaction, you smile faintly. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

His eyes widen just a fraction, as does his smile. It’s something of an experiment, a deviation from your automatic daily “Have a good day,” and you see the excitement of it written plainly in his expression.

“I won’t,” he says, softer, grip flexing minutely on your chin. He tarries just long enough that you begin to think he may not leave after all. Instead, he takes in a breath and drops his hand to the door panel, using his print to disengage the lock. 

“This will be good for us,” he says quietly, lingering in the doorway for just a moment longer than usual.

The door closes behind him. The green circle turns blue, and the locking mechanism re-engaging is the last bit of noise you hear. The door is thick enough that you don’t even hear his steps echo down the hallway.

Crossing your arms, you stand there for a while, staring at the door. The number pad is shiny from disuse, the buttons a gleaming silver. You’ve never seen him bother to input the code. Testing them without pressing, they’re cool to the touch under your finger, and after a beat, you input a code.

0476. America’s birthday.

The blue circle flashes red, and you sigh. You would have been angry with yourself if it’d been that easy anyways. 

For another day, you whittle your hours away on nothing, distant from yourself and your feelings. Music drones in your ears like static. Television feels alien and incomprehensible. The whole world is upside down, but it’s as though you’re the only one who’s noticed, who’s being forced to adapt.

Terrible as it is to think, the days are better when Homelander’s here.

You walk the penthouse in familiar patterns like a zoo animal in a too-small enclosure, bereft of enrichment. Knowing what you know about him, it feels like giving him too much credit to think the deprivation is intentional, that he’s putting in an effort to make you miss him in the time he’s gone. It seems more likely that he really is just incredibly ignorant of the basic needs a person has.

You’re not an animal. You’re more like a doll that he puts on the shelf until he’s ready to play with you again.

Coming to the balcony, you pull open the door and step outside, hand tight on the door frame. The wind lashes at you, stealing your breath for a split second in the way it always does before you adjust. It’s bright out today, the sky a crisp blue. It’s the kind of rich blue you’d never normally see through the smog on ground level, which always leaves it desaturated.

The clouds look near enough to touch, were you brave enough. Even standing just outside the doorway, your bare feet against the ice cold cement, is enough to make you weak in the knees. Your heart knocks against your ribs like it means to escape, but the feeling has grown so familiar, you don’t back away.

The fear, you realize, is the only thing that makes you feel present in your own body. 

Living with Homelander has forced you to swallow back your instincts so frequently, it comes more naturally now to take a step forward than to run away, your hand slipping from the doorway.

Your heart is in your throat as you near the middle point of the balcony, more and more of the city below coming into view. Your breaths grow shallow, and despite how calm you think you are, your stomach launches into a series of violent somersaults, your eyes glued to the thinning edge of the balcony.

No matter how tattered your thoughts and feelings are, your body reacts. It knows how to keep you safe. It screams and screams and screams as you press on.

There’s nothing around you to steady or brace yourself on. You feel imbalanced, top-heavy in a way that makes you sway, your poor heart lurching with it. You’re too scared to blink, unwilling to risk even a split second of darkness for the fear you might pitch forward.

Closing your eyes only makes it worse, reminds Homelander, his voice unbidden in your mind.

It’ll pass.

It’s worth it.

Trust me.

“Why?” you snap aloud, startling yourself. Why, even now, is he with you?

What’s your alternative?

The air is thin out here. Your eyes water, buffeted by the winds. Your chest feels tighter now, and every breath you take is more hard fought than the last, your lungs constricted. Tears start to roll down your cheeks, though the wind is quick to wick them away.

Your whole body sings with your fear. The adrenaline feels like an extra layer of skin beneath yours, filling your veins with tension and strength. The longer you endure it, the more aware of yourself and that change you become. You take another step towards the edge. Your mouth is sandpaper dry, pins and needles prickling your skin all over. 

Don’t look down. Look out.

You lift your gaze to the horizon, exhaling a shaky breath. You take another tentative step forward, relieved when your foot hits solid ground. You can’t see exactly where the ledge ends anymore. Another step, and then another. There’s nothing to hold you back. Nothing to keep you from walking.

Finally, you close your eyes, and move to step forward.

You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you?

You gasp, eyes snapping open. Your balance waivers, and as your gaze drops, you see the empty space where your foot was about to fall.

 If not for yourself, you’ll do that for me, yeah?

You pitch yourself backwards so hard that you fall, landing on your ass with a pained noise. You choke on the tension in your throat, your whole body shaking as you haul yourself backwards, bare feet scratching against the pavement. You flip onto your hands and knees and clamber back inside, hastily slamming the door shut behind you before you let go a gut wrenching sob, the sound of it strained, agonized, barely enough breath in your lungs to birth it. 

You put your back to the door and you cry until your voice runs hoarse, until all the muscles in your stomach hurt and your tears run dry. It’s an ugly, visceral cry that leaves you dizzy and weak-limbed, the space behind your eyes throbbing in a dull headache.

There is an alternative. You’re going to find it.

Eventually you manage to drag yourself up from the floor and to the bedroom. The exhaustion that hits in the wake of your–what, lapse in judgment? Temporary insanity? Whatever you call it, it’s left you so worn out that all you can do is collapse on the bed, your muscles aching.

From the ceiling, your reflection stares back at you. You hardly recognize that face as yours anymore. Time and time again she makes choices that aren’t yours and experiences the world in a way you never could have imagined.

Homelander may have convinced you to look at yourself, but only now do you think you’re starting to see yourself as you are. As you must be.

You close your eyes, exhaling a slow breath. You begin to forget the balcony, the steps forward, the fall. It slots into a distant place somewhere in the back of your mind–where all things like it go–and after a time you’re left with nothing but the thrumming of your own body.

The echo of fear and thrill. The memory of adrenaline coursing through you like fuel, like poison, like divinity. Never before have you felt the kind of power you did when you took those steps. Fear has no control over you. It wasn’t even what stopped you.

You stopped yourself. You took control.

It leaves you electrified. You touch your tingling fingertips to your lips, where the numbness of them makes them feel like someone else’s. You trail them down your chin, your jaw, your throat. Instead of fighting it, you lean into the idea of this other you.

Hand drifting lower, you close your eyes. Instantly that haunting night comes back to you: Homelander’s mouth on your neck, your chest, your lips, his fingers curling inside you while you–that stranger behind your eyes–gasped in pleasure and kissed him back.

You try to replicate his touch. Slow, firm, full of desire and intent. Your stomach flips at the memory of it. How he kissed you like he meant to devour you, how enraptured he became with your pleasure. 

I’ll make you happy if you’d just let me.

Swallowing, you skirt your fingers along the waistband of your pants, teasing the exposed skin there. He had taken your fear, your anguish, and twisted it into something with teeth. 

Something inside you that hungered.

You have no idea how fucking good I can make you feel.

Slipping under the fabric, you push your fingers into your underwear and touch yourself in every way you remember him touching you.

The chill of your fingers–still cold from the balcony–is stark against the heat between your legs. Your pussy feels velvety under your fingers, soft and slick with arousal. 

Look who’s all wet.

You let out a shuddering breath. Trying to replicate his touch only drives home how wholly inhuman he really felt. The unyielding strength in him, how his fingers felt like anchors inside you, grounding you, keeping you so entirely at his mercy that you had no choice but to let go, to give in.

There’s no such plausible deniability here. He’s gone, and yet here you are envisioning him, imitating him, allowing the version of him in your mind to have what you’d been sure he would always have to take. You screw your eyes shut tighter, exhaling a throaty noise as you push your fingers sharply in.

Your hips rock steadily. The harder you try, the less right it feels. You attempt to relax, to let yourself focus on what it feels like now instead of what it felt like then, what it felt like with him. How relentless he was, peppering insistent kisses everywhere he could reach. You touch your neck, press into the tender mark he sucked there. Your pussy clenches at the sensation, and finally you feel as though you’re on the right track.

Something electric begins to crackle inside you. A low, dull pressure that builds gradually. You deepen your breaths, finding a rhythm, losing yourself piece by piece to the dozens of hands pulling at you in your mind. Tearing your clothes, sinking into you, holding you pinned, all of it impossibly happening at once while you’re simultaneously ravaged by lips, tongue and teeth.

Your eyes snap open when a grip like steel snatches your wrist, shocking you out of your fantasy.

Homelander stands over you.

His vibrant blue eyes are dark and glazed over, his lips parted. He’s not looking at you, but instead at your glistening fingers. He tilts your hand, enraptured by how the wetness of them catches the light. 

A visceral rush moves through you, heat and shame and excitement and outrage all in dizzying measure. You move to yank your hand back, but despite the looseness of his grip, the curl of his fingers is unyielding. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

With his other hand braced on the headboard, he leans in at the same time he pulls you closer, his eyes falling shut as he sucks two of your fingers into his mouth.

The heat of it shocks you all over, makes your stomach drop in a hot and sudden broil. His tongue slides up the seam between your fingers, pushing between them, licking away every single trace of slickness from them.

“Homelander,” you rasp, tone ambiguous in the flux of your inner turmoil.

His eyes open part way, landing on you heavy and hungry. He pulls your fingers from his mouth with an obscene, wet noise. His tongue moves over his top lip in a slow slide, dipping around his sharp canines. His breaths are shallow, nostrils flaring on every heavy inhale. He’s barely tasted you and yet he looks drunk on it, cheeks flushed red.

“What were you thinking about?” he asks, his voice guttural, raw with open and eager desire.

For once, the truth and what you know he wants to hear are one in the same. It sits on your tongue with the weight of an anchor, his expectant gaze a bottomless ocean. 

If you give it to him, are you prepared to sink?

What’s your alternative?

“You.”

Homelander groans. 

He releases your hand and takes hold of your hips instead, yanking you to the edge of the bed with such ease of force it makes you gasp. He yanks your pants off with a sharp pull, though he manages not to tear them this time.

The feverishness that he touches you with makes your whole body sing, instantly sparking the ember you’d been tending into a blazing fire. Your blood races with adrenaline, desire surging alongside instinctual fear, the two intermingling to the point where you can no longer discern one from the other.

“I was thinking about yesterday,” you say, breath hitching for the way he kisses his way down your stomach, fingers biting into your hips.  “The way you touched me.”

Like gasoline splashed over a flame, your words intensify the ravenous fire of him. He sinks to his knees, your legs hitched over his shoulders, peppering kisses along your inner thigh, hands cupped under your ass, which he’s pulled completely off the bed.

Your heart thunders in your chest while his hot huffs of breath so close to where you’re wet and wanting make you shiver. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, the thrum of his restraint an effortless reminder of all that he is, all that he’s capable of. The awareness of how easily he could tear you apart is no longer frightening. Instead, it’s the understanding that he won’t that thrills you. 

In the same way you couldn’t stop him when he wanted to please you, if Homelander wanted to hurt you, you couldn’t stop him. There is a surreal freedom in that, a permission to let go of the weight of fear and responsibility for yourself, for your actions.

Reap the reward.

He kisses all the way to the core of you, where his mouth closes over your clit, hot and wet and devouring. His tongue slides around and over, the rolling pull of his lips coaxing a deeper pleasure. 

All the while he holds you firmly in place, trapping you in relentless euphoria. His mouth is just as merciless as the rest of him, never needing to pause or take a breath. He’s machine-like in his rigor, but the fervor of his consumption is decidedly animalistic.

You can hardly catch your breath in the onslaught. Reaching down, you thread your fingers into his hair–it’s softer than it has any right to be–and pull hard. That earns you a throaty moan from him, the vibrations of it adding an entirely new element of sensation.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. His tongue moves down, focusing instead on fucking you in shallow but powerful thrusts. The strength of it, the underlying hum of barely contained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina drives you wild against his mouth.

Between plunging his tongue into you and sucking on your clit, he drinks you down noisily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. You use what little leeway his grip allows to grind against his tongue, riding the tidal wave of your building release all the way to the top. 

His hand slides inward, fingers splayed to support your weight while his thumb dips deep enough to slip into you, finally giving your pussy something solid to squeeze. It’s enough to tip you over the edge. You push your other hand into his hair and hold on for dear life, arching your back with a cry that fills the entire penthouse as pleasure overtakes you, crashing down on you like a tsunami.

Like before, Homelander doesn’t take your climax alone as an invitation to stop. A man possessed, he licks, sucks and kisses your throbbing clit through every single aftershock of your orgasm. Pleasure eventually trails into discomfort, a slight tingling burn that finally gives you the strength to push him away.

He doesn’t relent right away, too lost in you to feel the meager protest. You push harder, making a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, overstimulated, and he finally withdraws, giving one last noisy slurp before setting you back on the bed and rising. He’s painting, face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown completely black.

In your euphoria addled delirium, the look of him makes you want to run far away as much as it makes you want to kiss him.

Licking his lips, he crawls up your body, his gaze still predator hungry. You catch his face between your palms, your breaths still shallow, and marvel at how raw he looks. 

For all your fears about what he could be hiding from you, Homelander has never been anything but brutishly upfront. He told you who and what he was the moment you woke up in his bed. You can understand his logic now–why bother muddying the waters with needless lies? He never deceived you because he wanted you to know who he was, and who he expected you to be.

Even now, he is an open book to you. Your pleasure is mine, his expression declares. The claim is in his eyes, shining on his lips, in the heady scent of it on his breath. You are mine.

And he is, without a shadow of a doubt, yours.

You trace his bottom lip with your thumb, transfixed by the way he followed it, pressing wet kisses to the pad. You tilt your thumb forward, grazing his teeth. His bottom canines are sharp, and when you press your thumb down on one of them, he closes his lips around it, sucking on it with a needy little noise that lances heat straight through you. 

Despite the immensity of his power, he’s malleable in your hands. You pull, he follows, huffing out shallow little breaths. You pull your thumb away and he looks at you with cloudy eyes, brows tightly pinched. Between your bodies, he fusses with his belt until it clicks loose.

“Stop,” you breathe, pressing a hand to his chest.

His expression twists, damn near wounded. “Wha–why? I thought–”

You kiss him before he can put himself in another rejection induced spiral, licking the words right out of his mouth before you say, “Take the suit off.”

Another soft groan from him before he’s lifting off of you, unfastening his suit. You take the opportunity to shed the last of your layers, your heart racing. You half expected him to rush, to fumble in his hurriedness, but despite his obvious excitement, he’s methodical in removing his suit, placing it on the rack in the way he always does.

It’s almost long enough to give you time to think about what you’re doing, about whether the pounding in your chest is thrill or not. That same primal part of you is shouting to run, and you are running, just not away. You’re tired of running away. This time, you’re running headlong into Homelander.

And he catches you.

He’s upon you before you can examine it any further, bare skin hot against yours. He kisses the column of your throat, breathing you in.

At the first nudge of his cock, a breathy little noise escapes you. He savors grinding the head of it tantalizingly against your clit, moving through the mess he’s made of you. You’re soaking wet, thighs coated in saliva and slick. He presses his chest down against yours and the heat of him makes you shiver. 

He isn’t putting his full weight down on you, but the sheer force of him over you is suffocating. Breathing makes you feel as though you’re pressed against a brick wall, stifling you. Trapping you. You start to shake your head.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” you say, fighting the welling panic in your throat. “Roll over. On your back.”

Confused but not opposed, he does as he’s told, moving off of you and onto his back. You swing your leg over him, and he instantly understands, grasping your hips to help gather you into position over him. His lips split into a wide grin, dark eyes glinting wickedly.

“Fuck yes,” he breathes, squeezing your hips. There’s a giddiness to him, like part of him didn’t believe that this would happen, much less that you would ever be the one leading it.

Straddling his thighs, sitting just behind his cock, you can feel the tension of his excitement thrumming throughout his body. With control on your side, you move forward, reaching between your legs to angle him into the right position.

His grip on you flexes as he fights with himself to stay still while you descend slowly, the swell of him splitting you open in one slow, hot slide.

Gravity brings you down most of the way, but a jerk of his hips that he pulls you into bottoms him out, and you both gasp with the suddenness of it, your body locking up around his throbbing cock.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pants, but his grip doesn’t ease. Like he’s lost control of himself, he holds you firmly in place while he fucks you, watching you through heavily lidded eyes, lips parted. “S’good, s’fuckin’–so fucking good,” he moans, expression twisting in pleasure. 

It’s too much all at once–Homelander always is–but you take it, gripping his wrists. He fucks like a machine, each thrust a shock to your system, momentum building into quicker, harder thrusts.

“S-slow down,” you half moan, practically choking on the overwhelming fullness of him inside you. He isn’t thrusting in and out so much as he’s grinding into you in shallow bursts, carving out the shape of himself within you like he intends never to leave.

“Take me so good,” he murmurs, and if not for the slight slow down of his thrusts, you’d think he didn’t hear you. He sits up, the ease with which he moves even with you on top of him still throwing you for a loop. “Knew you would, knew you’d be mine, all mine. Made just for me.”

His hands slide up your body, one arm moving around your waist while his hand slides up to cup the back of your head. He kisses you, pins your chest to his, ensures you feel every ounce of his desperation to be with you, near you, inside you.

It’s more than being fucked–it’s like being taken apart so that you can be put back together around him. A permanent emptiness in his perfect image.

You were not made for him. You have been remade.

The next thing you know, Homelander is standing up, your legs hitched around his waist, ankles locked behind him. You wrap your arms around his neck and gasp for the way the position brings him in deeper yet, every bounce on his cock heavier now.

“Look at me,” he rasps. You don’t remember closing your eyes, but you open them at his prompt, looking at him through the delirium of heat and pleasure. His dark eyes are glassy, and he’s looking at you with such raw, vulnerable love that it makes your heart twist in agony. “I love you.”

You take a breath, your own eyes welling with tears, and you kiss him.

I believe you, you think, tears rolling down your cheeks while the pressure of climax builds steadily back up.

It isn’t love like they tell it in fairy tales. It’s love the way the poets write it. It’s blood and tears, a gnawing hunger that eats you from the inside out, leaves you empty and clawing to cram something into yourself as replacement.

It’s love like an infection, a fever that never fades. It’s devotion and yearning that runs so deep it turns into violence. It’s desperation and the all consuming desire to be accepted for what you are, no matter the ugliness of it. It’s the most raw form of need a person is capable of.

It’s survival.

The kiss breaks and he presses his forehead to yours, your shallow breaths mingling hot and wet in the narrow space between your mouths.

The rest of the world falls away in jagged pieces–circumstance, fear, pity, hatred, pain–and narrows only to the two of you; your bodies joined, your gazes fixed on one another, and the electric pleasure of the friction between you.

“I–” you gasp, choking on your own words as he fucks you to the razors edge of release. “I love you, too.”

Maybe he’s broken you, or maybe it’s impossible to live in madness without going a little mad yourself. 

He makes a noise like you’ve gutted him, eyes screwed shut. He slams in once, twice, thrice more and you lose yourself to the heat of it all, breath stolen from your lungs by the crash of release that overwhelms your every sense.

You lose track of time, of the hammer of his body against yours. He comes shortly after, stilling deep inside you with a rush so hot that it makes you gasp into the crook of his neck, where you let yourself collapse. You’re dead weight in his arms, but you may as well weigh nothing at all for the toll it takes on him.

Sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed, he embraces you like that for a long while. Your euphoria keeps you on a cloud somewhere high above, serving as cushioning between how you feel and what you know. Just like yesterday, mindless pleasure is an intoxicating reprieve from reality, and you’re thoroughly drunk on it.

He rubs your back in slow familiar patterns. You idly toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, which prompts him to pepper you in languid kisses. Touching you like this comes to him as naturally as breathing. Your bodies slot together like two pieces of a puzzle that were long lost from each other.

“See?” he whispers, easing your bodies down onto the bed, under the covers. “I didn’t break you.”

You offer a dazed smile, not quite as certain that he didn’t. Your pelvis aches slightly, an overall tenderness to you akin to the pain you’d feel the day after a particularly hard fall.

That isn’t the ache you’re concerned about, though. It’s the one in your chest that gives you pause.

“There’s still time.”

His brows furrow while he processes the words, but after a beat, he smiles, taking it as a playful challenge.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?”

Yes, you think, settling your head on his chest, listening to the steady pound of his heart. I certainly am.

Exhaling a deep breath, you close your eyes, content to allow yourself this respite, however brief.

In hindsight, you will always remember this moment as the quiet just before the storm.

[nickssidewitch]

✨❤️ How the Sturniolo Triplets Flirt With a Crush 😻✨ (a Tarot Reading)

Chris 🧡

Very invested, will make sure to keep up with his crush almost every single day 😭

But he also overthinks A LOT during this stage, so he’ll ease back if he thinks he’s doing too much.

He’ll post little things on his socials so the person he’s flirting with can see them. It’ll be little subliminal messages and things of that nature.

But he’ll also overthink that as well, and will probably even make little clarifications to try not to make it seem like it’s directed at someone (even though it most definitely was).

My Gosh, this man worries so much when he flirts because he hopes the girl can pick up on it and if he’s not being super cringy or he’s not making her turned off.

If he can see that the girl is enjoying his flirting, he won’t worry as much, but she has to be super direct about it, otherwise he will literally die of overthinking 😭😭

He flirts the most via social media posts, but he also texts and does FaceTime calls a lot with the person he’s into. He’ll wanna text/call them late at night just so they can both catch up on each other’s days and just vent.

He will literally stay up for hours, laying on his stomach, feet dangling in the air like a giddy schoolgirl, staring down at his phone just to see if his girl will ever call him or text him. I’m exaggerating… but also I’m not.

He’s a great listener, so he doesn’t mind a rant or a trauma dump or two 😭

He will buy his girl things that remind him of her. Little trinkets like charms and stuffed animals. He’ll buy clothes and jewelry if he sees something he knows the girl will like.

He will pay for everything.

He definitely puts on a certain voice that he doesn’t even realize. (I can hear it in my head and it’s sexy as fuck. A bit raspy and low, a bit of a whisper). He even has a look on his face and will stare at you with that look 😭 He has no clue he does it though.

Lots of music. Lotsss.

If he feels that the flirting is not working though, he will be devastated.

Nick 💜

He actually prefers being flirted with. He likes being the center of someone’s affection. *debby ryan meme*

He will do obvious things to flirt with someone. And if the guy don’t pick up on it, that’s on him ✌🏾

He’s a gift giver and acts of service kind of guy when flirting. If the man doesn’t appreciate what he’s doing by actually acknowledging it, then he’ll be devastated and won’t give you the time of day anymore.

I think he knows what he wants, who he wants, when he wants it, and sometimes why. 😭

That can be a bit intimidating for some guys because they have this expectation of him being someone who will change themselves just to get their attention. But in reality, Nick is very confident in who he is and would never change himself for a man’s attention (unless it’s literally just him working out or drinking more water, etc.)

He’s asking his brothers about what guys do in certain situations (because usually it’s a bi or more masc guy he’s into). He’ll literally go to Chris or Matt with his phone, show a text and be like “oh my gosh what does this mean??”

He’ll definitely be touchy-feely with you, and that’s a big deal because he hates touching people and people touching him. So if he’s got his arm around you, then you’re the one for him!

Matt 💙

Super invested like his brothers.

People keep saying he’ll be dry which is very untrue. That man will always find a way to keep the person he’s flirting with entertained.

He wants them to laugh and actually find him funny, otherwise it won’t work and he knows it.

Humor is a way for him to figure out whether you’re actually listening to him and understand him and the way he thinks. So if you can’t pick up on his humor or don’t laugh at certain jokes he makes, you’re out.

He likes flowers and chocolates, but doesn’t mind jewelry and expensive things to bring his girl as well. And if she’s like “Oh, Matt, you shouldn’t have”, he’ll be like “Um, yes, I definitely should have, and I did!”

He’ll send risky texts or say risky things just to see the girl’s reaction to them. Nothing too crazy or frisky. Just something that can spark a reaction that can be a telltale sign of whether she’s into it or not.

These are the basics of it! Lmk if you guys liked this post!! 🥰

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝.

☀︎︎ || With a long awaited reunion, Jayce finally gathers the courage to do something he should’ve done a long time ago.

C/W || nothing nsfw honestly, just lots of fluff, Reader’s gender isn’t implied here, appearance isn’t descriptive, Jayce is just awkward with feelings.

Word Count || 3,433

Note || I feel I should clarify that my whole driving force behind this was inspired by all the jayvik scenes (however you view them lmao), and the song ‘young and beautiful’. Some other things inspired this but mainly these things.

This is also a first I’m posting a fic about a character from Arcane, or arcane at all honestly so some honest criticism for my writing would be appreciated.

That scream repeated over and over in his mind, again and of course – again. Jayce was becoming tired, worn down. His heart began dulling out the environment around him, causing him to look forward, no baggage weighing in on the astral shoulders of his that bore a weight so greatly, for the reality of the supposed great arcane. He was trapped in it for so long. 

Red, all he saw was red painting the calluses of his hands. His hands grabbing desperately onto yours, feeling the warmth, the sensation of that beloved warmth leaving your body. 

(All he could do was choke out a cry. Silent in the loudness of the world crashing down around the being of you both.)

Another fabric of time, which would have also been his reality. In which you were enemies, Jayce, he wasn’t sure what side to be on. All he knew was to destroy what was necessary, you otherwise wanted to destroy him. Jayce tried to converse with you, yet his growls fell on deaf ears. He was trying to end things, he really was. His want clashed with yours, the need to end things. Jayce just wanted you to not be in pain anymore, and that look in your eyes, the tense stance, pained breathing punishing sharply in the cavity of your chest – that confirmed it for him. 

But what was he becoming this time? (Man, or beast?) 

He couldn’t tell. 

A remaining constant rang true for him each and every time he was chained down in each memory, stone marble cracking in the face of your memory, he was almost beginning to forget what your face looked like. But that scream, it never left him. Your scream was the constant variable of which he experienced each and every time, and you almost always looked at him in fear.

Jayce hated that, he really hated that so much. Looked upon in unease, the sweat on your palms accumulating, and the trepidation rapidly beating in the confines of your ribcage; that heart of yours about ready to jump out, easily because of him. 

On that cobblestone floor, cracked by death and echoes of explosion. 

He couldn’t tell if you loved him–maybe as a friend–yet either way it was, once. He probably missed it, only looking past you right at others, Viktor, Mel, or even the face of the Hextech Gemstone. The way you were always so kind to greet him even if he didn’t remain a figure of importance in certain situations, you had always made an effort to include not only him, everyone else as well. You brought people together in a way he seldom noticed. But now that he was trapped in the belly of the beast, he thought about it more often. 

Jayce truly realized that you had. (But did he ever deserve it? He was beastly toward you often.) 

One step after the other, and he realized harshly–being brought back to the now. Something, or someone was far ahead of him. In this void of darkness, and even the occasion of the beautifully loud rainbow swarms, he had never come across someone real. So he began to rush forward, keeping a vice grip on his hammer. 

He choked out a shout, feeling his esophagus sore and weak. His body creaked, bones clicking against each other softly, and every which way he twisted himself — he could hear it. Jayce could clearly feel the way his joints had sanded, slowly creaking under the weight of herculean effort to press forward. 

The dull ache pressed in his chest, but he couldn't help the youth that springed him forward for a momentary transition in time.

A voice echoes, so strikingly similar to someone he holds dear. And he wonders if that was really the real deal, but he was easily proven wrong once the being speaks; “You must not fail, Jayce.”

Not Fail.

Must, not fail. The accursed organism had repeatedly told him that same mantra over and over again. He was pushed through the time lapse, and forced to relive the gruesome experience of being a human. The poor decisions made, the hope (and the false).

It was easily his driving force as he made it through the dark glowering of magicks that cursed his downfall, and the others around him. Jayce tried not to open his eyes as the sharp pains followed his limbs, intakes of breathing that punished him with every step he took. Yet it was sudden as he felt a ghostly touch impressed into his upper back, causing him to twitch, swerving his head nearly off the hinges as he looked to see whom the cause of the touch was. The crinkles beneath his eyes expressed clear frustration, as he was tricked once again. Jayce cursed himself mentally as he trudged forward, the onslaught of surprises resuming once again when the light gleamed – jarring as can be for a low fluorescent tone. He recapitulated his position, standing firmly into whatever ground there was irrespective of the pain. Jayce’s hands were worn with exhaustion, each and every ache screaming at him to fall down, rest. 

Imaginably he could, but he dared not too. (He couldn’t rest, not again.)

This was his last resort, he was not capable of letting it happen again. He needed to make sure nobody died, he needed to make sure it wasn’t out of bleeding, feeling cold. He knew it far too well, and he was going to make sure he was doing everything in his power to–

Oh wow. 

It was painful–painless–for a few moments, leaving him disoriented as he grunted, trying to accumulate to his new surroundings. He wondered where he was now, what would it show him next?

He blinks for a few moments, struggling to stand up as he supports his weight on the hammer. Inevitably cracking his neck, easing himself of the sore pains that riddled his neck and even the rest of his body. His leg was where it had really hurt for the matter, but no reason to worry, he was ready for whatever was gonna come next. 

“Jayce?” A gasp escapes his throat, ebbing it raw, his eyes blurring into clearness for the first time. He furrows his brow, attempting to get a clearer look at the source. The man was worn from battle–he tenses, fully rising to his height. 

(He heard a voice, and it was yours. Not an illusion, not a past memory. It was really that same cadence that not even the arcane could replicate.)

His throat bobs, churning with a burn that reminds him that he really is here. Where he had first disappeared in the first place, the accursed base of the HexGate facility. Jayce really, really had begun to hate HexTech. His eyes briefly scorn the intricate designs, almost weaved like the stories in tapestries. The stories were wrong, they always had been wrong. He should’ve listened to Heimerdinger, he should've listened to the professor. 

What was he doing?

Oh god.

“Is that you?” His eyes flicker back over to the one other person in the room, right in front of him. Jayce attempted—couldn’t—to look you in the eye, it was a difficult thing to do. His brows furrowed, a headache came to the forefront of his pain, and he closed his eyes. He heaved a heavy sigh–he was ashamed. 

Killing came so easy to him now, so why is this now any different?

Deciding to test the waters he quietly muttered your name, followed by a gentle greeting; ��Hey.” Jayce murmurs, his bottom lip quivered for a moment.

You could see how cracked his lips were, and it made you almost worry for him. Of course, you should be. But you didn’t want to rush him, the way he had carried himself, you could see he was still far too tense and on edge. Both of you were thinking the same, worried about the other, still wanting to embrace each other–even so used to the touches of danger. It was in consideration, that made it all too painfully slow in this reunion. You nodded your head, taking a step forward. 

“You’ve been gone quite awhile,” You verbalized with a tilt of your head, gesturing about the length of his absence. “I was… worried.” He gave pause to your comment, a slight widening of his eyes as he lifted his gaze, albeit shortly enough to reach your torso. You looked different from what he remembered, just right there was enough to make him realize the passage of time. 

“How–I, how long have I been gone?” He internally winced at the way his voice sounded, his throat felt so sore. Jayce wasn’t sure himself, he felt it best to ask you. He understood that time had passed extensively, not how much for the matter, he felt it passing entirely differently during his time within the core of the arcane–whatever its physical being is. Something entirely reminiscent of a curse. He despised it so much for leaving you and the others without warning. But yet again, he hadn’t taken a step back to think about his words and actions, and how easily he could hurt others. Jayce knew better than that now, atleast. 

He could almost feel the hesitation radiating off of you, as if answering would be the end of all things. Jayce heaved a mournful breath, letting his eyes close. 

(Maybe it would, he wasn’t sure. Jayce didn’t want you to be afraid of him, is all.)

The room was cold, cold as the winter storm of the day he crossed paths with the arcane, he had almost forgotten that. Yet it was useless when he felt the warmth of something inexplicable touching his cheek, leathery he must feel. Jayce felt the way his skin hardened, the way his body tenses when he’s touched. But–that wasn’t the case here, no. 

A small gentle pad of the thumb swiped over the area, leaving him to open his eyes – inextricably locking gazes. Jayce was left surprised, almost recoiling for a split-moment. You kept a firm hold, your gaze all but gentle. Which was the last thing he expected, he searched any inch of your expression, and not once did your eyes falter in that interval of time. Jayce was tempted to stray away from your touch, every nerve in his being telling him to do so. However, it was something else that let him stay in the same position. That same stance, and he was unable to run away from it. 

Jayce grimaced, holding his head. Another episode, what he’s seen. Far too much of it, you concluded. 

He could see flashes of something unholy, far too close to the sun, or perhaps far too close to the moon. Jayce could see the debilitating deflections of creatures, something supernatural, the coarseness of rainbows. It was the way his lungs squeezed upon itself, twisting in a macabre manner of gestations that left him breathless for a meager few moments. You simply held him through it, and gently murmured, drawing his attention to you once more. Whatever he saw, it was the countless hours of death, it was inescapable. Blurry had it appeared to be once over, as he never wanted to recall the things he experienced. The last thing that had never been blocked out were those memories of you, dying over and over again, especially by his hands. It was in repetition that he blacked out so many times over, constantly finding himself in new arenas. Having to raise his hammer against someone else, seeing their blood splatter against the coldstone of the ground. Jayce wasn’t sure how he hadn’t–broken. 

It always felt far too real to him, he was sure it had. The heavy heart that corones his emotions, the way he acts. Probably in that alone that he had caused the deaths of so many innocents so many times, even for a different fabric in the space-fold of time, it still happened. Jayce didn’t want that to happen to you–not again–to anyone else. 

With the impossible decisions, and the road he had walked so far. There was nothing short of a future, or a dream for him anymore. He had to fight, even if that meant physically. Jayce knew there was something different in this life of his, he just wished this wasn’t the truth of it. He grieved it even, but he couldn’t truly be given time to process that. Life does not slow down for anyone, not even you, and not even him. One is only human after all, and you sure as hell make the most of it, the best you can, even if people may hate you for the smallest thing. It is innately the most human thing that truly makes each and every person kind, despite their supposed repugnant nature that makes mankind so infamous. 

“Jayce,” You murmured, a tone so soft, he didn’t deserve it. “Can you please look at me?” Almost to your whims, he felt so commanded. A rarity in such matters, that he didn’t mind it. Such a simple action, and it seemed so difficult though. But he tried, and succeeded. 

For the second time now, he locked eyes with you. His gaze was colored by bashfulness, leaving you to laugh. A tender touch, revering the inches of encroaching warmth that crawled back into his skin bit by bit. You breathed a puff of air, noting the cold atmosphere. 

‘He must’ve been cold before he came back out.’ You scrutinized the details for a moment, and considered how much time he spent. How long he went without proper warmth, the lack of temperature. Whatever or whomever it may have been that was his captor, you were glad he was finally freed for good, hopefully. You just were relieved that you could finally just see him, and know that he’s truly there (instead of just a delusion). Even if he appeared differently, he was still here. 

“I really did miss you.” You mentioned, seeing the flicker of surprise, surmising the life that brought back the color in his eyes. Less dull now, and far more colorful within the beautiful amber–almost had you wishing you could stay trapped in it forever. Not forever maybe, that would mean you’d never be face to face with him directly, like now, where you stood stronger than ever. As you were more than willing to be a pillar of support for the broken man, who you guess appeared to see so much, it nearly broke his mind. For the brief moment of pause, you could see his jaw tighten, as if he was contemplating something, but wary to air out the thought. 

He held the expectation that you would’ve been more fearful of him. Or at the very least angry, god knows he fully deserves that. 

Your brows tighten, almost wincing at the knot in your forehead. You’ve done that especially way too much lately, even since Jayce’s sudden disappearance. It was a question of your own, nothing short of anger, all it really was confusion. 

Jayce seemed to notice this, drawing you out of your short-lived predicament; “You… alright?” He muttered, somewhat hesitant to draw his hand over yours. He didn’t see himself deserving enough for that yet, not until he knew that it was by all rights okay with you. Only then you nodded to reassure him, biting the inside of your cheek as the moment passed. 

Finally garnering the courage to the breadth of your chest, “How… or why have you been gone so long?” Jayce simply looks at you with a half-unreadable expression, as if he had expected this question. One way or another, he was always going to be faced with such a question. After all, he had been trapped inside the palace of the arcane, a presumably long life-time of experiences; enough to age him noticeably. 

“I'll explain it,” He paused, a waver in his tone. “In time.” Jayce’s reluctance was more than easy to notice, so you nodded, not fully satisfied with the answer. But you had to wait for answers another time, there were reasonably far more important things to deal with right now. Whatever that may be considered. 

So you opted for a hug (entirely and completely out of the blue).

The affectionate gesture, which could mean many things, surprised him. He didn’t count for this happening—it made his knees buckle, the weight hounding you to fall with him. Even with the vice grip he previously held on the handle. He let go of his hammer, wanting and using both arms to just utterly hug you back with the whole of his heart, and he was fulfilled. Nose buried in the crook of your neck, it was filled with your scent. Your own hold on him didn’t vacillate at all–which in retrospect–it gave way to a level of solace he never felt before. 

He tightened his hold on you, a silent way of giving thanks, if nothing else. You were glad, happy even that he accepted your inhibited sudden gesture. 

You leaned back, slowly but surely, just to check that Jayce wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a failure however [as good as you were at reading expressions], there was naught a hint of it at all. You tilted your head, eliciting a soft laugh from the man. 

‘Mission successful!’ 

His soft laughter elicited a pavlovian response from you, leaving you to move your hands, cradling his face with both hands once again. Anything and everything seemed to fall short around you, for the long while you began to realize, lord you were far from attached to the thought however. His brows furrowed with a small grin, still finding it somewhat amusing with your subtle acts of nature. In spite of what preceded, the decedent time of passing made him begin to freeze. 

Color began creeping up against the patches of his skin that crawled from the beginning of his mandible, nape of the neck, and now up to the cheek bones. Expression faltering. (“Hey, uh…”) He tried to muster, but despite that, it fell on deaf ears. Your gaze made him hot, and he was always on the fence on whether or not how he should react. Jayce wasn’t sure how to handle it really, cause you look at him as if he was all that was there in the room. The spark of motivation behind your learning, or even the nights and transitions of time where you listen to him talk about what makes him so inspired. Of course, he always made the effort to do the same, but it had made him wonder if you felt so similarly. 

Yet, when he allowed his overthinking to fester, never bringing it up, he was afraid and just simply decided to not ask about it at all. Jayce was always a bit afraid about these things, but with what he's been through, he fears this may be the first and last time he’s allowed to see you. 

With that being his driving force, how his heart raced, it gave him a burst of confidence. Jayce lowered his left hand to your hip, the other to holding your face. His eyes were soft, brows raised as if he were asking. It was first and foremost, but his heart continued to beat right up against the cavity of his chest. 

There was a flicker of astonishment gleaming in your eyes, but it slowly disappeared, as if you ascertained what he was wanting, and frankly you found it sweet that he had asked for your permission. Nonetheless, you were more than delighted to oblige with his request. 

Warmth blossomed exuberant in his chest, as if fireworks were being set off. The sensation it ignited in him was soulful. A first tentative brush, then a second time, more sure than ever now. Jayce’s breathing almost labored when he pulled back, and he could figure the same for you. In a way, it was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders by such a simple act of love. Even with the moments passing, the two of you leaned against one another, relishing in the feeling that heightened your tension. 

Though it did wear off quickly enough. 

Jayce watched with patience of a thousand men as you leaned back, re-adjusting yourself as you spoke. And wasn’t it ever the truth. 

“If you’ve done that earlier, then i probably wouldn’t even be here right now.” You remarked, causing him to laugh quietly. 

(No shit.)

He should’ve done this sooner.

[aniseandspearmint]

Oh, no PROBLEM, life happens, and I'm just glad you're doing better!

And it's never too late to pick fun things back up. I had to dig around for the notes i made for the next bit of this, and then re-read it over, because it HAS been a year! XD

SO, okay, a part 7!

YES, I am SO GLAD the way Frodo is NOT having a great or easy time came across! I’d hoped that would work! It can be hard, when your body changes and suddenly you’re not capable of the same stuff you were. I was trying to convey that kind of dysphoria.

Maedhros! Maedhros is HAVING A DAY. A good day! A MIRACULOUSLY GOOD DAY.

The kind of good day he can barely trust is REAL bc, lbr, he hasn’t really had a good day innnn. Um. Lets just say a long time. So this is the kind of day that has him covertly running mental checks just to make sure this is still reality. He keeps counting Maglor’s freckles and running his finger tips over his horse and her tack, and the tooling on his belt and faulds just to check that the things he’s seeing, and sensations he feels match up right.

He can at least throw himself into logistics a bit here, first in chivying all the escaped thralls our Intrepid (and exhausted) Heroes have been herding to safety in Himring.

Then he corrals Celegorm and Curufin. (This ended up mostly dialogue!)

Maedhros: *stares pointedly*

C&C: Err.

Maedhros: *calm and measured* I have heard what you’ve been up to in Nargothrond, brothers. Rest assured, I WILL be taking that out of your hides later. For now though *points at the crowd of people filling the hall behind them* Exactly WHAT happened to do THAT?

Curufin: Honestly we don’t KNOW, Nelyo!

Celegorm: When we caught up to them, Finrod, Beren, Luthien, Huan, Tyelpe and that Annatar ner were already gone off to Angband, leaving Finrod’s steward and Frodo to hold the camp.

Maedhros: *blinks* Frodo? Who? And what kind of a name is that? (Note: Frodo is WESTRON it’s gotta sound SO WEIRD to the elves tbh. He’s definitely gonna get slapped with a proper elven name at some point here. Elves gotta give people extra names after all especially in the first age)

C&C: *baffled kind of shrugs*

Curufin: *glowers* The boy is SOMEWHERE in the crowd. He’s remarkably cagey for a boy who can’t be more than 80, and I haven’t been able to corner Tyelpe about him yet, but he rather looks REMARKABLY like that Annatar. And Mother. And Grandfather. (Note: Frodo probably doesn’t look quite like a teenager really, but he’s so coltish in his new body, that’s coming across as youth to the elves that see him)

Maedhros blinks at that. Well. He never thought Tyelpe the sort, but, well, Curufin had been a bit smothering since they’d come to Beleriand. He’s thought Tyelpe was weathering it with more grace and patience than was usually found in their line, but maybe he’d just decided to go around his father? He wouldn’t be the first in the family for that. (Note: yesss Mae, make some logical conclusions with the info you have! Compare him to you and Finno a bit! You’re VERY wrong but it’s still a good guess!)

Celegorm: He’s got one of Tyelpe’s hairclips. One of the ones father made.

Maedhros: *eyebrows* Interesting. But, at this moment, irrelevant. We can sort that out later. What else can you tell me?

Celegorm: A few hours after we got there, the whole ground heaved like a shaken table cloth. Then some hours after that, Tyelpe and everyone came out of the night leading that lot *waves a hand a the hall* Tyelpe had the silmarils.

Curufin: There wasn’t really TIME to stop and ask questions. We regrouped and lit out for Himring. Luthien is TERRIFYING by the way. She provided the bulk of the power, her and that Annatar. We pitched in too but them, us, Finrod, and Tyelpe have been cycling songs of power for- *blinks* How long has it been since Angband shook, Nelyo?

Maedhros: thirteen days and nights.

Curufin: *sputters*

Celegorm: Huh. No wonder I want to sleep for a week. I haven’t done a march like that since I was with The Hunt. *waves* Anyway, we talked to a few of the thralls, and from what few who were in the throne room said, Luthien walked in all lovely and enchanting, and sang with three voices. It put Morgoth out like a fussy toddler. And then the wolves and the orcs, and even the balrogs, everything evil, dropped where they stood as well. The orcs were dead. No one checked the balrogs. Then Luthien’s man climbed the throne and took the crown and passed it down to Tyelpe. Then he and Annatar left and came back with BLASTING powder and lined the place while Morgoth slept.

Maedhros: *wheezing incredulous laugh*

Curufin: Annatar said the dragons were UNDER the throne room Nelyo. All the eggs, all the breeding stock.

Maedhros: *squints* *head tilt* wait. *slow blink* How would he KNOW that? I didn’t know that, and I know Angband as well as any former thrall.

C&C: *exchanged uneasy glances*

Curufin: We’re not sure. Finrod and Tyelpe trust him though. And, there’s Frodo. *vague hand wave* We heard some snatches of conversation, but nothing that makes much sense.

Maedhros: Right. Where’s Maglor? Nevermind, I saw him with Luthien, I’ll get them, and find Finrod. You round up Tyelpe and this Annatar fellow, and bring them up to my study. See if you can find the Frodo lad you mentioned.

Maedhros needs to corral all the important people ASAP and GET SOME ANSWERS.

He’s able to locate Maglor being charming at Luthien and Beren fairly quickly. Whereas Celegorm and Curufin look as if they’ve been on a hard march for days, Luthien, apart from the general grime of travel in the wilds, looks fresh as a daisy in may. Exactly how much power does she HAVE?? Never mind, one thing at a time. She and Beren graciously accept an invitation to a more private area. They’ve eaten and washed a bit, same as the throng of ex-thralls, but it’s VERY crowded. And They want to talk to Tyelpe, Finrod, Frodo, and Annatar too. They know more than Maedhros! But there wasn’t a LOT of time for other questions after establishing that there was some kind of time travel going on!

Tyelpe and Annatar aren’t hard to locate either. They knew this was coming. A quick wash up and food, and maybe a change of clothes, and it’s on to the Next Thing.

Note: oh. Huh. I didn’t think of it before, but I wonder what Annatar and Frodo are WEARING??? Some casual Valinorin clothes? I bet they were NOT dressed for getting dropped in the past! If it was just like, vibes based, maybe some clothes Annatar thinks of as ‘comfy’ rather than anything either of them might have been wearing before they were dropped into the past, since their bodies were created for this unlike Tyelpe or Finrod!

Annatar reluctantly taps on Frodo’s mind, and tells him Maedhros is collecting them.

Frodo, by this point, is not crying anymore, but is the kind of wrung out EXHAUSTED, that only days and days of rough travel and then a fierce crying jag will make you. Finrod almost offers to carry him, but Frodo just sets his mouth and gets up off the stone floor, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other and plodding along next to Finrod, who directs him around the crowd and into the keep proper.

Maedhros was somehow NOT expecting this Frodo child to look as much like family as Curufin and Celegorm insisted, but oh dear, if anything they understated it. He looks VERY much like the elf called Annatar. The hair, the skin, the eyes, but the other features. They were right, and Maedhros can see little echoes of his kin all over him.

He’s also swaying where he stands next to Finrod, with red eyes and tear tracks through the wilderness grime on his face. (Remember, Frodo skipped the wash up and clothes change area. Finrod too. I’m sure once they get through the first awkward conversation, someone will get them each a basin and some clean clothes!)

Maedhros makes eye contact with Finrod and jerks his chin at the soft couch set before the fireplace. Finrod takes the hint, and leads the young ner that is, in all likelihood Maedhros’s grand-nephew over and gently pushes him down on it.

Maedhros turns his attention to Tyelpe, and also Annatar. Tyelpe steps around Maedhros, and slings the crown off his torso and sets it down on Maedhros’s desk where it thuds down with a surprisingly light thump for a thing wrought of iron and misery.

Maedhros: So. Explain. Lady? This seems to have started with you?

Luthien shrugs gracefully, and sets herself down in Maedhros’s towering armchair before the fire and tells her part of the story. It is, thankfully, lacking the canon bits of C&C capturing her and being creepy assholes! Because Tyelpe stole Huan and met up with her before that could happen here!

When she’s finished with her part, with input from Beren, and Finrod, Maedhros turns and raises his eyebrows at his nephew.

Some very speaking looks are exchanged rapidly between Finrod and Tyelpe and Annatar and Frodo.

Finally Tyelpe just shrugs helplessly.

Tyelpe: Uncle, we have NO IDEA. One minute we’re in Fourth Age Tirion, the next I’m in Nargothrond and Finrod is in Sauron’s Tower, and Annatar and Frodo are there too. And Frodo is an elf.

Maedhros. Blinks. And replays that. Nope. Still makes absolutely NO sense.

Maglor: … I’m sorry, what?

Tyelpe: We’ve done this before. It all went SO much worse. Annatar wasn’t there before, though, or Frodo.

Finrod: Well. Annatar sort of was. Why are there two of you now, by the way? That’s. Kind of alarming.

Annatar: When I spoke to the One, and was changed, I was FUNDAMENTALLY changed. To hazard a guess, when this… Event happened, I was too different to integrate with my former self. He is maiar, I am elven. I came to my senses, he’s still following his shining plan.

Frodo: And me?

Annatar: We share something of our spirits on a deep level. And since hobbits have not woken yet, and will not for many many years yet, I imagine this was the only way for you to have a form here and now.

Frodo: *watery chuckle* Oh. Yes I suppose that makes sense.

Please imagine Maedhros and Maglor and C&C ping-ponging back and forth here, COMPLETELY CONFUSED by this conversation. But desperately trying to add up the bits they’re hearing into some kind of coherent narrative. Maedhros is squinting at Annatar with sudden DEEP suspicion.

Maglor: I’m sorry, can we back up a bit here? Fourth Age VALINOR????

Tyelpe: *sighs* *sits down next to Frodo* We all might as well sit down, this is going to take a while.

^__^

HEY.

I had the most interesting dream after falling asleep switching between the latest chapter of The Horrowing and a time travel fix it in another fandom. I thought you might enjoy a brief summary?

Post fic canon Annatar, Finrod, Celebrimbor, and Frodo getting the most hilarious do over of the First Age.

Finrod and Celebrimbor got dropped in their past bodies, bc same souls. Which has Finrod JUST captured by Sauron, before any of his 10 have been munched.

Celebrimbor is of course having a surreal not quite panic attack in Nargothrond.

Annatar, well. Annatar is CHANGED. He is quite literally too different from what he once was for them to qualify as the same soul anymore. Which is gratifying. If inconvenient bc there are now TWO of him, Annatar and full on Sauron. But they're similar enough that Annatar was dropped very close to Sauron.

Frodo is an elf. Dream logic was that hobbits do not exist yet, and his soul has touches of Annatar and Aman. He looks disconcertingly like a mix of Annatar and Celebrimbor, and they are NOT thinking about that right now. Hopefully ever.

Most of the dream centered around all of them doing their best to set aside freak outs, while getting Finrod and his merry band (plus Beren) OUT of Sauron's grasp.

There was a FANTASTIC moment where on the way out, Sauron comes face to face and soul to soul with Annatar and he's just like;

Sauron: *jaw dropped fully horrified face* WHAT are YOU?!?!?

Annatar: *shoving elves behind him, nose in the air* Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy. *uses Song to blast him through a wall while he's distracted*

The whole thing featured 10 other elves and Beren as a baffled peanut gallery.

Meanwhile Celebrimbor is weighing the pros and cons of just- drugging his uncles and shoving them in a back room somewhere where he can bolt the door. He thinks he can maybe get Huan to help if he explains?

It was SO much fun.

(hope you have a good day!)

Oh my god. This may be the best ask I've ever gotten, for so many reasons.

The fact that your subconscious was like "Yeah if Frodo's getting a new body it looks like Annatar For Some Reason"

The image of future!Annatar getting into a fight with Sauron in front of Finrod (probably happy about this development) and Beren and the other 10 (INCREDIBLY CONFUSED)

The fact that the dream was partially centered on everybody trying not to panic, which is in fact what the Harrowing is all about for a while

Absolutely incredible.

...I feel so bad for poor Celebrimbor dealing with Nargothrond all by himself while the others are off having adventures. I hope their next stop after the rescue is to swing by and pick him up. Also, I dearly want to know what Annatar has to say to Beren on the subject of his current Luthien-and-Thingol-and-Silmarils situation.

[ceratedfish24]

Your takes on c!Scott and flower husbands have honestly been so refreshing that its reignited my old Hot Takes on c!Jimmy bc I detest the way people characterize him.

I feel like so many people portray Jimmy as this dejected downtrodden victim of bullying, which feeds into a narrative that Scott was cruel and abusive and awful or whatever, and tends to act like Jimmy doesn't have any agency ever. But IN REALITY??? Jimmy is not downtrodden and dejected and sad!!!!! In my opinion, Jimmy's defining character trait is his unshakable TENACITY! Ppl never want to admit that Jimmy is a little shit! That he acts out of spite, that his friends' teasing only tends to motivate him!! He *thrives* in environments that challenge him! AND to be so for real, he is a grown man with agency and decision-making skills and I'm tired of people acting like he isn't.

In general I feel like people just have the wrong outlook on him as a character. Maybe they've just collectively misunderstood him, or a Helpless Miserable Victim is easier to write about in fic, or they just want to project their own bullying-related trauma onto him or whatever. (People do similar things to Scar when talking about desert duo, which I understand even less). IDK. These are just my thoughtssssss sorry for rambling :P

No because you’re literally so real for this. Jimmy is SUCH a little shit. His response to Joel being mad at Jimmy for trying to kill him was to SHAKE HIS ASS AT JOEL. He taunted Joel because Jimmy successfully used Lizzie to bait Joel out. He tried to guilt trip Scott into giving him time. These aren’t negative qualities. This is a guy being silly with his friends. Embrace them when writing c!Jimmy. These are wonderful and realistic qualities.

Jimmy’s tenacity is so remarkable. He gets knocked down and all of his friends tease him about it, and he stands right back up with pep in his step. A lot of people treat Pearl the same way. Like, guys, these people are adults who make their own choices, and, often times, people who are given free will are not going to make the responsible choice most of the time when there are no real world consequences to their actions other than maybe “I might not get to be in the finale of this Minecraft series”.

There is SO much favoritism in the Life Series. Jimmy and Pearl are always reduced to their greatest tragedies, while Scott and Cleo are reduced to their most selfish moments, even though everyone else is equally selfish because IT IS A DEATH GAME. IT IS A COMPETITION. THAT IS THE POINT.

A lot of Jimmy’s deaths tend to be his own doing. Whether he unnecessarily made an enemy or just wasn’t being careful, a lot of Jimmy’s deaths are his fault, and that’s fine. He likes to play into bits. He’s not that serious about winning as opposed to making fun content. Pearl has made her fair share of mistakes and enemies, and that adds plot and drama to her content. That’s how she plays it, and it’s fine! Don’t infantilize them for dealing with the consequences of their actions just like everybody else!

Scott was widowed, and he had to watch his allies die before he did for seasons. Nobody ever comforts him about it. Nobody says “oh this man is so sad he’s just doing his best but he can’t keep his friends alive and it’s eating him up and everyone should baby him”.

Nobody even calls Joel toxic for constantly targeting Scott, but somehow Scott is toxic for teasing Jimmy now and then? (Which is not to say that Joel is toxic. He just finds it fun to target his good friend and knows where Scott’s limits are. It’s actually a sign of how close they are in real life). Nobody calls Etho and Bdubs toxic for being so mean to each other. Nobody calls Impulse manipulative when his whole thing in Third Life was betraying people. Nobody says Ren is controlling for taking the lead in Dogwarts or calling the Renwood Mound the Ren Mound. Scar is a liar and a scammer and no one thinks less of him for it.

Do you wanna know why? Because they’re friends having fun. Scott and Scott’s character should be treated with that same respect given to everyone else. Also, people need to keep in mind that Scott is not actively playing a character. Scott is just playing the game the way that cc!Scott wants to play the game, so any in depth analysis of Scott’s “character”? That’s an over analysis of cc!Scott in a competitive environment, and that man is literally on this site, people. He knows about Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, Girldad. I’ve seen him reply to analysis posts on why Scott is manipulative. He’s literally just a guy playing a game for fun.

Imagine if someone accused you of playing an evil and selfish character because you asked your friend to give you the monopoly money they owe you. Or, worse imagine if someone accused you of playing a manipulative character because you let your friend land on your monopoly property without paying you????? Because you love your friend??????? Like, excuse me????????

Thank you for the ask!!!!!! 🩵🩵🩵 It’s always flattering when someone calls my posts “refreshing”💕💕💕(also I see you all the time and I love seeing your additions to my posts💖)

[muletia]

[tfp] yandere!soundwave x human!reader

summary: over time, you stopped screaming, stopped struggling. as it turns out, it has its benefits.

cw: yandere, kidnapping, isolation, reader's pov, implied stockholm syndrome, silliness

word count: 925

Goliath returned, ending your loneliness. You smile at the sight of him, more out of habit, automatically than from genuine joy. It was a game, a performance. And you played the lead role. Besides, you already knew well that your alien liked it when you showed happiness, no matter the form.

You wave at him, not particularly interested in his usual actions, which, in most cases, followed the same pattern. Your eyes return to the movie you’re watching. Soon, he’ll ask you, without words, what you’re currently doing, and you’ll have to give a detailed explanation of the book you’re reading or the movie you’re watching. Then, he’ll start working, typing unfamiliar symbols and letters on the keyboard, standing in the same spot, in the same position, for hours on end, occasionally asking your opinion on something—because he liked listening to you. A routine you had grown very familiar with.

But today is different. The titan carries something unusual in his hand, something that breaks the routine. He places the item on the desk, right in front of you, finally earning your attention. Oh?

You put your tablet aside and wriggle out from under the warm blanket. The robot has brought you a large cardboard box, filled to the brim with a random assortment of items. It’s been a while since he last gave you something for “good behavior,” but you’re not about to complain. The more little things that made your life feel normal, the better—even if longing choked you now and then. It was nice to have human things in a world where nothing was human. It was nice to pretend your life was normal.

The box’s contents are chaotic and uncoordinated, and digging through it doesn’t improve the impression. A mushroom-shaped desk lamp, a black pillow, a deck of cards, two pairs of pants two sizes too big, a pack of bottled water, and a stack of instant noodle packets… Somewhere in there, you even spot an iron and a copy of Stardew Valley for a console you didn’t own. You wonder where he could have gotten such random items, but robbing a delivery truck probably wouldn’t have posed much of a challenge for him—nor would breaking into a parcel locker.

“Thanks for everything.” Because trying to explain the moral implications of stealing to the robot who abducted you would definitely be a very fruitful discussion.

A smiling emoji appears on his screen. At this point, he should leave you alone and get back to work, but he doesn’t. Once again, he breaks the routine. He stands stiffly in the same spot, tilting his helmet toward you. Watching. Was he curious about how you’d use his gifts? You could gladly show him—if most of them weren’t useless to you. Worse still, you couldn’t tell him that, too afraid of risking his anger and losing the privileges you already had. Besides—Christ—you hated yourself for thinking this way, but his efforts were endearing and came from good intentions. You couldn’t bring yourself to explain that no, you had no use for an iron in your current circumstances, and next time, he should bring you something practical.

You were probably starting to lose it. And the titan was still waiting.

Eventually, you decide to pull out the deck of cards and quickly open it. Aside from the food and water, it’s probably the most useful item in the box since at least you could think of an immediate use for it. Sitting cross-legged on the cold surface, you shiver slightly, missing your warm nest, but keep fiddling with the cards, determined to please your silent observer. Engrossed in the activity, you don’t notice when something moves toward you, silent and quick. It’s only when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye that you snap back to reality.

The robot has extended one of his tentacles, wrapping it behind your back, cutting you off from your little corner. For a moment, you’re terrified. What was he planning? Was he going to lift you? Crush you? He was finally tired of you, wasn’t he? Your fears are quickly dispelled, however, as the tentacle merely curls around you, resting against your back. And it’s warm. So very warm. You don’t even try to resist, leaning into the warm metal, though you know full well he could have just handed you one of your blankets.

“Thank you,” you smile, and the screen now shows a heart emoji. “Hey, have you ever seen a magic trick?”

It’s a silly question, one you should never ask a giant, highly advanced alien. But if he wanted to actively participate in your day so badly, he’d have to give you an answer. Besides, if his feelings toward you hadn’t changed, maybe he’d actually care.

He shakes his head, and you smile. Because it’s silly and insane, because all of this is a farce, because you sincerely want to impress him. Because this silent robot is slowly planting roots in your heart, even though you built walls around it long ago.

“Great! Pick a card.”

You can’t tell if the trick impresses him. Maybe he figured out your technique immediately, maybe he was more focused on the interaction itself, or maybe he thought it was stupid. His thoughts and feelings were inaccessible to you, locked behind silence. But when he points at the cards, clearly asking you for more, you allow yourself to forget your situation and who you’re dealing with—for just one moment letting his warmth seep into your heart.

[eunimaybe]

— • POINT OF CONTENTION : YOU.

ᝰ.ᐟ : why are you on a coffee date with jay? i thought you guys were the biggest rivals, no?

pairing! politicalsciencemajor!jay x politicalsciencemajor!reader | wc. 0.7k | warnings: attempted humour (failed), prob kinda cringe, inaccurate university stuff (im so sorry i’ve never been in uni) EN-

🖇️ : jay's version!! political science suits him so well, don't you think? also this became a debate fic for some reason… but i hope you guys enjoy ~ jake version is next ^^

political science is such a jay subject

someone says political science i think of jay

you first met jay at a debate club at your university

when you first saw him you thought "hmm, typical political science major with not-so-typical sharp jawline"

tbh you just saw him as competition he better get tf out of your way you're at university to get the best grades and graduate on top like you did for middle school and high school

you hated how jay was always at top

you admired him but hated him at the same time can he please fumble for once?

jay also sees competition when he sees you except the competition is a hot twenty year old girl with silver glasses and an immaculate fashion taste

but competition nonetheless

so one day you guys are having a debate about some political shit

you're even more competitive than usual

political science is YOUR major so YOU have to win

but guess what

your opponent is no another than jay himself

both of you are absolutely determined to win the debate

like bitch there's fire in your eyes you have to beat this man

he’s on the positive side and you’re on the negative so you think you’re completely cooked

but guess what gang

you won.

you just kind of stand there wondering wtf just happened until reality comes crashing down

you just beat jay, and he's the best political science student the school has.

you spent like 922929485 minutes making jay’s life hell for his loss before leaving the room in a very good mood.

and let me tell you

jay is down bad.

he just saw you give the most scrumptious, delicious, yummy argument to counter his equally scrumptious, delicious, yummy argument

nobody has ever beaten him like that before.

EVER.

but you did.

and that's very hot of you.

tbh the debate was a very close call

jay's arguments were sharper than his jawline and that's saying something (moment of appreciation for his 90 degrees jawline)

you're part impressed, part annoyed and part determined.

you NEED to beat him in the next debate as well

you're practically drooling when you think about beating him in the next coming debate as well

perhaps you're also drooling over jay but you'd never admit that

you just gaslight yourself into thinking that it's just begrudged admiration that's making you feel this way

you spend the next week researching the new topic for the debate you're going to have with jay to ensure that you'll be able to counter every single argument he throws at you

you don't know whether you're on the positive side of negative yet BUT THAT DOESN'T MATTER YOU'LL JUST RESEARCH IT ALL

you like to study in that one little spot at the library but turns out jay also conveniently really likes that spot

you wake up ten minutes early everyday to get there before him

you're basically running on caffeine and caffeine only the whole week trying to juggle the preparations for the debate and lectures

somebody keeps leaving you a cup black coffee, your favourite, on your morning lecture tables

you don't know what's going on and why someone's giving you free beverages buttt free coffee, right?

idk if you're just oblivious or stupid or denying the truth

maybe all three because how tf are you not connecting the dots?

the debate.

jay.

the coffee.

when the next debate finally comes, you sit down across jay with your COLOUR ORGANISED flashcards and notes

you don't even have to look at them

jay's also been preparing as well, so it's a very tough debate

both of you shooting one argument after another BUT GUESS WHO WON

you. ACADEMIC QUEEN FRFR

you celebrate by another session of rubbing your victory into jay's too-hot-for-his-own-good face but you're aware that the debate was practically a draw

you both did so good it's actually crazy

the next day, you come to another cup of black coffee sitting at your lecture table except it has a little note saying

"nice debate yesterday. you wanna go out together tonight? - jay"

of course you say yes I MEAN LOOK AT THIS MAN HOLY SHIT

heeseung jake sunghoon sunoo jungwon ni-ki

✉️: @icyy-hoon send me an ask or comment under this post to be added to my taglist <3

[simonsomeriley]

sleep deprivation - sirius black ꨄ

warnings: mentions of past family trauma/abuse, sirius experiences post-traumatic stress, sleep deprivation ❤

wc: 745

The common room fire had long since died out, leaving behind the faint smell of smoke and ash. The armchair beneath you was dusty and cold, its cushions long overdue for replacement, but it hadn't been the discomfort that was keeping you awake.

It was him.

Sirius sat on the faint red rug near the hearth, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands raking through his hair. He was a mess of sharp edges and exhaustion, his face pale and gaunt in the faint light from the windows.

“Still awake?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He flinched at that, turning to look at you, his storm-grey eyes bloodshot. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he asked, his usual cocky lilt dulled into something hollow.

You shrugged, tucking your knees up to your chest. “Shouldn’t you?”

A bitter laugh escaped him, low and dry. “Yeah.”

You didn’t press him, but you didn’t leave either. It'd been like this for days— Sirius spiraling into sleepless nights with nothing but his thoughts for company. He’d become a ghost of himself, barely eating, & barely talking.

But tonight, the cracks were deeper, more visible.

“You need to rest.” you said softly.

“I’m fine.”

“Sirius—”

“I told you, I’m fine!” His voice lashed out like thunder, echoing in the empty room. He stood abruptly, pacing towards the window, his hands trembling as they clenched into fists.

You didn’t flinch. You’d seen him like this before— angry and hurting, but not directed at you. He was angry at himself, at the things out of his control, at the weight of a family that loomed over him like a dark cloud.

“I can’t sleep,” he muttered after a long silence, his back still to you. His voice cracked, and it took everything in you not to rush to him, “Every time I close my eyes, it’s… it’s them. Their faces. Their voices.”

You stood slowly, stepping towards him. “Your family?”

He nodded stiffly. “It’s always the same. My mother screaming. Regulus, hurt, looking at me as if I'd betrayed him…” He let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “And then it’s… it’s you.”

Your heart stuttered. “Me?”

He turned to face you, his expression raw and unguarded in a way you’d never seen him before, “You. Gone. Hurt. And I can’t stop it, or prevent it, no matter what I do.”

Your chest tightened. Sirius wasn’t the kind to admit to weakness— not to anyone, not even to himself. To see him like this, vulnerable and unraveling, felt like seeing a wound he’d kept away from sight for far too long.

“Sirius,” you said softly to him, taking another step closer. “Your thoughts aren't a manifest of reality. I’m here. I'll always be. I’m safe.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, his hands trembling at his sides. “But for how long? You’re close to me now, and that means you’re a target. Everyone that I care about, everyone that I love, is. And if something were to happen to you…”

He didn’t finish that last sentence, his voice trailing off into a heavy silence.

You reached for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his, “Nothing’s going to happen to me. Or you, Siri. We’re in this together.”

He looked at you then, his eyes glassy and filled with something between desperation and disbelief. “How could you be so sure?”

“Because I know you, Sirius. And I know that you'd fight like hell to protect the people you care about.” You squeezed his hand, trying to ground him. “But you can’t fight if you don’t rest.”

He let out a gentle, bitter laugh. “You’re relentless, y'know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile to mirror yours, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “Alright,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” you said, tugging him gently toward the couch. “Come on.”

He followed without protest, collapsing onto the cushions like a marionette with its strings cut. You sat beside him, letting him rest his head on your lap as you brushed your fingers through his dark hair.

For the first time in days, weeks, his breathing evened out, his body relaxing against you.

And as you sat there, watching the first light of dawn creep through the windows, you made a silent vow to be the one thing Sirius Black never had growing up: a constant.

[wellfine]

Hi! I found a repost of your comic 20 year waltz on TikTok and thought you might want to know. Looks like someone reposts it and plugs ai voice acting in to farm engagement. Insultingly enough they spelled you twitter user “Flandleg” (????)

I made sure to credit you in the comments properly but here’s a link to the post (part 1/2 ofc) in case you wanna check it out for yourself

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMhG3YoWF/

Hope your day is going well otherwise!

Hey, thank you (and others) who have come forward to let me know about this. The reality is that I can't do anything about it either, so I prefer not to be reminded. I will say that, of all the times my art has been reposted, this one did actually seem to drive some genuine engagement back to me & my comic download, so there's a silver lining! (I can't imagine the AI voice acting sounding good though...)

The best thing anyone can do if they find my art reposted, and which I really appreciate, is to report it and make sure I'm credited somewhere, because I don't have the energy to get them all myself. Please don't start fights, and please don't feel the need to defend or speak for me - just a simple reply explaining who the artist is and a link back to me goes a long way.

At the end of the day I know that when I post something to the Internet it's inevitable that it will get reposted, so I've made my peace with it. But it's kind of a bummer to be reminded constantly, so I appreciate when people credit me in the replies of reposts that they see ♥♥♥

That said, I picked this message to respond to because WHAT DO YOU MEANNNNN FLANDLEG??? I briefly changed by Twitter handle to 'Flandeg' as a gag with the 🍮 emoji BUT WHERE DID THE LEG COME FROM. WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP TRYING TO PUT LEG IN MY NAME. IS IT SANJI

[cryptid-killjoy]

The longer this went on the more alive Arthur felt. It was thrill. It was arousal. He was boner bulging hard and he was a guy who couldn't always get it up due to meds and medical issues in life. So, this only went to show exactly how horn-dog arousing this was for him. It was fear. He was terrified of being caught where he shouldn't be, but too scared to move either. He didn't want to move. Everything in him wanted to hear more. See more. All while there was an urge to run and he'd lost his damn leg.

Delta got louder as Frank upped the stakes flittering her clit keeping her on the edge. She asked to be taken out of her mind and words started to hold no meaning to her. Only Frank. Frrr. Frrr. Frrr's started to roll off her tongue. Garbled sounds. Arthur hadn't heard a girl react like that in real life, not to him.

The temptation was getting the better of him. He put a shaky hand on the floor to balance as he stretched his neck to see around the corner. Frank had a way of making him feel inadequate in one glance.

It was hard in a moment like that not to think of the time before Frank when he thought he had a chance with Delta, back when he used to try to get her to notice him. It was even harder to not compare the time he'd spent or even time with his own girlfriend. THAT was not how he'd ever gotten her to react. Not even close. Every time Delta teased him about probably not being able to get it up just to be a bitch knowing she wasn't going to put out anyway even though at the time he didn't know that kept going through his head. She got off on him trying for some reason. Then all the time his end-of-life girlfriend told him it was okay and that it happens sometimes went through his head. He knew sometimes it was because he still wished she was Delta. It was just so hard in a moment like this to not recall the time he used to fantasize about being the guy to be able to appease Delta.

He should go. He should go. He should go. He kept telling himself.

Frank could please her. Good fucking God Frank could please her. Then right as he convinced himself to go Delta came. It was so obvious she came. It wasn't like when he had to ask his girl did you come? It was so damn clear Frank just made her cum and cum so hard and long. For a minute he was confused. He was actually thinking can girls cum that long? Is that possible? Dear fuck what is he doing to her under there to make that physically possible? Someone needed to document this for science.

Then as everything quieted down and Delta was left in some murmuring state with a blissful smile against the breeze, spent, and slumping, slowly gyrating her hips back to enjoy a softer motion not wanting it to completely end, Arthur realized he was staring too long.

Fuck.

He couldn't help but be a bit mesmerized by it all from the way Frank handled her to the clear pleasure she was in. It was weird the thoughts that went through a guy's head at this point. It wasn't like he ever thought Delta was giving up Frank. They were meant to be. Arthur knew that and made peace with that a long time ago. But considering he once had thoughts when they were younger to see that now he couldn't help but think that this was an act he could not ever follow. There was just no way he could ever satisfy her.

Then Delta turned around to face Frank. She was covered in her own blood at that point, but what turning around did was push reality in Arthur's face in a way that had him back to the stairwell when he caught sight of Frank's long, fat, still wet, biggest cock he'd ever seen. Reality check. Reality check. Alert! Alarm bells went off in head and he turned away fast.

He couldn't breathe.

Why was he comparing? Wasn't like Delta wanted him anyway.

"Mm Lurchy." She'd sound dazy like she was still in some dream state resting, leaning against him unready for reality herself. She'd flap her wings, and red droplets would spray out into the wind behind them and graffiti splatter more of the wall as she ran her tongue over favorite scars on his stomach.

Frank may have had the beautiful opportunity to be able to tell when she was feeling it so good not only by reading her body but also her mind, and she never quite knew when she was lost in it which his talent lied in the most, nor did she care. What she knew was when he got her going just right, just like that, he was God and the Devil all the same. He was the magic button and knew how to work it. She might have been the acid queen of this city, but he was the spark behind the magic. In her head he ignited all the power and that's the kind of admiration that would be behind her dragon-slitted eyes in the afters. She'd bite at the skin on his pelvis and take a deep breath of him in when she'd finally say, "Damn I love to get fucked. I needed that."

She looked down at herself as she reached for a hand to get some help up. "What's a Halloween party without any blood?" It was her way of saying she had no intention of cleaning up before going back downstairs to their guests.

That's when Arthur started to panic. He was right on the path to them going back to the party and yet he'd come all this way up to see them. He started to squeeze between his legs mentally telling it to go down. Go down. Go down. Go down stupid boner. Think about anything else he kept telling himself.

Then Delta moved to show Frank the back of her shirt. It was all lifted up weird because of her wings which weren't there when she got dressed. "Do me a favor? Rip a couple holes in the back of this so my wings can fit through. Then we'll go back down." She didn't want the back of her shirt all jacked up weird in the back.

Then with her leather wings out her dragony senses were tuning in and could suddenly hear breathing in the stairwell. She'd asked Frank to take her out of her head so maybe he'd turned off her connection to the link to the thoughts to give her what she'd asked for or maybe she was just being fucked so good she really hadn't noticed until right then. Either way when she did finally notice she looked at Frank and then over the entrance of the stair.

She actually made a tactless snort noise. Then in their mind link said, "Someone's still dreaming, huh?"

The cold added to the whole effect. Making the skin tense up, goosebumps, hardened nipples on both of them, making the warmth between them seem even warmer. Especially when he would bend over and breathe on the back of her neck, on the space between her wings where the blood is, warm split tongue licking it up, tasting it, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as if just that alone was enough to get him off. And it almost was.

Although their connection was mainly in their head, thought to thought, he couldn’t help saying some of the things outloud. The groans, the moans, the small compliments. It felt too big just to keep inside. His hands on that ass, pumping in and out of it, feeling her tighten and squeeze.

He just barely heard the sound of the leg falling down the stairs, the wooden thuds as it hit the stone stair case, descending down. Under her skirts, his hands went now, his thumb playing at her clit, wanting to feel Delta lose even more control, get there faster, as he started to feel closer himself. His thrusts grew harder, messier, his groans against her back, blood spreading around his mouth, in the complete throes of ecstasy here, all for those eavesdropping ears to pick up. Loud enough that they didn’t have a damn choice in the matter.

--

Gepetto had come in with those sage words, speaking like a wise man. It reminded Figaro of Mufasa in the Lion King movie, when he shows up to tell Simba, Remember who you are. Remember who you are, Figaro. And remember where home is. Even as the crazy world keeps on changing, somehow, you still have a home. A big part of that was thanks to Willem, since his relation to Captain Hook had been good enough to win them continued residence in Feral.

When they looked up to Willem now, despite the ol’ sweaty eyes, they were grateful in that moment. That’s what they took from their father’s message. They had that home because Willem fit in with the weird little Funkytown family perfectly.

“Oh, I get a husband tonight, moi?” They asked, wiping their runny nose with the back of their hand, and tried to pretend for a moment that everything was alright. “Definitely not something I thought I’d ever get, but cool, I can work with that, I’m nothing if not adaptable.”

“Well… hubs,” They said, tapping their chin, looking around, trying to think of what to do. “Let’s go do what you were going to do, and the I say we go Tubthumpin’ Chumbawumba style back at Funkytown with the crew. I’ve always wanted to raid Livvy’s uncle’s closet anyway."

[neogandw]

Someone in bluesky asked who they were, so I figured I could go over them real quick.

A japanese robot stylized after the myth of yuki onnas, although she's given the job of being the company mascot for a company that sells refrigeration technology and frozen goods (such as Ice Cream) the reality of it is that she's the daughter of the CEO, a kind, strong man who gives off Santa Claus vibes.

Cute, Innocent and somewhat Lonely, Ghosty has a skewed idea of how to make friends by trying to greet people with a hearty "BOO!", but she hardly scares anyone.

In reality, she wants to befriend new people.

She can be found as a major NPC in Make a Good MegaMan Level 3!

An European robot, one of many stage hand technician robots that function as roadies of many different types of concerts across the globe, with Jill's field being hard rock.

Though she's a brash metalhead, she grew fond of music herself and wanted an opportunity to breach into the industry on her own.

Through hard work and determination (and an online video channel where she played covers for a long while) she eventually landed a gig with a music production company, which as it happens wanted someone to play an idol role.

Jill now has to balance her real work and metal head tendencies with the duties of being a bubbly, energetic idol for the public, though she generally doesn't mind playing up the cute (and the public is generally aware of her metal head tendencies since she's really bad at keeping her natural behavior in check) making sure that her secret identity remains private to herself (and her close friends).

She's also an NPC in Make a Good MegaMan Level 3.

A Chinese robot, hailing from a traditional rural village over on the mountainous regions of China. Ignite is from a family of firework crafters and handymen that work to upkeep the village's scarce technological commodities.

Given the main trade of the family is fireworks (which generally only comes up during festivals), Ignite puts her drive and fireworks abilities into learning martial arts of various kinds and work odd-jobs around town (and lately, body guard work) to bring money home.

She fashions herself a hero to the village, however, her egocentric and "believe-my-own-hype" behavior often lands her in situations out of her control or where the event blows right on her face in one way or another.

Still, she refuses to give up, ultimately, she IS good spirited and popular with the people of the village (children specially), just a bit harsh and hard to deal with.

An american robot whose original job and name are only known to him and him alone.

He was originally ownded by a rich tycoon in the gambling industry who was all kinds of shady, but through hard work and more than a few well placed gambles, Casino amassed enough of a fortune to buy out the gambling joint from his old owner. Whoever they were there they haven't been seen ever since.

Casino has since expanded the gambling joint into being a vacation resort complete with hotels and theme parks, running with peak efficiency and valuing style and respect to the clients with utmost importance.

He may have a greedy side, but he tends to find people he wants to place under his wing and protection, creating some sort of family of his own. Even if he himself may grumble about people "not pulling their weight", he's generally a softy of an uncle figure.

There's rumors that he may have upgraded himself, allegedly if his reels ever hit 7-7-7, he may become a "Dandy CasinoMan" with a more elaborate human form, though its rare that this ever happens.

A robot made by an international joint alliance looking to do paleontoligical and biological research across the globe, stylized after cavemen, he's a lot smarter than he lets on.

CaveMan thus dwells on the natural regions of various countries, looking for evidences of the past. Being well equipped with excavation, climbing and foraging technology, he ventures into the uncharted regions of jungles and into the depths of the earth to find leads into the distant past.

Cave tends to be a cranky old man and he has a distaste for the people who spend most of their research in a lab instead of out on the field. Though he's grumpy about it he generally tends to have a good point in trying to keep passerby out of the locations he tends to dwell (having more than once used his tools to rescue vacationers out of caverns and cave-ins).

His lone company tends to be a tiny pterodactyl robot called Xylo, his loyal pet, bit of a birdbrain but smart enough to help in complex work. Cave trusts Xylo far more than any young whippersnapper he may come across.

A robot created by science institutes in canada, specifically by an old scientist who was researching into a techonogically advanced liquid that could be controlled and made to take any shape that was required.

The old scientist, feeling nostalgia over shows they used to watch as a child, decided to fashion a robot out of the very same shows that inspired them to help people smile, using this very tech who happened to look like ink and created Toon Woman out of it.

While not strictly made for the entertainment industry, Toon Woman has studied and learned the art of slapstick and comedic timing. She fashions herself after cartoons of old (particularly, a show about a young witch who wants to help people), being more of a travelling comedian looking to put smiles on people and help as many folks as possible.

She's driven to not leave someone's side until they turn that frown upside down and have a fuzzy feeling inside of their heart.

A greek robot that is part of a line of robots stylized after the greek pantheon and made to fullfil various jobs, with her design echoing that of Hermes and Iris, the messengers of the gods.

As such, her duty is mail and package delivery, managing both physical postman duties and digital redictection of e-mail, Mail is a very dedicated post woman who travels around the world alongside her pet butterflies, sworn to her duty and happy to obligue.

Unfortunately, she's also a bit of a hopeless romantic and more than a bit gullible. Being in love with the concept of love (and gleeing much about it) she tends to fall for virus-ridden e-mail due to her trusting nature, causing more than a bit of trouble to her system whenever some e-mail claims "ILOVEYOU" to her.

And yet somehow, her systems work regardless of how many viruses she has in there, they appear to be clogged in a pipeline.

Her peppy attitude and go-getter disposition land her as a favorite among her siblings in the Olymp.O.S. line of robots, though few tend to humor her love sappy side whenever she's on her own dream land.

There's been… a few complaints about her taking the scenic route when delivering mail as well.

THE NEXT ONES ARE MY DESIGN, BUT CONCEPTUALIZED BY FRIENDS. SO I REGARD THEM AS GUESTS.

NOT A ROBOT MASTER, technically its own original universe.

A Death Bot made for a tournament run by a pretends-to-be-bad-guy called Mr. Sinister, who tends to rotate the tournament entrants around.

Though Mister Sinister's Death Bots are not generally humanoid due to trying to keep mass appeal high and censors off his back, Hiwired is a rare exception, though her clownish features make her look inhuman enough.

Hiwired 9 is one of the Electric-themed Death Bots, and her powers are to create lightning bolts and sparks of the primary colors. As a jester-type bot, she's mostly focused on having a good time and putting on a show, making her attacks usually more visually appealing than dangerous.

Hiwired is a devious little goblin of a robot; despite or because of this she has little self awareness. She doesn't like that clowns usually get typecast as evil though she's literally a "Death Bot". There is some programmed dissonance there because of the secret "pacifist" nature of Death Bots to everything but other robots.

Her main goals are to have a good time and put on a good show. Mister Sinister wouldn't admit this to her but she's one of his favorite robots and most embodies what he's all about in terms of presenting and flashiness.

She's got a high-pitched, almost grating voice that's a bit TOO cutesy. She's very into her job as a Death Bot and eager to show off. She's bratty and petulant; and behind the scenes gets jealous if she isn't the Electric Death Bot chosen for that particular "show". One of the Death Bots most likely to prank others and generally be a nuisance.

Outside of the show, her merchandise is one of the most popular among viewers, just behind the most cute ones like Hotter and Constellar.

This blurb was mostly written by Kittah (minor alterations were made to her current name and a small explanation for death bots was added).

A robot of unknown origin and harsh past, Duet is not entirely running in peak performance (and lacking an entire arm), she has low self steem and tends to compare herself to other more build-complete robots.

Having taken a devil deal with a scientist who she by all means shouldn't have trusted, she was given both a new arm and a helmet that both boost her confidence… at the cost of her sanity and morality, she's pushed into evil and giving into insecurity-driven anger when wearing both.

Ultimately, she's lonely and wants to befriend more people, but due to her low self steem and depression she has trouble doing so. Maybe one day she'll see she's worth more than she thinks.

The end result of various experiments ran by scientists associated with Light Labs.

After the latest attack by Dr. Wily's creations, the scientists figured that Wily's research shouldn't be entirely discarded as he is a brilliant mind of his own, and thus decided to reverse engineer his creations to find a more positive use for them.

One of such efforts being the foundation of the D.E.V.I.L. Research institute, which was dedicated to reverse engineer the technology of the various "Yellow Devils" that Dr. Wily had created and find them a peaceful application.

Although its been proving difficult to figure out an use to moldeable goo, the research institute was at least successful in creating a controller device for it: a little fish-like creature that could re-structure itself into various shapes to mold the goo into as many applications as possible.

The little fish creature would then gain concience of its own, and that would lead to the creation of Slime Woman.

Slime would thus learn more than a few things from the scientists and gain their passion for research and the gain of knowledge, being more than a bit serious, she gives in to the natural curiosity and wants to experiment on things to learn how they tick.

Experimentation is still ongoing on how to get the goo to be useful, but at least they gained an ally in the everlasting learning process.

Rogue Woman stated out as a simple security robot. She was originally designed to analyze and predict flaws in software and hardware on high-end business and laboratories for a now-defunct security firm, having gone bankrupt due to embezzlement and other morally dubious reasons.

After the company shut down, their assets were liquidated and thus Rogue was destined for the scrap heap as her function ceased to be.

As luck would have it, she was rescued from such a fate. Not much is publicly known about her benefactor (in reality an engineering scientist from the company), other than rogue refering to her as a mother (though only those close enough to personally know Rogue).

Rogue's mother has a vendetta against the former management of the company as they left her homeless for a while, as a result of their shared past, both have resolved to use their abilities to get back at the greedy corporates that ruined their lives.

Rogue wasn't designed for combat, rather prefering to use her tools to sneak in and get out quickly without being seen, though she herself has a bit of a show-offy side while doing this.

Outside of her more confident spy personality, Rogue is an entomology geek with a bit of social anxiety, its hard to earn her trust, but once you're in that zone, just expect to be told all about the bugs she finds neat for hours on end.

[anomaly-076]

Tkdb characters comforting you after finding you having a mental breakdown

‎‧₊˚✿Masterlist✿˚₊‧

♦ I've been writing a bullet-point HC style a lot recently so I decided to switch it up ^^ Reader and the character are written as friends, but can be read as dating (or more ;))... [Apologies for the differences in length, but some scenarios just came out that way U.U]♦

Characters: Alan, Sho, Haru, Haku, Jiro, Professor Dante, + a bonus secret character :D

    ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Alan quietly enters your room to see you angrily pacing back and forth, dodging some flying object by mere inches you angrily threw without a care for where it would hit and land.

"Hey, everything okay?"

You head snaps in his direction. Angry stare ready to scorch your intruder not softening even after realizing it was just Alan. Normally you might be able to snap out of your on edge state, but not right now.

"Everything okay? You wanna know what's not okay? I'll tell you... Every. Fucking. Thing!" you spit into his face, getting so up close you can smell the sweat mixed with motor oil that seems to follow Alan everywhere.

If it were any other Vagastrom student, they'd be already thrown across the room, but in your case, Alan is even too stunned to consider that an option. This is the first time Alan sees you ready to set stuff ablaze with your sight alone. He's sure that if your stigma were related to fire, the whole dorm would be on fire.

"Hey now..." Alan finally says something after a few seconds of returning your intense eye-contact.

You don't answer and instead turn on your heel and kick something out of your way as you stomp to sit on your bed.

Only now does Alan have the chance to look around. The walls are dented more than they were before, there's pages torn from a notebook scattered all over the floor and all your stuff is a complete mess, indicating that your rampage has been going on for a quite long time.

A shaky breath coming from your slumped form draws his attention back to you. Are... Are you crying?

Alan is still unmoved from his position at the door. A weird feeling washes over him as he sees you bury your head in your hands and slide them up into your hair to pull on it. Your torso folds forward to dangle between your spread legs as you start to let out breathy sobs.

He's unsure of what to do. He's never been one to deal with emotions, let alone help someone else deal with them. A slight panic starts to take over him.

Then, as if his body moved on its own, Alan finds himself crossing the mess of a floor, stepping over anything scattered there, to sit next to you on your bed.

"Hey..." he tries to say as softly and compassionate as he's able to, but you either don't hear him or pay any attention to him.

"Hey." Alan says again, this time louder and tries to bring you back to reality by running his palm down your back.

You finally seem to snap out of the worst and your torso slightly rises for you to look at Alan from the side of your tear-filled eye.

"Hey, c'mon..." it comes out as another attempt from Alan to comfort you, but in reality he's begging for you to stop. Your crying makes something inside him feel bad, almost painful and he's begging you to stop crying so the unpleasant feeling goes away.

And you wish you could stop, but the tears just keep on coming and there's no stopping. You just shake your head and look back down on the floor, but you do try to control your sobs and reduce them to mere hiccups.

"I... S-something bothering you?" Alan is unsure how to talk to you without making your situation worse again. To him, it feels like most things he'd try to say will end up being the wrong choice.

Thankfully, you fully rise back up with a sigh and look at Alan with now fully red and puffy eyes, heavy with exhaustion.

"I'm just so fed up and tired with everything..." your voice is shaky and coarse like you've spent the better part of the past our angrily half screaming to yourself (which you did and Leo, being Leo, overheard it and sent Alan to investigate).

"Hey, I'm here... You can talk... or... not..." Alan trails off. In talking about feelings he's even more helpless than at consoling someone. So he just awkwardly puts his hand around you and pulls his closer to him so your sides are touching.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

"Hey Y/N, I got my R&R approved. You wanna go for a dri- huh?" Sho walks into your room without knocking, like he usually does, but immediately stops in his tracks once he doesn't see you any of your usual activities you'd normally do at this time. His eyes scan the room until they land on your curled up form in a corner of your room, whimpering.

"Woah... Y/N, you with me here?" he quickly makes his way towards you and falls to his knees right in front of you. From the state you're in, he's unable to tell what is actually wrong and the only way he can find out what, is by you telling him.

Your head pick up to reveal an empty stare, void of any spark of emotion, and Sho immediately understands.

"Hey now..." he pries your hands off your legs from clutching them close to your chest. His strong hands spread your legs apart to pull you into his lap and hold you against his chest, cradling you.

Reluctantly, you hands wrap around Sho's back, returning his close embrace as you hide your face in his neck. The smell of cologne and the food from his truck hits your nose and comforts you to some degree.

As his own hands roam over your back, Sho hums softly and nuzzles his head against yours. Originally, he wanted to go visit some new bike parts place since he finally managed to get approval to leave Darkwick, but now he's more than anything interested in making sure you're okay.

In his head he's already coming up with a list of stuff that you might wanna do to make you feel better from what he remembers you told him you liked. Thankfully Leo's R&R was approved too, so he won't barge in on the two of you. Sho or you wouldn't hear the end of it.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Everything is loud. So loud. Too loud!

The sound of animals in their pens. Ren watching some movie or playing one of his games and complaining about Haru. Someone's footsteps outside your door in the common room. The banging of pots and pans in the kitchen. And the there's that damn scratching of something against a piece of wood!

That sound is about to drive you crazy in your frantic, borderline panic attack state. There's a slight pounding in your head and your breath is quick as you pace around your room like and animal in a tiny cage.

Oh great... Now the footsteps are getting louder. Just what you need...

"What is it Peekaboo? Hm?... Oh!" you can hear Haru's voice from the other side of your door shortly followed by brisk knocks on your door.

"Kinda busy..." your response comes out as a low growl, similar to some of the anomalies in Jabberwock's care.

"Ah... But Y/N, Peekaboo is worried. He says you've been walking around like that for a while now. Don't your feet hurt?" with your eyes trained on the door now, you can see the handle move as Haru tries to open the door. Luckily you locked it while your hands were still able to not shake as much as they do right now.

You ignore Haru's worried question and growl to yourself instead. He's always so cheery, it annoys you to no end right now.

Your door flies open and stops you dead in your tracks. Of course, you should've known that locks won't stop Haru.

A flock of anomalous animals flood into your room through the now open door with Haru standing in them.

"Y/N!"he exclaims in dismay upon seeing the state you're in. All the animals are around you. Some are jumping up at you and some are biting your ankles as a sign of affection, all trying to cheer you up, able to feel the mood you're in.

"Boo..." Peekaboo silently chirps in, echoing Haru's tone of voice. If you were able to look closer, you'd be able to notice he's got tears in his eyes.

"Y/N! Are you okay?" as Haru approaches you, the animals around you scatter away from you, giving him more space to assess your state.

"I- I'on... S'-s'just... Guess... I j-just..." you struggle to formulate your thoughts. They're racing too fast to be able to catch just one of them.

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down Y/N. Just breathe..." Haru guides you to sit down of the ground and takes a deep breath with you.

"Focus on me and breathe, okay?" his voice is gentle, very different from his usual demeanor while trying to advertise capybus tours.

As Haru talks you down from your frantic state and helps you breathe your way through, the animals come and join you, some trying to calm you in their own way and some resorting to just taking a nap around you.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

You've been working on your project for so long and now you're just going to ruin it with your tears. Great. Just another thing to make your mood worse. This project has been taking so much out of you, you don't even want to finish it.

"Mental health check!" Haku hums, peaking into your room. You've told him about your project and how much it's driving you insane, so he's been checking in on you the whole time.

After seeing you openly sobbing above your project you'd worked so hard on already, he's quick to slip into your room and move it away from you so you don't ruin it any further.

Before you're even aware of his presence over your tears, Haku is already picking you up and carrying you to your bed. After getting on it himself, he positions you in his lap, facing away from your desk, which would remind you of that mess that's been ruining your life for the past month or so.

"Aw, come on now... You're doing a great job. I'm really excited for it to be done and I know it'll be amazing just like everything else you've done." Haku tries to calm you down as one of his hands strokes your cheek.

"B-but i-it's not w-working... I-it sh-should, but isn't..." you sob and your upper body threatens to collapse onto Haku from the strength of them.

"Hey... Hey..." Haku brings his other hand to pick up your face and look at him, "It will work, you just need to take a break."

"N-no, it w-won't... I-i've bee working on it fo-for so long and it just won't... I'll just ha-have to cancel the-"

"No, please don't do that... I'll help you. We're all so looking for you to get it out there..." Haku tries to wipe the tears off your cheeks, but another ones are soon flowing down again.

You shake your head and start trying to turn around to look at you project again. Haku stops you and meekly smiles at you.

"Let me tell tell you what... We go out, have some ice-cream, hang out and maybe watch something in my room and then tomorrow I'll have a look at it and see what we can do... Okay?"

  ⋆˚✿˖°

"Y/N, hello?" a tired voice calls out to you.

You don't have to turn around to be able to tell it's Jiro.

"Y/N, you were supposed to come in today for a checkup so Yuri sent me for you."

You're still unmoving, just laying on your bed, on your cover and staring at the blank wall in front of you.

"Y/N?" Jiro approaches your bed and touches your arm.

You're still dressed in your dorm uniform despite it being a good few hours since your classes ended and you were allowed to change.

Jiro's gloved hand sneaks up to your neck, his two fingers searching around for a pulse point.

"What are you doing?" you say with a flat voice, almost like you're not fully present, but you sadly are.

"Making sure you're alive. Your catatonia and lack of response worried me."

You don't even answer and only hum in acknowledgement.

Jiro sighs and sits on your bed, inspecting your state.

Despite being a medical student, his studies sometimes included a psychological aspects. Based on them, Jiro was able to determine that your state must've been caused by some severe distress, forcing your brain to shut down and fully detach from reality in order to cope.

Sadly, no treatment came to his mind, so Jiro just kicks off his shoes and lies down behind you and throws his arm around your waist.

Hopefully his closeness can make you feel better. If not, he'll have to call Yuri, but now he wants to try and be there for you alone.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Dante could swear he turned all the lights off in his private library, but apparently one of them was still on. It was always such a pain when he had to go back somewhere because of his disability.

With a sigh he opens the heavy door to find you surrounded by some of his books. You're frantically reading the contents of one of them and scribbling something on a paper next to it.

"Ah, Y/N. Isn't it rather late to be researching?"

Dante's sudden presence startles you and as you quickly move to face him, you accidentally knock over the book you were reading.

"Dante, sorry, you've startled me." you sheepishly admit, trying to hide how anxious you are.

"Tell me, what could possibly be so important at this hour, dear?" Dante is faster than you and pushes himself forward to pick up the fallen book.

You take a deep breath to seem like you have it all together, but you can't, "I couldn't sleep. My mind's just filled with all these horrible what-ifs and I couldn't stop them so I thought that maybe if I knew what to do, it would help."

"And what are these what-ifs about, Y/N?" Dante's expression softens.

"I don't know... Everything."

Dante sighs and starts pushing his wheelchair towards the sofa in the middle of the room, "Although I do believe that problems should be faced head on, perhaps you'd prefer if I read your favorite book to you as a distraction?"

  ⋆˚✿˖°

⋆˚࿔ Secret character 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

"Tough day?" a smooth voice interrupts your thoughts as you absentmindedly pet one of the mail cats, staring off into a space.

"Yeah..."

"Now what could worry a pretty little head like yours?" the owner of the voice comes closer and sits down next to you on the bench.

Your eyes are glossed over with tears so the stranger next to you only looks like a dark-grey smudge.

"Do you know what helps me, while I'm feeling down?... There's this kid, Rui, and he has all of these amazing drinks that taste like alcohol but aren't..."

"I-i know..."

"Hey, maybe if you're down, we could go together right now since my shift's ended."

"Nah thanks..."

"Oh, it's Elias, sweetheart."

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

‧აsagittarius season tarot readings ໒ ‧₊˚

november 22 - december 21

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𓍢ִ˚*ੈ♡

These tarot readings are meant to give you some information about how the energy of this season is going to affect you. Sagittarius season usually comes with a big burst of energy, specially channeled in matters that relate deeply to the slightly more childlike side of our intellect. This season usually comes with an enhancement of curiosity, the need to explore and expand our horizons, but also the energy to do so. Let's check what are the positives and the negatives of this season for each sign.

don't forget to check your moon and rising signs' posts just in case

dividers by @adornedwithlight & @cafekitsune, images by Kira Cyan

.‧͙˚ *༓ scroll down for the readings ⋆ִ ‧͙⁺˚

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ོ༘₊⁺⋆𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 {𝙼𝚊𝚛𝟸𝟷–𝙰𝚙𝚛𝟷𝟿}

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ✦ 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 ✦ 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬

You are going to be in situations where sooner or later you will realize how easy it actually was to get out of them. There’s a lot of limitations being imposed onto you, and these are based on ideas and values that do not resonate with the person you actually are. During this season you will feel as if you are forced into conformity for the sake of others, almost suffocated by norms and expectations that are not relevant to your personal development, but they are useful to keep you in the places where you need to be. It seems as if this is the moment when you realize you don’t need to repeat the same cycles over and over again just because you are comfortable with the results, as the outcomes from these situations are not exactly fulfilling yet they are good enough to keep you wanting to try again just in case this next time it turns exactly the way you want.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Your need to move forward and go beyond what you already know is going to manifest in a way that could be too impulsive, there’s a chance that after an impulsive decision to change you will be faced with a feeling of uncertainty due to not knowing exactly for what or what it is that you are changing exactly. There’s going to be plenty of opportunities, plenty of new paths to follow, and way too many options for you to choose from. Don’t lose yourself in the anxiety and overwhelm from this, your intuition and your passionate nature will lead the way to the best possible journey.

𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

During this season it is possible that you are faced with the possibility to explore and reset your actual journey, this is something that will manifest rapidly and it’s very likely there’s not much from this time that will stick with you for the long run. But, I think it could be beneficial to go along certain impulses if you’re willing to figure out what exactly did that impulse try to communicate to you. There’s plenty of self imposed values and ideals that do not exactly belong to you, and plenty of needs stemming from them that are not yours. It wouldn't be too bad if you let go of a few imposed structures. This moment in time will provide you with opportunities to learn by experiencing the world in the way you are meant to, even if everything seems uncertain and unstable, you have nothing to fear about having to adjust to chaotic changes instead of having to adjust to a forced monotony.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 𝙻𝚎𝚘 {𝙹𝚞𝚕𝟸𝟹–𝙰𝚞𝚐𝟸𝟸}

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 ✦ 𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒 ✦ 𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐒

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬

This season is coming with plenty of abundance. You might feel as if it is a matter of luck, but in reality things are going your way because you are going your way. This moment in your life is meant to test your ability to stay in your lane and care for the things you have achieved at this point of your journey. It’s very likely you are now beginning to understand how much power you have over your own joy and your own prosperity, and this season will provide you with opportunities to learn how to navigate uncertainty and how responsibilities are not meant to be limiting, but more so a key part in your exploration of what independence actually is. You will become more aware of how you need a certain amount of order and limitations to fully embrace your individual essence, as these responsibilities are what keep you motivated to grow.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

There’s going to be plenty of satisfactory outcomes for you this season, which don’t involve being overly proud or overly confident, they have the potential to lead to new ambitions that might conflict with your comfort in living a pretty individualistic life . Your accomplishments will demand you to rethink your path and your long term objectives, as you are now committed in ways that at times might feel overwhelming. You are going to get a lot of what you always desired, but it will take you some time to get used to it, and to be properly grateful about this new life.

𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

You will no longer feel alone or alienated, instead, you will take a lot of the protagonism in both new and old spaces where you might have felt left aside. People are catching up on how good you’re doing, and your creative energy is quite contagious. The current season usually feels overly unstable and uncertainty is riddling everyone, but you are actually in a pretty good moment in your life. Keep your priorities straight even if you choose to go out of your way to help others. You definitely understand the importance of generosity, but don’t let it come from your ego. Be mindful of how you present to others and be ready to deal with jealousy.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳𝚂𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚞𝚜 {𝙽𝚘𝚟𝟸𝟸–𝙳𝚎𝚌𝟸𝟷}

𝐓𝐇𝐄 ��𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 ✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐒 ✦ 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬

This is your season, and it shows. Your creative energy and your wisdom will allow you to fully be in charge of the type of experiences you want to contribute to your personal growth. Maybe right now it's not the best time to seek out the life changing events, but instead it would be just as nourishing to your intellect and your soul to open up for the life changing people who will most likely show up to you this season. You will inspire and be inspired in ways that are unexpected, and also by facing challenges alongside people who share your values and ideals. Right now it is key that you don’t look for validation by asserting your position in any kind of hierarchical way, but instead by allowing your individuality to be the main source of power and drive to further allow your virtues to show themselves naturally.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

In plenty of situations you will be challenged to find the balance between community and individuality, especially when it comes to conflict that's caused by miscommunication or an illusion of order breaking apart. This season will provide you with opportunities to learn how the greater good is just as necessary as your own wellbeing, and how you should be in spaces where your ideals and values are shared. You are not meant to submit to anything, but instead you are meant to cooperate in a way that's honest and genuine to your essence as a person.

𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

There's going to be a lot to overcome, both in the material sense as in the more existential and emotional senses. You are beginning to find confidence within yourself, and your journey is becoming more and more complex, this brings out plenty of conflictive energies into your life, yet not all of them are meant to be seen as a mere inconvenience, some of them are actually necessary obstacles to overcome for you to go as far as you want to go in life. Although at the moment you could be feeling limited by an unfair power dynamic or by a restrictive sense of order, you have the capabilities to work out a way around most things in your life. It is very important that you don’t shy away from facing the adversities in your path as they will follow you if you don't solve them.

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[fluffyglass]

ok here is the official frankie fluffyglass ceo of wigglefunny explanation of the plot of Something Ain't Right (this will be LONG)

It takes place a bit after The Cost of a Snack (as evidenced by Shelda having a new snakified leg), and starts out with Wambus internally monologuing about how he knows what the journalist (whom I'll be referring to as Stranger or "the stranger" for the rest of this post) did to Gramble, that specifically being feeding him bugsnax in his sleep. However, if you've read COAS I'm certain you recall that Wambus was not there and did not see what Stranger did. So how does he know they did it? The answer might surprise you: he doesn't.

Wambus is projecting. In the past (before the events of the game, and even before the events of The Fight), Wambus fed Gramble bugsnax. This is represented by the repeated motif of Kweebles rather than Strabbys. While in the present Gramble has a Strabby arm, when Wambus fed him bugsnax, he had a Kweeble arm instead. On the third page, when the stranger turns around and has Wambus's face, this is Wambus's conscience reminding him of what he did.

Wambus then turns to denial, asking himself different ways Gramble could have become snakified. Sleepwalking, lying about it, et cetera, but Wambus knows these aren't realistic. He knows what he (and by his own extension Stranger) did. Stranger being lit in red and Wambus being lit in green represent the respective bugsnax they gave Gramble. Also from this point on, Wambus isn't snakified, showing that the following events all take place in his mind rather than in reality.

Gramble's body being covered by black squares (which I'll refer to as censors) is Wambus's mind trying to block out things he doesn't want to see. Stranger showing up out of nowhere is kind of just an outlet for Wambus to incite his own self hatred. He hates and wants to kill the stranger for what they did, because he hates what he did in the past.

Throughout the ensuing fight, Stranger and their dialogue is censored. Why? Because Wambus isn't fighting the stranger. It's a reenactment of another horrible thing he did to Gramble in the past, that being The Fight. The censored dialogue is what Gramble said during the fight (which is irrelevant to the story), mirrored by Wambus parroting his own dialogue from then as well. That's why some of the dialogue doesn't seem to fit (see "Not when you've hurt so many", and him cutting himself off from saying "Weepy little rancher").

Then is the Big page, the only clear memory of the entire comic. He's blocked out so many things, but Wambus is never able to unsee the look of horror on Triffany's face when she witnessed The Fight. He's not looking at Gramble. He doesn't want to see Gramble. He can only clearly recall the instant he knew he was Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

The following page is mostly a blur. He sees Triffany (with Filbo hiding behind her; the two of them lie to cover this up later by calling it a fight rather than a one-sided assault. Also I'll mention that Gramble was so out of it that he can't remember The Fight either, so literally nobody can contradict the lie), then he sees Gramble, and then everything is drowned out by the knowledge that He Is Guilty. The last panel shows him waking up (now snakified again, this is real) in horror. Triffany next to him is censored because he can't stand to think about her face, looking at what he did.

Ummmm yeah that's basically the story of Something Aint Right. Other stuff that didnt fit anywhere else is the main pop colors being Blue and Orange which are Wambus and Stranger's fur colors, and Gramble's hat eyes always staring at Wambus.

This is the official explanation of a weird surreal art piece I made that is supposed to be speculative but I love talking about my own work too much to keep it that way.

Something Ain't Right - Bugsnax

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Relationship Snapshot: Miphlink

(I wanted to get into the characters and how their relationship would work, so that’s this lol)

Mipha

Dedicated, compassionate, kind, nurturing, gentle, graceful, an excellent fighter and healer - these are all ways people would describe the Princess of the Zora. Ever the perfect and noble young woman, Mipha is quiet and elegant. She puts on an excellent facade for the people, as their princess, and knows to do her duty. In reality, Mipha does truly love to help others and finds joy in it, but she also desperately suppresses her own wants and desires in the name of both duty and trying to satisfy that need to help others. As she is the golden child, she also rarely—if ever—gets criticism, and therefore is not used to taking any at all. She’ll overthink any critique, stressing and resenting it. She’ll push herself beyond her breaking point for others, defining herself and her worth in her ability to help. She doesn’t have as much confidence in her own abilities as others seem to, and she resigns herself to knowing that she’s the weakest link in the chain of warriors around her. While she’ll do everything in her power to improve herself so that she can better help others, Mipha is also pessimistic in her own outcomes in life. She doesn’t really expect to be happy, doesn’t expect to survive a fight with Ganon, doesn’t expect to live a life that feels truly her own. She’s a servant of her people and that honestly seems like enough for her. She’s very shy about expressing her own needs and desires, rarely talking about what she wants. She’s emotionally overwhelmed easily, and despite pushing for intimacy with others in order to help them, she’s hardly ever intimate about herself and her own needs. Mipha will be everyone’s best friend and know all their hurts and loves but hardly anyone will know anything about her. She was far more adventurous as a child, though a worrier for others and much preferred tending to friends than seeking excitement. Still has a small spark of adventure in her, loves to explore and see new things, but spends most of her time attending to others so she just represses any desire for it. When she does finally get to be in an intimate relationship, she goes above and beyond in trying to show her love and feel loved in return initially, insecure on the matter. This can make her burn herself out or annoy whoever the other party is by overstepping. Overall, Mipha is very kindhearted and gentle, pushes herself to be the best she can be in her gifts and abilities, constantly involved in the lives of her subjects and tries to be a role model for those around her, and she wants to help everyone to the point of completely disregarding herself.

Link

As a child prodigy, Link is used to having a lot of expectations on his shoulders. He was raised to put duty first, and he takes his duty very seriously as a result, constantly pushing himself to improve and be the best knight he can be. Link has confidence in his abilities and plenty of courage, but reckless abandon are also often reasons he simply throws himself into battle with little strategy involved. He has a lot of anxiety about the pressure he’s under and desperately seeks security, even if it’s just form himself, or from praying to Hylia as often as possible. Got pushed out of the nest a little too soon due to his abilities, and tends to feel very alone and scared as a result, trying to steady himself in a chaotic world that keeps pushing him around. Very aware of how perceived he is and not sure how to handle it, but doesn’t want to mess it up. Adventurous and curious, Link will explore everything and break every bone in his body doing it and not regret it one bit. And he’ll do it without a single plan in his head. He’s not incapable of strategy, of course, but he hardly uses it. However, his strong sense of duty and recognition that the world is watching him and has expectations often keeps this wilder side of him in line. He has a kind heart under the stoic exterior, which can be confusing to those around him as he comes across as ambivalent but actually cares very deeply. Loves being around children as there is little pressure, they’re brutally honest about their opinions, and their innocence is endearing, and he loves to protect them. Finds peace in nature, and may go out to be alone to center himself, but honestly prefers the company of a few close friends/family over being alone in the wilds all the time. Quite independent, almost fiercely so - he follows orders and all that, but left to his own devices he would rather just do what he wants. He’s used to taking care of himself from a fairly young age, and while sometimes guidance in how to do things is greatly appreciated and gives him a break, sometimes he’ll balk at it and want to go his own way. With all the pressure he’s gotten throughout his life, Link places even more pressure on himself. He has to get it right every time. He has to win every time. If anything goes wrong it’s his fault, no matter what. He has to protect everyone. Between this internalized stress and his silence, Link hardly knows how to connect with others and rarely, if ever, is the first to reach out. This can definitely make him seem aloof when he truly does care, he just doesn’t know how to show it. Link is a doer far more than a talker, and will show he cares through actions, especially through cooking.

Miphlink

Mipha and Link complement each other well. Mipha’s kindness, gentleness, and nurturing nature soothe Link’s anxieties. Link’s confidence and strength and steadfastness give Mipha stability in a world where everyone else relies on her. Both love each other quietly - Mipha’s shyness is a hurdle she works to get over as their relationship develops into something romantic, and Link of course has no idea how to communicate his feelings. When they were children they were good friends, exploring together and teaching each other, whether it was Link showing Mipha how to fight or Mipha showing Link how to fish and swim. As young aduts, as they grow comfortable with each other once more after years apart and baggage and worries have piled up, they regain some of that spark for adventure, especially Link, who feels safe around Mipha, and he pushes her to be open about what she wants and needs and enjoys, forcing her out of her perfect facade and making her have fun with him.