#i really wanted to hammer home the ''this is not a human'' thing

[breserker]

WAIT, no, you cannot leave out that Tolkien was not just a soldier but a commanding officer. You cannot, cannot leave out that when he was away (on injury i believe) all of his men fucking died. You cannot leave out that Samwise Gamgee was written as a beloved apology and grief of those men, modeled after them, because Tolkien believe that the Sams of the world deserved to live, that it was a tragedy that they died.

It's not that Tolkien just understood tactics and wanted things to make internal sense, it's that he was intimately, painfully familiar with the toll of human loss that had names and faces and Rosie Cottons they wanted to return to if they only had one more chance to ask her out instead of being left wondering if they ever could until their bloody, untimely end.

I truly believe the reason LOTR stands out still amongst many of its 'successors' is because of this, this heartbroken apology to the lives that WERE lost to dumb wars, dumb tactics, dumb "wins". Tolkien was in no way cold in how he approached tactics, he wanted everyone to live. Desperately. Because he knows that everyone won't make it, and he knows what that actually means as an individual.

the problem with knowing things about battle tactics is that an ever-increasing subset of popular media becomes impossible to enjoy properly because you have to sit there like 'wow Captain Protagonist good to know all those dead people on your own side are a direct result of your total lack of anything resembling brains'

[centaurianthropology]

Therapy for Thee but Not for Me: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms in ‘Murderbot’ (Thoughts on Episodes 1-3)

Having now watched the third episode of ‘Murderbot’, I came away with two impressions: the first is that this is a better show as a binge.  Maybe I’m too used to shows that are an hour long, but I feel like I’ve only just got sunk into an episode when it ends.  But with a binge, I can just move onto the next, and the emotional through-line feels more well-drawn.

Spoilers below the cut.

The second thing is that I think this was really the final wrap episode for the introduction.  We finally get an explanation for why PresAux is not only doing this survey, but aren’t willing to ditch it at the first sign of danger (honestly needed, if we’re going to flesh them and Preservation out further).  And I really like the explanation provided! The notion that there is a bit more dissent in Preservation than we’ve seen in the books is welcome.  Because of course there are some people there who are short-sighted, greedy, or simply ignorant enough to decide that the glamor and faux-prosperity of the Corporation Rim is more attractive than a planetary commune with constant resource struggles. Of course some people buy the propaganda and believe that the Corporation Rim is truly existing in a golden age that Preservation should be lucky to join. That happens in every society, no matter how well it’s doing. It is human nature to want what you don’t have, and to always want more. 

And it’s a great motivation to explain why Mensah and her friends go to this planet, and then stay there even in the face of danger. It both establishes stakes and establishes this group as true believers in Preservation ideals.   They are the most dedicated to the Preservation way of life, whether they were raised in that environment or are a recent convert. 

We also get a little more time with a few underserved characters, particularly Ratthi and Bharadwaj, while elaborating on characters with more onscreen time like Mensah and Gurathin.  I’d still like to spend more time with Pin-Lee and Arada, but I feel like that’s coming soon enough.  I had thought the plot would really kick off in this episode, and in some ways it did (a whole lot of ‘All Systems Red’ was covered in this one episode, plot-wise), but it also felt like the last moment of early-static-state for these characters. 

And a huge part of that early static state is really hammering home how every character does (and doesn’t) deal with mounting stress.  This, like the books, is a show centering emotion.  In the books, it was almost exclusively Murderbot’s emotions, but here we see Murderbot as a part of a tapestry of emotion, one person amongst an ensemble it has not yet accepted that it’s a part of.  And as it has poor coping mechanisms, that just puts it in excellent company with this group of humans with fuck-awful coping mechanisms. 

So before we get into the meat of the action and, I suspect, meet our mystery additional character next episode (who I now suspect might be a ‘Company rep’ or something), I wanted to talk about the coping mechanisms (bad and good) everyone is rocking, and the arcs I suspect they’re setting up.

MURDERBOT: ESCAPISM

Let’s start with everyone’s favorite SecUnit.  Episode 3 really drove home how escapist and purposefully detached Murderbot is at this point in the story.  It is actively resisting caring or connection, wanting to escape every interaction or responsibility to sink into the comfort of its shows. 

Not surprisingly, and paralleling the book, this is setting up the arc of caring.  Next episode will probably feature Mensah saving it from the other SecUnit, and the shocking (for it) realization that she is willing to risk herself to save it.  This is the major turning point in their relationship, and in its understanding of people.  At this moment in episode 3, we are really seeing the last active resistance to this: it doesn’t think of itself as a person.  It doesn’t want to hear what Mensah has to say about her worries or her fears.   I know some people have seen this scene as trauma-dumping, but I didn’t read that at all into that scene.  Rather, I saw Mensah trying to make a connection.  She has decided that Gurathin is wrong: this SecUnit is a person, and it has emotions and thoughts and feelings.  And as she stares down the barrel of a very bad situation, she is trying to make it care.  She is reaching out, explaining her fears because she wants it to see her and her friends as people.  She wants it to understand why they can’t just back out, can’t turn tail at the first sign of danger.  She is trying to forge a connection.

And Murderbot isn’t there yet.  It’s avoidant, angrier in this episode than it was before, it’s on edge after both Ratthi and Gurathin seem convinced that it’s more than just an ordinary SecUnit.  It knows it’s not faking being an ordinary SecUnit well, and it wants out. 

And more than that, it is self-soothing the anger and the resentment and the fear that defines its existence at this point with its shows.  I think it’s interesting that, instead of ‘Sanctuary Moon’, this episode introduces us to a much grimmer show, ‘Strife in the Galaxy’, which explicitly shows constructs like SecUnit being tortured (although it points out that this doesn’t seem particularly realistic) and stressing their own struggles and individuality.  And it considers this an inferior show.  Why?  Because it cannot imagine doing that.  At this point it can’t imagine being as defiant as the (ComfortUnits??) constructs in the show.  It’ll enjoy the unrealistic aspects of ‘Sanctuary Moon’, but I get the feeling that the unrealism of ‘Strife’ strikes a little too close to home to be good quality escape.

But it keeps watching.  Because if it keeps just burying itself in media, it never needs to care.  It never needs to feel deeper, more complicated, more dangerous emotions about real people who could be in real danger.  It can just … exist, comfortably numb, and bide its time.  For what?  Unclear, probably even to Murderbot. Carin will be thie thing that motivates it out of this static state, but that is terrifying, and it is resisting that with every single minute of entertainment it’s downloaded. 

DR. MENSAH and PROF. BHARADWAJ: AVOIDANCE

These two feel like parallel characters right now. They’re both older women, both feel a weight of responsibility, and both feel like they’re doing the same thing: pretend everything is fine, act strong when everyone else can see you (and rely on you), offer help wherever you can, fall apart only when you’re safely alone.

They tackle it differently.  Mensah is, to her team, the consummate professional.  We see her fears and doubts only through SecUnit’s spyware or because she’s chosen to talk to it late at night when everyone else is asleep.  And why did she choose that?

I’ve seen some people, as I mentioned, say that she was trauma dumping.  But I read this as an attempt to reach out to the only other person, in her mind, who was sort of in her same position.  Because they were both being relied on by everyone else.  Because if they faltered, everything could fall apart.  I read her talk with Murderbot as a way of expressing how much this mission actually means to all of them, why it matters, why it might even matter to their SecUnit, and I genuinely think she was hoping for it to share its own fears and struggles in return.  She wasn’t dumping; she was opening up in an incredibly vulnerable way to a person that at least one of her friends thinks is a potential spree killer.  But she looks at this person, and she sees someone in a similar position of responsibility, equally unable to share its frustrations and fears. Reaching out was a risk. She knows it’s spying on them. But she also believes that it is more that was it was built to be, so it was worth the risk to try to connect on a deeper level.

And it still can’t reach back.  She’s left wanting.  Like everyone elose in the episode, she fails at dealing with the stress well. She does the best of all of them, in my estimation, but she still fails, because at this point in the story they all need to fail. They all need a hole they can climb out of.

Bharadwaj certainly isn’t doing any better.  She, like Mensah, is holding it together by her fingernails.  But while Mensah has the leader persona she wraps around herself, Bharadwaj has jokes and energy and exuberance.  She has an indomitable spirit, right up until there’s no one to perform for.

And then she breaks down crying, and who wouldn’t?  She almost died.  She, of everyone, was the closest to just suddenly losing everything, and how do you process that?  How do you deal with the sudden and undeniable reality of your own mortality shoved so brutally in your face?  Of course she’s not dealing well.  And of course she, like Mensah—like everyone else who wants to be there for their friends and never let them know how much they themselves might need help in turn, like everyone else who is used to being the strong, steady, reliable, fun one—ends up hiding it.  And Gurathin stumbles into it, but he can barely process his own trauma, let alone anyone else’s.  He tries to reach out as best he can, and it’s not what she needs, and it fails them both.  There is a surprising level of tragedy underling this episode that creeps out slowly on viewing it again.  I really appreciate that, as on-the-nose as the writing can seem, this show is actually working at several different levels, and Bharadwaj trying and failing to deal with the sudden and immense trauma she’s experienced is one of them.

I think both Mensah and Bharadwaj are being set up for arcs of being able to accept help as well as give it. Mensah’s biggest struggle in the books is even admitting to those she loves that she’s not doing well mentally, and I think we’ll see echoes of that here. Bharadwaj ends up as more or less Murderbot’s therapist (while couching it in ‘making a documentary’), and while I’m not sure it’ll play out precisely in that format, I want to see them all connecting on that level. The human characters act as mirrors for Murderbot, and both Mensah and Bharadwaj are just as avoidant of their trauma as Murderbot is in its way, and just like it, they are going to fail to keep it all together. They are going to have to reach out, but that won’t be weakness. Acknowledging their needs, their fears, their broken parts to those they love will eventually help them mend those broken bits in ways they never could have managed alone.

DR. ARADA, PIN-LEE, AND DR. RATTHI: PHYSICAL COMFORT WHILE IGNORING THE EMOTIONS UNDERLYING EVERYTHING

It doesn’t surprise me that the ill-advised throuple is all about trying for physical comfort while ignoring the fact that this comfort is built on quicksand.  One thing this episode really nails is that this arrangement was built on shaky ground, and they can all feel it but none of them are directly discussing it. I feel like this relationship is serving as a metaphor for all their myriad issues of dependence, distrust, poor communication, and an inability to simply discuss contradictory needs.

Pin-Lee has been hiding innocuous things like their video game habits from their wife (likely because they think Arada wouldn’t approve of them playing violent video games).  Arada is trying to fill relationship troubles with a third person, hoping things work out better than the last time, all while clearly not addressing the root issues she and Pin-Lee are facing.  And Ratthi, forever happy to be here, is ignoring the fact that his presence in this arrangement is both more complicated and less helpful than he might hope. 

I also like that we can contrast this disaster trio with Mensah’s clearly stable, clearly long-term, clearly loving arrangement with her marital partners.  Because they might not have wanted her to go, but they still love and support her.  They still have seven children together, whose picture acts as the centerpiece to her room.  If the show goes on for more seasons, we’ll certainly see more of Mensah’s family, but it’s nice to establish the norm of multiple marriages in Preservation society this early, and how healthy and stable they are, especially in light of the disaster throuple that is Arada, Ratthi, and Pin-Lee.

I love Ratthi’s self-doubts in this episode, because I think it highlights how much he’s trying to use his friendliness, his supportiveness, his Golden-Retriever-of-a-Man-ness to cover his self-doubt and even flavors of self-loathing.  There is clearly a lot about himself he doesn’t quite like, that he struggles with.  He is naturally sociable, naturally flirty.  He loves a good time, loves to trust people, and (if he’s true to his book counterpart), loves to love all different sorts of people.  But he struggles with commitment.  He struggles to live up to the standards he’s setting for himself.  So he’s too hungover to do weapons training.  He’s too eager to get the survey equipment and almost runs into danger.  He so earnestly wants to be there for everyone, so of course having sex with his friends seems like a great idea.  After all, for him, sex and friendship go together great.  I don’t really think he’s yet dug into the fact that Pin-Lee and Arada are sort of using him to paper over the cracks in their own foundation, and I’m interested to see how he reacts to realizing that’s the case.

His arc is a little difficult to see right now, but I imagine it’s going to be someting about finding himself. He’s a great guy; he’s eventually going to be SecUnit’s best friend. But who is he when he’s not being what everyone else needs? Who is Ratthi just on his own? I hope we (and maybe he) get to know that.

Pin-Lee has a little more definition to them after this episode, and I hope we keep getting more.  They’ve been built up quietly in the background, doing a lot of necessary plot work because it fits their personality rather than their job. They’re the one analyzing the satellite data for patterns in the outages, and this tells the audience a lot about their need for everything to make sense and fit neatly. They are a lover of patterns and order.  They are almost certainly the one who pushed for the throuple contract (because of course Pin-Lee needs a contract).  They see offering up another throuple as a means to fix things that frankly need honest discussions, but a contract is easier than a discussion, and one discussion may lead to another.

It’s clear Pin-Lee loves their wife, but seems to fear their wife doesn’t love them nearly as much. So they hide parts of themself they think Arada might find objectionable. They blunt their edges. I think a lot of Pin-Lee’s arc is going to be shifting further into the Pin-Lee from the books as they gain confidence. But that requires them to work through their issues with their wife. It requires trust rather than contract, accepting that they won’t always see the patterns and have control, and being okay with that. I wasn’t sure about combining Pin-Lee and Overse at first, but the more I look at it, the more interesting of an arc has been set up for this character, going from an amalgamation with more Overse into more of a book-true Pin-Lee, specifically by embracing many things Pin-Lee struggles with. 

Arada is the mystery to me right now.  She’s very caring, very focused on being kind and fair.  She’s the one who first has clearly decided that SecUnit is a person.  She’s the one who insists that the worm that tried to eat her was simply an animal doing what animals do.  She’s the one who makes certain people are validated, supported, given gifts of embroidery and windchimes.  She’s the heart of the group in many ways.

But who is she beneath the care?  I feel like we haven’t gotten to know her as well as the others quite yet, and I really want to learn more about her perspective.  She brings a great, solid base of caring to the equation, but she can also clearly blind herself to her own more selfish impulses. There isn’t a deliberately selfish or cruel bone in her body, but there is a part of her that happily believes that if she wants something, her spouse wants it too. If Pin-Lee doesn’t openly object, then Pin-Lee is trilled to be a part of whatever Arada wants. It’s a very ordinary, human flaw, to overlook someone else’s discomfort in your own excitement.

I want to see that dug into, more explored.  I want all the awkward, painful bits of Arada to come out the same as we’re getting for the others.  Of everyone, I feel like her shitty coping mechanisms are perhaps the least defined, and I am eager to see them laid bare. I think her arc has yet to take shape, and I am eager to know where she’s going.

DR. GURATHIN: HYPERVIGILANCE AND HYPERCOMPETENCE

Oh boy, the king of shitty coping mechanisms came into fairly sharp focus in this episode, didn’t he?  He only really got three scenes, being kept on base with Bharadwaj, but each of them hits hard for different reasons.  His argument with Mensah about going to DeltFall drives home his hypervigilance, and how it turns him inward to the point of paranoia and bringing out his own worst impulses. 

He is fiercely protective of this group of friends, these very few people who he cares about, and is willing to do some fairly shitty things to keep them safe. And even so, everything feels like it’s slipping out of his control (and he needs to be useful, and he needs to have control).  His better nature can still be reached, particuarly by Mensah who is still able to talk him down. This episode makes it clear how much he puts Mensah on a pedestal as The Best Person (it’s funnily enough similar to what Murderbot does after ‘All Systems Red’ in the books).  So he caves, and she and the team leave, and he’s left alone with Bharadwaj. Does he think it’s a good idea? No. Does it matter? Not really, but also on a personal level it matters very much, because it leaves him in a position to stew in his own insecurities and fears. And he’s got more than his fair share of both.

In the scene with Bharadwaj we see his second major coping mechanism: the need to be useful.  He can’t talk to her about her experiences.  He doesn’t understand them and is painfully fucking awkward at the best of times, and he knows it.  But he offers up the trauma modules he has that clearly helped him at least a little.  It’s what he’s got, and it’s what he’s comfortable offering a friend in need.

She turns him down.  And this triggers his final scene in the show, and one that plays on multiple layers.  The first layer is SecUnit’s layer, the one we’re presented when we listen to and believe its voiceover, and that is that he’s being creepy.  He’s going into Mensah’s room without her permission; he looks at the photo of her kids and he smells her pillow.  That’s creepy, right?  Right?

But if you watch the scene on mute, without the color commentary, it feels a lot more like a poor attempt at self-soothing in the face of a breakdown.  Gurathin’s backstory is not very clear at this point, but I think it’s safe to assume his relationship with his parents is a far cry from Mensah’s loving family.  So there is comfort in seeing the photo of her children (and if he and Mensah have been friends for six years, he probably knows the kids at least a little).  He’s clinging to this ideal of Mensah as what he wants to be, as much as he has a crush on her: to him she’s competent, caring, effortlessly balancing the needs of everyone.  She’s a good mother, a good friend, a good leader.

And in the face of the fear of losing her, of losing all his friends to unknown and uncontrollable dangers, he falls apart.  In this place where he maybe feels just a little safe, he completely collapses. It’s not pretty and it’s not great and it’s absolutely bordering on inappropriate.  Yes, it sure does look like he smell her pillow (not great, even if she never finds out), but after that he mostly just shatters.  He’s sobbing by the end of the scene, and the narration just doesn’t quite notice it, and because the audience can’t hear it, it’s easy to miss.  There is an enormous disconnect between what SecUnit thinks is happening in that moment (tawdry, one-dimensional creeping) and what is actually happening (understandable, still inappropriate, badly maladaptive, but deeply human breakdown). 

He, like Bharadwaj, is having his coping mechanisms fail him.  He’s not useful.  He’s hypervigilant to the point of paranoia, and it’s NOT HELPING.  It could easily drive a wedge between him and his friends and he can’t help it because it���s what he knows how to do.  He protects what little he cares about.  There is an obvious ruthless, selfish streak to him that remains from the Corporation Rim and whatever was done to him there (and the more hints we get, the more sense we get that it was BAD). 

Interestingly, I’m not sure where Gurathin’s arc is headed. He’s one of the best developed characters at this point, but it’s all not great. He’s got a lot of room to grow, but in what direction? I’m not sure, and I’m honestly excited that I’m not sure. It makes more of a mystery, trying to figure out what the writers are planning on doing with him aside from making him a narrative foil for Muderbot.

CONCLUSIONS

I really like that the show is being bold in its choices to show the uglier, more maladaptive sides of these people. I like that it’s trying, with only about twenty minutes an episode, to actually make them believable people having believable responsives to an incredibly difficult situation.

That’s what I ended up really taking away from this continuation of the series, after watching it back to back to back with the previous two: we now have an idea of most of these characters’ stress responses, how good or often bad they are.  They are all so eager (except SecUnit) to help one another, but they are all trying desperately to hide how much they need help.  They are kind and caring, but still painfully human. 

With Mensah reaching out to SecUnit, with the first tentative attempt to make it care, I think we as the audience have also been positioned to see these people as their own raw selves, and to learn to embrace them, to care, just as much as Murderbot will begin to care about them.

I am still really liking this show.  I still want to see where it’s going.  If anything, I wish that each episode was just a few minutes longer, because a lot of moments are surprisingly subtle, undermining the narration, and acting as contrast to the way SecUnit currently perceives the world.  Would it be better if those moments had a bit longer to breathe, or is their subtelty and the need to watch the show a few times to catch everything part of the charm?

[lazy-ahh]

ORPHAN OF THE VOID (MEETS HIS RUIN)

pairing viltrum! mark grayson x (space outlaw) male reader

rule #1 of being a space outlaw: always put yourself first. you've survived slave markets, alien mobs, and the cold void of space—but none of it prepared you for mark grayson. in another life, you might’ve run. but his hand fits too perfectly around yours—and for the first time, you’re not sure you want to escape.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff

you crash-landed on earth in what could be called a blaze of glory—if "glory" meant a flaming heap of scrap metal, stolen engine parts, and the distinct smell of burning circuits. your ship, the star-jumper (a name you gave it after drunkenly winning it in a bet), was now little more than a smoking carcass, its hull groaning as it settled into the crater it had just carved into the ground. you coughed, waving away the thick plumes of smoke, and grinned.

home.

or at least, what was supposed to be home.

you’d been lost for so long, your earliest memories were just fragments—scavenging for food in the wreckage of your family’s ship, their remains staining the walls in hues you didn’t want to remember. the rogue aliens who’d boarded hadn’t killed you—no, that would’ve been too easy. instead, they’d dragged you off, sold you like cargo to some backwater planet where the air was poison and the only thing thicker than the smog was the cruelty. you’d spent years in a rusted helmet just to breathe, doing grunt work for slavers who’d branded you like livestock. the scar on the back of your neck still burned sometimes, a phantom reminder of the iron searing into your skin.

but you’d escaped. stolen a ship. learned how to fight, how to lie, how to survive. you became a legend in the galaxy—the ghost of the outer rim, they called you. a thief with a heart? maybe. but only when it suited you. you helped where you could, but the second things got dicey? poof. gone. survival was the only rule that mattered. you gotta put yourself first, you know? self-love is important!

then, one night in some grimy spaceport bar, a drunk alien had sneered at you, called you a "disgusting human" like it was an insult.

human.

suddenly, everything made sense. the fragments of songs in your head, the faded memories of blue skies, the way your body craved sunlight like it was starving for it. earth. you had a home.

you’d spent months charting a course, dodging bounty hunters, and patching up the star-jumper just enough to make the trip. chicago—your home—wasn’t some distant planet. it was right here.

as you breached earth’s atmosphere, your heart pounded. you’d imagined skyscrapers kissing the clouds, neon lights, advanced technology, maybe even a welcoming committee. but instead—

"…am i in the right place?" you muttered, squinting at the distinct lack of floating cities.

eh, whatever. you hit the gas.

the landing was… rough. but the second you stumbled out of the wreckage, coughing up what was definitely not earth-friendly space dust, you were met with the barrel of a gun. then another. then—oh, fantastic—a whole squad of pissed-off, high-tech soldiers, their weapons humming with energy you really didn’t want to test.

your hands shot up in surrender. "hey, hey—easy! i come in peace and all that jazz—"

then, a new group arrived.

your eyes skimmed over them—some guy with a ridiculous beard, some guy that can actually pull off that mustache, a green woman, another woman with a... a uhhh hammer? a huge fish, some guy covered in all red, a guy you really want to steal from cause what was that flying vehicle he just came from, and- is that a martian???—before locking onto him.

tall. broad-shouldered. dark hair swept back like some kind of regal space prince, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. his eyes—soft brown, but sharp, calculating—scanned you with an intensity that made your throat dry. his lips were a sinful shade of pink, pressed into a firm line, and his body—god, the way that white suit clung to him should’ve been illegal. the fabric stretched over his chest, his arms thick with muscle but still lean, built for speed and power. a familiar insignia gleamed on his shoulders, marking him as something dangerous.

something beautiful.

your brain short-circuited.

"who the hell are you?" beard-guy snapped.

you blinked, then flashed your most charming grin, brushing soot off your jacket like you hadn't just been mentally undressing mr. tall-dark-and-pretty in front of an entire militia and superhero squad. "name's (y/n). professional space outlaw, part-time legend. also, uh... human? apparently?" you gestured to yourself with a little flourish. "surprise?"

the air hung heavy with disbelief. the red-suited woman (you'd later learn was war woman) tightened her grip on her mace. darkwing's cape billowed dramatically even though there wasn't any wind—showoff.

then that voice—deep, smooth, and dripping with enough arrogance to power a small planet—cut through the tension like one of mark's punches through concrete.

"you expect us to believe that?"

you turned slowly, and there he was. mark grayson. all six-plus feet of sculpted perfection, standing like the universe personally appointed him judge, jury, and executioner. his white suit clung to him in ways that should be studied by scientists, a familiar insignia gleaming on his shoulders like a warning label. his eyes—god, those eyes—dark and intense, locked onto you with the focus of a predator who just found his new favorite plaything.

the older guy in red and white (nolan, you also later found out) gave mark a look that could melt steel. mark barely glanced at him before returning that burning gaze to you, chin tilted up in challenge.

"believe what you want, pretty boy," you shot back, flipping your quad-blaster in a showy arc before smoothly holstering it with a satisfying click. "but i've been jumping from one star system to another since i was knee-high to a xenomorph, and i just pulled off the greatest homecoming this side of the milky way. so, y'know." you spread your arms wide. "applause would be nice. also, is this how earth greets all its returning space orphans? because ouch."

a new voice—robotic, skeptical—piped up from the group. "alright, let me ask you this: what master do you serve?"

you blinked. then burst out laughing. "what master do i serve?" you repeated, wiping an imaginary tear. "what am i supposed to say, jesus?" you gestured to your battered clothes and the still-smoking wreck behind you. "i serve me, pal. and occasionally the nearest bar when i'm thirsty."

"bar? you don't look any older than 17."

"what...? is there like, an age restriction to drinking here on earth? oh, what the fuck..."

mark's lip did that thing again—the almost-smile that wasn't quite approval but wasn't quite disgust either. dangerous. exciting.

"cute," he said, taking a step forward that somehow felt like a threat and a promise all at once. "but if you're lying, i'll throw you back into orbit myself."

"that's enough, mark." nolan's voice carried the weight of someone used to being obeyed. mark didn't back down, but he did pause, his eyes never leaving yours.

you couldn't help but grin wider. oh yeah. this was definitely gonna be fun.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the rivalry was instant. electric. the kind of tension that made your teeth ache and your pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way mark's stupidly perfect face twisted into a scowl every time you opened your mouth.

at first glance, you'd thought he was just another pretty-boy hero with a god complex—until you saw the way he moved. like gravity was a suggestion. like violence was his first language. and that symbol on his shoulders... something about it made the hair on your neck stand up. it was familiar in a way you couldn't place, like a half-remembered nightmare, sending little jolts of adrenaline through you every time it caught your eye. you'd seen it somewhere in your years drifting through the cosmos, you were sure of it. but for the life of you, you couldn't remember where.

"so what's your deal, superboy?" you'd asked during your first "team bonding" exercise (which was really just cecil's way of seeing if you'd try to steal anything, to see whether you were a threat or just a nuisance. a useful nuisance). "you part of some space cult with the fancy shoulder decals? or just really into symmetrical fashion?"

mark had looked at you like you'd just pissed in his cereal. "it's none of your concern."

"ohhh, mysterious," you'd crooned, leaning into his space just to watch his nostrils flare. "i like it."

that was the moment you decided you were going to make it your life's mission to get under his skin.

you, the cocky space rogue who could quote every line from the blurry vhs tapes of your childhood (even if the memories of your parents' laughter were fading like dying stars). him, the ruthless warrior who moved like he owned the air he breathed and had the ego to match.

training sessions turned into competitions. missions turned into showdowns. every time you pulled off some insane stunt with your jet boots—maybe flipping backwards over a charging villain while blasting your guns like some 80s action hero—mark would "accidentally" punch through the building behind you, sending debris raining down on your head.

"wow," you'd deadpan, shaking concrete dust from your hair, "so impressive. did you practice that in the mirror? or are you just naturally this extra?"

his only response would be that infuriating smirk before he'd zip off to wreck something else.

the first time you stole his kill was an accident. the second time? absolutely on purpose.

"hey grayson!" you called out as you sailed past him on your jet boots, quad blasters already charging. "catch!"

the alien invader exploded mid-air just as mark was winding up for his punch. you took a dramatic bow in midair, blowing imaginary smoke from your guns. "you're welcome."

"you're insufferable," mark growled, floating closer with that murderous glint in his eyes.

"and you're jealous," you sing-songed, hovering just out of reach and sticking out your tongue for good measure. you loved being the only person who can get under his skin, being the only person who can get a reaction from someone who's normally stern and stoic and always in control.

he lunged. you dodged. it became your favorite game.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

then, the obsession started.

not that you were complaining—hell, you lived for this kind of attention. but at first, you didn’t even realize what it was. you just thought mark was being his usual, overbearing, infuriating self—until the patterns became impossible to ignore.

it was the little things at first:

the way his eyes never left you during briefings, even when cecil was talking. like you were the only one in the room worth looking at.

how he’d suddenly materialize on your solo missions, arms crossed, that stupid smirk on his face like he’d won some game you didn’t even know you were playing. "need backup?" he’d ask, voice dripping with fake innocence, while you groaned and muttered, "i was fine, grayson."

the way he’d linger after training sessions, wiping sweat off his brow (ugh, showoff) while subtly blocking the exit so you’d have to squeeze past him.

but the real kicker? the way his entire body went rigid whenever you so much as glanced at someone else.

"oh my god," you whispered to yourself one day, hiding a grin behind your hand as you watched mark obliterate the stupid little stress ball you’d stolen from a space mall and gifted him as a joke. his fingers flexed, the poor thing reduced to rubber dust, all because you’d winked at rex splode while the two of you were debriefing with cecil.

"he’s jealous," you realized, giddy.

…or, well. maybe.

you shook your head, laughing at yourself. yeah, right. like mark grayson—mr. tall-dark-and-stoic, the guy who probably bench-pressed asteroids for fun—would ever be jealous over you. you were, after all, quote on quote a lesser being compared to him. and why would he want someone who wasn't an equal or close to an equal?

"years of zero human interaction really fried my brain, huh," you muttered, rubbing your temples. you were just being delusional, spinning little fantasies to make life more interesting, to cope. that’s what happened when you spent most of your life alone in space, right? you started seeing things that weren’t there.

…except.

except.

the way mark’s gaze burned into you whenever you laughed too loud with someone else. the way his voice got dangerously calm when another hero flirted with you. the way he’d "accidentally" bump into you in the hallway, his hands lingering just a second too long on your waist, his half-lidded yet stern gaze lingering on you as he waited for you to say something sarcastic.

maybe you weren’t imagining it.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"you're staring again," you teased one lazy afternoon, slumped against the guardians' hq wall like you owned the place. your arms were tucked behind your head, showing off just enough of your torso to be annoyingly casual—and just enough to watch mark's eyes flicker down for half a second before snapping back up.

you hadn't scraped together enough credits to buy your own place yet (superhero salaries were shit), but honestly? crashing at hq wasn't so bad. free food. cool tech. and, most importantly, front-row seats to the slow, delicious unraveling of mark grayson's infamous self-control.

his gaze was heavy today—dark, intense, hungry in a way that made the back of your neck prickle.

"you're imagining things," he muttered, but his eyes didn't waver. not even a little.

"uh-huh. sure." you smirked, tilting your head just enough to expose the column of your throat—just to see if he'd bite. "you like me, grayson."

it was supposed to be a joke. your tone was light, playful, the same way you'd tease rex, robot, or atom eve. but the second the words left your mouth, something in mark's expression shifted. his jaw clenched. his pupils dilated. his shoulders tensed like a predator about to pounce.

something dangerous. something possessive.

your breath hitched.

oh.

oh shit.

before you could react—before you could even breathe—his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that was just shy of bruising. his skin was warm, calloused from countless battles, compared to yours which still had their softness since you wore gloves most of the time, but still calloused all the same. the contrast and similarity sent a jolt of heat straight to your gut.

"maybe," he said, voice so low it vibrated through you, "i just like putting you in your place."

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. your pulse was racing, and you knew he could feel it when his thumb brushed over the frantic flutter beneath your skin.

"oh?" you managed, raising an eyebrow like your heart wasn't trying to climb out of your chest. "and where's my place, exactly?"

his grip tightened. his other hand came up, fingers skimming the side of your neck—right over your pulse point, like he knew exactly how much he affected you. his thumb traced the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, while his middle and ring fingers ghosted over the brand on the back of your neck—the one you never let anyone touch.

you flinched.

mark noticed.

his touch gentled—just for a second—before his voice dropped to a whisper, his lips so close to your ear you could feel his breath.

"wherever i want you."

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the warmth came later. slow, like a star forming in the void—quiet, inevitable, burning.

it started with late-night talks on the hq roof, your legs dangling over the edge while mark hovered just beside you (because of course he wouldn’t sit like a normal person). you’d ramble about the constellations you’d charted, the supernovas you’d raced, the black holes you’d barely escaped. and mark—mark, who acted like listening to anyone else was beneath him—would actually listen. his eyes would stay fixed on your face, his brow slightly furrowed, like you were the only thing in the universe worth his attention.

"and then boom—whole damn asteroid belt turned to dust," you finished, waving your hands dramatically. "wish you could’ve seen it."

"i could have," he said, nose scrunched in that way it did when he was trying very hard not to sound impressed. "if i’d been there."

you snorted. "oh, please. you’d have punched one rock and called it a day."

he huffed—the closest thing to a laugh he’d ever admit to—and nudged your shoulder with his knee. "i wouldn’t have needed a stolen ship to escape."

"wow. rude." you clutched your chest. "and after i shared��my trauma with you."

his lips twitched. "some of us don’t need to compensate with stories."

"ohhh, big words from the guy who literally calls himself invincible—"

"it’s accurate—"

"it’s embarrassing—"

he flicked your forehead. you punched his shin.

neither of you moved away.

the touches came next.

small, at first. a hand on your back after a fight, lingering just a second too long. a shoulder pressed to yours in the elevator, like he needed the contact. once, after a particularly brutal mission, he’d even carried you back to hq—not because you couldn’t walk (you could, thank you very much), but because he’d taken one look at your limp and decided for you.

"put me down, you overgrown—"

"shut up," he’d grumbled, arms tightening around you. "you shouldn’t be walking on that leg."

"it’s fine—"

"it’s bleeding."

"oh, so now you care about blood?"

he’d glared, but his grip had been careful.

then came the almost-confessions.

"you’re such an idiot," mark grumbled one night, pressing a gauze to the cut on your lip after you’d somehow managed to piss off an entire alien mob (in your defense, they’d started it).

"your idiot," you corrected, grinning through the sting.

his fingers stilled. his eyes—dark, intense, burning—locked onto yours.

for a heartbeat, you thought he’d argue.

then his thumb brushed your cheekbone, gentle, and he muttered, "obviously."

and that was the thing, wasn’t it?

mark grayson, with all his viltrumite pride, his superiority, his unshakable belief that he was better than everyone else…

…never treated you like you were beneath him.

if anything, he looked at you like you were his—his equal, his partner, his. like he’d already decided you’d rule the planet at his side.

(and the scariest part?

you were starting to like the idea.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

then, the angst.

because this was mark. not just mark grayson—not just the arrogant, infuriating, beautiful boy who’d somehow carved a place for himself in your chest—but mark grayson, son of omni-man, a warrior to the viltrum empire.

and you knew.

you knew from the moment it all clicked—from the moment you finally remembered why that insignia on his shoulders made your stomach churn. you’d seen it before, burned into the hulls of warships that had glassed entire civilizations. you’d run from it as a child, though you hadn’t known why at the time.

when you’d confronted him, your voice barely steady, mark hadn’t lied. hadn’t hesitated and treated you like you were his equal. he’d looked you in the eyes, his fingers gentle around your wrist, and told you everything. about viltrum. about conquest. about your planet being next.

and like an idiot, like someone who’d forgotten their own damn rules, you’d accepted him.

"you ever think about just… leaving all this?" you asked one night, your voice too quiet in the space between you. the city sprawled beneath the hq roof, lights flickering like dying stars.

mark didn’t answer right away. his jaw worked, his fingers flexing against the ledge where he sat. you could see the war in his eyes—the viltrumite wrestling with something he’d never been taught to name. it's funny, you started thinking about him as a viltrumite more than as a human with superpowers now.

finally, softly: "no."

you laughed, sharp and brittle, the sound scraping your throat raw. "yeah. didn’t think so."

his hand found yours—squeezed, just once, just enough to make your breath catch. his palm was warm, his grip firm, like he was trying to anchor you. like he knew you’d spent your whole life running and was terrified you’d finally learned how.

(and maybe you should have. maybe the old you—the one who put safety first, who always had an exit strategy—would’ve already been halfway across the galaxy by now.)

but your fingers twined with his instead, holding on like you could somehow change the inevitable. that maybe, just maybe... he'd choose you—

mark exhaled, rough, his thumb brushing your knuckles. "stay," he murmured, the word more plea than order.

you closed your eyes.

(you always put yourself first.)

(so why did his empire feel like your undoing?)

3.4k words woohoo!! viltrum mark is lowkey up there in my favourites... like... there's no way i wouldn't have not written a one-shot for him. i'm just surprised he wasn't the first variant i wrote for. could have definitely done more for this one-shot and definitely could have done it better (i had a vision, but unfortunately i don't think i did it justice). will definitely write more for viltrum mark in the future heheh

[ccwpidsblog]

White Dress, Black Cat 𖣁 | ONYAKOPON

Summary: They said she was a witch.

She said they were all damned. Onyakopon didn’t believe in hauntings until he heard his own voice tremble at the pulpit. Now every hymn echoes wrong, and she’s waiting for him by the well, knitting as if the world ain’t falling apart. He just wanted to serve God. Now they’re standing hand in hand, watching the damned burn.

Themes: Heavy Religious trauma/themes, family dysfunction, mentions of suicide, miscarriage, mental health struggles, tall blk female reader, plus-sized reader, preacherson!ony, implied supernatural violence, psychological horror, shy!ony, dark themes and atmosphere, small town prejudice, abandonment, slow burn, smut: virginity loss (mc and ony), soft sex/lovemaking, praise kinks, soft dom!ony

Part one | Part two | Part three

Word count: 10.2k

Authors Note: Well obviously I've been really into religious themes and southern gothic themes for some reason and with my religious background it's only fair I vent through my writing lol. This was meant to be a one-shot but yk how I get lol. Very different from the usual Ony fics hope you all enjoy and I don't disappoint 🥺💔

also wanted to thank @thecoochiefairy and @2neaky for unknowingly inspiring me!! I love black love and im happy to see it on tumblr again 🩷 please don't be shy send me an ask and support me on AO3

The night pressed in thick as syrup, and Onyakopon couldn't move.

He lay flat on his back on a threadbare cot in the shotgun house behind the old

sugarcane fields, sweat slicking his brow, heart hammering against ribs that had forgotten how to breathe. The air was too still. No crickets. No frogs. Not even the wind dared stir. Just that weight, heavier than a man, darker than sin, pinning him to the mattress with invisible hands.

Something's whispering in his ear.

He couldn’t understand the words, not exactly. But the voice, it was his father’s. And then not.

His body twitched. Eyes wide, still unable to blink. In the corner of the room, where the shadow refused to dissolve, something crouched. Watching. Waiting. Its eyes were coals, slow-burning.

“Get up,” he told himself. But his jaw wouldn’t work. His tongue felt thick. Roots of a tree growing wild inside his throat.

The thing in the corner inched forward. Crawling on elbows. Grinning too wide.

And then—

A scream tore from his chest. The kind that didn’t sound human.

He sat bolt upright, breath ragged, vision swimming. The shadow was gone. But the smell lingered like hot iron and smoke. Like burnt offerings. Outside, there was a loud crack of thunder as the sky began to pour. The world had moved on. But Onyakopon didn’t.

Not yet.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and stared down at the callouses in his palms.

The tremble in them betrayed him. That was the third one this week. And in every single one, there was always a shadow. Eyes like smoldering coals. A voice that wore his father’s face like a mask. No matter how many scriptures he recited before bed. No matter how often he sang himself hoarse in praise. It kept coming back. Stronger and stronger. And every time he woke, he felt like something had been peeled off of him in the night. Something soft. Something sacred.

He refused to speak on it. Refused to write it down. Didn’t dare let it live outside his own chest.

Not yet.

Not running. Not crying. Just sitting there heavy on his heart. Another crack of thunder rumbled the sky as heavy rain pelted on his family homes roof. He rose from his bed pulling his rosary off his night stand bringing it to his lips as he said a silent prayer.

Lord… have mercy on me. I been seein’ things. Eyes in the corner, whispers in the dark, faces that don’t belong to no man. I don’t know if it’s You, or the Devil, or somethin’ in between. But I’m scared. I’m tired. I’m tryin’.

Send me peace. Send me clarity. Send me somethin’ steady, somethin’ real. A light, Lord. Just a light to carry me through. Even if I don’t understand it yet.

As he said his Amens and laid back in his bed, Onyakopon had felt for the first time think that He wasn't listening.

By Sunday morning, the dreams still hadn’t left him. They clung to his shoulders like wet cotton.

But church folk didn’t care about dreams, especially not from a man like him. broad-shouldered and Bible-raised man, with a voice like honey on fire. The kind of voice that made pews sway and Deaconess Grant shout with both hands in the air.

Onyakopon stood at the front of the little white church he'd grown up in fingers wrapped around the wooden pulpit like every Sunday, his deep waves still damp from a basin rinse. Sunlight filtered in through stained glass panes, splashing color over the choir robes and sweating faces. The fans were flapping, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus but the heat was still wrapping necks like a noose.

“There's a leak in this old building... and my soul...” His voice filled the rafters, warm and booming.

Eyes closed. He let the song carry him. He tried to lose himself in it. But then

He saw it.

It wasn’t a flash. Not a trick of the light. It was there, really there, on the third pew from the front, sitting where Sister McGee always sat, legs crossed and grinning wide like it was proud to be seen. A thing with a stretched-out face and black gums, skin that shimmered like chicken grease thrown in water. Its eyes were hollow, but it always found him.

Mocking.

Ony’s throat caught on the next word.

“...This old building—keeps o' sinkin' and my... soul”

His voice had cracked like he was sixteen again singing for the congregation for the first time, he winced. Blinked. Shook his head.

Someone from the amen corner called out, calm and easy: “Take your time, brother.”

The thing was gone.

Just a trick of the heat, he told himself. Just his mind. The back doors of the church creaked open. Slow. Dust in the light. And there she was. Tall for a woman and wide-hipped, dark-skinned kissed by Gods given sun, like the earth after heavy rain, wearing a faded rose dress with puffed sleeves and lace at the hem. Her black cat trotted beside her like it belonged there. She held a woven basket over one arm and wore a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with dried lavender.

Every voice in the room caught in their throats.

Folks didn’t speak her name. Didn’t meet her eye. The bastard daughter of sin and prophecy. The daughter of a witch. But she just walked, quietly, deliberately, like the whole town wasn't against her and took her seat on the far back pew. Sitting there there like she always had a right to.

And while the choir tried to pick up the next verse, she began to knit. Small, neat stitches. Humming the melody under her breath in a voice soft as velvet.

Onyakopon stared too long.

He wasn't the only one.

Service ended with a shaky benediction and more side-eyes than hallelujahs.

Folks filed out quickly, muttering about the heat, about the hymnbook pages sticking together, about anything but the girl and her cat in the back pew. Onyakopon pretended to help fold chairs in the fellowship hall just long enough for everyone to disappear down the gravel road.

He stepped out the side door into the sunlight, breathing like he’d been underwater. But even outside, the church still felt-strange. Like it held its breath after she walked in.

She was still in the last pew. Alone now. Knitting the same deep thread with slow, sure hands. Her cat sat curled beside her like a guardian made of fur shadows. The rest of the sanctuary had emptied out like they feared catching something just by breathing her air.

Onyakopon stood at the door a moment, one boot scuffing the floor.

She didn’t look up. Just said, soft and almost teasing , delicate voice bouncing off the empty decaying walls.

“You feel it too.”

His spine stiffened as he straightens himself up, removing his cap from his head, deep

frown lines growing between his eyebrows.

"Ma'am?"

She tugged the thread once, looped it, pulled it through. Her fingers never paused.

“What don’t belong in the Lord’s house.”

His lips parted, but he said nothing.

Then she looked up. Wide, round, doll-like eyes — so dark they shimmered. She looked at him like a mirror. Like she saw every dream he tried to forget, every shadow that clung to the edges of his soul.

Onyakopon’s stomach twisted. A chill moved up his spine slow as molasses. He hadn’t told nobody about the thing that visited him in sleep or what he'd seen — not his mother, his father or brother. This was something just between him and God. He felt his fists clench, not in threat but in defense. That kind of knowing… it wasn’t natural.

He took a step in, boots creaking on the old wood. “You been watchin’ me?” he asked, voice low and rough like split wet oak.

“No,” she said, still sweet, still calm. “You came lookin’ for me. Even if you ain’t know it yet.

He frowned deeper, throat dry. “You don't know what you're talkin' about ma'am..”

“Mm.” She glanced down. “And yet, here you are, tryin' to defend yourself to a stranger who don't know what she talkin' bout."

The black cat stretched from its place at her feet and wound around his leg, tail brushing his calf like a whisper. Onyakopon looked down, startled, as it rubbed against his dress shoes, purring deep like a hymn. He tensed, stepping forward, and his shadow stretched over her like a giant. Despite their size difference, he felt a sudden weight in the air. Her presence loomed, even sitting, somehow bigger than him. Ony was always the biggest man in any room — 6’7, broad and built like a pillar. But this woman, in a worn rose dress and knitted calm, made him feel small.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

He swallowed.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice softer now, but no less honest.

She smiled just slightly. “You already know.”

“I don’t.” She hummed again, “Your dreams are becoming louder brother,” she murmured, threading her yarn again. “Woke the sky last night, Woke the dirt.”

He blinked, unsettled. He didn’t want know how to fight it. Didn’t know how to turn off the uncomfortable truth in her voice. Her fingers moved again. The yarn wound tighter. She added, without looking

It’s this town. Folks plant their evil here, water it, pray over it like it’s corn and wheat. And it grows.”

Ony’s jaw tensed. The cat flicked its tail once like punctuation. She tied off the thread, tucked the yarn into her basket like she was sealing something sacred or dangerous.

“When you start to see the truth,” she said, standing now, her basket in hand, “you’ll know where to find me.”

She lingered in the doorway, eyes on him like she already knew what he’d choose.

“May the Lord keep you, Onyakopon. Even when the ones close to you can’t.”

Then she vanished into the rain.

The church doors creaked as he stepped out, the rain had stopped sunlight dull and sour under a heavy sky. No birds singing. Just the wind dragging itself down the road like a dying hymn.

The woods swallowed her up quick, the church just a shadow behind her. Leaves brushed her shoulders, pine needles crunching beneath her bare feet. She didn’t look back once. Mama trotted at her side, tail high, silent as breath.

“He don’t even know what he is yet,” she whispered, mostly to herself, but also to the cat.

Mama meowed low, like a scoff.

“I know, I know. You don’t like him. Sayin’ I oughta let him stay lost.”

She paused by a fallen log, placing her basket on it carefully. Sat down, drawing her shawl tighter across her shoulders.

“But he’s dreamin’ the way I used to. That means somethin’. Ain’t many left who can see past the veil.”

Mama leapt up beside her, staring off into the trees like she was waiting for somethin, or someone.

The girl smiled faintly. “You always was overprotective.”

Mama blinked slow.

“I ain’t lettin’ him close, not yet. Just watchin’.”

She turned her eyes to the sky, where clouds pressed low and the wind smelled like storm.

“When he’s ready to see the truth,” she murmured, “he’ll know where to find me.”

Mama curled against her side, purring soft and wary.

And the forest, for now, held its breath.

Monday morning came like it always did — quiet, slow, and too bright.

The sky was washed pale like a bedsheet left too long in the sun, and the town lay still beneath it. No rain left, just the memory of it in puddles and soft mud tracks. Ony didn't dream at all last night, just darkness and cold.

Onyakopon stood by the porch steps, box of his mama’s peach pies tucked under one arm, the other gripping a thermos of chicory coffee. Caleb his older brother was already loading up the truck, hands moving fast and efficient, like always.

“Quit draggin’ your feet,” Caleb muttered. “These folks ain’t gonna wait forever.”

Ony grunted, climbing in beside him.

They rode through the back roads in silence for a while, gravel popping under the tires, air sticky with heat. Every house they passed had a porch, and every porch had eyes. Folks rocking slowly in creaking chairs, faces turned their way but not smiling. At the first stop, Miss Irene met them on her porch with a crooked grin and two dollars folded tight in her hand.

“Your mama’s a blessin’, she know that?” she said, voice thin as brittle paper. “Tell her I’m prayin’ for her.”

She didn’t look at Ony when she said it.

By the third house, he noticed it, the way people didn’t laugh the same. Didn’t talk the same. Brother Johnny Al who always joked with him just nodded and shut the screen door with a quick and nasty slam. He saw the elderly man peeking from the blinds as they drove away, he should have worn his glasses today because he swore his eyes flash completely dark.

Another one of their regulars wouldn't meet his eyes during prayer, just muttered “Amen” too fast and wiped sweat off his brow that wasn’t there.

The last stop was by the church, where Sister Myra handed Caleb her tithe and asked them to “keep an extra prayer for the sinful.” She smiled at his brother when she said it, but Ony felt it cut anyway when it dropped as she looked at him duly

By noon, Ony’s chest felt tight. Not like fear like being studied. Like his skin was a page someone was reading line by line. He wondered if this is his Jesus felt when they read his commandments though Caleb didn’t notice, or pretended not to. He was good at that.

Caleb was humming to himself on the drive back, fingers tapping the wheel in rhythm, until Ony finally spoke.

“Something’s off,” Ony said, quiet.

Caleb didn’t look at him when he responded, just snorted dismissively. “It’s Monday. That’s what’s off.”

“I’m serious.” Ony’s voice was low, almost unsure. “Like somethin’ shifted. Like the world ain’t sittin’ right on its bones no more.”

“Somethin’ off,” he said again, quieter now, letting the words hang in the cab.

His long legs stretched out in the passenger seat, feet braced like he was expecting a turn that never came.

Caleb finally glanced at him, just a flick of the eye, jaw tight. Then laughed, short and sharp.

“Boy, you feel off ‘cause you always by yourself, hidin’ in your own head like some daydreamin’ woman. You need to study more. With me and With Pa. Need to find you a wife. Get you right.”

“...A wife?”

The word stuck in Ony’s throat, and just like that she was there. Not in body but in that sudden, dangerous way dreams slide into daylight. She wasn’t doing anything grand just sitting on a porch, elbows on her knees, eyes half-lidded like she knew every secret he ever kept. Humming low. Thread slipping through her fingers like it had a mind of its own. Like he did.

Ony blinked slow, like the words took a second to land again he repeated "A wife.."

Caleb went on, voice firmer now. “You feel off ‘cause you always stuck in your damn head, day dreamin’. Walkin’ around like you waitin’ on signs and visions instead of doin’ what men do.”

Ony turned to him, slow. “And what’s that?”

“Work. Worship. Wife. Provide. That’s the order. That’s how Pa did it. That’s how I do it. You think I didn’t feel strange too before I married Leah? Thought the whole world was wrong. Now look, she carryin’ my child, and I sleep just fine.”

Ony shook his head, jaw tightening. “So you think I’m crazy ‘cause I ain’t found nobody to lay up under yet?”

“I think you lonely,” Caleb snapped. “And lonely men start believin’ in all kinds of foolishness.”

They pulled into the driveway and sat in silence, the weight of everything pressing down like the summer heat.

Caleb finally broke it, voice low and hard. “I think somethin’ needs to fix you. You been strange for weeks. Folks see it. You don’t even try no more—don’t talk, don’t help with the sermons, barely speak to Ma. And now you sittin’ here talkin’ like the sky’s fallin’.”

Ony turned his head to the window, jaw tight. “You don’t see what I see.”

“No, I don’t. And that’s the damn problem. You always talkin’ in riddles. Bein’ quiet ain’t the same as bein’ deep.” Caleb’s voice was sharp. “You need to come back to earth, Ony. You ain’t no damn prophet. You just lost.”

Ony’s voice was cold, clipped. “Maybe you’re the lost one if you think a woman and a baby in this rotting town gonna fix anything.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “So you disrespectin’ the Bible teachings, boy?”

Ony didn’t look at him. Just said quietly,

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return.”

Caleb turned to face him, brow furrowed. Ony finally met his brother’s eyes. “That don’t sound like disrespect,” Ony said, voice flat. “That sound like a man knows this world don’t owe him nothin’. Not comfort. Not clarity. Not no wife or baby to fix what’s broke inside.”

Ony opened the door and stepped out, boots hitting the dirt like punctuation. The screen door creaked faintly in the distance, wind brushing against the trees. Caleb stayed in the truck for a second longer, jaw flexing, breath shallow. Then he shoved the door open.

“You always pullin’ them verses like a blade,” Caleb snapped, rounding the truck

“Think that makes you more holy? Makes you a better God-fearing man than me?”

Ony didn’t answer, just walked slow toward the porch, hands in his pockets like nothing touched him. Caleb caught up fast, grabbing his arm. " I’m talkin’ to you.”

Ony yanked back. “And I heard you. You mad ‘cause I know what I’m talkin’ about, and it don’t line up with your little box of how a man supposed to be.”

Caleb shoved him then, not hard, but hard enough.

“You think knowin’ scripture make you better than me? You think starin’ off into space and spittin’ riddles make you more of a man?”

Ony pushed him back, this time with force.

“I think pretendin’ like a wife and a baby make the rot go away is a lie. I think that makes you the fool.”

They were close now, breath hot, shoulders squared. From the porch came a soft creak the screen door opening slow.

Their mother stepped down from the porch, robe tied tight at the waist, her expression unreadable — but her eyes sharp as ever. Leah hovered behind her, one hand on her stomach, eyes wide.

“That’s enough out here,” she said again, sterner now. “I don’t care who’s feelin’ what you don’t raise your voices like that on this land.”

Caleb’s chest was still heaving, fists balled at his sides, but he dropped his eyes. Ony, jaw locked, He looked at her, really looked at her and something in him softened.

“I’ll be back ‘fore supper,” he said quietly.

Then he leaned in, pressed a quick, reverent kiss to her forehead.

“Love you, Mama.”

She nodded, the way only a mother could like she saw through him but loved him anyway.

As Ony stepped off the porch, he brushed past Caleb, shoulder knocking into his brother’s like punctuation. Deliberate. Firm.

Caleb turned after him, lips parted like he had more to say, but whatever it was, he swallowed it.

Leah reached for his hand from the porch.

“Let him go,” she said gently.

“He don’t need to wander,” Caleb muttered. Their mother didn’t look at him when she answered.

“Maybe he do.”

Onyakopon walked with no aim, boots kicking up dust as the cicadas screamed louder than the thoughts in his head. The town stretched out around him, crooked and quiet all heatwaves and peeling paint and eyes he couldn’t see but felt. His hands were in his pockets, his jaw still clenched.

He didn’t know where he was going, Nowhere, really but it felt like somewhere

Like something was pulling.

The sun hung thick and low, dripping gold between the trees, and for a second everything felt too still like the world had paused to hear his steps. Then he saw it.

A black cat, perched on a crumbling stone fence just ahead. Its fur looked wet, almost shining. It didn’t move when he approached.

Just stared, eyes like glass marbles catching the light. He slowed and the cat didn’t blink, didn't flinch. Just waited.

Ony felt a chill crawl up his neck despite the heat.

“You lost?” he murmured, barely louder than the wind. The cat tilted its head, eyes squinting like his question offended it, then turned. Leaping down, slipping into the brush like it had somewhere to be and maybe, just maybe, he was supposed to follow. So, he'd stand there for a while listening, waiting - for what exactly? He wasn't so sure himself.

Staring at the place where the cat had vanished. His breath slowed, the tension in his shoulders settling into something heavier. He didn’t move, just listened to the buzz of the heat, the rustle of leaves.

Thinking about turning around. About going home. Sitting down with his family at dinner telling them he was ready to look for a wife, asking his father to mentor him. Mold him to be just like him and Caleb. About pretending he hadn’t felt something shift deep in his gut the second he saw that cat.

Maybe Caleb was right.

Maybe he was strange.

Maybe he was just lonely.

A sharp, irritated meow snapped him from the thought. There it was again — the black cat, now sitting neatly a few paces behind him, tail curled tight, ears pointing upward, eyes narrowed like it was waiting on a child dragging their feet. It meowed again, louder this time, then stood and turned. Walked ahead slowly, stopping every few feet like it was checking to see if he’d catch on. Ony swallowed. Then, without a word, he followed.

The cat cut through a thicket like it had somewhere to be, glancing back only once before Ony followed. Trees arched above him like ribs, the woods swallowing sound until all he heard was his breath and the soft thud of his boots on earth. It didn’t feel like he was walking anymore. More like being led. They came to a clearing a patch of light cracked open like an eye between the trees, and there she was. She sat on an old quilt, colors faded like memory, her back to him. Her clothes clung loose and thin in the heat nothing like what women wore outside the house. Nothing a preacher’s son had any business looking at. But he did.

She was knitting again. Hands moving fast, like she was trying to exorcise something with every twist of thread. Her dark coils slipped loose, brushing her cheeks as she muttered to herself, angry and fast. The cat trotted over to her and curled up like it had been expected.

Without looking up, she said, “Thought you didn’t like him, Mama.”

Ony took a careful step forward, brow furrowed. “Your mutt don’t like me?”

The girl turned sharp, like she’d been waiting on that line. Her hands froze mid-stitch, and her head snapped over one shoulder. That chubby, soft face from church? It scrunched up like a storm cloud now, eyes suddenly sharp cutting.

“Only mutt here is you.”

Even the cat hissed, low and warning, tail flicking once like a whip before settling back down beside her with a satisfied grunt.

Ony stiffened.

She wasn’t sweet like she was in the Lord’s house. Not quiet and warm like the girl humming behind the pews. Her energy was strange now. Bristled. Her lips were dry, chapped pink from too much sun, and her voice carried something jagged underneath it.

“You always follow stray things?” she asked, threading again quick and harsh like the yarn had done her wrong.

He didn’t answer at first.

Didn’t know how.

Didn’t know why his feet brought him here at all. “You was knittin’ in church,” he said finally, more to himself than her.

“I was.”

“You knittin’ now.”

“Got hands, don’t I?”

He squinted at her, frustrated and fascinated all at once. “You always talk like this?” She shrugged, didn’t look up. “Only when men ask me stupid things.”

Ony winced, rubbing the back of his neck. His boot scuffed at the dirt, slow and awkward. He didn’t have much practice with women, his world was made up of his mother, elder ladies at church, and Leah when she needed something fetched from the pantry.

“Apologies, ma’am,” he mumbled, voice low and careful.

The girl paused. Her fingers stilled against the needles, eyes flicking up to study him for the first time without all that steel in them.

“No need to apologize,” she said, gentler now. “The day hasn’t been the kindest to me.”

She yanked at her project something half-made and angry with color, thread coiled tight like it was holding its breath. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. If anything, I should be used to it by now.” She huffed, more to the yarn than to him, jaw clenching like there was more she wanted to say but didn’t trust the space between them enough yet.

Ony shifted his weight, thumb hooking in his belt loop. His voice came quiet, almost a whisper. “Day ain’t been kind to me neither.”

That made her pause again. Just long enough for the cat to flick its tail against her hip, like it was waiting too.

She didn’t look at him when she spoke next, just patted the empty space beside her blanket, fingers brushing away twigs and grass. “Well… you can sit if you want. You look like you been walking without knowin’ where to land.”

Ony hesitated. His eyes flicked down, he hadn’t really looked before, not properly. But now the way the fabric clung to her arms, the soft rise of her chest as she breathed, the bare skin of her calves peeking beneath the hem, it struck him all at once.

It wasn’t scandalous in the way church folks used the word. But it was… intimate. Delicate. Dressed like that, back home, she’d be in her own bedroom or padding barefoot through the kitchen fetching tea for her mother. Not out here in the woods with a stranger.

His throat worked as he swallowed. “You sure?”

She gave a half-smile without looking at him. “I wouldn’t’ve asked if I wasn’t.”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, cheeks burning as he eased himself down beside her careful to leave a respectful distance, hands resting flat against his thighs like he was trying not to touch anything at all. The cat stretched between them like it was measuring the space.

They sat in silence.

Not the kind that crawled under your skin like Sunday tension or lingered like unsaid prayers, but something softer. Still. Ony sat with his hands folded, shoulders loose for once. The weight he always carried in his spine, the pressure to square his chest, to be something righteous and loud — eased without permission.

The girl kept knitting. Her fingers moved fast, urgent almost, like she was working through a thought with each loop and pull. The cat yawned, curling into a perfect comma between them.

Then, without looking at him, she said it low:

“Your head’s loud again. Makin’ the wind brush by a lil too fast. Gettin chilly. ”

Ony blinked, brows pulling together.

“Just breathe,” she added.

He did. And it wasn’t a deep breath or a proud one, but something real. It slid out of him slow, quiet. A breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

The wind slowed. The trees settled.

So did he.

The silence between them didn’t ache like it did at home. It stretched warm, quiet—not something to fix, just something to feel. Ony let his eyes drift to her hands, how fast they moved, like they had somewhere to be.

“You always knit this fast?” he asked, voice low.

She gave a soft shrug, not looking up. “Only when I’m tryin’ not to cuss or cry. It helps. Pullin’ somethin’ ugly outta me and making it useful.”

Ony nodded slowly, watching the rhythm of her fingers. The thread danced between her knuckles like it knew a secret language.

“You… think you could show me how?”

That made her pause. She looked at him for a beat, then down at her lap, like she was weighing it. Finally, she held up a half-finished square of fabric — dark, tight with frustration.

“You sure?” she asked. “Most men too proud to sit still with something this soft.”

“I’m not most men,” Ony murmured, not meeting her eyes.

She smiled, not wide but real, and shifted a little to the side. " I’ll show you.”

He shifted closer, slow like the earth might split if he moved too fast. She handed him the needles, warm from her fingers, and the yarn, coarse but strangely comforting.

“Keep your hands steady,” she said, voice softer now. “Let it pass through like water. Don’t grab it so tight.”

Ony tried, fumbling at first. She reached over, guiding his fingers without making a big deal out of it. Her hands were smaller than his, but surer—she shaped him like she did the thread, gentle but firm. “You’re teachin’ me to do women’s work,” he muttered, half teasing.

She snorted. “I’m teachin’ you to keep your mind from rot. Don’t matter what shape the work come in.”

That made him smile without thinking.

“You always talk like that?” he asked. he asked, glancing at her from beneath his lashes. “Like you halfway know what God whisperin’ before He even say it?” She didn’t answer right away. Just tilted her head, lips twitching like she was deciding how much to give away.

“You asked me that before,” she said finally.

He blinked. “Did I?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You talk like my granny, but you don’t look eighty-six.”

That made her laugh—real and full, spilling out of her like light. She leaned back a little, grinning at him. “Your granny must’ve been sharp.”

“She was,” Ony said, quiet now, surprised at the warmth threading through his chest. He let the silence sit between them again, but it didn’t feel empty — it felt close. And when their eyes met for just a second too long, something shifted.

Not loud. Not sudden. Just… true.

Then nip.

“Agh—damn!” Ony yelped, jerking slightly as Mama, the cat, sunk her teeth gently into his thigh like she’d had enough of the moment.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Mama don’t like when people get too comfortable.”

“She got good timing,” Ony muttered, rubbing his leg and glaring at the cat, who looked smug and settled right back down beside her. “Guess she figured you needed some grounding.”

They both laughed, the weightlifting again, but not gone. Just resting for now. Ony glanced down at the cat, still lounging like she owned the blanket and the girl both. He reached out a slow hand—Mama narrowed her eyes but didn’t move.

“How long you had her?” he asked, voice lower now, thoughtful.

The girl’s fingers slowed around the yarn. “Seven years,” she said, quiet.

He looked up. “That long?”

“She showed up a few hours after my mama passed.” Her voice was steady, but there was something buried in it—like a scar covered by a silk scarf. “Just… appeared on the porch. Sat right at the door like she was waitin’. Like she knew.”

Ony said nothing, only watched her face.

“I like to think she is my mama. In some way,” she went on, threading the needle through the yarn faster now. “Mama always said she’d come back as a black cat. Said it’d suit her. Misunderstood. Proud. Particular. Protective.”

Her lips curved faintly. “And she was all three.” Mama let out a slow purr, as if in agreement.

“I believe that,” Ony murmured.

She looked over at him, brows lifted slightly.

“Why?”

He shrugged, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Just feels true. Like the way certain songs make you cry even if you don’t understand the words.”

She smiled at that, soft, almost grateful.

“You always talk like that?” she teased.

He grinned. “Guess we even now.”

Their laughter faded into the breeze, the knitting needles tapping steady again. Somewhere in all of it, Ony realized — he hadn’t thought about the tightness in his chest for minutes now. Minutes that felt like something more than time.

The wind shifted, sharp and sudden, cutting through the thick afternoon air like a knife dipped in river water. It brushed against Ony’s arms and made the fine hairs on his skin rise. But it wasn’t the cold that made him stiffen.

It was the girl.

She froze. Fingers gone still, the thread limp in her lap. Her body locked up like a porch swing caught mid-sway. Even Mama, curled smug and sleepy just moments ago, lifted her head, ears flicking forward, eyes narrowed at something just beyond the trees.

“You alright?” Ony asked, leaning a little closer, voice hushed like he didn’t want to disturb whatever had just walked through them. She didn’t answer right away. Just blinked like she was trying to remember how. Then nodded slowly, though it didn’t quite reach her shoulders.

“Sometimes the wind don’t come to cool,” she murmured, barely audible. “Sometimes it’s just passin’ through, carryin’ somethin’ behind it.” Ony glanced around, suddenly more aware of how quiet it had gotten. No birds. No rustle of leaves. Just wind and the low hum of something beneath it.

“What’s it carryin’?”

She shook her head. “Don’t know yet. But Mama felt it too.”

The cat was on her feet now, tail low, pressed against the girl's side like she might need to bolt — or block. “You should get home soon,” the girl said gently, but her eyes didn’t meet his. They were somewhere else. “Sun’s not as strong as it looks.”

Ony didn’t move.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered, his voice surer than he felt.

But she just gave a tiny smile, one that didn’t match the new edge in the air. “I’ve walked through worse.”

They stood at the edge of the clearing now, where the trees swallowed the sun in long shadows. Ony hadn’t realized how far they’d wandered — or maybe how far she’d led him. The cat weaved between their ankles, brushing its side against Ony’s boot one last time before settling back by her feet.

He took a step back, not wanting to go, but knowing the air had changed again. “You gon’ tell me your name?”

She paused, gathering up her needles and thread. The question hung in the air like smoke before she finally spoke, voice light but low, like a secret.

“You already know it.”

“I don’t.”

She looked up, lips curving into something half-playful, half-knowing. “Well, that’s what makes it fun.”

He gave her a look, amused and a little flustered. “Alright then… I’m Onyakopon.”

“I know,” she said softly, the smile not leaving her face. He blinked, surprised, then chuckled. “’Course you do.”

Their hands met then — a shake at first, but it lingered. Her hand was soft but firm, warmer than the wind that had just passed.

They didn’t speak as they held it. Just let it stretch, like maybe neither of them was quite ready to leave. Then her fingers curled, just slightly. “Be mindful,” she said, voice almost too quiet for the air. “Of what you carry. Of whom you follow. Everything that feels wrong right now. It's not all in your head.”

Ony’s brows drew together. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but she was already turning away, Mama trotting ahead like she knew the way. He stood there watching, rooted in place, as the girl moved between the trees, slipping into them like smoke. Her nightgown caught the last bit of light, white and fluttering like wings.

Then she was gone.

Like something holy. Or something beautifully haunting.

By the time Ony reached the porch, the sun was kissing the edge of the horizon, everything soaked in that strange amber glow that made shadows long and soft. His boots thudded against the wooden steps, and the familiar creak under the third board welcomed him home like it always did. Inside, the house was warm and humming with domestic rhythm. Dishes clinked softly, the smell of stewed okra and baked bread thick in the air. His mother stood at the head of the table, her sleeves rolled to the elbow, humming a hymn under her breath as she laid out silverware. Leah was beside her, placing the cornbread down with careful hands over a dishcloth.

They both looked up when he stepped in.

His mother’s eyes lingered. “Told you I’d be back before supper,” Ony said, brushing a hand over his neck, suddenly conscious of how the wind still clung to his shirt, like he’d brought the outside in with him.

"Mm make sure you wash them hands before sittin' at my table." She didn’t say more and went back to setting forks.

Leah’s eyes flickered between the two brothers as Caleb appeared from the back hall, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Ony tensed instinctively, but Caleb didn’t say anything just stared at him for a second too long. The air in the room wasn’t hostile. But it wasn’t settled either. Ony felt it swirl around him, curious and careful, like everyone was waiting for something to crack.

He moved toward the sink to wash his hands, nodding toward his mother as he passed. “Smells good in here, Ma.”

She nodded again, this time more gently, then glanced toward Caleb like she was measuring something unsaid between them.

No one asked where he’d gone.

And he didn’t offer it.

But as he dried his hands and found his usual seat, he thought of her—bare feet in the grass, humming low, thread dancing between her fingers like it had a mind of its own.

The clink of forks against ceramic was the loudest sound at the table. Ma had made stew, rich and spiced, but it tasted like sawdust in Onyakopon’s mouth.

“Had a little heat between you two earlier,” Pa said without looking up, spoon cutting through his bowl. “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.”

Ony didn’t look at Caleb, though he felt the verse land like a stone between them. Psalm 1:33, yeah — but it had the weight of Cain and Abel behind it, and they all knew it.

Caleb just scoffed under his breath.

“Yesterday’s service ended early,” Caleb said casually, like a man mentioning the weather. “Soon as that girl came 'long Whole congregation cleared out like they caught the plague.

Ma sneered without missing a beat. “Never met such an unlady-like woman. Wandering about with a devil’s pet, whisperin’ to trees like they whisper back. But Lord knows she can stitch. Shame every thread feel like a curse.”

Ony’s grip tightened around his spoon. He stared down into his stew, letting the broth steam up his face like fog. He didn’t say anything — not about her hands, not about her voice, not about the way she said his name like she’d always known it.

Ony felt a strange ache twist inside him at her words, a pull toward the woman Ma so openly despised. He kept his jaw tight, the silence settling even heavier around the table.

Leah shifted uneasily, but no one else spoke. The candle flickered low, and the weight of unspoken things hung thick between them.

“Boy,” Pa said suddenly, voice firm. “You best get out your head. A man’s got no business sittin’ at his father’s table starin’ off into the dark.”

Ony blinked slowly, but didn’t answer.

“You think you grown? Then act like it. Ain’t no room in this house for cloudy minds and foolish obsessions. You wanna be a man, be one. Handle your kin. Get your head on straight. Get your spirit right.”

Still, Ony didn’t speak — not to him. His eyes stayed low, locked on the chipped edge of his plate. Then, like something creeping up from his chest without permission, his voice slid out low, almost like it didn’t belong to him

“What makes her a bad person for lovin’ trees a lil bit?”

The room froze.

Ma’s hand stilled halfway to her cup. Leah’s fork clinked quietly against her plate. Caleb leaned back slow in his chair, face unreadable. Pa narrowed his eyes. “What you just say?”

“I just mean…” Ony muttered, spearing a piece of fried okra with his fork, “she’s a woman with a pet cat? That knits.” He shrugged like it was nothing, then stuffed the food in his mouth, chewing slow, like he hadn’t just cracked the air in two.

Ma’s eyes narrowed. “That thing ain’t no pet. Strays like that don’t belong in the house of the Lord — or round decent folk like the ones in our community.”

Caleb scoffed under his breath, reaching for his cup. “Ain’t about the cat. It’s the way she carries herself. Like she knowin’ things she ain’t supposed to.”

“That woman ain’t right, Ony,” Pa said, voice low and warning. “Mark my words. Ain’t no good ever come from women who walk like they float and talk like they pray to the moon.”

Ony didn’t respond. Just kept chewing, like maybe the weight of the room couldn’t touch him if he didn’t let it. But his ears were hot, and his throat ached in a way that food couldn’t soothe.

Leah, quiet all this time, finally spoke, voice soft as usual. “She knitted my apron. The one with the sunflowers. It’s… pretty.”

Ma turned sharply. “And you best not wear it again. We don’t know what spirits she stitched into that thread.”

Ony’s silverware scraped the plate a little too loud when he's told up.

“I’ll go wash up,” he mumbled, though his plate wasn’t empty. “Y’all keep on eatin’. Thank you for the dinner mama"

He didn’t wait for permission. Just turned and walked toward the back, the screen door creaking open as he stepped onto the porch, letting the night air slap him clean.

Behind him, the candle flickered.

The back porch creaked under his weight, old wood sighing like it remembered too much. No one came out here anymore — not since Granny passed. Her wicker chair still sat in the corner, covered in a thin film of dust and memories. Ony didn’t sit there. He chose the steps instead, letting the night press in close, heavy and still.

Crickets sang. The wind tugged gently at the trees, and for the first time all day, nobody asked him to be anything. He let his shoulders drop. Let his jaw unclench.

Then came the sound — soft, slow, deliberate.

The screen door moaned open behind him.

He didn’t turn, not at first, until he heard the light step on the porch — and then a bottle clink. He glanced over his shoulder.

Leah stood there, caught like a deer in her round belly stretching the front of her dress. In one hand, a dusty wine bottle; in the other, just shame.

“It won’t hurt the baby,” she said quickly, blinking like she might cry or laugh or both.

Ony raised his eyebrows and looked back out at the dark yard. “I get why you need it,” he said flatly. “Dealin’ with this family’ll make you wanna drink holy water straight from the font.”

That earned him a quiet laugh — small and bitter.

Leah walked over and sat beside him with a sigh, the bottle tucked between her knees. “I ain’t drinkin’ for real. Just wanted to hold it. Make it feel like I had a choice, even if I don’t.”

Ony hummed, a low sound in his throat.

“You and me both.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the air between them not tense, just… lived in.

“You ever think ‘bout just leavin’?” she asked, voice soft, eyes fixed on the dark stretch of trees.

“All the time.”

She nodded like she expected that. “Caleb says I should be grateful. That I’m safe here. That the Lord provided. But safe don’t feel like freedom, does it?”

Ony didn’t answer.

Not out loud and the silence stretched on the kind that didn’t beg to be filled. Just two people watching the dark, pretending the quiet didn’t know all their secrets.

Leah leaned back on her hands, her fingers curling around the edge of the step. “That girl from service yesterday…” she started, voice light but lined with something sharper, “she the reason you were gone all afternoon?”

Ony didn’t look at her. Just let the question hang there in the air between them, weightless and heavy all at once.

Leah smiled to herself, not unkind. “She’s... different. Not like folks around here.”

“She’s just a girl,” Ony said finally, though it didn’t sound convincing. Not even to him.

“A girl with a black cat and a stare like she’s already seen how the world ends,” Leah murmured, like she was thinking more than speaking. “She got the whole town feelin’ itchy and lookin’ for salt.”

Ony gave a faint snort. “You 'fraid of her too?”

“No,” Leah said simply. “But I think you are.”

That made him look at her. Really look.

She met his eyes, steady, too old for her years. “Not ‘cause she’s strange. But ‘cause she see somethin’ in you been tryin’ to bury.”

Ony didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. His throat felt tight.

“She’s not evil. You’re right bout that part. Just a girl with a heavy hurt, a cat, and a different sense of faith. This town… it’s so close-minded, full of fear. The moment someone different comes along, folks scream ‘Satan’ or worse.”

“We used to be friends,” she said after a pause, like weighing whether to share too much. “Before her pa got caught up in some things. Before he disappeared. She was always so strange. Picking up bugs, talking to the ground, like she’d been here a thousand years instead of thirteen.”

She laughed, a soft, distant sound. “I used to joke she was a grandma reincarnated.”

Ony huffed out a soft laugh but then her smile faded, shadowed by memories. “When her daddy vanished, she was… calm. Like the universe does things for a reason. Said everything done in the dark will come to light.”

Her eyes darkened further. “Her mother got real sick after that. Took her own life.” She flicked squeeze the dusty wine bottle, then leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Your daddy… I think he’s got

something to do with it all.”

Ony’s heart tightened. "How so?"

“She told me once, before her dad disappeared, he was there. And minutes after he left, her mother… she was found splattered all over her bed.” She made a finger-gun motion, sharp and cutting through the heavy air.

Silence fell again, heavy and still.

Then Leah sniffled — barely — and blinked fast. Her voice wavered, thinner now. “You know… she’s the one who told me I was pregnant before I even knew? I really hope this conversation stays between us.”

She paused, swallowing thickly. “Couple months back, when I was real sick and you and Caleb were out runnin’ errands… she came by. Her and that damn cat. I hadn’t seen her since we were fifteen. Daddy forbid me from ever seein’ her again. Said she was a witch. Imagine my shock when she showed up at my doorstep eleven years later — all grown, and God help me, even more beautiful than when we were kids.”

She let out a shaky breath and laughed weakly, rubbing her stomach.

“She put her hands on my belly like she already knew me. Told me I’d be the most wonderful mother. Like she saw it, clear as day.” Her voice cracked. “Knitted me a little hat… and an apron to fit my belly. Softest thing I ever touched. But then she said somethin’ strange. Told me this wasn’t the place to raise a child. Said I should leave.”

Leah’s eyes lifted to his, wet but steady now.

Leah stayed quiet for a moment, her shoulders hunched and small despite the swell of her belly. The bottle hung loosely in her grip, the wine sloshing quietly like it too was listening.

Then, almost like an afterthought—but heavier than anything she’d said before—she murmured, “Something’s eatin’ your Ma, your Pa… even Caleb. They ain’t the same no more, Ony. I can feel it in my bones.”

She stood carefully, steadying herself with the porch railing. Her eyes met his one last time.

“You take care of yourself, Onyakopon. Don’t let ‘em make you blind to what’s right in front of you.”

She handed him the wine bottle, fingers lingering for a moment on his, then let go. Her silhouette disappeared into the dark hallway behind her, door creaking shut behind her like a breath held too long.

The next morning, Ony woke to a scream that didn’t belong to him for once.

It came from the guest room.

Leah had miscarried.

The house felt like it was holding its breath, heavy and suffocating. Caleb paced the worn floorboards, muttering under his breath, his footsteps sharp and uneven. Leah sat still in the corner, her eyes hollow, the light that had shone there just the night before completely gone.

Onyakopon watched them both, the weight of silence pressing down on him. His Ma and Pa were nowhere to be found — the house was emptier than usual, shadows gathering in every corner like unwelcome guests.

Caleb’s voice cracked as he whispered to no one in particular, “This ain’t right… none of it.”

Leah’s fingers trembled in her lap, her breath shallow, as if the air itself had turned to stone.

Onyakopon stepped closer to Leah, voice low but steady.

“I’m sorry, Leah. For everything.”

She gave a weak nod, eyes shimmering with tears but empty of hope. "You got time Ony. Leave before it touches you too"

Caleb’s pacing stopped abruptly, his shoulders stiffening like a coil about to snap. He glared at Ony, voice rough and sudden.

The house felt like it was holding its breath, thick with tension that clung to the walls like humidity before a storm. Caleb paced the floor in crooked lines, muttering beneath his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Leah sat on the edge of the couch like her soul had drained out in her sleep, her eyes puffy and distant. She hadn’t spoken more than a whisper since the scream.

Onyakopon stood in the doorway, watching. His parents were nowhere in sight. The house was too still. Wrong.

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to start a fire,” Ony said gently, “but you need to sit, Caleb. You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

Caleb’s steps stopped abruptly. He turned slow, like a puppet pulled too tight on its strings.

“Oh, now you care?” he said, voice dry and full of heat. “Now you got concern?”

Ony blinked. “I’ve always cared.”

“No, you don’t. You stand around lookin’ like you see through everybody, like none of this is real to you. Like we’re fools for tryin’ to build a damn life here.”

Ony’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t fair.”

“Oh, but it’s true,” Caleb spat. “You think I forgot what you said a while back? ‘A wife and baby won’t fix nothin’? You said that. You looked me dead in the eye and said that. Like all this… like Leah—”

His voice cracked. “—like the baby didn’t matter.”

Ony’s voice was low. “I never said they didn’t matter. I said it won’t fix what’s wrong with this place. This town. You know that better than anyone, Caleb.”

“No. What I know is, you mocked me. You sat at that table with your silence and your damn half-smiles and judged me. You think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t—”

Caleb stepped forward, eyes wide, glassy, something off inside them now. “You don’t? Say it with your tongue then. Look me in the face and tell me I’m not a fool for wantin’ more.”

Leah stirred, voice soft. “Caleb—”

“Don’t,” Caleb snapped without looking at her.

Ony held his ground. “You ain’t a fool, Caleb. But you’re acting like one now. You’re hurt, and I get it. But don’t come at me like I put that pain in you.”

“You put the doubt in me!” Caleb roared.

“You were the voice in the back of my head every damn day since she told me she was pregnant. And now look! Gone. Just like everything else in this cursed house.”

There was a beat — the kind of silence that comes before something breaks.

Then Caleb lunged.

The scuffle was quick but violent — desperation making up for lack of form. Ony tried to hold him off, but Caleb fought like he wanted to draw blood, like if he hurt someone else maybe the ache inside him would let up.

Leah shouted, trying to reach them, tears running down her face. “Stop it! Stop!”

Ony finally shoved Caleb back, hard enough to knock him into the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Caleb’s chest heaved. His eyes were wrong not just angry, but dark, as if something else had stepped into him. Something watching through his face.

“You mocked me,” he said again, quieter now. “You cursed me with your mouth. You always did.”

Ony stepped back, heart pounding. “I ain’t cursed you. This place did.”

Leah stood between them, shaking, one hand stretched out like she was trying to keep them both from falling off a cliff.

“Please, Ony,” she whispered. “Just go."

He didn’t want to. He wanted to fix it — to fix him. But he saw the look in her eyes. That pleading. That fear.

So he turned and walked out the front door.

And behind him, the house groaned.

The air outside slapped his skin like cold judgment. Onyakopon didn’t know when his feet hit the porch or when the front gate swung open — he only remembered the crunch of gravel under his boots and the warm sting of blood trailing down from his eyebrow. His lip was split, throbbing with each breath. The fight with Caleb replayed in flashes behind his eyes, quick and jagged like broken glass.

He kept running.

Not because he was afraid of Caleb, but because he was afraid of what he saw in Caleb.

The sky above had gone dull and gray, not quite evening but no longer day. Birds had gone quiet. The cicadas, too. All that remained was the pounding in his ears and the sharp inhale-exhale of lungs trying to keep up.

He didn’t even realize where he was until his knees buckled beneath him, and he hit the soft grass with a grunt. Hands splayed wide, he pressed his back to the earth, letting the air wrap around him. He was in the clearing.

The tall reeds swayed around him like ghosts with no mouths, whispering only through movement. And the sky above looked... too wide. Too still.

He lay there, panting. Sweat mixed with blood. His chest rose and fell like he’d outrun death itself.

And maybe he had.

Or maybe he’d run straight into it.

His chest rose and fell like a storm settling into silence. The sky above blurred, hazy from tears he didn’t know he’d let fall. Grass pressed cool and damp against the back of his neck. His lip stung, and his brow pulsed where Caleb’s fist had landed. Blood still crusted warm at the corner of his mouth.

He closed his eyes. Just for a second.

When he opened them—

She was there.

Standing over him like a painting left out in the rain. Skirt brushing the wild grass, curls coiled like shadows catching sunlight, eyes so ancient and wide they swallowed the sky behind her. Her face was soft, full of moonlight and mourning. The kind of beautiful that didn’t beg to be noticed — it just was, like wind or thunder. There was dirt on her hem, leaves tangled in her sleeves like she’d risen straight from the woods, or maybe the earth itself. Her cat, that little ghost pressed against her ankles, then padded forward, tail flicking, and nipped at Ony’s fingers with a quiet warning.

He flinched and blinked like he might still be dreaming.

“You,” he whispered.

“I always come when the house sends you away,” she said simply.

She knelt beside him, hand grazing the grass just beside his temple, never touching just near enough to feel the air between them hum.

“You’re hurt again, physically this time”

“Didn’t come here on purpose.”

“I know,” she said. “But your blood always finds its way back to me.”

The cat settled between them, purring low, eyes unblinking like it knew all the secrets neither of them could say. Onyakopon studied her — the way her presence dulled the pain just by existing, the way her eyes never flickered with fear. He wanted to say something. Apologize for the world. Ask how she knew so much. Ask how she still smiled like hope hadn’t died with the rest of this town’s soul.

Instead, he asked, “You always show up like this?”

She shrugged, curls bouncing lightly.

“Maybe I’m your guardian angel,” she said, and for a second, he thought she might mean it.

Then, her voice dropped to something softer, sadder.

“Or maybe I just know what it’s like to get pushed out by people who pretend they love you.”

She stood again without a word, brushing dirt from her skirt like it was nothing new, like she’d done this a hundred times before. The cat circled his shoulder once, then darted ahead into the trees.

“You comin’?” she asked over her shoulder, already turning.

Onyakopon hesitated. He should’ve gone back home. Should’ve checked on Leah. Should’ve tried, one more time, to reach the brother that looked at him like a stranger now.

But instead, he pushed himself off the ground, every bruise and scrape a sharp reminder of what waiting there would cost.

He followed her.

They moved through the woods like ghosts her steps barely stirring the leaves, him limping just behind. The path wasn’t marked, but she never second-guessed her turns. Like the forest knew her. Or she knew it.

A weather-worn cottage appeared just beyond a thick grove of oaks, roof sagging under moss and time. Wind chimes made of bones and rusted spoons tinkled faintly from the porch. A line of herbs dried beneath the windows, and a narrow chimney puffed with gentle smoke.

“Don’t mind the mess,” she murmured, holding the door open.

Inside, it smelled of lavender, ash, and something green not rot, not decay, but age. Lived-in. Safe.

He stepped in, and the warmth hit him like a balm. The fire crackled. The cat disappeared somewhere deeper in the house. She gestured toward an old kitchen chair.

“Sit.”

He obeyed.

She moved through the space like she belonged in every shadow of it. Wet a cloth, brought over an old metal tin, crouched before him like he was something precious.

She wiped his lip first, gentle, patient. Then his brow.

“You bruise easy,” she said, voice nearly teasing.

“You always nurse people back to life in the woods?”

“Just you.”

He didn’t ask why. He just watched her, close now the fine lines in her expression, the way she focused like this mattered, like he mattered. Her touch was warm, but her eyes. . . her eyes were still carrying something ancient.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She didn’t respond right away. Just dabbed at the last of the blood, then looked up at him, expression unreadable.

“Next time,” she said softly, “don’t wait ‘til the world breaks your face to come find me again. Too handsome for all these and bruises."

Her fingers lingered on his chin, gentle, almost tender. He caught the faint scent of lavender and honey on her skin and felt heat rise in his cheeks. His eyes flickered down to his lap, suddenly shy under her steady gaze.

For a long moment, they just stayed like that close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s breath, the unspoken words hanging in the air. The cat nipped playfully at his fingers, breaking the spell, but even then, her smile held a softness that made his heart tighten.

"You hungry?"

He smiled softly meeting her eyes again, " I could eat."

She chuckled, the sound light and unexpected in the heavy silence. “Good. I don’t do fancy, but I can fix you something real.”

She stood and moved toward the small kitchen, the cat padding behind her like a loyal shadow. Ony followed slowly, still feeling the strange comfort of her presence like the world had shifted just enough to let a little light in.

[elowai]

As a 28 year old Star Wars fan, I want to make an uncomfortable perspective known here and see if I’m alone in this? I love Rogue One. I also enjoy Andor. Andor has me hooked with its layered writing and interesting characters. However, am I the only one feeling some concerns with how Rogue One will be “seen differently” as Tony Gilroy and the other actors have stated? Or is anyone kind of feeling off about Cinta’s death in the last episode? Or how about how Bix’s character is being written?

While the writing is well-crafted, exciting, fun, thrilling, and amazing at political commentary — why are most of the women serving as a “trope”?

Why is Tony Gilroy only writing these new female characters….so similarly?

Cinta Kaz - minimal screen time, has a small intimate scene with Val, dies because “bury your gays” cliche/trope. Some character agency is shown but again we don’t really get to know her. REALLY!?

Vel Sartha - some screen time, no real plot after Aldhani besides trauma moments. No real character agency thereafter.

Bix Caleen - decent amount of screen time, mostly being traumatized. Only agency and plot is avenging her trauma. “attractive traumatized female love interest” trope. Her only purpose is Cassian’s narrative and “humanity” and “home” or whatever.

Kleya Marki - Works under Luthen Rael. Finally had a scene and agency these last 3 episodes

Dedra Meero - Works under male ISB. The ONLY character with more agency but of course she is also manipulative, cold, and “using” a “mean well” dumb guy to really hammer home how “evil” she is because what she is doing isn’t evil or psychotic enough to the viewer….so kinda serves for Syril’s character to possibly have a redemption arc or pity story oh how men can be tricked into fascist things because inadequacy…..blah blah blah not about her character once again because she isn’t given enough with all these other male characters ordering her around. Whatever.

If you take ANY of these women out of the story compared to Nemik, Sloan, Luthen Rael, etc. NOTHING REALLY CHANGES THE STORY. The male characters move the plot. The women do not. They’re condensed to trauma porn.

The only reason Mon Mothma has more agency is because her character was already established setting up the rebellion. Tony Gilroy didn’t create her character so she doesn’t count.

On to Rogue One — my biggest fear is that they will pull “Cassian basically sees himself in Jyn because she enters the story where he was XX years ago in Andor.” — like NO. That wasn’t their dynamic in Rogue One. Jyn’s character/story would then be resold as a reflection of Cassian’s story. The viewer will now see Cassian as the catalyst and main drive for Rogue One when it was supposed to be HER. DAMN. MOVIE. Jyn’s character’s personality was written and all the different plots she had — SHE was the catalyst. The spark. The energy. The glue. It Jyn’s story of survival and taking agency back into her life. Cassian always had that offered to him in comparison. Jyn is NOT a parallel.

The last thing I want to remind everyone is that Star Wars usually caters to a “young male” audience. They’re pretty open about it. However, Jyn Erso is my catalyst too. I want better from male writers. We should expect it too.

Either way, I enjoy Andor but you can REALLY TELL it was written by a white man.

[shanastoryteller]

i know spn hates good writing and also sam, but the dumpster fire of s4 really could have been salvaged if they'd just played ruby and castiel straight

by which i mean

ruby should have been one of the good guys (honestly it feels like the writers changed their minds last second regarding her anyway)

castiel should have been the villain (which, let's be clear, he totally was)

the point of this is that it would force dean to confront his own bullshit and maybe figure himself out, which not only would have been good television but would have been satisfying to me, personally

sam's problem is that he wants there to be a good equal to every evil. that he believes goodness exists even where it doesn't, that he always wants to give things a chance, that he always has hope. they sound like good traits, up until they're used against him. they reach the station of angels are bad eventually, but it should have been more immediate and visceral, that there is no greater good here. sam should have had this knocked out of him, which would have shattered him in way, to lose this thing he's depended on his whole life, but it really would have hammered home that it's choices that really do matter, not circumstances

dean's problem is always that he sees monsters as monsters with no grey area, that sam always has to play his moral center the second anything becomes complicated. then he goes to hell, breaks, tortures innocents, and an angel yanks him out and tells him that he's a righteous man

dean desperately desperately wants this to be true

because it's sam who they had to look out for, sam who was destined to go darkside, sam with the demon blood

dean doesn't have that excuse

he's just a human man with a hunger for violence who never learned to curb his appetite. who was instead pushed to gorging himself on it, who is left broken and desperate and angry by what he did to save himself. his whole life, his whole self perception for thirty years, was about protecting innocents. then he betrays that in hell. do you think he kept count? how many innocents he destroyed against how many he saved? the day it equaled out, do you think he wished he could weep?

dean is so unbelievably messed up by hell. not the torture he endured, that's barely a blip, but the torture he inflicted is what haunts him

so he needs for sam to be the bad guy

he's using his powers, he's hanging out with demons, he's drinking demon blood. he's the monster. he's inhuman

(he's using his powers and hanging out with demons and drinking demon blood and still he's doing less harm than dean, still he's trying to save people. dean can't accept this, because he can't be the rotten one. he'll forgive sam anything, but never himself, so it has to be sam. because he can fix sam, he'll always love his brother, so if he's evil there's stil a path forward there. but if it's dean? if he's the one going evil? sam's left him before. why would he stay now? if dean is the one going darkside then he loses everything. himself. his brother. it has to be sam)

dean is projecting all his own shit onto sam because he can't deal with any of it, which is why he treats sam like shit, why he treats him in a way that he's never treated him before. it's how he treats himself. and sam has no idea what to do with this, is left reeling and hurt and broken himself by dean doing this to him. sam never thought dean would leave him to die in the panic room, because dean wouldn't, not the dean he's known his whole life, not the dean that loves him. not alone.

but dean would do that to himself. and since sam is his proxy for himself, it's what he does to sam, but sam doesn't know that so all he feels is the weight of betrayal and grief and rage

isn't it funny, almost? the demons brought sam back just as he was, exactly the same. the angels bring back dean but he's not the same. dean comes back wrong, comes back different. but no one wants to say that. to deal with it

having ruby be evil and castiel venerated justifies all of dean's spiraling, all of his punishment. he was right all along, sam was the problem, don't you see?

boring

ruby stays loyal to sam, a demon who chooses something different, who chooses the boy with the demon blood because there's something compelling about sam winchester, as tempting as the apple before eve, and ruby didn't get where she is by knowing better

(remember when sam pulled all the psychic kids together, acted as leader, and resisted azazel? there is a leader in sam, a compassion in him, that azazel had to cheat in order to beat. and if ruby can show him how to win against demons then-)

castiel let sam out of the panic room. he's following orders, because that's his job, and damn the consequences. this should have been seen as the act of betrayal and evil that it was, castiel proving he was never really on their side at all, never on the side of preventing harm. it also would have made his redemption arc mean something, it would have given castiel a lot more to work with if they'd had to really bring him back over

ruby realizes too late what killing lilith means. tries to stop sam, but now that she's here it's too late, kill or be killed. sam accepts that, is willing to die rather than start the apocalypse. but then dean is there, and he can't watch his brother die again, he just can't. so he kills lilith to save dean, when he would have been willing to die himself

ruby gets them out of there. they discover what castiel did, that he pushed forward the apocalypse rather than prevented it

this breaks dean. he finally snaps, but it's good, because everything he'd used to shore himself up before had been terrible and rotted and corrosive

a righteous man is not a good man. dean is forced to confront everything he's done in hell, and after he'd gotten back, everything he put sam through, how he left him in that panic room and almost killed him, how he's treated him for the past year. how it was a demon who tried to help in the end and an angel that damned them

and how sam saved him anyway, damn the consequences

we should have returned to what the show had been building up to from the beginning - that sam loves his brother enough to do terrible things and dean has no idea how to deal with that

so we've got sam and dean on the run with ruby, castiel's slower and much juicier redemption arc, and dean having to pick up the pieces of himself while sam tries to figure out how he gets them out this mess. and sam's guilt is justified here, his aching sense of responsibility, because this time he kills lilith knowing it'll free lucifer. he makes that choice, for dean. and he's determined to fix it

just. demon blood tainted sam and turncoat ruby trying to save the world. the angels trying to end it. all while dean finally accepts the crushing guilt of what he's done and starts to work through it, starts to work on becoming the brother sam lost, on once more being the steady thing sam can hold onto no matter what it takes, because sam choosing him reminds him of something he'd told himself he forgot

he doesn't want to be a righteous man, a torturer, a demon, a victim, a martyr

he just wants to be sam's brother. the one he looks up to, depends on, loves

he wants what he's always wanted

to feel worthy of his little brother's affection

[demonlorddiva]

Obey me! Brothers when your drunk!

You did really good on a test you’ve been working on and Diavolo said you could have anything you wanted! Any other human would ask for money, a vacation, or anything their hearts desired. But you? Your simple. Without the ability to buy human world alcohol in the devildom you asked diavolo to pick you up some for a night of fun! (And chaos) you decide that staying home and drinking is the best option as to not be in danger of other demons. How will the other brothers react?

*Obvi the reader is over 21 or the age of consuming alcohol in their country

Lucifer

You decided that since drinking demonus with him was one of your regular dates in his office, you could do the same thing and drink with him!

He’s glad to see you don’t want to leave the house. And that you want to drink with him makes him even more at ease

Plus his pride is soaring that hes the first person to see you drunk

The night is simple, drinks, music, and a wonderful conversation

It’s not often he gets to let loose and drink to his hearts desire, and with you? What a better time

If your walking funny he immediately picks you up and takes you to his room at the end of the night

He wants to make sure your okay through the night (and he wants to cuddle) (he’s v affectionate when he’s drunk)

He knew the night was happening, so by his bedside is pain meds, water, electrolytes, the whole nine yards

Will cuddle you in the morning and tease you about the silly things you said

Mammon

PARTY TIMEEEEE

You don’t wanna leave the house

He whines

You put your foot down

INDOOR PARTY TIMEEEE

You know he has his room set up for the perfect movie night, pillows, blankets, popcorn, the whole nine yards

Has a drinking game set up so you both can play

And ofc he set up the rules so you would both be hammered even before the movie ended

But the popcorn ran out and you guys are still hungry

Y’all have to hold hands as you go downstairs to the kitchen to make some instant noodles for each other

Lucifer catches y’all being too rowdy and forces y’all to go to bed

Mammon is absolutely WRECKED when he’s hungover (the hangsiety is real) not to mention his head pounding and his stomach hurting

You both spend the next day cuddling, with you telling him how much you love him, and how you think he’s still so cool even after you saw him faceplant on the floor

Levi

A night??? With you??? And you’ll be drunk??

He assures you multiple times that your safe and he absolutely doesn’t want to take advantage of you (not that you were worried in the slightest about that) (Levi bb calm down)

Y’all decide to play devil beerio kart (it’s like beerio kart if you’ve ever played, I’ll explain the rules)

Basically NO DRUNK DRIVING

During one race, you have to finish your beer (or other drink) you can drink it all before the race, stop any time in between, or stop before you finish the race and chug your drink

After a few races y’all are LIT

You guys end up yapping for a while before you put on an anime and cuddle (Levi’s to drunk to be nervous)

When you both wake up your hurting and hungover and Levi is FREAKING

The hangsiety is real with him

Just keep cuddling with him and tell him it’s okay and to fall back asleep

Satan

He seems like the guy who doesn’t care to drink

But for you? And to see you drink? But of course

I think y’all pull out a board game or card game and take a shot every time you lose

He’s curious after every drink how your feeling even though his ability to remember things is getting fogged

He’s giggly when he’s drunk, and that’s a somewhat rare sight in your day to day life so you spend the rest of the night laughing and talking

Hates that your hurting in the morning (even though this was your idea)

Has all the medicines and drinks for you on hand to help you feel better

Demands silence in the house so your headache doesn’t get worse

Asmo

PARTY TIME

I mean.. this is a special occasion right? Just because you can’t leave the house doesn’t mean you can’t have fun!

A slumber party is in order with all the works! Face masks, popcorn and snacks, and doing your nails of course.

Y’all get silly and chat and gossip all night

But you have to tell him NO PICTURES even if he begs

I feel like y’all get super sappy drunk girl talking

“NO YOUR THE GREATEST PERSON IVE MET”

At some point, after a bit of drinking someone (both of ya) get the great idea to start prank calling people

You: “is your refrigerator running?”

Beel: “uhhh yeah”

You: “well then you better go catch it!!” *click*

The other brothers had to deal with Beel guarding the fridge in fear that it would ‘run away’

We all know you guys are BIG BABIES the next day being hungover

Be prepared to cuddle and complain together all the next day

Beel

He also doesn’t seem to be a drinking guy

But he’s down to try anything! I think he’d like cocktails with fun ingredients

DEF loves Bloody Mary’s

So I think that’s the night, y’all spend your night in the kitchen coming up with different drinks and getting drunker along the way

Y’all order WAYYY too much Chinese takeout and have a great time

Feel like beel gets sappy when he’s tipsy and tells you how much he cares about you and y’all snuggle and stuff

Makes you a DELICIOUS hangover meal for you

Like a Waffle House setup but at home

Def cuddles you and is worried if you feel bad the next day (I feel like beel doesn’t get hangovers)

Belphie

Feel like he’s not a drinker as well

But the opportunity to drink with you? And he’s the only one who can see? Oh yeah he needs to see this

Y’all decide a movie drinking game.

Example: watch pirates of the Caribbean and drink every time they say captain or ship

Y’all get lit QUICK

Decide to pull a prank on Lucifer and you guys talk FOREVER about the plan, what your gonna do and it’s happening TONIGHT

.. queue YALL falling asleep and never do anything LMAO

The next day is full of bedrotting and sleeping

He makes fun of you for anything silly you did

But you can make fun of him back, the way he was stumbling was really funny

In true drinking fashion I wrote this while I was drunk HELLO

Obviously not proofread love you!!! Been really sad about the story not continuing with obey me so I’ll be posting my drafts and more ideas a bit more often for a while

[revelboo]

the recent development with 'everything is alright' has me wondering about king starscream and how... lonely he seems. granted rattrap is there but hes... not much company in stars mind, i think. like dont get me wrong i knew he'd be lonely and a little on the right side of miserable, but that in tandem with the bit about 'dont you know you're home/his future/the one good thing in his life' bit from the last chapter has me!! chokign up a bit cuz damn he really wasnt kidding!!! he got what he wanted but at the cost of still being miserable bc its fuckin LONELY at the top when youre paranoid as all hell with VERY REAL justifications to back said paranoia up!!! god!!!

Yeah, King Star isn’t all that happy. I do like playing with different versions of the same character and just tweaking the circumstances. In Everything is Alright he’s alienated himself from his Trine due to his paranoia, in True Romance he still trusts his Trine and has that relationship, so he’s a lot less paranoid and lonely, in Overdone his Trine just drifted apart. He could have made more of an effort to connect and reach out, but he was so focused on his goals, he didn’t really notice that gap widening until they’re almost strangers to each other

Overdone Pt 2

IDW RID Starscream x Reader

• “You’re weren’t on earth, were you?” He asks when Rattrap gawks at the human in his grip. Striding past, he heads for his private habsuite. Hears Rattrap weakly call out about the reports and he ignores him. They can wait. But you? A human from nowhere plummeting to your death. Closing the door behind himself, he studies you as you cling to his servos. Timid for a spy. “Well?” He growls, depositing you on his desk. “Where did you come from?” Who sent you to spy on him? Wants to know so he can and deliver your broken body to them.

• Falling on your hip, you stare at the big monster and his wings flare out. Trying to say something, anything, when you’re too terrified to make a sound. You’d been driving and then crippling pain had slammed through you, feeling like being torn in two. And then finding yourself somewhere wholly different falling to your death. It’s a nightmare and you can’t wake up. Lip curling, he slams his huge palms down far too close to you and you scream and cringe into a ball. “Speak! Who are you working for?” He roars.

• Pretending at terror? No, venting softly as that acrid shift in your scent registers, he leans back. Not an act. “I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” You cry, little voice broken and terrified and his wings droop slightly. Maybe you’re telling the truth, but you came from somewhere. Humans don’t spontaneously teleport across space and time. Except you apparently had. Servos tapping on the desk, he glares at you and the problem you pose. If you are a spy? An autobot ally sent to undermine him? Why risk your death? If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have died. Maybe whoever had dropped you meant to see what he’d do and you’re of no importance to them beyond as an expendable pawn?

• “Stop cowering and sniveling,” he growls and you risk a glance at that scowling face, see his optics narrow at you. “If you show your fear, others will use that against you.” Heart hammering against your ribs, you watch him pace around the huge room. And when he’s not looking at you, you can breathe. Try to get your bearings. You have no idea where you are or how you got here, but it had hurt worse than anything you’ve ever felt. Tracking him as he lifts a hand, murmuring, you realize he’s talking to himself at the same time it sinks past the fear that he’d caught you when you’d been falling. He’d saved you.

• Why had he saved you? Because you’re not a monster not matter how much you pretend you are, that annoying, little ghost whispers and he curls his lip. “You know nothing.” Refuses to look, to let his processor trick him with impossible things. Would think maybe you’re a hallucination, too. Except he’d felt your little heart beating against his servos, the warmth of your body in his hands. He’s not mad enough to imagine details like that, yet. Though for you to appear when he was considering not pulling up? Are you a punishment? Drifting back to the desk, his head tips with predatory interest as he rests a servo against your throat and you lay a soft hand on him. You feel real. “Tell me why I shouldn’t rid myself of you. Make me believe you’re no spy.”

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[zou-rs]

Breakup part 4

The car was silent except for the hum of the engine and your own pulse, hammering louder than the tires on the road.

Wesker’s grip on the steering wheel was calm. Too calm. Like he hadn’t just ripped you away from the only man you’ve ever loved.

Your wrist throbbed where he’d grabbed you. You pressed back into the leather seat, breath shallow, eyes locked on the city lights blurring past the window.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer at first.

“I told you,” he said eventually, “you were never meant for ordinary things.”

His voice was too smooth. Like poison wrapped in silk.

You swallowed the panic climbing your throat.

“What do you want with me?”

He finally glanced at you. His eyes gleamed unnaturally behind his glasses, something not quite human swimming beneath.

“I want what I’ve always wanted,” he said. “Control. Balance. And you, darling… you’re leverage.”

You stiffened.

“You used me,” you breathed. “This entire time…”

He gave a soft, amused chuckle. “Don’t look so shocked. You were the one who came to me. Broken. Unloved. Willing.”

Your chest ached.

That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t true.

You had needed a safe place—but Wesker was never safety. He was a cage dressed as a home.

And now Leon knew.

Your eyes burned thinking of him. The way he looked at you. The way he held you like the world was ending and all that mattered was one more second with you.

You had whispered “don’t follow me,” to protect him.

But he would.

You knew he would.

Wesker looked forward again, unfazed. “You should know your little hero won’t survive if he tries to come after you. I’ll kill him.”

You snapped your gaze to him.

“No, you won’t.”

He tilted his head, intrigued. “No?”

“Because if you do,” you whispered, voice shaking but firm, “you lose your leverage.”

That made him laugh.

But his knuckles twitched on the wheel.

He didn’t like that you were right.

You sat in silence for a few miles, until you caught a glimpse of what lay ahead: a compound. Black glass. Security towers. Hidden deep in the woods like a buried sin.

And your heart dropped.

Wherever you were going, you weren’t coming out easily.

But Leon would come.

You believed it with every fiber of your soul.

So you started counting. Doors. Turns. Landmarks.

And you slipped the silver pin from your sleeve.

Wesker hadn’t noticed it when dragging you. And maybe, just maybe, Leon would find it. If he was coming…

He’d know the signs.

You had to believe that.

—-

The room was cold again.

Not from the temperature—but from the way Wesker looked at you. Clinical. Sharp. Like you were a puzzle piece he had almost all the edges for. A beautiful thing he hadn’t finished breaking.

You sat still on the padded table, wrist strapped lightly—not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind you. This was not your body anymore.

He stood in front of you, perfectly composed in his usual black, gloves spotless. A tray beside him gleamed with metal instruments and syringes—your new lullaby. You didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. “You’ve been tolerating the serum well. Remarkable, really.”

You didn’t answer. That earned you the smallest smile.

“Still silent,” he mused. “Even after all this time.” He reached forward, fingers cool beneath your jaw as he tilted your head, exposing your neck. “But your body speaks volumes.”

The door opened with a soft hiss.

Ada Wong walked in like a shadow with red lips. Her heels clicked against the floor, her movements sharp and coiled. She wore a black coat over red silk, like a woman stepping out of a dream you never asked to have.

“Your test subject’s awfully quiet,” she said dryly. “Did you finally break her?”

Wesker didn’t look at her. His hand was still on your throat, thumb ghosting over your pulse. Not cruelly. Gently. Too gently.

“She isn’t broken,” he said flatly. “She’s adjusting.”

Ada raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you’re proud of her.”

“I am,” he said.

You turned your face slightly toward him, and he met your eyes.

There it was again—that flicker. Not affection. Not quite. But something colder. Possessive. Reverent. He didn’t look at you like you were human. He looked at you like you were his masterpiece.

Ada approached, her eyes sliding over you with polite disinterest. “She doesn’t look special. Just another pretty girl who got caught in the wrong web.”

“She’s not another anything,” Wesker snapped.

The temperature dropped. Ada’s smile vanished.

You looked between them, confusion slicing through the numbness. Did he just defend you?

Wesker returned to his work, voice clipped. “Prepare the sequence. If you’re capable.”

Ada glared but moved toward the terminal, her gloved fingers tapping briskly.

You flinched as Wesker pressed a needle against your arm. His voice softened, a whisper close to your ear:

“This might sting.”

You hated that his tone almost felt like a warning. Almost like care.

The serum burned. It always did. But this time, you stayed upright, breathing hard as your vision shimmered. Your bones ached, but your head stayed clear.

“Better,” Wesker said, satisfied. “She’s adapting faster than projected.”

Ada muttered something under her breath.

He ignored her. All his attention was still on you—watching, admiring. Studying you like you were a storm he created and couldn’t stop worshipping.

You didn’t cry. Didn’t speak.

But inside, something was building.

Your name still existed. Your memories. Your fire.

And if Leon ever came…

You’d burn the whole damn place down.

——

Leon’s apartment smelled like him.

Clean linen, faint cologne, coffee and gun oil. But beneath it all… safety.

You curled your knees up on his couch, oversized sweater swallowing your frame, a blanket pooled around your feet. The lights were dim. The rain outside tapped softly on the windows like a lullaby.

It had been three days since he brought you home. You hadn’t left his sight once.

Leon was in the kitchen now, moving quietly, making tea like it was muscle memory. His shoulders were tense, even in peace. You knew he was waiting—waiting for you to say something. For you to fall apart. For the world to collapse again.

But instead, you asked, softly:

“Do you hate me?”

His hands stilled.

He turned around slowly, brows pulled together. “What?”

You swallowed. “For going with him. For kissing you and then—leaving again.”

Leon crossed the room before you could flinch, kneeling in front of you.

His voice was rough, low. “Don’t do that. Don’t twist it. You didn’t leave. He took you.”

“I could’ve—”

“You survived.” He looked up at you, jaw tight with emotion. “That’s all I ever needed you to do.”

Your eyes welled, throat aching. “I missed you.”

“I missed you every goddamn day,” he said, like a confession. “Six years, and I still looked for your face in every city. Every mission. I thought I could move on. I couldn’t.”

You leaned forward until your forehead touched his. His hands settled on your thighs—gentle, grounding.

“Wesker… he did something to me,” you whispered.

Leon closed his eyes for a beat. “I know.”

“And it’s not over.”

“I know that too.”

You exhaled, shaky. “Then why does this feel like a dream?”

His fingers slid up to cup your face. “Because for once, we’re safe. For now, at least. And I’m not gonna waste it.”

Your lips brushed his.

The tension that had been hanging between you both finally snapped—softly, sweetly. His kiss was slow, like an apology and a promise all at once. Your hands slid into his hair as he leaned into you deeper, parting your lips with a careful urgency he’d held back for years.

“Come to bed,” he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded.

He stood and pulled you gently into his arms. He didn’t ask if you were ready—he didn’t need to. He’d follow your lead. He’d wait forever, if you wanted.

But tonight…

You wanted to remember what it felt like to be touched by someone who loved you.

And under the soft light, with rain still whispering against the glass, Leon led you to bed—slowly, carefully—and kissed every scar like it meant something.

Because to him, it did.

—————————

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in part 5. Also are you interested in uhm some smut chapter ?

[sugudoe]

more headcanons but don't know what to do? what to write for? MAY I SUGGEST 🫵 JJK X SICK READER. HOW THE BOYS CARE FOR THEIR PARTNER.

ᡴꪫ a/n: hii, this took so long to be answered, but here it is!! gojo, for me, fix himself in all of this categories, but i put him in the first two, because he might be a little shit to anyone weaker than him, but never his loved one, right? idk, actually. @emilyywhyy

ᡴꪫ cw: sickness symptoms such as vomiting and headache \\ fluff and crack \\ english is not my first language

📲────𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅 𓏸ㅤ۪ ︶ྀི

You don’t want to admit that you are sick. You will say that your nose is running because of weather change, and your shivers are, also, caused by weather change. You are fine, healthy as a horse ── except that the horse is nearly dying.

Don’t call attention, you think. So, you dress yourself in your uniform, and go to work.

He spot your illness right away, and have none of it. Grabbing your hands and taking you to your home. You can complain all you want, he doesn’t give a single fuck. You think you are above this sickness, but he knows better.

“Stop pouting.” He scoffs, as gently as a scoff can sound.

You, however, don’t stop. Even if you really, really want to. Because, after all, he has you wearing a comfortable pajama, sitting on the couch, and he is feeding you soup with bread.

The shower was hot, the medicines were taken, the carefulness of it all ── you love him, and he loves you. You will not say it, besides a small thank you. And he, the bastard with a smirk, will say “It’s alright.”

The pout is long gone, by now. You are desperate to sleep, and he lets you with ease, no kisses on the head, even if you complain (he will, a single peck). And while you fall to slumber, he will clean the house, keep tissues by your bed and, like a fucking psychic, a bow as well.

Throwing up in front of your boyfriend is not on the list of Things To Do With Your Love! But, hey, if he loves you while vomiting your organs out, maybe that’s good. Right?

Yes!

He is soothing, and calm, and collected. Let it be know, throughout your dazed weak state, that the moment you become healthy, he must be prepared to be smothered by your kisses.

He accepts them all, of course.

NANAMI, SUGURU, HIGURUMA, MEGUMI, SHIU, KOKICHI, NORITOSHI, GOJO

📲────𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻 𓏸ㅤ۪ ︶ྀི

Oh, poor baby! No, not you, him. Yes, you’re sick, yes, the world is hammering your head. But, look at him, desperate eyes and clueless questions. So cute.

You didn’t got up from the bed today, and he leave you to it thinking you need your energy back from work, not knowing that you are dying. Dramatic, aren’t you? Yes, the light in the room is murderous, as much as the sound of him making food, but you can’t do anything about it, except try to sleep.

He can only take much of your absence before growing clingy. So, he marches his way to your room, and… where are you? “Bathroom,” you answer amidst a cry.

The light is turned off, and you are showering with your clothes. Weird little thing you are. Dumb little thing he is. Still not acknowledging your sickness. Not until you tell him, and like that, his brain goes into normal human being mode.

He showers with you, making you stand and lean on his also clothed body, you close your eyes and whimpers happily while he pretends the hot water isn’t burning his skin whole. More minutes in, he changes you both to warm sweaters, and guide you to the kitchen ── is nuggets good to eat while sick?

No. But you do anyways, and asks him to buy soup. He does, easily. Except, he buys all flavors, to the point where you know the sickness will go away and you still will have soup in your refrigerator.

He will feed you, cooing at your crying face. And, he will also lick the spoon. Dumb bitch, you think.

He knows where the medicines are, so he brings them all to you. You search until you find the one you need, and a glass with water is being given to you ── can you drink cold water? Probably no, but, again, you do anyways.

He is a cute sight for such a painful time. He does everything accordingly, even if he might make some mistakes. But, don’t worry, next time he will be prepared… A bit.

CHOSO, YUUJI, TOGE, JUNPEI, GOJO, YUTA, TAKUMA,

📲────𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𓏸ㅤ۪ ︶ྀི

He knows you are sick, and it’s not as if he doesn’t care, but he simply forgets that some people ── you ── are not as strong as he is.

So, fend yourself, love.

Just kidding. Kinda.

The thing is, he might be the not cute clueless boyfriend, but he learns quick, okay?

So, the first few hours, he will keep coming back to the room, trying to see if you woke up, even checking your pulse, when it become too much. And, when it does, it finally clicks to him, you’re sick as fuck.

Effortlessly, he raises you from the bed and give you a shower, holding your sleepy head while mumbling with himself. He might have said something rude, you won’t ever know, because he is massaging your head right now, and that’s the only thing that matters.

He puts you back in bed with one of his shirts and panties, and he rolls you on the covers like a burrito, before grabbing your burritoself to the living room.

He gives you medicine. It might not be the exact one you need, and just the first pill he seen, but it does ease the feeling. He, also, leave you alone on the carpeted floor before returning with soup and more medicine, this time it’s the right.

You feed yourself under his cautious eyes, he only does when your wobbling fingers bothers him, with a “Tsk” he feeds you.

You want to laugh. “Can you do an airplane?”

You finish feeding yourself. Worth it, though.

He comes back later, manhandling you again, to the bed. Surprisingly, he lies you on top of him, caressing your back and your head, kissing your temple and calling you his weak little thing, that he actually loves. Well, he doesn’t say that exactly, but you rather see it as that, even in your dazed state.

SUKUNA, TOJI, KUSAKABE

[theexaltedbride]

Rabbit X Human Female Reader Headcannons (NSFW)

-Rabbit has once used his enhanced speed to slap and play with your ass and your breasts like they were bongos. Though if you tell him its too rough on your breasts he will be happy to just play music off your ass with his hands like a skilled drummer.

-If you ever show him that one knife fight scene from the Mask of Zorro, Rabbit would be happy to recreate it with you. his speed lets him be much more careful with things, even if it looks like he's moving recklessly. He's fast enough to deflect and dodge bullets, cutting clothes off without hurting you would be easy.

"You can consider it a reward if you do well in our actual sword training sessions together." He will tease you, and study the scene to see how he might be able to mimic it or improve it. The real challenge will be for you to strip him. At least he's durable so he can handle a cut or two.

-Rabbit can actually open his mouth very wide and likes to show you how much larger his tongue is to that of a human. Yes, your Rabbit gladly eats ass and will eat pussy like a starving man being given a birthday cake. He's not a coward about it the way some men are and treats it like someone saying they hate eating candy.

"More for me then!"

He's also skilled at using that tongue for more than giving speeches or sampling tea. He will do things to your clit that no human ever could. When he hears that many men struggle to do even that much it draws a laugh from him.

"How is it you humans say it? Ah yes! 'Skill Issue'."

Whenever you say how he is getting on your nerves and pushing your buttons, he likes to reply. "I know how you make you feel better, I just need to push one specific button." To which he will then lick his lips with his tongue or make some other kind of gesture with it to really hammer home what he means.

-A few times now Rabbit has wanted to chase you, just to really burn his stamina. You can only do it on Earth where he knows a random demon won't try to kidnap you. But each time he does it he gets such a rush, his cock throbbing, practically leading the way for him, and veins pulsing with need as he gives you a five to ten minute head start to run naked (save for some shoes or sandals to protect your feet from twigs and rocks) through the woods before he runs after you at the speed a rabbit is known for, getting his blood pumping, and his desire for you only making him want to catch you all the quicker. Once he catches you, his tongue will plunge into your throat, as his cock plunges into any available entrance.

Sometimes he can't even manage that, and just settles for grinding against you, his truly feral side coming out as he barely speak beyond huffs and gasps of pure desire.

And all of that desire, that lust, that need, that love, is directed solely at you.

-Sometimes when Rabbit is eating you out, his nose will press against you and it is surprisingly cold, which creates such a contrast with his breathing because his breath is hot (and only further throws you for a loop because his fur is smooth when it brushes against your thighs).

-Shower sex is entirely possible with Rabbit, he's not a canine so he doesn't produce that 'wet dog' smell, especially if using actual soaps when on Earth (and honestly that kind of experience is only possible on Earth).

-If you want Rabbit to be a Daddy Dom in the bedroom he certainly can be, and can deliver spankings like nobody's business. Just with his voice alone he can set the tone, and his demeanor can go from posh and proper gentlemanly, to stern daddy at the drop of a hat.

He will however refuse to spank you with anything but his own hand (either with gloves on or gloves off). He cares for your safety and won't risk accidentally hurting you with a paddle or belt because he's too strong. He will also only play like that in the bedroom. He has an operation to run and will not have his authority questioned by anyone because he can't keep it in the bedroom.

If you get too excited during your 'punishment' he will take notice and run a single finger along your lips before bringing it up to his mouth to taste it.

"Naughty girl, who told you to make a mess? I certainly didn't. That will be ten more spanks for each cheek, and I expect you to count them out missy!"

-Aftercare cuddle time is mandatory after anything rough and even more intense lovemaking. He knows he can be intimidating and wants to make sure you're okay.

-Rabbit sometimes has a thing for keeping you naked in the bedroom while he wears a suit. Your body is entirely exposed to him, and he can enjoy every part of it, its one of the few times he enjoys making a mess of his suit as you lunge at one another and really go at it.

-Rabbit explicitly refuses to have sex with you after a battle, especially if a human was killed. He does not want to associate these emotions together. Sex is sex, fighting is fighting. They should never mix. You are his source of comfort, and he doesn't want to poison that.

-Once you and rabbit were making love in his office in Makai when a demon burst in demanding to discuss business with Rabbit (something about wanting something special smuggled from Earth to Makai). He'd been told he had to wait, and refused to do so. Now he'd burst in, and Rabbit had to adapt to the situation.

Rabbit locked eyes with the demon, and kept thrusting his hips as he laid you out on his desk.

"It can wait until my current meeting is finished." He told the demon, and you. But with how his thumb stroked your hand, you knew he had a plan.

It was a display of dominance. If he backed out or cowered or tried to cover up, then he would look weak and other demons might think they could get away with this kind of behavior. So, he kept going while locking eyes with the intruder and didn't truly speak to them until he'd had his orgasm (A little bit after he'd made you gasp beneath him, to further show his talents and skill). The demon had intruded trying to put Rabbit on the backfoot, and was left feeling awkward and embarrassed as rabbit turned his own trick around against him.

No one ever tried that again with Rabbit, though you suspect he might actually enjoy pulling that trick again.

-At his most excited he puts new meaning to the term bunny hopping' when slamming himself into you. Its like he's a speed demon (well...technically he is?) and the only thing to calm him down is reaching three or four orgasms with you. His refractory period is insane, but he's got enough control to not let it be an issue.

This also applies to when you are riding his cock (be it cowgirl or reverse) and Rabbit suddenly gets it into his head to thrust upwards and use the bed to help give him some extra bounce in his movements, and really get you bouncing on him.

-Rabbit once tied the end of his monocle chain to a nipple ring on the same side of his body. He's not sure if he likes it, but is waiting to see how you feel on it next time you're intimate together.

-Not many demons can safely give oral sex, so it has become one of his favorite things from you, especially if you stain his body with your lipstick. It really gets the rabbit flustered, because his white fur is like a canvas for you to paint.

-When it comes to sex toys, he's not much of a fan.

"I can satisfy you better than any piece of plastic. That being said, there is one I do like." He says as he clicks a button for a remote controlled vibrator hidden inside of you.

"I do love to hear you moan."

-Rabbit didn't fully understand human menstrual cycles at first. But once he did, he began to save something special in mind for the day you showed signs of being genuinely pregnant with his Kits, he will make a comment to you of.

"Alice, you're late."

Any punch or kick or thrown pillow his way to silence his laughter will be utterly worth it. If he realizes he's going to be a dad, he's going to stock up on dad jokes, the worse they are the more he will tell them.

(And if you're into it, he will absolutely tease you about how many Kits you're going to make together. Rabbits are well known for multiplying.)

-------

Couple playlist.

"Better than Drugs' ~Skillet.

'Separate Ways.' ~Journey.

[inferno-0]

okay, I been having this idea I don't know if you will like it, since is not a ship, buuuuut

I like to imagine a child or toodler! Reader, whose family was negligent with them, making them being alone all the time, one day, running away from home, finding a kaiju and getting attached to it, follow it around, like, finding the parent they never have, how the kaijus will react to a small sad little human not fearing them?

I wrote this with such pleasure, I hope you like it.

BOUND | All Titans x ChildHuman!Reader |

╰┈➤ Warning: English is not my native language.

A child always needs an eye and an eye, given his curiosity about the world. Your parents did not pay much attention to this, completely immersing themselves in work and taking their time only for documents and finances. There is a rule that you need to remember all your life: If the child is quiet, then it is not good.

Meeting a Titan on your way is the most intense detail in your life, especially when he himself is attached to you.

Godzilla

➤ You managed to meet this big guy on the beach, shrouded in sleep and not paying attention to the world around him. At least he doesn't smell you, although an unfamiliar smell still hammered into his nostrils, forcing them to reflexively dilate. A little more and you would be sucked in... The golden gaze was pierced by the rays, and then by the timid you, watching him. Godzilla caught your little figure. Sighing deeply, but realizing that he was not an adult human at all, he continued to warm his scales in the sun. Now it's your turn. Children tend to have no fear at this age until they see a really distorted face, but now it's a big dinosaur that was shown on TV. Your joy knows no bounds, and the desire to get to know each other can be reduced endlessly. Godzilla realized that you won't leave anytime soon, but he tries not to move when he feels your little legs on his sturdy skull.

Mothra/Mosura

➤ Your sad eyes immediately lit up when you saw her in a white light. Mothra found you herself, accidentally finding you in the middle of the forest, leading straight to the temple. The Monster Queen, as soon as she saw you from afar, realized that you were not an adult. In front of her is a child. A human child. Your parents clearly don't look after you well, don't they? Softly chirping at your exclamations, her forelimb slowly approached you as a sign of acquaintance. Your palm pressed against the sharp "paw", taking on its entire appearance and natural essence. She is pleased that you are not afraid of her, but there is one problem. Do I need to send you back to your parents? Mosura knows that such an acquaintance will result in an endless encounter with you. But who objects? Your relatives are clearly not worried about your condition. The Monster Queen is not sure of how exactly to treat little people, but she knows one thing for sure.

It will make you the kindest and most responsible person.

Rodan

➤ If I say that you climbed into a volcano, then I will end the story with it. Let's just remember that Rodan is no longer hibernating, but flying over the islands. An accidental collision with you led to the pursuit of a poor bird desperately running away from your attention. Are you all so nimble? It's just that Rodan is amused by your desperate run in his direction. Come on, baby, a couple more laps and I will be able to walk freely around this place. The big pteranodon was confused when he saw your tears as he retreated. You definitely don't want him to leave you. Rodan was surprised at your courage, but he knows nothing about the treatment of children. Kaiju understands that you are small and fragile, you can hardly survive without an older face, right? The Titan still stayed to watch you. Oddly enough, he liked the way you stroked his beak, although he was quite hot, but he tried to make the most optimal temperature for you. Seeing your happy smile, Rodan understood. He won't get bored with you.

King Ghidorah

➤ Do you remember how I said that children are quite inquisitive? So. Such a quality can take you to very bad "Nannies". But who is complaining? Well, certainly not your parents, who do not know at all where their brood is. Disgrace. Ghidorah grinned at your bright eyes. You clearly did not know who you were with now and what threatened you after this meeting. They are not in a hurry with you, but for now they are just observing and analyzing behavior. Brave and naïve, but for some reason unhappy. Aren't you impressed by their size? Intimidating teeth that can break you? None of this. Three heads have lowered themselves to your level to get a better look at you. They're like distant relatives trying to figure out who you're more like. But only curiosity plays a role here. They have never seen a human child up close, especially one who is not afraid of them. San clearly liked you more than anyone else and he has already begun to melt under your gentle palm than the other two, who look at each other and think about what to do with you? Ichi and Ni only grinned, creating an eerie atmosphere around them. It seems that three personalities will settle in you at once, and which of them will manifest itself more often depends on you.

Shimo

➤ Shimo herself is like a child, only adapting to the ground. Her curiosity is the same as yours, and I don't think she'll be able to keep track of you. But this Titan will still protect you from any dangers around you. You're just a little Titan who needs a parent. Perhaps Shimo's maternal instinct will pull its threads, and you will be completely safe, but she is quite cold with her. Your warm palms try to warm her, but unfortunately she still returns her temperature. She just can't control it, you know? Living in confinement in the middle of lava, as they say, in hot heat, was terrible for her. This reflex of constant cold irritates her and she cannot reduce it even when she is already in her climate. Shimo appreciated your desire to help her, but she would not refuse moral help. At the moment, she needs help looking after you.

King Kong

➤ Kong was a little confused when he saw you alone and running after him. Where were your parents, brave warriors? The Titan instantly realized as he crouched on one knee to see you. The size difference was enormous, but it wasn't a problem for you. The king of the hollow earth was scratching his head now, not knowing what to do with you next. Find your parents? I think this will lead to a lot of panic among the population in which you live. King Kong was still gently holding you in his palm, trying not to let you go deep into the forest. The Big Boy had practically nothing else to do, but remembering his connection with your smaller brothers, he understood where to direct him. Jia. Although the rest of the Monarch's crew would take it more seriously, he trusted Jia more. I think she will understand what exactly needs to be done with you, right? In the meantime, enjoy a walk with him, because you have a lot to learn about each other.

M.U.T.O

➤ It was a little strange to see her in a rather peaceful state with you. The female Muto was initially neutral about your presence, but the behavior was not hostile simply because it didn't make sense. You didn't touch her, and she doesn't touch you. Although she was interested. Well, a small percentage, let's say more confidently. The Titan was extremely surprised by your pursuit, and not by the retreat from her large figure. She didn't even try to drive you away, but she tried to keep you out of where you shouldn't go. Unfortunately, she had no offspring, but she considered your company quite good. You were not an enemy or someone who had the ability to shoot her, but just a child whose parents spat on proper upbringing. He walks and walks, what's the problem with that? Muto decided to keep you to herself, making crackling noises at your pleasant caresses. Perhaps you will have a new Mother whom you will not want to give up.

[crispys-records]

john walker's helmet-to-beret uniform change: a uniform analysis by a guy who frankly knows very little about marvel

as a reference, i never really read any of the marvel comics as a kid depicting john walker as either captain america or u.s. agent. i did NOT watch falcon and the winter soldier until after i watched thunderbolts which may or may not be an insane watch order. but the little things i do know give me the tiniest bit of confidence to make this analysis, because its got very little to do with him as a character and more in the way he is portrayed to other people.

still, im a little out of my league here, so if this is total bullshit, common knowledge, or both, you can... call me mean things in my ask box i guess

lets start with his first, captain america-esque uniform.

when you look at steve rogers, the star is in the center of his chest, and he has both red and white stripes vertically on his stomach. although with a little more embelishments, sam wilson has the same kind of set up, sort of hammering home the fact that he's following in steve's footsteps and carrying his legacy. on the other hand, john walker's initial uniform has the star on the right side of his uniform and there are only red stripes horizontally across his chest.

comparing the "real captain america" uniform to the john walker one, there are some pretty easy patterns i can connect here. for starters, the fact that the uniforms are different brings to mind john's hopes about being captain america--that he isnt there to be another steve rogers. he wants to be his own captain america, so obviously, he would have a different uniform. also, the fact that john walker, steve rogers, and sam wilson are very different people can also be seen in that.

going a bit deeper, let's look at the designs themselves. steve's, and sam's, uniform is more symmetrical, more controlled and neat. it shows a more level-headed approach to the title of captain america, and represents steve's nature. on the other hand, john's uniform is skewed to one side. when he faces the camera, the star is on the left, which is where your heart is. john is more emotional, less controlled and calm than steve rogers was. he loses himself to rage and emotion. and then he kills someone in front of the public, and now the blood that he spilled will be a part of his image forever. theres no white on his uniform to stain. theres only red stripes.

now, i didn't even realize this until i started watching falcon and the winter solider, but his uniform actually changes at the end of the series going into thunderbolts. he has white stripes now. and oh my god, am i going to unpack that.

the fact that there are now white stripes shows a change in character. john goes through this character arc in the show which kind of goes to shit in thunderbolts but thats just him getting the ghostbusters "every movie has to start with them at rock bottom even if things start looking fine at the end of the last movie" treatment. i think john, as he steps away from the mantle of captain america, starts allowing himself to be hateful. while before, it was more of a struggle to be "righteous", to be the government's golden boy. so imagine that now, hes not the governments perfect soldier anymore. hes a disillusioned mercenary, down on his luck and coming out of a post-captain america spiral, and obviously hes letting whatever kind of resentment he had boiling during fatws dictate him. it cements him as a human character, like steve. he's strong and hes righteous and hes just. hes also miserable and angry and an asshole.

also, notice how in the dark, the only thing you can see is the white stripes? how the red, which was brighter in his first uniform, is obscured in the dark? im cornplating, sorry

and finally, the thunderbolts after credits scene uniform which i had to scour many a john walker fan account and fan blog for (ty guys i love you all).

it hasn't really changed much, apart from the lack of a star (replaced by an A) which i think could signify his full seperation from the us government. theres no longer a part of him that glorifies it, not after valentina tried to kill them more than once. like yelena threatened when val announced the Avengers: they own the government now. he doesnt have to worry about being that perfect government pawn, although he probably still will worry about being perfect human, because all he has to do is say "no, i wont fight this country ending disaster for you" and the government is toast.

also, the helmets, which i just thought was so cool to think about.

in the beginning, his helmet is pretty much a near one-to-one replica of steve roger's helmet. its smooth, its hard. it covers up his face, shows the bare minimum facial structures: two eyes, a nose, a mouth. it shows only what people want to see, the A on the front, for America. this is not john walker. this is Captain America, a hero for the people. a hero meant to replace the one that they lost.

as u.s. agent, his helmet is still the smooth, undefining helmet, but its lost the A. because like valentina says, they don't need a captain america anymore. she just needs a soldier who can do the dirty work for her. it obscures the wearer, and takes away the definition, leaving just a nameless figure. because u.s. agent isn't meant to be a public hero, just a soldier.

for a majority of thunderbolts, john walker doesnt wear his helmet. the helmet was originally something to hide behind, but he's not hiding behind anything througout the movie, and it shows. his divorce, his spiral, its all out in the open for bob and the rest of the team to disect. hes not trying to pretend to be nice, he's bitter and miserable.

and then, in the post-credits scene, he's wearing that stupid little beret which is so cute. im giggling just thinking about it. the symbolism is kind of obvious here. val or john, or both, decided that they're done trying to hide john's true persona from the public. his whole thing is that hes not captain america, hes a shitty, grittier, worse thing. so instead of hiding his face, they leave it out in the open, but they dress it up a little so that he doesnt look like a total deplorable freak to the citizens of the us. its all a little pr.

for all the hate that the beret gets, i do kind of like how it ties up john's character arc.

if youve made it to the end of what is kind of a really impromptu essay then thank you... im very unlikely to write thinkpieces like this again until we get more new avengers content or until i watch something about one of the characters that makes me think, like Black Widow or rewatching Antman and the Wasp. anyways thanks for reading

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you ever thought about how weird it is that you can buy pineapples at the grocery store? Someone pulled this shit off a tree tens of thousands of kilometers away, and then sent it to me. If I don't buy it, they'll just throw it in the trash.

Global trade is a really remarkable invention of our species. My neighbour's Hyundai was born in South Korea, shipped here on a boat, and will never see its mother or most of its siblings again. Even so, it was only slightly more expensive than a locally-made Ford. Sorry, did I say "locally-made?" That was also made in a different country and shipped here under duress. We don't even notice such a miracle unless we check the registration.

My Volare was sent here from The America, a country which has been going through some rough times lately. I figured that maybe it would want to go back and see Missouri, its land of creation, at least once. That Hyundai would never get the opportunity: who would bundle an Elantra into a steamer ship? Driving there, though, was basically feasible. Well, feasible for anyone who wasn't operating a badly-maintained, 47-year-old example of one of Mopar's shittiest cars.

You guessed it: I broke down at the end of my block. There is good news, though. A couple months ago, I found a bicycle clogging the sewage drain near my office, and I was able to bang it mostly straight with a hammer. Ever since then, I've been throwing it in the trunk, and using it to ride home whenever one of my cars leave me stranded. It's been great for my cardio, but more importantly, it was built here. Plans changed. Volare out, whatever this bicycle is "in." I rode it to the bike shop that assembled it, stopping periodically to ingest fried food, craft beer, and ice cream so as not to unnecessarily improve my health from over-exercise.

Unfortunately for everyone, when I got to the bike store, the snooty repair-shop crew considered my quest incomplete. They didn't make the bikes there, just threw them together. The frame and wheels had come from China, they explained, a big integrated factory that punches out the parts, spitting out thousands of proto-bikes per second without any form of human involvement. You'd have to get on a plane and take it to go visit the mothership in Guangdong.

Confronted with the choice to either abandon my quest or willingly board a Boeing product, I decided to take the safer route and return home. Perhaps it was foolish to try and figure out the maternal bonds of soulless, inanimate methods of transportation. Or perhaps I just picked the wrong kind of product, I decided, picking up an apple at the grocery store on my way home. Surely, this thing came from here, I thought right before I read the label.

As soon as I figure out where "Northern Spy" is, you'll be the first to know.

[omghallucinations]

Bang Chan Chart Analysis: in the weeds edition

chart patterns, degrees, fixed stars, aspects, final dispositors, basically all kind of deeper cuts.

ah, bang chan: a double libra gemini rising whose other planets are acting up so much i barely even touched on venus and mercury somehow

like he's clearly an air sign in every respect--he loooOOOves to talk, he's curious and interested in a lot of different things, he's never met a secret he doesn't want to immediately tell five hundred thousand people on live... but damn some of those other planets (saturn, mars, jupiter, uranus) are loud.

right away i noticed his chart is a bucket chart--every planet is in one half of the circle, except for one planet who becomes the "handle": his aries saturn. saturn is hammering all the other planets on the head so to speak.

saturn: you'll have to come through me motherfuckers

saturn is screaming it's ME i'm the BIG BOSS and as the handle, a lot of things in chan's life are gonna be based on or deal with--for better or worse--saturn stuff (maturation, fear, control, authority, judgment). chan's saturn automatically rockets to the top of his Big Boss list (it will not stay here tho, we've got some other bosses coming).

saturn is in its fall in aries--it doesn't speak the language there. any planet in its fall is usually marked down in influence but i also think it makes the planet more important? chan has to struggle with it. a saturn at home in capricorn (barring other chart factors) is very natural. 8/9 members of girls generation have saturn in capricorn and wow does that make sense. saturn in capricorn prizes Work and is self-conscious/guilty of its feelings (feelings are not productive), it's alllways anxious it hasn't done enough, it is very scared of disappointing people, it's deeply conscious of societal conditioning.

aries is a weird sign for saturn to be in. saturn has a lot of fear, and aries has a lot of fearlessness. aries is a baby and saturn is all about maturation. aries is about acting without thinking, saturn is about making a list and checking it 5 times then deciding not to do it just in case.

and then. this is fun. saturn goes on the big boss list again because it is unaspected--this doesn't mean there aren't aspects, it means there are no major aspects to other planets. when a planet is unaspected, everyone around you can sure as fuck see the hell out of it, but you can't really. it's center stage but not in the play.

bang chan: i am the cutest, fuzziest lil libra guy :) i just care about my work which is normal :) and i express that care in a very reasonable and chill way :) i just want things to be good! :) everyone around him, shaking in fear from his scathing judgment and innate leadership aura: uh-huh

an unaspected planet is usually a generational thing--chan really popped up like hey girl :) i'm here to really personify our family problems of work, judgement, fear and maturation and just like. make 'em huge and unavoidable. haha. :)

chan's gonna show real extremes of behavior around his saturn, which

in aries seems like it's dealing with issues of creation, self-determination, doing it on my own, that kind of stuff (so he'll deny himself or assert himself too much in turns)

in the 11th house backs that up--the 11th is the aquarius house, so saturn is in aries (a "me" sign) in a "we" (in a sort of detached intellectual sense) house

11th/aquarius usually wants to set u free :) but in a kind of back-handed passy aggy harry styles way, like "i love you so i'll set you free, because i am such an open-minded person, unlike other people (who are tethered to humanity which is both embarrassing and scary to me yuck), also setting you free is less terrifying to me than being perceived :) go with god :) bye :)"

it's in the sun decan, so there's a flavor of "look at me look at me" and identity formation (am i what i produce?)

saturn's most exact aspect is sesquisquare mars which acts a lot like a square, my favorite aspect! squares get such a bad rap but i think they're so much better for your life in the long run bc they force you to deal with things. his mars is in sagittarius, so we have a double fire sign situation: explosive, passionate, loves attention and creation. mars, who also gets a bad rap, is our survival planet. it's like, how are you gonna survive this. how are you gonna get what you want and defend yourself and win (if you care about winning) (chan cares about winning).

sagittarius mars is gonna go forward kind of joyfully but also in a "fuck you lmao" way. it's courageous bc it doesn't really think anything could go actually wrong. it's gonna Leave if it's bored (and it's already bored). it's gonna wide-angle zoom on the situation and be like "lol embarrassing... for you" and feel 100% sure it's right All The Time. sesquisquare saturn tries to control this force, adds a bunch of fear and repression and Issues (and often in later life, wisdom), so -> chan's gonna really be afraid of his own anger, of losing control of his temper -> ironically he will be unable to stop bouncing between these two extremes to various degrees. u can't control what u can't accept my dude. -> he's also afraid of not being in power, of not winning -> the me/we extreme will also come into play--especially with his sun and moon in libra (that's their whole Thing) sagittarius says "i'm right for objective, philosophical reasons" and aries says "i'm right because i just am bro i don't have to explain myself to you" mars in the 6th house--that drive to assert himself is gonna really go hard at work and in his daily life. this is a #gymbro placement for sure. his daily routine is Let's Fuckin Go At 150% -> his 11th house (where saturn is), loves the idea of people, community, his ideals, is detached from humanity and it comes into conflict with -> his 6th house, which is very much of the world, very critical, very let's get actual shit done and be of service to people sidebar, mars is exactly conjunct the asteroid quaoar-- creation, making new rules and structures, diverging from how things Have Always Been Done, please hold this thought for his uranus, coming up soon

libra moon at 29 degrees: heard u were desperately trying to maintain equilibrium for emotional security reasons lol

another planet i'm eyeing is his libra moon which is in the anaretic degree, 29. he's very good at this energy but it's gonna test him. with his libra moon he needs contact and dialogue with people to feel secure but it can't get too deep because that's gonna freak him out. he is super comfortable being vulnerable and emotional on the internet because the internet is not real. i mean it's real, but it doesn't feel real. it's the equivalent of over-intellecualising your feelings so you don't actually feel anything (which an air moon always enjoys, as a hobby). just like it's way easier and less scary to be in love with an idea of a person, rather than the actual person! the actual person can really fuck up ur moodboard!

chan needs things to be pretty, equal, even-keeled. libra is such a funny sign because often it gets flattened to this like "cutey pie flirt" stereotype which i would say is almost exclusively libra venus. libra is a cardinal sign--an acting, initiating sign--and can be a lot more controlling than it likes to pretend imo. it's also in his sixth house--he's gonna feel safe when he can be of service to others, when he can get things done, when he can edit shit, basically.

he's also a new moon baby, which gives a moon a fun, aries-y, baby-tries-(food)-for-the-first-time vibe. removes a lot of those libra inhibitions and adds a lot of need to feel special.

chan is so good at making sure he feels safe by trying to keep everything cute and not too deep and staying on the surface or removed from the situation through constant activity and like, pruning everything, trying to perfect everything (therefore not having to actually deal with anything). howmstever, this system is gonna repeatedly implode throughout his life. soz bud. his emotional foundation's gonna get pummeled on and off which sucks because he has an almost manic need

for emotional safety through strategic diplomacy and avoiding confrontation

for emotional safety through constant work and "perfecting" everything

for people to like him everyone needs to like him or he will die

(not the real him, that makes him nervous, the projection of him that he painstakingly curates, that is safer)

it's not especially fun to deal with.

bright side, wisdom in later life!

mercury, ruler of chan's ascendant: pretty much exactly what you'd expect?

as a gemini rising, chan's ruler is his mercury in libra in the 5th but ironically i don't feel like she's as major of a player as some of these other planets. you can see the communication and curiosity focus of his life, and in the 5th house of self-expression, creation. mercury is sextile mars and pluto, a talent for making his voice heard and powerful, trine uranus in the 9th he's confident about and believes in his unique voice/perspective.

like mercury is there and she's important, but she's not like. causing big waves? it's like his life direction, again, important, but i'm more intrigued by...

mars conjunct pluto opposite his ascendant: oh boy!

this is his one big opposition and it's on the gemini-sagittarius axis (my fave, she's just fun and curious, she's not super dramatic or that difficult although she doesn't exactly make it easy to make... decisions... or get anything done?). however if we were worried about getting shit done, mars and pluto are here to scream. mars conjunct pluto is exactly as dramatic as sagittarius-gemini is not.

this is an exact conjunction and it's wild. anything pluto touches blows up in a way. it makes it intense and secretive and adds the planet to its portfolio of unconscious past life soul security demands.

lmao i just realized that red lights is fully this conjunction lmao oh no. i don't know if i can talk about this conjunction normally. it's very... ... nsfw.

sometimes pluto conjunct mars forces mars into the background and makes the person afraid to assert themselves, but i don't think that's exactly the vibe here, although it's similar. it looks to me like chan has a lot of rage and anger in him that, with his libra placements, he probably has a very difficult time acknowledging or facing. he'll easily internalize it and turn it inward and be a real asshole to himself, and also his temper will flare up randomly and he'll go for the kill shot when he meant to communicate like a normal person. he has a lot of strong desires, he also wants power, but he's gonna hide it and run from the reality there. he does have almost inhuman will, courage and drive tho, he can truly endure anything.

(idk i think he should be a little worried about his physical body, so many of his coping mechanisms depend on exercise/endurance and with pluto--transformation, security--in the sixth house i worry his health might force transformation? ur body can't carry all of ur unspoken shit my bud?)

gemini rising wants to seem very fun, very friendly, very cute, but with mars and pluto on his descendant chan is almost hiding or ignoring a huge part of himself--all those darker impulses which aren't going anywhere. my guy loves a taboo and (redacted redacted redacted redacted REDACTEDDDD). whatever, it's good for creativity and in sagittarius he has a good sense of humor about it.

jupiter: uno reverso???

damn chan really got #blessed here, a lot of that chart was really screaming Issues, Internalized Rage, Fear, Depression, etc, but jupiter really bounced up to be like "never mind haha. i mean yeah, true, but also whatever"

first of all jupiter is in its home house, the 9th--chan's on a Journey, he's eat pray loving, he's Listening and Learning--and it's in aquarius, so that belief system and personal philosophy is gonna be very open-minded, very science fiction, very predicting trends, very ahead of society.

jupiter conjunct his MC: this is what pulls jupiter up to the big boss list. anything conjunct your MC is at the top of your chart--people see it. people notice it about you. and goddamn are people just gonna give him stuff. and they always have. no wonder jyp was like This Is My Special Boy, like that is jupiter conjunct MC to a t.

(the public perception of chan is also gonna be a lot... cuter and more exuberant and fun than the actual man. not that he's not those things. just that the jupiter of his personality is really what people are noticing about him from the outside: his personal vision, his expansive side, all that. they are not looking at that prominent saturn as much, even if saturn is a bigger player)

jupiter trine the sun: another one where people are just gonna like you. for one thing they'll notice chan's good intentions and generosity--altho they will also notice his tendency to moralise and be a liiiiittle condescending--but his tendency towards bouncy optimism (at least outwardly) makes people want to follow him aquarius jupiter trine libra sun: two "we" signs in a big way, except aquarius is "we" like "humanity" and libra is "we" like "you and me", but they unite in a tendency to conflate the personal identity with the group identity--with jupiter and the sun at play it's like chan is able to bring people on board with his identity and personal vision (but he often presents an idealised version of himself who does not have needs, somehow) 9th house trine 5th house: basically a repeat of jupiter-sun, since the 5th house is the leo house--chan has a talent for using his personal philosophy/vision in creative works

our final big boss of the night, perhaps the ultimate big boss: aquarius uranus

chan's aquarius uranus is really talking to everybody. it has by far the most aspects of any planet. uranus has its hand in his ascendant and every planet except jupiter and neptune. with modern rulers aquarius is at home in uranus, and i'm coming around a little bit on modern rulership even if i think it tends to be less prominent than traditional. still:

aquarius uranus: original thought, technological progress, your box is dumb i'm not going in there uranus in the 9th house: he's gonna have an offbeat belief system--no chance he buys into korea's societal norms, or anyone's societal norms for that matter. he's not a conformist. trine his gemini ascendant: whooooo boy he is really not a conformist. when he's not in a Mood he's not judgmental at all, even when he's in a mood he has a real benevolent Ah, Humanity Should All Be Free to Pursue Happiness vibe. gemini couldn't give a shit about morals, and uranus and aquarius think morals are bourgeois. he has a talent for his own difference--some uranus people (like most of ateez, my weirdo darlings) have chips on their shoulders about being different, but chan with his easy trine is just happy to be himself. i mean a trine uranus isn't gonna change the world (unlike harder aspects like squares, who would be more driven to do so) but he is gonna set a good example just through his identity.

this is a fun side of chan! i like this!

square moon: mmmm ok about that chip on his shoulder. although it's not really about being different--it's more about he both wants to be stable and emotionally secure and also free and independent and he's soooooooo fucking stubborn (but he doesn't see it that way because he's Right, not stubborn). he's prone to feeling really itchy and stuck and then making big changes out of nowhere. also he's very intuitive but overly sensitive and when he's hurt he's gonna shut down completely and not tell the person what they did wrong. didn't he give someone the silent treatment? jisung? yeah that's uranus square moon energy. he has a lot of fear around his emotions and only lets himself feel in short sharp bursts. he feels hurt and he cuts out the person immediately without warning to protect himself--even if it's completely illogical he will dupe himself into believing it is very logical and correct, actually libra moon square aquarius uranus: yeah this looks like a "keep the peace even if it is unhealthy" v. "radical change out of nowhere the tower ass" argument, he'll bounce between the two extremes again. heyyy gemini rising i didn't even see u there!!

man. really haven't gotten into everything including his sun in libra (in its fall), his nodes (classic idol 5th-11th axis, soooo many of them have this), etc, but i've been working on this for so long!! aughhH!!

ok drumroll please, let's gather up his chart big players!! normally i would rank these, but i keep changing my mind.

aquarius uranus

aquarius jupiter

sagittarius mars-pluto conjunction

aries saturn

libra mercury (2nd to lastish)

libra moon (definitely last on this list)

tentatively i'm gonna put uranus-jupiter tied at 1, then mars-pluto then saturn then mercury. ugh i don't know though. they're all big players! chan in general has one of those spread-out charts--when you look at the ruler of each planet, he has what's called a "committee" tree

where there isn't one or two final bosses, and the planets are all connected in one tree rather than being separate. you can see how chan's 3 top planets are sag mars, aquarius jupiter and aries saturn--they all work together and are super interconnected. he's not as single-minded as someone with a singular dispositor (ateez hongjoong has a singular final dispositor tree with his pisces jupiter) but also not as split or conflicted as someone who has split trees (ateez seonghwa has a planet in rulership tree with separate parts).

anyway this has been really interesting! for someone with what seems at first glance to be a very unified chart (air moon, air sun, air rising) he has some interesting conflicting energies--altho i'm sure he sees himself as just an air person. i'm sure he is lowkey aware of that mars and pluto conjunction but i'd bet he really pretends he does not see it (except for in REDACTED REDACTED EXTREMELY REDACTED situations), and he truly cannot see his saturn at all (altho everyone else can!).

[deadhands69]

*❆ White Elephant: Jututsu Kaisen ❆*

What happens when you select their white elephant gift? *This is absolute crack and in no way did I put any consideration into where in time it occurs/what side you’re on/why all of these people/curses somehow got along well enough for a holiday gathering together. **yes, i’m very aware of how out of context the header image is

Gojo: This one is wrapped… interestingly. It doesn’t look bad by any means, the shiny white paper is just folded in a way that feels like it should defy physics. Upon opening, a small strange object falls out. You’ve never seen anything quite like it and its presence weighs heavily on you. You’re about 90% sure that thing is cursed beyond reason and there’s absolutely no way you’re bringing it home with you.

Did he just forget and pick up the first thing he saw on his desk? Absolutely.

Itadori: You selected this one because you can tell someone put so much love into wrapping it. Sure, it looks a little sloppy with the twisted ribbon and fold marks on the cute snowman printed paper, but A+ for effort. When you open it, you find a silly coffee mug filled with random odds and ends. A cute keychain. Human Earthworm action figure. And an assortment of stickers. Overall, a pretty thoughtful gift.

Todo: With the nice reusable gift bag, this one caught your eye. Worst case, you still get a cool bag. Once you open it, you peel back the layers of protective paper to find - a framed photo of Nobuko Takada. What else did you expect? 

Maki steals it from you three turns later.

Geto: The wrapping is immaculate. Crisply folded dark blue paper. Symmetrical gold bow on top. 10/10. It’s perfect. Of course, you had to choose this one. Peeling back the paper and digging into the box, a small glowing ball rolls out. In what he thought would be the funniest inside joke ever (coming from someone who doesn’t joke often), Geto left the curse you had all fought together for you to keep in a nice little orb. How sweet. There’s also a religious pamphlet and invitation to his cult’s gatherings. 

Jogo: The messy wrapping leaves something to be desired, but this one has a presence. When you peel back the green paper, you discover…one of sukuna’s fingers.

This does not feel like it should fit within the $25 spending limit, but whatever.

Nanami: This envelope almost went unnoticed until you saw it poking out from behind another gift. When you open it, you find a gift card for $25. Low effort but certainly useful.

Yuta: A small silver box with a cute blue bow. When you open it, you find a beautiful locket. That's from Yuta. Inside is a photo of Yuta. That's from Rika.

Maki: Green paper with a big red ribbon. This gift looks exactly like someone mimicked the most stereotypical Christmas wrapping they could manage (she did.) It’s hefty for its size. When you open it, you find a large bottle of Pinesol, a scrubbing brush, and some gloves with a note that ‘some of you need to pull your weight  more around here.’

Megumi: The wrapping is nice. Simple. Minimalistic. A red paper so dark it's nearly black. When you open the box, you find an assortment of new pens, pencils, lighters, and a phone charger. He wanted to introduce a surplus to the group in the hopes that now everyone will stop stealing his. (If you can’t tell, the Zenin clan isn’t so big on Christmas.)

Nobara: The gift bag is cute. A nice bow, shiny star covered paper. Great choice. When you pull out the tissue paper and look inside, you find a hammer. Also, a holiday scented candle - gotta cover all the bases.

Panda: Crinkled snowflake print wrapping paper and a few bits of fur in the tape holding it together, but overall something really draws you to this gift. When you open it, you know immediately it’s from Panda. One of those packaged gag gifts you’ll be able to use or re-gift next year for a laugh.

Choso: This is the largest box. It's wrapped up in candy cane patterned paper with big holes stabbed through the top and sides. "Don't shake it!" he screams from across the room when you pick it up. Ripping through the already mangled paper and opening the cratered box, you find a tiny stray kitten with a cute red bow tied around its neck in place of a collar. Awwweee.

Inumaki: This one is larger than most and surprisingly well wrapped in cute santa hat Pikachu paper. When you open it, you find the absolute weirdest garden gnome you’ve ever seen. It’s wonky, in an endearing/funny way. You genuinely wonder where it came from.

How tf did he wrap it so well with only o-[SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER]

Mahito: A transfigured human. It’s not wrapped or anything. He didn’t really understand the game.

Shoko: A cute gold box with a red ribbon tied around it. It feels lightweight but you’re sure there’s something good in there. When you untie it and peel off the paper, you find a pack of cigarettes and a scribbled note that says ‘happy holidays.’

Toji: A crumpled paper bag with the top rolled over. It’s the only one left and you’re feeling adventurous. Opening it, you find a roll of toilet paper (which you return to the bathroom from which it went missing.)

***Sukuna declined to participate. He says his mere presence is a gift to all of you mortals and you’ll be lucky if he graces you with that.

In the end:

The toilet paper has been returned and Gojo confiscated the transfigured human and finger. Well, he tried to. Sukuna's mouth appeared on Yuji's hand and ate both while they were being passed across the room.

This leaves us with:

Gojo's creepy cursed object (he swears it's safe)

Yuji's cute mug/Human Earthworm nicknacks

Todo's framed idol photo (Maki is glaring daggers at you for even considering it)

Geto's curse orb and religious materials (Gojo stole this one to take it out of rotation so they might be off-limits too)

Nanami's $25 Applebees gift card

A locket with Yuta's photo glued inside

Maki's cleaning supplies

Megumi's box of frequently borrowed items (each of which have now been transformed by Mahito to look like small people)

Nobara's hammer. And candle.

Panda's gag gift (Toge is trying to hide this and not make eye contact in the hopes that you will forget it exists)

Choso's kitten that everyone is keeping away from Mahito (Megumi already named it so good luck prying it out of his hands)

Toge's quirky gnome

Shoko's cigarettes (minus the two Nanami already smoked after stealing a lighter before Mahito could transfigure it)

You have one more steal left, what are you going home with?

m.list