#and tries to retain as much of his humanity as he can

[qinglourn]

this is a reminder to myself to write up something about how the sonoro sphere in j*yan's companion quest serves as symbolism for his inner state

[sunderwight]

Further speculation on Shen Yuan transmigrating in some kind of Beast:

Werewolf Shen Qingqiu.

And like, major emphasis on the wolf, in his case. Not wolfman. Every full moon Shen Qingqiu has to make arrangements for himself to turn into a gigantic silvery-white wolf that retains extremely little of his consciousness, and mostly just seems to want to do Wolf Things, though according to PIDW and all information he has on the matter, he ought to be turning into a violent and bloodthirsty predator.

However, it turns out that the wolf form does retain some awareness from the mind/soul of the human, meaning that the reason SJ's wolf was so incredibly unsafe to be around was because it was constantly trying to process SJ's trauma in wild animal terms. So, it was hostile towards the vast majority of humans and in a heightened state of anxiety, always anticipating violence (and reacting accordingly) whenever something unexpected happened. Matters were not helped by SJ's decision to try and lock himself up for every transformation, which of course freaked his wolf out even more (trapped) and resulted in self-harm as it desperately tried to escape. It was just that SJ interpreted the self-harm as a sign that the wolf was so extremely violent that it would cannibalize itself rather than go a single night without the taste of blood.

SY, who is a lot less traumatized, conversely has a much more calm and curious wolf. Like he's extremely cautious and nervous about the whole thing, because he's expecting it to be violent based on his information, and since he doesn't retain much awareness of his transformations he has little idea of what his wolf-self does. But he also isn't great at locking himself up like the original goods did, and he never really seems to wake up covered in blood or anything? Once or twice he thinks he might have hunted a rabbit, but they definitely were rabbits and not like his subconscious somehow going after children in the middle of a wilderness somewhere, because when he came to the wolf had brought the leftover bunny bits along back to the ruined temple he was supposed to be shutting himself up into.

The new Shen Qingqiu consequently gets a bit complacent about the whole thing. He can only blame himself. Maybe he should have anticipated Luo Binghe, with his boundless curiosity and interest in his shizun, would notice the oddities in his schedule and follow him out one night. Everyone's supposed to believe that he's just going to brothels and engaging in purely mundane debauchery, though, so why would Binghe doubt his story?

But he did, and so of course Luo Binghe ends up witnessing his shizun's terrible transformation into a wretched and hated beast. Stunned, the young disciple stands transfixed (no doubt in horror) in the moonlight. The wolf sees him, and though Shen Qingqiu doesn't retain much memory, he recollects the running, the leaping, the... uh... licking...?

Well. Turns out that even Shen Qingqiu's subconscious wolf mind recognizes Luo Binghe as pack, and thank goodness too, because at least he didn't attack him!

Although after that it becomes an extreme challenge to explain to Luo Binghe why he can't accompany Shen Qingqiu for his transformations every month. It's not safe, the wolf is unpredictable and Shen Qingqiu can't promise that he won't startle or suddenly change his tune and lash out, and even though Binghe's cultivation is progressing in leaps and bounds, the wolf also isn't limited to normal mortal strength. It would be able to track his scent and follow him relentlessly, chasing him down to catch and pin him beneath its massive paws, and... Binghe why is your face so red? Are you feeling alright? If it's too frightening, then let's not describe it any further, but the point is that it's dangerous.

Shen Qingqiu has to put his foot down. In the end, he has his suspicions that Binghe is still circumventing him, as he could swear he sometimes remembers running around the wilderness with company. (Binghe is absolutely sneaking out to go spend time with Wolf Shizun.) But there's nothing concrete enough to be certain. Meanwhile, Luo Binghe has at least agreed to keep it secret (for now -- probably not once the time comes for Shen Qingqiu to be put on trial) and fusses over his shizun, helping him keep track of the moon scheduling and always making sure he has a full belly before he goes into wilderness seclusion (Shen Qingqiu never says, but somehow Luo Binghe guesses anyway that he doesn't like waking up to find that the wolf had a snack during the night...)

Another hazard: lycanthropy in the PIDW setting is a curse. Like admittedly it's kind of a kickass one, but it still has tons of negative associations, most commonly befalling impoverished individuals or travelers who get bitten by wild wolf demons, and survive only to find that a piece of the wolf's spirit has gotten stuck to their own. Cultivators with lycanthropy are often associated with demons and disrepute, like Wu Yanzi, and there are countless tales of them turning on their own people or being revealed as violent, depraved criminals. It's only slightly more acceptable than being a demon outright.

In other words it's not a desirable circumstance.

And yet, for some reason, Luo Binghe is reprehensibly lapse in his protections against lycanthropy. Shen Qingqiu has told him all of the precautions he knows against it, and yet it's almost like Binghe keeps doing the exact opposite things! Listen, wolves are cool. Shen Qingqiu knows that. He's actually kind of fine with turning into one, since it seems to be less of a ravenous beast situation than he'd feared. But there are still social consequences to this kind of a thing! Luckily, it doesn't actually matter much because even with his uncharacteristic youthful irresponsibility, Binghe's heavenly demon blood protects him from ever being cursed. The only way he'd get lycanthropy would be if he deliberately let a werewolf bite him and then just refused to excise the curse, and even then, he could purge the tainted wolf spirit from him just by force of will whenever he wanted.

Seriously, though! It's only when Shen Qingqiu points out that Luo Binghe is going to make people suspicious with all his negligence towards basic precautions that Binghe finally smartens up about it.

(Luo Binghe, out in the woods during a full moon: Wolf Shizun please bite me? Bite Binghe? Then we can be together every full moon! Look here I'll stick my hand in your mouth... just, just chomp down... no don't lick... *sigh*...)

Anyway, the plot still goes mostly the same, except that when Shen Qingqiu put into the water prison it's the full moon. He expects this is part of Luo Binghe's plan against him -- Binghe probably couldn't reveal the lycanthropy without also admitting he'd known before and helped hide it, but this way, Shen Qingqiu can just get caught as a wolf by the palace guards. But Luo Binghe's just been so frazzled and distressed by everything that he genuinely forgot what phase the moon was on. Shen Qingqiu's expecting a lot of things when he wakes up after transforming in the Water Prison, but being back out of the Water Prison and snuggled up to the protagonist's chest wasn't on the list.

Turns out that after his confrontation with Luo Binghe and the Little Palace Mistress, Gongyi Xiao went to check on him and found him transformed. After Gongyi Xiao alerted the rest of the palace, the Palace Master determined that Shen Qingqiu being a werewolf was as good as a confirmation of guilt, and had the wolf dragged out to be killed. Luo Binghe intervened, Shen Qingqiu took off, and between one thing and another the whole night was spent with Huan Hua and Cang Qiong cultivators trying to catch him (for different reasons).

Of course it was Luo Binghe who eventually cornered the terrified wolf, at which point the wolf actually, finally did bite him. But when Binghe failed to react, it whimpered and went back to its usual behavior, and let Binghe lead it out of the city and off to its usual territory near Cang Qiong. The wolf then proceeded to act like an overjoyed puppy whose owner had finally come back from war, until Binghe broke down and sobbed himself to sleep. It must have curled up onto his chest afterwards.

Shen Qingqiu is deeply embarrassed, but... somehow Luo Binghe doesn't seem to be taking revenge on him?

He's going to need to treat that bite wound soon, though.

Binghe.

Binghe, you are going to treat that--

[vampireistic]

ending obey me on chapter 60 makes me so angry bc we still haven’t answered several questions about the game’s lore and i seriously don’t know how they’re going to squeeze all of it in a few chapters (or if they’re even going to answer any of them at all)…

why is diavolo’s father asleep

why did he give the brothers the sins associated with them (how did he even know those would be accompanied with them, he barely knew them as they literally JUST fell)

who is nightbringer

why did they specifically want MC to travel to the past for the “sake of their own happiness”

why does solomon have clear ties and history with nightbringer

what is solomon’s full childhood and story with his friend (that he was too overwhelmed with to tell MC)

WHY did the brothers not know that the MC just returned from the past but still retain a feeling of loss and gain (luke crying, lucifer saying he feels giddy, simeon asking if he can pat MC’s head, even 13 getting slightly emotional etc)

this one might just be a writing inconsistency, but why are the brothers all a sudden fine with the celestial realm despite clearly holding deep resentment and anger over all the shit they’ve done

also what’s actually the deal with MCs powers? aside from the fact the pacts they made in the past have now altered their power in the present, the MC was already terrifically powerful before that (we literally caused disasters in the three realms) - is it related to MCs lineage with Lilith and the fact we possibly retained some angelic powers? we are constantly described as having no magic abilities (we require the brother’s and incantations) so clearly it’s nothing latent so what is it…

also no, i refuse to accept the fact the house of lords has that much authority in regards to the monarchy. why can they just choose to decide to reject diavolo’s ascension to the throne?? why do they hold so much power???

the characterisation of god still angers me too. once again, either a problem with the writing or them not understanding where they would like to go with the story but simeon’s story and brother’s love for the father in NB is complete and utter bullshit. simeon is literally shown and mentioned several times to having a deep rooted fear in the father. his nonchalant attitude with his multiple demotions and punishments and acceptance of his possible demon descension should’ve been enough to get him to be cast down forever. are we forgetting this is the same god who tried ridding lilith from existence because she messed around with a human? this doesn’t sound like the sort of forgiving god where he’d see an angel of his shrug his shoulders at the idea of becoming demonic and simply be okay with it.

if you have any more / any answers pls do tell bc i’m so distraught 😞

[twilightkitkat]

HEAR ME OUTTTTT YALL

Logan's bones are made of metal, right? And while adamantium is a fictional element, metals tend to follow a set of properties.

One primary property is that the majority of metals are conductors. This is reinforced in The Wolverine movie wherein the adamantium sword conducts heat extremely well to be able to cut off Logan's claws.

Therefore, Logan's bones are conductors (for both heat and electricity).

Most human bones (like Wade's) are insulators. This makes bones more resistant to electricity as compared to the rest of the human body, which is an electrical conductor because it's composed of water and ions.

I know the dark matter is different, but from how we see it flow through the veins and transfer we can assume it's conducted as well.

THEREFORE, THE REASON LOGAN WAS ABLE TO ALMOST INSTANTLY FORGE THE CONNECTION WAS BECAUSE HIS BONES CONDUCTED THE ELECTRICITY EASILY. AND IT WOULD ALSO MEAN THAT HIS PAIN WOULD BE SIGNIFICANTLY WORSE THAN WADE'S. BECAUSE HE LITERALLY FEELS IT RUNNING THROUGH HIS BONES, JITTERING HIS VERY SKELETON?? BUT HE STILL KEPT HOLDING ON JUST TO SAVE WADE.

Also, this means that his bones would retain heat. If he sits in front of the fire and gets heated up, he'd feel it in his bones. This means the human heater headcanons are 100% true, because he'd literally be hot metal wrapping around Wade if he's kept warm.

Inversely, however, this would mean his bones become cold due to a lack of heat. Metal oftentimes expands in hot conditions and contracts in cold conditions (which is why they leave gaps between train tracks to accommodate for this without them breaking).

So Logan would 100% get aches with cold weather because even if his body was more resistant, he can feel the chill in his bones and how they don't sit quite right and everything is too stiff and doesn't fit. (And Wade would need to heat him up instead because of this.)

Plus his thermal regulation would be compromised because it seeps into his bones instead of just his flesh. Imagine you get in front of a fan and your skin feels cool but your bones are hot. Logan would be temperature-sensitive, but he'd try to hide it because he's used to it (having lived in the mountains for years) and doesn't know what to do. (And so when Wade comes along and cares and tries to help him regulate, he nearly chokes up because it's so much easier to cope.)

[once-in-a-blue-moon-rising]

Seen a few 'maturity is realising that it's not a look of love' videos on Instagram re: 457, and while I do realise it is Not That Deep, I nonetheless have THOUGHTS

The crux of those thoughts is this: has fandom's view of shipping narrowed so far that unless two characters are mashing their faces together on-screen, it's immature to interpret the text contrary to what we assume the creator's intention was?

With this ship specifically, let's start with the obvious: the actors have insane chemistry. This is true whether you see the characters' bond as platonic, romantic, antagonistic, or something else. They are very obviously comfortable and friendly with one another in real life, and this translates into an intense on-screen relationship between Gi-hun and In-ho (and I'm sure this is exactly what the director did want, because, newsflash, this is our protagonist/antagonist duo).

I do think it's valid to ship something based purely off the actors' chemistry, but the comment is obviously referring to the characters themselves in the context of the story, so let's address that too.

There's a clear motivation for the way In-ho stares at Gi-hun, follows him around, and generally tries to insert himself into his life, and this is what these posts are referring to. He's testing his ideology, he's watching how he's affected by the horrific things that are happening around him, and to help him do this, he's ensuring that Gi-hun trusts and likes him. It's important if he wants to prove to him that the world is unchangeable, and humanity irredeemable.

And because of that, it's not the 'look of love'. Case closed?

Well, no.

Because there is so much nuance and depth that you're failing to explore, if a look can only mean one thing.

Because why does In-ho bother? Why is Gi-hun worth his time and interest? In-ho - via the games - has access to resources that far far outweigh the money Gi-hun won. He could prevent him from finding the island forever. He could just have him shot tbh. He's not really a credible threat - at most, he's a minor annoyance, because people need to be paid off every so often to prevent him getting too close.

Just through this detail, we can deduce that In-ho cares, in some way. He is interested enough to want to change Gi-hun's mind, when it would be so much easier to... not. Is it love? It's certainly fascination. And I don't think it can be argued that he brought him back for the VIPs' entertainment and not his own, because Gi-hun was searching for three years before In-ho let himself be found. And even when he's found, it's Gi-hun who suggests going back into the games.

So these stares - yes, he's testing him, but he's doing it because he wants to. They denote genuine interest. How did this guy retain his hope and faith in humanity? How can I prove to him that my view is correct?

And I'm very much not saying that a romantic interpretation is 'correct', because fiction should be interpreted however the audience sees fit, but what is love (in all its forms) if not wanting to know someone and be known by them?

This is even more compelling to me when we take into account In-ho's backstory, which we learn a bit more about in season 2. Because he and Gi-hun are so similar, except in the way they've used their trauma to interpret the world. Which just adds to the evidence that In-ho would be fascinated by this man, be determined to know him and to change his mind.

What I'm saying with all this isn't that 457 is canon, and that anyone who says otherwise is media illiterate. What I'm saying is that the real immature interpretation is one that's surface level, be that interpretation 'uwu he loves him' or 'he's PLOTTING evil things'.

[baphometsss]

the 'memories of a duet' codex is so interesting and not just because you can read it in so many ways. given that mythal is on the codex card i think you can safely assume it's about her, but it reveals so much about their relationship if you pay attention. this is a memory of solas learning a song/composing it for her, to remind her of who they are (were) when everything sang the same (in the fade, when they were spirits). she's doing her own thing at court but he does it all just to get a single happy glance from her, to see her remember the familiarity that is so integral to solas's understanding of who he is. 'seeing wholly, being wholly seen'. remember that spirits reflect: solas reflected mythal's benevolence, and mythal reflected his wisdom. they need to reflect to maintain their sense of who they are: it is not just about his love for mythal, but his way of retaining his sense of who he is, by prolonging the memory of that reflection even as she grew away from him.

the 'away from mindless worship and well-meant misunderstanding' is really fucking interesting too. it's a memory of a moment where mythal could forget her role of the charismatic all-mother, who was loved and adored by her children, and where solas could ignore the no doubt frequent insinuations from others that his devotion was romantic. it was a way for them to connect in a way where they could just be true to who they were and how they felt about each other: like branches of the same tree, like family. of course, this was before he rebelled, before mythal betrayed him by joining the evanuris--although how long before is questionable since they're only sharing glances at this point. it's kind of sad, too; it reads like he's already having to do so much to get barely anything in return from this person who is meant to be his family.

it also puts a lot of things into perspective about solas's feelings on the modern elves in dai. that feeling of kinship, the twinning he felt with mythal and felassan and no doubt other elvhen and spirits, is so precious to him. he doesn't want to share it with anyone in this terrible, broken world he created, as if to share it with them would somehow taint it. it's only by the end of dai and into datv that he sees he was wrong, that the elves may have forgotten their history, but they are of the same family: different branches on the same tree.

when he says to a romanced lavellan, you are unique, i have never found a spirit such as yours, you have a rare and marvellous spirit, etc. he's also saying that he hasn't felt this sense of kinship for a long time, that he didn't expect to bond with someone from this broken world in the way he did. it's a different bond to the one he had with mythal, too, because he says he never thought he would find someone who would draw his attention from the fade and by extension, his longing to be a spirit once again--something he constantly tried to get mythal to agree with him on and failed. with lavellan, for the first time, he actually wants someone in this overwhelmingly physical and romantic way--something spirits don't feel, apparently. cole doesn't get with maryden unless you make him more human, and he also says he doesn't feel any attraction as a spirit. solas is actually glad to be a person and not just a spirit, because it means he's actually able to experience romantic love and desire for the very first time (as the romance description in datv heavily suggests). what's more, despite his misgivings, he likes it.

as others have pointed out, lavellan's speech in datv is in hallelujah cadence like the dialogue with the other elvhen. the duet is being sung once again--in a different context, but no less meaningful. there's a song by bjork called stonemilker, where she sings: 'a juxtaposition in fate/find our mutual coordinates'. it really reminds me of this; the need emotional synchronicity, of being completely on someone's wavelength, understood totally, seeing wholly and being wholly seen.

[r0-boat]

OmG thanks so much for all the delicious stuff you wrote ❤️❤️❤️ Wonder if you can write sth about somnophilia, like one night the WHB kings are horny and their s.o is deep in sleep 👀

Again thank you for the smut, I re-read it multiple times already 😋

Sure! Thank you so much for liking my writing! I really like writing for these demons.

Whb Kings Somnophila

Cw: dubcon (s/o is asleep and does not say yes or no to advances.)

the kings are horny, but s/o is sleeping deeply.

Nsfw

Satan

His cock is throbbing in his pants; He wants you so bad but he can't bring himself to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so cute. He's utterly entrenched by your deep slumber your chest going up and down peacefully. So peaceful. His hand drifts toward his cock pulsating against the fabric of his jeans. He doesn't take them off rather slip his hand past the fabric and palm his legs. He shutters at how wrong this feels, but he doesn't care.

He gets in bed with you. His pants are long gone. He brings you against his chest. You're cute flesh thighs pressing against his length. It's not your hole, but it will do for now. Satan knows he if were to wake you, his subordinates would skin him alive, and anyone would kill him to be in his position. Your thighs feel amazing pressed against his cock heal. Remember that the next time when annoying ass Levi or Mammon start bragging about you.

Mammon

He wants to you to lay on top of him; ever since the first meeting were, you slept so peacefully on his chest; he is so desperate for that to happen again. You were so cute, small, and helpless, And he liked it when you used him as a bed. Mammon takes it upon himself to put himself in between the mattress and your body. Where he belongs, underneath you. You stured a little bit in his arms, but once you rested on his chest, he snuggled right into him. Perhaps he liked this a little too much; He smiled from his eyes cock starting to bulge in his pants. Shameless mammon sliding off his pants as he strokes his throbbing length, His other fingers playing with you till you're wet enough for him to slide inside. With your warmth around him and you sleeping peacefully, he was at peace. His dick throbbing inside you has he puts his hand in your hair petting you gently.

Leviathan

After your first unpeaceful day in Hades after being kidnapped You must have felt exhausted. You absolutely refused to sleep in Levi. Ungrateful human! He offered the most secure and comfy place in the castle and you refuse to sleep on the couch?!

Curled up on the couch, You tried to retain warmth. Levi sighs. He didn't want to leave you here; he picked you up into his arms, moving you to a guest room instead. He was glad he saw you before anyone else could. His heart fluttered, knowing he was the only one to see you so sleepy and cute. You are so bratty and mean before, And now look at you. His eyes soften does he brushes your hair out of your face but this fingers tucking it behind your ear. He felt heat going to his cock. Fuck... You look so irresistible. Jealousy begins to bubble, other demons had to see you like this. Jealousy mixes with lust has Levi slips his cock out of his pants He can't help it He wants you so bad and he keeps thinking about the way your hands went around his neck. What have you done to him??

Beelzebub

He spreads your sleepy legs apart. He had been so hungry all day thinking about you for a quick meal but now that I found you sleeping so cute and peacefully. He couldn't help but dive his face in between your legs. Doing consciously grind your hips into his face, He eagerly laps at you deeper.. when you finally begin to wake up you clench around his tongue. Your thighs pressed against your head as your eyes fluttered open to meet wild pools of gold. Beel moans against you. As much as he likes your thighs squeezing his head, he pushes you open so he can have his fingers work you. He wants more when he notices you sleepily staring at him. He smirks. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Lucifer

He is pleased to know that you are safe enough with him to fall asleep in his own bed. Though he is a little guilty that You had to wait until you fell asleep in his sheets. He can't help but feel a sense of pride having Solomon's progeny, curious little child of man, in bed, knowing they are so sought after. Another part of him is curious. He had never seen a human sleep so closely. He hopes you don't mind as he lays beside you. As soon as he got beneath the sheets with you, he was getting to move, pressing your ass right up against his crotch instinctively; he wrapped his arms around you, and your back pressed against his chest. Apparently, this is a human sleeping ritual called 'spooning.' The act is innocent but feels inherently sexual since you can feel the curve of your ass pressed against his bulging cock. His breath shakes with his head buried into your hair, inhaling your scent. You can't help but fuck his hips, but not enough to wake you. He wants this moment to last for a little longer.

[galactic-magick]

Cosmic Love: Viktor/Machine Herald x Reader

Summary: You try to resist your corrupted lover, but you ache too much for his touch that you can’t refuse any longer.

Words: 1.0k

Warnings: SMUT, overstimulation, no pronouns but reader has afab anatomy

Author's Notes: As promised, here is the galaxy quaking, star bursting, 5th dimensional, cosmic anomaly Viktor smut. Takes place between when Jayce tries to kill him and when he goes through the full Machine Herald transformation. Hope you enjoy.

-

He’s been calling to you.

You’ve been ignoring the echoes, ignoring the voices of those he controls. You told him you want no part of it, that you won’t stand by his side if he continues down this cultist path. But even still, he finds ways to continue begging you, sending his followers your way and speaking through them. He pleads for you to join him, to experience the higher awareness and power he has gained. But you must stay strong.

After several months, the cult followers completely lose their humanity, becoming lifeless white and gold husks akin to an army of mannequins. They all look the same, retaining no glimmer of individuality, only the great Machine Herald’s voice to be heard.

As expected, one of them attempts to gain your loyalty back once again, breaking into your house and talking as a mechanized version of the man you once loved.

“I give you one last chance to join me,” it says. “I want you by my side, my love.”

“Viktor...what you’re doing is wrong. You know I can’t do that.”

The form he possesses steps closer to you, metal fingers brushing your cheek. You shiver, but you don’t turn away. You’ve yearned for his touch again for so long, that even this form of him makes you question your answer. His fingers are placed so meticulously, gliding down your neck, your breasts, your hips. It’s so easy to imagine it’s Viktor’s face you’re gazing upon, covering up the blank slate that’s actually in front of you.

“If you won’t join me…” his voice rings clear in your ears. “Allow me to have you one last time.”

You squirm, begging every damn desire in your body to say “no” while the machine’s fingers drop ever closer to the space between your legs.

But you won’t say “no.” You want this as badly as he does, even if it means casting your better judgment aside.

“Please.” you moan.

He takes action at your consent instantly, picking you up like you weigh nothing and dropping you on the bed.

“Soon, love, I will show you all I’ve discovered,” his voice gives you chills while the white figure pulls off your pants and underwear. “But I must start with what you already know, mm?”

You nod and close your eyes, sighing heavily as two fingers tease your clit and slowly enter you. He curls them, pulsing them in and out, his thumb circling your nerves. He does it exactly like he used to, having memorized your body in such detail that he can unravel you through this other vessel. The touches are so like him, you almost forget he’s not really here with you.

You lose yourself to him like clockwork, humming as the machine’s hands crawl up to your face.

“Shall I show you what I see now, dear?”

His fingertips glow against your forehead, and you feel a shock through your system. You suddenly feel weightless, like your cognizance is no longer tied to a physical form. You see beautiful stars and nebula surrounding you, the city you came from now looking so small.

Then you see Viktor, ethereal with his hair aglow. His face is just as it used to be, his body free of worldly constraints. He takes your face in his hands again, something electric pulsing through them.

“You must understand, love,” he says. “This is my destiny. But I would hate to have to accomplish it alone.”

He caresses your form, every stroke and squeeze feeling like another orgasm. Whatever higher being or dimension your consciousness is in now, it’s too much for your physical body to process back home. It isn’t painful, per se, but it is incredibly overstimulating—eliciting more intimate sounds from your mouth.

Your fingers grasp onto his iridescent locks, screaming in ecstasy as Viktor continues to give you sensations you never thought possible. He makes love to you among the stars, your mind filling with the visions of an astral plane and glorious evolution beyond your comprehension. He wordlessly shares his dreams and desires with you and for you—a life of healing, immortality, and ascension. Stars burst around you, and your physical body has likely gone numb, with your current form not far behind.

“Viktor...it’s too much,” you cry out.

The sensations slow down, fading out of your body as you regain your ability to think again.

“This place does have quite the effect on the mind,” Viktor explains, pulling you close to him. “The longer you stay, the less overwhelming it becomes.”

“What is it doing to me?” you ask breathlessly, falling nearly limp in his arms.

“The feeble human psyche cannot grasp the transformation that must take place, and the body suffers from such extremes,” he kisses you softly, “If you are to join me, you must find me, and together we will complete the process.”

You stare into his heavenly eyes, your thumbs tracing his cheekbones, “How do I find you?”

“The Noxian has been keeping my physical body alive. You must go to her.”

“Viktor…” you exhale, his face leaning into your palm and kissing it. “I want to stay with you. I do. I just...all of this is so far beyond what I can understand…”

“I know, darling. I know,” he reassures you, running a hand over your hair, now golden just like his.

“Something just feels so wrong,” you admit. “I don’t want us to do things we’ll regret.”

He shakes his head, “Trust me, love. This is our destiny.”

Ignoring the shrieks of your conscience, you wrap your form around him, inhaling his lips desperately as you both plunge through layers of galaxies. Every nerve in your body is blaring with pleasure, chasing the high you had moments ago. It’s addictive—the sensations experienced as a cosmic power—and you realize now how Viktor could get so consumed by it. Your bodies aren’t limited to any constraints, intertwined and becoming one in every way. You feel him everywhere, his mind and matter melded with yours.

Indescribable pleasure washes over both of you in constant, unstopping waves. You feel his every thought, the need to speak quickly diminishing.

But you still yearn to hear his voice.

“Viktor?”

“Yes, darling?” his hands never leave you, again pulling you into his magnetic essence.

“I’m going to come find you.”

A smirk pulls at his lips, his voice going low.

“I look forward to it.”

[txmxkis]

i'm only really me when i'm here with you

pairing. boothill x gn!reader

genre. hurt/comfort

wc. 1.5k+

summary. you're determined to help boothill heal from his trauma by... doing his hair?

warnings. i took liberties with this, who knows what specific parts he actually has left or whether he can blush or not (in my heart he can lol), mention of boothill picking u up but i mean. he’s literally so strong he could handle anything, i made him soooo sad and it’s possibly wildly out of character, selfship coded as usual rip

a/n. continuing the tradition of using lyrics from songs on selfship playlists for fic titles lol. based on my tags on this post

they say that trauma is stored in the body, and while boothill didn't necessarily have a complete body anymore, this was still something that you thought about frequently when it came to his physical form.

regardless of just how much of his original self remained, there was still enough of him left that you were sure it had to be true in some capacity. after all, he retained his head and his heart—at least you were fairly certain—two of the most vital components of human anatomy.

it was so hard to read him. the real him. he tried so hard to always act confident and cool. actually, he didn't even really have to try or act. it seemed as if it came to him naturally and endlessly. there was a perpetual air of optimism surrounding him that was difficult to dim even on his most wearisome days.

even after experiencing whatever horrors he had to face from mission to mission, when he came home, the door to whatever room you were currently in would fling open—sometimes scaring you half to death—and he would greet you so happily that it felt as if there were no terrible things in the universe whatsoever.

you cherished his mannerisms, especially because you could be a pessimistic sort of person. rather frequently, in fact. you loved having him near you, able to draw laughter from you, however unwillingly it might be on your part at times. he was oddly skilled at making you feel assured and comfortable, in a way that nothing and no one had ever done before. you couldn’t seem to remember how you ever lived without his encouragement, and you didn’t think you could ever feel truly whole without it again.

there really was no accounting for his relentlessly positive attitude. given what he'd seen and endured, you thought it was damn near impossible to be as carefree as he seemed to be. at any rate, he did manage it. however, there were times, moments he rarely ever allowed you to witness, in which his façade would falter slightly and betray just how heavily the past weighed on him.

occasionally, you would catch him staring at his reflection, a downcast expression painting his beautiful features. every time you spoke of your family, you could detect glimpses of sadness in his eyes, albeit hidden behind a smile. once you even caught him crying as silently as he could—you assumed so as not to alert you—his shoulders sagging under an unforeseen weight, a look on his face that you could only describe as heartbroken. your own heart broke with his in that moment.

you always tried to be particularly attentive following those moments, but it was so difficult to get him to open up to you. he just wanted you to be happy. to not bother worrying about him. you had your own problems, after all, and there was no need for him to add to your burden. no need for him to ask for your pity.

he knew you cared for him deeply enough that it would cause you pain, and even if it was only a fragment of the grief that he lived with every day, he was sure that he would feel terribly and incessantly guilty about it. if he could remove every single aspect of your life that caused you suffering, he would do it in a heartbeat, and he could say that because it was one of the few original parts he had left. how could he add to that suffering by forcing you to imagine all the horrors from his own life?

it took so much time and effort on your part to convince him to open the door to himself, if even just a tiny crack. he was still extremely careful with his words and the details that he disclosed to you—he didn't want to overwhelm you, and he certainly didn't want to hurt you. in reality, these conversations, painful as they were for you to hear, actually helped you to feel as though you could comfort him more effectively.

yes, it hurt immensely to know even a small fraction of how much anguish he had experienced. yes, you despised the people who had done this to him and wanted to fight them yourself, in fact. yes, your chest felt tight with ache and sadness on his behalf. still, you could help him more by knowing than by not knowing.

eventually, you were able to make it this far, brushing through his hair as gently as your hands could manage. he had confessed to you in one of his more vulnerable moments that the white shock of hair on his head often served as a stark reminder of worse times, of the trauma and stress inflicted on his body. the admission gave you an idea, one that made boothill feel more than just a little bit exposed. he wasn’t accustomed to being looked after like this, with so much affection and love.

you began to make a routine out of it. every day you would do something with his hair—whether it was braiding it and tying it up intricately to make him feel pretty or simply combing through the strands and allowing them to cascade around his shoulders and down his back.

sometimes you would sit him in front of a mirror while you worked so that he could see exactly what you were doing in the moment. he didn’t quite understand how it all came together, but he found it fascinating to see how you twisted and weaved. at times, you were so focused on the hair in your hands that your brows would furrow, tongue poking out slightly between your lips. in the reflection, you genuinely looked like you were enjoying yourself.

even more noticeable to him was the expression you wore when you looked at him through the mirror. your gaze was so full of tenderness that his chest ached. he could swear that his heart actually skipped a beat. whenever that happened, you could see a flaring blush creep up his cheeks and into his ears, and you couldn’t help but laugh just a little bit at how endearing it was.

other times, you would settle on the couch, with him seated on the floor between your legs, adorning his hair with the cutest accessories, the two of you laughing and joking the whole time. you would delicately twist the locks back, securing them with pretty, multicolored clips that shone in the light.

when you were done, you would lead him slowly to a mirror, hands over his eyes, nearly stumbling over his legs as you walked behind him. you would pull your hands quickly from his face, revealing your handiwork, beaming with pride and grinning at how adorable he looked. he loved every minute of it—and every bit of you, he would think to himself as he turned to pick you up and spin you around, laughing in that deep voice of his. then he’d set you down gently, thanking you for your hard work with kisses sprinkled across your face.

days that were particularly trying for him would simply be spent in comfortable silence. when he didn’t feel like talking from the pain of it all, he would wordlessly lay his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his long locks. feeling your touch—the slight pull on his scalp, the tickle of shifting hair—it all made him feel so relaxed that he could melt right into your skin until you absorbed him fully into you. often, the combination of this and the gentle, steady beat of your heart would lull him to sleep, and seeing his expression ease and soften in these moments was all the reward you ever needed.

in the beginning, it was unclear whether this dedicated time spent caring for his hair was helping or not. over time, however, you noticed a glimmer in his eyes—something that told you he would be alright, despite everything.

pain still remained; it always would, but instead of constantly gazing at his reflection with grief, every once in a while you would catch a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. it was as if he was remembering how you hummed while placing those clips, or how he had teasingly whipped you with his hair on a more playful occasion, or any number of positive memories that you had put so much effort into lovingly crafting with him.

you were determined to do your best, slowly but surely, to lighten his burden—or at least help carry it. there was no reason for him to feel alone when he had you by his side. and if creating these happy memories was what you had to do in order to help him, well, you would gladly continue forever.

reblogs & interactions are appreciated! thank you for reading! <3 — txmxkis

[istormortis]

Kindof went ham on him but he's one of the main characters of the AU so why not :3c So went down the rabbit hole with this one and pulled my inspiration from a couple of sources, mainly from two artists on twitter that I stumbled across and wanted to expand on it further plus the original story for Obanai in KNY.

Initial design is based off of the first halloween set with Obanai and the large cobra art (2019/2020 set?) - my style is going in twenty directions and I am sorry orz

SHINOBU | TENGEN | KYOJURO | MITSURI | SANEMI | GIYUU MORE UNDER CUT~

Obanai was living his life easily as a snake demon, usually in the noodle form or a humanoid appearance until humans had seen him and thought he was some poor soul that was possessed so they tried to do an exorcism on him to rid of the demon in him. Unfortunately due to their limited knowledge they were unsuccessful and instead fractured his soul into two, leaving a raw side of him and the side that is often presented. At night he is cursed with Ianabi's presence, which emerges from his back. At first Ianabi retained a snake form but overtime his ire/anger towards people has grown and he's formed a human version of himself (hence why he's similar to what he looked like as a child + snake demon woman his family worshiped in the orig. story). He cannot move far from Obanai's body and at most is stuck in a room with him due to that he's a danger to other people and most importantly himself (whatever happens to one happens to the other).

When Ianabi (name given to by Kyojuro, Obanai backwards but with an 'i' instead of 'o') emerges, the color fades from Obanai's body and shifts to the other which often leaves him white haired and teal-eyed. Kyojuro and the others have tried to help, but Obanai has accepted that he's forever cursed until he's run into Mitsuri who wants to try and help them. She tries to be friendly to Ianabi but due to Obanai's general distrust and raw emotion its making it difficult for Mitsuri to win Ianabi /Obanai over though she is have much better luck than the others.

During the day while its Obanai, he is less likely to have moments of raw emotion/reactions but it can happen when he looses his temper and at times can lash out. When at night and the two parts of his soul are separated he's reserved and quiet, hiding away while Ianabi acts as a guard until morning. Tl;DR - Ianabi is a physical manifestation of Obanai's distrust and anger towards life and people. It's his ugly side that would be a metaphor but has become a physical representation of himself that slowly grows stronger the longer his soul remains broken.

For the artist credits there's two! hotlemon17 - for they were the ones that did the white haired Obanai and I was like!! YES he looks nice with white hair so I wanted to draw him with that gogo_washiya - For their comic that had Obanai and Mitsuri meeting, and at night is when the giant snake on his back emerges and I really liked that idea so that was the spur of inspiration for this portrayal

[leviathanleva]

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[4.4k words]

[Angst, Blood and Injury, Graphic Depiction of Gore]

Chapter 3 "Liquorish"

Heartbeat heavy in your chest, you race up the supposedly abandoned building, finding enemy after enemy.

It was supposed to be a routine inspection, an easy mission, in and out in less than a week. Now everything is turned upside down and being unable to contact or smell Ghost anywhere near has your senses flaring up with the unfamiliar feeling of stress and determination.

Bloodlust hazes your vision, everything has a ruddy tint to it, be it from splattered entrails or rage, it’s beyond your understanding. The memories still linger, the last sentence you heard over the coms before everything went to static:

“Hound! Do not engage! The roof is – ”

You were supposed to be his shield, it’s your job to be ambushed and take damage, you can regenerate, he can’t. But Ghost let either his man pride or his protective instinct overwhelm him, the anxiety still lingered in his gut no matter how many times you came back to him half dead and you were good as new minutes later. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he pushed you behind him and ordered you to watch his back as you advanced through the abandoned building suspected of drug trafficking activity.

He moved ahead without you, for once he wanted to be your protector. Now you can’t sense hair or trail from him and you’re becoming increasingly frustrated.

Easy mission your ass. This was a charade for something bigger.

The mask around your mouth whirls in overdrive, siphoning as much oxygen as possible while you vigorously work your way to the dreaded roof. Straining both muscle and limb in unison, you climb floor after floor, pushing your limitations as vapor froths off your skin and trails behind you like a haunting mirage. Your body is boiling on the inside, having exerted too much energy in too short a time and your muzzle can only do so much to keep you going before you collapse from overheating.

To hell with pushing your bounds when the Lieutenant might be in danger.

Another enemy, seemingly waiting for you, they all have been, a crumb trail of beating hearts the closer you get to your destination. You dive for him as bullets dig into your shoulder, he’s sliding towards the grimy floor and clutching his shredded throat a moment later. You don’t have time for a measly nobody, he chose the wrong side, he suffers the consequences.

The concrete debris crinkles under your boots, crushed to fine dust under the pressure you’ve put on your feet. Clutching and shouldering corners, you bounce yourself off them to retain speed in the claustrophobic corridors. Jump over handfuls of stairs where more hostiles await, you hear them before you see them, distinguishing their heavy breathing over your muffled pants.

Blood painting the walls like an abstract piece of art, death is left in your wake as you rush up another floor. The screams have alerted more people, and so have the gunshots and you bristle at the amount of footsteps echoing in the shells of your ears.

What is going on? Why are there so many of them? Where the hell is the Lieutenant? How did they jam your coms?

The questions are pushed aside as you appear in the shadows of a bare apartment, blending into the darkness and only your irises visible. A menacing sight to anyone, a monster, it’s what you’ve become as you slowly drown in your brutish ways the longer you’re detached from your beloved master.

A hoarse growl escapes you, you’re nearly moving on all fours, prowling low to the floor as you tackle the first enemy target. Flashlights are thrown astray, nearly blinding you as the chaos ensues. You crush bone like it’s toothpicks, rip at flesh like paper, the whirring in your mask overwhelms the gurgling cries for help and call for reinforcements. Bloodlust can be dangerous in the hands of one who is inexperienced such as yourself and you keep walking deeper down that path as no sign of your teammate shines to stifle you back to normalcy.

Strands of hair stick to your face like glue, matted down and drenched in sweat, your gear feels heavy and damp, it’s a sauna beneath your loose, coarse blouse. Your socks are slippery against the inside of your boots and you have half a mind to kick them off and continue barefoot. Juggernaut as you are, your breaking point is nearly reached and you feel the stinging pain creeping up your spine. The idea of rest is forced away, you can’t afford it when you’re so close, you’ve come too far to shut down now to cool off, not when Ghost is unresponsive.

The amount of cocking weapons should be concerning as you near the door to the roof, bloodshot eyes opened wide and pupils dilated as the scent of familiarity finally reaches your nostrils, too intoxicating for your mind to register the plethora of other bodily odors.

You nearly break through the door in your neglectful hurry, gaze harsh and piercing, slicing through the multitude of hostile soldiers only with your oppressive presence. Hunched over, with tense shoulders and pulsing hands that are itching to rip into the men before you, you skim over the roof with vigor, letting your nose guide your vision to a familiar figure standing at the edge of the roof.

“Lieutenant!” Your first instinct is to rasp out, crystalline orbs trained on his battered form strung up by a crane like a piece of meat. A guttural snarl reverberates deep in your throat as you turn to the crowd of armed enemies with malice, ready to shred them to a pulp and eat a bucket of bullets in the process if only to get to your precious squad mate.

Ghost sways above a crater, his secured feet dangling above a deadly drop. You can smell the blood slowly oozing down his knuckles, staining his gloves, and hear his steady heart as he swims in unconsciousness. You nearly whine at the sight, reeling your head towards him with the need to call out again and maybe have him wake up.

No such simple luxury is provided for you, instead you’re faced off with a handful of brutes who believe their chances of survival are higher than zero.

You take a step forward. The weapons train on you.

You’ll rip them apart –

“ – Tut, tut!”

You falter at the voice and watch the nearly unhinged door behind you close to reveal none other than your target – suited and unbothered by your feral breathing and unceremonial entrance. The man you’ve been hunting for an age too long now to admit, a slippery bastard that felt someone breathing down his neck only when you were sent after his trail. Philip Graves stands to your right, the traitor, the absolute menace of a man that has the audacity to flick a smile at you as if you’d just joined his most prestigious party.

“Well, it’s nice to finally see Shepherd’s little experiment in the flesh.” He croons and looks you over in marvel. A bitter frown adorns your features as you abandon your prowling stance and straighten your back, adopting a more human-like pose. “Quite the achievement.” He notices your attention turn completely to him and scoffs before unfurling his fingers to show off a remote of sorts. “Don’t give me that look.”

“And that is…?” You question, words slurred by the confines of your muzzle as your eyes dart from his face to the remote, then you realize and your glare sharpens.

“The remote to the crane of course. I wouldn’t risk being in your proximity if I didn’t have a guarantee of your obedience. I’m confident, not a fool.” You’d snort at his cocky words in a different setting. He gestures at you with his free hand, flicking his fingers casually as if ushering a child. “Now if you really cherish your Lieutenant – remove your mask.”

For a brief moment, you’re left confused, blink at him twice before tilting your chin to one side and crossing your arms, eyes straying from him as you plunge into thought. The audacity was not what bewildered you, but his utter belief in having wrangled you pliant. To think he was willing to so absolutely rely on the dry, shallow information he’d dug up was preposterous. It was also wrong, your instructions were clear and no blackmail or threat was going to weaken your resolve.

You were trained to hunt, complete your assignment at any cost, be put in lethal danger, and come out victorious. Your squad mates were weak to no fault of their own, but their lifeline was something you would risk for the greater good.

This was your duty.

“No.” You answer simply and take a step forward. Whatever justice-fueled speech was circling in your head is silenced by an unfamiliar trepidation in your chest as you see Graves’ thumb glide over the release button on the remote. You swallow something thick in your throat and huff out a breath before straightening your shoulders. “Return the Lieutenant to me and I will leave you to run. I will not pursue you. You have my word.”

What was this…? What the hell were you saying?

He laughs at your words, apparently the contradiction of them to your monotone voice is entertaining. Your jaw clenches at his nonchalant demeanor used to disguise the nervous sheet of sweat forming thickly on the back of his neck. You can smell it even with the abundance of testosterone burning your nostrils.

“You see, I would…but then again, I don’t trust you.”

“I do not lie.” You state with a deadpan look.

“You don’t disobey orders either.” Graves retorts and gives you a challenging expression, pursing his lips to one side and deeming you too untrustworthy for a dealing of a peace delegation. “Mask off. Now.” He snaps when you don’t budge and twirls the remote in his hand before pointing it daringly at Ghost. A moment of nothing passes and instead of the tension you’d hoped to rise within him, he grins and rests a hand on his hip, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh? Is this right? You truly don’t care for your teammate?”

“No.” Comes your immediate answer, smooth and soft and lacking an ounce of care for the potential danger it might send your Lieutenant in. You glance at his limp, hanging body with disinterest and blame your palpitating heart to the long and strenuous journey to the roof rather than something else. It couldn’t be anything else, you felt nothing but the aftermath of physical exertion. “Whether he lives or dies, it’s all the same to me.” You’re being truthful yet every single word wrestles with you fervently before being forced past your teeth. Strange and bothersome, but you pay it no mind. “If I return with your head my task is complete. Your death is my mission, casualties are inevitable.”

He doesn’t buy it.

“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” Graves sneers something vile and again points the remote at the crane, toying with you and relishing in it.

Your mask hisses loudly and is tossed on the concrete floor of the roof before you can realize what you’re doing. The lower part of your face – wet from the vapor of your breaths, soiled with a snarl. You don’t dare let the bastard out of sight now that the power dynamic has shifted in his favor.

“There you go. Good girl.” He coos at the sight of your unreluctant obedience and his smug features soften in near adoration. “Seems you still have a heart after all.”

Not fond of his degrading babying, you try to steer the conversation to another, much more vital topic that has been gnawing at your gut since the revealing of his presence.

“Why are you here? What business do you have with me?”

Graves, much to your surprise, obliges your question.

“A little birdie told me I’m being hunted by a whole new predator. A…special one this time.” He begins and motions for his men to make their way to his side, steering them to a safe distance from your vicious paws in case you snap despite the low odds. He reciprocates the eye contact, almost unblinking, not wanting to miss a beat from your uncanny demeanor. “That birdie also told me you have a habit of following orders only from your Lieutenant and I thought maybe…if I manage to string up the worm, I’ll get the fish.” His arms spread wide, his chest expands and you’re almost tempted to lunge forward. “And voila.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.” You cock your head at him and let your arms unfold and fall to your sides.

The corners of his mouth twitch at your disinterest.

“I wanted to see you in the flesh, Hound.” He answers then, changing from his grandiose façade to a genuine and less irritable one. Gesturing towards you, he continues. “Check if the rumors are true. And judging by the fact you even got to the roof – they certainly are.” His hands clasped together over his pelvis, the remote shining still between his fingers, yellow and menacing in contrast to his black cotton gloves. “Quite disgusting what they did to you. Wouldn’t you say?” The nearly heartfelt sympathy in his tone does little to sway your intentions and it shows clearly on your unmoving features. Yet he keeps going, keeps feeding you with conflicting thoughts that fail to take root in your mind. “Countless months of agony just to become a pawn.”

Despite the unpleasant memories flooding your head at his take, you hum and brush them aside without much effort.

“I consented to my augmentations.”

“That you did.” He nods and juts his jaw before flicking the blonde locks away from his eyes and slicking them back. “ For the chance of serving a greater purpose, not being someone’s lapdog and wasting your potential on lowly criminals.” Scorn drips heavily from his tongue, a hidden distaste for his own misfortunes showing, misfortunes much similar to yours. “But I won’t sway you yet. I can’t when your attention is so torn between me and your Lieutenant.”

Maybe his sympathy is sincere, you think. Maybe there’s an ounce of truth in his law-breaking, scummy ways and he sees you as much of a victim as he sees himself. It would make sense why he orchestrated this whole situation instead of simply trying to kill you and rid himself of you.

A part of you believes him, you can tell that bits and pieces of what he says come from a wronged man trying to take revenge for his pain. But you’re no simple soldier, you were built to withstand manipulation, torture, worse. You admit to his twisted honesty but have no intent in following after him and abandoning everything you’ve worked to build no matter how unimportant or unimpressive it was.

“You’re misinterpreting.”

The distinct beat of helicopter wings catches your attention far before the vehicle itself appears in the distance. Graves and his men’s ride, you presume, a quick escape after he got bored of your lack of subordination and bid you farewell.

“Am I?” He doesn’t dare to glance back, instead lets his ears assure him that his escape route is secured and is hastily approaching his location. “So far you’ve completed your tasks well.” A gloved thumb rubs over his freshly shaven jaw, before nudging his bottom lip up in contemplation as he sizes you up and down with a calculative look. “I have one last objective for you, though, just to test your limits. Figure out what I’m up against, you know?”

“I don’t take orders from you.” You hiss, expressing something more than monotony for the first time during your conversation.

His words had struck a nerve somewhere, surprisingly so, yet he took the opportunity regardless.

“This one you’ll have to.” He all but sighs, bored with your resistance and crackling unbothered demeanor. There’s too much peaking beneath it and he wants to sink his teeth into it, yet you continue to deny him. Whether from a lack of understanding over your emotions or a very bad attempt at hiding them, they were visibly showing through and he couldn’t get enough of it. “Tell me, do you think if you jump from this building you can survive?”

“Without my mask, it’s highly unlikely.”

A gust of wind sweeps by you and suddenly you’re painfully aware how it sways the rope Ghost hangs from, still and silent. Sweat forms on your brow, your hands curl into fists, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your palms and nearly drawing blood.

“Interesting.” He hums at your answer, nodding at the new information bestowed upon him – a weakness, a flaw in your design that your makers hadn’t been able to work out. This gave him a useful advantage against you. “So without a steady supply of oxygen, you’re rendered useless.”

“I can still rip you in half.” You declare and lean forward, arms dangling and ready to clutch at the floor and propel you forward. Your patience runs thin and Graves tastes it on his tongue, not much longer before you snap and dash either for him or the Lieutenant.

“Oh, I don’t doubt.” He laughs in your face like your threat means nothing and gestures for his men to board the helicopter before hopping on himself. He grips onto the side of the door and smiles bitterly at you. “Well, it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance finally after such a long game of cat and mouse. I’m afraid we must be going now though.”

“Do you like hearing yourself talk?” A bark reverberates somewhere deep in your throat, akin to a growl as you lunge towards the helicopter.

No more talking, you’ve given him enough grace. Should have ended everything minutes before, forced yourself to move out of the stupor your Lieutenant’s state had pinned you in.

He doesn’t matter, nothing matters but Graves’ head, and like a scared mutt, you’d let him grow confident in his false influence over you.

“You know, you’re right. I’ve talked enough.” Venom oozes from his smirk as he spits one last taunt your way. “Fetch!”

You fail to realize why he’s so self-assured when you’re still capable of reaching him before the helicopter has lifted off. The slimy smirk doesn’t leave his face as he presses the button and turns away from you with a distinct “Ta!”. It’s sickening. Ghost matters not, your orders are clear and you’re sure the Lieutenant would understand the sacrifice you had to make were he in your stead. It’s a worthy sacrifice, he’d be honored after his demise, renowned for leading you to the den of the enemy for you to demolish and rid the world of their stain of an existence.

“You’re a fool if you think – ”

Your voice hitches as your body involuntarily turns away from Graves.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING –

You dash across the rooftop and leap over the edge without a drop of hesitancy. A coil nestles in your stomach, not from the sight before you – a height so devastating, the street below so far that the cars look like mere pebbles, but at the thought of abandoning your prospect, disobeying a command, revolting against your upper command.

Too late to turn back now. And even if you could, would you?

No…

You adjust your limbs against the merciless wind, propel your arms forward like a diver about to hit the water's surface, your entire being flattened to endure as much resistance as possible and cut through the air. The cold whips against your eyes, blurs your vision with tears which you rapidly blink away to not lose sight of Ghost’s descending body.

Was it only the cold? Why were the tears so salty then?

Why was your face stuck in a desperate grimace of horror and hope?

Halfway across the building, you manage to snatch the rope around your Lieutenant’s waist. Your victory is shortlived as the earth beneath approaches steadfast and you bite into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and keep your head as cool as possible.

What now?

Even if he’s safely in your arms, you’re still heading for an inevitable death and thinking time is limited. You wrack your brain into turbo mode to come up with something, anything to save him, prevent his fall. The solution comes to you and it’s not all too pleasant, but without an alternative, you relent.

You thrust your arm through the glassy wall of the building, letting the shards shred through your skin, unable to exert your full potential without your mask. You try to regardless and your throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, you can’t breathe in enough air, the oxygen is not nearly the amount you need and you’re left suffocating slowly. Your hand mauls through cement floors and polished windows that shatter under the pressure as you desperately grapple for something, trying to slow your momentum.

Heart hammering in your throat, eyes wide with plea for something to work, for a miracle to happen, but it doesn’t. No fairytales allowed for the sinful and decrepit, for those who’ve abandoned their humanity for the betterment of civilization.

Pain doesn’t register on your features as your arm continues to endure in vain, shredded, sliced, battered to a pulp. But the horror registers when it shatters, the bone and flesh unable to withstand such detrimental amounts of damage, it’s rendered useless. It’s not the physical agony that terrifies you, but the only means of you saving the Lieutenant – now completely obliterated.

What now?

You think while your gaze darts from the bloodied, mangled mess that is your now worthless limb to the hastily approaching pavement below.

DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING! –

“Bloody f – ”

The once-lidded chocolate orbs you’ve grown to cherish look up at you – spastic, disoriented, glued to you as if you could explain your current predicament. You drown in them for a moment, pained, mournful that you’ve failed to fulfill both your duties.

Not a good hound. Fucking useless.

The prey got away, your keeper is soon to be a splatter of intestines on the ground below.

Good for nothing you are. Failed at everything. Can’t even save your own Lieutenant.

“Hound! Fucking hell, we – ”

Your jaw tightens, and your skin crawls once you’re close enough to discern the peculiar cracks in the sidewalk, you’re that close now. Doom, there’s nothing left but to die.

No. You refuse. If not for yourself, then for Ghost. You can’t lose him. You’ll sacrifice everything for him.

In a last attempt at being a hero, you struggle in the air, against the howling wind that screams bloody murder in your ears. You fiddle spasmodically, manage to clumsily maneuver both of you, deaf to the breathless curses slipping past his mask. You thrust him sideways, fling him into a window hard enough to make it give in under his weight. He breaks through back first, you hear him choke as he hits and skids on the carpeted floor with a deft thud.

You nearly smile, a contrast at his horrified expression as he realizes the situation – your maskless face, your bloodied limb, it’s only for a split second before you’re back to hurtling down without him. You hear a scream of your name, the intimate one, the real one.

Your eyes water anew, maybe from the air, maybe from him calling out to you in what sounds like spastic worry.

One good hand was all you needed.

You’re free now. You fulfilled your duty.

Everything hurts, you feel your entire being imprinted into the roof of a car, having squished it in the impact. Blood coats your tongue, your throat feels crushed. You’re choking for air quietly, your body desperately trying to repair all damages but failing because your mouth and nose can’t gulp enough oxygen no matter how greedily you’re breathing.

Sprawled out, the sky swirls high above your head, gazed at through blurry vision. Stars twinkle like smudged jewels, the moon is nowhere to be seen and for a moment you feel alone and at peace. It doesn’t matter that you’re molded into a random car with shattered bones and punctured lungs.

Maybe there are witnesses, maybe the streets are empty, you’re unsure, the screaming in your ears is punching at your eardrums and you can’t make out anything.

A peaceful death after years of war is what you wish for.

The cold creeps over your skin, through your gear, its caress soothing against your steaming flesh.

A splotch of creamy whine enters your vision, poking from one of the shattered windows. A skull mask, you recognize it even with both eyes and mind hazy and drunk on scalding pain. You’d reach out if you could, your first instinct demands you to do so, reach out to Ghost, reunite as leal hound and loving master once more. But you can’t, your body refuses to budge, a twitch of your fingers is all you can muster.

A cough rips through you, excruciating, and more stomach-churning iron rushes over your sticky tongue.

Will he remember you? Will he mourn you if you pass? Will he miss you? Will your absence leave yet another scar for him to nurture? Will he ever forgive you for sacrificing yourself for him?

Does it matter?

Not really…

But it does.

Somewhere deep within the crooks and crevices of your heart, it does matter to you, if only a little.

Your eyelids are heavy and you’ve not the strength to keep them open anymore. The chill air is so welcoming, lulls you and tugs you towards the comforts of slumber.

You hear a rasp, his voice echoing, deep and baritone as he disappears somewhere in the darkness.

You can’t stay conscious anymore no matter how desperately he begs you. You’re tired, just want to sleep, you’re aching, you want out of the pain, out of responsibilities and bloodshed.

This feels nice. Oblivion is welcoming.

The cold dissipates, and everything goes dark. You take one last meager breath and succumb to blackened dreams and fleeting pictures, sprawled vastly on the surface of your mind as your body gives out completely.

<<< Chapter 2

Chapter 4 >>>

Masterlist

[juniperhillpatient]

I have talked about this a lot before but it’s on my mind & also it’s something that really should be discussed more in Buffy fandom -

People are constantly talking about how Spike defies all the rules Buffy was taught about demons & vampires & rightfully so. A vampire falling in love with a slayer & fighting for his soul for her is such a romantic notion & I do love it but the nuance of Spike’s arc is even more interesting than that! He does love Buffy but not only that he befriends the Scoobies too. He brings flowers for Joyce after she dies. He helps prove that Tara is not a demon when her family tries to gaslight her & isolate her. He becomes a pseudo big brother to Dawn.

And yet none of that is even what I’m here to talk about! Spike IS a hero & he does have a long spanning redemption arc before the soul (& we’re NOT here to talk about Seeing Red right now, as usual that topic is too expansive & requires its own post) that should be acknowledged & his character is rightfully praised but he is NOT the only exception to vampires having nuance & it drives me crazy that we act like he is. The Judge isn’t just talking to Spike when he says this:

“You TWO.” He’s talking about Drusilla too! He says that they share affection & jealousy. That Angelus in his total sociopathic lack of human emotion is the odd one here.

Then you have things like this -

Conversations with Dead People has Buffy sharing a very long & deep conversation with an old acquaintance turned vampire. And it’s far from the only example in universe of a vampire retaining some sense of camaraderie with people from their life!

That’s right this entire rant has been a lead up to talk about my best girly Harmony Kendall. You’ve fallen for my ruse if you’ve read this far muahaha! Admittedly Harmony’s strongest moments are mostly unfortunately on Angel but even in season four of Buffy when she dates Spike she is clearly intended at times to be sympathetic. Season 4 is also interesting because we see a lot interactions between various gangs of vampires like Harmony’s so-called minions & even Sundays gang where they’re very much evil but also sharing in living (existing?) space & acting like bickering roommates or siblings. Like creatures with bonds & personalities & intricacies.

The point I’m trying to make is that the show never truly wants to grapple with the existence of Spike in all his nuance but it’s also not just about him! In general there is so much to grapple with in the idea that vampires can change & be redeemed & I’m not saying I’m anti scary evil vampires I’m just saying the universe gave us these hints of nuance & then the characters never grappled with it & that’s lame. For Buffy killing things that have a shot at redemption however small would be a major emotional blow if she ever addressed it! Especially in her season 5 “am I just a killer 🥺” arc. Let’s deal with the implications!

Let’s deal with Xander’s trauma about killing Jessie & just how much it would/should hurt for him to see Spike increasingly choose good & work with the Scoobies. I would LOVE to know Xander’s reaction to Harmony’s arc on Angel or Cordelia befriending her & letting her go ina world where the writing acknowledges that he drove a stake through his best friends heart!

It’s just that the writers accidentally complicated their own lore & then totally refused to ever let their characters address what the cracks in the stories they tell themselves mean. Giles says that a vampire is no longer the person but instead the thing that killed them. What’s scarier: the idea that your loved one was killed & something wears their face like a mask OR much more insane (to me) the idea that your loved one came back very wrong but it’s still them? Your brother eats people now but he still remembers how you like your eggs & can quote every episode of the cartoon you watched as kids. Your mom murdered that woman from the PTA who always talked too much in cold blood but she still remembers the recipe for your favorite pancakes. The show wanted scary vampires but it got so caught up in never addressing the infinitely more complex & scarier vampires it accidentally created & sticking to the more simplistic initial idea that it did both the characters & lore very dirty. And I’ll never shut up about it!!!

[sepublic]

People still ask how Belos died from being stomped on when he survived something similar in King’s Tide. People, Belos was still healthy enough to defeat the Hexsquad even when he was being drained of magic; He hasn’t retained any physical damage from the fight until the Collector steps in.

In S3 Belos is dying just from existing and needs a host, he’s still breaking down even when inside the host because he emerges from Raine in a worse state than when he entered;

(At the very least, Raine whistling Belos out of their body whittled down his form even further.)

It’s almost as if the crew emphasized in For the Future what a terrible state Belos was in, with him saying aloud he needs a host, to set up why he can’t survive the same injury he did last time. It’s like these details were here for a reason. Belos hasn’t had a Palisman in two months (something the show emphasizes he needs) and both the Day of Unity and Vee also drained his magic, the former doing it for a decent while uninterrupted no less. He did rebuild himself, but then Belos began to fall apart from starvation; He tried to address it by absorbing Flapjack —the show’s way of reminding you what’s missing— but Hunter stopped him and contributed to Belos’ death.

(So not only did Hunter assert his agency, he helped kill his uncle without having the additional trauma of directly doing/seeing it, and it led to Flapjack’s life force being left to save Hunter; So Hunter got Belos killed, saved himself, and stood up for himself!)

And after failing to absorb Flapjack, after leaving Hunter, does Belos try to fight Hexsquad despite not having to worry about a draining spell killing him, and having already won the first time with it? No, he runs away; Because despite initially looking the same, he’s much weaker and can’t win a fight in his state. And that leads to the next episode’s reveal that he’s dying and crumbling apart even after regenerating, or rather because he used up his energy to regenerate.

Even if Belos survived being stomped on, he’d just be a puddle of goop but be unable to build himself back up as he continued breaking down. There was nothing around and even if Belos possessed something, he’d still keep degrading the whole time until he dies truly, and at that rate the host might just wait for Belos to perish without needing someone to save them. Belos is dead, he knew he was dead.

People also ask how Belos can turn back into Philip at the end and not only is it a literally paper-thin facade and the curse is there underneath. But they forgot he already did the same thing in King’s Tide by turning his face back around Hunter (but not his whole body, he’s being killed by his draining spell at that moment); But it falls apart fast, esp when angry. Only Palisman essence can fully turn Belos back into a human.

And we see the curse was overtaking him even in that state, and when Belos hides the mold on his face it re-emerges when he’s angry. He’s always had this ability, but it’s superficial and doesn’t last long. Belos can’t even truly hide the mold on his face when he’s human, he couldn’t tangibly turn back into a human when he was fully transformed, and he’s never going to, he can only create a facade. Maybe Belos could’ve briefly turned young, but he always defaults back to his ‘natural’ state, which at first was an old human but over time has become the curse beast.

Finally, why didn’t Belos possess the Titan from the start? I don’t think he even knew he could do that until he had to figure it out during the two-month gap. He didn’t even turn into a monster yet when he decided on the draining spell with the Collector, his eyes just went blue as we see in the memories with Caleb, or his flesh writhed.

Belos always reverted his curse form with Palismen because he loathed and didn’t want to experiment with it. But after S2 his body began to break down, Belos had no other options, so that’s how he figured it out, and then applied that realization to the Titan’s heart in his castle after the Collector reminded him of it.

[saetgvia]

genshin boys when you’re sick

characters: lyney, wriothesley, gaming, xiao, alhaitham

established relationship, nicknames (sweetheart, missy, etc)

tw: mentions of food, mentions of snot (is that a tw??), lmk if i forgot anything

———————————————————————

lyney

- *sniffle* ‘GET INTO BED RIGHT NOW MISSY’

- cares abt u very much

- a lil TOO much sometimes

- he just doesn’t want you hurt

- so the moment you show signs of sniffling you’re magically transported to the bed to get some rest

- he will FAWN over you

- kinda frantic ngl

- cooking

- magic show to cheer u up

- ‘i know the medicine tastes bad, but it’ll help you get better’

- older brother mode ACTIVATED

- lynnette and freminet are so weirded out by their usually chipper brother being like… this

- will take care of u until u get better

- whatever you need, he has <33

wriothesley

- tea

- he makes u tea

- and is overall a funny person

- like lyney he’ll want you to get as much rest as possible and yk cook for u and stuff

- ‘i’ll use my cryo vision to make the cold leave your body!’

- gets sigewinne to check on you because he has a MELUSINE DOCTOR so ofc he’s gonna ask her to check on youu

- lots of forehead and cheek kisses

- always makes sure you take medicine!

- cuddles!!! to make you warm!!!

- yea <3

gaming

- cOOKS FOR YOU THE MOST

- i think all the boys would cook and clean and take care of you

- but NONE better than gaming

- except maybe thoma

- but we’re talking about GAMING here

- he knows like 50000 people so you can bet he’s calling in favours

- ‘hello? yes remember that time a killed a bunch of hilichurls for you? yea can you make me soup? my partner’s sick.’

- tries to keep your energy and spirits up

- walks to get fresh air

- unlike the others he doesn’t really want to keep you in bed all the time bc he knows it can get irritating

- so he’ll spend time with you :))

- does the chores so you don’t have to worry about them

- overall i love gaming gaming best boy

xiao

- ‘…tf’

- ‘[NAME] DON’T MOVE A SLIME IS POSSESSING YOu- oh. it’s called a cold? and your body mAKES SLIME TO KEEP IT OUT??’

- humans are weird

- poor boy doesn’t know what to do

- you can bet he’s feeding you almond tofu

- and going to zhongli and cloud retainer etc. for advice

- ‘i can kill demons and protect teyvat… but i can’t help you feel better’

- sad boi

- so ofc you comfort him and everything

- makes sure you take your medicine all!!! the!!! time!!!

- doesn’t wanna leave your side

- caring and slightly confused bf but so sweet :(

alhaitham

- he’s so calm

- lyney’s total opposite

- cooking, chores, he does the lot

- provides better alternatives than the store antibiotics and they help u get better so much faster

- rare unserious alhaitham moment he claims it’s his love

- maybe it is!!

- reading sessions together!!

- u both reading books or him reading to you

- such a perfect bf

———————————————————————

a/n: hope you enjoyed this one <33 smashed it out today after some depressing valorant LOL be back with more soon and pls reblog so more people can see my work!! my taglist is now open so if you want to join just drop an ask <3

[meanbossart]

Okay but I would love to hear your thoughts on the other spawn

Twirling my hair shifty-eyeing to the side OKAAAYYYYY WELL IF YOU INSIST 🛀

(This is a continuation of this post where I go into some detail about my thoughts on Dalyria, Violet, and Leon ((or "Leonard" as I apparently dubbed him as by mistake))

Let me start with the one I love the most after my sweet well-meaning-child-murdering-doctor Dalyria: Pale Petras.

First of all, just look at this fucking guy. What a goober.

I pretty explicitly go off-canon when it comes to my theories about Petras. According to him, he has been with Cazador for a hundred years - I find that very, very difficult to believe. Whether I would scrap that line entirely or just tack it as hyperbole is irrelevant - though he does seem to have a knack for the dramatics, or at least he tries to.

Petras immediately strikes me as a newcomer in the group. He's the most lively out of the spawn we chat with and seems to still retain what is a pretty strong, bold personality. He's antagonizing towards Astarion and pretty much sides with Cazador up until his life is on the line - and, most interestingly to me, his immediate reaction after being freed if you instruct them to lead the spawn into the Underdark seems to be one of fear and reluctance, unlike Dalyria who almost immediately takes the responsibility upon herself and seems warm towards Astarion and the player for what they've done.

Abusive relationships don't start abusive. If you've ever been friends with someone who's hooked up with a known serial abuser, chances are that you have had to sit through their attempts at justifying their behavior as foretold by previous partners - "oh, they just weren't a good match", "they both enabled abuse towards each other", "his ex was just crazy, man." This honeymoon period can last anywhere from a few weeks, to several years - until said friend inevitably finds themselves in the exact same cycle that said ex escaped from.

That's Petras. Petras is fresh meat. He's compliant. He's gullible. As a human in a world where you're surrounded by races that live up to several hundreds of years, he's attributed power to longevity - he loves being a spawn. He loves knowing that he will never lose his youthful looks and that his newly-acquired "curse" makes him desirable in it's own, odd way. He thinks this gig is easy - go out, get laid, get fed, rinse and repeat. Sure, sometimes there's a misunderstanding and he gets his joints broken or nails ripped out, but whatever! They grow back! To a vampire with powers of regeneration, dismemberment and scalping might as well be equivalent to ten belt-smacks to the backside just like his father used to give him as a child. Plus, it's never really his fault - If Master knew the truth, he would never set his goons on him at all!

And Oh, he adores Cazador. Not as a friend, a lover, or even a family member - but an aspiration. He sincerely believes that through hard work and resilience he can one day also have his status and fortune. And it shouldn't even be hard to stand out among this angsty little crew - what are they so bent out of shape about, anyway If they spent less time moping and more time working, maybe they wouldn't have such a tough time. Especially -

Astarion.

While it is likely incidental, I find it very ironic that Petras was put in Astarion's early-access outfit. And much less accidental than that: his mannerism and word-choice are a blatant imitation of Astarion's behavior. The flair, the flirting, the flattering and the abrasiveness; I've heard it theorized that this must be how all of the spawn act - I disagree. Petras is the only one we see exhibit that type of demeanor. I think he actively models himself after Astarion because as thick as he might be, he did catch onto the fact that his master has a particular interest in the white-haired elf.

And, of course, Petras hates Astarion for it. He sees him as someone who could have had it all, but gave up on it in favor of being bitter, angry, and naively wistful over his lost life. He has the looks, he has the charm, he had his master's favor, they go out and Petras watches men and women alike swoon over him and laugh at his shitty jokes, to then return home with a long-faced, bratty little shit-head of a toddler-man who would never even understand what the paralyzing loom of mortality is like in the first place - an ungrateful, nepotistic bastard whose had it all handed over to him by daddy, who was loved and fed and given a well-paid job fresh off his teens - but now he has to put a little work in. Now he has to do things that he might find unpleasant. And all he fucking does is whine about it.

Astarion is the personification of everything Petras ever wanted to be before being turned into a spawn, and he accidentally wears it on his sleeve day in and day out. I have no doubt that Astarion is blatantly aware of that fact and it makes his skin crawl - but Dalyria tells him that Petras is too young. Too new. Cut him some slack.

And frankly, I don't think he's evil, either. He strikes me as naive and star-striken. I don't know how long he's been with the Szarrs for, but certainly the light in his eyes would eventually fade over time and he would have had all the zest beaten out of him, same as the others. But, for now - he just doesn't know his own luck.

Admittedly, I have much less to say about Yousen and Aurelia. We don't hear as much as a word out of Yousen, but I've chosen to read the silence of and about his character as indicative that, maybe, he was able to hold onto his sanity and honor the best out of all of them. He had to do what he had to do to survive, but he did it while attempting to withhold any standards allowed to him for his own peace of mind - I like to imagine he had a lot of sincere empathy for all of the spawn, and, while they were never close, him and Astarion exchanged sincere words about their situation a few times during their stay at the palace; just enough to remind the elf that he wasn't alone, but never so much that Yousen would intrude into his space, or add strain to his already fragile state of mind.

And Aurelia... She strikes me as so young and already so beaten. I'd wager that what was once a sweet tiefling girl is now a terrified animal who does absolutely whatever she can to avoid pain and punishment - the snitch of the group, the reluctant ass-kisser, the one who desperately clings to any relief in whatever form it may come - be her master's approval or the shoulder of a sibling she has damned to the kennel more than once out of fear for her own life. Everybody has been hurt, betrayed, and irritated by her - but she's just so god damn pitiful that they can't push her away forever. While she would live, I believe she would have the hardest time adapting to freedom after Violet - just completely dependent on others and burdened by what she's had to do.

[zucchinitart]

skinty LJ 💕

finally gonna make a ref sheet for this man!! repurposing an old sketch cuz I still generally agree with the design…I actually intended to render that old sketch but never did 😭

now here’s some never-before-revealed lore and headcanons!! (this all takes place in a story I’ve never created except in my head 💀 also some have been told, I’m just reiterating them):

-This is how LJ generally looks between the years 1817 to 1886. He was “born” in 1803, stayed with Isaac for one year, got stuck in the box for 13 years, and only started wearing bandages in 1817 once he became a target to the public. As he started getting more wounds, he found out that they would open up easily and opted to wear bandages most of the time.

-He can’t eat as he lacks a digestive system. Instead, he feeds on human interaction. The more positive the interaction, the better it is for him. Because he had such a poor relationship with humans during these years, he ends up looking starved. He’s quite weak in this state, and the only thing keeping him alive is his wit and his sharp nails for weapons.

-His limbs are black right above the connection of his joints (knees and elbows). The rest of his skin is white.

-His hair would be naturally curly, but due to improper care and the long length dragging it down, it ends up looking wavy and sometimes even straight, albeit very frizzy and/or greasy.

-In 1886, that’s when LJ and Lillian first meet (omg OC and canon??? gross 😰🤢). They create a pact, and he starts getting more positive interaction with humans. As he gets more “sustenance,” his wounds start to heal properly and he gets stronger. Unfortunately, most of his wounds have scarred over at this point and they remain on his body as it’s now recognized as “healthy” tissue. (Placement of scars will be in another post)

-Lillian is 23 when she first meets LJ.

-Before his strength improved, Lillian could actually beat LJ in an arm wrestling contest!! But after about a few months of being together, that was no longer the case. (Lillian’s ego was a little hurt, but it was inevitable 😞)

-Although it looks like it, he never actually felt starved. He doesn’t experience typical feelings like hunger or fulfillment.

-Sadly, he’ll never retain his curl pattern. Lillian tries very hard to get it back as she has her own experience with her hair, but she can never get more than a few curls on his head. She gives up at some point and just accepts his wavy/straight hair as is. LJ truly doesn’t care either way. If he had his way, he’d probably forget and never wash it again.

-the dickless look is on purpose!!! No reproductive system means no dick!! Yippee, no nsfw 🤗 Unless I feel freaky, which will most definitely happen…so if you ever see him with a dick, it’s just for my own nefarious purposes 😞

-When Lillian first found out how old LJ was, she said “wow, you could be my grandpa….” LJ didn’t take too kindly to that and scolded her like a grandpa.

-His body stopped aging once Isaac died. In this version, Isaac dies at the age of 21. LJ is physically around 5 years older than Isaac, so his physical age is stuck at around 26 (but it’s not rlly trustworthy as his body isn’t comparable to a typical human’s…I’d say it’s probably between 25-35 though)

I want to get into so much lore, but I wanna save it for when I draw a comic or something. Ty for reading if you read this far!! 💕