#i guess with all this loneliness it’s like. it really amplifies my fear of death. my thoughts are all i have ultimately. just the thought of

[archduke-enver-gortash]

i will go to sleep NOW 🫵 (pointing at myself)

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Abed Nadir and his need to count the seconds

pairing: abed nadir/troy barnes (it’s Light but I wrote it with the intent for trobed)

summary: Abed Nadir hates being alone in general, so when his friends disappear and leave him alone in a sea of job-seeking students he struggles to keep his head above water. 

request:  okay wait ur abed headcanons got me thinking. abed angst. kings gotta have abandonment issues cuz of his parents YES I'm projecting a little bit. u don't have to do this if it makes u too sad tho - @ghost-butch

warnings: abandonment issues, anxiety attacks, s/h (kinda; in the form of clenching ur fists too hard)

notes: writing abed angst makes me sad ): why did i do this to him he deserves better. also im about to punch evil abed in the face ):< just over 2k words with this one so thats Cool also its midnight and i have school tomorrow arent i epic and cool. 

taglist: @simonsbluee

  _____________

            Fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds. Abed had been lost for fifteen minutes and twenty-two second. Abed’s eyes were trained on the clock hanging on the wall, each tick of the second hand amplified in his head to a piercing shout. Everything was bigger; the lights were blindingly bright and his clothes felt as if they were clawing at his skin. With each passing second Abed became increasingly worried, his breath getting shallower and shallower with each rise of his chest. His eyes returned to the clock on the wall, his stomach jumping at the reading-- sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds.

            The study group had promised Abed they’d accompany him to the job fair. They promised they’d be by his side the entire time; Abed didn’t do well alone in large crowds, especially in new environments. He’d gotten distracted by an engineering booth in the corner with a large lego replica of the millennium falcon hanging in the corner. He looked away from his friends for no more than thirteen seconds, but in those thirteen seconds, they disappeared in the sea of students and booths and interns. Thus, leaving Abed completely alone in a mass of strangers in a building that he’d never seen before. 

            His anxiety had built up with every minute he was lost. It was gradual; he started with the initial panic, followed by frantic searching for familiar faces in the crowd. It wasn’t long after that when his heart rate began to pick up, and within minutes his skin felt as if it was on fire. Abed couldn’t really pinpoint exactly when he’d begun to shuffle backwards out of the large venue the job fair was held in. Before he knew it, he was at the end of a dimly lit hallway, completely alone. He slunk to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.

            They’ll look for me, he thought. They’re probably looking for me now. Abed reached into his pocket for his cellphone before he realized he’d left it with Troy. The emptiness of his pocket felt endless, his hand tingling where the fabric of his shorts met his skin. The familiar whine that Abed let out when he became overwhelmed filled the empty hallway, the tone only making his anxiety worse. He cursed himself for not thinking ahead-- he’d left all of his fidget toys and putty in his messenger bag which he also left with Troy. 

            It was then that a tiny voice in the back of his head spoke up-- maybe they left, it called. Abed shook his head, but the voice persisted. They left you. They’re gone, and no one is coming for you. A familiar figure materialized in the vast shadows at the other end of the hallway; Evil Abed smirked at him from where he stood.

            “They’re gone,” He repeated. “They were waiting for something to draw you away for them so they could slip away,”

            “That’s not true.” Abed’s fingers absentmindedly dug into his palm. “They wouldn’t do that-- Troy wouldn’t do that. Jeff and Britta, maybe, but not Troy. Not Annie.” Truthfully, Abed didn’t believe that Jeff or Britta would leave, but he wasn’t thinking clearly in the moment.

            “Riddle me this, Abed, who does Troy respect more: you or Jeff? Who does he think is cooler? Who does he idolize more?” Evil Abed’s voice was smug and cruel. It felt as if his words were burrowing through his brain and fogging up his thoughts. “Sure, Troy might tolerate you, but he worships Jeff. If Jeff wanted to leave, then surely Britta and Annie would tag along. It’s inevitable that Troy would join them, isn’t it?” Abed shut his eyes tightly, but that didn’t do much to ward off his evil counterpart.

            A film played behind Abed’s eyelids, the poetic irony of his worst fears being portrayed through his favorite thing making his heart ache. There they were: Jeff, Britta, Troy, Annie, all standing in a tight group as Abed wandered off. Their expressions and movements were exaggerated, but Abed didn’t care. He just sat and watched as the scene unfolded.

            “God, I can’t believe he roped us into this,” Jeff groaned, his hands gripping his cellphone as if someone were going to take it from him. “What kind of loser can’t go to a damn fair by himself? I could have a hot redhead hanging on my arm at a sports bar and instead I’m babysitting a twenty-five-year-old.”

            “C’mon Jeff, we’re here for Abed. God knows if he came here alone he’d probably drive everyone here crazy with his “Inspector Spacetime” BS.” Britta chimed in, a tired tone in her voice. Annie looked antsy as always, while Troy looked unsure. Abed wasn’t sure of what, exactly. 

            Slowly, Abed  wandered a few feet away from the group. Jeff’s face lit up the same way it does when he sees an attractive student in the hallways. A borderline cartoon-ish grin grew on his face as he pulled the group tighter.

            “Hey, Abed’s gone. Let’s take this window and get the hell out of here while the cat is distracted by the lazer,” He chuckled. Britta smiled and nodded, quickly grabbing Annie’s hand in an attempt to pull her out. The three of them made their way to the exit, leaving Troy alone. He turned around to glance at Abed before rolling his eyes and running after Jeff. Abed was alone.

            The image faded away, and to Abed’s surprise, Evil Abed faded away with it. For a split second, Abed was disappointed. He really, really, really didn’t want to be alone-- even if his only companion was an evil version of himself. A minute passes before Abed realizes he was crying, that revelation followed by the realization that his fingernails dug into his palm so hard he broke the skin. His tears blurred his vision and made his surrounding seem much smaller, much darker, much lonelier. His eyes no longer portrayed a dim hallway. Instead, Abed saw the same tiny locker he was locked in so often as a teenager.  He could smell the rusted metal of the locker hinges. He could feel the chipped paint rubbing against his skin. He couldn’t breathe. Abed couldn’t breathe-- the entire world was closing in on him. He was cold and alone and no one was coming for him. His friends left him and they weren’t coming back. Everyone who he cares about leaves him, why would they be any different? He watched the world pass by through the tiny slits in the door before his eyes screwed shut again as he choked on air.

            He was in agony. His entire body shook and his heart pounded so hard he felt as if it were going to burst. Abed wanted to go home, he wanted to be back at Greendale with Troy and the rest of his friends but he was trapped. His arms began to cramp up from how hard he had tensed, his knuckles a pale white from how tightly he was clenching his fists. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak or sob or scream; he was stuck. Locked away. The outside world faded away as Abed retreated into his mind. He tried to hide away in his head forever until a janitor stumbled upon his frozen shell of a body tomorrow morning. There was an echoing sound, however, that kept drawing him from the abyss of his brain.

            Footsteps. He could hear footsteps. Abed couldn’t tell whether or not they were real, but he could guess who’s footsteps they were. They were frantic and uneven-- they had the potential to be rhythmic, but the walker was urgent. Worried. The biggest identifying factor, though, was the quiet sound of plastic aglets on the tile floor; their shoes were untied. Abed smiled weakly as he recalled the fact that Troy almost never had his shoes tied. A glimmer of hope shone through the small slits in the locker door as the footsteps grew closer.

            “Abed?” Troy’s voice cut through the silence in the hallway. He turned the corner and froze as his eyes landed on his friend. “Abed? God, there you are! You scared me half to death, and Jeff was already boring me to death with his lame lawyer stories, so now I’m only, like, a fourth away from death!”

            Abed didn’t reply. He couldn’t-- he still didn’t know if Troy was real or just another image. He was still locked away, after all. Troy could tell something was wrong; Abed’s eyes had glazed over and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Troy hurried over, his eyes frantically assessing the situation at hand. He saw the blood on Abed’s palms and his stomach lurched. 

            “Hey, Abed, are you alright?” Troy asked softly. “Did something happen?” Abed did not reply, instead releasing a small, high-pitched whine. Everything was foggy-- it was all too foggy for Abed to know whether or not he was simply envisioning this angel of a human.

            “Alright, uh, I’m going to touch your wrist. Is that alright?” Abed hesitated before nodding ever-so-slightly.

            Gently, Troy wrapped his hand around Abed’s wrist. The contact was startling, but not unwelcome. Abed was becoming more and more sure that this Troy was real. The tight locker melted away to reveal the same dark hallway; his anxiety was eased a bit,but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled over him. He glanced at the clock once again-- he was alone for thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds in total. 

            “I’m sorry I lost you,” Troy spoke quietly. His voice was comforting and genuine, his face soft and kind. He didn’t match the Troy that Evil Abed created at all. “I know this place is overwhelming, I’m so sorry. We should’ve been more attentive and more careful, this place is like a maze.” Abed soon realized he was too tired to respond verbally, instead opting to hold Troy’s hand. A silent reassurance was exchanged through their intertwined fingers. Abed’s palms stung a bit, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He was just so tired. His muscles were sore and his chest ached and his head pounded. He wanted to go home. 

            “Britta was practically running across the building looking for you, ya know,” Troy said. His hand was still holding Abed’s. “Annie started crying after 10 minutes, and for a second Jeff looked like he was going to cry, too. They were all so worried. I was worried, too. The thought of something bad happening to you was too much to handle.”

            “I know you hate being alone, too. I guess you probably thought we ditched you or something. Jeff thought you ditched us, but I knew that wasn’t true. It doesn’t really matter, though, because I’m here now,” That final phrase echoed in Abed’s mind as he sat beside his friend. “I want you to know that I really care about you. I want-- I need you to know that I would never ever ditch you like that. Not in a million billion years, not even for a million dollars,”

            They sat there for a few more minutes before Annie turned the corner and shouted, sprinting full speed towards the two men at the end of the hallway. Britta and Jeff followed closely after, a wave of relief washing over their faces. They all gushed about their worries and concerns. Annie was quick to tend to the small indents in Abed’s palm, and Jeff and Britta talked about how freaked they were when they realized Abed disappeared. Jeff mentioned stopping by every directing booth in the entire building to see if Abed had landed there-- he even grabbed a few pamphlets for him to flick through later. Finally, Abed gained the energy to stand up, and he walked down the hallway with his friends beside him and Troy’s fingers still laced with him.

            On his way out, Abed glanced at the clock on the wall-- twenty-two minutes and twelve seconds. Abed had been surrounded by his wonderfully chaotic family for the past twenty-two minutes, and he’d never felt more secure.

[danddymaro]

Erron Black x Reader | Pt.1

For the most part, this will have quite a bit of sexual stuff, (like, A stupid lot in my opinion) because it was my mood during writing the draft and I figured, why not make this a full-blown story rather than a one-shot thing? There is some plot thou, there really is! It's a bunch of bullshit, but who knows, one of you might like it! 

It starts off slow, but give it a try none the less.

Flashbacks are in italics : Example

Thoughts are italics  in quotes : ‘Example’

Fixed

Word Count:  2466

Pt. 1 |   Easy pray

The young woman trailed her eyes up to the maroon sky, noting it to be nearly identical to the one from the day before, and perhaps the one before that day as well.

A scarce amount of clouds hovered over the sky, most if not all being large and gray, altogether seeming like a heavy fog set upon the land. Nevertheless, she lived on without a worry, knowing that despite the menacing manner which the clouds presented themselves with, their current state was no sign of danger.

Perhaps in another realm it would be something to worry about and fret, but she knew that in Outworld, it was nothing to worry about.

- It never really was.

From time to time, it would thunder, and when it did, it was frightening enough that when the harsh clapping sounds echoed, the booms descended down to the surface, violently rattling every one of the pitiful creatures that roamed the land.

On those days, she couldn't hide the dread she felt. 

Even in the present time, she shivered as she recalled what it felt like to be raked by one of those harsh roars.

Much more, it hit her worse remembering she was alone.

In her little hut, there was no other person to accompany her, and all in all, it made the wretched days much more gloomy. It made the shivers in her body last longer than they should as well, the effects amplified by her solitude.

With a gentle, placid smile, she picked up her watering pail, holding it with two hands by its thin, metal handle, all the while striving to maintain the small expression of contentment she showed out to the world.

She aimed to uphold a positive outlook, but even then, inside her mind, she continued to think negatively, the gloomy thoughts mudding the bright approach she attempted to maintain.

' Alone, as always, I'm here all alone,' she thought to herself, wondering what company would feel like.

'Alone in this world; In this vicious world, left forelone,'  She added.

She was starved to touch another person, to truly feel accompanied in the dark world, and she just couldn't help it. 

She knew her heart was weak and sensitive, far too much for A person native of Outworld. So much so, she couldn't help but wonder if her existence in the realm was nothing more than a mistake disregarded by the gods.

"I always wonder if this is truly my home," She said lowly, having doubt in her heart.

"Is this where I was truly destined to be?"

She also wondered about what lay in other lands, considering what life was in any other place besides her homeland.

Were they all so grey and gloomy, or did there exist one with colors all about?

Colors...Ones that were warm;  ones that could match her heart.

Slowly, her left hand trailed up, barely grazing her chest as it hovered over her soft heart.

She felt like a flickering flame trying to exist in a cold plain, helpless to the icy winds which surrounded it.

Her home, though being one she loved, was filled with many people whose hearts were jaded. However, she supposed that years within ongoing, vicious wars would cause people to eventually grow numb. 

So, she couldn't blame anyone for growing cold. While succumbed to the mercy of a tyrant, it was a miracle if anyone held a positive outlook on life.

' I'm not one to complain,' She reminded herself, ' I shouldn't be one to complain,' She reasoned, knowing that there were many who suffered worse fates.

She was lucky to be unbothered by their emperor. Fortunately, she was no one to him,

'So it's not all bad,' she thought with the single solace, thoroughly fearing Shao Kahn's violent, wicked reign.

'I'd never wish to be at that man's mercy,' She added with plea, hoping they'd never cross paths.

With the small, tin bucket in hand, the very one with a crudely painted Daisy drawn onto the rusted metal, the gently smiling woman let out a small puff of amusement, knowing that what hurt her most were her own doubting thoughts. 

'I should just stop doing that...thinking so much...' She mused.

Sometimes her mind wondered too much.

Sometimes she thought too much outside of reality, stuck in daydreams, pondering over the meaning of her nightmares, or, at least, what little she could recall. 

There wasn't much she could remember, no matter how hard she tried, but there was always a constant, one that both brought her tenderness and pain ;

A voice. 

Just the single voice of an unknown woman brought her both sentiments.

'- But I'm unable to let go,' She added, weakly.

Out of all the things she held onto and simply couldn't forget, it was the unforgettable voice that seemed far too familiar.

'That woman's voice... it makes me feel both warmth and ache within my chest.' She thought to herself. 'It haunts me so much, and though it hurts to recall these dreams, I want to know who she is.

I want to know where I can find her.' She thought determinately.

Sprinkling the cool showers onto the plants, her smile visibly faltered, her mind plagued by the strange person,

'Sometimes she's all that makes me happy. She's the only thing that makes me feel loved.'

"Maybe that's why I always have other realms in mind," She muttered dryly.

'Are you waiting there in one of those many lands?' She wondered helplessly, all while thinking of the low, melodic rumble of the voice.

'I just can't remember. ' 

As far as she knew, she didn't know anyone that matched the voice.

'But at the very least, being by these here...with these little beings, I feel like I'm somewhat close to you.

Whoever you may be,

Wherever you may be,' she thought with feather-light comfort.

Her focus then was on the little flowers set beside her door. They were tiny, little, yellow faces, all filled with pollen staring back at her with enthusiasm and life. They were strange little things, not native to Outworld, and from what the elderly man had told her, a rarity to come across in their realm.

'Strange and fragile, just as I am,' She thought with a soft, understanding look directed at them. 

A single press of the finger could harm the small life, destroying it. 

Such a delicate thing was in her possession and with all the joy in the world she cared for it, each and every day tending to them.

"Forget me nots," she said softly, "You have so many meanings, all so tender, all so sweet." She started.

 "Perhaps, once, you knew who that person was. Perhaps you know well who she is, and you try to make me remember."

Shaking her head, she then laughed with amusement, going as far as to throw her head back at her ridiculous musings,

" Wouldn't that be strange? ," she said with a giggle, dragging her index below one of the blossoms, scarcely grazing it with tenderness.

"No," she said shaking her head, still chuckling, " Strange is talking to you bunch, all while thinking that somehow you understand,"

'What loneliness can do to a person,' She silently thought, knowing how deranged she might seem to others. 

Yet, there was no helping it. 

"Well, at the very least we have each other, right?" she added pleasantly, her voice touched with sadness.

Farther away, a man observed her, watching each and every movement she made, not missing a single motion of hers,

" Looks like I've found you, little missy," the brunette said lowly, his eyes trained straight with a hawk's glare on the (h/c) haired young lady.

His dark roasted coffee-colored eyes watched the woman, a dark brow slowly raised at her as she continued to pet the small garden. Her mouth then moved, no doubt speaking to the blossoms as she maintained her small smile, unaware of his watchful stalking.

He wasn't hiding, nor bothered to spy from any farther distance, having the certainty that it wasn't needed. Instead, he leaned on a homely fence opposite to her home, his arms crossed over his chest as he continued to observe his target. 

"-Too easy," he huffed, the little piece of wood that was being held in between his teeth soon spat out and thrown to the side, "Entirely too easy," he added with notable disappointment intertwined with his words.

 With a click of his tongue, he adjusted his mask before properly clipping it back on. 

His right hand then slid over his revolver, a low, blue sigh falling past his lips, "Guess I won't need to use you," he muttered, easily coming to the conclusion he wouldn't have to use anything but his own strength and wit on his current job.

"(f/n) (l/n)," He said while testing the name out on his own tongue, "I'd say you're one lucky girl," he then said while stepping forward, advancing towards the home with squared shoulders.

"A very lucky one," he added with a smirk twitching his features, the man feeling a swell of pride at the thought of his previous accomplishments.

Any time anyone made it on his list, it was a guaranteed death sentence, however, in his current target's special case, he wasn't ordered to do any of the sorts, which truly was a stroke of luck for the young woman.

He had the task of capturing her, all in one piece. 

- Not a ding or a scratch, she was to be delivered without a hitch.

Granted, he wasn't one for little errands like the one he'd just been assigned, but then again, he wasn't the kind to turn down such an award either.

Abruptly, he stopped, watching as she startled, jumping and dropping her watering pail before she ran inside her home, far too preoccupied with what she had in mind to close her door fully.

And yet again he thought to himself about how painstakingly easy it was to catch the woman.

Making his way towards the home, he took a firm hold of the linen rope strapped to his side and unattached it as he crossed the doorway of her hut, his predator eyes sharp as they searched for her figure.

'Now where'd she run off too,' He thought to himself while skimming his eyes over the small space.

His nose twitched, a strong, aromatic scent attacking him right as he invaded the space.

A linger of herbs danced in the air too, all intertwined with the scent, pulling his attention to a small room where the (h/c) haired woman stood, her back facing him while she dimmed the fire before her.

"How could I be so careless? " she said with mortification, eyeing the empty pot. All of the water she had started to boil in it was long gone, evaporated.

'This is not even the first time it happens,' She thought with the same dejection, upset that it had happened yet again, all because she had spent too much time overthinking. 

Her hand then slid up her face, holding it as she inhaled a deep breath, 

'I can't keep living this way...' She declared, knowing that all the time she spent pondering was harmful to her. 

She knew it was for the best, yet, slumping her shoulders, she released a shaky breath, her heart tightening at the thought of letting go.

Suddenly, an arm coiled around her shoulders from behind her, while simultaneously, another strong, large arm wrapped around her midsection, quickly pulling her towards a hard body.

With rounded (e/c) eyes, she craned her head up, striving to look back, soon capturing the sight of a masked man as his dark eyes calmly peered down to hers.

Frozen, she watched him with glimmering (e/c) eyes, her face going pale, the female far too aghast to properly function.

"Now, you just hold still, " he ordered her, the deep muffled rumble of his voice causing a violent shake to rake over her body. 

Like the merciless thunder of her realm, it attacked her, shaking her to her very core.

'What's going on?' She wondered, still struck stupid, paralyzed with shock and fright.

'what is he doing in my home?'

It was then that the weight of the situation fell upon her, soon understanding just what the man was doing as he began to press a bind around her,

'No...This can't be...This simply can't be!'

Shaking her head in denial, she squirmed, thrashing around to force him to let go. Her legs then collapsed, and falling onto all fours, she managed to slip out of his hold before he gripped her any tighter.

'I have to get away. I have to run,' She thought with a frenzied mind.

With harshly panting breaths, she stumbled to stand, managing to do so on wobbly legs, hastily making a mad dash out onto the outside world, far away from the stranger.

'I have to run...

I have I hide... '

Leisurely stepping out to follow, the man then sighed. 

Erron shook his head, his right skimming down his side to the holster at his side. 

Soon holding his gun with a steady hand, he aimed, taking his shot. 

The single bullet ricochet, landing right in front of her just before she stepped farther from him.

Falling to her knees with horrified (e/c) colored eyes, she stared at the landed shot before her, unable to find the words to shove out of her knotted throat, 

'That... That could have killed me,' She thought with certainty. ' How did he even do that? ' She added with the same terror.

Her hand shook as it rose up, soon holding onto the lower portion of her face as it squeezed tight, the hand suppressing all her frightened whimpers,

'Is he going to kill me? Did...Did he just miss?'

" That blue whistler didn't miss," He told her, counting his victory as he took long strides to her shaking body. "Just in case you were wondering," he added before stepping behind her, towering her crumpled, defeated form.

"Tongue-tied Darlin'?" he asked her, receiving no reply, just a would-be silence riddled by muffled snivels.

Her harsh pants became louder as she then clutched her chest, his question falling onto death ears, 

'Why...' she thought to herself, ridged coldness gradually swallowing her whole.

"I guess so," he muttered, shoving her down with his left hand, watching as she landed ungracefully, far too numb to move. 

His right hand gripped her arms, unkindly pulling them back before quickly binding her wrists behind her.

Tightly shutting her eyes, she inhaled the dirt beneath her, fiercely struck by the horror of the skilled man, not knowing what awaited her at the mercy of his hands.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Next : A familiar Sense

[erchommai-a]

demon blood.

trigger warning: abuse mention, gross, scars, etc.

origin.

Lilith, Mother of Demons, was not an easy creature to summon, even with Valentine Morgenstern’s talents and determination. His earlier experimentation had attracted the demon’s attention. And had manipulated certain events to inspire the man to consider her blood for his experiments, hoping that through him, she may finally bear that son that she could never have.

With it came an agreement ─ an alliance that while Valentine had no plans or means to keep, he made regardless. Should his Uprising ( or any others in the future  prove victorious ) it would not only be his Nephilim that should benefit but her included. And the added clause that she would get to watch over Jonathan while Valentine ensured that it could and cannot happen without his direct permission.

Contracts after all are binding intricate dances. Especially when done with the mother of all demons.

childhood.

His birth, for the most part, was normal. He only cried once, on that very night, and then never again. He never smiled. And often, had this knowing expression in his eyes as if he could comprehend the whole world around him, as if he could see the disgust written all over his mother’s eyes everytime she held him. It was the pregnancy with him that was difficult. Jocelyn suffered nightmares ; she suffered deep and unsettling exhaustion mixed with depression. An anxiety that wouldn’t leave her until that night Jonathan was born. A feeling that would only be replaced by disgust and almost fear for the first half of her first born’s life.

Jonathan for the most part was privy to these little things. Memories deeply ingrained in him but never really had full comprehension for it. More like vague nonsensical sequences, no matter how vivid the scenario is inside his head. Jocelyn crying. Green eyes looking down into his. Fingers in his hair. His fingers in her clasped hand. Valentine proudly called him his son. Stories of a grandmother and grandfather. Grand tales of a future to come.

Except for his eyes, by all appearance he looked normal. A quiet boy with advanced motor skills and seemingly quick and adaptive cognitive abilities. But he didn’t speak until he was around two and it was only one word, “Mom.” And he wouldn’t speak again until that fateful night his Father scoops him out of his bed and takes him away.

relationships.

In his youth he wasn’t as volatile or violent towards new people. He found them fascinating and could just stare at them for hours. It was for that very reason that people tend to react to him differently. This child with deep empty soulless eyes just looking up at you, trying to understand what you’re thinking, could be unnerving with his almost complete silence and obvious lack of affect. But generally it was the adults that could pick up on his almost other-worldliness.

Children paid no mind to it. Alec, among the few children of the circle, was considerably his most constant friend due to how close Jocelyn and Maryse had been then. And they often had no issue playing around with each other. So long as Alec doesn't push Jonathan when he doesn’t want to do anything or doesn’t take anything Joanthan considers to be his. Oftentimes, Jon would just sit there and play with his own toys right next to the other kids.

Quiet and contnet with his own company.

Of course, this changed as he grew older. Restricted and practically trapped in solitude, save for the company of his dismissive father ─ his idea of people was easily twisted by Valentine’s Dogma. And his lack of opportunity for actual social practice or basic social understanding forged instead into weaponry and spycraft. Because for the most part, he can be very intuitive in the nature of people. But his childhood has made him very much a cynic towards people. Or humanity as a whole. He doesn’t think anyone or anything is worth saving. He finds chaos to be more fascinating. Morality is muddled whether you lean towards good or bad.

Chaos, to him, could almost be his religion.

physical traits.

The most obvious and significant effect of the demon blood in his system was the black eyes. And by that I literally just mean black pupils. He does not do the whole black eyes thing in my canon verses. It is just deep soulless black eyes that are quite freakishly inhuman but also human. He’s a cryptid.

There’s also a  general sharpness to his whole countenance that he wouldn’t have if the demon blood wasn’t there. Although it’s not really something completely noticeable, or something that ruins the aesthetic of his features, in fact it enhances his looks a lot more. Accentuating the beauty to his features that almost make it unnatural. Cause again, he’s kind of a cryptid.

The best way to picture it is how it's such a direct and obvious contrast to Jace’s beauty. Jace is golden, the sun, absolutely angelic. Jon is raw, sharp, ethereal like the night, absolutely hellish.

nature of the demon blood.

Please take note of this, cause this is such a crucial part to how I play him.

The general philosophy regarding demon blood is plain and simple, it’s a cancer to his soul. It’s not something that had any serious instantaneous effect on him so much that he is inhuman ─ or that he was born demonic or anything like that. He is different. But he isn’t entirely all demon or entirely all human because he has angel blood. He is still Nephilim.

So with it came this effect of diminishing humanity ─ the hell fire inside of him was burning it up in a waythat it wasn’t just purely dependent on how he was raised but the demon blood itself was isolating him from his human traits. The good emotions, empathy, compassion, etc. And influencing him in a way that his aggression and general affinity for violence is louder. So it just amplifies deep dark baser urges that are already within him ─ like his impulse control and fascination with violence and blood lust. They were all only heightened. And you match that with Valentine Morgenstern’s school of learning ─ it builds inside of him a clashing.

Demon versus Human.

A conflict of demon and angel fighting within himself in such a profound way that him, being the one with it, can not tell the difference of how abnormal his physical constitution is. He neither feels it, nor comprehends it. To him it’s a natural state of being. That feeling of conflict inside of him that never goes away. That unbearable loneliness. That insufferable hunger or feeling of emptiness. That absolute soul sucking encompassing black hole that is never sated, never satisfied, never content. It never goes away. It just is. It’s just him.

He has been burning ─ rotting ─ from the inside out since he was born.

With that said ─ at no point does it take away his agency ( because please stop doing that ) to the point that it’s easy to assume that he would be different without demon blood. No, it won’t. The anger in him is something he was born with. That loneliness, he was born with it. He was given as much choice as anyone ─ he could have killed his Father but he didn’t. He could have killed Jace first, without hesitation or second judgement in City of Glass, he didn’t. He didn’t have to kill Max, but he did.

One could argue that he didn’t make the choices with the best capacity or capability to make those decisions, yes, But it doesn’t take away the fact that he made those choices of his own volition. He chose to follow the path that leads to his death.

The demon blood or his demonic nature is not the sole instigator.

But he has done and will do evil things.

morality.

This is just a quick thing because I stand by the notion that he isn’t evil. Not inherently. He has done despicable, heinous, evil things. He has nearly accomplished more devious and horrible crimes. And had he won ─ he could have continued to try to raise the stakes until that deep hole inside of him was filled and satisfied.

Which cruelly would never be sated.

But his intent had never been directly for absolutely malicious intent.

He was built and cultivated towards this prospect because after his first death. It is the only clear and obvious direction for him. Because without his Father’s purpose, he has nothing. Without that legacy to latch onto ─ he has nothing. That and Family has only been the two things Valentine had allowed him to strive for. So in truth, he wouldn’t really know any better.

And if you let him loose, absolutely and purely, on his own whim and want. Things would have ended differently. He would have thrived more beautifully in chaos.

It could have still led to a war. But a fun war. For him anyway.

Quick summary, he isn’t evil for evil sake. Kind of in the same vein, Valentine isn’t inherently evil. He was a villain who thought he was doing what was right, if a little bit over-zealously and like a megalomaniac. But I guess, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. There’s a method to both their madness.

effects and abilities.

infertile. This isn’t really something he knows or directly thinks about. Children, to him, for the most part aren’t like a big deal. But no, he can’t have kids. None of his own anyway.  The demon blood has taken that away. demon connection. Although his connection to Lilith is both in part because it’s her blood specifically that flows through him, it does extend quite a bit to others within the demonic hierarchy. With Lilith, it’s a very specific sort of connection. She can contact him, although with limitations, but she can make her presence very well known to him. In his childhood, she could only maintain it in short instances. Soft reassuring voices in his ears. Little visions. Little dreams. Nothing that could alert Valentine to her presence because of their contract that she is not allowed to see Jon without his permission / supervision. But this connection extends to all other demonic creatures specifically. It doesn’t only offer itself up as a sort of dowsing rod that works both ways ( he can sense them and they can sense him like he’s a beacon ). With that, also comes this understanding. He can speak in demon tongue that is also not just exclusively phonetically but emphatically or telepathically as well in the most natural sense. It was never something he had to study. demon manipulation. This is just an extension of the effects of Lilith’s blood in him. He can influence, to some degree lower tier demons. Order them around based on his blood connection to Lilith. Something that works almost similarly like light hypnotism. But is not overly powerful or overt that he can use it for very long or very often. And only works on the unintelligent breed of demons. blood magic / blood sorcery. There is, inherently, a lot of use for his blood in terms of magic and rituals. His blood being a unique combination of demon and nephilim make it a very powerful conduit or power source for dark magic.  And not only that, his blood is a good supplement to other things like summoning rituals and binding rituals. Summoning circles lined with his blood has a stronger binding energy against demons and may not be exclusive to just demons. ( He has yet to find out, although theoretically can be applied to anyone that falls within the confines of summoning circles. ) It also has  corrosive properties when interacting with objects heavenly by nature. Or some enchanted objects. ( e.g. deactivating the wards. ) demonic blood empowerment. Physically, this technically makes him stronger than jace to a certain degree. Partnered with his training, this makes him absolutely lethal. And both fast and stronger than the majority of shadowhunters. Along with it, is a sense of physical self reliance. The more the influence of the demon blood becomes stronger, the less he has a need for human things. It destroys him spiritually and mentally but it builds him up physically to the point that a lot of what is essential to another person may not be as essential to him. Like physical sustenance is less of a necessity to him which in turn makes him eat less, sleep less, basically do so little of the human things that most people absolutely need. ( e.g. dreaming art, little enjoyments, those sort of things. ) This is also where the advanced nature of his progress in childhood also comes in effect. It helped him adapt to the physicallity of growing up or maturity much faster than a normal child would have. pain supression / resistance. Mostly before LIlith's resurrection, pain to him was a normal affliction. He felt as much as anyone physically could. But again through Valentine Morgenstern school of how to be a monster, he was taught to make himself numb to it through training and with physical abuse, he did. Post Lilith’s resurrection, he was gifted with almost unnatural invincibility. He is more likely to feel the pain now unless it was directly imbued with heavenly fire. This also meant there was no scarring and that he could get stabbed as many times as he liked. Cutting his head off could also work though. If you were fast enough. limitations. For the most part, there are only three things that can effectively hurt / bruise him in a sense. First and foremost is Demon metal, weapons made from these are rare but can leave significant scars on his skin after. And nothing that any known magic or angelic rune had been able to remove. Electrum, can also have similar effects but not as aggravating or as long lasting as demon metal. In pain level, electrum is a lot more tolerable for him than demon metal. And the scars, no matter how deep, are not as permanent as weapons infused with demon metal. Sanctified objects or holy ground can make him feel kind of an allergic reaction. There’s definitely a different energy around them that makes him uncomfortable. Not to the point that it weakens and not even to any significant degree that it hurts him. But they do make him feel weird and kind of aggravate the hell fire in his veins so it’s almost like a fever that’s just there. Or an itch that he cannot scratch. Anything imbued with heavenly fire directly however can be excruciating to him.  magic. To some degree, he has an affinity for it. He can be very talented with magic. It’s something innate and he can be very  intuitive with. More so than his own father, from whom he learned nearly all the spells that are within his arsenal. However, he isn’t as in tune with it so to speak, spiritually, as he is with his weapons. It’s why even when he has the ability for most things like basic healing spells, tracking spells, etc, he still prefers to use his shadowhunter training and weapons. But he does have a working understanding of how to use and conjure magic for himself. He just doesn’t. edom magic. I thought I should separate this just to emphasize that edom was gifted to him by lilith. Edom is his and hers domain. There is nothing he or she can not build or unravel or undo or make or destroy within the confines of that universe. He is, within its world, by all means a god. It does not however mean he is omniscient or omnipotent within it. It just means every grain of sand and every single atom within the confine of said universe is his to control. wings. This is absolutely just me indulging myself because I live for the aesthetic. This comes about after the bond between him and Jace is broken in COLS. A part of Lilith’s gift. To expound on the image or her goal for her son too to be hell’s knight so to speak. An absolute bastardization of angels with his demon blood and angel blood, so voila, wings. They are dark and sharp, the wings fade from white to gray to black, right at his shoulder blades, where they connect to his skin. Blood red vains stretch from his skin to the arch of his wings.  They are retractable and can be easily hidden within his skin or just through plain glamour magic. ( Cause you know, still kind of a cryptid. Just a pretty cryptid. ) Outside of some ability for flight, they don’t offer him much protection. They work more like an extra appendage. And something that stays with him in post-cohf verses although they appear more withered then and scarred. They also appear as fresh new scars, that cover over a small part of his shoulder blade as well as over the lines of scars from his whipping across his back.