#and i have no sense of self and i can't get myself to do basic tasks and the thought of doing something i don't want to do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kirammanswifey · 19 days ago

Note

Would you be down to write some reverse comfort with the Arcane characters?

Basically just make them go through one of the worst days of their lives then have the reader take care of them (I mostly just wanted to see Viktor in this scenario, but if you want to write for other characters too that'd be awesome)

Either way take your time and I hope you have a wonderful day ~☁️

arcane characters reverse comfort x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i'm always down for this kind of scenarios, make me feel like a teenage girl again. as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

It has been an exhausting day in the lab. The experiments have failed time and again, each mistake weighing heavier on Viktor’s shoulders. You can see it in his eyes when he finally gives in, letting the tools fall with a long, heavy sigh. He leans against the workbench, his slender, hunched figure casting a shadow of defeat on the walls illuminated by the flickering equipment.

"This doesn't make sense..." he murmurs, as though the words are a burden he needs to release. His fingers drum frustratedly on the metallic surface, and you feel the despair in every tap. "I’ve made mistake after mistake... Maybe this was all a mistake from the start."

His words hit you, but it’s the tone of his voice that wounds you more, filled with a self-criticism that is painfully familiar but no less difficult to hear. You know how much his work matters to him, how much of himself he has poured into these projects. And you know this failure consumes him more than he’s willing to admit. You can't just stand by and watch him spiral.

"Viktor," you say softly, stepping closer and placing a firm yet comforting hand on his arm. "You’re a genius, and even geniuses have tough days. Today was one of those days, but it doesn’t define who you are or what you do."

At first, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is lost, searching for answers in the shadows that stretch across the lab. But then his grey eyes meet yours, filled with doubt and exhaustion. "How can you be so sure? Every day without progress... I feel like I’m wasting time, like I’m failing everyone, even myself."

Your heart tightens at his words. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers gently, feeling the coolness of his skin against yours. "Because I know you, Viktor. I’ve seen your dedication, your passion. Every mistake, every small setback is part of the process. You don't have to carry this weight alone. I’m here to help you shoulder it."

The silence that follows is thick, but instead of uncomfortable, it’s a space where words aren’t necessary. Slowly, you see his posture relax, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. Without letting go of his hand, you step even closer, sensing the fragility of the moment.

"Let’s step outside for a bit," you whisper, "You need to clear your mind, get some fresh air. You don’t have to do it all today, not tonight."

He looks at you again, with a mix of gratitude and weariness, and finally nods. "Alright," he says softly, as if it’s hard for him to admit he needs the break.

You walk together to the exit, your fingers still entwined with his. The night air is a balm, cool and light, carrying away some of the day's heaviness. You walk in silence through the almost deserted streets, the distant hum of the city a constant murmur.

"Thank you," he finally whispers, breaking the silence with a voice soft, almost breaking. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You stop, turning to face him. "You don’t have to know, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, through the good and the bad days. You don’t have to bear this burden alone."

He tilts his head, and for a moment it seems like he’s about to say more, but instead, he simply squeezes your hand tighter, a silent gesture that speaks volumes.

"Come here," you say, leading him to a nearby bench. You sit beside him, and for the first time all night, you see him take a deep breath, as if the fresh air could cleanse not just his lungs but also his mind and soul.

Viktor rests his head on your shoulder, allowing himself to close his eyes and savor the moment. You kiss his head and gently stroke his hair, cherishing these rare moments, knowing how precious they are when they happen.

"Today was a bad day," he finally says, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. "But, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as overwhelming with… with you here."

You smile softly, feeling warmth spread from his acceptance, from his openness. "I’ll always be here to remind you that even the worst days come to an end. And that you are stronger than you think."

He looks at you, and for an instant, the world seems to stop. His gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, envelops you. Before you can say anything more, you feel him leaning towards you, and in that moment, everything falls into place. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that disarms you, a kiss soft yet laden with unspoken emotions.

When you part, just inches away, his eyes remain closed as if he wants to hold onto the moment a little longer. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper.

You cradle his face in your hands, gently caressing his cheeks. "There’s no need to thank me, my love."

Jinx

The day had been chaos, even by Jinx's standards. Everything had gone wrong: a botched attack, crumbling plans, and to top it all off, an unexpected explosion that almost trapped her in her own trap. Now, she sat in her lair, surrounded by the wreckage of her shattered inventions, her breath short and pulse racing. Her mind, always a whirlwind, now felt like a hurricane of uncontrollable voices and thoughts.

The laughter of her imaginary "friends" echoed in her head, growing louder, mocking her. "Failed again, Jinx. You always fail." She pressed her hands against her temples, squeezing as if she could silence the voices. But the laughter wouldn’t stop, and the crushing weight of loneliness and failure bore down on her.

You approached cautiously, knowing that Jinx in this state was a minefield. But you also knew you couldn’t leave her alone in her internal storm. "Jinx," you called softly, keeping your voice low and calm. "I’m here, sweets."

She didn’t respond at first, her body tense like a spring about to snap. But as you drew closer, her bright blue eyes, wide and wild, met yours with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Why? Why do you keep coming back? Don’t you get it? I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me like this."

"I’m not here to judge you," you replied gently, sitting down next to her without encroaching too much on her space. "I’m here because I care. Because I know that sometimes, even the strongest people need a breather. And there’s nothing wrong with that."

She let out a bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm. "A breather? You think I can just... breathe and everything will be fine? That’s not how my head works. It’s... broken. Everything’s broken."

Your eyes softened at the pain in her words, the self-loathing and anger intertwining dangerously. Without much thought, you reached out, lightly touching her hand, hoping the physical contact might ground her somehow.

"Maybe you can’t fix everything right away," you said softly, "but at least you’re not alone in this boat. I’m on board with you, and I’m not getting off, even if we hit an iceberg." You joked to lighten the tense atmosphere.

She looked at your hand on hers, and for a moment, it seemed like she would pull away. But instead, her trembling fingers closed around yours, with a grip that betrayed just how desperately she needed something—someone—to understand her.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’m a mess. Everything I touch... I ruin."

"Because you’re more than your mistakes," you said, squeezing her hand gently. "You’re strong, creative, and even if the world doesn’t understand you, I want to be here for you, to help you see that, even when everything gets tough."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice breaking as she murmured, "I don’t know if I can do it... but thank you... for not giving up on me."

You smiled softly, leaning closer to her. "I’ll never give up on you. And you know what? Let’s make a deal. Today was a bad day, but just for today, we’ll do whatever you want. How about we start with some ice cream?"

Her eyes lit up slightly, though there was still a shadow of doubt in her expression. "Ice cream? Really?"

"Serious business," you said, smiling a little more. "Pick your favorite flavor. We’ll go get it, and then we can do whatever you want. You can draw, launch rockets, blow things up—whatever makes you feel better."

"Can I dye your hair blue?" she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes hopeful.

"Anything but that," you corrected, not quite understanding her obsession with wanting to dye your hair.

She burst out laughing, pressing a hard kiss to your cheek. "Just kidding, hon. I love everything about you, even your boring dark hair."

"Hey!" you playfully patted her shoulder.

Suddenly, her smile faded again, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

"But what if everything keeps going wrong?"

"Then I’ll be here to pick up the pieces with you," you said, gently stroking her hand. "You’re not alone, sweets. Not today, not any day."

She launched herself into your arms, hugging you tightly, her body trembling slightly. "Thank you..." she whispered against your neck, clinging to you as if you were her anchor in a storm. And in that moment, you knew the only thing that mattered was her feeling your presence, your unwavering support.

Vi’s mind was still trapped in the ring, replaying the final moments of that crucial fight. She had bet everything on it—her money, her pride, her reputation. Everything hung by a thread, and she had lost. The cheers had faded, leaving only the echo of failure resonating in her head.

She limped back to her hideout, her knuckles bloodied and her jaw clenched. Dropping onto the worn-out sofa, she let out a frustrated growl, covering her face with a hand as she tried to contain the fury and humiliation. She had risked so much, and now it was all gone.

The whispers of her defeat spread like wildfire. You knew Vi wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, nor to ask for help. So, with a heart full of concern, you went to find her, worried about her state.

The door creaked open as you stepped inside. "Vi," you called gently, finding her on the couch, shoulders tense and gaze fixed on the floor. You approached cautiously and sat on the floor in front of her, your chin resting on your hands as you looked at her intently. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t need your pity," she snapped, her voice sharp but laced with vulnerability. "I’m fine. Just... need a moment."

"Vi," you said softly, "it’s just one loss. You’re incredible in the ring, babe, but you can’t expect to win every time. Besides, we learn more from our mistakes than from our victories. It’s okay."

"No, it’s not okay," she shot back, finally lifting her head to meet your gaze, her blue eyes filled with frustration. "I bet everything on that fight. Everything. And now I have nothing."

"That’s why I’m here," you responded, sitting beside her and gently taking her bloodied hand in yours, inspecting it with care. "You don’t have to carry this alone. Let me help you."

"I don’t want your help," she protested, trying to pull her hand away, but you held on firmly. "I don’t need saving. I can handle this."

"Vi, don’t be stubborn," you chided, your voice firm yet warm. "I care about you, and I’m not going to stand by while you drown over something we can fix together."

Her gaze softened, a mix of wounded pride and unspoken gratitude in her eyes. "I can’t take your money," she muttered, looking down again. "It’s not fair to you."

"Babe, if the roles were reversed, I know you’d do the same for me," you reminded her. "This isn’t about fairness or debt. It’s about caring for someone I love."

The last word hung in the air, making Vi look up again. "You... love me?" she whispered, as if it was something she hadn’t allowed herself to hear before.

"Love you? I’m crazy about you, woman!" you admitted with a chuckle, gently squeezing her hand. "And because of that, I’m going to help you through this. Take the money, just this once. It’s not weakness to accept help, Vi. It’s strength to know when you need someone."

She let out a deep sigh, her body relaxing slightly as the tension began to ease. "Alright," she murmured finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I’ll take your help... just this once."

"That’s all I needed to hear," you said, smiling softly as you caressed her hand. "We’ll get through this, together."

Vi looked at you, and for the first time that night, a faint smile curved her lips. "Thank you," she said, leaning toward you. Her hand suddenly slid to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze.

You looked at her, a mix of confusion and amusement on your face. She just shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What? It’s my way of saying thanks," Vi defended, following it up with a loud slap.

Laughing, you climbed onto her lap, leaning in close to her mouth, "Well, if I’d known your gratitude was this charming, I’d hope for favors more often."

Vi leaned in and kissed you, a tender kiss that spoke of gratitude and something deeper, needing no words. "I love you," she murmured against your lips.

"And I love you," you whispered, your lips still brushing hers.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn's office was silent, the only sound breaking the stillness was the soft scratch of her pencil against paper as she reviewed the reports that had come in. It had been a particularly difficult day for her. The weight of the decisions she'd had to make hung heavily on her shoulders, and her mind couldn't stop replaying the latest case she had been handling. Even though she tried to maintain her composure, you knew Caitlyn wasn't invincible.

You approached cautiously, gently tapping on the door before stepping inside. "Cait," you called softly, seeing her immersed in her work, her eyes glued to the desk, but her rigid posture betrayed her exhaustion.

She looked up and forced a smile. "Don’t worry, everything’s under control," she said, her voice slightly tenser than usual.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched her with concern. "I know you're working hard, Cait, but this isn’t just about work, is it?"

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing as if fighting herself not to admit what was clearly troubling her. "It’s nothing. Just... tough cases. Nothing you need to worry about."

You knew her too well. Something wasn’t right. Caitlyn always maintained her facade of strength, never showing vulnerability, but you knew even she had limits. You decided to step closer, gently removing the papers from her hands and sitting on her desk, right in front of her, catching her off guard. Her hands instinctively found your thighs, her fingers pressing into your skin as a silent sign of her pent-up stress.

"You're not doing this alone tonight, Cait," you told her firmly. "I know you feel the pressure, but you don’t have to carry it all by yourself."

She tried to smile, but the gesture only highlighted her fatigue. "I can't afford to show weakness. Everyone expects me to have the answers."

"That’s precisely what makes you human," you replied softly, cradling her face and appreciating her delicate features. "The burden of leadership, the tough decisions... it can’t all rest on you. If you need a break, you’ll take one. If you need to talk, I’m here."

Caitlyn remained silent, her gaze now locked onto yours, as if considering your words for the first time. You could see her defenses slowly crumbling, her breathing easing into a calmer rhythm. "Sometimes I feel like no one understands... how hard it is to keep everything together, always being the one expected to know what to do."

"I understand," you said, gently holding the hand that gripped your thigh. "And you don’t always have to have all the answers, Cait. It’s okay to feel lost. You can lean on me for these things and anything else."

She didn’t speak for a long moment, simply watching you, and for once, her face displayed a vulnerability she rarely showed. Finally, she sighed, letting the tension in her face melt away.

"I know," she murmured, almost as a confession. "Sometimes it’s just hard not to feel like a burden."

"You’re never a burden to me," you assured her, leaning in and wrapping your arms around her, your fingers tenderly running through her hair. She responded with a soft sigh of relief. "You’re the strongest person I know, Cait. And that strength doesn’t make you invulnerable. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You carry so much responsibility and expectation, and you handle it as best you can. You can share that with me too, love. I’m not in your life just to enjoy your company and admire your beautiful face."

With an intense gaze, Caitlyn gently squeezed your hand, displaying a rare tenderness. "Thank you," she whispered, her tone much softer than usual. "Thank you for this. For always being there when I need it. For knowing what I need when I don’t even know myself."

You moved a little closer and, without thinking, kissed her forehead, a warm and comforting gesture. "I’ll always be here, Cait. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to rest in your presence. And although the day's worries wouldn't vanish immediately, there was something about that small gesture, that silent connection between you two, that made her feel less alone. She knew that, no matter what, she would always have a refuge in you.

Jayce

The door creaked open, and instantly, the tension that Jayce carried with him filled the room like an unwelcome guest. He stood in the doorway, his figure worn down as if each step of his day had chipped away at his strength. His face was a canvas of frustration and exhaustion, the lines of weariness on his forehead barely hidden by his tousled hair. The warm light of home contrasted sharply with the cold night air, but even the comforting ambiance seemed powerless against the heavy burden he bore.

Without a word, you moved towards him, your presence a sanctuary in the storm he was weathering. You gently took his cold hands in yours and led him to the couch, where he sank down with a deep, weary sigh. The weight of the day clung to him, a cloak of responsibility and fatigue. He barely acknowledged you as you spoke.

"Rough day?" Your voice was gentle, laced with concern.

Jayce exhaled sharply, his exhaustion evident as he turned his head to you. "More than you can imagine." His tone was rough, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Viktor and I... the experiment in the lab was a disaster. Then, the Council meeting... a complete mess. I’m not even sure how I made it back here tonight." His voice cracked for a moment, followed by a bitter laugh. "And tomorrow? I have to give that damned speech to the entire city. I haven’t even started writing it."

The air felt thick, laden with everything he couldn't put into words. You squeezed his hand, holding it with a tenderness that cut through the fog of his mind. "Breathe, Jayce. You don’t have to solve everything at once. One step at a time."

Instinctively, you sat behind him, guiding him until his back rested against your chest. You began to massage his shoulders, feeling the tension slowly seep from his muscles. Each movement of your fingers seemed to ease his burdens, though his sighs suggested the thoughts still swirled in his mind.

"I’ll help you with the speech," you offered softly. "We’ll write it together. You don’t have to face it all alone."

Jayce closed his eyes briefly, as if clinging to your words to prevent drowning in his thoughts. "But... it all depends on me. If I screw this up, the consequences are massive. I can’t afford to fail." His voice broke, and he sat up abruptly, anxiety gripping him once more.

"It’s just a speech, Jayce. It doesn’t define you." You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding him from behind. "What matters most to me is that it doesn’t destroy you. The city needs you, yes. But you need yourself too."

A long sigh escaped his chest, a release of some of the weight he'd been carrying. "How do you stay so calm through all of this? How do you have the patience to listen to my problems over and over?" His tone softened, a realization of what your presence meant to him.

"Because I love you, you big lug. And because I respect you," you said without hesitation. "Now... first things first. Dinner. I made your favorite." You whispered in his ear, the warmth of your embrace surrounding him, offering a sliver of peace. "Then, I’ll draw you a bath. You need to relax, to stop thinking about everything for a while. We’ll have dinner together, and afterward, we’ll stay up as long as you need. I’ll help with the speech. And if you need to rehearse all night, we will. The important thing is you’re not facing it alone. I’m here, Jayce, because I know how much this means to you."

Jayce let the silence hang for a moment, absorbing your words, your support the anchor he desperately needed. Slowly, he turned to look at you, his face finally showing signs of easing. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, a small pout forming on his lips.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my spoiled giant baby," you teased with a soft laugh, cupping his face with care.

Jayce chuckled, a low, grateful sound that was music to your ears, and you hugged him tighter, feeling the anxiety that had gripped him start to dissipate. "Can we stay like this a little longer?" he asked quietly, his tone vulnerable, more human than ever.

"Of course, love," you whispered. "There’s no rush tonight."

And there, between tender laughs and promises of unwavering support, time seemed to pause. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the warmth of home, and the certainty that, no matter what the next day brought, you would face it together.

Ekko

The sound of gears grinding and tools sparking filled Ekko's workshop, a familiar symphony that usually brought him a sense of calm. But today, the rhythm was frantic, almost as if he believed that focusing on the intricate mechanical details could help him outrun the weight pressing down on his heart. It wasn’t working.

"Ekko, what’s wrong?" Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the tension hanging thick in the air. You could sense something was off, not just from the hurried way he moved but from the pallor that had taken over his face in the past few hours.

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers continued their precise dance over the wires and components, but there was a distant look in his eyes, a clear sign that his mind was far from the task at hand. Finally, he looked up, and though he tried to hide it, you could see the frustration and pain etched into his features.

"Things are... out of control," he admitted, his voice heavy. "The people of Zaun keep dying, and we can’t do anything about it. The illnesses are spreading, the air is becoming unbreathable, and the solutions... they seem further away than ever. How am I supposed to lead them when I have nothing to offer?"

His question lingered in the air, a cry of desperation in the stillness. Ekko had borne the weight of leading the Firelights since their inception. It was his strength, his refuge, yet also his greatest burden. Every day, he witnessed more of his people falling victim to the oppression and the harsh realities of Zaun, the toxic air swallowing those he cared about, and the seeming futility of their efforts gnawed at his resolve. What could one do when everything seemed stacked against them?

"Ekko," you approached him, gently taking his hands in yours. "Listen to me. I know what you're thinking. I know it feels like everything is collapsing, like there’s no way out. But you're not alone in this. You have the Firelights, and you have me. Caitlyn Kiramman might be able to help with this problem."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, confused. He knew Caitlyn, as an Enforcer, symbolized the oppressive system that had kept Zaun in misery, but he also knew you didn’t speak lightly. You must have had a plan.

"I don’t trust Piltover," Ekko muttered, his tone firm. "Or their damn Enforcers. How am I supposed to ask someone like Caitlyn for help? After everything they’ve done to us?"

"I know," you said, gently stroking his hands to calm him, "but hear me out. You're not just asking Caitlyn for help. You’re asking the person who owes me a few favors. Trust me. I think we can secure some supplies, maybe some of the medicines we need, at least to keep us going for a while. Something to help the Firelights keep fighting. Don’t see it as surrendering, Ekko; it’s a step towards giving us a real chance to make our voices heard."

For a moment, Ekko stared at the ground, lost in thought. It was clear he struggled to trust anyone outside his circle, especially someone like Caitlyn, who embodied Piltover’s oppressive power. But your words resonated with him, and for the first time that day, something inside him eased slightly.

"Maybe you’re right," he finally said, his voice low, as if only partially convinced. "But this... it can’t just be words. We need to do something real, something that actually makes a difference."

"We will," you assured him with a soft smile, trying to instill a bit of hope. "Together, step by step. Let’s start by talking to Caitlyn and see what we can secure. I don’t know how, but I believe we’ll make it happen."

Ekko looked at you, and for a moment, everything in his expression changed. The usual anger gave way to a mixture of gratitude and, perhaps, a hint of relief. He was exhausted, but the idea that not everything was lost gave him a tiny spark of hope.

"Thank you, babe," he murmured, his voice softer than before. "I don’t know how you do it. You always know what to say."

"That’s because I’ve learned how to deal with your stubborn, grumpy self," you said with a light laugh. "Now, how about we take a stroll through the city? Maybe a few hours of disconnecting will help."

A trace of a smile appeared on his face, though still tinged with fatigue. "What? Are you planning to make me forget all this by tagging the walls with graffiti?"

"Exactly," you responded with a mischievous grin. "That way, at least for a while, we can forget the world and do whatever we want."

Ekko finally gave in, his soft laugh filling the air as he grabbed his hoverboard. "You know, that sounds like a great idea. Let’s go before I change my mind."

And as you wandered the streets of Zaun, the weight on his shoulders didn’t entirely vanish, but for a while, Ekko could relax, paint his frustrations on the walls, and most importantly, remember that he wasn’t alone. Sometimes, all it took was stepping back and breathing, even if just for a moment.

Silco

The air in Silco's office was heavy, thick with the unmistakable scent of Zaun: metal, sweat, and burnt chemicals. Yet beyond those familiar odors, the room was saturated with the tension of recent events. The sting of failure clung to him, unsettling the usually composed mastermind. His meticulously laid plans had unraveled, and while his followers proclaimed loyalty, cracks in their devotion were becoming apparent. Zaun teetered on the brink of internal rebellion. The Firelights, the Enforcers, even the streets themselves seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

But what truly unsettled him, what gnawed at his very core, was the ever-present specter of betrayal, the fear of losing those who mattered most. In these moments, when chaos felt imminent, you chose to enter.

Silco stood with his back to you, staring out at the city’s dim lights through the window. You could sense the disquiet within him. His silhouette was somber, almost ghostly, with one hand resting on the glass. He seemed like a man who had lost faith in everything around him. Without hesitation, you approached him with a calmness that contrasted starkly with the storm raging within him.

"Silco," you began, your voice gentle but resolute. You refused to let his fragility consume him, not now. "We've faced this before. You don’t have to bear it all alone."

At first, he remained silent. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you could tell he was fighting a battle he wasn’t ready to share. Yet, you knew that struggle all too well. Beneath his layers of hatred and ambition lay a man as broken and vulnerable as any other.

Finally, he turned toward you, his eyes, usually burning with disdain, now dulled. "You don’t understand," he said, his voice low, roughened by a restrained fury. "This isn’t like before. It’s not just about winning anymore. It’s about maintaining control, about not losing everything. If I fail now, all we’ve built will be for nothing. What’s looming isn’t just a challenge—it’s war, and I need to be ready."

You stepped closer, studying the exhaustion etched into his face. His words were a glimpse into the turmoil that consumed him. "You will be ready. We will be ready. But isolating yourself in this downward spiral won’t help."

Silco’s gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability surfaced. He appeared more human, less the monster Zaun feared. But his pride fought to keep that part of him hidden.

"I don’t need your pity," he said, though his words lacked conviction, a feeble defense against the truth you were unveiling. "Spare me the empty reassurances."

"They’re not empty," you replied, your voice steady. "I know what you’re feeling. This isn’t just about controlling Zaun. This is about you."

A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken truths. Silco’s brow furrowed, not in anger but in contemplation. "It’s a war I can’t win. The city hates me, even my own daughter—"

"Don’t speak of her as if you’re some monster," you interrupted gently but firmly. "Jinx needs you, and you need her. This war isn’t just against Piltover, Silco. It’s against yourself. And if you keep fighting it alone, you will lose."

The room was still, the weight of your words settling in the air. Silco’s expression softened, touched by a realization he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t accustomed to being seen so clearly, to having his inner battles laid bare.

You took another step forward and, without allowing him time to withdraw, you took his hand. "You don’t have to do this alone," you whispered. "Not now, not ever."

For a brief moment, conflict flickered across his features, but then it happened—he relented. It wasn’t the surrender of a defeated man but of someone willing to trust, if only for a moment, that there was more to life than his solitary fight.

"I don’t know why you persist in keeping me upright," he murmured, his voice softer, laced with weariness. "Sometimes… sometimes it feels like too much."

"It’s not," you assured him without hesitation. "We’ll face it together. I won’t let you fall."

Silco said nothing more, but he didn’t pull away as you held his hand more firmly, a silent acceptance of your comfort. And for the first time in a long while, the cold steel of his demeanor cracked, if only for a fleeting second.

Mel

Mel's balcony was as sleek and cold, a testament to her meticulous nature. The soft glow of lanterns cast a gentle light over the cityscape, illuminating the endless sea of Piltover's lights below. Yet, amidst the serenity of the night, an unseen storm brewed within her. Tonight, her mind wasn't consumed with political maneuvers or strategic plans. Something far deeper gnawed at her: the weight of her ambitions had begun to manifest in ways she hadn't anticipated, threatening to fracture the carefully constructed facade of her life.

She stood by the railing, gazing out at the city that never slept, as if the twinkling lights could somehow chase away the growing void in her heart. You could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the railing a little too tightly. She was a picture of composed authority, yet the subtle cracks in her armor betrayed the turmoil within.

"Mel..." Your voice, soft yet firm, broke the silence. You approached from behind, your footsteps light but deliberate. You didn't need to be loud; she had always been attuned to your presence, as if you existed in a part of her consciousness she couldn't ignore.

Mel turned slowly, her face a mask of unyielding calm, but her eyes... her eyes told a different story. They held a flicker of vulnerability, a silent plea she wasn't ready to voice. "What is it?" Her voice was cool, almost detached, but you knew better. The detachment was a shield, one she had crafted over years of political warfare.

"What’s wrong?" you asked again, your gaze unwavering as you closed the distance between you. You could sense her struggle, her reluctance to admit that something was amiss. "I can see it, Mel. You're not okay."

She sighed—a sound so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of the city. It wasn't frustration; it was the exhaustion of someone who had carried too much for too long. "It’s Piltover. My role in the Council... I can't keep up with it all," she admitted, her words slow, measured, as if each one was a reluctant confession. "I’ve been playing this game for so long, but the pieces are moving in directions I can’t control. And..."

Her voice faltered, and she didn't need to continue. You understood. This wasn't about Piltover alone. It was about her, about the toll her ambitions had taken on her soul. Here, on this balcony, she wasn't the indomitable Mel Medarda. She was a woman, weary and yearning for something she couldn't quite name.

"Mel, not everything needs to be under control. Not everything needs to be perfect," you said gently, stepping closer. "You can handle what’s happening in Piltover, but you don’t have to carry it all on your own."

Her eyes darted away, as if looking at you would make her break. She was so used to being the one in control, to bearing the burdens without complaint. "And if I fail... what then? What’s left after all of this? I've given everything to Piltover… everything."

Her voice trembled with a sadness that cut through you. Despite her steely exterior, you knew there was a part of her that longed for something more—connection, peace, perhaps even love. But the world she had built around herself left little room for such indulgences.

"If you fail, Mel, you’ll have the chance to start over. You don’t have to keep fighting for something that's slipping through your fingers," you said, your voice steady as you reached for her. "Sometimes, letting go of what we fear losing the most is what sets us free."

Mel's eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a vulnerability she rarely showed. She wasn’t used to conversations like this, to empathy. But in your gaze, she found something she hadn’t seen in a long time: safety, support, and perhaps... the promise of something different. Something better.

"I know it’s not easy," you continued, your hand gently brushing her arm. "But you don’t have to carry the weight of Piltover alone. You have people who respect you, who admire you. There are other ways to move forward without losing yourself in the process."

The silence that followed was thick, but not oppressive. It was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for her response. For a moment, Mel said nothing. Then, her lips, always so carefully set in lines of authority, softened. "And if I fail… what happens to you?"

"You won’t fail," you said with a conviction that only you could have. "But even if you did, I’d be right here, helping you rebuild. Because what really matters isn’t the power or the control. What really matters is you, Mel."

For a second, she looked at you as if seeing you for the first time. The iron-willed woman everyone knew, the strategist, the leader, was now gazing at you with a newfound sense of recognition. And in that moment, she allowed herself a rare indulgence: she let her guard down.

"Maybe... maybe it’s not always about winning," she murmured, more to herself than to you. "Maybe you're right."

You smiled softly, knowing that Mel had just taken a step towards something beyond ambition—towards her humanity.

Sevika

The night had fallen with an oppressive stillness, but Sevika couldn’t find peace. The hours had dragged her into a whirlwind of stress and frustration. Each minute felt heavier than the last, and the air around her seemed thick, as if the city itself was pressing down on her chest. The decisions she had to make, the moves she had to plan, the constant need to watch over and protect her people… all of it had left her exhausted. But what weighed her down the most was the lack of control over her own life.

The shadows of the streets seemed to stretch out, enveloping her with an invisible pressure. Silco, as if things weren’t bad enough, was more erratic than ever, his paranoia brushing the edges of madness. To top it off, Jinx had played one of her twisted jokes: locking her in a room with a bomb that looked ready to explode. Sevika had been on the brink of death, only to discover that the bomb was a cruel joke, the kind only Jinx could conjure. If she had the time, she would have made sure the girl paid for it. She despised feeling vulnerable. But there was more. She had to deal with some of Silco’s men, and her day culminated with a direct punch to the face, leaving a visible mark on her otherwise stoic features.

On any other day, Sevika might have sought solace or at least retreated into the quiet of solitude, but today was different. No matter what she did, the sense of losing control gnawed at her insides. She needed to see you. She needed your presence, your calm way of looking at her and making her feel that everything, even if just for a while, would be okay.

Finally, the door creaked open. The sound of your footsteps was a balm to her weary spirit, and Sevika lifted her gaze. The damp night air lent a melancholic intensity to her eyes, now etched with fatigue and disdain. Though she tried to maintain her tough exterior, you quickly noticed the bruise marking her face.

“What happened?” Your voice, soft yet filled with concern, echoed in the room. Sevika tried to muster a smile, but it was futile.

“Just another day, you know?” she rasped, moving to lean against the table. She wasn’t about to crumble in front of you, but the exasperation in her tone was unmistakable. “Silco’s paranoid as ever. Jinx pulled one of her idiotic pranks… locked me in a room with a fake bomb about to explode. I thought I’d die there, amidst confetti and laughter. And if that wasn’t enough, one of Silco’s guys managed to land a punch on me.”

Your gaze, laced with worry and tenderness, softened instantly. You stepped forward, cupping her face gently, trying to ease the storm swirling inside her. Sevika stood still, unresponsive at first, but the hard lines of her face began to relax, even if only slightly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked, your eyes never leaving hers, your words carrying a silent concern. You knew she hated appearing weak, but it didn’t matter; you would never see her that way. Sevika closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh.

“You know I don’t like to worry you.” Her tone was sharp, but softer than before. She could feel how your warmth affected her in ways she wasn’t ready to admit, but needed more than she was willing to acknowledge.

Without missing a beat, you acted. With a small smile, you stepped back a little, creating some space to prepare something that might bring her some comfort.

“Tonight, I’m making something special for my strong and sexy warrior,” you said, a mix of tenderness and teasing in your voice. “It’s not much, but I know you’ll like it.” You headed to the kitchen, and instead of a typical meal, you decided on something you knew would make Sevika smile: a homemade chocolate cupcake, with a hint of vanilla and a soft cream topping. While the sweet treat took shape, you thought about how this small gesture might lighten the night. The smell of freshly baked chocolate began to fill the air.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a slight smile. “A cupcake?” she asked, almost playfully, though her voice held a softness rarely heard. “Am I a child needing comfort now?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling as you set the table. “Sometimes we all need something simple and sweet.” You playfully tapped her nose.

With the cupcake served and a cup of aromatic tea, the two of you sat together, letting the calm settle for a moment. As she savored the cupcake, your fingers brushed hers gently, as if that simple touch could convey something deeper. Sevika’s gaze, usually so hard and closed off, softened as it met yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost with a humility that was unlike her. “I needed this more than I thought.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said with a gentle smile, intertwining your fingers with hers.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter what was happening in the outside world. For an instant, everything else faded away. Only that small space between the two of you existed, where love and understanding felt like the answer to all the burdens Sevika carried within.

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winterarmyy · 1 year ago

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Kiss It Better

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: In which the reader refused to let Bucky go down on her lately because she's embarrassed of the chafing marks on her inner thighs.

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Words: 3.2k++

Warnings: 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, cum eating, soft fluff, not much of angst but there's sprinkles of feels, body insecurities, bucky is in love and in heat tbh, i think he is particularly unhinged and filthy in this one but hey, you tell me. idk if i need to remind y'all about this but english is not my first language so my grammar are prolly fucked. Anyway--

Inspiration: Guess who felt a little soft and decided to wear a skirt to work? Yup, that would be me. No, because I commute to work (or basically anywhere) and there is quite a distance of walking in between the journey. Note that your girl here walk fast asf (basically running at this point). And because them inner thighs ain't got no gap between them, so i got myself some blisters/chafing :') then i fell into a self-deprecating despair for the whole day and it hurts whenever i walk, at that time i just want Bucky to kiss it better. Fast forward a few days later, here we are.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

She could feel it. His burning gaze following her every move. Observing, calculating. And she knew that she must not show any signs of discomfort; not on her face nor from the slightest jolts of her hips. She must not gave him a reason to question her.

She can't.

So she continue walking around their room, back and forth from the bathroom to the wardrobe, as if every step she took was followed by a burning sensation on her skin. She momentarily stood in front of the row of clothes hanging on the rack, her back facing the bed where Bucky had been sprawling on since she went in for a shower.

Honestly, she was standing there suspiciously 'too long', as if she was choosing an outfit for a date night, when clearly she was just getting ready for bed. When she realized that, she quickly pulled out a clean set of pyjamas and walk back into the bathroom.

Bucky's eagle eyes followed her figure, disappearing behind the locked door. His lips pursed as his cogs of thoughts spins around, trying to find an answer to a question that his lover keeps avoiding but it was useless.

He can't think straight. Especially when he was undeniably famished. He had not got a taste of her his sweet pussy for about 2 weeks now and he was quite literally about lose his fucking mind.

When his sweetgirl refuses to go further than kissing and making out, of course he obliged. She has every right to 'no' and he respects her wishes. Then it happened again the next day. And the next. Then again, and again.

Normally, people would've assumed that maybe she was on her period, and she is not comfortable having any sexual intimacy when menstruating. But, Bucky can tell that, that was not it. Because first of all, it was way too early for that time of the month, he knows her schedule.l very well. Second of all, he would've smell the blood if she was on her period.

Most of his senses are enhanced after all.

So, why was she avoiding it?

Bucky's is completely fine if sex was not something she wanted to do, but not even letting him eat her out? Now that's concerning. At least for him.

Because he needs her. He needs to suck on that needy little clit of hers, make it wet and swollen. He needs to lap on that sweet juices when she cums on his tongue.

Fuck. He's getting all work up now, thinking about it.

He swore that if this keeps going on, one of these days he might just spread his legs and fuck his fist on their bed while she's tied on a chair on the other side of the room. Maybe forcing her; seducing her, to watch his desperate cock become wet and messy would give her a clue of what he is feeling now.

Absolutely needy and deprived of that pretty little cunt of hers.

He was quite distracted with the filfthy thoughts until he heard the clicking sound of the bathroom door unlocked.

As she walked towards the bed, Bucky felt like his lungs stopped providing oxygen through his body, "Pretty." His eyes sparkled affection as the voice in his head echoed his thoughts. It wasn't that he have not seen her in those pyjamas before, he had. Many times in fact. The very same lavender set with tiny little cartoon cats printed all over the fabric.

The same ones that she wore when she came rushing to his side on one of those sleepless night. The time when she hold him close, distracting him away from the nightmare by asking the most random question of "You know, Bucky... These cats supposedly have the same expression, except for one. Do want to try and find it?"

He found it. It was near the hem of her right sleeve. And by that time, his nightmare was no where near his mind, the next thing he knew, he fell right back to sleep with her in his arms. It was his favourite pair of pyjamas that she ever worn. Nothing compares.

A loving smile unconsciously appeared on his face when his lady threw a sweet smile at him as she walked toward the bed, "My baby's so pretty." He thought.

The grin on his lips lasted, but not for long. Especially when he saw the tiny frown on her face, the faltered steps and when he heard that brief sound of a painful hiss slipped out of her lips.

So the moment she sat down on her side of the bed, Bucky already had his hands on her. Arms instantaneously wrapped around her waist, before effortlessly pulling her back onto his sturdy chest.

She giggled gleefully from his sudden rush of affection and that surely managed to trigger a chuckle out of Bucky. He hums and proceed to purr in crook of her neck, "What's wrong, baby?"

She could feel his throat rumbling at the back of her neck, "Did he notice it?". Her heart beat ever so slightly picked up its' pace but she planned to act like opposite of it, "Hmm? What do mean 'what's wrong'?" She asked.

Bucky can hear the change tempo coming from within her ribcage, he knew something was wrong, "I just want to know how are you feeling." He pressed a long and tender kiss on the shoulder.

The warmth of his breath tickled her skin, "Now? Hmm. I feel very loved." She smiled dreamily as she closes her eyes.

Bucky left out a brief laugh at her response, this cheeky little bunny, "That's true, but how are you really feeling, hmm? Like physically?" He urges softly.

She thought about it for awhile; contemplating whether she should just tell him the truth or proceed to act like she okay. Well, she chose the latter, "Hmmm physically. In this position? Very comfy." She wiggled her body back into him, closing the non-existent gap between their bodies and gripping Bucky's arms around her a little tight.

Though her plushy ass was rubbing against his crotch just nicely, but the former winter soldier was not going to let that distract him from his mission. He needs to know what she's hiding behind that sweet smile, "Doll..." his voice was stern and she knew he was not having it.

His calling was only met with silence when she didn't reply verbally. Since she was looking down, Bucky cannot see the frown on face and the wobbling worries in her eyes. But he did picked up on the anxiousness of her heart; beating faster by the second.

"I..." her voice cracked at the first word she said, and Bucky knew he fucked up. He swiftly maneuvered her body to sit on his lap, facing him. His metal hand craddled her soft cheek, and his flesh ones gently caresses her back, "Hey hey hey, doll, what's wrong? Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pressure you." His voice was laced with panic.

When she only had her gaze down, Bucky tenderly coaxed her, "Bunny, look at me." His hand guided her by the chin and when they made eye contact, he apologized again, "I'm sorry. I just want you to feel better. Forgive me." He leaned in a planted a kiss on her forehead. Then, her nose. And her cheeks, all over her face, muttering his words of apology.

She felt bad that Bucky apologized for something that was clearly not his fault. She's the problem in this situation. Her negativity, her insecurity was what drove her away from Bucky for the past 2 weeks. She knew that. And she knew it wasn't fair to him.

Knowing Bucky, he's probably blaming himself for her actions. And she didn't want that. She decided to tell him the truth, "I just..." Anxiety runs through her veins when she thought about it again. Would she be able to handle it if Bucky reacted negatively to her truth? Probably, not. "Just... promise that you won't be disgusted by it... Or get the ick from it."

Bucky frowned in confusion, "I don't even know what 'get the ick' means but I promise." He swore.

She let out a short laugh at his comment, causing him to smile along. Seeing how loving his gaze was, it gave her the strength to confess. She started with explaining how she had been busy at work this month. With launch of the new product, and her being one of th product manager, she was obligated to visit the branches around New York.

Bucky listened to words attentively, at first he thought maybe she was trying to say that she's been stressed lately. But then she started to explained about how she had been wearing skirts to work most of the days, because it was one of the their campaign's rules and Bucky does not think that 'stress' was what this would conclude to.

Nevertheless, he didn't lose his attention.

"But basically what I'm trying to say is..." She took a deep breath before continuing, "It's just... My inner thighs are chafed..." her voice was barely audible at the end of the sentence but Bucky caught it perfectly.

He thought about it for awhile before asking, "So, you mean to say that you got blisters on your inner thighs?" He wanted to confirm that his understanding was accurate.

She looked down in shame as she nodded to his question.

Bucky responded by pulling her closer, and kissed her forehead, "Aww doll. Is this why you've been avoiding me? Because it hurts? Why didn't you tell me earlier? I could've helped you. I mean I could help apply some meds or--"

Horrified at the idea of him seeing marks; the literal reminder of how fat she is caused her to blurt, "No!" She pushed Bucky away, eyes widen in horrid.

"No?" Bucky frowned quizzically at her intense reaction.

Realizing what she just had just done, she composed herself, and spoke, "It's... it's not a pretty sight. And I don't want to show it to you. Plus, if my thighs are a little thinner than they are now. Then, this wouldn't happen. If only these thighs are not like... fucking fat as they are we wouldn't have to go through this. And you wouldn't need to hear all this. You wouldn't---"

Bucky knew that once she was in the state of insecurity, she self-deprecate herself like she was less worthy than the goddesss that she is. So, instead of arguing with her, he simply intercepted her rambling, "Show me."

She stopped the seemingly endless word-vomit, and titled her head to the side, "Huh? No. Bucky I just said--"

Bucky grabbed her by the waist and effortlessly lifted her off his lap and onto the bed, caging her below him, "And I said... Show. Me." His tone was more like an order rather than a request.

She didn't dare to defy him, when his gaze was as rigid as they were now, so pulled her pants off; slowly, reluctantly. When the pants was at the last inches before it's completely off, Bucky took control and quite literally ripped it off from her.

The sudden action resulted to her body needing to hide itself from his darken eyes. Her thighs clammed together as a whine slipped from her lips. The friction of her wounds brushing against each other was burning her delicate skin.

Bucky quickly softens when he heard her pained voice, he pushed himself off from her and kneeled on the bed before her. "Doll, please..." His hands gently squeezes the side of her thighs as he pleads, "...Let me see."

Slowly spreading her thighs apart, Bucky's eyes are now focusing on the red marks on her skin. His thumbs absentmindedly traces the area around the broken skin. He was so concentrated that he didn't say a word. And that only triggered her insecurity that she started to rambled something about how she will start going in a diet and she'll add more intense leg workout in her routine.

But her voice was only a muffled strings of incoherent sounds in Bucky's ears when he finally processed everything that happened from 2 weeks ago until now.

The realization hit him like a high speed train with a broken break system. Did she really turned him down because of this? Did she really starve him out because of this? Bucky let out a growl of disapproval when he abruptly pulled her by her calves, forcing her hips to lift from the bed. She yelped in surprised but she saw the look on his face, "You..." he rasped.

Bucky placed her legs on his shoulders, letting it daggle on his back as he palmed sides of her thighs. He then, proceed to leave trails of kiss on her inner thigh, avoiding the irritating wounds on her skin, "You deprived me of my sweet little pussy because you think this..." he flattened his tongue and nibble on her softness of her inner thighs, "...would turn me off? That these thick, soft thighs that I love so much would bother me?"

He planted a delicate kiss on the marks before, "Well, guess what bunny?. You're absolute wrong. In fact, it's quite the opposite." His lips travelled upwards until it found her core. Bucky's nose flared at the scent of her arousal, "And oh my sweet babydoll, I'm going to eat your pussy until understand that. Then, I'm gonna do it some more because I am fucking starving." He pressed a firm kiss on her clothed pussy, causing the cotton to soak the juices that leaks from her hole.

"Look at that. Does your needy pussy wants some pampering too, hmm?" She could see the lust dripping down his ocean blues; the same ones that were usually bright but now were now noticeably darker.

Bucky's finger traces the slit of her pussy, rubbing her over the fabric of her panties, making patch of wetness spread even more. "Yeah? Does she want me to kiss it better? Make her feel good?"

She moaned softly to his touch, "Please."

That was all it took for Bucky to rip her panties apart as if it was made out of paper. "Fuck, there she is. My sweet pussy." He brought his fingers over, widened the folds of her pussy. Even with minimal lighting, it was enough to show him the glistening pink flesh of leaking cunt, twitching and needing his tongue to explore her insides.

He was hungry of course, just simply looking at her pussy had made his mouth water and impossible for him to resist the urge of putting his mouth on the pretty little thing. "Hmm,," a sharp cry escaped from her lips as he blew on her little twitching nub. There was this glint in his eyes as he watched her try to buck up, cunt helplessly clenching around nothing.

Before she could beg for him, Bucky's tongue dipped in between folds. Pointed at first, from the entrance of her pussy up to her clit. The tip of his tongue swirl around the aching nub. A breath caught in her throat when Bucky repeat the same move but this time he flattened his tongue.

And then he does it again and again.

Bucky, is generally the larger man compared to anyone. He is tall and beefy. But he is especially big when he's in between her legs, gently devouring her wet pussy. Slow and long licks were his favorite, it allowed him to savor the taste of her. Always so sweet and he couldn't get enough of it.

With every flick Bucky's tongue assulting to her swollen bud, she couldn’t help but pull on sheets behind her, needy moans leaves her lips every time he explored her, teases her. Her body cannot stay still when the pleasure was taking her higher. But it was not a problem for Bucky to control. Whenever she tries to close her thighs together, he stopped her. He didn't want to irritate her wounds or cause any pain, so he kept pushing her thigh open as he nuzzle his face into her pussy.

"Ahhh fuck ,, that feels so good, Bucky!" She moaned his name as the overwhelming feeling of his wet and soft tongue gliding and rubbing on her core, guiding her to heaven.

And the salacious squelching noises to fill the room as Bucky laps and sucks on her clit. She was so wet that he could just shove his fingers up in her hole but he didn't. He won't. After so many days not tasting her, he want to only use his mouth.

Though the man barely spoke during these times, he’d much rather keep his mouth occupied with drinking up her juices or suckling on her cute little clit. But when he does. Fuck. Does he spill the most unholy things.

Bucky momentarily detached himself from her and rasped, "Gonna cum, babydoll? Come on, give it to me. Let me drink and lick your cum after." His metal fingers quickly finds her clit, swiftly started to deliciously rub it; just the way he knew she liked it. It felt so good that her tongued lolled out her mouth out of pure pleasure.

"Yeah, bunny. You're gonna let me clean you up with tongue so nice, so that you can make the same mess again and again. Cum in mouth, babydoll. Cum for me"

He delved right back where is mouth belongs, licking her clit into his mouth just to wrap his lips around the pretty pink bundle of nerves sucking it harshly. She whined needily her hips started to move on its own accord, searching for more friction of his tongue, “ahh ahh! hmmmm,, s-so fucking good! ahhh,, So close!” she was seeing stars in her hazy vision from how good and dirty she felt.

Bucky's eyes almost rolled back when let out a groan of satisaction against her spread out cunt; he can feel that she was going to cum and want her to do it with his mouth latched on her.

And cum she did, moments after she couldn’t help but squeal as her back arched from the bed, grinding herself on his tongue. Bucky growled at the streams of cream squirting out of her throbbing cunt right into his mouth, down to his throat.

So sweet and warm and addictive.

While her whole body was still shaking from the aftermath of the mindblowing orgasm, Bucky continued to lick and lap on her leaking pussy, slurping and suckling every bit of cream she had blessed him with.

Yet he was still hungry.

She mewled when Bucky started to suck on her clit again and when she looked over at him, he momentarily pulled away, "oh doll, did you forget? I'm not going to stop any time soon. So just lay there, look pretty for me and let me enjoy this sweet little pussy."

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Have you ever gotten your inner thighs chafed? Anyway, thanks for spending your time to reading my work! Leave your thoughts behind, I'd love to read them ♡

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky smut #bucky fluff #avenger!bucky #bucky x reader smut

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leonawriter · 3 months ago

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Who Killed Goro Akechi?

Titled thus because I was just going through the scene right after Mementos merges with reality, after they've failed to defeat the grail, and "Igor" tells Akira that he's lost the game.

And I'm like, ok, I've seen this a fair few times before. I know the script.

But then I was paying attention, and I just went WAIT WAIT WAIT HANG ON A MINUTE HERE.

"In accordance to the game's rules, the defeated must pay a price."

"Your life is forfeit."

"I sentence you to be executed."

And I was just... hang on. There's been more than one player in the game. If we go back to the earlier lines, "Igor" also says "You were mean to bring change to mankind, but it seems that was too much for you."

In a sense, all of this could also be applied to Goro Akechi.

Akechi was also forcing mankind to react and to change, albeit via chaos and uncertainty rather than encouraging people to stand on their own two feet the way the Phantom Thieves were trying to.

And what happens in the engine room?

Akechi loses the game.

He realises that Akira and the PT fooled him, and when he tries to get the better of them one last time, he fails. We often talk about how after he was defeated he "almost went over to their side" - but isn't that another aspect of his "defeat" in Yaldabaoth's eyes? Akechi admits, effectively, that he accepts the Phantom Thieves' way of doing things over his own.

And it's here that we get Cognitive Akechi, who comes in and starts talking about how the Captain (Shido) sees him, gives him an option to rejoin (or for the PT to switch sides), and.... hm, isn't that familiar?

Here's Caroline saying "If that's what our master wishes..." with Akira having a response tree of-

-"You're going to execute me?" -"Are you serious?" -or just plain being unable to speak (he could also be unspeakably angry, but he seems far more scared than angry, here).

Next, Akira refuses to die, because he has people relying on him.

I'm reminded of how with Akechi, once he's behind that bulkhead door, if you haven't finished his confidant he'll say something to the effect of "So my final enemy is a puppet of myself, how fitting."

If you have maxed his confidant? You get Joker telling him he can't die yet, as he has a promise to fulfil ("I'll hold onto your glove") with the implication that it's something that Akechi can use as motivation to want to keep living.

In both, it's "I can't die, I have a reason to live, and that reason is at least one other person."

When the twin wardens try to "execute" Akira, now in his Joker attire as his will of rebellion has manifested, Justine says "If our master orders so... then it cannot be helped..."

I'm reminded of how Cognitive Akechi was a being of pure servitude toward his Captain (master), Shido. If the Captain willed it, he'd even die for him.

This one feels similar, because the twins were never supposed to have "execution" as part of their duties at all, and both parties were pushed into a sense of unfailing loyalty to someone who never cared for them, and who warped their duties to something wrong.

In fact, I just went back to confirm the lines for Cognitive Akechi, and-

Yup.

Top is Cognitive Akechi saying "Captain Shido's orders... He has no need for losers." and the lower one is "Igor" saying "You have lost the game."

Basically, the same lines.

To the point that...

Cognitive Akechi: "Here, I'll give you one last chance. Shoot them."

God of Control: "I shall grant you an opportunity to make a deal with me."

Both times, it's clear that this is the wrong thing to do, and in both cases, the person being offered rejects said deal entirely - Akechi by shooting the switch to activate the bulkhead door, making it impossible for his cognitive self to attack the Phantom Thieves, and Akira by denying Yaldabaoth and reaffirming his bonds with the Thieves once he's told that they're also there.

I titled the post the way I did, because the way Shido is used by Yaldabaoth, I would not be surprised if Cognitive Akechi isn't just a product of Shido's mind protecting him against threats from, say, his own attack dog, but also?

This is Yaldabaoth's way to quite literally execute the first piece he started to play with, since Goro Akechi had failed as a Trickster and had "lost the game" - and as he and cognitive Akechi both say, losers end up dead.

So the question is - who really killed Akechi? Was it Shido's cognition? Was it Yaldabaoth? And was that cognition even an original part of Shido's palace in the first place, to that extent? How much was it "appropriated" at the "right" time, here?

There are far too many coincidences for me to pass it off as such

But the highlight for me at least, is this:

In both terms of Akira and Akechi's "executions," it's their sense of thinking and feeling that "I can't die, I have a reason to live, and that reason is at least one other person" that keeps them alive. And to the point, it's what keeps Akira's sense of rebellion so strong, and against nigh insurmountable odds.

If anything, it supports the fact that with Akechi's confidant maxed, he really does live, because that, too, echoes Akira's experience in the Velvet Room not even a full month later.

#p5 stuff #goro akechi #Akira kurusu #persona 5 #p5 joker #cognitive akechi #p5 yaldabaoth #I went into the videos to do canon recap and wound up with meta #this is my life

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so-i-did-this-thing · 2 months ago

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Hello! I just wanted to say I stumbled across one of your posts and ended up looking through the trans tag in your blog for a while and idk it felt so so nice to see a middle aged trans guy just living life and being there for others who are at earlier points of their own trans related journeys, and I hope I can look as awesome as you and be as comfortable in my own skin and style and everything when I'm older.

I guess I also wanted to ask if you had any insight or advice about a couple things, if you're willing to share.. First thing is, did you ever struggle with passing but looking much younger than your age and that somewhat affecting your perception of yourself? I'm 28 and I started T 11 months ago (though at a pretty low dose because I wanted slow changes) and my face just recently started visibly shifting to a more masculine contour and I love it, but I still don't really look like a 28 year old guy.

I've always passed easily even before T but people think I'm like 18-21 max. Things were fine while I was in college (I came out at 19 so for a while my face just felt fitting enough and didn't make me feel either dysphoric or in a weird age limbo) but every year it feels more frustrating and makes me feel sort of alienated from myself including in mental ways, like I'm just a little kid who can't grow up. Like I'll never look like a "real guy" even though I can be stealth because I look like a weird teen and not like a grown up man. It's especially bad when I look at my amab younger siblings who are now also adults and see how I "should have looked" in some other life if I was cis. I guess maybe that's just another manifestation of dysphoria that I didn't have to deal with before? Did you ever experience something like that? And if yes did it get better after some years on T or how did you deal with it?

The other thing is just.. internalized transphobia. It's one thing to know things in a logical or intellectual sense but it's so hard to really feel and believe it sometimes and let go of all the awful transphobic stuff my family said to me during the first years of me being out. I just kept going anyway because I needed to be true to myself and my family basically bullying me wasn't gonna just magically change how I felt about my gender, but what it did do is put my already low confidence and self esteem (in this context regarding my gender) down on the floor. And sometimes I still just think and worry "what if they were right and I was wrong and I'll never be real and valid because of x y z", "what if I'm just delusional", "what if I'm a ridiculous freak". I know, in a way, that no I'm not. I'm just a trans person and they're just transphobes. But feelings like that just get to me sometimes and I don't really know what to do about them even nearly 10 years after coming out. Does that get better at some point? Just like you kinda stop giving a shit what people think about you in general as you get older? But how can you change those internalized views affecting what you think of yourself?

Bit nervous about asking this stuff tbh, so sorry it was so long also sorry if I worded any of it in a not so great way.

I will say though, that seeing older trans people like you does help a little bit. Just makes it feel like "hell yeah I wanna be like him when I grow up". So thank you for showing me that today ;u; (and also for inspiring me to put a little more thought and effort into my styling and fashion choices haha)

Heya, Anon! Let's see what I can cover here:

Looking young.

Oh my god, yes. I was getting carded to buy superglue and spray paint well into my late 30s (I started T at 33). When my partner first asked me out for a date, they were worried I wasn't old enough to drink yet (I was 36).

This is me 1 year on T, age 34.

Years 6 & 7 (ages 39 and 40), is when I feel I started looking older.

I feel like it's only been recently, 14 years in at 47, that I look in my 40s, and a "mature" adult. My beard finally getting full helped, as did my receding hairline. And I feel like my skin texture has toughened up enough, to where wrinkles show more.

That said, yes, it is tough and annoying to deal with. Even when people tell me I look like a particular cis man (where I actually see the resemblance, lol), when I look at us side-by-side, I feel like I'm just a pale shadow of him. I feel jealous and dysphoric, even while I'm flattered by the comparison. I wonder what I "should" look like, and it feels like something has been stolen from me. Its a roller coaster of emotions.

That feeling never really goes away, but you need to afford yourself some grace. You're going to be your own worst critic, and I guarantee you that, of many cis men you grew up with, you can probably still see the kid in them. So of course, you're going to see the kid in yourself.

But, you also just need to let time run its course. HRT is a marathon, and a lot of changes don't really settle for about 5 or 6 years.

I hate to say "enjoy it while you can" because I sure as hell bristled at being mistaken for a teenager or barely 20 when I was in my 30s. But do enjoy what you can of it. Because once you hit middle age, you're going to start dealing with a strange intersection of dysphoria and aging that I myself am still trying to navigate.

One other way I help myself get over negative feelings is to think of how differently my life would have been if I were cis. I honestly worry I would have been a worse person; even though being trans creates a lot of obstacles in my life, I feel like it's been a net gain: being able to know myself so well and help others learn about themselves.

Internalized transphobia

This got better for me with age. My epiphany was that, even over a decade into my transition, I was still softening myself for the benefit of friends and family. I was still using my gender-neutral birthname (I only recently changed it). I would call myself a "person", "guy", or "dude", instead of a "man". I dressed on the young and casual side, eschewing full-on masculine outfits like proper suits with ties.

I only recently pulled myself out of this. It still is a habit-in-progress to refer to myself as a man, even though I have always felt like one. And I've started to dress more vintage, not just because of hyper fixations, but because it's a way to lean into a presentation that is unequivocally, "this is a middle-aged man". And it's done a lot of good for my mental health.

What I'd suggest is to see if you are holding yourself back in any way wrt your gender presentation or how you talk/think about yourself. Give yourself full permission to acknowledge that you are a man, full stop. You're a young man, sure. But still a man, and a full-ass adult at that.

I hope some of this helps. Transition gives us a unique toolset for examining who we are and how we want to move through the world, and that work certainly doesn't end after finally getting on HRT. <3

#trans stuff #my face

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monsterblogging · 10 months ago

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So, it finally clicked that while the average person does in fact broadly comprehend that people are neither good nor evil - they're good and bad, and have free will - they also can't understand why some people would fully commit themselves to completely awful causes or to being a terrible person throughout their entire lives. They can't really picture how this works, because they can't imagine themselves choosing to die on a hill of Being A Terrible Person.

This void in their comprehension is where the myth of the Ontologically Evil Person is very likely to come and settle in sooner or later, because it seems to finally provide an answer that makes sense of otherwise senseless cruelty and violence. Agonizing questions like "Why would my boyfriend spend so much energy on making me feel like shit and breaking me down?" "Why would this historical figure decided to kill all of these people?" and "Why would this guy go start a cult and murder everyone?" are finally given an answer, and the formerly-bewildered person finally has some peace of mind.

Because of this, the myth of the Ontologically Evil Person is incredibly hard to get out of people's minds once it takes root. For one thing, bad ideas are like bad habits; it doesn't really work to tell people to Just Stop With Them, because without something else to take its place? They're going to fall back on it.

And if somebody's been traumatized from abuse? The last thing they want to hear is that they're basically dehumanizing their abuser and that's not cool, because it feels to them like the other person is taking their abuser's side and telling them to get fucked. Even if this not what's happening, the survivor's brain is currently operating on fight/flight/fawn/freeze mode, and a brain operating fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode is keyed to making snap decisions to try and remove you from the danger as soon as possible, which means categorizing everything into black and white. This person couldn't care less about the history of eugenics right now; literally all they care about is being safe.

"Okay, so if the Ontologically Evil Person doesn't exist, how the hell do you explain those fuckers over there?" some of you are probably asking.

Here's the deal. Literally every human being alive can and will do terrible things if they're sufficiently scared and desperate. They're in no position to appreciate that nearly all asshole behavior can be explained by a lack of critical social and self-management skills, or by a lack of access to self-improvement (including being too traumatized to trust means of self-improvement).

People who are scared, insecure, and under high levels of stress will often cling to anything that makes them feel better, because they want to feel safe and secure and not in psychological and/or physical agony. (Stress does an absolute number on your body, too.)

Being reliant on a shitty behavior, belief system, or product for some measure of feeling secure and safe is how you get people saying things like "If I didn't act mean, everyone would just walk all over me!" or "I was really depressed before I found this, so if I gave it up I'm going to get depressed again, and I might hurt myself." (And there might be some truth to this one! This might indeed happen if they give it up cold turkey, and without finding an alternative!) It's how you get people conducting """scientific""" studies to """prove""" that their bigotry is totally justified and not at all irrational. ("Well of course these people are genetically inferior, they wouldn't be poor and disease-ridden if they weren't... what do you mean, systemic inequality and uneven healthcare access? No that's obviously fake and made up by More Bad People.")

People also act in unhealthy ways to deal with personal insecurities implanted by parents or society. You have people out there whose parents drummed it into their heads that second place was for worthless losers, or that no one would love them if they didn't look or act a certain way. You have people who absorbed the idea that acknowledging the basic humanity of shitty people means that they have to forgive them and personally help them get better and just suffer through the abuse in the meantime.

This is how people choose to die on the hill of Being A Terrible Person. They weren't ontologically evil. They were scared, and they thought they saw a fortress on the top of that hill that would keep them (and perhaps also their loved ones) safe.

#evil #morality #people #shitty people #abuse #radicalization #critical thinking

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plumpybread · 2 months ago

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Asking because of the previous ask, are you not a fan of Ethan anymore? If so, why?

It's complicated, I suppose (rant where i talk abt ethan but then also my OCs in general)

I really do not like the first version of Ethan I made like 3 years ago. Obviously I like indulging in devilish ideas but I don't know, it ended up turning into something I didn't really end up liking too much.

Then I revisited and sort of rewrote his story a bit a while back when making the OC archive site (I'm aware the site is not available anymore for the people who asked, I took it down myself) and was much happier with it for a while.

Don't get me wrong, I like Ethan, I know he's the OC people seem to like the most, but it's still like a personal mental battle of like maybe it's too effed up? Even when I draw characters going through unwilling/accidental extreme weight gain, I make them either ambivalent or accepting of their situation, but for Ethan it's kind of like torture, and I can't bring myself to get like..aroused and excited to draw more of that *personally*.

Changing up his lore wouldn't really work either since his story is based on helplessness and stuff, and it'd be disingenuous to make him be happy with his situation, so I've just sort of subconsciously decided to leave him as is and treat his content as its self contained story more than nsfw art to goon to, if that makes sense. I don't know, maybe I'm just thinking about it too much, but just wanted to say what goes through my head.

I also don't really revisit Ethan for the same reason I don't tend to draw much of all the past OCs I've made, as I see each of them as a way to explore different facets of how weight gain can manifest and adapt into a character's life to create a story around it, and I feel like I've covered most of the ground around them already.

All of my OCs come from a sudden short prompt that pops up in my head, usually out of nowhere. I suddenly wanted to make a big-hearted southern farm guy who was super massive and I immediately ran to draw Rudy, for example.

I draw them a little reference, with my typical bullet points next to them with basic info to get an idea of what their dynamic is like, and a more lengthily written backstory or description if I'm feeling fancy under it, and then for the next week or two it's all art of them and answering questions about them... and then another idea pops up, and a new OC comes in.

It's not that I get tired of them, but I just simply do not know what to draw with them. Ethan is the biggest outlier in this case, since he is my fattest OC and half immobile, you just don't really know how else to bring something new that's not him laying on his bed at a slightly different angle.

I guess that's why I always do OC asks, I sort of need them to be able to know what to draw with them, since I struggle coming with things like that by myself, and you know I always like avoiding drawing a character in a void with no context.

The Genshin Obesity AU is my longest running like "project"?? thing just because there is an endless amount of content I can pull from since there's all these characters, places and possibilities I can write from. My OCs are obviously much more self-contained and moreso serve as individual experiments to explore different people and scenarios, so after the 10th drawing of them... I genuinely do not know what else I can add to them.

I hope that was a bit insightful. I know most of you guys love Ethan, and I love him too! But I don't know, I guess this is why I don't tend to have immobile/near immobile OCs, since the potential art ideas for them drop to just them sitting on a mattress or sitting on the floor and I'm just left confused on what to do with them.

Maybe Ethan in his college days is something you guys might be interested in? Or I don't know, I'm just writing this post as my thoughts enter my head.

Sorry for the rant, I sure do love typing, hope this clears up some questions people might've had

#ask

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thatgirlie-diaries · 1 year ago

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Academic tips that work for me

Hello girlies! This is a post that I have been delaying for like 2 weeks, but now it's time or me to post it. In this blog I will give you all the things I do to keep myself getting high grades and maintain the "intelligent" persona I have worked for since I started studying my college career and fortunately others see me this way now.

I do not study hevy or know a lot about studying methods, I am more into "smart work > hard work" kind of thing

My personal tips

This are my tips being an auditory person focused on being effortless

Understand your learning style: Are you visual? Auditory? Or kinesthetic? By knowing this you can apply studying methods that are efficient for you.

Pay attention to your classes!: I think the main reason I slay effortlessly my exams is because of this so I only need a quick study. You will be saving future time since your study sessions will be lighter because you will remember lots of the things.

Participate / Ask questions: It's easy, you will get points with your teachers as a great student, plus you will get your questions solved.

Put your on a place you can't see it so it doesn't distract you, for classes or when you need to study / get work done.

Study in a place when you feel comfortable, it can be at an cafe or at the library, even in your bedroom at a desk, what matters is that you feel comfortable and that you get the feel of "this is a place where I can study / do my assignments" and not feel lazy or uncomfortable by "x or y" reason. As a plus, keep your space clean and only with the necessary at sight.

Use music that doesn't distract you and you vibe with: Listen to music that doesn't have lyrics, but that's a basic by now. What I recommend you is to listen to music that you just vibe with to get your desired mood and motivation. In my case, I listen to videogame soundtracks since it makes me feel relaxed or to classical music because I fee like "that business girly", either way music helps me concentrate.

Romanticize your studies: This can mean different things to all of you reading this post, I am talking about making your academic journey fun and pleasing rather than streesing! Some ideas are having cute stationery, take cute notes, act like one of your fav academic characters, have study playlists, drinking coffee, go to the library or to cafes, dress cute for school, read, light candles, watch "study with me" videos and study vlogs, create a pinterest board, stablish academic goals, etc.

Do your homework when you have free time at school / college or do it as a first thing after your schedule, this will help you save time. Think about it, if you do it while having free time at school / college you don't need to do it at home. And if you need to do it at home, if done as the first thing, you will either way get so much free time and can focus on other tasks or activities freely.

Be organized: Have a bullet journal or use an app to keep track of your subjects and assignments. By this you will remember and keep in sight upcoming deadlines and events.

Take care of your academic relationships: I make sure that the people inside my circle of friends are girls (mainly, but boys too) who I feel comfortable, have fun with but also are similar to me in the sense that they take seriously her studies and are good teammates. Outside of them I also focus on other potential classmates that are intelligent and have similar values. There is no need to bother on the ones who don't attend classes, are irresponsable and don't even know what are they doing in the course.

Take care of yourself: Ask yourself? Will it be worth it while not sleeping enough, having a poor diet and exercise? By not letting yourself rest or have fun from time to time? By not practicing self-care? By not practicing any hobby or taking the time for your interests ? Please take care of yourself, girl, this is the lowest part of the pyramid. The reason to care is not only your wellbeing, but also because having a poor lifestyle can have bad effects for you that also affect your performance, and we won't like that.

Now go and slay your academic year / course! 𑄽𑄺ྀ

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lawofangie · 1 month ago

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have you changed your old and set gpa / grades to a new one? i guess this would be along the lines of revision

also, for big exams or whatever that most people seem to have super hard times with even with studying the best they can like the mcat (medical entrance exam basically) how would you go about that? let’s say you didn’t want to do much prep for it, can you just assume you’re top percentile with the score you get back and if there’s inspired action you can get into that, or do you actually have to put in some level of work? this may have been worded badly LOL my apologies

i did! i believe my old one was a 3.0 or something like that and i manifested it being a 4.0! i'm currently a senior in highschool and the "hardest" thing i'm taking right now is physics. if i didn't assume my grades were always high and relied on the 3d to tell me how they were, i would probably be failing miserably right now.

personally, i hate studying and i always thought to myself about how i would much rather spend my time taking care of myself and improving my life somehow. i could be spending time with friends, my sp, family or trying new hobbies, going new places, traveling.. i've honestly always found school to be a waste of my time that i could be spending doing so many other things. i used to get so anxious and scared over school and put it on this pedestal like my future depended on it, when that wasn't true at all.

i had to realize that i was doing myself a disservice my pretending that these things somehow mattered more than my input, my wellbeing, and my say in matters. acting like anything depended on "top percentiles" or approvals is a way of distracting yourself from the fact that you are the one accepting this as true. you are the one deciding "if my grades don't look like this, i won't succeed", when in reality, your grades and scores are quite literally said to be a way of being prepared.

a lot of administrators actually don't know what standards schools are choosing by because even if you have the good grades and good exam scores, there's still that chance of you not being picked. this goes back to my point on reliance and how that's your conscious decision. also, leaving things up to "chance" or "luck" (a made up concept) is honestly stupid when you really think about it. you're choosing to let things decide themselves, but somehow you can't decide?

i've noticed that people often put trust in many irrelevant things, like gods, deities, stars, cards, palm readings, psychics, mediums, other people's inputs, etc. and i've realized that nobody ever puts trust in themselves for some reason. isn't that weird? it's fine when you put trust in the things you're not even sure where they originate, the validity, that you can't even see or be sure of.. but the one thing you can be sure of (yourself), is somehow untrustworthy?

it was for this reason that i realized that i need to get more comfortable with myself and deciding i have things without relying on some external factor to tell me that i do. it just doesn't make any sense and it doesn't even work. at the end of the day, your mind is going to sway one way, either you'll believe you succeed, or you didn't.

but anyways, what i'm saying is that being the top percentile is not at all necessary to reach your goals, because at the end of the day it is up to you and the way you feel about yourself, whether you realize it or not. you are the one deciding, even if you have good grades, where you are going to make it in life. you are the one deciding EVERYTHING about your life, your self image, your relationships, yourself, everything regarding you is up to you (obviously).

but, to answer your question properly, no. you do not need to put in any level of work. the law simply states to assume ("whatever you assume to be true will be true"), not to do anything else. everything takes care of itself the moment you simply decide it is true. inspired action is usually something done unconsciously, like for example, you want to manifest money. you decide you have $100. then as you randomly decide to clean your room, you look under your pillow and find $100. (this happened to me but i found it in my drawer lol).

inspired action and trying to force something to happen are two different things, again, one is done unconsciously and the other is done with the intent of hoping something happens. and what does hoping imply? it implies that you don't have it. if i said "i hope i have $100", i obviously don't have it. if i said "i have $100", then i very clearly have $100. you have to assume it in order for it to be true. and that means, you take your own word for it regardless of what you're being shown at this very moment. you have to decide that it already happened.

i'm sorry, i know this is the part that so many of you guys hate since you like being bossed around by other people, but this is how the law works. it's the only rule you've been provided with, and yet so many of you fail to follow it. an assumption is something you believed to be true without proof. the law requires you to believe something, we (coaches, bloggers, teachers, etc) are the ones telling you to believe something *positive*. the law itself is indifferent, you're free to believe whatever you want, good, bad or indifferent. nobody has control over your mind or thoughts but you.

and yes, it has to be you. not your friends, not your parents, not your teachers or professors, not your bosses, not the random strangers on the street, not the people you only meet once, you. because this is your reality. you're experiencing life as your own person with thoughts, feelings, opinions, goals, dreams, a functioning body (hopefully?), and your own eyes. it's yours, and yet so many of you struggle to realize that.

your manifestation is something that's supposed to happen naturally, it's supposed to find a way to grow into your world comfortably, like the example i just provided. (please don't take "find a way" out of context, i simply mean the "how" is not up to you. everything else is. the law of assumption is a law. it has to materialize, and it does, this is also not to say that it will necessarily be "unexpected" or "strange", you just won't know how it will unfold.)

putting in a level of work just comes from a place of doubt (or misinformation, but let's not talk about that right now). you doubt the fact that you can truly sit back and relax and have things work for you. it's a belief that will do absolutely nothing for you and not benefit you at all, though i'm sure a lot of you believe many things that don't benefit you, and you don't really seem to care.

and how would i go about applying all of this? i would simply decide that i have passing marks or that i got accepted into whatever school i wanted regardless of my grades. there is only one rule to manifestation, you can't break it, but you can bend it however you want as long as you assume. the only rule to the law is literally to just apply the law, so do whatever works for you.

if you just wanna feel good about your grades and feel even better getting accepted into a school, go ahead. if you're coming from a place of fear and feeling like you "need to manifest this or else", please take a step back and consider the fact that this is all up to you and i just told you it doesn't work that way. remember that you only feel this way because these standards have been drilled into your mind for years by the people around you. you've basically been conditioned to care about your grades and limit yourself to or only believing in getting going to school for a job.

we as people are the ones who give things we created significance and purpose. nothing is fundamentally real, it is all manmade, and so, you shouldn't be putting it on a pedestal. you are the only one keeping these standards alive in your head and keeping the assigned significance of these standards alive in your head. none of it really matters and we all know that deep down. we are all going to die one day and we literally live on a floating rock in the middle of fucking nowhere. please don't stress yourself out over stupid shit and live your life the way you want. just decide it's yours.

hope this helps! feel free to send me another ask if you still have questions. 🩶

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allthecanadianpolitics · 1 month ago

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Hey, I know this isn't your normal content so feel free to not respond, but what's your opinion on the "socialization" issue (as in trans men are socialized as woman and trans woman are socialized as men before transitioning and it effects their personality) ? Recently I've seen a bunch of posts saying it's a bad thing to acknowledge. Like trans men and woman saying people who bring it up are trans misogynists. But personally, as a trans man with many trans fem friends I feel it's an important thing to see. In my view of things it's a larger part of sexism and what children are taught. By saying a trans woman was "socialized" as a man when she was a child I don't mean she was raised with a bunch of privileges. I'm often referring to what could be very traumatic and is a brand of trauma I probably can't relate to. Most trans woman I know where forcibly excluded from learning how to cook or clean even if they wanted to because those aren't "manly chores" and where not taught how to keep themselves safe the same way cis woman are. Or in the experience of my friends even beaten for wanting to do feminine things, not just by parents but also by peers. Where as most of the trans men I know can cook and clean like no ones business but no one taught them how to fix a sink or their car or how basic financing worked and they got hit for asking about it because "that's not a woman's place". And although I fully believe all children should be taught how to do all these things so they can take care of themselves, I am also aware that's not the society we currently live in and most trans men need help learning how to navigate things like not talking over woman (they're so used to having to scream to be heard) and how to fix a financial or household issue while alot of trans woman need their girlfriends to explain to them that they can't walk down a dimly lit street with their headphones covering both their ears. Idk maybe I'm just misunderstanding the whole thing but I think acknowledging socialization Is simply a step in learning how to take care of yourself and keep yourself safe in a world that didn't think you needed that info

I think there's some value as a way to understand the way that each gender was raised and the way gender roles are reinforced, but even so you can say I was 'socialized as a man' as I am a Trans Woman, but at the same time, I never really acted much like a man because the more I was socialized to act like a man, the more I gravitated towards feminine things that didn't cause me dysphoria.

I have a completely different lived experience growing up compared to a Cis man, even when I wasn't aware I was Trans.

I did have to do a lot of unlearning toxic masculine things and needing to learn essential feminine things as I came out and started living for myself and my gender expression, but a lot of the things that people say I was socialized as a man to, I just never did because they made me extremely uncomfortable. Its because I was never a man.

You can try to socialize a Trans person to act against their gender identity but a lot of the time, those gender roles just do not get enforced, because they're so toxic to your sense of self.

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ebonysplendor · 3 months ago

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Prescription: LOVE (Demo) Review👨‍⚕️💊

TL;DR: I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor! How's my memory been? It's been fine. Wait, what? I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor! How's my memory been? It's been fine. Wait, what? I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor!

Game Link: https://livingslime.itch.io/prescriptionlove

Notable Features: Self-Insert, Yandere LI, gender neutral language, 2 endings Spiciness: 0/5 -- Don't get me wrong, it's not wholesome either, but this is the type of LI that'll make you say "But daddy, I love him!" even though something is clearly off. LI Red Flags: 2/5 -- Gaslighter, obsessive tendencies, overly "medicating" us DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT. HE'S SO SWEET. I CAN FIX HIM.

Wanna know more? Well, let's get into it!

Okay, not gonna lie, this review is long overdue, because I played this like...maybe 3 or 4 days after the initial drop, and here I am, like, 3 weeks later lmao.

Um...okay, you know what? I'm-- I'm not gonna push myself to write an intro this time lol. I mean, since when is it ever good to push yourself? ...Sometimes, the answer is sometimes, but you should never push yourself too hard, ya know? ...I'm getting off track.

I guess I could start by saying how I found this game on a total accident, and holy shit, am I glad that I found this game regardless. It was damn good, and...honestly, a little unnerving at times. Like, I'll tell you more about it later, but let me tell you, one part in particular had me genuinely spooked.

Anyways, before I get too far into my yap session, I'm going to go ahead and tell you about the game -- with as little spoilers as possible, of course. I mean, how would you be motivated to play the game otherwise unless I leave just enough suspense and mystery? Exactly, so allow me a moment to set the scene, and let's get into it.

So, boom.

We wake up...somewhere.

No, like you don't get it. Logically, it's like, duh, hospital, but we have a whole ass IV in our arm, a splitting headache, and it's almost painfully obvious that our memory took a hit, because we don't remember damn near anything, you feel me? We have, what is essentially, a hole where our memories are supposed to be, and the memories that we do have are so fragmented that they doesn't make any sense. Like...what the hell happened, ya know?

At this point, we're making things worse, because we're trying to force ourselves to remember something -- anything -- and our brain is just like "Mmm...nah. How about we panic, though? Let's do that instead." So, we do. We start feeling really anxious because it's like, how do we go from remembering everything one moment, blink, and then just...virtually no memories at all? Like, nothing? Like, we can't even recognize what a hospital looks like or even is.

"Hey, hey, it's okay".

Huh?

Oh! Oh, hello~! Could this be our boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband~?

"I'm Dr. Anselm."

I mean...he didn't say that he wasn't our husband, ya know? :3 Okay, wait, wait, no, stop, don't distract me. Let me get back on track.

Anyways, this tall gentleman helped us regain control of our nerves and informed us that we were perfectly safe and were currently in a hospital. Dr. Anselm basically told us that he has been overseeing our care and that he was the one in charge of our surgery.

...Wait, our fucking what?!

Before we get too freaked out, though, he tells us that we had some kind of accident that involved blunt force to our head which naturally caused a traumatic brain injury. He then tells us that, when we were brought it by the paramedics, we were in need of an emergency operation in order for us to live. Oh, and we had been asleep for two days straight. Well damn...

Imagine not remembering what you even ate for breakfast yesterday -- well, two days ago -- and this random man who claims to be a doctor comes out of the woodwork and tells you that you had brain surgery. If I could just reiterate once more...what the hell happened?!

Even still, admittedly, Dr. Anselm is being super gentle about the whole thing, and it's bringing a good amount of comfort and security, like everything is going to end up okay; he's even going to let us call our family to let them know that we've pulled through and that we're safe...even though, it's a bit off that no one's visited to start with.

No matter though, because it's past curfew anyways, and Dr. Anselm is adamant that we should rest first and call tomorrow. Fair enough. Rest is a part of recovery after all, and we'd rather get our memories back sooner versus later, not to mention that we actually are a little tired. Lmao, now here's when the issues start coming in...

See, we managed to fall asleep, but then the creak of the door woke us up. Now, at first, we're like "Meh, probably the nurses checking in or whatever", but the issue is, remember when I was like we felt a sense of comfort and security from Dr. Anselm? Lmao, this shit was far from comfortable, let alone safe. So, we make the mistake of we look at the door, and in the gap --

Lmao nah, ain't no way. We're hallucinating.

BRO, AIN'T NO FUCKING WAaaaAAAaAaAaaAAaY. WE ARE NOT HALLUCINA-- DoCTOr ANSEeEEeEEEeeeELM!!!!

Bro, we hit that call button so fast, but that thing also ran off just as fast before Dr. Anselm came rushing in. So, naturally, now we look like we're experiencing the side effect of delulu, because we're trying to explain that we saw something that was clearly not there, but it's like...bro, no, we know what the fuck we saw! Like, dude, please do something!

As always, Dr. Anselm's being super sweet and promised that he'd look into it and get someone to check the security cameras. He encourages us to try to go back to sleep so we don't disrupt our recovery, and, oddly enough, we're able to, even after that.

The next morning, comes along, and Dr. Anselm let's us call our folks, like promised, but...no answer. Hurtful, but okay. Dr. Anselm, also like promised, tells us that they checked the security cameras, and there was no one watching us from the door. Great. So, now we're two for two in this bitch. Perfect.

Still, leave it to Dr. Anselm to help us feel better, though, so it doesn't weigh on us too much for too long. He really is our knight in shining...lab coat.

Even though, with all that medicine he's been giving us...

Not to mention, we had this vividly weird dream...

And, sometimes, there's these weird little flickers in his expression when we ask certain questions or say certain things...

Is Dr. Anselm really trying to help us? Or...

...is it benefitting him that we don't know what happened to us?

Then again...

Nah, that's kind've delulu to think. He's done nothing but try to prioritize our health and recovery. We're safe. We can trust him. It the doctor's orders, after all, and he'd know what's best for us.

4 words: I CAN FIX HIM.

No, no, no, no, no, hear me out! I can fix this one! Like, the red flags are there, but I can FIX him! Is he the one that caused us to have a traumatic brain injury? Maybe. Is he over-medicating us? Possibly. Am I gonna overlook all of that? Absolutely. I mean, who cares that I have an intense suspicion that we're not actually in a hospital and that we're just in a basement that's staged to look like a hospital. Who hasn't played doctor before? I ain't gonna fault this man for trying to heal his inner child and playing pretend. Like, honestly? Good for him.

Okay, but no, enough of that. This...was really good! It physically hurts me that this game is not done yet, but I am so excited that this game isn't done yet, because I am anticipating the hell out of what is next to come. The developer really has a strong foundation, and I can only imagine how they're going to build on it.

The pacing is a little slow, but it's not a bad slow! It's literally seeping us into the story, and I honestly feel like the pacing could not have been executed any better than it has been. This flowed exactly how I feel a demo or prologue or intro or whatever you wanna call it should. I just know that whenever there's an update, shit is going to start getting real, and I cannot wait for that!

Let's talk about the environment/atmosphere...ooh bitch. Let me just say this, I can watch all of the horror movies in the world and be totally fine. I can watch let's plays of horror games and read scary stories...but I cannot be in the situation myself. Haunted houses/trails? Playing horror games myself? Shit scares me out of my soul. That being said, that part where it was talking about being watched through the crack of the door? Chills. Fucking chills. I don't know what it was, because that's not anything revolutionary, especially in these yandere games, but for some reason, the way that the dev executed it just hit different. And the art! Like did you see the CG?! Lmao nah, nah, let me remind you. Actually, let me zoom in on it.

Like, what the fuck is thaaaaaaaaat?! (╥ᯅ╥)

I didn't mention this, because I was narrating/summarizing, but I had genuine fear tears when I read through it the first time, and it was somehow worse when I had to grab and attach the screenshots and type through that part. Like, I HATE shit like this, bro! Like, just make it obvious! Don't put faces and figures and shit like that in the darkness and barely out of view to the point where you can't see it unless you focus on it!

I was literally squinting my eyes and reading fast as shit because I wanted to read it, but I wanted to get through it and away from this scene, but I also wanted to prep myself for a possible jumpscare. Like, developer. De-ve-lo-per. Pop off. This part was so good, and I loved/hated every second.

I'm doing that yap thing that I do again, so I'm going to save you from the rest of my ramblings and start winding down. If you do not already have this downloaded and ready to play, you have got to do that expeditiously. I am telling you, I know I say this about a lot of these visual novels, but this is one that I absolutely cannot allow you to miss out on. This one is so good! Just don't get too invested, because it's just a demo. I suggest going to the game's page, putting your pride aside, and beg for an update as soon as possible -- respectfully, of course. It should be common sense, but don't harass the dev for an update ... but damn, do I hope they come through with an update soon. Very soon. Tomorrow actually...today.

Anyways, here's the link. Go download it, and tell the dev that your life is theirs, because I'm honestly contemplating starting a cult in their honour. I'll sacrifice the nearest weeb for two extra lines of reading material in this visual novel. I'm serious. I'm yapping again...

Okay, anyways! Ending it for realsies this time. Again, I highly recommend giving this game a playthrough. Here's the link to the game page and download...again. If you're able to donate to the cause, donate to the cause, as I'm sure the dev would seriously appreciate the monetary support. Oh! And just as a "pro"-but-not-really-tip: for right now, the choices are more of an "illusion of choice". The endings will be worded the same no matter what, so there's no extra dialogue or CGs, or secret options, or anything like that. It'll just be dialogue pertaining to that specific answer choice at that specific time, and then it's not brought up or mentioned again after it's done.

And...that's it! Lol I'm finally done yapping. Big preesh for getting this far! Please remember to drink water, don't be dumb, and hope to see you around~!

Prescription: LOVE (Demo)

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nauticaltrain · 1 month ago

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is the way you interpret the stex characters, are they robots or a mix? since they don't feel pain, but bleed oil etc. what is the lore? are they built at a young age or are they built into adults? (p.s your art is delicious too look at !!)

ohohoho boy, the lore i have for you, strap in

(brief note, this is all my personal interpretation and is definitely not the word of god lol. I genuinely love every interpretation and believe that headcanon variety is vital to a healthy fandom ecosystem)

So, this is something I have thought a lot about and still continue to think about. I'm pretty sure I've nailed it down but it might still be a little nebulous so bear with me.

In the most basic sense, my interpretation of Starlight Express, and all of its characters, is that they are real world pieces of rolling stock that have the ability to shift between a train form (primary configuration) and a human form (secondary configuration). Not an uncommon idea in this fanbase.

However, I'm an overthinking bitch, and I love going in-depth on things like this, so let's expand a little.

There are three main phrases that I use to define my interpretation (headcanon? au? lore?) and to keep myself on track when developing ideas. Sort of layers, if you will. They are as follows:

Fabricated manifestation of psyche - This is rolling stock's appearance in secondary configuration, or what we see in the musical. Their human bodies are a cosmetic representation of their will. A psychological trick. It reflects their personalities, their jobs, their mental age, the demographics of the region they serve. There about a million different factors that go into how they look, and like us, they can't control it. (well, except for CB, but he's another story) It's important to note that this is a manifestation. They are not Transformers. Secondary configuration is not 1:1. There are certain things that get muddled in the changeover. Wheel arrangements being different, missing certain parts, changed color palettes. You could open one up and see parts but not in any sort of similar arrangement to their blueprints. I mean, who can honestly picture every single part of their body in perfect detail and then reinterpret it into a new shape? (this is in part my answer to discrepancies between the real costumes and my lore shh shh)

Counterfeit reflection of humanity - This is their minds. They are our copies. They experience everything we do. They work, play, socialize, fight, fall in love. You could talk to a piece of rolling stock and have a fully human conversation. They are people. However, the longer your conversation goes on for, you may notice certain...oddities. Gaps in their knowledge, speaking in rhythmic sentences, constant repetitive movement. Someone copied humans and didn't do the most perfect job. Like looking at human culture through a lens. Many a train has pondered the simultaneous existence of being machine and being alive.

Physical incarnation of industrialism - Now this, is the origin of all of this. The humans did not create trains to be the way they are. Every piece of rolling stock is designed as they would be in the real world: vehicles to transport people and goods from one place to the next. No one designed Greaseball's slicked back hair or big, studded belt, they designed an EMD E7 built for pulling fast passenger trains. My point is, at the advent of industrialism as we know it, the trains manifested their secondary configurations themselves. They are the offspring of humanity, sired by ingenuity and innovation and birthed from the overturned earth of the Industrial Revolution. No one knows how or why, they just are.

So, in summary, they're sort of robots? Sort of a power of the mind situation? Sort of my own self-reflection on the nature of being alive?

Bonus facts!

Indeed, they do not feel pain. In fact, much of their sense of touch in general is limited. It ranges from same sensitivity as human flesh (hands, face, wheels) to just registers contact (shoulder boxes, hip plating, couplers). I have a diagram of the exact distribution somewhere lol

They bleed? Kind of? If parts are pulled off or damaged, they sort of…leak. Also, if their fleshy bits are "injured", the wounds only heal when the actual machinery is repaired. Also also, if you remove a human part (arm, leg, head, etc.) it will turn back into a train part!

Their temperature resistance is notable too. Comfortable is between -10 F to well over 500 F. Anything above or below that, and they start to complain. Wooden rolling stock have a harder time than steel ones.

They're afraid of deep water and tornados.

In addition to their nails being painted in relevant colors (which I believe is a semi-popular headcanon already), their mouths are the same. Some more unnatural colors include, black, yellow, and blue!

Tall! Generally between 12 and 17 feet. Loosely correlates to their height in primary configuration. Some are the same height, some are taller, some are shorter. Really depends on personality. I contemplated once to have their heights be the length of their primary configurations, but that would result in some pretty awkward height differences and they would be too big for their loading gauge.

They always manifest as adults, or at the very least, late teenagers. They kind of age? Sometimes? Momma started out a bit middle aged, but Rusty has spent like 50+ years looking 25. Really depends on the person, workload, environment, etc.

#asks that make me pace around the room screaming in delight #thank you for the ask and compliment!#starlight express #stex #starex #heacanons #factoanthropology #ask #blazingphantom #from the cab

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hollowed-theory-hall · 1 year ago

Text

Secrets of the Darkest Art: How to Make a Horcrux

So I saw many theories regarding how to make a Horcrux, but none of them really made perfect sense to me, so I decided to give it a crack myself as part of my mission to understand Lord Voldemort/Tom Marvolo Riddle (Which I think I did, big post coming about that at some point, this is but another piece of that puzzle of a man)

So this is my reverse engineering of a ritual to create Horcruxes based on book evidence, my knowledge of real-world alchemy, real-world ancient Greek cults and rituals and linguistic analysis.

How to reverse engineering a dark magical ritual:

The first thing is to define what we know for certain:

The name: "Horcrux"

The creator is an Ancient Greek wizard named Harpo the Foul.

A death is required in the making.

A Horcrux holds a piece of the caster's soul that anchors them to life so they won't die.

I'll actually start with the third point.

How to split a soul?

Both Dumbledore and Slughorn mention murder being required to tear your soul to make a Horcrux, and that never really sat right with me. It magically doesn't make sense and even the canon examples we have for Horcrux murders make this statement iffy.

We have seven examples of murders used to create Horcruxs (thanks to one Tom Riddle being dramatic):

The Diary - Myrtle Warren - killed by a basilisk. Sure, Tom freed the Basilisk, but it hardly seemed targeted at Myrtle specifically and you can argue he didn't actually kill her (more a manslaughter by negligence). He didn't cast the spell, so how come this tore his soul? (I also think Myrtle was an accident and wasn't meant to be killed, but I digress)

The Ring - his father (Tom Riddle Sr) - Avada Kadevra.

The Cup - Hepzibah Smith - she was poisoned by her house elf. Sure, the elf was under the imperious, but it wasn't a first-degree murder, and like with the Basilisk I find it hard to consider this the same as casting a killing curse. Magically those are very different things.

The Locket - Muggle Tramp - Avada Kadevra

The Diadem - Albanian Peasant - Avada Kadevra

Harry Potter - himself - backfired Avada Kadevra

Nagini - Bertha Jorkins - Avada Kadevra

Now, I used the term "magically different" or "magically make sense" what do I mean by that?

Well, besides the fact I'm going to make a full post about how I see magical theory in the Harry Potter Wizarding World, I'll say it takes a lot after occult philosophies from Alchemy that are very old, Slughorn mentions as much in book 6 and there are a few other references to it. I'm just gonna cover the basics required for this theory.

In Alchemy, everything (people, animals, plants, and rocks) is built of three base components:

The Salt - the body - the physical form.

The Sulfur - the soul - the self that holds the divine flame.

The Mercury - the spirit - the life essence that binds the salt and sulfur together.

Now, in Alchemy, the main study is in purifying and combining these different aspects of material. Let's look at a herb, for an example:

If we want to retrieve its salt, we'll dry the herb completely using fire to leave behind a fine light grey ash that represents only the physical form.

If we wanted its mercury we'd distill all liquids from it until we get a purified, clear liquid which in the case of plants would be alcohol (it's why alcohol is referred to as "spirit").

And if we wanted its soul, we would take the remains from the distillation and drying process which would be a kind of oil.

(it can get more complicated with different materials, but this isn't a post about Alchemy)

Now, back to Horcruxs.

So, if we would want to split a soul, Alchemecly, how do we go about it?

Well, we don't. Not really. See a soul can't really be split, as every part of it, every bit of that oil from our random herb represents the entire soul. It's why something like a Horcrux could theoretically work in giving a full life to the diary the way we see in Chamber of Secrets.

Additionally, to work with any material in Alchemy, you are required to purify it first. It means that to get a piece of soul to bind to a diary, you need a pure soul.

Killing someone else won't sever your own soul from the spirit and the body, it's not how this works. Killing someone severs their spirit and therefore splits their body, spirit, and soul. Besides, an Ancient Greek man, like Herpo was, would hardly consider murder as vile as we do today. It wouldn't even cross his mind that any murder (even an indirect one) could harm one's own soul.

No, the only way to "split" a soul is to first sever it from life, disconnecting the bond between soul and body. Essentially, the only way to promise you immortality is to kill yourself.

I know it sounds a little confusing, but, essentially, once the soul is severed from the spirit and body you can split it. Think of the herbal oil, once you have the oil, separate from the rest of the plant parts, you can combine it with new ingredients. You can only work on a specific aspect once you severed it from the other two and as what binds all three together is spirit — life — the only way to do it for a human soul — is death.

But really, how?

Well, here comes the second thing we know about making Horcruxs — that dear Herpo was from Ancient Greece.

In Ancient Greece they had multiple different religious cults, some of which were Chthonic cults. These cults dedicated themselves to death or ditties and heroes associated with death and more importantly — rebirth.

Many of these cults were dedicated to figures like Orpheus, Dionysus, and Persephone, characters in mythology who are known for going through the underworld — through death — and coming back out. These cults were very secretive and not much is known about their practices, but some are.

What is known is that they had rituals where they reenacted a death and then rebirth (usually drinking wine — water of life, was the representation of rebirth).

This created a very clear idea in my head — to split a soul, you'll have to ritualistically, magically kill yourself, severe a piece of your soul, and then revive yourself with a water of life — a potion.

This potion is never mentioned, but I believe it exists due to these Chthonic cult rituals and how they were structured. Not only that, but the Greek underworld did have a river known for being incredibly painful to drink, literally made of fire, but being able to bring the dead back - The Phlegethon River.

Note: Lethe River Water (the river in the Greek Underworld that makes the drinker forget) is a canon ingredient in a Forgetfulness Potion.

So what is the dead body for?

Well, congratulations, you killed yourself to retrieve a sliver of your soul and revived yourself so you won't stay dead. You found an item you can keep secure to tie that sliver of soul, too. Now, how would you bind then? After all, the only thing meant to bind a human soul to a body is a human spirit - a human life... you get where I'm going with this.

This is why Tom didn't have to be the one to do the deed. As long as he had a recently deceased corpse to harvest the life from to use to bind his newly split soul and the item of his choice.

It explains why nothing was missing from the bodies. Myrtle and the Riddles were investigated by the Ministry of Magic. One would assume the Aurors would've noticed if any corpse was missing a hand due to the killer eating it (as other Horcrux theories suggest).

Not only was nothing missing from the body, the soul was intact. Myrtle became a ghost after death, a ghost is quite literally, just the soul, no body, no spirit.

So the only thing that was taken from Tom's victims was their life, quite literally at that.

Is that all? Can we make a Horcrux now?

Not really. See, when analyzing spells in Harry Potter, one thing super important to note is their name.

Avada Kadevra - is a reference to an Aramaic healing spell "Abracadabra" pronounced in Aramaic as: "Avra Kadebra" and meaning "I will create as commanded". Merged with the Latin word "cadaver" meaning "corpse" to create -> "I will create dead bodies as commanded"

Or Wingardium Laviosa - is a cross of the English word "wing", the Latin word "arduus" (meaning "high, tall, lofty, steep, proudly elevated"), or "arduum" (meaning "steep place, the steep" and the Latin word "levo" (meaning to "raise, lift up"). So together the spell means -> "lift high up".

So, it's pretty clear spells, their names, and incantations are very self-explanatory. So a Horcrux should be no different.

I've seen some attempts at translating the name Horcrux. Unfortunately, these attempts treated the name as Latin, modern Greek, or Old English. Herpo, was Ancient Greek, though, so I went and translated a few possible meanings from Ancient Greek (Classical Greek and Homeric Greek are what I looked at):

ὅρκος (orkus, pronounced "hor-kus") - an oath, the object by which one swears, bound by oath (still used in modern Greek).

κρόκες (crukes, pronounced "cru-kes") - saffron-colored (blood red in Greek), crocus flower. The crocus flower symbolizes both death (the saffron that is the spice) and rebirth (the golden crocus which brings renewal and joy) because Demeter wears them when Persephone returns from the underworld in myth.

So what we have is a spell called "binding oath of death and rebirth" which all around sounds fitting.

There might also be a "made in blood" tucked at the end due to the association of κρόκες with the color of blood.

But why does it matter?

Well, now with this name, I expect the binding between the spirit from the victim, the split soul, and the item would be done in a sort of oath - an orkus.

The association with blood gives us another hint. Blood is the part of the human body most representative of life. Therefore, in Alchemy, your blood is your spirit. So it'll make sense that your own blood would be used in the binding process or more correctly in the process of turning another person's spirit into your own. Making the thread to bind the body (item) and the soul piece your own. As it also refers to just a red firey color, it can indicate the Phlagatton potion I hypothesize should be part of the ritual due to how Chthonic rituals usually went, as the Phlagaton river is made of fire.

So we have a general idea of how to make a Horcrux. You need an item of your choice to bind your soul to. You need a life (spirit) harvested from a human that you transformed into being your own using your blood. And you need a piece of your own soul, which you get by killing yourself and then reviving yourself. And you finish it off by binding it all together with an oath.

But how could you make one accidentally?

So, everyone knows Voldemort succeeded in somehow making a Horcrux accidentally, something a lot of theories I saw don't account for. Becouse whatever process you need to go to to make a Horcrux, Voldemort went through all of it the night he died the first time and marked Harry.

All the steps for my method of making a Horcrux were met that night.

The item in qustion is baby Harry, nothing interesting there.

The soul sliver was split the way it always is — through death. Voldemort died, killed by his own killing curse and that is what splits his soul.

The life or spirit that then binds his soul to Harry isn't Lily's spirit or James'; it's his own spirit that acts as a binder between Harry and Voldemort’s split soul. Because the spirit was already his, there was no need to transform it by blood so the additional ritual wasn't necessary.

Step-by-step guide to making Horcruxes:

I'm not going to actually give the full step-by-step least a budging dark lord is looking for this information. I do have notes about exact incantations and even the full recipe and instructions for the Phlagaton potion I'm going to mention. These instructions won't be here since they are more in the realm of speculation and headcanon. This is just the overview of the ritual based on canon information and the occult philosophy I mentioned above. (edit: the full step-by-step headcanon with my potion recipe and everything does appear in the reblogs)

Step 1 - Life and Blood

Get access to a recently deceased human and extract their Mercury (Spirit or Life Essence).

Submerge the retrieved life essence with your own blood on a new moon (life and vitality). (7 drops of blood will probably do)

Step 2 - Water of Fire

To complete the cycle of death and rebirth you’ll need the Phlegeton Water potion to return you to life at the end of the cycle.

As you brew the potion, it must be brewed in a dark room, preferably underground to remind as much of the underworld as possible.

While brewing the potion one must be in the mindset of the Phlegeton, must be willing to go through agony to achieve eternal life and imbue these thoughts in their potion. (In alchemy, when working, it is believed you imbue your work with your thoughts during the Alchemical process. As an Alchemical process affects both the material being worked and the Alchemist themselves)

Likley Ingrediants:

Saffron spice

Golden crocus flower juice

Pomegranate juice

Step 3 - The Ritual Preparation

Set up your space so none of the components may escape the ritual space and so the ritual will not be interfered with.

Make sure the spirit you retrieved is within reach.

Make sure the item you desire will hold the Horcrux will be within reach as well.

Coax the spirit into the item and prepare it to tie your soul to the next step.

Step 4 - Death and Rebirth

To create a thread of your soul to tie to the ritual, you must die figuratively. Go through death to return stronger from the underworld.

Once you feel like death has reached you and your soul is separated you should heal your soul and finish the cycle, bringing you out of death and back to life by drinking the Phlegeton potion.

After the pain subsides you will feel healthier than before, stronger than before, and you’ll have an additional thread of sulfur (soul) in your chest to be pulled out and placed into the Horcrux.

The split-off soul should, on its own, try to search for life and a body to be bound to. If it doesn't, coax it out yourself and bind it to the Horcrux with the spirit you made in step 1.

Step 5 - Oath of Life

The connection between the body (the item), soul, and spirit is still unstable, if most likely strong enough to hold.

Swear the oath of life to finalize the bond between you, the Horcrux, and the soul thread together to ward off death.

I'll end with this note I made regarding Horcruxes when I started working on this theory:

I don't know what all goes into the process of making a Horcrux but I don't believe a person who truly likes themselves and doesn't want to inflict pain on themselves could make a Horcrux. Tearing up your soul is an act of arrogance above nature, sure, thinking you deserve to change the laws of the world and be the exception is part of it, but it's also an act of self-hatred. You need to hate yourself enough to be willing to kill yourself, hurt yourself, and tear yourself up in the most unnatural ways — hence why so few can do so, let alone more than once.

And Tom Riddle does seem to have that exact mix of arrogance, spite, and low self-esteem that would allow it.

#hp theory #hp #harry potter #harry potter theory #harry potter thoughts #tom marvolo riddle #lord voldemort #horcrux #hollowedtheory #overthinking #voldemort #voldemort analysis #wizarding world #tom riddle #horcruxes #nagini #moaning myrtle #slytherin #hp magical theory

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collidescopeeyes · 5 months ago

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HCs of Aatrox as a weapon and a reader who is his user please 😭🙏

Aatrox with wielder!Reader

- Look there's gotta be a whole character arc here before he's in a state to exist around other people. He's a man trapped inside a sword trying to escape the very nature of his existence by destroying the world and by extension himself, thereby trapping himself in a nightmarish cycle of violence and pain with no respite. Like, all he's done for the last few centuries was possess some poor fool, go on an apocalyptic warpath, get killed, and be stuck back in the suffocating sensory deprivation tank of his sword form until someone new picks him up, rinse repeat.

- You find him in sword form, but much like Kayn and Rhaast he doesn't manage to overcome you–except instead of using him to murder people, you just kinda lug him around and show him all the nice things about living (cuz honestly, leaving him there would be kind of fucked up).

- Being put in forcible time out, he very reluctantly is forced to admit that maybe existence isn't all pain and okay, yeah, maybe there is inherent value in life. The hot springs are nice, he guesses. Human, bring him to the hot springs again.

- He's gonna be a huge bitch for a while let's be real, like full tilt raging complete with threats of grievous bodily harm (and he can be a real bitch when he wants to be, have you heard some of his voice lines??). At the same time, he's terrified you'll leave him so he still tries to go the ‘temptation of power, just give in’ route, and generally emphasizes how powerful he is and how useful he can be.

- Eventually you go from being you, human, to his human. He hasn't had a social interaction that did not end with someone dying in literal centuries, much less a friend. Like he still bitches but instead of threatening you, he starts threatening anything that threatens you, which he defends with the idea that he's the only one worthy of killing you. You learn not to take it personally, your giant sword with a disembodied heart set into the hilt is a tsundere, this is your life now.

- ‘ive only had this human for two months and if anything happens to them I'm killing everyone in this plane of existence and then myself’, but to be fair that last part was his plan to begin with. Anything even begins to threaten you and it's fire and brimstone from him–unfortunately, he can't exactly do much as a sword other than beg you to use him to slaughter anyone who so much as says a harsh word to you.

- The longer you wield him, the more he becomes attuned to you–which is new to him, because Darkin usually don't have a wielder without them becoming a full host for this long, and even then the wielder is usually trying to suppress them. With you, Aatrox gradually gets his senses back–unlike Naafiri and Rhaast, his sword form doesn't come with eyes, so he basically has to magically parasitize your vision and see through your eyes. Gradually this extends to other senses too–hell of a shock to him when he starts to feel your pain. Eventually, he gets his own sense of touch back, which is kinda weird since his body is a sword now, but it's still leagues better than eternal numbness. Even if he's not really sure how to process that he can feel you literally holding his disembodied heart in your hands.

- His grand plan was to accumulate the blood from every rare instance you were forced to use him to defend yourself in order to build himself a new body and then kill you with it. The plan is amended to killing you in your sleep, cuz he likes you, even if he doesn't want to admit it. It takes literally until he's standing over you that he realizes ‘I don't….actually want to do this,’ and he has zero follow up plan or capacity for self reflection so he just stands there like a weirdo. And then you wake up.

- “Are you gonna kill me?” “....no.” “Okay, cool, I'm going back to sleep.”

- You start travelling together like normal people then, except y'know, being in human form is pretty taxing so a decent chunk of the time he just...stays a sword. This is a huge gesture of trust from him, knowing that if you happen to put him down he'll be put back into a prison of his own body, but also you've kinda earned his trust in this matter since you could've left him to suffer at any point before now and didn't. He still acts like it's some sort of honor for you to be wielding him, but you've also earned his respect by this point so the ‘puny human’ talk has pretty much evaporated.

- His protectiveness gets worse once he has a body to act independently with, but not as much as you'd think–he respects your wishes and genuinely doesn't want to upset you, so he won't hurt anyone you don't want him to (...too bad)–though he will intimidate the everliving fuck out of anyone he thinks is a threat to you. He does actually still have a pretty robust sense of right and wrong–it’s just that he didn't give a fuck about it in the face of escaping the torture of his existence. Now you're that escape, and he'll defend you with the same visciousness that he killed literal gods with.

- He does not have any frame of reference for romance. He only sort of remembers being Ascended, and barely if at all being human before that–and in all that time he was a soldier through and through, devoted to his duty above all. He doesn't even know that he's caught feelings. Like he wants to be close to you all the time (and other urges he shall not be examining), but that's normal right?? You've been carrying him around for months now, surely it's because of that. He also hasn't had anyone touch him without also trying to kill him in centuries, forget that he can actually feel it now–surely that's why the slightest touch from you makes his heart skip a beat (you can literally see it, it's right there in the sword). It's normal. He's being super normal. Denial is just a river in Shurima.

- Point being, the man is oblivious, and even if he wasn't, he has no fucking idea what he's doing and he has a boatload of unresolved self-esteem issues. You're gonna have to make the first move and you're gonna have to be very forward and upfront with him. He's gonna freeze, Aatrox.exe is working overtime; internally he goes from ‘tf do you mean I have feelings’ to ‘tf do you mean I have feelings for a human’ to ‘well obviously this is my human, she's special, why wouldn't I have feelings for her’ to ‘me?? Why the fuck does she want me??’ to finally deciding that he would have to be clinically insane to turn you down (putting aside that he thinks there's a very real chance that he is in fact insane, but he's working on that).

- Not that he knows how to be in a relationship. Mutual respect and communication can go a long way to figuring stuff like this out, but it's pretty obvious he's out of his depth–he’s struggling to adjust to existing in general, and he's got centuries of trauma and a barely repressed anger management issue. It helps that he knows you're on his side (and that he's probably already made every threat under the sun when you first met), but the man doesn't exactly have a lot of practice dealing with his frustration in a healthy way. Patience is essential here–he’s trying, and he will get better with time and understanding.

- He's actually super self conscious about his body–in his eyes, it's a twisted, filthy reminder of what he used to be. Without a compatible host, Darkin bodies start to break down without fresh blood to sustain them, and he can't help but compare it to how he used to be before the Void war. His form is stable with you, but he still has a whole lot of negative associations. You've got your work cut out for you if you want to convince him he's not some sort of malformed disgusting beast–he’s very much of the opinion that you're some kind of saint for wanting him despite what he looks like.

- Despite all that, physical closeness is a big thing in his culture, plus he's touch starved and will take any opportunity to have you close. If you're not doing anything he'll literally just pick you up and deposit you on his lap so he can be close to you. If he's in sword form, he'll sulk if you put him down for even a moment. It's funny though, because as much as he passively demands attention like some sort of large spiky cat, he also gets really flustered if you're affectionate with him. He's also a huge tsundere though, so him being flustered mostly involves stammered yelling (he’s actually kind of awkward, when he's not being intimidating–re his joke lines).

- Darkin run hot as a consequence of the hemomancy their bodies are made up of–in particular, the area over his heart is very warm. He doesn't visibly blush per se, but the glow of his heart gets more radiant when he's flustered, and he gets noticably warmer. The dark plated parts of him are hard and bone-like with the slightest bit of give, whereas the red parts feel like normal skin if slightly thicker. He has a habit of only touching you with his unplated left hand–the other one has a lot of jagged edges and he worries he'll accidentally cut you (plus, the plated parts feel less). Since his form is fairly stable with you he can manifest his wings fairly consistently, but he's stuck at a (relatively) meager 9ft tall without absorbing any new bodies. His wings are more batlike than anything, and the webbing is extremely sensitive.

- In Ancient Shuriman custom, marriage is a social arrangement wherein a couple is considered married as soon as they start living together, no ceremony or paperwork required (fun fact: actual ancient egyptian custom!). Most couples have this accompanied with a legalized property agreement, but Aatrox was raised into a warrior caste that doesn't have a concept of private property, and he doesn't currently have much of a use for possessions anyway. This is all to say Aatrox considers you to be married and you have no idea until he offhandedly refers to you as his wife.

- All that being said, he still has an extreme sense of duty to his follow Darkin, being about as close to a leader as they have left after the war and their sealing. He feels an obligation to find a way to alleviate their suffering, either by finding them hosts, undoing their binding into weapons, or finding a way to kill them and have them actually stay dead. It's a grim task and it's pretty important to him to have your support in it, however you want to approach it.

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