#and the power of creation no one remembers is the other half of that

[raisondetriment]

so have you ever loved a show/game/movie/whatever for so long, and there's a character that you always thought was pretty neat, they’re aight, but then for whatever reason, years later you reread it and rewatch it and start getting a bunch of fanart of them specifically come across your socials, and you suddenly think "wait... do I actually love them???"

if you haven't yet, it might happen to you later

[natalievoncatte]

Kara knows, and that’s the problem.

She knows.

How does she know?

To put it simply, she’s Kryptonian. More specifically: a Kryptonian under a yellow sun, whose wavelengths of light bring forth her genetic heritage when she basks in its rays. If long lost Rao was once her father, Sol is her mother, raising her up to be all that she can be. A creation of a lost super-science, a power to rival gods, a force that made the Guardians tremble in their emerald tower.

Kara can see everything.

The world is alive with light. It cascades and bounces and caroms off of everything. More than that, Kara’s world is bathed in a thousand thousand hues the human eye will never know. When she looks at a person she can see the electrical conductivity of their skin and the heat bloom of their flesh and a myriad of other details, some of which other humans can pick up on a subconscious level, others that humans haven’t even discovered yet.

Kara can hear everything.

She can hear dog whistles and butterfly wings beating and the secret language of cats. She can hear the crackle of radio waves beating the atmosphere and the music of the spheres. She can memorize human heartbeats and pick out the slightest variation, the tiniest wobble that the owner of the heart never feels.

Kara can smell everything. She can sift between the scents of ingredients in her honey bun, detect poisons in a friend’s wine or flowers in a park half a state away. Sharks would be jealous of her. She can scent people but also their moods; fear smells horrific, sickly sweet and rotten. Joy smells hot and bold. When someone walks in the room, she can tell what they had for breakfast, smell of they’re sick, pick out the fragrances of their emotions.

Kara can feel everything. A touch can betray or affirm. To hear a heartbeat is one thing, to feel it another. Her fingertips can read the surface of another’s skin like braille and she can detect the slightest changes in temperature or perspiration, feel the thrum of contentment or fear in an embrace. Her touch is not dulled by her invulnerability. It as sensitive as her other senses.

Kara can remember everything. The day she stepped from her pod into the brilliant golden sunlight beneath a blue sky was the last time she would every forget; her now empowered brain can recall events in the finest detail, down to the soft timbre of another’s voice or the way her hair fell over her shoulder or the softness in her gaze. And so Kara’s memory is hers to be kept forever, never to lose the sight of her.

That is how Kara knows, and knowing that Lena Luthor loves her is a pain so terrible that she almost wishes she could be spared that pain. When Lena sees Kara, her heart leaps and her breath softens and she comes alive with light, bathed in an auric glow more beautiful than a red sunrise. Kara wishes that Lena could see herself as Kara sees her. Radiant, angelic, a little holy.

Lena loves Kara Danvers, the bumbling awkward nerdy shy girl from Vaguely Canada who brings her burgers and donuts and OTPs.

She doesn’t love Supergirl and Kara doesn’t think she could.

That’s how the torture happens. Kara’s infinite perception becomes a self-imposed exile. She sees and smells the way James lusts after Lena, right in front of her. Baffled, she listens to the calm in her heart when they kiss and once she wakes frantically in the night, reaching about to sift through the city soundscape when she hears Lena’s voice cry out, then the sound of Lena’s heart racing and other sounds, and not for the first time, she pleads with a god she doesn’t know to make her human and free her from this curse.

She seeks feeling of her own. It’s pleasant enough but it lacks something undefinable, like a pleasant chocolate cake that becomes unbearable because she could have had something far sweeter and more filling instead. He tries in a fumbling way but it’s to please his own ego more than sate her desire. Then one day he is gone and in his absence all Kara can feel is a dull numbness, a ragged wound with all the nerves scraped out so that only a dull absence has been left behind, leaving her broken in a way that cannot be defined much less repaired.

Kara cannot help but snap her attention to the sound of Lena growing agitated, no matter how distant or minor. She hears harsh words and the heavy thud of a limo door closing and hears the sharp intake of breath as James realizes the mistake he’s made, and though he is her friend and he matters to him she feels a feral, possessive joy that borders on the cruel. It is a hard feeling, a red feeling, a sharp smelling mean feeling that tastes cold on her tongue, this resentment of the man for having a pale shadow of what she could have but wouldn’t.

Lena loves Kara Danvers and Kara Danvers loves her back, but she can never know because to know she must know all of her. Know the Other, the Super, the Alien.

Kara is two people and one of those people has been, well, a bitch.

Because Kara feels spending else. A green feeling, a sick feeling, the feeling of blades flensing flesh from bone while her veins turn to glass and her body burns to ash, the shocking pain of a little piece of home. A little piece that Lena made and didn’t tell her, and Kara makes the worst mistake.

She stops being Supergirl and is just Kara Danvers in a colorful suit, angrily refusing to ask Lena the question: I love you, how could you do this to me?

She does love her. She loves her laugh and her secret smiles and how soft she looks when she’s deep in thought. She loves the pain in her, the mirror of her own. She cherishes it as she wants hers to be cherished, held close by someone who knows what it’s like to watch your world explode or slip beneath still waters and be gone forever. She knows what it’s like to wonder what could have been and know the price you paid for what you have now.

She wants Lena so terribly that she’d almost choose the pain of Kryptonite instead of an eternity of this longing. She needs her, craves her, thirsts for her.

One night Kara realizes what she’s been doomed to. Another will succeed where James failed, and Kara will be spared none of it, and it will endure forever. She will carry memories of Lena in another’s arms into the sun dies.

No.

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,��� Lena says.

Kara -Supergirl- says nothing at first.

“I have to fly you.”

Lena nods. She’s doing this for Kara, because Kara asked. When Supergirl extends a hand, Lena takes it and Kara gently lifts her from the ground into a bridal carry, and they fly.

The trip takes nearly an hour. Kara can’t fly too fast or too high. Lena accepts it without complaint.

They land far north of National City, where the warmer climate yields to deciduous rainforest. Kara brings them down on a bare hilltop, an island in a vast ocean of trees. Nearby on a folding table is a basket. It might be important later or it might not. She might have a life of joy or she might spend the rest of forever in a wasteland, waking each day to grief.

There’s only one way to find out. Part of her, the part that hopes, the part that makes her Supergirl, believes in this, in herself, in this moment. She has to, because the chain of events that led her here, flung across endless space to stand in starlight with the most beautiful woman in this world, it demands that it happen. This is fate. It has to be.

Supergirl stands beside Lena. She raises an arm and points.

“There. Second star on the left, and straight on till morning.”

Lena quirks an eyebrow and looks at her.

“You brought me out here for this?”

“Do you see that red light?” Kara asks. “It’s very faint. I don’t know if a human can see it or not.”

“I just see stars.”

“It’s Rao, my sun. I can see him. If I had a powerful enough telescope, I could see it. Krypton. The explosion won’t be visible to Earth for a thousand years.”

Lena looks up, her features bathed in moonlight- alive with a chaotic explosion of hues she’ll never see. She blazes in the night, her eyes a kaleidoscope from which Kara can never truly look away. She’s a rainbow.

Kara falters. Whatever she does tonight, this is it. This is forever.

“You said Kara would meet me here,” Lena says.

“Wait here, please.”

Kara turns quickly and walks into the dark, cape spreading behind her. Once she’s out of sight, she changes without restraining her speed, and walks back to Lena in a hoodie and leggings, hair in a loose ponytail and the back of her neck and hands in her pockets.

She walks back to Lena and stands beside her.

“Hello, Kara.”

“Hi, Lena.”

There is a tense silence between them. Kara devours the moment, consumes it so it will live forever, just in case this is the last time she sees Lena.

“We’re not far from the reservoir,” says Lena. “Why did you ask Supergirl to bring us here?”

Kara swallows hard. “I realized something really important near here.”

Lena turns to her. “What was that?”

“That there was someone who mattered to me a lot, and that I was willing to risk a lot to protect her. There was a moment where I thought I was going to have time make a choice, you or the chemicals. I didn’t have to but I would have. I would have picked you. I will always pick you. I can’t help it.”

Lena is not stunned. Her heart doesn’t miss a beat, but Kara can sense her apprehension, her fear, and something deeper than that.

“You’re Supergirl.”

Kara lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and her legs wobble. There it is. It’s done. She’s free.

“I should have told you sooner.”

“You should have. You should have told me when we fought about the Kryptonite. I thought you would, hoped you would. I wanted you to so desperately, wanted you to trust me.”

Kara’s heart sinks.

“Wait, you knew? How?”

Lena laughs softly.

“The way you touch me. When you pick me up and carry me somewhere, you have this way about you. When I’m in your arms I feel like I’m the most precious thing in the world.”

“You are,” Kara says.

“That and you told me you flew to my office on a bus.”

Kara makes a small, choked sound.

“Oh.”

Lena scuffs the heel of her boot against the ground.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared. I thought if I did, you’d see it as a confrontation and feel threatened. What about you?”

“I’m Kara. Supergirl is something I do, not what I am. When I’m with you I’m just me. I lose that with everyone when they find out. Kara isn’t my secret identity. Supergirl is. I’m just me. I just want to be me, I need to be me, and when I’m with you I am most myself. It’s like laying down all my burdens.”

“Same,” Lena said, softly. “You’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like an extension of my brother.”

Kara sighed. “Should we talk about the Kryptonite?”

“No,” Lena says. “Fuck the Kryptonite. Why’d you bring me out here?”

“To tell you.”

“Great, you told me. What did you think would happen next?”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

Lena nods and seems to think about that for a moment. Her pulse has quickened and her jaw is tight.

“Let me ask you a different question. What did you want to happen?”

Kara swallowed hard. “What I wanted was… for us to make up. Be friends. Work it out. I don’t want to lose you.”

Lena turns and looks at her.

“Bullshit.”

Kara flinches.

“That’s bullshit, Kara, and we both know it. You’re a terrible liar. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the staff at CatCo know who you are. Don’t lie to me. Please. Give me the truth.”

Kara looks up briefly, past Lena. She sees that faint red glow and her heart swells in her chest.

“I love you. That’s the truth. I’ve been in love with you probably since our first lunch together and I want you so badly that I can’t breathe when I think about it. I know a dozen languages and half of them aren’t from Earth, and there aren’t enough words in all of them to tell you how kind and wonderful and beautiful you are. I love you so much that sometimes I think,” Kara fights the tightening of her throat, “I think I’m almost glad that I’m here and not back up there under that red glow. I don’t think I could choose a life without you.”

Lena lets out a long breath and Kara is bombarded with sensations. Lena’s pulse races and her shoulders relax and her skin blooms with an ethereal luminous riot of color.

“I’ll never lie to you again. I promise.”

Kara can taste everything.

Right now the only thing she can taste is Lena.

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, past trauma, mentions wounds, ptsd, anxiety, panic, fluff, mentions hurt/comfort, and smut. Plus sized reader. NSFW!

A/N: I missed Eddie. I’m feeling quite down on my body type, so I kind of wrote this with my own body size in mind ❤️

~*~

Eddie Munson always said he didn’t care. Didn’t want to be a boyfriend. Wasn’t pissed off if girls didn’t cling onto him after their brief time together (usually late nights, quiet places). If they don’t want the freak, why would the freaky freak want them? Fuck love, it’s just a facade.

At least, that’s what he used to say until he met you in the Spring of 86. You were involved in Henderson’s little banded family unit, constantly being talked about even before Eddie saw you. He was a bit perturbed already. If you were close to Wheeler and Harrington, you were probably a snob. Quite the contrary, as Eddie remembers clearly, watching you quiet from the sidelines as he’d been told monsters were real, but not cool dragons or slayers — just a teenage girl with mind powers.

Gentle, but rough. You dove in before Wheeler to save Harrington, you jumped back into that disgusting hole in the floor to try and help wake Nancy up, and when it came down to battle? You wore your outfit without fear, and silently had reached for Eddie’s hand on the way to everyone’s stations, squeezing. He’d seen that face before, your vacant expression, a false smile you attempted when you were not in thought. You weren’t okay, but you had been trying to make it that way for everyone else.

And it wasn’t, not for a long time. Not after you lost, he died, Carver died, and Mayfield went into a coma. A fight occurred in Hawkins before he was brought back, one that Eddie still sees in your eyes when the sun goes down and it’s quiet in the trailer, sans the beeping of the smoke alarm. Sometimes you just bring him impossibly closer, that he isn’t sure whose body heat is causing him to perspire. And others, you wake up in his arms, pulling him on top, clinging to his neck, your lips panting pleas into his mouth that ask for help.

Mutual scars, tragedy, blame, regrets, trauma, you helping his recovery, his process, even when he wasn’t so nice, that he wished he’d stayed gone. It’s all there, things that he feels safe only sharing with you. His marked body, one he is comfortable letting only you feel, see. He isn’t sure when it happened, really. But he knows now, especially looking at you beside him, your necklaces hanging around your neck, their charms dangling between your breasts, one leg propped, the other flat, lying open, evidence of the previous half hour shining between your thighs, and he’s propped on his palm, blowing out the last of his cigarette smoke, stubbing out the end.

You’re reading a piece of his work in progress fantasy novel, one based off of things that have happened. You’re lost in his vivid descriptions, captivated by his words, led by the hand that holds his pen. And his enriching, dark eyes, they caving into blown pupils, his ring clad finger trailing down your shoulder, following the curvature into your elbow’s inside. You’re already smiling by the time that he reaches your neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth, trailing wet kisses over your jugular. His arm elongates, easing his creation from your grip to throw aside.

You pretend to huff, and he catches your mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, tastes of smoke, but it’s precise, it’s familiar, it’s Eddie. Your fingers slide through his curls, freshly washed, yet frizzed from previous humidity. You tug on his blood stained pick, and he knows your implications, follows your soft look. He has to tilt your chin, shaking his head. “Remember that I’m right here, sweetheart. All of me but one nipple.”

He treasures you by bestowing that trademark Munson smirk, making your brief panic ebb away to pleasure. And you cave you into him, permitting his fingers to slide against your cunt, cupping. It’s a whine in his mouth that gets him to slide an ankle beneath yours, pulling you open for more availability. You could have anyone, you could’ve had something going on with Steve. But it’s Eddie you go to bed with every night, it’s he that you spend hours talking to on the phone when you’re not together, it’s him who holds you when you have a nightmare, and it’s Eddie Munson that you’ve already given your heart to, unbeknownst to him.

He’s falling into your grip, trying to situate himself, amused as he asks. “Already? Can you take it —“

And he goes head over ass, world Olympics type shit when you manage to maneuver him onto his back, unafraid, sat on top him in all over your glory. Your curves overflow, breasts sitting heavy, begging to be touched. You reach behind you, taking him in your hand. He’s nodding like an eager ass, little nerdy beaver. He could giggle right now. Your pupils are blown to the brim of your irises, a look of lavish possessiveness sweeping across him, and holy fuck does he feel sexy.

He doesn’t have to verbalize his consent, his brazen ‘take me now’ appears in the form of his hands reaching for your tits. You groan upon him getting a handful (and Christ, they still won’t fit). It’s a burning stretch, but you slide down his cock in moments, ones that Eddie holds his breath for, only able to gasp when you’re seated fully, sticky and spread around him.

He cares. He cares so much.

You grasp onto his wrists, clenching around him as he gives you two words, “Go, baby.” And then your hands are dropping to dig into his chest, thumbs beneath his chain, in newly grown out hair along his sternum, making scars feel like warrior wounds he’s proud to own.

You look at, leveling off his hands before they can drop from your breasts, pressing down so that he gets the message to grip tighter.

Fuck. He’s in love. He’s in love with you.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

NO BUT I NEED SATORU AND SUKUNA INSIDE OF ME RIGHT NEEOOOWWWWW I CAN TAKE THEM.BOTH!!!!!

❝ Darling, won't you just plead, or should I begin to bleed? ❞

Heian Era!Sukuna Ryomen x ftm!reader x Heian Era!Gojo Satoru | alternate universe, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5.4

warnings: mentions of murder, dub. con (Gojo Satoru), power imbalance, size difference, threesome, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs, anal sex, spit roasting, triple penetration, tummy bulging, improper use of RCT , marking, possessive sex, degradation, one of Sukuna's cock gets bigger out of spite, unrealistic amounts of cum, AFAB terminology (reader's genitals are referred to with cock, dick, hole, boycunt, boypussy, clit)

“Call off your dog, Sukuna,” he snarls. Sukuna’s grin stretches obscenely and he throws his head back to laugh. Satoru hopes to have hurt your ego — from the tall tales he’s heard of (Y/N), you were known to have a haughty air about you. Satoru is sorely disappointed as he hears you chuckling along with Sukuna. In any other situation, the sweet sounds of your laughter would’ve made his heart flutter. But it’s mixed with Sukuna’s cackling so intricately he shudders at the very thought.

“Come, dog.”

authors note: heed the warnings!!! * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned)!

When the sun sets over the horizon and tucks itself past the peaks of those great mountains, it isn’t unusual for the sounds of burning to follow. Little slivers of suns swaying on top of wax or dancing across oil. Naturally, the burning comes with smoke. Casual tantalizing curls emitting from the evershifting flame; make you wonder if the sun steams and smokes.

Does it stay in the darkness, its company being the dancers of its creation swirling with it to the crackling of its flames? Afterall, if the sun is the king of flames, it would make sense that he has his own concubines.

Your eyes pull away from the sprouts of candles at the edge of the throne. Leaning your head back, you now gaze up at the king of curses as he breathes in the flavourful, addictive, smoke from the burning tobacco and exhales it into the air. He swallows the ghostly concubines. Stealing another king’s treasure. It was like him; he was the true king, after all.

Sukuna pays you no mind. He had called you to lounge with him, had Uruame prepare you for a night of passion despite not yet touching you. He had simply tapped his lap and you filled out the space by cushioning your head on his big thigh.

He’s dressed in auspiciously white garments, the expensive material has you wondering what’s in store for the both of you. The King of Curses does not need primping. Even so, he is dressed loosely. The mouth on his stomach is visible and one of his sleeves threatens to fall from his shoulder. The hand holding the smoke pipe allows itself to be pushed while the lower pair holds onto your hips. He stares down at you, his four eyes glinting silently in question. You’re practically kneeling on his lap and you barely reach the bottom half of his lips.

“Do you recall how many people I’ve killed for their insolence?” his tone is drawled out, a tinge of amusement hidden behind the baritones. “Yes, my King. I’ve always enjoyed watching you destroy them,” your hands curl around the bulging muscles of his chest and you trace up the tattoos he has to reach his shoulders.

Sukuna takes you in. Uruame had outdone themselves. You’re dressed in his favourite colours. Nothing too restrictive, the layers were enough to entice but not to invoke annoyance. Japanese politeness and grace are interwoven into every stitch despite your less-than-innocent gaze. You’ve always had the prettiest eyes; he remembers jesting that he’d pluck them out to put into a jar just so he could see them every day. They trial the shape of your lips, painted with the shades of flower petals that bloom in the light of the heavens; he thinks the irony is all the more poetic.

Your mouth and heaven do not go hand-in-hand. It’s pure sin. From that wicked, silver, tongue to your saccharine-sweet smile to that spine-shivering laugh.

You were hell-born. Just like he was.

Gently, you slip your digits under the fabric of his shoulder and he watches you and your actions impassively. Four eyes give him more room to admire you with, whatever part of you. He imagines you mean to smooth out the — imaginary — wrinkles as your palm slips up and down his broad shoulders. Your touching earns a firm squeeze to your hips, his hands are so large they cover the entirety of your back. And when they squeeze it makes your eyes flutter. He could snap you in half with just one hand. Barely use any of his strength — Sukuna could kill you as an afterthought, toss your beautiful body aside, and never think of you again.

But he doesn’t.

“You are getting impatient, boy.” The hand on his chest could feel that rumbling. Your throne — his lap — moves and you let yourself be placed according to his will. Sukuna sets you back on his lap and splays you out with a look. You stretch out on him — if you were a cat your tail would’ve curled coyly into the air just under his chin.

“It is late, Your Grace.”

The only lights left were from the candles and pools of oil ignited.

“You are passion and flame and I’ve been prepared for you to alight.”

He thinks your flowery words are adorable but unneeded. Sukuna props his face on his knuckles as he gazes down at your exposed legs. They’re practically glowing and the scent of oil entices his cocks. The mouth on his stomach splits and his tongue curls over the teeth there - you giggle at the sight.

“You want me to fuck you,” he smirks sharply, “and I am telling you to wait, brat.”

“For what?” You prop yourself on your elbows, brows pinched. “The servant that prepared me has his head tossed into a hole and yet I can still feel his little prick inside of me.”

Taking Ryomen Sukuna’s cocks was not an easy feat. For the common man, a few fingers and oil would do. For a beast that is your king, a generous pour of oil and a man pumped with herb aphrodisiacs was needed. None of the men would ever reach completion and neither did you — Sukuna would not allow it.

They would fuck you but once Uruame felt that you were stretched enough to gape, they’d pull the man away and bring him to the courtyard. A hole would be dug and the naked man would be beheaded. His penis was tossed in there to be buried and forgotten. No one should live to tell the tale of preparing Sukuna’s precious concubine. They should be honoured they were chosen but they’ll never be seen again. Those poor bastards. At least they were useful before they died.

Mirth sparks in his eyes.

“I spoil you,” and at that, you bashfully turn away. “I deserve to be spoiled.”

A greeting comes from across the long hall. The servants next to the doors rise from their bowed positions and it slides open to reveal Uruame and a man touched by frost behind them. Uruame is kneeling, and the man is not.

“Your Grace,” Uruame bows deeper.

“The head of the Gojo clan, Gojo Satoru. As you requested.”

His skin was pale and his hair paler. You’re certain if the sun rose he’d turn all but translucent. The flicker from the candles attempts to cast shadows across his small face but they cannot darken those sky-blue eyes. Uruame had announced he was from the Gojo clan but, you’ve only ever seen such blue eyes from white men — he doesn’t appear to have been sired by one. You doubt they’d even let the head of their clan be of a mixed race.

Gojo Satoru is a freak of nature. He is a curse in the shape of a man.

“Does he not know how to bow?” Your purring tone is gone. It’s cold as Uruame’s technique. Sukuna eases it back with a deliberate squint of his eye.

“Bring him in. Then leave, Uruame.” They bow deeper (if that was even possible) and after Satoru steps through, Uruame is hidden by the sliding doors once again.

“Have you reconsidered my offer, sorcerer?” Satoru’s brows are furrowed, and his long sleeves hide his hands but from the flex of his shoulders you know they are clenched.

Rising from your throne you make your down the platform. Every step exposes your delicious thighs and legs and it is so indecent it makes Satoru’s ire falter. The sleeves of your outfit drag onto the floor and it weighs down the fabric around your shoulder; your neck and your clavicle down to the whisper of your chest has Satoru’s ears blush.

You walk in a half-circle to his right, your eyes set into a glare that disappears as slips from his eyesight. Satoru knows he should not let you get behind him but turning his head away from Sukuna seems more damning. Sukuna says nothing of your less-than-inviting nature, his silence prompting Satoru to speak. “To serve you or die?” he scowls. “The Gojo clan will not serve you, Ryomen Sukuna.” Sukuna sighs, placing his smoke pipe down as he frowns. “So you have come all the way here to waste my time and to die. So typical of you sorcerers.”

“If you wish for my clan to serve you, we require more than empty promises.” Satoru’s tone was akin to the sound of the first arrow whistling through the wind, the growl he let out being the twang of the released drawstring. Regret beads down the back of his neck as he feels the sharp edge of a curved dagger pressed against the hill of his throat.

“You ask my king to fulfill wishes? Do you think him a genie?” the shape of his teeth familiarizes themselves as his jaw clenches. The blade is a cursed object, it mewls and groans faintly; the opal colour breathing as it soaks in his blood.

“Call off your dog, Sukuna,” he snarls. Sukuna’s grin stretches obscenely and he throws his head back to laugh. Satoru hopes to have hurt your ego — from the tall tales he’s heard of (Y/N), you were known to have a haughty air about you. Satoru is sorely disappointed as he hears you chuckling along with Sukuna. In any other situation, the sweet sounds of your laughter would’ve made his heart flutter. But it’s mixed with Sukuna’s cackling so intricately he shudders at the very thought.

“Come, dog.”

With a curl of a finger, Satoru is able to breathe. You make your way to Sukuna, kneeling as you reach the top of the platform and crawl right onto his lap. The dagger slipped under the fabric around your waist.

“You are certainly an arrogant man, sorcerer. Your haughty clans fail to have taught you any diplomatic manners.”

“Diplomatic?” Satoru barks out a laugh. You narrow your eyes, bemused. “You’re a tyrant, King of Curses! The villages you’ve burned to the ground, the clans you’ve wiped out! Diplomacy? You’re taking the piss!”

Sukuna spots the curls of your lips and when glance up at him, he concurs that you do deserve to be spoiled because the two of you share the same thoughts.

This Satoru, this stubborn man; he would make a fine collection for both of you if he could survive a night.

“You require more than my word to serve me? Very well.” The nudging from your side earns him a purr and with your back turned to Satoru, you shed the fabrics. Blue eyes watch in confusion as they watch you kneel and push away the clothes from Sukuna’s shoulder.

“My darling dog has been hungry. He’s insatiable, every part of him.” One of his hands holds your chin and turns it so Satoru has a clear view of your side profile with your lips pushed forward.

“From his painted lips.”

Another hand slips down the waist of your outfit and it gives way to show the small of your back. Nearly the entirety of your back is marked from Sukuna’s lips, teeth, nails, and hands like a canvas of artwork.

“To his tight holes. You cannot see it, sorcerer, but he is clenching around the tip of my finger. Hungry.”

The hilt of your dagger is askew but neither paid it any mind. There’s more rustling and you’re almost completely naked as you obediently let yourself be displayed.

“Ah!” The wet squelch of a tongue makes your back straighten and your fingers spasm as they tighten their hold on Sukuna’s robes.

“His useless cock is already leaking.”

“What are you asking of me, Sukuna?” Satoru speaks through gritted teeth. But his skin is so pale it betrays his weak resolve. Those reddened cheeks and ears, the racing heartbeat; Sukuna doesn’t need four eyes to know that Satoru’s dick was interested in whatever is being offered.

“Fuck my darling boy and your family will not be cursed by me while they serve me, Satoru.”

“W — What?” he sputters. Meanwhile, you’re all but melting as the sounds continue. He sees your ass trembling as your expression melts in pleasure.

Sukuna arches a pointed brow as his hand tugs the clothes of your body and it flutters onto the ground in a fancy display. There you are. Naked as the day you were born. Satoru should look away; but how does one pull their sights away from a body carved by the devil? Angelic in all the wrong ways, temptation sticks to your skin like perfume and Satoru is not a saint but he feels as though a single touch would damn him. In fact, just looking at you is dangerous.

“Are you a virgin? Or is my concubine not to your taste?”

Your nail digs through Sukuna’s shoulder. So his large tongue sweeps below your drenched cunt to soothe your irritation.

“I warn you to answer that question with caution, Gojo Satoru,” you hiss out.

“Perhaps he’s not a fan of men,” Sukuna reasons. “Common men perhaps. Are you calling me common, My King?” the squelching sound of your nails digging in makes streams of crimson slip down Sukuna’s skin and the sight of it has Satoru gasping (again).

“Put your claws away, boy. As if I would sink my cock into a common man. No, I take you like a proper bitch. This body may be different, but this tight hole?”

Satoru watches a tongue appear from Sukuna’s palm. The pink muscle pushes in and the rim of your asshole easily gives in, back arching further to assist. "And this?" Satoru sees the dexterous muscle from his stomach curl. A tongue larger than any he's ever seen, squirming its way inside of you from the front, and it makes you gasp airily in pleasure as it eagerly wriggles deeper.

“A body made to be fucked, to be left leaking with cum for days. And it is rare, Satoru, for it to leak with cum that isn’t mine.”

Satoru takes a tentative step back, shame coursing through him as he tears his eyes down.

“This is — This is dishonorable — “

“If you walk through that door, Satoru, you’ve sealed the fate of your clan to be erased forever.”

You moan as his tongue grows longer and those bloody fingers wrap around Sukuna’s thick neck. The mask on Sukuna’s face, the eyes on it, narrow the tiniest bit.

“And you’d offend my concubine greatly. He’ll enjoy murdering each and every one of your clan members for the disrespect.”

The candles shudder as the wind blows through the slits of the wood. It causes the flames to dance and the shame Satoru is experiencing to be swallowed down. He is frozen there for a moment, your sighs of pleasure like a siren call to hell. Sukuna’s great tongue hides behind a row of teeth, the grin most likely identical to the one he wears on his face, as Satoru approaches the steps of the platform.

“Come, Gojo Satoru.”

Climbing up the stairs was akin to walking to the gates of hell. Satoru can see the sheen of sweat on the back of your neck. He wonders if every part of tastes like heaven. Your tears, your slick, your sweat, your cum, your blood. Without even laying your hand on him once and you've already destroyed him, (Y/N).

"Kneel." Sukuna's words are a vow. An agreement. If Satoru's knees had settled onto the wooden floor, he'd have sealed the fate of his entire clan to serve under Ryomen Sukuna. His pupils quake, taking a sharp intake of breath as he tries to steady his heart.

Your hands invade his vision. The palms of Sukuna's concubine are soaked in crimson — was that why they were so soft? Your nails still have Sukuna's blood and the feeling makes spiders crawl up his spine.

"Gooseflesh rippling?" You whisper as your naked body finally earns his focus. You're in a puddle of your clothes, kneeling before him. Tilting your head, you surge upwards and press your forehead with his. His eyes may be haunting but yours are unforgettable.

It reminds him of the first time he'd ever peered into the darkness of the woods behind his clan's estate. How the light never reaches past the woodline. The silence. The way his brain made up shapes and faces and beings and curses and you.

In that memory, there you are. Between the mighty trees, what little light did reach you making your eyes reflect it back; as if you didn't have a soul yourself and all you can do is pretend.

"Kneel, boy." You say and Satoru's knees buckle.

The thud that resounds was final. Your grin is terrifying. Sukuna looms over your shoulder and his eyes are glowing with excitement.

Gojo Satoru had made a deal with two devils.

"Good sorcerer," your face comes closer and your lips acquaintances themselves with his. They're pillowy and soft. Blood rushes south despite Satoru's conflicted feelings. If he pretends you're not who you are, perhaps he can delude himself into thinking you're someone he loved; a man he wishes to devour; Violet eyes, black hair, upturned eyes with a voice that'd make angels sigh.

That image disappears as he feels your fingers wrap around his throat. You say nothing. But the second Satoru's eyes shoot open, he sees the unamused expression on your face.

"Now, don't get yourself killed so early on in the night, Satoru," Sukuna muses out. His lower hand reaches to grasp the nape of your neck and it squeezes hard enough for Satoru to hear your bones wheeze under pressure.

"Come here, darling." You turn away with a huff.

Satoru doesn't know what to do with himself so he is content to watch as you undress Sukuna. The King of Curses watches, enraptured by your movement as his torso is now bare of anything. The mouth on his stomach, that monstrous tongue, wets your chest and you simply shudder but continue your task.

"My concubine can be rather pouty when he isn't paid attention to. Best to not let your mind wander, Satoru."

You scowl, bending over to mouth at Sukuna's crotch as he holds the back of your head. The sight of your dripping cunt and ass has Satoru's cock rising to attention.

"How dare he even do so. I'll slice his cock off," Sukuna thinks the sight would be amusing but he simply guides your head lower.

There were rumours of Ryomen Sukuna's endowment.

If he had another pair of everything, did that mean his cock was the same?

Satoru wonders how you aren't split in half as he sees Sukuna's cocks twitching in your grasp. They're thick and heavy, bumping into each other as they perk up from your attention. The tip of it is nearly bright red, angry, and demanding a hole to sink into. The veins on it must make you keen often because you tongue at them with a pleased grin.

"Satoru." He tears his eyes away from the sight. Sukuna smiles at him, ignoring your pleased groans as you take the tip of his cock in your mouth while your hand strokes over the other.

"Feast, Satoru."

The command is so simple yet so vague. Satoru can't quite comprehend it. So he stares at Sukuna then at you, kneeling before your King with the most obscene noises coming from your mouth. There was no way the phallus could even comfortably rest on your tongue, each the length of your face and as thick as your wrist.

It must be uncomfortable. He must have other concubines for this exact reason. There was simply no way you alone could please him.

Your head rises from between your shoulders, and a long stroke from the base to the tip of his cock has Sukuna exhaling through his nose; he sees you bob up and then down. A minute gagging noise slips through but then you widen your knees and somehow you dip your head low.

"That's it, darling. Take your fill."

He wasn't lying when he said you were greedy. Satoru pushes himself to stand and Sukuna would usually kill men for not bowing their heads to the floor but he wants to see what the white-haired man intends to do.

Cheeks sucked in, eyebrows sloped delicately as your jaw strains to keep itself intact. Sukuna is well-endowed, big, humongous, huge — whatever other synonym you'd use to describe big cock(s). You feel someone move your bangs out of the way.

"He's halfway down..." Satoru had seen a lot in his life. From the fantastical curse techniques of other sorcerers to the nightmare-inducing curses, the wealth from his clan members also assists the opulence he's known since birth. The whores his uncles had given to him as a gift for his birthday — the array of positions they knew, of how willing they were to do whatever he asked with a grin even if it involved humiliating themselves or him.

But he'd never seen a man as handsome as you take such a monstrous dick in his mouth with no effort. The stretch of your lips, the smear of the red pigment around it, and on Sukuna's cock.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" Sukuna boasts. "Usually, the other concubines look like fishes speared on a pike when they take me into their mouths." Your eyes open in a glare and Satoru placates it by stroking your temple with his thumb.

"Not even a mention?" Satoru's inquiry earns a chuckle from Sukuna. "No. He will not allow it, if I wasn't so far down his mouth I'm sure he would've pulled away to complain." The hand on your head is not Sukuna's but it holds you firmly in place.

"How do you even fuck the other concubines?" Satoru wonders.

"(Y/N) usually slaughters them a week after I've brought them in." Satoru's shock weakens his hold, so you pull away with a cough and frown deeply up at the two men.

"I do not slaughter them! They just so happened to have ill-fated ends." You squeeze his cock one more time before turning your attention to his lower half, kissing it sweetly on its head before smearing his precum all over your lips, the smell of it making your cheeks warmer than it already was.

Truly, (Y/N). You didn't need to play this part of a proper highborn so astutely. Even if you beheaded the last concubine he had in front of him instead of summoning a curse to slam into it, resulting in the palanquin and the concubine within it along with her attending ladies being thrown off a cliff and mangled beyond words; he wouldn't have punished you.

It was your right to exorcise whoever you needed to so long as it didn't interfere with Sukuna's will. It pleased him to make you bridled with rage to result in murder, why wouldn't it? The blood that painted you from your head to your toes. It cannot all be his doing.

His dearest concubine, you mustn't get queasy so quickly. Show him the lines you'll cross to ensure he remains yours. Kill whoever you please, maim the sorcerers who take him away from you, burn down villages, and bask in their cries and their pain with him.

Hide your giggles behind your silk sleeves if you must but don't you dare hide your amusement of carnage from him; command curses to tear men apart and slice women to shreds. Everything is yours, (Y/N). Everything you wish for, everything you ask for, everything you need, and everything you didn't even think you required.

The world is yours.

"Of course," he grins and the tongue from his stomach reaches out to lick your cheek.

"Astonishing," Satoru mutters. Concubines killing each other aren't anything new though he sincerely doubts the others truly understood what they were getting into when they became Sukuna's. "Thank you," you reply after combing your hair back to take his other cock in your mouth.

Satoru feels overdressed and Sukuna was not in the business of doing that task for him. So he sheds his layers, the symbols of crane wings embroidered in the sleeves shimmer gloriously up at him. Satoru folds them over to hide it.

He will need to forget about everything else tonight. If he wishes to remain sane or tolerate the both of you — he will use his other head to guide him.

"Milky skin." You purr from Sukuna's lap. "Pale as the moon. Eyes as blue as the sky. I would kill you if you lived in this palace."

Satoru scoffs, standing with his cock twitching in the cool breeze.

"How fortunate for the both of us that I don't live here then." He hisses as your grasp onto his semi-hard dick.

"Even the hairs here are white. What a pretty cock." The feeling of your velvet tongue on his tip makes his breath shudder. It's nowhere close to Sukuna's length —or girth —but that doesn't cause him disappointment. He's longer than average, his cockhead poking the back of your throat, and veiny, mainly on his sides.

"Good weight," he moans as your lips trace the prominent veins, painting his blushing cock with your marks. Satoru doesn't understand what you want to him to say to the comment, a thank you seemed unbecoming and anything else would be odd. So he says nothing and just caresses your jaw to guide your mouth forward.

"Take your fill, (Y/N)."

The position you're in is not entirely new. You've taken Uraume and Sukuna together before. Witt their sex is in your mouth while your King takes you from behind. Ah, what fond memories. You really should invite the ever-so-loyal servant into your bed once again.

What a talented mouth they had. Such vigor to please you, adoration pouring from them with every flick of their tongue.

Sukuna is still a possessive lover. That did not change. But he does find amusement in the way you ache for Uraume's body and something about the way Uraume strokes themselves to completion as they watch the two of you fuels him with pride.

But enough about your lovely Uraume.

Satoru had placed his robes beneath your knees and so you suck in your cheeks as thanks as you suck on his length. Your hands were on his knee and his fingers held a fistful of your hair. The silken cloth beneath you makes you inch forward with each thrust from Sukuna.

"The way he's stretched around me. Satoru, I'll save his other hole for you to fuck, this one is all mine," his hips are flushed against your ass. He can feel your cunt attempting to push him out, resisting the stretch that would've killed others, as cursed energy flows through your body. It would ebb away, the need to heal yourself, as your body gets used to his size but fuck does it make Sukuna grin absolutely monstrous at the very fact you even need to do so.

You can't blame him. It's not like he'd never hurt you in any way you didn't like.

Your thighs are clenched tightly around his other cock. Luscious thighs slicked with oil that had been conveniently placed nearby and making sounds almost as obscenely as your filled cunt.

Satoru's jaw is loose. Throaty groans and appreciative moans rewarding your efforts as your nose presses against the patch of pubic hair he has. Diamonds line your waterline as you breathe through your nose, the back of your throat squeezing around Satoru's cock.

"Fuck!" He pulls you away, stroking himself furiously with one hand and holding your head in the other. The expression on your face should be preserved forever, Satoru thinks. So that future men will wish to be born in the same era as you.

His brows furrow in annoyance at how ethereal you look.

You should look whorish — which you do! But there's something unreal about it. Picture perfect, an embodiment of lust, depravity that beckons with that wet tongue and wetter eyes.

"S'kuna! Oh, yes, yes — Darling, you fill me so well!" Your voice is hoarse as you're jostled back and forth, nails leaving claw marks on the wooden floors. Satoru lets go of your head and you stretch out like a cat, the top half melting as your back arches into a perfect position.

Sukuna kneads at the mounds of your ass, splitting it apart to watch your asshole winking back at him while he holds your waist. It's brutal how he fucks you. Satoru stands and backs away to watch, his breath coming out in barely there white puffs and his heartbeat drumming through his ears.

"Fuh - fuck! Mpfh! Ngh — Your cocks are beautiful, they fill me so well," He tightens his hold on you and the moan you let out as he moves your body makes Satoru's cum bead on his tip.

Sukuna chuckles as he sees Satoru cursing and wiping away his shame. "You've never been in a room where people aren't salivating over you have you, sorcerer?" Satoru frowns pointedly at his condescending tone.

"Hah! I feel you in my stomach — You're — !"

"Must you belittle me any chance you get? Are you trying to compensate for something?" Satoru retorts. It makes Sukuna bark out a laugh. Strong biceps curl and flex as he rights your upper half so that it's pressed to his front.

On display for Satoru with Sukuna's greediest mouth curling around your chest to tease your chest.

"Compensate, is that the word you used?"

Between your slicked thighs, his cock spears through them in tandem with the one inside you. Satoru's eyes widen at the sight of the prominent bump poking from your stomach. The fact that you aren't dead is a clear testament to your skills — both in bed and in battle.

"I've heard no one has ever cut his skin," Satoru kneels again in front of you, nose curling at the dexterous muscle that flicks at his chin. "I know Reverse Curse Technique is a useful skill to have...but I never thought you'd be so perverse to use it so shamelessly."

"Get off your high horse, S — Mfh! That feel s'good — Satoru!"

"Wrong name," Sukuna growls near your ear. It manages to split Satoru's lips into a smirk as he cups your chest in each hand. It's slicked with saliva and he ignores the disgust he feels as he locks his lips with yours. Sweet as ever, despite the saltiness that lingers on your tongue.

"If his cunt is yours," Satoru pants out between kissing you. His thumb tweaking your nipples between his index, his cock hanging heavily as it fills up once again.

"Then he'll have to face away. I'll take his ass," he bites down on your lower lip. The sensation of his teeth and Sukuna's rough palms tightening their grip on you have you squealing in pleasure. His hips pause, it gives you enough time to form words while the men stare each other down for a second.

Sukuna was beginning to miss Uraume's presence. They never glared at him with open animosity, unadulterated wanting and greedily claiming your chest with a grip that'd leave bruises.

The shadows of a scowl crossed his face. Insolent little brat. But so fucking gorgeous. Strong too, from what he's heard.

He wasn't anywhere near as beautiful or strong as you but Sukuna has always had a penchant for these types. No one walks all over him. But he does find it amusing when pretty faces are so defiant — or when their heads are staked on a pike with crows plucking their eyes out.

You're breath shudders as Sukuna pulls you off his cock, leaning onto Satoru. He wraps his arms around you, eyelids fluttering at the feeling of your wet lips tracing his jaw while your body is all but boneless.

He inhales sharply as you grab his cock. "Thankfully, you're not — hah — completely incompetent in the sack. Impressive stamina, sorcerer." That, he could say thank you too. So he does.

Satoru is kind as he maneuvers you to face your beloved. Was that irritation in his chest at how excitedly you allowed Sukuna to claim your lips? Gods, no.

"Get closer," you said as you glanced at him over your shoulder. "If the both of you are going to fuck me, get closer."

What was it that Sukuna told him to do again?

Feast?

You can't tell where your pleasure begins or ends. Every nerve was set aflame and you weren't even sure if your body could've survived this if it weren't for your cursed energy.

Because from behind you, Satoru's thick member is spearing you again and again with Sukuna's. The idea of Satoru's cock inside of you seemed to have upset him enough to want to...accompany it in its endeavors. The sorcerer is hypnotized by the way your rim furls and unfurls on his blushing dick, how it greedily squeezes down every time he hits home and bumps his cockhead with Sukuna's. Even though their cum was creating a frothy ring of white at his base — he seems intent on pumping you with more and more and more. Marking your insides as white as his hair. He spreads your cheeks apart, groaning each time he does, and fuck, he's filthy as he whispers into your ear.

"You take us so fucking well. Like a proper whore, huh?"

"I'm not — I'm not a whore, you —"

Then, at the front, Sukuna's displeasure at Satoru's brazen attitude was taken out on your cunt. Still, you take all of him in because what concubine would you be if you couldn't? Your pride was on the line and you'd rather claw your own eyes out than let it be broken down.

His cock was inside of your cunt. You were more than pleased.

Sukuna's face floats above yours, his hands gripping everywhere while Satoru was chased off to just handle your ass. Though even then, he'd grab a handful of each cheek just to leave bitemarks on it — and annoy Satoru.

"Look at you," he groans out. His vermillion eyes are hooded with lust as he cradles your face.

You were perfection. A filthy little demon made to accompany him until the end of time. Your brows sloped so prettily, eyes hazy and lashes clumped together with tear streaks down your face. Lips red and bruised, neck littered with angry and dark marks.

"My King, my beloved, I — Oh, fuck, I'm close, I'm close," you whimper for what felt like the 5th time that night alone.

Why you were cumming? You weren't even sure.

The aching stretch of both holes as your brain is wrecked with too much pleasure is causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Your hands spasm from within one of Sukuna's hands and your whole body shakes as you feel yourself cum again.

"Ah, shit!" Satoru groans as he pulls out, frowning as cum follows his departure and drops onto the floor. "You're just as awful as he is," he hisses out to Sukuna as he glares at the way the cock he'd been sharing your ass with stopped growing. Snug as a bug as it plugged you up. Satoru had already been close, with a few more thrusts he'd be filling you up once again. Then, what he thought was you tightening up turned out to be Sukuna making his cock so big it made the fit painful.

Fucking asshole.

"If I was as awful as he was, I would've cleaved the top of your head off, Gojo." Sukuna grabs your ass and your wanton mewl makes both men twitch.

His thrusting picks up its speed and you fight back his hold to wrap your arms around his neck. Sukuna allows it. He's close. You can tell. He's close and like a child, he decides he's the only one allowed to flood your insides with his cum, overflow your body until it forgets the taste of Gojo Satoru's.

"Sukuna, Sukuna — My lover, my beloved," you manage a dopey grin as you messily mould your lips together.

"Cum with me, Sukuna."

He's wonderfully loud when he does. Violent too. His nails digging into your waist and ass while he thrusts himself balls deep inside of you. Satoru's amazed your body hadn't given out — amazed at your endurance and how your cursed energy levels hadn't once seemed to deflate once in the time the three of you had been naked.

He shouldn't hope for it — but Satoru wonders how you would fare in a fight with himself. In fact, he cums into his own fist and onto the floor at the very thought.

Sukuna groans as you squeeze around him, another orgasm washing over you in pathetic spurts of wetness from your cunt.

Soft panting fills the air. The two servants by the door rise from their knees to slide the door open and Uraume walks in with three women behind them.

"Fuck," Satoru should scramble to get off his kneeled position but his body is too pumped with pleasure to even process the command. "Oh, don't feel shame, sorcerer," Sukuna muses out.

The King of Curses leans back, settling on his throne with you in his lap and still snuggly inside of your holes. Uraume comes to your back, and two girls tend to Sukuna, gracefully wiping him down while Uraume does the same to you.

The other girl does the same to Satoru and he simply tosses his head back as he falls back onto his calves, groaning at the cool water.

"They've heard everything already. Your sacrifice for your clan. How noble."

A weak giggle comes from the mess of limbs on Sukuna's torso. It's still one of the most heart-fluttering sounds Satoru had ever listened to and he hates how his cheeks reddens once again as you lift your head to smile at him.

"So very noble, Gojo Satoru."

[hellincarnation]

A Possible Theory on Why Some Fandoms Are More Popular And Long Lasting Than Others

So i was thinking the other day, why the hell are some book/movie/game/etc fandoms lasting for 50+ years and others die in a year?

I was comparing some of my favourite fandoms, the Percy Jackson fandom and the Harry Potter fandom and what I noticed and discovered is to make a good fan base, you HAVE to create a good organisation in your story/game/movie/book etc.

What do I mean?

In Percy Jackson for example, we have our main character’s home base. Camp Half Blood. It’s developed in the background throughout the whole series, there is a companion book on the Camp itself, and the whole area is relatively fleshed out and utilised throughout the whole series. It’s described in detail, there are official maps released, people love the camp.

In Harry Potter, we have, of course, Hogwarts. It’s by far more developed than Camp Half Blood, with detailed classes, architecture, art, story, lore, founders. And our main characters spend majority of their time in the building itself. Hell, even the villains of the story used to attend Hogwarts

Why does this matter? Why does world building matter?

Aha. Here’s my hook. Fandoms stay alive as long as fans stay connected to the community. And how else to develop the strongest connection possible than fans being able to build their own original characters or ocs and imagine they’re in the story?

Human imagination is a powerful thing, as soon as they have a world (Hogwarts and Camp Half blood) to build off of, they can create their own characters and imagine more stories building off the Canon to keep their love for the universe alive.

This is why role play communities are so popular, in addition to having your original character and developing a story for them, having a community to showcase and use your character greatly increases your attachment to this community.

Once you make your fans feel like they are part of your world, it’s the strongest connection. Because by default, humans are selfish, they feel more close to something if it’s like they have involvement in it.

Characters VS World Building.

It’s the age old question, what’s more important?

Neither.

No one is more important than the other, it’s just a matter of what you’re trying to accomplish.

With focusing on world building, you almost confirmed yourself a space for your fans to imagine themselves in. And you can have a lot of fun with world building! Creating your own original words, terms and concepts. Your own take on real world events and items and applying it to your story.

However you can’t focus on both so your characters might need to be limit to 2-3 main ones, to balance out your complex and intricate world.

With focusing on characters, you build yourself loyalty based on attachment to characters. This may not yield as much original characters/fan led creation as focusing on world building, but the perks are your characters explode into main stream. Art will be drawn of them, fanfictions will be written about them, headcanons, adaptations etc. By pouring effort into your characters, you create deep and meaningful bonds with specific characters that people will remember.

Maybe 10 years down the line, your fans may not remember everything about the story, or the environment or the world you created, but they will look back one day and go “Good lord, that was an AMAZING character that I still love to this day.” And that’s amazing for you.

This is exactly the case with Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. In my opinion, Hogwarts is wildly more developed than Camp Half Blood for obvious reasons. Hogwarts is a school and CHB is a homebase. Most of the time PJO characters are on quests away form their home base but HP characters are almost always in Hogwarts.

So how do you world build?

1. Of course create your organisation, base it off maybe a real life historical organisation with your own twist.

2. Build a rich and complex backstory, with specific historical figures that contributed to the creation of your organisation.

3. Build ROLES. Build divisions and department in your organisation. Think houses in Hogwarts and cabins in Camp Half Blood. Build specific roles your fans can imagine themselves as. Prefect, Head Girl/Boy, Head Counsellor.

4. Describe describe describe. You have all this amazing lore in your arsenal, now weave and intertwine your characters with them. Make your characters attached to the organisation and want to protect it. Mix your plot and story with it, make it so your organisation MATTERS to the story.

TL;DR

World building is hella important.

Heyyy, this isn’t proofread. Reblog or like if you enjoyed it. Or don’t.

Tags: ask to be added or removed

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[kaeyachi]

HOW WE CAN USE KAEYA'S CHARACTER VOICELINES TO PREDICT THE PLOT OF GENSHIN IMPACT:

Really long lore post! Grab a small serving of popcorn, maybe.

So, do you all remember my post about how frequent Kaeya mentions fate ? And how suspicious it is, especially with the current plotlines in Genshin?

Other than that suspicious thing he's got going, there are several voicelines from him that are incredibly interesting to go back to as well, especially with all the current facts we have.

Just to name a few, we have him talking about his grandfather fighting a hydra before we even went to Liyue, and in a short animation posted in Genshin's YT account a year before the Albedo quest, he tells Klee to be careful at night because monsters walk around looking like a knight to trick people.

But for now, I will focus on a certain group of his EN voicelines- More about Kaeya".

ALL "More about Kaeya" voicelines could have been AND can still be used to predict the plot of genshin- very fitting for someone who keeps despairing about fate. Here is how:

First, with the 2 voicelines have already been officially addressed in Archon Quests by other Khaenri'ahns:

"Khaenri'ah? You sure know a lot! The legacy of Khaenri'ah is long gone. The sinners are all that's left, and they're not worth mentioning."

Back then, before the interlude quest from update 4.7 was ever released, I actually just assumed this was just the teachings of Kaeya's father to him, because Clothar had mentioned back in update 3.5 that "salvation for a sinner can only come from a sinner". We probably assumed at the time that being a sinner included ALL Khaenri'ahns.

It turns out that Kaeya had told us who the sinners are- The Legacy of Khaenri'ah: the group of characters that put their nation under Celestia's terrifying gaze for their work. They are called the Legacy not only for their power and influence, but also because they are what made Khaenri'ah the cursed nation that it is today. This is the sinners' legacy.

Meanwhile, Clothar told us what these sinners are doing - finding out how to give their cursed nation "salvation." This is why Vedrfolnir (Dainsleif's brother and one of the said sinners) had inspired Clothar to form the Abyss Order. This could be taken as our twin agreeing with the sinners' plans.

These Alberich men and their subtle and confusing lore drops, I swear...

Technically, I guess we can say that this was a lesson from Kaeya's father, but now it was clear that his father was talking about an actual group that can be called "The Sinners of Khaenri'ah".

But that brings up a question... why did Kaeya try to divert the focus from said group? Why are they "not worth mentioning"? Especially with the fact that our twin is actively working with them? Was this meant to guide us away from that trail? Or perhaps this is a subtle foreshadowing that the plot of these sinners would fail in all their attempts/plans?

"Is the Abyss Order causing you trouble? If there's anything bothering you, you know you can talk to me."

Either way, this actually confirms that Kaeya knows of the Khaenri'ahn/Abyss Order plot in general. Like, come on now, he already spoke of half truths when questioned by Dainsleif! He didn't know what the full weight of carrying an Alberich surname is, but he did mention that what Dainsleif told him finally answered questions- questions he wouldn't have had if he was told nothing. He is really proving Diluc's assessment of him- you can really only trust half of what he says at best.

This one right here actually predicted/foretold what update 3.5 will contain. There was a reason why this is what we got for "About Kaeya". This wasn't just about him as a knight, it was because his ancestor, Clothar, involved in the Abyss Order's creation. This is part of his family history.

This, however, makes me curious as to what his personal relation to the Abyss Order actually is. Do we take this voiceline as him just being a knight that recognizes our problems with the Abyss Order after what happened with Dvalin? Or do we take this as special treatment from a descendant of its founder who is reluctantly watching over his birthright? This is not the only concern regarding this. If he really is loosely working with the Abyss Order, this means that this entire time, he may have been in cahoots with our twin! Suddenly, the intel he gave us during the prologue is less truthful than it originally was, huh? The information is real, but how he really got it is being put into question...

It seems like both of the dialogue made me think that he has been in contact with our twin in some way this entire time. Very interesting...(at the very least, it would make Kaeya get a laugh at Amber posting missing posters in the most random of places)

Also...it was actually in the surname too lmao. Alberich means "ruler of supernatural beings" after all. (technically, this would have referred to elves, but there doesn't seem to be a clear connection from the Alberich clan to the elven race yet...but one can only dream of elven Kaeya)

Now onto the voicelines that will for sure tell us about what comes next (and what might possibly happen):

" The title of Cavalry Captain is nothing to grt excited about. Now that I think about it, the Grand Master took all the cavalry from Mondstadt, so there's none for me to captain..."

It's the age old question of "Why did Varka take the cavalry, but not their captain?"

It's a funny thing to think about, but it really does raise the question as to why Varka did so, because it's really REALLY weird to not take the captain. The simplest answer is that Kaeya's intel network is far more important than taking him away on an expedition, and gathering intel is hard when the head of it isn't starionary, but we also have to consider the fact that Varka would have an idea about Khaenri'ah in the first place.

Perhaps bringing Kaeya around what seems to be a search for answers and solutions isn't the best idea? What if all this searching is connected with Khaenri'ah? Learning more about how the nation was destroyed would probably be beneficial for the Grand Master to know to protect his nation, after all...

But what if it doesn't involve Khaenri'ah at all? Well, we still have the alternative of Varka wanting Kaeya to be by Jean's side. Kaeya is efficient with his work, but he is also the first to hammer in the idea of self care.

Kaeya has shown several instances of caring for Jean in secret (just like he does for so many others, actually). The first being in Jean's story quest where he planned a party for her. Another is Jean calling him out and thanking him for doing the backlogged KoF paperwork in secret. Finally, he convinced Jean to go with him, Albedo and Klee in Simulanka.

Kaeya is also the 2nd in command if Jean is out of commission AND the one who seems to be doing negotiations. Varka knew that Jean needed support, and Kaeya is the best support anyone could ask for as an official Knight.

As for the last idea, Kaeya could have rejected the offer of joining the expedition himself and offered his entire cavalry to go in his stead. It could be for various reasons, ranging from wanting to stay for Jean and Diluc to being afraid of going against his father's orders of Kaeya needing to stay in Mondstadt. The Grand Master's expedition is taking too long compared to Kaeya's short negotiations meetings in Sumeru and quick vacations in Liyue, Veluriyam, and Simulanka.

But one thing is clear- this situation will definitely be addressed someday, and I'm sure it goes deeper than Varka simply wanting to take the cavalry away from their captain.

"There are a total of ten captains within the Knights of Favonius. But truth be told, not all of them have what it takes to be leaders."

There are 5 captains stationed in Mondstadt- Jean, Kaeya, Albedo, Eula, and Hertha. The other 5 went with Varka.

Kaeya doesn't seem to have any problems with the ones that stayed with him in Mond...so does this mean that this is a setup for upcoming conflict within the Knights of Favonius? Is there a captain or 2 that would cause concerns?

Also, I'm not sure if this is a translation error, but " not all of them have what it takes-" sounds like he doesn't count. If it isn't an error, I could also connect a theory on that.

What if Kaeya isn't the official cavalry captain? What if they are just saying that as his public role because they can't expose the real one- intel. Suddenly, Varka leaving him would make even more sense because the cavalry isn't his to captain, and this could also confuse their enemies' information. This has been a long standing theory in the fandom, but I wonder if this would actually hold up well and accurately based off of Kaeya's lines.

"My eye? My eye is fine. There's nothing unusual about hiding one's body parts from view. It's the same reason I wear pants... or any other item of clothing, for that matter."

Just gotta put it out there, but his eye is definitely not fine ✌️

Technically, this was already explained as him having a scar, but also, did we consider the idea that he could be lying again? Also, we should consider that Kaeya is really good at telling half truths, and a good actor to add.

Also, I kinda hope his hidden eye will be revealed as gold for a specific reason. From the source material, Alberich stole the gold of the Rhine river (yes, from Rhinedottirs) to create a ring. What better place than in an eye? The current model for his skin has it the same color as his visible one, but placeholders exist.

There actually isn't much to say about this one because we don't even know if there really is anything wrong in the first place. We could hypothesize that it's a spying eye, a curse-containing eye, the eye of King Irmin, or the eye that could see beyond the fake sky, but that is as far as we could go with it.

But the odd voiceline from Paimon regarding that eye sure did fuel a ton of those theories. We don't know where Paimon really came from, and all we know of her is that she is part of Teyvat that has a connection with Celestia, so her mentioning that Kaeya is hiding a "big secret" in regards to that eye is sure to send alarm bells to any theorist.

So yeah, that's about it for now. Kaeya definitely has way more voicelines to be concerned about, but the way these specific ones ended up playing out in the released lore is very interesting to me.

Also, I just found out that my dot connecting regarding the travelers were proven by the damn XBOX wings of all things... and you know what? I'll take it. A win is a win *eyes my other theories warily*

If you are still here after my long somewhat delulu theories, then congratulations! Have a Cookie:

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Fresh from the oven!

[dreamsinmoonlight]

I have a yandere alastor idea for you... Could you do it? Imagine the reader being one of the unfortunate people who was killed by the alastor when he was human... Human! Alastor never felt these strong feelings for anyone, until the reader appeared in his life, the reader was a kind and caring person with everyone, always treating everyone the same... Now I imagine when Alastor discovered that these feelings were love for the reader, but the reader rejected him because he already loved other people... Maybe Alastor, in his desperate and psychotic environment, unintentionally killed the reader...

(now currently) the reader became an angel and was chosen to help Charlie at the hotel (of course the reader doesn't know that Alastor is at the hotel and this happens after the battle)...

Now what would happen?

(Fudge knuckles, this, um, it set off something in my head because I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Admittedly couldn't imagine turning down Alastor but I can try to imagine it for this XD

Um I would have started this earlier but I was watching stuff with my friends yesterday when I got this. Point is I'm creating it now despite wanting to space out my creations, oops~

So i wasn't sure if you wanted the reader to be male or not (since you said "because he already loved other people") so I'm going gender neutral again on this. Sorry if you wanted male specifically >w<

Alastor uses "doe" as a petname for you which yes is female but I like the idea of it so I apologize for that.

Totes writing this after looking deep into my Alastor plushies eyes and while watching A Haunting in Venice. Don't ask why.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: yandere!Alastor, angel!reader

Pairing: Guess

Genre: What genre does yandere being yandere fit in? Hurt? Ain't no comfort here

Summary: Sir Pentious should have told you, oh god, why did he not warn you.)

Oh Doe

Emily assured you this would be a lovely thing; she spoke with excitement and sweetness and love of her dear friend Charlie, of that wonderful princess of hell. And the newcomer Sir Pentious, well he had plenty himself of his time there, of his growing friendships and those strange fascinating souls for whom he'd given his life. For whom he was sent up to heaven, redeemed at last. It was hard for you not to be excited, your wings all a flutter as the portal opened to allow you entrance to Down Below, to Hell. To the Hazbin Hotel.

You found the place extremely warm and it took you a moment to remember that of course it was such. It was Hell after all. You smiled as you did so and approached the hotel, amazed by it's grandness. You'd heard about the great battle between the exterminators and the hotel residents; the loss of Adam had been both a great blow and an admitted relief in some. He had been many things to many people, you mainly saw him from a distance like most angels, but the idea that an angel as powerful as him could be felled sent emotions through Heaven that were less than pleasant. You of course never feared though, a kind soul through and through, one able and willing to see the good and warmth in all. Even, you'd be the first to admit, that of perhaps those who certainly didn't deserve it.

Your eyes found the design fascinating. There was something familiar in it, in the silhouette of it, of the flash of it, the strange apple shaped tower. And the one opposite to it, strange and ominous, and in it something felt as it was watching you with far too much interest. You felt, for the first time in decades, shivers down your spine and could half remember a voice.

"Oh doe, my doe, you have done something terrible. You've broken something deep inside me and you won't even be good enough to fix it." You had not thought about it in a very long time, those words, the last thing you heard from a voice as smooth as velvet, sweet as honey, and poisonous as a viper. It dug deep, it was embedded in your soul, for better or worse, along with all the regrets and sadnesses of a life left unfinished.

"Oh you must be the angel Emily told me about!" You were ripped from your memories by a voice and your wings expanded in surprise as you looked towards the door to see what you had to guess was Charlie Magne herself.

She was bright and cheery, the strangest sight of sunlight in the depths of Hell, but her eyes sparkled and she ran over to you, taking your hands in hers and shaking them excitedly, "Oh, Emily said an angel would come down to help but really after everything that happened, you know with the trial and the fight and all of that, well, who really thought that Heaven would really send down an angel? And to help us no doubt! I'm so excited, seriously, really, just-"

"Charlie," said the voice of Vaggie; she was another angel, Emily had mentioned her, and she looked at Charlie with a soft look before turning her eye to you. It was so....it was hard to describe, not entirely hostile, not certainly friendly; you knew very little of her, of her fall, of what happened, but you suspected that she had less than friendly memories of angels. Still you smiled warmly back at her, not blaming her her feelings, how could you when you didn't truly know her; you certainly hoped to change that with your time here.

She was not the only one looking at you with at least a little suspicion. In the aftermath of battle and rebuilding, there would of course be such for an angel walking up to the hotel. The tall one, the spider sinner Angel Dust, tilted his head at you with eyes hidden by sunglasses, hands on his hips. Beside him was Husk; Sir Pentious had called him the bartender, he had not mentioned how fluffy and soft he looked, with his own wings ruffling behind him with a look even more suspicious than Vaggie's own. To both still you smiled and waved, hoping to make friends, to prove yourself.

There were more; you knew there were because you'd been told. But try as you might, while you remembered Sir Pentious mentioning how Lucifer often was around, not there currently of course, and there was supposed to be a little one-eyed maid named Nifty, Sir Pentious' love Cherry Bomb, you couldn't quite remember who else he mentioned. You knew there was one more, one more resident, one more sinner. Who....who....

"Come on, let me show you around," Charlie said and there again was that bright smile. You liked her, she was a warm kind soul; she reminded you of what everyone always accused you of being. Yet deep down you couldn't help but feel you weren't though, that Charlie was kinder, that Charlie was sweeter.

Because Charlie wouldn't have broken someone's heart like you had.

She dragged you along, such strength for such a small girl, and you were delighted by the beauty of the inside of the hotel as well. Down your back you still felt the chills, still felt the sensation of being watched, but you told yourself it was nothing and enjoyed the tour.

"Husk is the bartender of course, Angel is our resident....well, resident; our housekeeper Nifty is running around somewhere," Charlie said cheerfully, showing you all around, "And my dad is currently at home but he'll be back soon; oh he'll be so surprised to see you, we haven't had an angel here since...oh...well..." she trailed off and looked embarrassed.

You laughed sweetly and smiled at her. "No worries at all princess, I understand. The situation was terrible and on behalf of Heaven, I am so sorry for what happened; you never should have been put in such a position to have to fight to protect yourself like that. But you all survived and Sir Pentious spoke so lovingly of you all, I am delighted to have the chance to meet you and assist you with redeeming souls so they may come to Heaven too."

Charlie looked at you and you recognized it, though it felt strange coming from someone as sunshine as her. It was a look you were well used to, one you had gotten a lot in life, when you helped someone who was down on their luck by giving them everything in your pockets, when you showed kindness and love to any and all around you; people didn't always understand, they didn't often want to. Charlie, you suspected, did on both regards but having grown up in Hell, though she too saw the good in all around her, there still must be a part of her that felt uncertain when faced with a true kindred spirit. You noticed from the corner of your eye Vaggie's expression change, of course she would see it too, to something a little softer but still with plenty of apprehension. You were not fake though in your goodness; you had become an angel for good reason, Sera and Emily had always told you so.

Something felt like it was chuckling and you could have sworn you heard it again. "Oh doe, my doe, how is it you can brighten up a whole room with that bleeding heart of yours?"

"Ooooooh!" Charlie said and proceeded to capture you in a massive bearhug; the strength of a hellborn, especially Lucifer's daughter, was quite impressive and you blinked a few times before chuckling.

She continued. "I like you a lot, you seem like just what we need!"

"Oh great another softie just like our princess," said Angel Dust, walking up behind you both.

Charlie let go of you with a pout. "Angel, what's that supposed to mean?"

"That means you're too soft for your own good and so are they," Husk said, "Which, by the way, what even is your name anyway, angel?"

"You know my name," Angel Dust said playfully and nudged Husk, making the sinner grumble.

"Not you, spider, the actual angel."

"Oh me," you said, smiling again before stating your name.

You didn't expect how pale he got. You didn't expect that someone as furry as him could even go pale. Maybe it was just that his eyes widened and you got the sense he recognized your name; you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, why he was looking at you like that but he grabbed Charlie's arm, tight if her wince was any indication.

"Princess, we need to talk, now," he said.

"Husk what's wrong?" Charlie asked and Vaggie frowned as the cat-bird sinner pulled her away from you and down the hall.

You watched as Vaggie and Angel Dust threw you a confused look then Husk one before following after him, leaving you there, alone. The hotel was quiet, they moved far enough for whatever was on his mind for you to not hear; you choose that it was probably something important and you weren't too worried. Of course they didn't trust you entirely yet to talk about important things around you, not after what happened. You kept your smile and your faith and decided to take the chance to look about the hotel for yourself.

There were many floors and many rooms. Most were empty, many were locked; you thought to yourself of how beautiful this place would be when more souls came, to be redeemed and finally go to heaven. Oh it would be wonderful, full of voices and singing and laughter and happiness. You know you were chosen for this role but you certainly couldn't have imagined any better one; to help people was something you very much enjoyed doing and this felt like the best way to do so with your afterlife.

Yet the happy thoughts felt...cold here somehow. Colder still as you kept walking. The sensations continued, of being watched, of something staring. You tried to ignore it, certain it was nothing. That surely the shadows weren't somehow watching you; that was all that there were after all, just the hotel and the shadows.

Your own little tour led to a specific door and you weren't too sure what brought you there. By your estimates it was the door that would lead to a room connected to that strange tower, the ominous one, the one you'd felt had been watching you. You stood before the door for a moment, staring at the doorknob before pulling yourself together, your wings fluttering, your heart racing a little. This was silly, you were being silly; you reached out for the doorknob to open the door.

It opened on it's own, before you could even touch it, and from inside you heard something familiar. Jazz music, a taste of home; it touched your heart and your smile turned soft and nostalgic, reminded so much of those days when you'd been alive. Visions of New Orleans crossed your mind and without thinking you stepped inside, entranced by the music; you started to sing along, knowing this song by heart.

"Oh doe, my doe," said a voice and while the music kept playing, you no longer could hear it, for the blood that couldn't rush that did rush past your ears as the good memories faded away.

He'd always played it, a dedication just to you he always told you. That melodious voice, that bright smile; it was tinged, tainted, but the crackle of radio filter to it reminded you of the days sitting in your living room, listening to him talk, never imagining what he truly was, who he truly was. Your dearest friend, for years and years.

"Alastor." The name tasted like fear on your tongue and you turned to stare, with eyes as wide as a deer's in headlights, at the tall figure who stood there, gently closing the door behind you both.

So much had changed yet not much at all. He still smiled so friendly, so warm, and you once believed so much in it, in what soul could be behind it. Until the day he confessed and you, foolish, foolish you, who loved and loved and loved and didn't know yet how to take being loved, had turned him down. He'd called you his doe, then he'd stabbed you through the heart.

His smile twitched and he tilted his head, red eyes focused on you. He wore a monocle instead of glasses, you thought feebly to yourself how you'd liked the glasses; the slightly tattered coat, the neat little bowtie, the essence of suaveness, the sharp claws clenching so lightly a long thin cane with a microphone on the end, it all suited him in some way. You remembered his hair as brown; it now was reddish, red like the rest of him. Red like your blood must have been on his clothes.

"My doe," he said and reached out with one hand, cupping your chin; you were frozen, unable to resist, unable to speak anything but his name in a terrified whisper, "It seems Heaven's sent you back to me."

You didn't want to die. You were sure he would kill you again. But he continued to smile, with those sharp teeth like a sharks he had, and looked you over, examined. "I must say, I'm not surprised you're an angel; you always were one, you just needed the wings."

That hand moved, from your chin to one of your wings and a whimper left you as you felt him stroke your feathers, biting your lip and closing your eyes.

"The question is though, my doe," he said and his tone never changed; it was playful, light, and ever so dangerous, "Do I let you keep them or do I rip them off of you? Can't have you escaping me again, can I?"

"Alastor, please," you whispered, begged, "Please..."

"Though if I did that Charlie might complain," he said and chuckled, "And I wouldn't want that. Promise me then, my doe, promise me you won't try to run away."

"I promise." You just wanted to be safe, you just wanted him not to hurt you. You remembered death, it had hurt so much.

"Good doe," he said and pulled away, patting you on the head, "Now come on, remember to smile; you're never fully dressed without one."

He smiled at you and you smiled back. Not because you wanted to. But because something, deep down, from that day, from all those days you'd spent with him, and all the days you knew to come, that if you didn't, it wouldn't end well.

The door burst in soon after and Vaggie seemed on the attack while Angel grabbed you to pull you behind him, Charlie apologizing over and over, "I didn't know, Husk told us all about what happened, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have let you wander off on your own".

"No worries princess, I was just greeting our new angelic guest," Alastor said with cheer and friendliness.

Husk glared at him, his wings expanded, his eyes narrowed. You tried to reassure Charlie; you couldn't even really reassure yourself. But something in seeing her so worried, Husk so on edge, Vaggie with her spear and Angel standing there as if he could or would do anything, make almost seem like this could still be okay. You could still see the bright side in this, goodness, the light.

Even when facing down the greatest devil you knew.

[vhyunjinverse]

JJK! Manga Spoilers | G . S .

They called you a Star..quite literally. You were the perfect little wife for Satoru Gojo. The Gojo clan saw you as only fit for their little one at the time. Your family sold you off quite quickly, didn’t they? You remember looking at the little arrogant boy while he stared back at you with nothing good in his eyes. Scared as you held your mother’s hand while herself and your father did the signing of papers. Leaving was the hardest. There was a tight feeling in your chest when around Satoru Gojo. That must be the Star in you.

It was said long, long ago, another Star like yourself was also compatible with someone of the Six eyes. They had loved, tied together by the forces of the universe, a string connecting them of an unspoken reason. It’s said the two together would create the most powerful being. Those two did not make it to that point. Star’s were uncommon. Taking centuries and centuries and centuries to have another one, the world simply stopped depending on the rare creation. However, the Gojo clan took action early.

So..as you stood now, standing there in front of the home, you held your hand to your chest. That same aching feeling you once had so, so long ago returned. A wife! You had heard many things about Satoru Gojo as a sorcerer. Very strong..the strongest. You were quite strong too. Being a Star- the only one seen fit to be his other half.

You watched him appear before you. Grinning. It was suffocating. Everything felt tight, your chest, it hurt almost. You hated anything to be tense, but it had made do. It was right. It’s as it’s supposed to be, as it had been for years.

You had fallen quite quickly, however, with the idiot Satoru was you bickered quite a bit. Friends. You became friends before lovers. Once married it got worse, but he never made you anything but happy. Satoru had admitted to you that he also had a tight feeling in his chest. It felt lighter when he left to go be the teacher that he is, but it also longed for you when he was away. You felt the same. No one apart from the both of you and your families knew you were married, you didn’t mind it being that way. Going out in Tokyo without anyone bothering you..

You’d see him sometimes with his students, though. It was cute, watching him annoy them as much as he does you. A best friend he became. When he came home, you always had something new to show him. Gojo admired the light in your eyes while you attempted to cook, something new you picked up. You were a spoiled child, not having much to do for yourself. By the next weekend he’d come home, you’d have something new to show. This time it was something crafty like crochet. Satoru loved every little bit of every little thing you picked up. He enjoyed the time you spent together, always.

He even apologized for the state you were in, neither of you having the choice, but as he said… “I don’t think I can imagine anyone else other than you.”

You loved him. He loved you. He was is your husband for fucks sake. Satoru Gojo. He told you everything when he could. You learned about his best friend Geto, about his old battles. You learned about Megumi and what he meant in Satoru’s life, as well as his father. You learned of Yuji Itadori and his situation, and of Nobara and how much Satoru secretly spoiled her. You learned of curses you hadn’t known about as well.

He told you things about your cursed energy that you wouldn’t dare use. As powerful as you were, you were also destructive. That didn’t change you- you’d never become a sorcerer anyways.

One thing you did find out, though, was that loving Satoru Gojo was hard. You loved him but everyone else did, too, and if they didn’t, they wanted to kill him. He always came home taking about the day, about the things he’s encountered without a scratch. You were always there to watch how he acted mentally. The real him. The one that frowned when he talked about how stressed he felt after a battle- about how much he hated the situation going on at the school- his life. Satoru Gojo wished things were different all the time.

“If it were up to me, we’d all be somewhere safer. All of us. What do you think about..I don’t know- abandoned island bought with the Gojo clan’s funds all to ourselves and then we bring everyone, start a village, tax them, and then start this big economy and make bucket loads?!”

He was insane that Satoru Gojo. It made your heart hurt, knowing that someday..things won’t always be so bright and sunny outside. You loved the sun, it was always such a nice day at your home. You started gardening and kept at it, always showing Satoru your little cucumbers growing.

“Someday,” He had said to you once, “that’ll be you.”

The sun was such a thing for you. It shined on him..you loved it. He was truly a beautiful soul. Until one day it rained, thundering. You hated the thunder, but Satoru had took care of it. The first time..he had took care of you in that way. His heavy pants against your ear, hands intertwined with yours. Your eyes, filled to the brim with pleasureful tears, Satoru’s cock slipping past your tight ring. You were warm. Engulfing him inside of your heated body. You had moaned his name, trembling. He took his time, explored every inch of your body. Filling you…and then again. It was a rainy weekend, and Satoru wanted to stay there for eternity.

You started to love the rain after that. You loved Satoru. He loved you.

“Shibuya?” you spoke into the phone. It sounded busy as Satoru chuckled. “Yeah..there’s something going on. Look, It may be a while before i’m home again.”

“Toru-“

���I love you.”

Satoru Gojo has been sealed.

The phone call from Mei didn’t end well. You couldn’t sleep that night.

Satoru Gojo has been freed!

“Baby- I was so scared I..come home. Please.”

And he did. But he didn’t stay. It rained that night. He made love to you. He cherished you. He filled you. He was determined..

“I love you.”

By the morning he was gone.

Satoru Gojo fights Ryomen Sukuna.

Satoru Gojo loses.

Something inside of you snapped, as if a string had been cut. Somehow, you knew that Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be returning.

[antiphilosophia]

Crowley's pre-fall name is BARAQIEL (THEORY)

THIS POST MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS OR RATHER CLUES FOR GOOD OMENS SEASON 2 CONTENTS, PROCEED WITH CAUTION 🤍

Very well. Who doesn't love the Crowley is the Archangel Raphael theory (I am certainly of those people who do). During my first watch of Good Omens S2 I was even somehow almost confident that that was the case.

However, my second, more careful, viewing of this lovely (but equally heartbreaking) season made me change my mind, likely for good. In episode 4, Furfur's book "Demon's Guide To Angelic Beings Who Walk The Earth" shows us a name of a certain angel Baraqiel. (see photo below) Knowing Good Omens that can hardly be a coincidence.

Unfortunately, the very text is quite unreadable. One thing, other than the name, which is pretty clear is the subheading "Angel of the Sky" and since the episode 1 lets us take a look at how Crowley did indeed take part in creation of what is to be seen in the night sky, one can hardly find that entirely non-fitting. One other sentence I was (at least I think) able to read is "Often draped in red."

(On a different note but certainly worth noticing are scribbles that generally just roast Crowley – his suspiciousness, hair and name (though I am not absolutely sure of the latter) "His hair is bad!" Wow, Furfur really does hate Crowley.)

Then there is something written above the name of Baraqiel, unfortunately in none of the picture frames does it get a bit readable. I wonder though, couldn't it be "former"? Since it comes precisely after mention of Crowley to whom should one report on Aziraphale.

Crowley is very powerful. Dominion

A word that is not exactly readable but can be deduced from its placement (it is situated just as Aziraphale's "Principality") is Baraqiel's rank – Dominion Angel. It should be noted here that I very much lack proper knowledge of either Jewish or Christian mythology and I would hate to provide any incorrect claims. I therefore think it is better for me not to overly state things, even more so since everyone can look into it on their own and figure out what that might mean for our beloved demon. What I will say, however, is that they are (as I understand it) very powerful and, placed within the 2nd triad in the angel hierarchy, ranked higher than the Archangels. This would go well along with the emphasis that was in my opinion laid on Crowley's powers quite a lot this season.

For example: "A miracle of enormous power happened last night. The kind of miracle only the mightiest of archangels could've performed," said Shax to Crowley, to which he replied: "How'd you know I didn't do it?" He didn't get an answer.

What I think (and I may be very wrong, obviously) is that a miracle of this vastness wouldn't have happened simply because of a regular angel and a regular demon did together half a miracle each. What is also worth noticing is that the tool with which Crowley created the Nebula is the same as the one he used to temporarily stop time at the end of season 1 right before Satan's arrival. So much to the size of his powers.

Baraqiel, lightning of God. Fallen angel

Finally, to Baraqiel himself. My lack of knowledge concerning this matter still stands and frankly I don't even know where to find valid information about angels and such on the internet. Baraqiel should, however, stand for "lightning of God" and is also regarded as the angel of lightning. In season 2 there are (as far as I remember) two occasions where Crowley is put in correlation with lightning. (1) His poor anger management issues in episode 1 and (2) his not at all better matchmaking in episode 3 ("I haven't done weather in ages"). Furthermore, Baraqiel is considered to be the one who taught astrology to people. Nevertheless, what points to Crowley and Baraqiel being one even more is that Baraqiel is indeed a fallen angel.

•

So... That is probably it. I usually tent to theorize about stuff in quiet, in fact, this is the first time I've used Tumblr for anything other than reading Neil Gaiman's posts. I didn't even think that I would actually post it but then I've searched on Twitter, TikTok and here on Tumblr if anyone else has already come up with this theory. The only post I could find (hopefully I haven't missed anything) was by @valaza_04 on Twitter (click here) where they refer to the same frame shot as I do here.

Now I know, we are still recovering from heartbreaking (but if you ask me, absolutely amazing) finale and the main thing currently on our minds is figuring out why would Aziraphale choose as he did and the many wonderful theories that come with it. However, considering the utterly virulent look that Metatron shot at Crowley before walking out of the bookshop with Aziraphale and also his "Well, [Crowley] always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions, too." makes me think that he absolutely does not care for Crowley and whichever angel he was before the Fall. And I reckon it won't remain unnoticed in season 3 and might even be really important (or that is just me wishing for more pre-fall Crowley scenes). Hence I decided that I will post this. And it doesn't matter if no one will see this in the end, it was quite fun to write. However, if there is someone who will read this all the way through, I hope they will accept my apology for the mistakes I have most possibly made (English is not my first language) and also for the ridiculous length this post has come to gather. It turns out, I am just as chatty of a writer as I am speaker.

Well maybe I will come around to write one more post about this theory, only with a proper research this time. Till then thank you and, please, support this season by streaming as much as you can so we can have season 3 of this masterpiece of a show. And be kind to those bringing it to us in your comments regarding the ending, even though it is very frustrating and heart-shattering, it is also maybe the best ending we could have hoped for with the prospects of season 3.

Thank you for letting me talk my heart out, Tumblr.

[aziraphales-library]

Do you have any recommendations for accidental marriage fics between Crowley and Aziraphale.

I loved marriage lines and was wondering if you knew of any fics similar to it.

Here are some...

Ineffable Husbands by ImprobableDreams900 (G)

Aziraphale finds an old marriage certificate in one of his books, and it has two very familiar signatures at the bottom...

Sealed by Aethelflaed (G)

London, Three weeks after the Apocalypse: Crowley finds a certain document tucked away in a forgotten book. Mercia, 1020 CE: An angel and a demon meet to finalize an Arrangement... “I’m still not sure,” Aziraphale said slowly, “that the Arrangement need be so…formalized.” “Fifteen years ago,” Crowley snapped, sweeping his wing behind him, “you said you weren’t sure you were comfortable with a nebulous agreement. I don’t know what more you want from me, Angel.” “But it’s hardly appropriate for an angel to enter into a contract with Hell.” Aziraphle carefully placed the document to the side.

Slow by write_away (T)

It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it. It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

Vows by Bookwormgal (T)

Crowley certainly didn't do it on purpose. It wasn't something that he exactly planned. But a moment of desperation and stubbornness gave birth to the creation of something new. A bond forged of power, hope, devotion, love, and promises that he would never break. It isn't often that a demon metaphysically half-marries an angel.

The Next Time We Wed by seashadows (T)

“Guys, I’ve looked at the marriage license,” Anathema said, “and I’ve gotten copies of our notices and everything. The names on the documents aren’t Newt’s and mine anymore. Apparently they never were. They’re yours.” When a drunken attempt to help a friend gets Crowley and Aziraphale accidentally married, their decision to fake it instead of fix it changes their relationship in a way neither of them realizes the other wants. Over the course of a few short months, two supernatural beings discover that there are plenty of things they don’t know about each other, two humans finally get married (again), and everyone learns how to be a little braver.

Legally Binding by Valvopus (M)

Aziraphale wakes up and wishes he wasn't naked in a bathtub with Crowley. He really wishes he remembered what happened the previous night. Crowley just wants to fix things and make sure Aziraphale doesn't stop speaking to him again, because they seem to have done something truly stupid. An accidentally married AU. This fic is mostly set before said marriage. Each chapter is immediate aftermath of waking up married, alongside the backstory of their developing relationship.

And I assume this is the one you mentioned (but please include authors and/or links!)...

Marriage Lines by Bil (G)

Crowley said, voice very carefully even, “So, were you ever planning on telling me that we were married?” In which Aziraphale finds an unexpected surprise, contemplates parchment and copperplate, visits a picture framer, and eventually gets his happy ending.

- Mod D

[dingodad]

This might be a ridiculous question, but does Lord

English have control over sburb? The alpha timeline

Is set to only be the one that allows the creation of

Lord English after all. Does being Lord of Time mean

that he is the one causing all the doomed timelines

to be destroyed or that he is causing Skaia to do it?

Is Skaia just in a way another one of his unwilling

servants? I guess what I’m saying is, are Lord English

and sburb even against each other? Sure his

machinations cause the destruction of universes,

which is the opposite of sburb’s purpose, but also

his influence is why those universes were made in

the first place.

one of the biggest persistent misconceptions homestuck readers have is that all events in Sburb are controlled by some overarching, interfering intelligence, and that this intelligence's name is Skaia. when a character is given a particularly cruel or gruelling hero quest, "Skaia orchestrated it"; when a character's actions cause a timeline to become a doomed offshoot, it's because "Skaia didn't want that to happen". but this is explicitly untrue:

ROSE: ... Skaia is a very passive entity. It only "knows" and "sees," but it never quite "acts." ROSE: When it is asked to change everything, there is only so much it has control over. ROSE: In fact, it has control over exactly one thing. The defense portals. ROSE: It can decide to send important meteors to different points in time than originally planned, thus creating alternate realities.

(remember how all games of Sburb start off with the exact same parameters, and it's only data input by the players that causes events to deviate?)

this is related to, and compounded by, another misconception which came to be common toward the latter half of the story: people fundamentally misunderstand what a "narrative" is and therefore get it into their heads that in order to be a narrator a character needs some kind of "narrative powers" - where did dirk get his "narrative powers"; how can doc scratch be the author-figure of alternia if he "doesn't have narrative powers"? people think that, in order to have dominion over the incipisphere, Skaia must be some kind of wizard, capable of both predestining events and shaping reality to match its predictions. and i have occasionally humoured or implied support for this interpretation by referring to "what Sburb wants" or "Sburb's agenda", but these are merely convenient anthropomorphisations. the fact is that anyone can tell a story, and almost any kind of power can be wielded to reinforce a chosen narrative: highbloods control the narrative on alternia simply by living a long time; lord english controls the narrative not by conducting every single event to his whim but by being present at the beginning and setting small, key events in motion... Sburb is much the same. a video game is a type of story which can control its outcome with rules and code, but that's the full extent of its power; the rules and code can't change, no matter who's playing the game, no matter what the supercomputer running the game "thinks", and no matter what immortal time-travelling demon may or may not have hijacked the process.

in one sense, yes, Skaia has been made Lord English's "servant". but in another, more important sense, Skaia cannot "serve" anything, nor can it be "for" or "against" anyone, because it is not a moral entity. Skaia is simply the cosmic force of creation, and creation and destruction are not good and evil. creation is an intrinsically neutral act, which can be at one time beautiful and at another time devastating - as in cancer, which is a disease caused be cells reproducing without limit! (and in the inverse: not only is destruction not always a net negative in homestuck, it is almost always a requirement for growth and rebirth; heroes must die to become gods, planets must die to give birth to new universes... the destruction of universes is not a uniquely disparagable crime that Lord English is committing, but rather a larger manifestation of a pattern that is intrinsic to the ecosystem of Paradox Space itself, just as it is intrinsic to real-life ecosystems.) this is in fact exactly what Karkat alludes to when he speculates the universe he created is cancerous. as should be obvious, there's nothing actually physically wrong with the universe he created; it's just that, like a virus or a cancer, Lord English has hijacked the process of creation for his own ends and made his own birth inevitable if the process of creation continues unchecked - a process which the horrorterrors, gods of death who at first seem to be malevolent but are in fact revealed to be victims, attempt desperately to prevent!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

New Year Blues | Yandere Shoto Todoroki

The glow of the extended break was beginning to fade. The city's typical hustle and bustle has returned with an air of dread. The employees of various companies begrudgingly returned to their grave-like posts. The only one unaffected seemed to be a little girl on a cashmere carpet happily engaging in a reenactment of a successfully violent coup 'de tat. Her hair was in an intricate set of braids beautifully highlighting the few and far between pearly white strands. A slither of color from her father's hair. It was one of the only telling signs that they were related at all. That and the shape of her nose. Otherwise she'd been told she was like her other parent.

That brought a kind of comfort to Shoto. A comfort only a divorced Father could understand. The ache he fostered when met with those familiar eyes. Or the mannerisms he could spot a mile away.

Any other divorcee would have to be fighting their own mixed emotions of disdain, regret, and pain but not Shoto. No, because Shoto was different than most if not everyone. Shoto wouldn't give up.

"Papa, will you play with me?"

"Sorry, Snowbell, I'm waiting for someone special."

The girl sighed as she collected her scattered toys," If it's who I think it is, I should start packing up."

"You do not have to, I have all the time to wait."

"Maybe you do but they don't."

That caught his attention, "They don't?"

From his position on his armchair he brought a tentative fist to his mouth; concealing a hidden expression as his daughter explained.

"Yeah, the guys we've been hanging out with sometimes. The ones with the long black hair and the redhead with the creepy smile."

His daughter's nonchalant response fed wood to the flame Shoto had started. Like burning ethanol it was silent and unseen; quickly preparing to singe the remains of his distastes. He took a drag out of a sleek container, barely inhaling the crystallized dust from within. He hides a clearing sniff with a cough into his hand. Placing the container back in his suit pocket, he coughed into the fist of his hand as he smoothed over the small lump in his suit's chest pocket. The potential energy coursing through his veins made for an easy comfort. The crystalline chemical bubbling within his blood made enduring the pain that much easier with the thoughts of his latest power.

Shoto Todoroki was no average divorced Father, he was also one of the selected owners of the latest leap in human technology. With a simple sniff, the latest creation allowed those with quirks to strengthen their abilities while adding more. It wasn't approved and will never be by most governments but that just meant more freedom for those in the market for them.

And all the time in the world to do as he pleased.

"Papa you have to use the girl voice!"

He chuckled, "But I don't have one."

She pouted. "Yes, you do!

They went back and forth, successfully distracting them both from the impending arrival they both had been celebrating. Only remembering the ring of the grand bell on the home's double door's ringing throughout the home.

"Still in your PJs....don't tell me your father conveniently let you play with your gifts again…at the exact time I’ve come to pick you up?"

"But he played with me this time."

A pensive glare was shot past the little girl's head at the man gathering dolls on the floor. Rolling of eyes returned to their soft and endearing gaze on the little girl.

Scooped into loving arms and endless kisses Yuki could only return in half. She barely registered the ghost of a smile on her Father's face as he put back her dolls all wrong. She'd have to spend ten extra minutes reorganizing them. How unfortunate.

"Hope you had a Merry Christmas, (Y/n)."

Scoffing it didn't take long for Yuki's other parent to cross the threshold, to help the little girl pack. Shoto hovered nearby, picking at the nerves he once was married to in his own childish game of keep-away.

"Happy Hannukah to you too, slug."

It was endearing in its special way. The opposite greetings and the derogatory nickname. In a moment of peace, Shoto was told it was because some slugs were a myriad of patterns and colors like his hair. He was also told that they could be poisonous. What he remembers most though-is that (Y/n) hates slugs.

"My chef fixed more than enough food for me. You know how often I'm out, would you mind taking some of it off my hands?"

An innocent question. Was met with a sneer and a judgmental look down and up his person.

As if they didn't already know him from top to bottom. 

"We'll be fine. We have plenty of snacks at home."

After a lengthy trip up the marble stairs, once again the divorced couple were folding their daughter's clothes side by side. Shoto stole a glance or two at the face of his former partner. Biting back the urge to compliment such an enticing side profile, he took a more tactical approach.

"I heard you've been entertaining some...new company."

"If this is your way of getting me to talk to you I suggest you pick something else."

"I'm serious," he took the folded pants out of their clutches placing them in the small suitcase below. "tell me."

A spiteful glare and his silent urging lowered a wall closed to him more often now. Watching with joy and resentment as a genuine smile appeared.

"I've been making some new and interesting friends lately."

"Friends?"

"Yes. Back in the day you know I wasn't allowed many other than yours."

The jab hurt him more than he expected. Reminded of all the arguments centered around this exact topic. He hid it well behind his apathetic gaze hiding the flutter in his movements.

"But now that I'm able to make them I...actually have more fun during the off-days."

"That's good."

He refuses to let it show how much it irks him that the beauty of that beloved smile wasn't caused by him. He thought it better to change the subject but Yuki had decided to join with her own two-sense.

"It's real good. Especially since they show me new tricks all the time."

"New Tricks?"

"Yeah," she added her improperly folded socks into the bag. ", Lumi is always teaching me cool things and giving me gifts."

"Yuki..."

The warning was clear in their tone but Shoto pressed.

"What kind of gifts?"

"The kind that cut people real good!"

"Yuki, what'd I say about describing cooking utensils that way?"

"Not to say it like that but Nark says it was cute."

Shoto held back a groan, "Nark?"

Before anyone else could speak Yuki had abandoned the task of folding to jump over the suitcase and onto the bed. Successfully stomping all over the unfolded clothes, clumsily trudging towards her Father with a smile on her face.

"Mister Shalnark is a master at video games!"

The way her face lit up made Shoto grit his teeth as he listened to her rattling off all the achievements this other man had.

"He has the coolest setup! He's got a 5K 18-inch rounded screen! With a light-up keyboard that matches the beat of whatever song you want to play!"

"Oh really?"

"Yeah and he's always lets me play during the movie nights and-"

"Yuki!"

The scolding had Yuki bashfully looking down. Shoto was curious if he'd have been able to hear any more than that. As instructed Yuki was told to get down from the bed and help pack the rest of her suitcase.

Sooner than he would have liked Yuki was safely strapped in her car seat dozing into a nap while Shoto barely assisted with the remaining luggage.

"Now we're leaving," (Y/n) heaved a large Teddy bear in the back of their trunk, "finally."

With a final huff, they returned to the driver's side of the door, where Shoto was waiting. He had a small gift bag in his hand and a polite smile on his face.

"While I'm sure you're busy to get back to your-" He rolled his eyes at the name. "-friends. I have a gift for you."

(Y/n) gave a blank stare that had Shoto hurriedly handing the gift bag over.

"Think of it as a Happy New Year’s gift."

"Wow, it’s....keys for a new snowmobile. Yay."

"Keep looking. There's more."

More unraveling of gift wrapping tissue revealed a slip of paper holding more weight than an average civilian's salary without being more than a feather.

"An all-expenses-paid trip to the 'Elite Lodging within the Wintergreen Domesphere’....that's a great gift–"

That brought a smile to Shoto's face which immediately dropped the second he got the look. The look he's gotten far too often since his separation.

"For your partner but I'm not...not anymore."

(Y/n) dropped the key and the ticket back into the bag. With a pitying smile, they pushed the bag back into his chest waiting for him to gingerly cradle it in his hands. Refusing to watch him sulk (Y/n) turned back to their car opened the door and got their seat belt on. With their hands on the steering wheel, they sent a worried glance at him through the window.

His head was hanging low, his two-toned fringe bangs covering his eyes and the pained expression that was on his face. What (Y/n) could see was how Shoto’s ungloved hands held the gift bag.

Holding wasn't the right word. More like squeezing. Fearing the violent warning of small clear ice gleaming against the bag (Y/n) turned off the property promptly.

Hoping what they saw was a figment of their imagination.

_______

Not all employees dreaded their return to the workplace. Some are basking in the afterglow of the holiday season. Fulfilled with the love of their family and friends and constantly reminded of their latest gifts it may be hard for some to put anything less than a smile on their face.

“Hiya Boss!” Said an excited minion, with black hair, and brown almond eyes. Waving in tandem with their glowing smile it felt natural during this time. 

FWOOSH.

For what felt natural at a moment of happiness was a crime in the eyes of an angered Todoroki Shoto. Even the few screams and sounds of rushing steps in the direction of the blazing employee weren’t enough to rouse the raging villain. 

On a warpath, he did the gentleman’s stomp – a directed speed walk–forcing his employees to guess his foul mood from the distant fire he was leaving behind. 

The slam of the door alerted his other partners of the raging villain, varying many different reactions. 

“So my guess is they turned you down?”

One such reaction was from his brother, who covered a dry laugh as he rubbed a hand against his beard. His feet were on the long, oval-shaped table taking the place in front of him; whereas others had files of paperwork instead. Blistered hands were behind his head sporting another shade of dye than last month. If Todoroki was in a better mood he’d have insulted him on it but he feared what crossed his mind was plenty more violent.

“Do you need to be here? This is an important meeting.”

His brother sighed, “Yeah, who else is going to stop you from burning up your branch leaders?”

Todoroki let his piercing glare shift to the attending employees, who refused to look anywhere but him suddenly finding the the wooden taint of the table incredibly interesting. The smirk from his brother made him groan, adjusting his tie before speaking. 

“All of you. Dismissed until next Week. Same time.”

As soon as he finished speaking the branch leaders hurriedly shot from their seats and ran to the exit of the conference room. Leaving nothing but an abandoned plate of bagels and a few pens Todoroki was alone once again. 

“Hey, are you going to sit here and sulk all day? That was all you had to do today, right?”

Alone with his brother. 

“It was.”

“Then you should go! Do something that will get the edge off.”

Todoroki made an exasperated face, making his brother sigh again. Bouncing from his seat the now-green-haired brother took Todoroki under his arm shaking him as he poked his finger into his chest.

“Like maybe cutting down those new ‘friends’ that have been bothering you!”

Todoroki removed the arm from around his shoulder, walking across the room towards the exit. Smoothly dodging the hand that reached for the back of his jacket. 

“I can’t it’s too obvious. They told me they wouldn’t speak to me again if I did that too.”

“Hmm.” His brother held his chin, stroking his beard as he thought. Todoroki shook his head, reaching for the door stopping when his brother snapped his fingers. 

“Hey! Why don’t you take it out on those ‘extras’ that have been watching them lately?”

Todoroki hesitated. “But I was planning on saving that for when it escalated…”

His brother waved his hand and blew an indignant puff of air past his lips. 

“Please, they would just be suspicious that way too. Do yourself a favor and treat yourself! The New Year can’t start with you being so glum!” 

Todoroki returned his gaze to the door handle he’d been holding for a while. He released his grip, revealing the misshapen handle that matched the shape of his fist. It brought a smile to his face.

“Thank you, Natsuo. I think I’ll do that.”

“No problem little brother have a good New Year.”

[oh-no-its-bird]

sending this ask w the power of god (airport wifi) because my power is out but i NEED to say this abt sqh in naruto as huohou

sqh would be SO fucking paranoid. he doesn't even remember who becomes a missing nin or not and mixes up canon with fanon. "hmm yeah shisui becomes a missing nin right.....? hmm yes i should watch him Very closely." (shisui is suspicious of sqh watching him closely. what does he Want.) he also thinks madara and tobirama were in a situationship or something like that. or was it madara and hashirama...? wait, since when was sealing like THAT? (like always. everyone looks at him and it's like damn you must have failed the unit on sealing back at the academy.)

i think the system waking up sqh at night only to be jumpscared by the uchiha massacre notif is very funny but. hear me out. random late night ramen or grocery run instead or sumn like that. just chilling and all of a sudden oh FUCK.

YEAH EXACTLY

Houhua doesnt even know who Madara is, he read like a fucking quarter of Naruto before dropping it when he was in highschool, which was 2 lives and well over a few hundred years ago. He knows like, bare fucking bones about the start of Naruto and most of what he remembers is just bc of memes he'd see online that were funny enough to get imprinted in his mind

he got up to like, Sasuke defecting w Orochimaru maybe?

The system is helping out a little by giving him some vague list of "important characters" but then refuses to elaborate on what makes them important. Maybe when he meets people if they have narrative weight they'll glow in his eyes or smthn fun like that? Idk

Let his mangekyou, if he ever receives it, revolve around "seeing the strings of fate" or some shit and its basically an extension of the system where hes able to "see the future" but its just him being able to tell someones inherent narrative weight

I think he'd have a really fucking hard time ever manifesting it tho, just bc like. He's really old. And he's seen a lot of shit. And he's grown really fucking numb to most terrible things. And he's already putting up so many walls between him and "the residents of this world" or however he might see them. I think that it'd take a lot for him to become so genuinely attached to someone that losing them can manifest something like that, and he isn't emotionally available enough to get that attached in the first place

I want him to actually violently bash together naruto sealing and svsss sealing to create just like. An ungodly creation of power that no one but him understands how to work, I think it'd be fun

On one hand I am hearing u out but on the other hand I always found it interesting that, on the night of the massacre, somehow, some way, all of the Uchiha were accounted for in the compound. You're telling me not a single one was on duty? Not a single one was out on a mission? I always thought that was the most pointed "there's clearly something underhanded going on here from the governments half" bc that's so ridiculously convenient it's straight up stupid.

Anyways that's to say that to continue with that line of thought and also bc that was clearly planned somehow, Houhua would need to be in the compound

Then again theres probably shops n stuff in the compound that Houhua could have been going to, thats true

hmmm things to think about

Either way I think I like him not sleeping but like, laying down trying to sleep when it happens bc it also lets me flex the "this paranoid bastard has been going to sleep in fucking armor since Sasuke turned 8, that's wild"

[severus-snaps]

On Sectumsempra & Levicorpus

So I was just searching up "Prince" on potter search as part of another ramble I was doing, and encountered these two quotes together:

“The Prince only copied [Sectumsempra] out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!”

and:

“Sectum — !” Snape flicked his wand and the curse was repelled yet again; but Harry was mere feet away now and he could see Snape’s face clearly at last: He was no longer sneering or jeering; the blazing flames showed a face full of rage. Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought, Levi — “No, Potter!” screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand ...Snape’s pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore. “You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them — I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you’d turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? I don’t think so … no!”

By no means do I expect this is a fresh take, but these quotes together got me to thinking about the possibilities of Snape's use - and creation - of Sectumsempra. I consider whether he did create it, whether he stole it, The Prank, SWM, Battle of Seven Potters, and whether James used it on Snape. It starts off pretty sensible and then descends into madness, and I've spent too much time on it, so that I don't want to look at it again :P [way longer than anticipated so view below the cut]:

Ahead of time: I'm assuming that Sectumsempra was the exact same cutting spell Snape used in SWM. The lack of workings-out for this spell in Snape's book suggests the SWM cutting spell wasn't an earlier version he had to tinker with extensively (why would he do all of his workings-out in his book except for that one spell?). And, from a narrative perspective, Sectumsempra was described as Snape's 'specialty', it was a reasonably large plot point with Harry vs Draco and Snape coming in, to me making it unlikely to have meant to have been another spell entirely.

So... did Snape create Sectumsempra?

Option 1: Snape did create Sectumsempra.

It was in Snape's HBP book

Perhaps he got Sectumsempra right on the first try, unlike his other spells, which is why its only note is "for enemies" and not workings-out. Things like the bezoar advice also didn't have workings-out, and Snape did not write notes on things he readily understood ("but not a single illuminating note in the Prince’s hand to explain what [Golpalott’s Third Law] meant. Apparently the Prince, like Hermione, had had no difficulty understanding it"). Perhaps by this point, he's rather good at spell creation; he didn't need to make notes or amendments, he just had an intuitive grasp of Latin and spellcraft and whipped out a new spell like that

It is possible that he did his workings-out elsewhere for a change, or worked it out with someone else (Mulciber, Avery?)

Snape says spells, inventions, plural, in the quote above, indicating that Sectumsempra was one of his own creations

Harry has switched to using "[Snape's] spells" against Snape; this is the reason Snape switches from lazily deflecting to looking enraged, and finally loses his composure at Levicorpus

Possibly, Snape alone knew the proper or only counter-spell to Sectumsempra (which I'm just calling the song-spell), where others did not (this is widely discussed in anti-Snape circles, but I'll come back to that)

Remus says "Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s" - Snape perhaps developed it in preparation or retaliation for going to the Shrieking Shack, and Remus remembers

Option 2: Snape did not create Sectumsempra.

It has no workings out; it looks as though it's been copied from somewhere, "for enemies" and no other notes - implying that he's not workshopped it, but has instead gone and looked up curses in the Restricted Section or one of his Slytherin friends' Dark Arts books and decided that this was the one he'd like to use. It seems unlikely that every other new spell (Levi/Liberacorpus, Muffliato, etc) had workings-out, but this one does not. This was Harry's interpretation: "The Prince only copied [Sectumsempra] out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something"

Snape "knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year" - he may have already known it and later jotted it down

Snape may not be angry in the above passage that Harry used 'his spell', but angry that Harry went on to use the spell that had almost killed Draco, again, having not learnt his lesson

We see Snape cast Sectumsempra in SWM - nonverbally, which means that Remus had to learn the incantation somewhere - and that somewhere might not have been from Snape, but via a book, or a DADA lesson (or, as I said for Option 1, Snape used it during the Shrieking Shack incident. Either could work?)

"My spells/inventions", plural, may have been a slip of the tongue or sounded better or was just easier to say; maybe one was Snape's by design (Levicorpus) and the other (Sectumsempra) by association, but Snape hardly had time to distinguish; he was on the run. Maybe Snape's other spells got out as well because rumours spread like nobody's business at Hogwarts, and Snape just did not have the time or inclination during this conversation for nuance

"Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s". It might have been 'his' spell in that he found or heard it elsewhere, and used it a lot, similar to how Harry's "signature move" is Expelliarmus. A specialty doesn't necessarily mean they've made something, just that they've specialised in it, are experts at it, or used it a lot - and, as we see in Harry's sword to Sev's scalpel, Snape did specialise in it and showed a lot more control:

[Harry's use] "SECTUMSEMPRA!” bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly. Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand... Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: “MURDER!"

[Snape's use] Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air...Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter.

Sectumsempra A brief departure to look at the spell and spellcasting more closely.

Casting Notably Snape casts it nonverbally, and there's no 'wild' gestures accompanying it; he simply directed his wand straight at James's face. Interestingly, the purple flame curse used on Hermione by Antonin Dolohov was also performed nonverbally, and was noted to be less severe than if spoken aloud:

The curse Dolohov had used on [Hermione], though less effective than it would have been had he been able to say the incantation aloud, had nevertheless caused, in Madam Pomfrey’s words, 'quite enough damage to be going on with'.

I wonder if Sectumsempra has the same 'powered down' effect when cast nonverbally? And if so, was Snape aware of that when he cast it at James? Was the intent to hide the incantation after his other creation, Levicorpus, got out - or to weaken the spell? In any case he failed in the first objective, because Remus identified Sectumsempra immediately as an adult.

[Side note: Snape was using and modifying a 6th year textbook, using nonverbal spells and creating spells that were already widespread - all in his 5th year, at age 15/16, when Hermione masters NV spells in 6th. What a nerd].

Effects Given the obvious ramifications of murder in broad daylight in front of a crowd of eyewitnesses and the fact that nobody, including the Marauders, paused at the spell's effects (I'll come back to their reactions later), I expect Snape's used it before and knew it wouldn't be too dangerous. It's risky aiming a cutting spell at a face, given the proximity to James's other facial features like his eyes, but not insurmountable. Also, Snape thinks James & Co. tried to kill him only weeks/months ago, so like... I can also believe that teen Snape had murder and maiming on the mind but lacked the hand-eye coordination to back it up.

But would it be murder? To ask someone who hates Snape, absolutely. But I disagree. Contrary to anti-Snape belief that it's a spell designed for brutally ripping someone in half and can't be healed by anyone other than Snape with his secret song-spell, thus making it a death sentence from blood loss alone, as far as magic swords go... it's kind of blunt. Even at full force:

Still slashing at the air with his wand, Harry yelled, “Sectumsempral SECTUMSEMPRA!” But though gashes appeared in their sodden rags and their icy skin, they had no blood to spill...

We see it cuts flesh. We see with George that it cuts cartilage. But it's not slicing the Inferi in half; it's not cutting bone - and Harry's fighting for his life. So it's not a literal sword, which can do both; that descriptor was just for imagery's sake. (Or perhaps Harry should've waved his wand more wildly?)

And it can be healed. Before the cave scene, back in Myrtle's bathroom, we also see Snape use a healing spell. But probably not Snape's own secret spell; Harry idles Sectumsempra for weeks ("he saw the Sectumsempra spell, captioned “For Enemies,” that he had marked a few weeks previously. He had still not found out what it did, mainly because he did not want to test it around Hermione, but he was considering trying it out on McLaggen next time he came up behind him unawares"). Harry/the narrative makes no mention of a healing spell or counter-curse nearby, and if it was like Levicorpus it would also reasonably be "one cramped word underneath the spell".

So, Snape perhaps knew a healing spell because of his knowledge of the Dark Arts, or knowledge in general. But it wasn't necessarily Snape's own secret healing spell, and nor is it likely the only spell that heals cuts like this. Dumbledore uses something similar at the cave, so it might just have been obscure or powerful healing magic ("said Dumbledore, now passing the tip of his wand over the deep cut he had made in his own arm, so that it healed instantly, just as Snape had healed Malfoy’s wounds") - or it was just a generic healing spell that Hermione or Madam Pomfrey probably would've known, but Harry didn't. This type of healing does not work on werewolf wounds - which presumably are special in some way - but even Dumbledore's cursed hand and Hermione's injuries after the purple flame spell at the Ministry battle are curable with enough effort: "Hermione was having to take ten different types of potion every day".

But, once again (and in contrast to Hermione's recovery) Sectumsempra wounds can be staunched and cleaned by Molly in the span of about 10-20 minutes, if that - it took less than the time for Harry to help load George onto the table until he finished a conversation with Lupin. Harry returned to find "a clean, gaping hole where George’s ear had been". George immediately wakes up and cracks a joke; the danger has passed).

Either Molly's got some mad healing skills to fix an original, unique curse created by a vicious budding death eater obsessed with dark magic without knowing the only counter-curse in existence - or the spell isn't only able to be healed with Snape's song-spell, just a regular healing spell, and Snape just likes to sing. Molly might have used such a spell when Harry was in the next room arguing with Remus. Molly is undoubtedly proficient, but obviously general healing knowledge is enough to heal Sectumsempra. Molly (I think) says the ear can't be re-attached because of nebulous Dark Magic reasons we never really hear more about from anyone despite 6 years of DADA, but it probably also can't be re-attached, in part, because the ear fell off somewhere in the countryside and Remus was too busy having to keep George on the broom to do a quick "Accio ear".

Given that Snape likely used Sectumsempra in SWM and there's no mention of James having had a scar, that Remus describes it as a specialty of Snape's but also has no visible scars in the books (when other aspects of his appearance are readily described), that Snape says Dittany can prevent scarring on Draco ("There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that") and that Draco then appears to have successfully avoided scarring ("Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest" - does Harry ever mention facial scarring on Draco again? I'm not well-versed in Drarry, but I know that Harry's constant physical descriptions of Draco are a common topic), it seems reasonable that if Snape did use it a lot in school, it was not overwhelmingly challenging to fix the cuts.

Add to that the fact that the Marauders were not in the least bit surprised or concerned about this spell - not about scarring, about the blood, or about the cut itself. Without hesitation James puts Snape in the air and, bar a brief authorial description of Snape's pallid legs, they're immediately laughing - even James, who's got a bleeding gash on his cheek (ouch), which is not mentioned again. Of course this could be for several reasons, chief among them that Snape has used the spell before so it's not a surprise, they're hyped up on adrenaline and pack mentality, and the Marauders are used to thinking of danger as fun ("And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards"). Even Lily doesn't have anything to say about dark magic, but I suppose she's still looking out for Snape here.

The Marauders are brave and talented young wizards, and presumably they know, from experience if Snape has used it frequently, that they can heal Sectumsempra just fine. James is cut on the cheek in SWM and is never described as having a scar, and you'd think that would be something Harry might notice, especially given his own facial scar.

Using Sectumsempra

So we've established that Sectumsempra is harsh and maybe cruel, but not devilishly so. It is temporary and fixable, both to the Marauders (who don't care) and to others (who are more upset by the ear loss and the sight of blood than the cut itself), and especially for Snape.

And yet... It seems unlikely that Snape was casting it on people (enemies) and then rushing over to help heal them. I think he knows how to heal it as an adult so efficiently, and how to avoid scarring because of the following options: 1. Snape (as an adult) has good knowledge of healing the dark arts (as we see with Dumbledore and to a lesser extent Katie Bell; could many people prevent Voldemort's own curse from spreading at all, let alone for so long?) 2. Snape (as a teen) was using it on himself (plausible both within the realms of testing his creation, or for more depressing reasons) 4. Teen/Young Adult Snape was using it on others (who he'd then heal? Some interesting avenues for Snape the torturer DE in fanfics), or perhaps... 3. Snape's been at the receiving end of it, which leads me once more to:

You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? ... And you’d turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you?

Snape's specific grievance is related to his spells being turned against him.

We all know James used Levicorpus, we see it in SWM, and apparently plenty of people knew it; "Oh, that one [Levicorpus] had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts". So that's one of the spells, plural.

I think you can see where I'm going with this, if you've made it this far.

I think James Potter also used Sectumsempra on Snape, and here's why:

"spells", plural. These are the two (Levicorpus and Sectumsempra) that are used in this scene (and not the toenail jinx or Muffliato, for example)

After Harry tries to cast Sectumsempra on Snape, "[Snape] was no longer sneering or jeering; the blazing flames showed a face full of rage", marking the beginning of his turn in attitude because of the specific injustice of his spells being used against him. He deflects them all anyway with absurd ease; why else would he care? Harry's not a threat to him, but his memories of James using his spells are unpleasant and likely traumatic (give me one example of a person who can be choked, gagged, immobilised, and then suspended upside down in front of a crowd laughing at your expense as the person doing it threatens to - and probably does - remove your underwear)

We see Snape cast Sectumsempra nonverbally in SWM... but Remus had to learn the incantation somewhere. And what does Remus do regularly when it comes to protecting his image and that of his friends? Lie or bend the truth. I don't think, after the brutality of SWM or The Prank, that the Marauders had any particular aversion to drawing blood, for example, over threatening to strip Snape above a laughing crowd.

Tenuous: "Sectumsempra was a specialty of Snape’s" vs "“Well,” said Lupin slowly, “Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James, so you couldn’t really expect James to take that lying down, could you?""

[special mention for the fact that Snape was the one literally lying down (following James/Sirius' Impedimentia, Petrificus Totalus) in SWM and James was the one not to lose an opportunity here, but that's just me running away with myself. More likely Remus' words here mean "we always hexed first, Snape just always fought back"].

It would be an odd interpretation, but "a specialty of Snape's" could be a backwards way of saying it was their specialty for him. (Unlikely, but you can't stop me now, I'm running away with myself).

But consider...

"Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape's", part 2.

Now I'm just veering wildly into headcanon territory because this is flimsy, but consider Lupin's quotes:

Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become so!

[Snape] lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s.

Incidentally, those two quotes/ideas - of signature spells and specialties - are barely a page apart. Lupin is grilling Harry for inadvertently giving himself away at the Battle of Seven Potters.

As we all know, Harry is identified by Death Eaters for using Expelliarmus - at about the same time that Snape is identified by the Order/Remus for using Sectumsempra (and the slip of his hood, but if Remus knows the incantation, the hood slip only acted as confirmation as Sectumsempra is not widely used in canon - the only people we actually see use it, after several battles with DEs, are Snape and Harry).

Under the assumption that Lupin rarely saw Snape after they left Hogwarts, that Snape wasn't regularly using Sectumsempra in Order meetings, and that Remus uses the past tense ("was always")... Doesn't SWM seems rather early on in their lives to have developed a "specialty" if Snape only invented it that year?

(It is later on through Harry's/Snape's book, perhaps May when they started in September. Slughorn has likely not changed tac since he previously taught Snape, as Harry is just following the book/the Prince along all year. This is potentially complicated by the fact that Snape was working ahead; I don't generally have the brain for dates so idk how).

Anyway, Harry's been using Expelliarmus since CoS by the time we reach this quote in DH describing Expelliarmus as Harry's signature, and in the same metaphorical breath describing Sectumsempra as Snape's specialty. By this point in his life, Harry's used Expelliarmus to disarm/challenge the likes of Draco, Lockhart, Snape, and Voldemort, and has taught it at DA meetings, used it in the Ministry, etc etc. It might have been that Snape found or heard Sectumsempra elsewhere and came to use it a lot and gained a lot of control over it, sort of similar to how Harry's "signature move" is Expelliarmus. Depending on to what extent Remus means by "always a specialty", there's scope for Snape to have learnt Sectumsempra early on (he "knew more curses as a first-year") and used it since then - which would also explain why the Marauders were so relaxed about it. It sounds as though Snape had used it for some time.

But consider...

Snape did not invent Sectumsempra, James/Sirius did

Drawing parallels here where they probably don't exist and I'm losing my mind so I've definitely contradicted myself - both Snape and Harry are 'in disguise' during this battle, dressed identically to the team they're visually fighting for - and both are identified by having highly identifiable spells.

But Harry was taught his signature, Expelliarmus, by observing someone else doing it - interestingly, that someone else was Snape. Snape, who is repeatedly viewed as an 'enemy' who Harry mistakenly believed tried to kill him, but was actually saving his life. I just found it an interesting parallel to Snape and The Prank and James in this context, because Snape mistakenly believed that James wanted to kill him by being in on the prank, but James was actually trying to save Snape and Remus during The Prank, just like Snape was actually trying to save Remus and Harry during The Battle (of Seven Potters).

[Side note; "[Snape] lost his hood" aka "[Snape's] mask slipped" aka Snape almost revealed himself as Dumbledore's man by trying to protect Remus, who was being protected in both the prank and the battle. Sev has replaced James here. Poetic]

Food for thought/headcanon: even more contradictory and speculative, but what if Snape didn't make Sectumsempra, and learnt the incantation from James? ("for enemies" being the only note, no workings-out).

"The Prince only copied [Sectumsempra] out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him"

Making a note of something that had been used (done?) against him? Maybe. James and Sirius were still using verbal spellcasting (with the exception of Levicorpus, which as we know, even Harry could do when still struggling with nonverbal spells), which is where Snape could've learnt it. And it would lend a sort of revenge and showing off aspect to Snape's use of it, if he'd taken it from them.

But isn't it curious that, when given the opportunity, Snape didn't disarm or knock James/Sirius back, or use any of the spells they'd used on him thus far to disarm/incapacitate/humiliate him (Expelliarmus, Impedimentia, Petrificus Totalus)? Nor did he use his other original spells to somehow incapacitate them (Levicorpus, Langlock) - but instead Snape chose to give James a wound that didn't even slow him down? A wound delivered with restraint? A wound that didn't even stop James from laughing despite being on his cheek?

One interpretation might be that this was Sectumsempra's first outing, but the total lack of acknowledgement, I feel, makes it unlikely. Literally nobody stopped long enough to remark on the fact it was unexpected or worryingly bloody, that it was dark magic, nothing.

But the Marauders laugh when Snape uses Sectumsempra. Not all of them, though:

Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter.

There's one Marauder missing from this sentence.

Remus disapproves.

So what if... James first knew of, and used, Sectumsempra to slow/deter/distract Remus whilst saving Snape? What if Snape had used or prepared it solely for his venture to the Shack, and it was used on Remus? What if Snape uses it during SWM (and likely other times, as a specialty) as an attempt to remind them that he could tell everyone Remus' secret?

(It didn't work, obviously).

There are several reasons Moony might not be laughing. Remus is possibly the most morally sound of the Marauders in that he disapproves of such behaviour - and he's also worried his secret will out. But I throw the above theory into the ring as another explanation. Remus remembers the incantation for Sectumsempra because it was used against him. Snape remembers because it was the night of The Prank. Snape either made it or adopted it, and started to work it into every encounter with the Marauders (as a reminder, as payback, a pound of flesh/blood for blood/eye for an eye). In any case, I'm confident James also uses it against Snape. Snape writes it in his book, so he doesn't forget.

Sectumsempra - for enemies.

[0v3rcast]

Self Aware Wuthering Waves Ideas:

Feel free to use them. Just tell me if you do (so I can read your work). This will be a list of random idea bits. Spoilers ahead.

The creator of the world (you) is called either the Metronome [providing the backbone of existence by 'keeping time' with your metaphysical heartbeat in the same way as the device does in music] or the First Howl [the birth of existence in deafening sound, with the resonance of your voice shattering unreality to make everything].

You loved music in your first life, and sound-based powers were the first thing you'd unlocked with godly energy. You took a mortal body to walk among your creations and know them.

Your first body died during a disastrously failed peacetalk between two old-world nations, and the first Tacet Field grew from your blood. It's believed that the TDs are the world's rage at humankind for their actions manifested.

The Threnodians and Sentinels are made from your old body, though the parts have been long since warped by time and collected resonance.

The Threnodians have a core sound, a resonation of your dying moments. A gurgle, a gasp. Choking. Blood dripping. The strongest Threnodian is made from your final exhale of breath, and the strongest Sentinel is made from your final inhale of breath.

The reason you can collect so many TD echoes in the game is because it's you who is helping the Rover. They state it's a rare occurrence to get an echo normally in one of the quests - versus the Rover, who can get entire groups of them in a single fight if they're lucky.

Religious practices involving atonement for the guilt of humanity [your killers] are common, and in the most severe sects, some will go so far as to flagellate themselves or have a religious leader do it monthly.

TDs don't attack religious buildings constructed in your honor. They just take them over for themselves, half-understanding the significance and also liking the acoustics of the rooms.

Live music is always to be played at one of your temples. Since very little of the music you like is remembered this many years after your death, they're left to choose their own playlists.

In places without instruments, people use what they can to make noise, and there's a longstanding tradition of oral storytelling in the form of songs in places where people live.

It's believed that there's a sacred note or series of notes that you love dearly, based on a mistranslation of an old-world religious book from some abandoned religion.

The Rover and friends shouldn't be able to survive half the shit they do - you're giving them and others in the main story plot armor in the form of a nearly imperceptible sound that throws off aim and weakens the strength in muscles.

Full resurrection isn't possible for anyone else, so when you're reviving someone mid-fight, it's the equivalent of using smelling salts to wake someone up from a decapitation, but somehow it works.

Your reappearance in the world was first thought to be the release of some ancient Threnodian that was older than any known ones, or perhaps even the being that embodies the end of reality. Nah, s'just you, much to the relief and joy of humanity.

Sure, your powers are... dwindled, but you did un-mortis. That's fucking crazy.

Your avatar, the Rover, kicking Dreamless' ass and metaphorically skullfucking Ovathrax's attempted rematch was basically seen as a sign that you've mostly forgiven humanity for their mistake.

It's impossible for you to have a doppelganger, as the amount of resonance that's required to sustain your physical form (and is emanated by you) would reduce other people to a fucking pulp or shake their organs into mist inside their torsos.

You have no voice of your own when you go to Sol-3. You're like a TD, in the way that the only sounds you can make are sounds that you've heard and collected.

It's the one thing that's forever lost to you, and for weeks after your arrival, you sound like an EDM mashup as you try to speak to people but don't realize what you're saying is total nonsense and scrambled noises.

Early on, you can say intelligible things with enough effort, but it takes all your focus to string together even a handful of words. Sign language is a good friend to you in the early days, if you know it, and if you don't, they're happy to teach you.

People are deeply unsettled by your manner of speaking because sometimes you laugh, but it sounds like someone's spine breaking in multiple places, or you yawn, and it sounds like someone in a car crash.

You don't have any echoes when in the world. The TDs just want to hang out with you anyway.

Eventually, Outcasts find oldworld tech full of machined voices, and now you sound like Miku. Or like Microsoft Sam. Or multiple of them at once, making you seem to talk the way the Master from the original Fallout talks.

[followafallingstar]

How you meet Michael - Cordelia

Summary: On Michaels first day off since working with Dean and Sam he goes for a walk and sees you playing in the water with your sisters. When he noticed that you were staring at him he investigates and finds a new purpose to fight for. A soulmate.

Pairing: Michael/reader, Michael/witch

Disclaimer: soulmate au

Soulmate au: God created a soulmate for each one of his children. For angels finding their soulmate is one of the most honorable tasks they could achieve due to the amount of luck they must have since the soul of a human mate can be sent to earth at any time during the existence of humanity. But when an angel does meet their other half their loyalty to god switches to their mate, protecting them at all costs. Feelings such as love and lust are only acceptable and archivable for angels when they meet their soulmate and that only to the mate too so acts of unloyalty or cheating don’t exist in their world.

The sun was shining brightly, and the shimmering hues it created were being deflected into the ocean, giving it the beautiful blue color that resembled his wings. Massive, shiny, and paired in six, three on each side. Each one of them is bigger than the lower one. For humans invisible but for you strangely that wasn’t the case, not that you knew that you weren’t supposed to see them.

At first, you were sure he was a freak who didn’t know that Halloween is in October and not in late July but the more you watched the man the more you were sure he wasn’t normal. You asked your youngest sister “Goldie, do you see that?”. While your sister held her gaze in the same direction as you, she didn’t notice anything out of the blue. You frowned, sensing that the man wasn’t just walking around with wings for no reason. Just as you were to turn your back on him and shift your attention to the volleyball you have been playing with in the water, his eyes met yours.

Something about the way he looked at you made you feel vulnerable as if he could read you like a book. And of course, you didn’t know, he could. His eyes wandered, to your dark eyes, your long black hair that was neatly up in a bun, the small silver necklace you wore that had a small star engraved in it, to your blue bikini that matched the color of the water you were in. His color.

His grace flutters and so does his wings. A small yet deep sensation erupts inside of the brown-haired archangel as he looks at you. Your stare didn’t go unnoticed by him, he wasn’t sure why you would give him your attention, maybe you had a sixth sense that could detect supernatural beings, maybe you just found his vessel attractive, or maybe you were that something that was missing.

He could just look into your mind but what would be the purpose of that if you were just a mortal, after all, a lower being? But the feeling didn’t vanish, the feeling of want and need that he felt for the first time since his creation, something he shouldn’t feel.

At first he just wanted to take a walk, take a good look at Earth, the creation his father loved so much. Free time wasn’t something he had a lot when working and living with Sam and Dean in the bunker but when he did have it he tried to spend it wisely. Even if time was something that he had plenty enough of, in the long run that is, as an immortal being.

His feet moved on their own, going down the marble stairs where he had been stopping and walking closer to the beach, his wings folded neatly behind him as he moved.

At the same time, your movement changed too, your eyebrows raised as he came closer. Maybe he was one of your customers at the shop yet that couldn’t be since you remember every single one of your customer's faces or spiritual power. You excused yourself from your sisters, walking out of the water to the nearby beach shop that sold drinks and snacks. As you are about to enter his voice interrupts your busy mind that was occupied with finding out who he could be.

“You are different,” he said. The way he spoke made you shiver, cold and calculated yet so soft. Turning around to him your eyes wander from his sapphire eyes to his wings again. His eyes were fixated on you and as he noticed that your gaze wandered to the space behind him, to his muscles that were his pride and joy the corners of his lips slowly turned up and he gave you his hand to shake.

“My name is Michael,” he said now in a much gentler tone, warm and friendly. You shook his hand, not knowing the future you have been setting for yourself with that move, and answered

“Call me Cora”.