#hes like a separate entity to me not even as in fear

[bigfanofwomen]

first time listening to tma i genuinely didn't give a damn about the main cast i had a Leitner Hyperfixation . so bizarre

[sokuuuu]

saw a post on my fyp a few hours ago that got me thinking about the game again. I've also been deep into Greek mythology so forgive me for somewhat combining two of my interests.

A common trope for characters who are gods or deities is their lack of humanity. They aren't bound by the confines of mortality, therefore they do not live by our rules. Our human concepts of community, society, and relationships are utterly beneath them because they exist in the scope of inevitable destruction. The mortal ones are the empathetic ones in the story of the gods, the victims who struggle to cling to our human desires beneath the whims of gods. Slay the Princess, however, subverts this expectation. In fact it turns it on its head by humanizing the deities and complicating the mortal man.

The Princess and Quiet are not people to the Narrator, and he makes that blatantly clear - they're constructs. Objects to be used to fulfill his desires. There's a fragile relationship between the three where the Narrator holds most of the powerful information over these characters' heads. He watches and observes their actions the way a "God" in the most general sense of a word would. In fact, he created the world the two inhabit. For the most part they're just living in it.

It's especially interesting to me that what the Narrator seeks is immortality. He fears death, a concept so meaningless to Quiet and the Princess. Their roles are so uniquely swapped. The powerful mortal man yearns for the strengths of the struggling, clueless gods.

As we expect from someone human - or at least, mortal in this world of this story - the Narrator is complicated. But the story doesn't derive the Princess and Quiet of their humanity either despite their larger roles. In fact, despite the two being two halves of the same larger concept, STP pours so much attention into making the two feel alive. Making their lives matter. We don't want to die even though we know how many chances we have. Each time we die, The Voice of The Hero fears the upcoming. In the mirror, facing the end, they are afraid. It's the closest these two unending beings can get to understanding the Narrator's fear of death.

They share our fears. Do they share our human desires?

The post that inspired me to ramble like this in the first place (I certainly wish I could find it) brought me back to this part of The Princess and The Dragon:

Although they aren't aware of the limits of their own existence, the Princess and Quiet know what they feel fulfilled when they are with each other. Even after everything. The Princess is angry at you in this chapter, both you and your voices, and yet she still wants that part of Quiet back. The part that makes her feel whole again. It's an obvious calling to their connection to each other in hindsight, as two parts of the same god. But they don't fit together anymore. They cannot fit together anymore as two separate entities. Part of their beings complete each other, but they are two separate beings created by the Narrator now. They can no longer be each other, but they know they belong with each other.

It's a... romantic way of thinking about it. We know soulmates, two souls destined for one another. They make each other complete despite their imperfections. Despite their existence as two separate organisms. They are not one in the same and yet they fit perfectly together. It's fantastical. It's unrealistic. It's a portrayal of love only imperfect beings like mortals can strive for. And yet the irony is that the two are anything but.

The Narrator even admits it to himself: he's wrong about Quiet and the Princess (although mostly Quiet in this instance, the same can certainly apply to her). They are not just gods. They are not just constructs. They are people. People with free will, with empathy, with desires, with longing. He's just like them, and we're just like him. The Narrator dwells on this boundary between life and death, mortal being and god, while we find these barriers so unimportant to us. The ending of Slay the Princess is about shedding the boundaries between ourself and the Princess and letting the two complete each other in a perfectly imperfect way. The very essence of mortality and humanity, displayed by two gods.

There's a beauty to imperfection.

[krossan]

A Brief AU Explanation

I noticed that there are a lot of new followers that do know Danny Phantom, and others that the know very little. I am also aware that I haven't fully explained - maybe NOT in too much detail - the "story" and plots of my AU. You only have the ideas that I've been telling of this story through illustrations.

This AU is all about reconnecting with one self, with Jazz and Dan as the main two of this particular game.

Jazz remains as the same character that is portrayed through the OG show. She has always been the psychology enthusiast of the group, the one that cares for others and help with whatever she can. For her, others come first. First being her family.

On the other hand, we have Dan, an alternate entity of Danny’s ghost half and Vlad’s. A new form of entity that lost his humanity. For him to show any form of emotion is null.

Jazz involvement in this has to do with her putting everyone else first and then herself, and being keen to the study of the human-psyche, and now ghost-psyche, she secretly partakes to the role of Dan’s therapist. This was kept in secret from the rest of her friends and Danny until she can gain more control over Dan.

This, of course, prove to be a VERY difficult task. With her having to hide her constant fears when facing that “particular someone”: he could go on a rampage, have uncontrollable outbursts, cause havoc, and that he could turn against her any day/time without any remorse. She knows this, but she also knows that deep down, her little brother is still there. She’s looking to rekindle that part of him again. Of course, never knowing at what extent this could go.

And this, apparently started to bear fruit, although at a slow pace. As Jazz stood closer and closer to him, she understood that he stayed alone his entire life, and after losing everyone he cared, his violent actions were his significance of showing the world "hurting". The hurt he have been caring so many years. Now he has that second chance. To “live” a new life and Jazz wants to help him out.

With this new information, each time Jazz got close to him, Dan, instead of seeing her as an obnoxious-human-parasite, he slowly starts bonding with her. His interest increasing each day he is with her and grows more comfortable being around her (something Dan originally despised).

***

Part of this AU, enrolls on a particular context that the ghost of a halfa is sentient. The original show as proven this*. When Danny’s ghost has been separated, his ghost has a mind of his own, but when staying together, human-ghost, the consciousness of the halfa acts as one. *Episodes in question: What You Want, Identity Crisis, The Ultimate Enemy

This part that the ghost plays on the known halfas is a mayor plot point from this AU. Let me explain my concept briefly:

This roll that the ghost is part of the halfa is the one that caries the power of the wielder (human). The human can transform into the ghost and vice versa. The ghost powers remain within the ghost half. The human half acts as a vessel/host to the ghost half.

All living things have the instinct of survival. And on this case, the ghosts would do ANYTHING to keep their host safe as they are the means of a linked connection human-ghost. Not unlike the rest of non-halfa- ghosts that their link/host relies on the Ghost Zone -since they no longer have a corporeal body, the vessel for their survival is ectoplasmic energy, the one that emanates from the GZ.

***

Since Dan is no longer connected to a human, he became a full-ghost. An entity that merged from two ghost halfas. He can sustain himself alone, but strangely enough, he building a bond with Jazz, it rekindled what Jazz intended, but in an unusual way. Jazz intention was to try and reconnect Dan with his long-lost humanity. Even if he didn’t have a human half, both his ghosts may have some little information stored deep within of what that used to feel like. And even though that started to give results, the ghost also retained that of his original purpose: Protect the host.

And as the bond Dan and Jazz grew more and more, unknown to them, it caused a physical manifestation: a white streak formed in Jazz’s hair. And even if this came up as a surprise to Jazz, she later discovered that this manifestation was much more than just physical.

Dan rekindled his humanity but he, unknowingly, intertwined Jasmine’s humanity to his. Her humanity is part of him. Jasmine’s emotions have an impact on him. Whatever she feels, he can sense it, let them be good or bad ones.

They both are this new form of halfa, both human and ghost are separate life forms, but from the ghost side -Dan’s perspective- Jazz is acting as his human half. His host. That’s is why his instincts respond to protect her at all costs.

No. This new form of a halfa representation doesn't mean Jazz has ghost powers. The one with that power is Dan. This bond is more of a psychic link.

 (i.e. In European folklore, you “could” say Dan is Jasmine’s "familiar", although Jazz is not considered to be a witch, but imagine the possibilities of this small plot causing people or ghosts to think Jazz is a witch… idk… random ideas)

This is why Dan is more sympathetic towards Jazz and why their bond is very important.

______________

It's worth pointing out that I don't have a specific name for this AU, like many people do when they create these stories. And NO. Please refrain from saying this is a romantic relationship. It is a sibling/platonic relationship.

[weatheringandweary]

Apollo's perception of Lester changing over the course of the series drives me absolutely nuts because it's one of the most emotionally impactful arcs in his character.

He see's Lester as a prison sentence initially. He's the husk that Zeus made of Apollo when he stripped him of his immortality, his domains, and his memory. Not a single thing about the mortal body he's placed in was his choice and he resents it. Apollo even refers to Lester as a distinctly separate entity at times. There is a clear disconnect between what he views as himself and his punishment, and the only times he acknowledges it as his identity is to be self-deprecating or dismissive.

Then halfway through his arc, at the lowest points in the narrative where he's lost nearly all of his abilities, he spirals into self doubt. Maybe this was all he really was. Maybe without the support of his powers and domains, this was all there is to Phoebus Apollo. He's accepting Lester's negative traits as apart of himself, vocalizing his fear of being useless and unworthy of godhood to the readers. While the first portion of the series developed Apollo's character in terms of him accepting responsibility, The Burning Maze is when Apollo's most significant internal changes take place.

He stops lying constantly in his narration by this point, and we get to see how he actually feels about himself and others. What he was hiding from the readers - most notably, was his feelings of inadequacy.

But by the end of the series, once he's rightfully Apollo again, he admits to us that it doesn't feel right. He suddenly realizes that he does miss being Lester; that the godly form he's wearing doesn't fit like he once thought it did. Despite the trauma surrounding his trials, being Lester was the first time Apollo was able to be authentically himself without fear of needing to put on a mask. He was braver, kinder, and more beloved when he wasn't putting distance between himself and others.

Because that's the person he wants to be.

That's the real him, Lester Papadopoulos.

[msfantasy]

Glowing from the House Ghost

Ghost x Reader

Summary: A Ghostly helping hand helps you out

After being locked out of your own bedroom. You retreat to the ‘ghosts bedroom’.

Laying in his bed, thinking of Victor’s taunts. Convincing you that the house ghost wants to fuck you.

Surely the ghost doesn’t actually want to sleep with you…

Do ghosts even have those types of feelings?

Even if they did, why does he want to sleep with you?

How would that even work? It’s not like ghosts are tangible, they’re freaking ghosts.

Yet, the more you thought on it, the more hot and bothered you become. To think that a spirit entity would find you so attractive, they would want to fuck you even in the afterlife. Pursing you despite the vile that separates them from the living- has you was undeniably a turn on.

It’s kind of convenient too isn’t it? You just spread your legs and have your needs taken care of… it doesn’t sound half bad.

But the question is; how do you even start?

Do you just shout ‘Come fuck me?!’ Out into the void of the empty house? And hope the ghost will come and take care of your body. Or do you just start touching yourself and see where things take you?

You opt for the ladder, because there’s no fucking way you’d embarrass yourself by shouting something so ridiculous.

Throwing the blanket back, you allow your hands slide down your stomach, your legs slowly parting as your fingers glide over the fabric of your pyjama shorts.

Already you feel the burning feeling of being observed. But right now your mind drowns out any anxiety of being watched, in favour of feeling that familiar pleasure your body knows all to well.

You tease your own body, gripping you inner thighs before sliding your palm back to your centre to grind down into.

Hooking your fingers around the edge of your shorts, you begin to shimmy them off, kicking them to the side to put back on later.

Your cheeks feel like they’re burning, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. But you continue to push those thoughts back, allowing your legs to part in favour of pleasuring your neglected box.

Now that you think of it. You haven’t cummed since you moved in. Feeling to embarrassed to perform such a sacred act in front of a possible audience - despite their many attendance to your showers.

Your light teasing fingers glides the out lips of your increasingly wet cunt. Sliding your fingers past to your slit, coaxing the wetness to spread. Your begin to rub lazy circles until you feel an odd feeling.

The feeling of being touched by a hand that isn’t your own.

Rather than feeling fearful, disgusted, or terrified like you ought to be. You bite back a moan, resisting a taunting grin of success. Your perverted fantasies coming to light as the ghosting of a hand begins to slide up and down your slit, all whilst you continue to rub lazy circles into your clit.

Your hand only slinks back onto the bed once you feel a finger that isn’t your own plunge into your gummy walls.

The unexpected intrusion causing your walls to constrict and your hips to tilt up into the palm of… nothing.

Even though the haze half lidded gaze you can’t see anything, even so, the feeling of finger plunging into your core was undeniable, especially when the curling fingers find that special sport that just makes your body shudder in pleasure as the spongy spot begins to swell and press further into the fingers of another. You don’t even care that your being finger banged by an entity at this point. Your lost in the chase of your high.

Your head thrown back and your eyes lulling back at the intense pleasure of being finger fucked.

Your hips begin to shudder along with the plunging sensations, seeking your high successfully as the warm liquid pooling at the pit of your stomach begins to grown warmer and warmer.

As if being on the edge of your orgasm wasn’t enough, suddenly the sensation of something wet and slick like a tongue began lapping up your clit and swirling circles where you needed it most caused all the liquid building up in the pit of your stomach to burst.

Pleasurable moans ripping from your throat as your cunt clenches in pleasure. You thighs quivering in the after shock of such an intense orgasm coached by … supposedly no one.

A happy fucked out smirk pulls at your lips. Your mind swimming in a pool of ecstasy and endorphins.

“You’re good at that~” You praise to no one in particular, a chuckle escaping you as you retrieve your pyjama shorts.

Maybe having a house ghosts that takes care of your body won’t be so bad after all.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

X♡X♡ [SEVEN DAYS] Day 3

If you gave him your heart, your soul, your body- what would he do to those things? Maybe it's time to see if he can handle your love for once, and not just the other way around.

Tags/Warnings: Porn with a lot of plot basically, inexperienced!reader, Dom!Jungkook, BDSM themes and elements, mild Angst, fluff, slow burn but we'regetting somewhere, they have mad chemistry but mc has trust issues, mentions of past domestic abuse (mental), Outercourse (basically non-penetrative sex except with a dildo), toys, Cumplay, it's messy smh, hand kink? Increased authority from kook

Length: ~5k words

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜.♡

A/N: you'll never be able to imagine how much I struggled reconnecting with this fic. This was torture. I hated this fic so much at some point. I'm not proud of this part but if I don't get this out I'll never be able to continue this series.

-> Masterlist

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Jungkook has really nice hands.

Not just in a sensual or sexual sense, but in general. They're big but not intimidating, because the way he uses them is never in a mean or hurtful way. They're soft, and kind, and they also look very nice. Masculine, and strong, veins underneath the skin sometimes a bit more visible than other times, but they also hold a certain softness to them. His nails are well taken care of, only his thumb sometimes giving you a hint of a nervous habit.

They're uniquely Jungkook. Rough, but not to be feared. Gentle, but with the potential to lead. Capable. Handsome.

They're his main way of exploring your skin too- his fingers often used to make shivers run up your spine, palms warm as they feel every curve of you. He doesn't need to look at what he's doing ever it seems like, hands having minds of their own every time they touch you.

Like a separate entity almost, listening obediently to their master's command.

You slowly wake up from your nap, feeling actually refreshed, when Jungkook walks in from the door, giving you a hint to what must've woken you up. "Oh- You're up." He smiles, walking closer with a plastic bag, though his first mission is to press his hands into the softness of the couch before he kisses your cheek. "Here- let me show you something." He impishly chuckles, sitting down on his shins, before he opens the bag on the bed.

You're in a state of shock for a good moment, not even having noticed him move.

He's got the audacity to laugh over your shoulder, front pressed into your back, hands teasing your sides as they sneak up your loose shirt.

"Bought one that's about my size." He purrs sensually, almost like he's mocking you. But it's not malicious- playful, if anything, but not mean in any way. "So you can call it.. practice." He explains, while you stare at the nearly clear pink dildo that's staring at you, still packaged together with other things in the black plastic bag in your lap.

"Jungkook.. when did you even buy those things?" You wonder, feeling almost scared to touch any of the things inside.

"Earlier, when you were napping." He shrugs easily, hand reaching past your body to shamelessly dump the contents of the bag on the bed, bag flying somewhere on the floor. "Anything look like an absolute no-go to you?" He asks curiously, and you look without touching.

There's an egg-shaped item there you're not too sure of what it might be. The dildo explains itself, clearly- and the other massage wand is also pretty self-explanatory. There's two bottles of lube- one pink, the other blue. A.. plug, with a pretty pink gemstone on one end of it. Leather handcuffs, with soft looking fur on the inside. Overall, nothing immediately makes you uncomfortable.

You don't know what gives you the confidence for your next comment you blurt out though. "Don't you have any toys?" You ask him bluntly. "Like, for yourself? Or do you just.. use your partner's body for stuff?" You wonder, and he looks at you with a sharp gaze, a smirk growing on his lips.

"I wouldn't mind using your body, that's for sure." He flirts, leaning his head a bit to the side. "Why would I need toys if I've got you?" He fakes innocence as he asks that question without expecting any answer- And for a moment, you don't give one.

But something about his flirty comment bothers you.

Maybe because you hear someone else in your head again- all the men who've degraded you over the course of time. Your ex. Your friends. Your father. You hear them laugh yet again like you're pathetic and worth nothing.

"I don't want to be used." You deny with a flat tone, and it's clear from the slight change in his eyes that he's now on high alert at your every word spoken by mouth and body language, so he can figure out what happened to change your mood like that. "I don't just want to be.. a toy you get bored off and toss away at some point just to pick it back up once you're interested again." You say, drawing a clear line.

You're not sure how he might react to this. You didn't want to make a statement like that, but you can't mask the truth. You really are scared of getting hurt at the end of this- you don't want him to just play around and then let you go.

You don't want to go. You want to stay- You want him to want you to stay.

He says your name to gain your attention, voice low and steady, horribly gentle- and it makes your eyes sting as you realize that this is the first time a man has ever spoken in such a tone to you. He notices the way your eyes begin to gloss over- and it hurts him too, the fact that you're hurting.

"This isn't just something fun to me. I think I might not have made it clear." He says, staying away from you as to not invade your little bubble you're in, letting you have your safety. "I don't know what happened to you in the past to be so full of distrust towards anything good offered to you-" He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "-but I promise you, this isn't just a game to me."

"Then what is this." You say quietly, scared. "I'm scared that we're not on the same page here and that we're walking down to entirely separate paths." You complain pitifully with your back hunched over and head hanging low.

"That's because we are." He chuckles softly. "I'm trying to hold your hand here so we don't lose each other- but you're not holding it." Jungkook offers.

"I don't understand-" you shake your head, when as you look up again, his face is right in front of yours, eyes looking at your lips.

"Then let me help you." He hums towards you, before his lips press onto yours. And your body freezes.

Because he's never kissed you like this before- tender, calm and without any lust in it whatsoever. In fact, your realize only now that you've never been kissed without any hidden intentions or something to gain in mind. This kiss is soft, it's no words needed, it's love confessed in physical form. You've never been kissed like this. Ever.

And even more so, you're pretty sure he hasn't actually kissed you at all either- not until now, at least.

And it's all so confusing now, because you want to trust him, you want to just lean into him and let him have his way with you- but the fear inside you is still there, clutching your limbs, leaving you with no way to move anywhere- neither away from him, nor closer. You're currently stuck in place, and it's only a matter of time until he grows tired of you and your constant push and pull behavior.

You're hurting him, you know this.

Especially because you're kissing him back, giving him hope for something you might not be able to give him. You're cruel, aren't you? And the worst is that he probably knows even that.

Because once you start to cry, once you sob and cling to him like a touch-starved pet, letting all of those pent up emotions out because who cares, he doesn't say anything, doesn't ask what's wrong. He just holds you, gives you that moment, keeps your pieces collected in his palms for you to put back together later with his help. And you're not sure how many times you can do this.

Or how long he's willing to participate in this.

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Since Jungkook didn't make a move the entire morning, you've been spending it entertaining yourself as to not get bored. Not in a sexual way-

but by simply trying to see how strong his patience is.

It's a new feeling you've developed after just two days of being with him- confidence, and trust in that he won't ever hurt you whatsoever. No consequences he could come up with would ever truly put you in harms way, you absolutely believe in that. But what's disappointing was how he didn't ever get past a clench of his jaw, or a tilt of his head. He'd just.. let you do whatever, and never do anything to somehow discipline you.

It made you wonder. Is he even such an intimidating 'Dom' at all, or did he just make that up?

However, after talking about it after lunch, he's finally opened up to you too- having told you that he's gonna trust you too, that he'll be more open with you and his own desires, while you'll have to be honest about when he's going too far or too fast. And you agree- you want him to trust you too, want him to relax more around you as well.

After all, he wants to get to know you too, right? Not just the other way around.

What you did not take into account though, is that now, your actions actually will have consequences- and he will indeed put you back into your place in one way or another. And even if in that very moment where you piss him off he isn't reacting- he will remember those actions to remind you of them, later, when you don't even expect it.

Just like now, as he's finished some calls he had to make, finally finding time again for you. "I'm sorry- I technically told the studio not to contact me on my break." He hums into your hair, as you sit with him on the small sofa in his office, having practically demanded his attention back on you the moment he'd put his phone down, and he'd been visibly amused by it. Unbeknownst to you, he's more than just excited- after all, it feels like your week is finally gaining traction, as you no longer step around in the dark trying to navigate around obstacles that aren't even there.

He's just been too scared to scare you. But by now, it's clear that you're not. And it makes him eager to explore now that he can actually see where he's going with you.

There's a hand under your shirt, cropped top and cotton shorts nothing more than decoration really, considering he's already seen you naked. It's nothing too sensual technically- but at this point, you feel like something might be wrong with you. Because even a simple touch like this makes you.. needy.

He reaches over to the side, plastic bag rustling- and now you're actually starting to get antsy. Because there's only one bag next to the couch- the one that's containing all the different items Jungkook had bought this morning as he'd told you. And that's exactly what he's grabbing for it seems like, as he moves his arms a little to take out one of the items you weren't too sure about- already unpacked for some reason, as he holds it out for your hand to take.

"What is that?" You ask, fingers running over the smooth, silicone surface, while he chuckles behind you, since you're still halfway laying against his chest.

"Something I always wanted to try." He simply jokes. "It's really fun, according to a friend of mine. I've never used it with anyone before, but I think you might like it.." He hums, taking the toy away from you again, before his free hand pats your thigh once. "..scoot to the side for me, yeah?" He asks, and you do so, sitting next to him now while watching how he finally reveals what this.. object might be used for.

He has to adjust the belts multiple times to fit around his thigh, plastic clipping into place, before his eyes find yours, lips turned into a suspicious smirk. "Alright.." He starts, leaning back against the couch, and it's obvious that he's now demanding respect and most of all, your obedience. He points at a spot in front of him, and without words, you know exactly what he wants you to do, his expression one of almost.. pride, as he watches you stand in front of him, instinctually knowing what to do.

"Undress." He simply says, a straightforward command that you follow easily, because shame is something that you refuse to let yourself feel. He's not one you need to be hesitant with- he's promised you his honesty, after all, and he's promised you that even if things get awkward, it'll never change his view on you.

And his view of you is one of love, that's very clear to see and feel.

So it's not weird to stand in front of him all bare, clothes on a small pile next to your feet now, as he smiles. "Come here." He urges with a softer voice, having clearly realized that you've accepted his invitation into a scene now- for the first time not having needed any cues. "Take a seat, princess." He almost teases, and you do so, sitting on the soft silicone toy hugging his thigh.

It's pastel colored, multiple hues swirling together into one another, creating wave like patterns. "There you go... So pretty." He chuckles, hands running over the length of your arms, causing goosebumps to erupt from the sensation of his warm palms. He's feeling your skin a lot more sensually now, clear intentions as he touches your hips and waist, thumbs almost massaging the skin of your lower stomach, moving from the inside towards your hipbones before repeating the action.

His hands are so close to where you'd love to have them, and yet, you try and be patient. Because if you're good, he'll reward you, right?

It doesn't take long for you to notice the way your arousal makes movement a lot easier- your core by now slipping around with every little jerk of your hips, making you anxious to move more. And finally, as his fingers grip your hips, he gets into a more comfortable position himself- the unoccupied leg casually stretched out, while his back rests against the sofa, giving him a good position to watch you. "Show me how those hips can move." He urges, and you instantly take that invitation, slowly moving to test the waters.

You don't care what you look like, or about the wet sounds coming from the toy between your legs- because the feeling is insane.

He clearly let's you enjoy yourself for now, giving you free reign to figure out yourself how you like it. Your hips are squirming from side to side, ridges and bumps of the toy an odd but definitely pleasant sensation as you roll your core over it, uncaring of your arousal already leaking onto his grey sweatpants.

And neither does he care.

Watching you chase your own pleasure on his leg is just such a treat to witness- especially when he holds onto you, before he lifts his foot, forcing you down onto the toy without any warning, earning a surprised whimper from between your lips as he lets you down- just to repeat the motion a couple of times, simply to entertain himself. You're just too cute, even while doing such a sinful act. And especially when you clearly reach your orgasm is when he truly can't help himself-

hands guiding your hips to keep moving despite your clear sensitivity, just to see you struggle a little, thighs trembling and hands gripping his arms.

He's letting you lean against him, hips occasionally moving just a little, clearly still needy to feel more- and he's actually quite surprised when your hand curiously runs over the inside of his thigh, hesitating just shy of his very obvious erection that's only somewhat contained in his underwear and sweats. "You can touch me, you know?" He chuckles, making you look up at him. "I'm all yours." He tells you, and it feels like he's offering more than just his body to you.

But you don't get to think for long, because he's already helping you lay down on your back on the leather couch, unclipping the toy from his leg before he looms over you, hand running through your legs. "You didn't think I've forgotten, right?" He chuckles darkly, while his hand explores your still clenching core.

"You don't think I'm just letting you act like a brat and not put you into your place?" He purrs, leaning back on his heels, before he takes out something from the bag, his phone as well from the table close by. You're pulling back your legs, unaware that you're still exposed to him, lower lips plump and red from the friction of the toy, skin glistening with your arousal.

It's playing right into his desires, seeing you so clueless about your own appeal.

You're watching him press a hidden button on the toy, the pink object buzzing to life once, red light blinking while he taps away on his phone. "Oh~" He hums, trying out somethin it seems like, as the toy buzzes in different patterns before it stills again. "Interesting.. That'll be fun in the future." He chuckles, before he leans over you, kissing you with playful intent.

You're not sure what he's up to when he pushes your legs back down to stretch out, running the smooth object between your legs to cover it in your slick. "You're always so worried you can't take it.." He teases, looking right at you before you notice him push the object inside-

the egg shaped vibrator slipping right in, almost suddenly, core taking it inside greedily- only the elongated part staying outside, something resting right on your clit. "Oh?" He jokes, brows raised. "Where'd it go?" He jokes, making you laugh now, entire nature of this whole scene awfully light in that moment, lifting your overall tenseness entirely at this point. And for a moment, all is fun and games-

until he leans back, sits down in the corner of the couch, finger on his phone suddenly doing something-

The toy inside you buzzing to live, and not on an easy setting, that's for sure. He's obviously amused by the way you squirm, hips jerking whenever you move in a way that forces the part resting against you to move. And he's having the time of his life, trying out different settings and rhythms while watching you suffer under his antics.

"You still need to learn." He chuckles, watching your legs jerk whenever the piece that's resting over your clit moves just slightly. "I don't have to touch you to gain my fill." He says, simply scanning your body with a warm, hooded gaze. "Hm? You've had such a smart mouth the entire day." He coos, almost feigning innocence as he looks at you racing towards your final high-

Generously turning down the intensity so that it's not that harsh.

You're slowly catching your breath, when his lips tilt upwards, and his finger taps around- buzzing intensifying again, catching you off guard, causing a yelp to escape you as your hips lift off the couch.

This is too much. Or not enough? You can't take this, there's something strange happening with your body as it moves without your permission, turning over into all fours, front laying down as your hands frantically touch the inside of your thighs.

And Jungkook relishes in the scene you present to him, because there's a reason your fingers hesitate to touch your core, and he knows it.

You can't take it out. Not physically- that you can, if you really wanted to- but mentally. You know he's put it there, and he's the one in control. This is your punishment, and in an odd moment of realization, you accept it, thighs trembling as your body reaches yet another, warmer orgasm that causes you to cry out, voice sounding foreign to your own ears as your hips jerk, your knees pressed into the leather below the only thing holding you upright-

Or maybe it's Jungkook, who's leaning over your back, arm keeping your front elevated as it rests against your collarbone.

When did he move?

When did he shed his top?

Your core feels empty, and your legs feel wet. Is ge not wearing pants anymore? You can feel something touch you, hot and heavy against your thigh, and it must be him.

You want him. Where'd that toy go that was inside you seconds ago?

You’re still breathing heavily, cheeks still wet from the tears you didn’t even realize had fallen from your eyes. Your lashes are still coated in them, wet and heavy, when Jungkook kisses your neck from behind you, a reminder that he’s still there.

Just like he always promises. He never let’s you feel lonely.

“That's it.” He praises. “Hold onto me like that. I’ll keep your body safe while you let go.” He chuckles, and only now do you notice the iron grip you have on his forearm over your chest, nails digging into his skin. You feel a bit bad for it.

Though you just lessen your strength a bit, not letting go.

Suddenly, his other arm moves, grabs something out of sight, before he runs the object through your slick-coated cunt and thighs, covering it in your arousal before it prods at your still clenching hole.

“You think I won’t fit?” He purrs against your neck, and you swallow thickly, a strange cocktail or anticipation and worry mixing in your body. “You think I won’t claim this cunt as mine at the end of this week?” He asks again, and you can feel the wave if cool excitement wash over you- starting at your very neck, before it ends in the tips of your toes.

“I’ll teach your body to take me..” He almost chuckles, pushing the very tip of the clear pink toy inside, before he moves it back out- Pushing it in a little further each time. “I’ll make sure to get you all ready for me..” he hums sensually, by now having learned of your little kinks you have, as the hand from his arm still keeping your upper body pressed against his own finds one of your tits, groping the soft flesh before his thumb flicks the sensitive bud once to see you squirm.

“I won’t let you forget any of this.” He threatens almost, and you whine when you feel him push the toy even further now.

You feel so full. How much more is there to go?

“Jung-” you whine pitifully, eyes closed as your hips can’t stay still, all of it a stark difference to the fast paced, almost aggressive orgasm he’s given you just moments prior. “I cant-” you start, and he laughs.

“Oh you can.” He tells you, before he gives the toy another push. “And you will.” He purrs, and its then that you feel the base of the toy against your lower lips.

You swear you can feel it in your stomach- and for some odd reason, you like it.

"You're made for me." He chuckles, kisses at your neck and cheek before he bites, toy leaving your cunt with only the tip before he moves it back in, feeling of a Rollercoaster ride making your insides jump and eyes roll back. You can't think anymore, you can only feel- and right now, you feel just so used in the best kind of way.

Somehow, he makes your worst nightmares come true- but they're not nightmares anymore, just dreams, vibrant and pleasant. Exciting. New.

It could be so easy to replace the toy with himself right now- but he doesn't, because that's one of his own rules he will never break. Your trust in him is precious, it's a gift- and he won't tarnish that by simply being greedy for more than you want to offer.

"Jung.." you huff, swallowing down saliva before you can say anything at all. "Jungkook-.. please-" you beg, unsure how to phrase it.

"What is it?" He asks, moves to nuzzle your neck so softly- a stark contract to his constant push and pull with the clear pink dildo he's using to give you a taste of his own length one day doing the same. Filling you up. Probably even better? You can imagine him all warm and slicked up from your wetness, stretching you open and making you feel so full you can hardly breathe.

"More.. f- faster-" you request. "Please?" You add on, and he chuckles.

"See?" His breath fans over your neck. "You can be such a good girl." He teases, pressing the replica as deep as it can reach inside you, base pushing against your skin. "Where were your manners today?" He wonders. "Will I always have to ruin this cunt to remind you where your place is?" He asks, and you nod, shamelessly so.

"Yes!" You whimper, mind somewhere else by now entirely as you struggle to keep yourself still. "Yes- I.. I forget-" you huff out, and he laughs as he runs his lips over your shoulder, piercing a distinct contrast to his softer lips.

"Then let me remind you, darling." He hums against your jot and sweating skin. "You're mine, in this moment. And I decide what to do with you... or to you." He tells you, and you nod, legs quivering.

Only for him to move the toy back to have it slip out, hole gaping at him, closing around nothing. The sigh is everything he ever needed or wanted- cunt all red and flushed, lower lips swollen and glistening, and he has to imagine his own seed staining your skin, mixing with your own arousal staining the couch and your legs.

His cock twitches at the sight, a drop of precum escaping him without control.

But what he does have control over is the rest of himself, as he pushes the toy back inside, causing your toes to curl, especially once he moves it in a faster, steadier pace. It short-circuits your brain, everything around you smelling of sex as he uses the replica to give you a taste of what he could give you.

Your arousal foams up around the base of the pink silicone, creating a ring of white as you cream up from his pace.

The orgasm you reach from this is different, as if it happens somewhere else in your body- though his hand is quick to flick your sensitive pearl to send you off with a proper goodbye, soil leaving your body as you quiver and lose all control one last time, body giving out as he lets you lay down now, muscles twitching from the overuse.

And it only takes him one good pump on his own cock to make him spurt his release onto your back, where his lips kiss up your spine in his post-orgasmic fever.

He's drunk off of you. He's never even had full on sec with you yet- and he's already addicted.

You've got no idea what you're doing to him.

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

In the bathtub, his hand is a lot softer as it runs over your body, cleaning you and nurturing this blossoming feeling you're growing for him.

You're both back from your respective highs, world slowly bleeding back into reality as you simply exist in the warm water for now. "Was that alright?" He asks you, and you nod.

"It was.. new." You say, voice echoing in the bathroom, together with the sound of water sloshing everytime he moves. "I didn't think I'd enjoy what you did- but I did."

"How so?" He wonders, wanting to know hour thoughts now that your brain is functional again. Feedback is important now more than ever after all- he has to still figure out how to navigate this new experience with you.

"I thought.. it would feel, you know, degrading." You explain. "To be used." You clarify, and he nods, carefully moving your hair to see the side of your face better. "But it didn't. It felt more.. as if I was.. of service? Is that the right word?" You wonder, and he chuckles.

"Its how I feel in my position as well, you know." He answers. "Knowing that what I offer gives you pleasure.. is enough for me." He shrugs, and you stretch your legs, cramps finally letting up. "You looked so pretty.." he teases, and you whine.

"I was crying like a baby!" You argue, turning around a bit-

Though you're caught off guard by the terribly soft look he offers you, hand reaching out to hold your cheek.

"Thats because you are my baby." He says-

Making you cry once more.

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

[shizuturnspages]

i love these character stories, it's a great way to look at subtle differences even when someone seems similar on the whole- i'm not sure if you're taking requests or not, but what about ororon/kinich/neuvi with a dragon hybrid- maybe larger than they are? thank you so much, please take care of yourself and remember to stay hydrated and take breaks 🥺

Tysm for worrying about my wellbeing. I'm quite well, and I won't forget to drink water and take breaks <3

Bound by Fire and Fate

Synopsis: A dragon hybrid. A being of immense strength, wings spanning the skies, power far beyond mortal comprehension. And yet—they wanted you. Desired you. Obsessed over you. It didn’t matter that you could crush them with a flick of your claws. They would claim you all the same. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Kinich, Ororon, Neuvillette x Dragon Hybrid Reader

Kinich – The Sun God’s Possession

"You are fire, just like me. And fire, once kindled, must never be extinguished."

Kinich’s obsession bordered on worship.

A dragon hybrid? A divine being beyond mortal limits?

You were made for him.

Your scales, shimmering under the sun—your wings, casting a shadow over the earth—you embodied power.

And he wanted all of it.

Your strength did not intimidate him. No—he saw it as a challenge.

You were bigger, stronger, but he was relentless.

When you tried to fly away, he was already predicting your movements. When you tried to push him aside, he was already countering, pulling you in closer.

And when you roared, baring your fangs in defiance—

He only smiled.

"Go on. Fight me. Win me over. But know this—"

"You will never escape me."

Ororon – The Hunter’s Obsession

"Size means nothing. Even the strongest beast can be tamed."

Ororon didn’t fear you.

No, he was fascinated.

A creature so large, so powerful, yet you still walked among mortals.

He saw the way people cowered before you. The way they avoided your gaze, treated you like a beast, not a person.

And it made his obsession worse.

Because to him, you weren’t some untouchable entity.

You were his.

He loved the way your wings blocked out the sun, the way your claws could tear through steel—

But he also loved how tired you looked.

Because strength? Strength was a lonely burden.

"You act tough, but I see it."

"You don’t want to be feared. You want to be… understood."

"Lucky for you—"

"I don’t fear anything."

And that?

That made him dangerous.

Because Ororon wasn’t afraid to break you, just enough to keep you by his side.

Neuvillette – The One Who Weeps for You

"Dragons do not belong in cages… and yet, I cannot bear to let you fly away."

Neuvillette saw you as a kindred soul.

Another being of ancient blood. Another creature misunderstood by mortals.

He treated you with reverence, with gentleness, unlike the others.

But make no mistake—his obsession was just as consuming.

Because when you tried to leave, he did not stop you.

He only waited.

Waited for the moment you would return.

Because no matter how high you flew, no matter how far you went—

The rain would always lead you back to him.

And when that day came?

He would welcome you with open arms.

"You are free to go… but you will always have a home here. With me."

"And one day… you will realize you never wanted to leave at all."

[bloodblanks]

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter xiii.

After being separated from Mr. Scarletella, you meet a mysterious entity and find yourself in a perilous predicament.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

The vastness of the corridors stretched out on either side of you. Towering walls the colour of smoke, bland and austere, made up the entirety of your desolate surroundings. Dangling from the ceiling was a singular lightbulb, attached to a fraying cord. Below it stood a man—or rather, a cloaked figure, in his shadowy hand an axe, of which the blade curved into a cruel, sharp point.

The unassuming brown fabric that formed a hood and draped off his silhouette was tattered at its ends. In combination with his figure—an abyssal mass with no distinct features—and the enormous blade he wielded, you could only think he resembled the reaper himself.

Much like your previous encounters where you faced death, you found yourself transfixed by its gaze, your limbs turning to stone with no possibility of movement. All you could do was stare straight ahead, seemingly captivated by your own mortality, as you trembled in fear.

You could feel the palpitations of your heart reverberating through your chest, your mouth dry and palms clammy as the seconds ticked away, the entity getting closer with each everlasting moment.

It stopped just a metre away from you, standing still. At last, it spoke.

“Hello.”

It took you a minute to register what you heard, and then another to process it. A third minute to formulate a response, the single word taking you much longer than it should’ve.

“Hello,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You human?” the hooded figure asked. His voice was deep, gravelly, yet smooth.

“Me human,” you confirmed. Even without standing up, you could tell he was immensely tall, much like Mr. Scarletella and Mr. Silvair. Despite his towering height and the menacing tool he held, he didn’t appear to be hostile so far, which allowed you to relax ever so slightly.

“I see.” He paused, seeming to be observing you. “You know language.”

You nodded. “Correct.”

“You okay?” he asked. You realized then that he had seen you crying on the floor, which was a rather pathetic first impression. You could feel the heat spread through your cheeks as you scrambled to get to your feet, attempting to regain some decency.

“Correct,” you mumbled, forcing an awkward smile. The hooded man stared at you for a moment longer before continuing to walk, passing by you and continuing down the corridor.

“Ah, wait!” you hastily called out, which prompted him to turn his head around to glance at you. “Me need consume liquid. Possible search?”

You remembered clearly the last time you had asked for help to find food, which had resulted in a rather unpleasant surprise of internal organs. You wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Instead, you thought it would be wise to ask for water. Not only were you quicker to die without water, there was also less room for miscommunication and difference in... culture.

The cloaked man was silent for a minute, appearing to consider what you were saying. You hoped that he would assist you at least a bit. You noticed then that you had gotten too comfortable with Mr. Scarletella’s willingness to retrieve whatever you needed—this was ultimately a stranger, a random resident who had no reason to help you. But it wasn’t like you knew how to say please in this language.

“Follow me,” he instructed, before continuing his path down the corridor. You rushed to catch up to him—his strides were much larger than yours—on the verge of jogging, despite him taking a leisurely pace. You found yourself thinking that you missed being carried by Mr. Scarletella. Though you had walked with the crawling man briefly, he was following you, and you were able to walk at your usual pace. This was the first time you had to keep up with one of them, your empty stomach and fatigue making the task more exhaustive than it should’ve been.

After a few more corridors and some flights of stairs, the hooded man stopped in front of a room, opening it to reveal a sink, its faucet dripping with precious water. Your eyes lit up at the sight, and you rushed to turn the device on, letting the water flow into your mouth.

The water had a slightly metallic taste, highly reminiscent of coins. Under any other circumstance, that would be concerning, but the freshness of cool water was so invigorating to your senses that you didn’t care. You greedily gulped down mouthful after mouthful of water, replenishing your parched body before turning off the tap.

“Thank you,” you grinned, wiping the excess water off your face. The hooded man merely nodded in response before turning around to leave.

“Goodbye.” The hooded man opened the door.

Your lips parted to speak, but this time, you refrained. You didn’t want him to depart so soon, but you had no real reason to keep him around, and you were likely bothering him enough already. You sighed, letting your shoulders slump as you watched the door close behind him.

It wasn’t like you expected him to stay, but you couldn’t help wishing he had. Your crying session earlier didn’t seem to be enough, because pitiful laments of your misery were once again collecting in your mind.

You had absolutely no idea where to go now. There was no one to guide you, nor did you even know where you wanted to go besides the exit to this world. The residents you’ve met so far didn’t seem to know how to leave, Mr. Scarletella being the only exception.

Damn the red umbrella man. If he was here with you, none of this would be a problem. You longed for his presence now more than ever; even just knowing he was coming for you would be a relief.

You came to the realization then that he had without fail, found you every single time before, when you tried to escape. This time should be no different—he should be here any second. That conclusion was of some relief to you, temporarily stalling the tears in your eyes that were just starting to sting at the surface.

You took an unsteady inhale before letting out a trembling exhale as you tried to stabilize your breathing. You repeated the process until your breaths were even. You walked over to the door, deciding to leave and look for a more comfortable place to wait for Mr. Scarletella. You knew it’d be smarter to look for the exit, but you wanted nothing to do with these awful rooms anymore; they were too nerve-wracking to deal with.

However, when you put your hand on the doorknob and twisted it, nothing happened. Much to your horror, the knob seemed to be stuck. You could feel condensation beading up on the surface of your skin, your body feeling much too hot and too cold at the same time as you tried opening the door again.

Calm down, you tried to tell yourself, despite your heart furiously beating against your chest, your collected attempts at turning the doorknob replaced with desperate rattling and pulling.

Curses flew from your lips as you slammed your body against the door in panic, knowing it wouldn’t do anything. You didn’t know what else to do.

Calm down and think, you tried to tell yourself, using every ounce of control you had to try to stop yourself from hyperventilating. You closed your eyes, trying to channel your thoughts into something productive rather than incessant panicking.

You heard a click. The sound caused your eyes to snap open, only for you to realize the room was now pitch black.

Any composure you regained was lost as you shrieked, frantically feeling around for the doorknob. Once you had it in your hands, you pulled and tugged and shook it, praying to whatever god was out there that it would open.

When it didn’t, you sobbed hysterically, loud wails leaving your lips. Any rational thoughts had completely disintegrated, leaving only fear in its wake.

“Mr. Scarletella,” you instinctively shouted at the top of your lungs, hoping he was within the vicinity to hear your cries. “Mr. Scarletella!”

Your yelling was met with silence as you sank to the floor in defeat.

—

How?

He couldn’t understand it. He failed to understand how he was separated from you. The realm wasn’t supposed to transform so often; never before had it changed so many times in such a short timeframe. Not only was his world behaving unusually, the sudden, mysterious loss of his abilities—the ones inherent to his existence—was also perplexing.

Not understand. A lot frustrating.

It was bizarre, the way his mind had so effortlessly adapted to the human language already. Almost as if he already knew it. He did, didn’t he?

In a past forgotten; in memories that echoed a life he didn’t know existed. He was once human.

Troubled. Upset.

Strangely enough, he felt a tinge of sadness wash over him—a forlorn longing for his humanity. There was a dull ache in his chest, causing him to reach towards his thorax. Before his fingers touched his chest, he realized that it was no physical injury, but rather an unmended wound in his heart, of which he didn’t know the origins.

But that wasn’t important. What was vital was that he searched for you as quickly as possible, lest you come across any potential harm.

Need find human.

He looked around for any trace of your existence. He didn’t find any. Realizing then that he would have to search for you at random once again, he frowned. The previous times you had gotten lost, it had taken him far longer than he would have liked to locate you. He hoped this time would be different.

He reached for his umbrella, coming to the sudden, halting realization that it was not near him. He wasn’t holding it, nor was it anywhere in the general vicinity. The room he was in was completely empty; there were no boxes or furniture that his umbrella could be hidden under.

Gone.

He never thought of his blood as particularly warm before, but at that moment, the fluid that ran through his veins had never been colder; he wondered how it hadn’t frozen over. An unprecedented chill permeated his bones, his pulse seemingly coming to a still.

In the midst of the bleak and vacant room, he stood, inanimate. His hands felt terribly clammy, droplets of sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck, clinging to his undead skin.

A feeling of disorientation washed over him, overwhelming lightheadedness causing him to bring one of his hands to the wall in order to steady himself.

He wasn’t sure of the exact reason, but he was certain of one thing—this umbrella was of irrevocable significance. Dread settled in the pits of his stomach as he tried to process what had happened.

Umbrella disappear. Me lose umbrella.

He never put too much thought into why he had an umbrella. The umbrella was always with him; he had it since the very beginning. He didn’t remember a time before the umbrella existed. He most definitely didn’t want to imagine a time after.

He had been asked once about his umbrella, and he had briefly contemplated the reasoning behind this permanent object. He hadn’t come to any informative conclusions, save for that the umbrella was important, and its significance extended beyond him. He didn’t know anything beyond that.

Umbrella gone. Human gone.

Despite the lack of information or reasoning, he firmly held onto his umbrella. For an instant, he had let go of it in order to take you into his arms, but he had failed at keeping you by his side, and now the umbrella was gone, too.

Troubled.

He didn’t recall experiencing this before, but he recognized the sensation immediately as nausea stirred in his stomach, his guts and intestines twisting into knots.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he tried to fight off the overwhelming sensation of the room spinning beneath his very feet. This was no time to lament the loss of his umbrella. As important as it was, his priority was still to find you.

There was a chance that his umbrella could be with you, too. At the thought of locating his umbrella again, the room appeared to stabilize ever so slightly, allowing him to take his hand off the wall, regaining his footing.

Me search human. Need fast find.

He took a second longer to make sure his balance wasn’t compromised before stepping through the space. Much to his dismay, his abilities had not recovered, and his movements were still slow.

He would put aside his vexations for now. Finding you was of utmost priority; he could investigate the problem he was experiencing at a later time.

Me worry.

With each room he stepped through and searched, only to find that you weren’t there, his anxiety increased. His umbrella was also nowhere to be seen—he had kept an eye out for it, too. In contrast to its inanimate state from before, the organ in his chest was now pulsing at full force, pounding against his ribcage as if it had grown tiny hands and feet. The thrashing of his heart became faster and faster as he continued failing to locate you, worries beginning to trickle into his head.

Body tired. Troubled. A lot troubled.

His body—the stupid, useless thing he was stuck in—began to tire after he had searched a significant number of rooms. Never before had he experienced such fatigue, his muscles seeming to protest his every action. He did his best to ignore the feeling and press on, but the worries in his head started to consume his mind, gnawing and tugging at his brain with their vicious teeth.

Possible danger human?

He couldn’t help but begin to fret that something had happened to you, the very thought alone causing a visceral feeling of dread. But the longer he went without a trace of you, the more he started to consider the possibility of it occurring. His heart was slamming against the confines of his chest in a harrowing, haphazard rhythm, his stomach tossing itself around to the same beat.

He came to a still, cold, quivering hands pressing against the equally stony wall.

Human gone? It couldn’t be true, right?

As his mind wobbled down in a spiral, he heard a muffled sound, which instantly drew his attention. His eyes snapped wide open, his head frantically whipping around in search of the sound, but not seeing where it could’ve come from.

A moment later, he heard the terrified cry of a voice he instantly knew belonged to you.

“Mr. Scarletella!” 

next chapter ->

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.

thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[tobi-smp]

you know, with hindsight now what it is I really do think a more literal reading of c!techno's chat would have helped his characterization a Lot

and mind you, this was originally intended to be the case, and very well may have been intended all along even if it wasn't usually emphasized within the lore

and don't get me wrong, I Get why it fell out of favor within the fandom. it coincides with a Very storied ableist trope that demonizes DID and disorders adjacent to it, and Can be spoken about in a way that is essentially indistinguishable from it depending on the word choice.

but the thing is ! not only does it not Have to be an allegory for DID, I straight up don't think it is At All.

because we Know what it's an allegory for. It's His Chat. there's technoblade playing the game, and there's the thousands of people watching with expectations and wants that he's compelled to meet (or, at the very least, pacify through Entertainment).

and this makes much Much more sense when conceived of as Supernatural. be that spirits, gods, demons, or anything that could fill that role. separate entities that, for whatever reason, only techno can sense the presence of and be affected by.

and of course, to an extent this is true for all creators. everyone had an audience that they were meant to entertain and the choices they made were influenced by that fact.

but technoblade came in with a Very distinct set of expectations that heavily impacted the choices he was Expected to make and the kinds of stories that he could tell. he was more or less a living legend in real life just as much as he was in roleplay, and these things were inherently connected.

and it's like !

when c!technoblade says he was peer pressured into killing tubbo at the red festival he Is technically talking about what happened within the roleplay. schlatt was demanding it from him, there's a sort of pressure there. but schlatt was also the dictator they were set to kill, and techno has never had any trouble fighting people he considered a dictator before, and certainly not Schlatt of all people.

but he WAS being peer pressured By His Audience. by thousands of people, most of which were demanding blood Because It Was The Expectation, because it'd be Fun.

out of universe technoblade made the decision he thought would be the most Entertaining, and he was right! consistently he made choices that would let him do the most bombastic Spectacles possible. And It's Great. he's Excellent at pulling dramatics and making a compelling scene that give other people room to work off of. in that sense I'd consider techno an Excellent actor, and I have to imagine that he was fun to work with.

the problem is when you then have to justify it from an in character perspective, grounded in those mushy things like Feelings with characters that can be traumatized and sustain lasting damage, Especially Without acknowledging the out of character incentive.

mind you, it's not Impossible to Create a backstory that could justify it. why a character as consistently powerful and feared as technoblade would feel pressured to kill an ally by someone he not only Can kill but Wanted To Kill. why a character as seemingly secure and in control as technoblade would lash out the way that he does to perceived betrayal, and yet consistently puts no weight onto having killed and permanently scarred an ally that trusted him.

what that'd need is tragedy. a storied history of being hurt and having to survive. building up To an untouchable god from a much much more vulnerable position. Long Lasting trauma that's lead to this deep insecurity and paranoia. and that's Possible and that's Compelling.

but it's just not in the text.

not only did we never learn basically Anything that c!technoblade was up to pre-series, we actually know Less by the end than when we started because of the sbi retconning.

it's a Theoretically Possible interpretation that's technically never Contradicted by canon, but would have to be created by scratch. it's a compelling idea for a fan fic (and one I'd like to read) and it's compelling for a theoretical recontextualization of the character, but it's just not In The Text.

meanwhile, we have the video above.

we have the Objective Fact that technoblade's decision making was often subject to the rule of cool (very Very effectively) to entertain his audience.

and most compellingly, these concepts Don't Need To Be Separate. in fact, in my opinion they're Stronger when you put them together.

because the thing is. it's Difficult to imagine techno as ever being in a vulnerable position. he is just Objectively more powerful than everyone else on the server, both in real life And within the lore. How could he have ever been afraid when he was stronger than anyone and everyone combined? when we saw with our own eyes that techno could face nearly the whole server at once and win.

but he Is a tragic character, at least he's meant to be. and that tragedy makes much Much more sense as something Inward.

technoblade as a character who Needs connection, who Needs stability, who Needs security, who Needs friendship and community and Love. but Lashes Out, Obliterates to the core of the earth, because of something that's not only out of his control but that other people Cannot Understand.

how do you explain to a child that you killed their best friend because a chorus of the undead called for his blood and you (in all the glory that he'd idolized) were unable to do anything but comply? how do you explain to that child that you beat him senseless in a pit as the restless dead jeered and laughed?

That's interesting. That's Compelling.

technoblade is idolized like a god, feared like a force of nature, and in an instant cut himself off from nearly everyone who'd considered him an ally. and that seems to be a pattern, over and over and over again. he's left isolated, and in return he faces retaliation, and in return he's always Waiting for retaliation.

and what do you say to someone who wants to kill you for being a monster? that it's Fine Actually because you only did what you did because you have a curse that compels you to? that the supernatural guided you to destroy their homes and kill their people? (rip jack manifold you will be missed)?

That Doesn't Quite Help Your Case.

technoblade as someone who is beholden to this literal cycle of violence and Loses those things that could ground him, community, stability, People, as a result. who Tries to overcome this very fact (to become a better person, in his own words as per the clip above), but is pulled back into it as a consequence of his own actions.

that's a tragedy !! that Makes Sense. that allows him to be Both this force of nature that other characters have to survive And A Person Who Is Hurt By The Same Conflict.

"I'm a person!" that fear of dehumanization makes So So Much More Sense when you see technoblade as someone who Already fears himself. who fears being a monster, who fears losing control, who has faced isolation again and again and again.

and, importantly, it doesn't have to be anyone else's Fault.

by making the source both Internal and Completely External (something that none of the other characters have any awareness or control over), you can Have techno as a tragic character without demonizing anyone else Or erasing the impact that c!techno had on them.

and in that sense, it Can be an allegory for mental illness, but not in that direct "oooooh how scary he hears voices" kind of way that people fear it looks. but in that sometimes people Will do things that can hurt others while not feeling in control. anger and mania and paranoia, things that you can't always Control and yet that impact that you have on other people still Matters.

and the answer to that is, often, vulnerability and accountability.

I think a lot about technoblade isolating himself so near entirely from the rest of the server, and slowly gathering a support system Back by the end. and I Really Do think that framing of it through this lens is a Very impactful way of breaking it down.

tubbo, tommy, wilbur, ranboo, niki, I think they'd All understand not feeling in control. lashing out, maybe even feeling justified in the moment, but hurting people they care about and furthering their own isolation.

There's Something There, and it's already In The Text. it just needs to be expanded on.

and why not do that ourselves now?

[ivycoveredstars]

Something clicked for me

“You don’t fear failure. You fear your own power”

I came across this video on TikTok

It started off okay, I usually stick around for his content as he’s a great storyteller and speaks on good things. But his messages are usually pushed to the back of my mind after I scroll.

This one though- It made something click for me

I have manifested many things, and my self concept is growing stronger everyday. But there has always been something that felt off. I tend to fall back into this pattern of wavering thoughts and doubts, even though I know everything I need to and have had great success with manifestation.

But it never felt right.

I tried reworking my thoughts around failure, and assure myself that the only way things fail is if I let them. But sometimes I would get so close to knowing something is mine 100%, and then I spiral, waver and lose my grip on my desire.

Now I realize I’m scared of my power.

“You don’t fear failure, you fear your power”

We don’t fear failure. If you don’t have an inherent understanding that you are the true creator of your life, failure is common. We always find our way through. It’s not new, so it doesn’t make sense that we fear it.

Power on the other hand, it can be new to many of us. People in power are able to do basically anything within the means of their power, which usually vast. They can control entire buildings of people. They can create laws that have to be followed, destroy entire populations, control who gets to live and who doesn’t. And that is scary. But power can also be beautiful.

We put power on a pedestal, specifically the power of creation. Religions worship great beings of power, who have created the entire universe and beyond, capable of erasing any and everything with a simple thought. Humans do the same thing with other humans. When we view these beings as magnificent entities separate from us, of course the idea of being like them beyond imaginable.

But power is easy, letting yourself feel worthy of it is the hard part. We have to stop viewing creation, power and success as this grand thing that only the ultra intelligent, talented and rich can accomplish. We create every day. We have power over so many things in our lives. We succeed with each thing we get done. We just have to now adjust the scale and view all things as smaller than us.

A finished painting usually gets all the limelight, but the painter is the one who made it. The painting isn’t really the art work, the painter’s mind, imagination and creativity is the true art piece. The painting is just a bunch of strokes coming together to bring what exists in the artist’s mind to reality. That’s exactly what our desires are as well.

You’re just becoming the painter. You’re seeing yourself as the spearhead of what you experience. It’s not this spectacular thing, everyone has the power to create.

I think of it as similar to the creation of false idols in religion. Those things may be made of gold, silver, diamond. Fancy clothes and bags may be highly coveted after. But none of it would exist without creation. Without the ultimate creator. And that’s how we have to view ourselves. None of our desires would exist without us. They wouldn’t be thought of. We have to treat them as such and put ourselves on the pedestal.

[autismprotocol]

TMAG Theory Board Update (EP 11-12)

Hi guys sorry about the late posting I've just started a new quarter of college and its been pretty hectic. also got into my school design BFA program so pretty stoked about that! Anyways lets get into the Episode Breakdowns because even though not a lot of lore related things happened I still have a lot to talk about

For the breakdown I'll separate each by episode in sequential order

What Happened in Episode 11: Marked

Celias Rude Awakening- we jump right into the weirdness straight away with Celia waking up on the side of the interstate. she indicates that this is not a weird occurrence and ends the scene by telling someone named Jack that she's "on her way." If you remember episode 8 after Celia and Sam talk to Gerry and Gertrude, she mentions stuff about wanting help with her own mystery. When Sam asks about it she says she's looking into Time travel, other dimentions and teleportation. Many people have theorized that maybe Celia is just a super heavy sleepwalker, but I think the she teleports random places out of nowhere. This could be a side effect of her reality hopping if this Celia is originally from The archives universe.

As for the identity of Jack I'm not quite sure about that yet. I cross referenced the name Jack with past episodes of TMA. The only thing that came up was Jack Barnabas from the statement about dating Agnes Montague (aka an avatar of the desolation and Jesus-like figure for the cult of the lightless flame) So Unless Celia is secretly Agnes of Agnes reincarnated , I can't find any way to link Barnabas to Celia. (if anyone has a theory feel free to send it my way.)

Sam Lore- this one is pretty minor story-wise but I thought it was interesting. Before the statement for the episode is presented we get some classic Sam and Alice Banter ™ most of it is pretty lighthearted but I noticed Sam mention something that could indicate he might be an amputee.

These could not mean anything and I find it weird that it hasn't been mentioned until now but thought it was kind of cool and I will probably be drawing sam with a prothetic leg in the future cause I really like this head-canon. It also begs to question if he is missing a leg. it might have anything to do with his past as a Magnus institute test subject but then again could just be a fun character detail added by Jonny and/or Alex .

The Statement- Getting into the statement we get another Ink5oul appearance. Also possible Ink5oul identifying as she/they. (and lets be honest being a fear avatar is pretty non binary core). I found this Episode gave me a feeling of a hybrid between the Vast, Buried and the Flesh some people are theorizing that is might be a new entity called the Deep but I think that the fear of the ocean could easily apply to the vast or buried. Not much to say about this story though pretty standard Magnus horror that also gave us a hint to what Ink5oul's goal could be/which entity they serve.

Post Bonzo- Gwen has a debrief with Lena after her first Externals Liason assignment and her meeting with Mr. Bonzo. Undoubtedly Gwen is still pretty shaken from her encounter, even arriving late to work due to sleeplessness. Gwen is able to ask Lena a few questions mainly she wanted to know who's name was written on the letter given to Bonzo

Lena is largely unhelpful but tells Gwen she should have worked it out by now and if not to pay close attention to the case load for the next couple of days. before the latest episode my guess was Klaus because that is the only person mentioned so far that the OIAR intends to kill. but more on that later

Marked- Now were getting to my favorite thing about this episode. This episode title can have two meanings. The first is the more literal interpretation. Tattoos are marking of the body and the case this episode was all about tattoos so easily a good name would be marked. But I believe this is a red herring meant to misguide listeners who have not consumed all 200 episodes of TMA because if you know the world of Magnus Archives the term Marked takes on a entirely different meaning.

In TMA the term marked is used to indicate that somebody has been influenced by one or more or the fears and are one their way to becoming an Avatar. I think this could be a coded way to tell the audience someone in the OIAR has been marked. I have two potential candidates

Alice Dyer- Alice has been having dreams about the Institute after her and Sam's adventure into the ruins. also she mentions feeling like someone's watching her (common to people influenced or fed upon by the Ceaseless Watcher/The Eye) My guess if she is marked it would be by the Eye.

Gwendolyn Bouchard: Probably the most likely culprit. The main way an entitly tends to mark people is through encounters with other avatars. Gwen has just had an encounter with Mr Bonzo last episode who I strongly believe must be an avatar of some sort.

What Happened in Episode 12: Getting Off

Aww Sam!!- Sam asked Celia out and it was adorably awkward. not much to say I just loved this interaction and I'm longing for a new Magnus brand office romance hopefully is wont be an agonizing slowburn that ends tragically like a certain pair of morons from Archives (I love you Jon and Martin but Jesus christ)

It's Bonzo time bitches!!- Probably one of the most gruesome Magnus statement I've ever listened to (good work Alex) Mr Bonzo completely annihilated some poor dude at his bachelor party. Based on the date of the Incident the I can confidently say that whoever Baz (the groom) was he was our mystery person the OIAR sent Mr Bonzo to get rid of. Along with some of the bloodiest imagery we learned a few things about Bonzo. The most interesting detail is that Bonzo has to be summoned by playing his theme song I think the CD of his theme song acts somewhat like the tapes did in TMA by materialising out of nowhere. Also fun fact you know that torn seam that is right down Bonzo's middle? that is actually is his mouth lined with rows sharp teeth so I guess I know that now (so fun) Moral of the story dont f*ck with Mr. Bonzo

Alice knows something: Theres been this recurring audio glitch throughout TMAGP thatnks to a few extremly observent fans we have started to relize that these glitches are not at all random and are actually letting the audience know when a character is lying (i actually reposted somones deepdive into all the istances of this glitch so far if you guys are intrested in knowing more) why i bring this up now is becuase since we know when any charater is lying we also know when they are being truthful if there is no glitch when they say somthing and at the end of this episode this interaction occurs

Alice goes ahead and makes a joke about this to annoy Gwen but the fact theres no audio glitch when she says "I know" means she does actually know who is behind the OIAR and is activly refusing to share it with Gwen or the others. What do you know Alice!?

and that's about it im already loving these next batch of episodes and am so excited to learn more (ERROR has to show up somtime )

thanks to everyone who resonded the poll on the last update I will continue to include drawings into the breakdown even if it takes me a little bit of time to post. anyways I wrote this all in one sitting and I'm about ready to pass out so thanks again and the ask box and comments are always open for discussion and theory crafting.

-Echo

[yuellii]

allowed heaven, fill the empty me

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ;; a world of secrecy and stuttered glances in which you cannot proclaim the man that is rightfully yours ( but for some, he would rather die just to claim you as his )

feat. priest! zhongli, psychiatrist! baizhu, prison warden! wriothesley, master! ayato ( separately )

notes. completely SFW, zhongli’s is a bit suggestive; baizhu’s is written kinda darker, arranged marriage and non-sexual infidelity ( ayato ), religious themes ( zhongli ), manipulated dependency + family issues ( baizhu )

ZHONGLI.

He lights a dim candle in the darkness. Perhaps it was too much of an allowance from the ever-so knowledgeable priest.

But it allows him to see you, nevertheless; you, with your wrists bloodily bound in front of your body, rows of rosaries with crosses in between each bead. They’re tight, they burn your skin with a cast of holiness he himself bestowed, for any trace of the Gods would rightfully etch into the body of a demon like you.

And yet, you still flash him the sickest of grins, little fang in your mouth and eyes of the devil looking at him with such excitement he wishes was not there. “You came down here?” you almost laughed, wrists writhing against their restraints as you angled your head to tilt up from the cold, stone dungeon floor. “All the way down here, just to see me?”

It truly was such a long way down where he kept you for now, locked far below at the deepest dwellings under the cathedral. No one must know the head priest was keeping a demon on a leash under such golden grounds.

“I could have you crucified,” he threatens with a glare, though even he himself knows it is one not upheld.

You smiled, “But you won’t.”

He hated that grin of yours. It pulled at the black and gold robes that adorned his body in a way that was sinful—an entity in which his restrictions as a priest could not reach. There was a fire much more ferocious than this dim candle carried carelessly in his hands. Such a spark was gifted from yourself to his growing desire just to set you free.

“Come a little closer,” you called out, quieter than before, “won’t you, Father Priest?”

There was not any fear to be held against you, not with the gold cross hanging from his neck or the pure water he carried around protecting his aura. But there was a fear for himself. For if he found himself closer, still, he doesn’t know if he’d control himself to keep you bounded. This was the way of demons, so tempting—even to a respected man well under faith like himself.

Perhaps he didn’t know quite yet you already owned his soul the moment he spared you.

He found himself kneeling before you, suddenly not caring for the dirty stone coming in contact with the purity of his clothes. You, in contrast, we’re all beaten, bruised, and bloodied from being locked down here, bound by the ropes of the Gods that the priest himself tied on you. And somehow, the sight of you like this only made him crave for you even more.

“Closer.” His stomach dropped at the tantalizing smirk on your face.

And when the feeling of your breath hit his face only inches away, his heart raced, and that was when he knew it was too late. Your lips captured his like a kiss from Judas, the taste of iron immediately filling his senses. And yet, he found it delightful. So grotesque and so sinful, and yet he was relishing in the taste of your lips like it was the last supper of his faith. If the Gods could see him now, on his knees and mouth locked with the devil, he was not sure if he’d be begging for forgiveness.

And when you finally let go, pulling back your head to look at him, you could already tell from the shift in his eyes alone that he was now a man of sin.

BAIZHU.

“I got you something.”

A packaged wrap of paint was placed into your hands as your psychiatrist sat down on the couch in front of you. He crossed his legs with a small smile on his face, though his eyes were clouded with certain expectations. Scrutinizing gaze, it was akin to a vulture.

Your eyes considerably lighten up in naivety. “Thank you, Doctor! My parents wouldn’t let me buy this set…”

“I figured,” he laughed off. And he did so with that same smile on his face, eyes even closing to show a false crinkle at the corner of his lids—a fabricated happiness that gave you the impression of a boundary between patient and doctor. “I thought that maybe I could at least provide you something they cannot give. Or, they refuse to give.”

Key word differences, but he was far in too deep to have them matter too much. Then you beamed quite genuinely, “I can always rely on you.”

Good, he liked hearing that. Devotion was built on loyalty, and loyalty was built from a constant source of trust. That’s why he bought you those paint brushes last session, and that sketchbook the previous section. It’s why he keeps denouncing your parents to shift your reliance.

“So,” he started up. A facade he kept on to pose as your doctor, oh, how was he so lucky? “Anything new since we last spoke together?” ‘Together’; as long as he kept pushing the word—as long as he kept pushing the mere idea of it—surely it will stick in your head.

Your smile suddenly fell, and he took careful notice of how your hands suddenly grip at the paints like you value them.

He stops himself from grinning.

“Not a surprise,” you start, “but my father took away the sketchbook you gave me.” Oh, you poor thing. He immediately pushed out his bottom lip to resemble a pout. Surely, you’d see how much this saddens him. And so surely, you’d value the gifts he gives you even more. “I may have overreacted, and then an argument with both my parents started…”

“Oh no, not at all,” he dismissed. “They just don’t understand how much art means to you.”

Your face held desperation as he said that—confirming whatever thoughts you had in hopes that at least someone would understand you, if not your family. But he understands you, and he wants to make sure you know that. “Yeah, exactly!”

The doctor stood up. He made his way around the coffee table that was in between the both of you, stopping just to take a seat right next to you. You visibly tensed; he’s never been so close before. “Is this alright?” he asked as innocently as he could, placing a steady hand down on your shoulder.

You stuttered, eyes shifting away. “Yeah…”

And then he leaned in, using the length of his body against yours to pull closer until you were on his shoulder for some sort of half-embrace. “You need to learn that not everyone will understand you, especially when your parents are like that.” He spoke such mutters into your ear—a close proximity he was almost dying to have. “But, eventually someone will.” And that someone is me, and only me.

“I know you understand me, doctor,” you mumbled.

He could not see your face, but oh, he was glad you could not see his. Because your words, so unsure of yourself yet so naive, were like music to his ears.

WRIOTHESLEY.

“Careful, careful with ‘em, now,” the scruffy voice of the man behind you said, yanking at the cuffs bounding your wrists together. “This one’s the warden’s favorite.”

This was happening a little too often, happenings in which you were cuffed and brutally thrown down onto a cold chair in the prison administrator’s office. Being a criminal locked down here in the deepest depths of the Nation of Justice was no small feat, especially when it was kilometers under the ocean.

But how romantic is that? You, and him… oceans underneath.

“Aww,” you smiled, in sore pain from the way the previous guards threw you down. But the black haired warden in front of you sat with perfectly calm posture, the scars on his face only crinkling in his movements to sip at his tea. “I missed you too, Your Grace, but don’t you think you’re a little obsessed with seeing me?”

He did not have to look up to see the smirk on your face—it was practically audible via your words alone.

“A warden must check on his convicts,” the Duke merely replied. “Especially the most rowdy of them.” His tone when he said ‘rowdy’; that was the most interest you’d ever get from his voice. And yet, even as his eyes scanned his morning Fontainian newspaper in absolute boredom, you could tell. It was obvious with how much he called you in here, all the effort just to see you.

You scoffed. “You and I both know that’s far from true.” This finally earned you a glance from him—a glare, sure, but a glance nevertheless. It was like you succeeded, almost. “But anyways,” you dismissed. His gaze moved down to the table, right where you tossed a full pouch of Mora on top.

He gave it a toothy grin. “Heh, bail money or lawyer funds this time?”

“Both,” you shrugged.

Your eyes followed as he stood up from his chair, making his way around to the back of your seat. You wish you could move, you really did. But the very handcuffs that were restricting your wrists just now got pulled by the calloused fingers of his hand. “Where’d you even get money like this?” he questioned you so suddenly. He was bent down almost to the level of your chair, head right close to yours. And when you made the mistake of turning your face towards him, you could feel the cold air of his breath hit your cheek. “I’m sure the other convicts here wouldn’t just cough it up.”

“Well aren’t you touchy today…” you scowled. “And here I thought you liked me enough to just take the coins.” His grip was unwavering, and you felt your arms being pulled at your shoulders. Such a calm man, he was, but his strength could change that in seconds. “Then why have you been calling me in everyday? Where’s my Mora going?”

“I’ll buy you something pretty, don’t you worry.” There was a small chuckle in his voice. You didn’t particularly like the sound when it came from right behind you.

“A lawyer is pretty.”

“You’re not getting a lawyer.”

If you were able to turn around and glare at him, you would. “Why, you just wanna keep me here forever until I die?”

There was an oncoming silence that made your stomach drop. Surely. Surely not. Surely he was not infatuated enough to want to keep you imprisoned just because he wanted to see you every day. But when he spoke no words, and when you felt a coldness that creeped up your spine, his intentions as he stared down at your collar like a preying wolf were more than obvious.

“Oh. Oh, you’re sick.”

“Can’t help it.”

You were quick to thrash your hands against the handcuffs until he let go of you, but that wasn’t the case. And by then, all you could feel was the looming presence of the weight of his body pressed to the chair behind you. Because if you were let go from his place, he wouldn’t get to see you every day like he does now. And if you leave, well, there’d be this ocean separating the two of you apart.

And if you were freed, then… He wouldn’t get the authority over you like this anymore—archons, the twisted fantasy in his eyes as he watched you struggle in front of him—right?

KAMISATO AYATO.

Scarlet roses adorn scarlet letters in this garden of Eden.

What surfaced as a lovely night was truly a raging tempest, though he could not have it any other way. He kisses you with the lips of a married man, though he was already wed to a woman of status and riches. And you, all the meanwhile, felt like a homewrecker.

Of course, their marriage was arranged. Your lover was not a cheater. But if that was true, then why did you feel so dirty?

“The wedding was awful,” he groaned against your neck, arms snaking tight around your waist as he leaned into you for comfort. You could only hate yourself for feeling loved among his embrace; your fingers weaved through his hair, garden hedges shaded you from scrutinizing moonlight. Perhaps if the divine Gods of the moon could see you in the light, they’d be frowning. “All I could imagine was you walking down the aisle just to force a smile on my face.”

You could only mutter, “And how was the lovely bride?”

“I didn’t bother to pay attention, I’m afraid,” he sighed. You wondered why you cared so much about a woman you didn’t even know. Surely, she didn’t wish for an arranged marriage too, right? “I just wanted to get out of there.”

You stayed silent.

Perhaps he noticed it, the way you were tense. You were not like this before the wedding actually happened. And you were all for it—these stolen glances and longing gazes. A forced, loveless marriage with a woman he only met on the day of the wedding is a means to keep your relationship, sure; but the band on his finger spun you back to reality.

And that was when you leaned back, forcing his head to tilt up towards you. Your gaze, it looked so solemn. “What’s wrong, my love?” The shakiness in his voice… Perhaps he feared the same thing.

“I…” There was a lump in your throat. But when his left hand reached up to cup the side of your cheek—the stinging cold of his metal ring practically burned at your skin. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He sat up straight immediately, eyes widening and hands locking around your body in a sudden panic that cut his breath short. And for the first time, he stutters in his speech. “What…?” There’s a breathlessness in his voice, one that forces you to bite your tongue. “Please, no, don’t say things like that—What are you saying?”

“This relationship,” you continued through gritted teeth, much to his horror. “Don’t you think this has gone too far? You’re married now!”

“If the clan let me marry you, I promise I would’ve—” His words were beginning to slur together; it was clear he was at a complete loss of composure and clarity. His eyes held a desperation you never wanted to see. “I promise, I tried!”

This was only a losing game. “But you couldn’t,” you solidified. Did your voice always sound this close to tears?

“Then I’ll try again!” he countered. His hands moved up to grasp your face, both of them holding your cheeks as if he waited any longer, you would disappear from his sight. Archons. You hated seeing him cry. “Tomorrow, I promise you. I’ll meet with the other clans and commissioners for however long it takes just to call on a divorce so we can—”

“But your reputation,” you argued. To that, he immediately opened his mouth again, but you cut him off. “Think of what the citizens of Inazuma would speak of you? Words denouncing respect and calling you a disgrace… I don’t want your name to go to shambles if it just means being with me.”

He wanted to say he didn’t care about his family name, he really did. But you both already know: He would not have married that woman and her status if it were true at all.

It’s you, or his family.

You both stay silent. The moonlight stretches overhead, shining down on the finale of sad, saccharine sin.

PLZ SUPPORT THIS POST I ACTUALLY RLY LIKED IT !! 🥹

[secriden]

so i wonder if anyone else has thoughts about mame's choices regarding sky vs tongrak's stories and how she tackled the complexity of loving and being loved.

when i first heard about love sea, i saw a lot of people say that fortpeat were just re-cast as sky and prapai but with tongrak being older and richer than mahasamut. personally, i think that's a pretty reductionist view because mame explored the idea of being afraid to love and be loved from very different angles and perspective in these two stories.

i will give that there are some similarities on the surface - peat's character does that whole 'pretends to hate it but secretly loves it' thing; the cat-like 'push and pull' thing and fort's character is still a overly excited, loveable golden retriever of a human being with a strong sense of self; also both sky and tongrak have had experiences which make them both fearful of 'love'.

but i think while sky's main fear is being loved, tongrak's is very much a fear of loving.

like, sky's story is very... raw. it's an exposed nerve, tender and painful and present. sky's fear is so immediately tied to his trauma which he's still in the throes of. the betrayal he faced was from the one who claimed to love him and it's telling that sky's first flashback is not triggered by his feelings FOR prapai but by prapai expressing his 'love' for him. this trauma is intimate and physical and close, but that means that the start of his healing journey can begin because of an external force (prapai) giving him that safety but also physically removing the threat. when sky begins to feel safe again, he is able to begin healing.

in contrast: tongrak's trauma is relatively... hmmm, separated (? not the best word but...) on a physical level. it doesn't make it less or even less painful (or more, or more painful), but his fear of love largely stems from how he sees the people immediately around him being hurt by love. he's internalised the idea that love doesn't last. mahasamut starts confessing his feelings pretty early on; like episode 4 mahasamut straight up goes, 'well you can't stop me from loving you' and tongrak's disapproving but he's not triggered. what's the difference between this and episode 10, i think, is that tongrak's actively fighting his own awareness of his feelings for mahasamut. it's why his fight or flight response is triggered by vie calling him out about his feelings in episode 8 and also why he tries to force parameters back into their relationship (my take: i don't care if you love me but i won't love you) in episode 10. but it's also why his healing doesn't actually come from an external force - yes, vie kind of knocks him out of his depressed stupor by hiding the bracelet, but note that tongrak's has that breakdown realisation ('please come back, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, can't you please come back to me? i'm afraid you'll end up hating me (emphasis added) if you love me') before he has that chat with vie. he's already realised that the root of his fear of mahasamut's love isn't the love itself, but the fear that if he admits his own love for mahasamut, it will eventually get betrayed. it's also why even after he resolves that he wants to try at a relationship with mahasamut, he still can't say it. at this point, his father's a non-entity in terms of the fear of him going after his loved ones - he's already been proven a weakling and a coward and also they're physically on the island so removed from jak that it shouldn't be an immediate fear anymore. no; this struggle is completely internal and it's why we linger on his heartbreaking attempts to confess (also, love sea had some pacing issues but i'm so so grateful they took time to show this part; bless fort for insisting on it!). tongrak's afraid to love but he pushes and pushes himself, and finally breaks through and its entirely on his own terms because of his own strength.

i'm not saying sky's weaker for (in a sense) needing someone else to rescue him before he could heal, but i think it just speaks to mame really telling quite a different story of healing with tongrak.

like... have you ever thought you'd healed from something and then it comes back in an unexpected way but then your response to the trigger is also different? the pain is there but it's... at once deeper but also more distant? a deep pulse rather than a high pitched shriek? and the way you go about beginning this new phase of healing is also different? i think that's whats happening here.

it's fascinating how us humans can fear vulnerability in so many ways, so many forms, on so many levels but i think the lesson mame's stories tell is that sometimes it really is worth it to become vulnerable. not with everyone, and not all the time (goodness, that would be foolish). but also, keep holding onto hope. keep looking for that right person, keep being kind to yourself and others. know that it's ok if your healing feels different, if you didn't catch it some point in the past, its not too late.

you'll be ok.

[foursaints]

ok the topic of barty crouch jr and the bone motif came up, but his specific phrasing here is what really sticks in my brain & is the basis of my stance on barty’s story as an allegory for bodily autonomy. yes there is something obviously satisfying in a character who spent 12 years under imperius, his body used a puppet, choosing to murder his abuser through transfiguration rather than a more conventional method like the killing curse. this is the only instance of death-by-transfiguration in the series. but i think the way he phrases this (became a bone, not ‘turned into’) belies a deeper understanding of barty’s relationship to having a body in general.

barty crouch being denied bodily autonomy goes far deeper than the imperius curse. i see it as sort of a haunting refrain that characterizes his entire life actually. he goes from servitude, to imprisonment, to switching bodies with his mother, to the imperius curse (kept under an invisibility cloak— he can’t even see himself), to the polyjuice potion, to that ironic “death” by the dementor’s kiss; his body goes on without his soul. it’s worth noting that the only time barty appears on-page as himself his body is controlled (yet again!) and forced to speak under veristaserum. do you think there was a strange comfort in that, for him? i just mean that he’s never known anything else.

i want to look at this through a hypochondriacal lens, where the experience of having a body (or being embodied) is a contestatory relationship wherein the mind strives for order/structure/immutability but the body is inescapable— it brings disorder, change, and a continual loss of control. the body is both fundamentally unknowable and hurtling towards death and illness: the hypochondriac seeks to rationalize & control this, but it’s ultimately an exercise in futility. i see these anxieties really present in barty crouch jr’s character: someone whose body has been puppeted or transformed into a different shape more than it has actually been his own.

i’m not saying that barty IS a hypochondriac (he’s not), but that his character arc functions inside the same epistemological framework: one where the unruly body is a prison because of how it’s subject to/harbinger of continual change. but this relies on a really clear division of the body and mind as separate entities. or even, like, a division between the body and this more ephemeral idea of “the self”— a soul that resides in the body but is somehow separate from it (and we know the soul is canon in the world of harry potter). barty crouch collapses this dichtonomy in a really interesting way with his statement: his father became a bone. as in, he is no longer himself and he is just that bone now. barty is introducing the idea that the soul doesn’t really matter or even exist, and that once your body takes the shape of something you fundamentally are that thing, for better or worse.

and i don’t know! this strikes me, especially coming from a man who has lived twelve years as an empty vessel— why would he believe in a soul if his has been erased and overwritten so many times? his own sense of self is too stifled and warped and stunted. this is the same character who was able to embody moody so fully and convincingly that it was impossible for even dumbledore to tell the difference. i think this was possible because of barty’s weird relationship to embodiment, where his actual “self” is hazy and loosely defined— perhaps the result of so many years having it denied, stifled, or unable to develop— but he becomes whatever shape his body is taking. (it’s interesting to note, too, that barty didn’t say that he transfigured his father. rather, he “transfigured [his father’s] body”, and this was enough for his identity to dissipate and him to become something else). to barty, the “self” is not an independent entity that is subject to the body’s change and disorder— his “self” is the very body itself, and all the fear, and change, and loss of control that comes with it.

this is why the ending with the dementor’s kiss gets me so bad. if the body is all he really is, then this fate is the perfect closure. barty is finally reduced to all he has ever been: erased. an empty vessel. just the image of himself, with nothing inside it. what’s really changed?

[thesparklingwriter]

taking fate into one's own hands

08—improvement

Word count: 2.5k

navi | taglist | masterlist

“Could you teach me?” you ask quietly, and Morax lets out a surprised hum. He seems to have a chivalrous nature you hadn’t earlier noticed—he walks you to your room. You returned form the harbour with nothing to show for the depletion in his own personal fund—apparently items made for the king are delivered directly to him.

“Certainly.” he says quickly. “Though I am not sure why you would ask for me.”

You sigh quietly. You had spent some time thinking, and your parents had never made a second attempt to contact you. It seemed like the situation was dire, and since going back is an option they will never suggest or accept, you want to be able to act alone and get the information you need about what’s going on. It may take years to become conversational, but a start is a start. And even further than that, any further separation from him now might lead to a regression in the peaceful truce you seem to have created.

“You should send a response to your parents. I will see to it that it is delivered and replied to immediately.”

You glance up at Morax, wondering how he knew what you were thinking. But he won’t meet your eyes, sensing your question. “The expression on your face is one I know I've made a hundred times. Do not act in a way that will breed regret. It is an ugly thing.”

“I will think about it.”

“Good. we can start your language lessons tomorrow, if you wish.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, as you reach your room. “Shuì gè hǎo jiào.” you look at him in confusion, and the small smile on his face quirks a little. “An advance on your first lesson. It means ‘sleep well.”

You smile as you open the door to your room. “Shui ge hao jue.” you say back. Your tones are wrong, but Morax notes that even a stranger on the streets would have been able to understand what you're saying. He smiles at your closed door, and turns to retire to his room for the night.

~~~

“No abyssal movement?” Morax asks Xiao. Through Xiao’s reconnaissance and the little he noticed while in your kingdom, he has concluded that the crop death and freak weather conditions that lead to the decline of your kingdoms prosperity is abyss related. But he just can’t figure out why.

Xiao shakes his head. “Not from their entities. I am unable to locate the source of the issue.”

“The spread of the population is further out from the palace?”

“Yes, the crops on the outskirts seem to do better there, but the weather conditions aren’t exactly ideal. If the people can avoid famine, they will struggle with maintaining a safe place to live.” Xiao reports. His words confirm his suspicions entirely. You weren’t sent away because your kingdom wanted just the trade support from Liyue, but because the threat was from inside the palace. You were sent away for your own protection. But that begs the question: if your parents know the issue, why aren’t they doing anything about it?

“Work on getting closer to the palace. The quicker we understand what is happening, the sooner I can explain it to her.” Morax says, letting out a resolute sigh. “In the meantime, if you could aid in informing the traders that any excess produce can be sold to us for 3 times the standard price, that would be appreciated. I fear her kingdom is going to need more supplies than they think.”

~~~

Morax had agreed to teach you, just as you’d hoped, but you couldn’t sit around all day, waiting for him to find you. You were going to catch a headstart. You’d written a reply to you parents, asking them why they decided to send you away instead of telling you the truth, or how the abyss order came to the palace and your kingdom in the first place. You didn’t expect an honest reply, but it was worth a try.

The library is a grand and imposing room—floor to ceiling shelves full of books, with a dark wooden decor. You’re greeted by a slight middle aged woman as soon as you enter. Her dark hair and clothing matches the library’s interior, and her glasses shimmer with the warm glint of candlelight.

“Ah. Deus Auri told me I might be expecting you. I am Zhi. It is lovely to meet you.” She inclines her head towards you, and you return the gesture, bowing fully. She chuckles lightly.

“The pleasure is mine.” you pause. Deus Auri? Yet another name? “If you don't mind me asking, why does the king have so many names?”

Zhi smiles. “That is something he should tell you himself.” she smooths her slick black ponytail and smiles. “Here.” she hands you something that looks like a child’s book. “The mechanism on the back will play the audio. Try to recognise the characters from the sound.”

You gape at her. To be handed a child’s book in earnest was not on your list today, but you request a sheet of paper and something to write with, and you do as she asks. You tear through the first, having picked up some recurring characters and their sounds, as well as noting down some guesses. While you’re deep in focus, Zhi brings you more books, and you solidify your guesses. It's as you’re buried in a growing pile of books, and Zhi is in the process of adding more that Morax comes to find you.

“I see you have started without me.” he smiles.

“I have no other way to spend my time. I prefer to engage in fruitful endeavours wherever possible.” You don’t look up from your paper and charcoal.

“What have you discovered thus far?”

You clear your throat and look up at him. Once again, you find yourself staring at him in what must be his casual wear, his impossibly long hair tied back, but not in the usual intricate braids. He seems to glow in the warm lighting of the library.

“‘Shénme’ seems to mean ‘what’.” you say quietly, glancing at the scribbles on your paper.

“Correct. This method of learning is frustrating, no?” he says, pulling up the chair next to you. You’re quick to move your paper out of the way, more out of embarrassment than anything else. He's so close, too close even. If you moved slightly, your arms would be touching. He seems to be unbothered by the proximity, sneaking a glance at the paper you so unsubtly stashed away.

“Perhaps a little.” you reply. “There is a more pressing matter at hand. Why do you have so many names?”

Morax laughs at that, a deep, velvety sound you are certain you have never heard. But now you have, you fear you might spend every day trying to coax it out of him whenever possible. 

“I was of the impression we had closed this discussion.”

“We have not.” you scowl. “Deus Auri, Zhongli, Morax, Rex Lapis.. Your arguments do not work on me. How does one man find himself with this many…” Morax knew that at one point, your stubbornness would be directed at him more intentionally than you refusing to look or speak to him. He did not expect it to be like this, but he finds that he does not begrudge it. To see fire in your eyes again, not to preserve yourself but out of real curiosity, to see you comfortable enough to question him, to spend time in the library by yourself… The wilting flower that was delivered to his doorstep has somehow found a way to bloom, and he is grateful. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, blinking at him.

“A man who has lived thousands of years must have the appropriate amount of names.”

“You said you’re only 3 years my senior.”

“In this particular lifetime, yes.” Morax smiles. He was not expecting to explain this to you today.

“You don’t mean to imply—”

“Reincarnation. Yes. before being the humble ruler of Liyue, I was their god—Morax. And then I was their sovereign—Rex lapis, and before all of that, when Liyue itself wasn’t a nation, and the first inklings of culture began to form, to the first ones, I was Deus Auri.”

You stare at him slack mouthed.

“So you mean to tell me that you saw the creation of Liyue?”

Morax sits back in his seat, his slightly relaxed posture so foreign to you that you resist the urge to gawk at him even more. “How else would you expect Liyue to be so connected to its roots?”

“Is reincarnation a gift only afforded to the gods, or are we mere mortals afforded the same fate?” you ask drily, and Morax chuckles again.

“Reincarnation cycles are typically shorter for those favoured by Celestia. Not only do we find ourselves living longer, but we also find ourselves reincarnated as few as years after our deaths. For mortals, like your parents or Alanna, for example, they might find it takes decades, or even centuries. By then, so much time has passed that it is unlikely they will be able to be identified by the family of those they loved. It is easier for those like us to identify mortals we have known and loved in the past—knowing life is ephemeral makes it easier for us to pay attention to the smaller things.”

You notice that Morax pointedly does not include you in his description of ‘mortals’ but you let it slide—you are edging closer to the information you seek, and it’s best not to get caught on tangents.

“Reincarnation stays within families, I assume?” you ask. Zhongli nods. “So if you were to find yourself reincarnated into a member of your extended family, how would you find yourself back on your throne?”

He clears his throat. “An insightful question. It can be a difficult process. One that can tear families apart.” Morax sits up, adjusting his billowing sleeves in an action you can only assume is his version of fidgeting. 

“You said earlier that you were fine with whatever I wanted to call you, but I have to insist. What do you want me to call you? I won’t take no for an answer.”

Morax meets your determined stare and sighs a little. “Let us make an arrangement. If you can make it through this lesson I will teach you to read the characters for my name.” 

You grin. You’ve made headway with him.

Morax, you learn, may be somewhat lenient with you in day to day life, however, when it comes to lessons, he is a force to be reckoned with. He is not loud or abusive, but he is firm, and if you believed you were stubborn, he has proved you otherwise.

“They sound the same to me.” you complain after Morax attempts to explain tones to you once again.

“You will learn to differentiate them, but you have to train your ears from the start.” he fires off another set of words that sound the same, and you shut off, refusing to listen any further. 

“I can’t bear any more today. I forfeit my prize. I give up.”

Morax sighs, taking the charcoal from your hands and neatly writing out two characters. He writes the phonetic pronunciation underneath each character, and turns it towards you.

“If you can pronounce this correctly, we can resume practising tomorrow. If not, Zhi and Xiao will teach you.”

You scowl at him, and the smile he sends back to you is placid, but if you’d paid closer attention, you might have noticed a hint of concern in his eyes. Has he pushed you too far? Is this a fair test? Tones are difficult for all learners, and had he not aided the development of this language himself, he might not have been able to grasp them. Your brow furrows as you try to match the tones to the sounds, and he watches you go back and forth between what you’re reading, and the sound you want to make.

“Zhōnglì.” You say quietly, and his smile deepens. “Am I right?”

“Perfect.” he replies quickly. You try your best to hide your pleased smile, but it’s impossible. Zhongli smiles, but for a different reason. You had gotten his name right, but he’d written the phonetics incorrectly. Either you remembered from the very first meeting you’d had all those days ago, or you knew his name from elsewhere. And considering that all those who used to call him Zhongli died before he was seated on the throne, he’s inclined to believe you know his name from somewhere else.

“So I’ll see you back here tommorrow?”

“Of course.” Zhongli smiles. “I wouldn't dream of ever abandoning my best student.”

~~~

“Zhōnglì.” You whisper to yourself, in the privacy of your own room, staring at the paper. His handwriting is immaculate—so calculated that you could have believed it was printed. But it doesn’t match the sound of his name. He says, you're right, and you flip through your memories to try and remember the sound of his name when he introduced himself all that time ago, but you just can't grasp it. 

You have nothing else to do, so you rewrite your notes from the day and stare at the reply to your parent's letyer. And stare some more. In fact, you stare at it so much so that you are sure the desperate pleas for more information are burned onto your retinas.

Alanna is quiet, busy reorganising your wardrobe and jewellery. Small tasks like this keep her occupied—until she picks up a teal blue necklace, and her thoughts start spiralling again. She scowls. Her focus is on you and making sure you’re happy, and she can’t do that if her mind is elsewhere.

“I’m bored.” she smiles. “Fancy getting dressed up for dinner?”

“Why would I do that?”

“For your dear assistant who cannot layer traditional wear and needs practice.” she smiles. “You know. Just in case.”

You sigh. You have never once been able to resist her smile, and the thought that she should have been the princess passes your mind again. “Of course. I shall be your doll for the day.”

Your meeting with Alanna’s comb is delayed as a knock on the door rings out. Perhaps it's delusion, but you’ve begun to recognise Zhongli’s knocks. Firm and resonant, you seem to hear them long after his fist has left the door.

“The king seems to believe that I have nothing to do with my time.” you tease as you open your door. He chuckles lightly as you register the piles of silk in his hands.

“The pieces you requested are ready. It seems the modiste likes you more than he likes me—last time I requested his aid for a festival he cut it rather fine with the delivery.” This is partially a lie. Zhongli requested that your pieces be finished faster.

“You should think of a name for this delivery service of yours.” You take the fabric from his hands and turn to place it on your bed. He makes no moves to follow you, standing at the threshold as if there is an invisible barrier. Alanna, once again, is nowhere to be found.

“Perhaps I should.” He smiles ever so slightly. Maybe it is more accurate to call it a twitch of the lips. “Will you be joining me for dinner?”

“Alanna believes I shall. She is insisting on using me as her mannequin for the evening, wherever she is. If I arrive with half finished makeup as evidence of my impatience you are not to laugh at me.”

“I would never dream of such a thing.” And the king of Liyue, leans ever so slightly against your doorframe as he crosses his arms.

notes: why is celeste even giving you the poll feature anymore when she knows you cannot be trusted.

Taglist: @tartigglez @ainescribe @blue-sapphire-ink @mikashisus @local-lover-boy @osmanthus-wine-addiction

[seraphivonne7]

Base Ideas For The Fallen Skies!SFOTH and Demigods

Listing who I need to yap about help me.

▷ Firebrand

▷ Windforce

▷ Venomshank

▷ Ghostwalker

▷ Icedagger

▷ Darkheart

▷ Illumina

---

▷ Ban Hammer

▷ Sword

▷ Valk

▷ Dom

Okay! Time to randomly yap and pretend I know what I’m talking about. Since this is me typing my thoughts out, everything I say in this is subject to change. Think of this rant as base ideas for the Fallen Skies!SFOTH and Demigods.

(Also, some parts of this will be canon information. Other parts of this will be HC’d information.)

Explodes. (obligatory exploding every post) Ahem.

So I’ve been thinking about fleshing out the SFOTH.

Obviously, all the SFOTH are base melee characters. They’re all sword wielders and cannot be separated into the three classes of melee, ranged or support. HOWEVER, their movesets will be completely unique to them (ex. Icedagger throwing icy projectiles as an ability).

Another factor! Titles are a fraction of their role (King Firebrand, for example). How I mostly weigh their worth as a SFOTH, like: what have they contributed to Inpherno, what great tales have they been a part of? Are they a god revered in joy, or a god feared?

Having thought about all of this for the past few days, I think I have a basic understanding of their general making!

Firebrand

▷ King of the SFOTH, God of Demons and Hellfire, The Benevolent King.

▷ Abilities are solely lava/fire-based. He can also manipulate the landscape around him, raise mountains and rip ravines into the world.

▷ His great sword is forged out of blackstone, lava and fire gemstones, decorated with the bones of an ancient creature. No one else can wield it because it’s too hot.

▷ He’s a grandfather and a sweetheart. Diplomacy over violence.

Windforce

▷ Goddess of the Wind, Sea and War, Queen of Chaos.

▷ Core abilities are wind-based. On a broader spectrum, she can manipulate the weather and oceans.

▷ Her double-bladed spear is forged out of wind, oceanic stone, sun gold, and lightning. It’s actually really heavy despite looking balanced ‘n light, and it can’t be lifted by anyone else (it can’t even be lifted by Ban Hammer or Firebrand).

▷ She got the title Queen of Chaos for a reason. She’s a tough-loving mother and a free spirit.

Venomshank

▷ God of Wisdom, Bringer of the Plague.

▷ Abilities are acid/poison-based. He can also reanimate dead bodies at will.

▷ His rapier is simply made out of bronze, ancient oak and green diamond. Simple and light! He’s also able to duplicate it and dual-wield two rapiers.

▷ He’s an eloquent tactician. He speaks only when necessary.

Ghostwalker

▷ God of the Afterlife, The Reaper, Soul Taker.

▷ His abilities are gravity-based, actually. And, of course, he can see one’s soul and take it.

▷ His weapon is generally a great sword most of the time. It’s forged out of lightsteel, blackstone, and most importantly, genesis essence. The genesis essence is what allows his weapon to shift into different forms, like a chained whip or throwing daggers.

▷ He’s silent. He watches from the sidelines and defers to doing his job as a cold-hearted god.

Icedagger

▷ God of Ice and Snow.

▷ Abilities are snow/ice-based, obviously! He can crystalize structures, throw icy projectiles around, even manipulate snowy weather. Other things maybe.

▷ His weapon is a balanced dagger forged out of frost opals, blue ice and sapphires---very pretty and delicate!

▷ He’s shy and cautious. He’s a bit insecure as the youngest, having no faith in his powers. However… Icedagger is actually extremely powerful.

Darkheart

▷ God of Tricks and Misfortune, Bringer of Death, Entity of Malevolence.

▷ Abilities are shadow-based. He definitely shadow walks and shadow weaves terrible monsters. Also, his curses!

▷ His great sword is forged out of blackstone, shadows, and poisoned gemstones. It’s decorated with the cursed bones of those who crossed him. Also, he can replicate and dual-wield like Venomshank!

▷ What can I say? He’s a silly little god who loves committing war crimes :).

Illumina

▷ God of Judgement.

▷ Abilities are light-based. And of course he can manipulate people in many different ways.

▷ His great sword is forged out of light, lightsteel, and amethyst. He’s able to replicate and dual-wield as well.

▷ He’s one manipulative god.

YAY. The SFOTHs now have somewhat base images. I can now die happy.

…

(Slowly turns around and sees the demigods. Proceeds to explode again.)

Time to apply my thoughts to them as well.

Ban Hammer

▷ Demigod of Strength, Warden of Banlands.

▷ His abilities are literally just brute strength. He can also summon lightning for attacks if he really needs it. Thank you to that one HC who brought this to light.

▷ His hammer is forged out of deep amethyst, blackstone and blacksteel. It can only be lifted by Firebrand and Windforce!

▷ He’s Ban Hammer. :] A chill dude until angered.

Sword

▷ Demigod of Justice, Defender of Inpherno.

▷ His abilities are light-based, uhm. Also strength-based…! He also has adapted himself into doing aerial attacks.

▷ His sword is forged out of light, lightsteel and audurite. It’s incredibly heavy and weighted specifically for Sword.

▷ Fallen Skies!Sword is quiet. He’s a serious fellow that’s never known anything else but training and duties.

Valk

▷ Demigod of Melody.

▷ His abilities are sun/solar-based! And since he’s not a SFOTH, he’s actually a support, using his voice to boost others’ abilities up to six times their strength.

▷ His microphone is purely made of sunlight. Only he can hold it.

▷ He’s very curious and outgoing. The life of the party with big dreams!

Dom

▷ Demigod of Harmony.

▷ His abilities are opposite to Valk’s: moon/moonlight-based. He’s also a support who can use his voice to physically attack others, plus he can throw up massive force fields!

▷ His megaphone is purely made of moonlight. Only he can hold it.

▷ He’s the quiet one who has dry, sassy humour. He’s also very wise and observant of everything around him.

THERE. Now I’m done! Base ideas are sometimes a pain. Help.

I actually wanted to create ancient stories regarding the SFOTH. Partly why I needed to make these ideas so I know what role they would play in these stories. I also needed a full scope of how powerful each one is so I can properly write them for Fallen Skies AU. AND ALSO, THE SCENARIOS?

▷ Icedagger freezing over an entire domain like WHAT.

▷ Can I get Darkheart casting eternal darkness over all of Inpherno.

ETCETC.

Time to go eat dinner goodbye. :>