#human embodiment of the sun

[1twistedsister]

Huge shout out to everybody's favorite car mechanic 🤘

You done good, kid.

[fatedroses]

Many things were used to describe the mad hermit of Amaurot: a drunkard, degenerate, cynical, and even monstrous by those who stirred trouble for the newly appointed Azem. But nothing could prepare Emet-Selch for what he would see for himself, when offered a chance to meet the Sun's Shadow.

[kaurwreck]

I wonder if Fyodor has kept his distance from Atsushi until now because Byakko's claws can cut through skills. I wonder if this is the moment Atsushi could use his claws. Would they slice right through Fyodor's borrowed body to tear him into the same ribbons as Shibusawa?

Is Fyodor afraid of the absolution Atsushi could give him? Or is he starving for it? Is this what he wanted all along? To find Atsushi at the end, to break him until Byakko tears through Atsushi's flesh and into his?

Nothing is hollow; Fyodor is just so hungry for scraps he can't bear to eat that he calls the viscera contracting around his aching gut nothingness, and garnishes his desires with incorrigible sin because then death might taste like salvation. He craves blood but hates when it touches him, because blood and viscera are too warm, too human; and he isn't that, even though he loves humanity so desperately that he's resolved to leave only when he can take the entire world with him.

[avephelis]

albatrio and celestial symbolism are soo. jay is the sun and gill is the moon but chip is just flesh and bones in the earth. even in undeath he's just the rawest components of the body. not chosen or blessed or anything. just human.

[thaliasthunder]

pink hearts appear around my head everytime i remember nico canonically makes trauma jokes

[t00thfull]

sunkissed

afternoon summer breeze through the window of your car; a rest stop from the blazing heat, an oasis. you shine hotter than these summer mornings, i will burn my hands holding you. summer will pass and the heat will remain with me, it's an honor to be this close to the sun. radiance through a vessel; there is a bit of sunlight in your chest, in your hands, in your eyes. stargazing means looking to my left.

[ghostwnby]

Sometimes your babygirl is a 27 year old French f1 driver and that's okay

[articskele]

Thinking about....... Sun Onceler.........

[leslieseveride]

okay, but if this was angela's reaction when isabel was shot in the head, just imagine what her reaction is going to be when lucy's hurt.

[springcatalyst]

thinking oc thoughts. everything comes back to milo being a storyteller

[leatherbookmark]

wondering if koga or adonis are going to get some more character development or like Not Really, because. koga's got his stuff in the ! era, which, fine! new players have absolutely no idea what happened and how important his current dynamic with rei is, it's cool, hurts only a little bit!, meanwhile adonis is still... trapped in his unfortunate character trope... that i doubt he'll ever break out of.

i'm not expecting either of them to do a complete 180 obv, but i do actually want to see koga figure himself out as, how to put it, an individual musician with his own style*? and if i have to read about how adonis is big scary huge and terrifying** at first glance, but actually, wow! what a surprise! kind, quiet and gentle once you talk to him even ONE more time, i'm going to snap.

*i'm just kinda biting my hands here because there are bighuge neons in my brain pointing out that koga's path should have him as a some sorta representative of undead ? temporary leader perhaps? considering everything we've learned in crossroads AND the fact that he mentions in his initial story how he's the least popular/known member and he wants to change it On Top Of wanting to face rei as equals, like. augh. put him in a situation please

**he's not.

basically both of them could use some activities separate from 2mkb, whether as a duo or individually, or perhaps as leaders of their respective shuffle units, but considering the next ud event is rei and shuffles probably won't return until after the climax series is over... it's Gonna Take A While I Think

[actualsunflower]

I say sometimes Jay would have earth powers but I think it would be super funny if he had fire powers because then he would essentially have no powers because he couldn't use them in any way lest he risk potentially just ending himself right away would that be fucked up or what

[angstandhappiness]

OOOF

non human characters who are defined by how painfully human they are

[bloodtwin]

i rly do have a soft spot for ships where puck is so niceys to everyone & his love interest is like Ugh... grow up ! youre so embarrassing. your kindness SUCKS !!!!!

but then later they are twiddling their thumbs in bed like ... wow. so kindness truly is the answer to everything ...

[joyridingmp3]

just got back from my mums. we talked about my grandfather (her dad) for ages & it was cool to learn a bit more about him but it's only left me wanting to learn more. did he have a favourite instrument to play? what did his voice sound like? what was his original music about? what got him interested in perusing music? he had a complicated relationship with his mother also - was it in a similar way to mine? what did he think of my father? what did he hope for the future of his children & grandchildren? what did he think of me? how did he learn to speak like 5 languages? what was the most valuable lesson he learnt over the course of his life? what advice would he give to me and my siblings? he used to play live with his band most weekends i wonder what that was like. what was his favourite song?

[meownotgood]

arcane season 2 spoilers

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"Can you feel anything?" 

Viktor's foreign body shudders against his will; your fingertips trace down his chest, tingling, sparking, akin to little specks of light burning into his second-skin. The sound of your muddled voice barely registers. His head tosses back with a slight thud, hair fanned out as a halo. He allows your knees to bracket his waist, and keeps his arms sprawled above him — despite the aching in his dead heart to just touch you. The pulsing of the arcane beneath his system is hardly under control yet. 

It would be a risk he's willing to take, a necessary step to learn, if it were anyone else besides you. 

And Viktor does feel — so much, in fact, but it isn't anything explainable. The festering in his core, threatening to come up through his throat. The whirring, the throbbing of every muscle, rich with glowing rivers of purple. Shining with a mixture of magic and energy and his own blood. 

He's only distantly aware of your hand when it reaches his stomach, examining the juncture between cool metal and unholy flesh. Gears and bolts mimic the outline of ribs. Your touches are curious, distinctly gentle. Picking up on old habits, and trying not to break him, still. Then, your palm reaches up; it boldly cradles his cheek, brushes his pallid skin. And this, he can sense. 

It's familiar, human. Excruciatingly soft when your thumb brushes the space on his cheek, just above his beauty mark. It puts an easy feeling back in his chest, something he almost began to believe he'd forgotten. As warm as a shimmering sun, as molten as liquid gold. 

Nothing else matters but this moment, but you, and him. There is no outcome, across each expansive universe and every edge of the arcane, where the two of you would not meet again like this. You were meant to. Born and reborn to. 

Your gaze finds his, soft eyes glancing down at him, your expression crossed between pain and relief. You eclipse all of his vision: light fuzzy at your edges, your face a hazy memory that he'd still see with his eyes closed. You're a reminder of what it means to be alive. 

Viktor doesn't envy you. You've told him of nightmares, before. Dreams you had before this, of your mind putting yourself through the tragedy of watching him die ages before you truly had to. It must be difficult to see him like this, despite your best attempts to hide any uncertainty. 

Your hand shakes. He can feel it trembling, unsteady on his cheek. And every molecule in Viktor's system explodes, laced with the yearning to remember — to let hazy lovesickness swell within his palms and his new figments. To pull you closer, in an effort to convince himself you won't be taken away. 

Every echo of you is innate. Your voice, your name, your fingerprints. Your presence has the Hexcore — or what's become of him, what has embodied the Hexcore — blissfully, endlessly silent. The way you look at him, soft and brutally innocent, puts a chasmic, vivid hole in his center. Gods, you still look at him the same, just as you did when the two of you were young and innocent. The rot in him tells him he isn't worthy of it. 

Viktor's eyes swirl like kaleidoscopes. Drops of crimson swirling in pure water. Your brows pinch, a sight he finds frustrating and pretty, as you silently examine him. Emotions curl in your lungs, tearing and hungry and knife-like; stricken with attachment, or perhaps blaming yourself, Viktor figures. 

Exhaustion runs heavy in your expression, reminding him of looking into a mirror. He knows this look. You haven't slept. Haven't given yourself any form of a break, it seems.

So, he takes a chance. 

Your hand brushes some stray, messy strands of hair from his forehead, just as Viktor guides his weak arm to reach for you. You don't tense, don't move. He can hear your breathing, thinks he can still feel his. There isn't an ounce of fear in the way you look at him. You have always looked at him like he holds the world in his hands. And now, perhaps he does. 

His hand finds your cheek, same as yours. Copying, following. Thin, delicate, purple-hued fingers trace the edge of your face clumsily, still learning how to touch. Still afraid the line between hurt and healing might be blurred, and you are the one person left that he can't let get caught in the crossfire. You lean into his palm, trusting, and let go of a breath that makes your shoulders shake with the weight of it. 

Viktor thinks of crying, despite the press and pull in his chest that convinces him he shouldn't be able to. He can feel you. It isn't like the few touches he's experienced so far, or the aching, anomalous strength he's been forced to get used to. It contradicts the very constructs of everything he thought made sense. 

Your skin is so soft, sickly familiar. Viktor holds your face shakily, afraid to move. He can feel your individual atoms. Innumerable sparks just beneath his touch, galaxies upon universes of stars in your name, that beg to be grasped, possessed, cured. He cradles you with all of the devotion of a prophet, with all of the tenderness of a past friend: an almost-destiny, a saved seat at the edge of something more. 

Would clumsily pulling you in, and pressing his lips to yours feel wrong, or tangible — like nothing, or like everything? 

"Vik?" 

Your tone, sweeter than honeysuckle, sweeter than anything he might deserve, brings his vision back into focus. He blinks. Gaze never tearing away from his, your fingertips drop to thread the hard edge of his collarbone. A silent plea, can you feel this? You find each curve of his bones and his body easily, the details already memorized. Viktor senses the ghost of you, your touch gentle, something like home. 

"I'm not sure," Viktor finally answers; and the scientist, Hexgate creator, still-ambitious part of himself is hardly satisfied with that answer. His voice is quiet, distant. As though he isn't there, despite the lingering, familiar tenderness to his tone. 

The fried synapses in his brain can't yet separate a caress from a threat, he just perceives the lingering energy. He believes you could be the one to teach him the difference. 

This time, you let your palm press flat to his chest. There's a hum that attempts to mimic a heartbeat, a lack of coolness or heat. The action presses your form closer to his, guides you to lean part of your weight on him to bring your faces far too close. Sharing in the same reflection. Allowing each breath to be measured, along with every hesitation. 

What should he start with? Should he embrace you, holding you tight and close like you're sacrificial? Should he grab your hand in his, press his palm to your skin to measure your heartbeat? Lace his smallest finger with yours, to make you a promise like he used to? 

He can't promise you peace, nor the life you deserve, but if you came for him now, was it not a swear to follow him anywhere? 

There are still so many things left to feel, and every red thread has always begun and ended with you. 

Can you feel anything? 

Viktor guides a hand over yours, keeps it to his chest selfishly; he meets your gaze, he hums, "Are you eager to find out?"