#it gets progressively less sane

[orbitfalls]

wip tag!!!

tysm to @sugarsnappeases for tagging me!! <3

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

out of order

east of eden

ultraviolence

red

pandora going absolutely batshit crazy and killing voldemort xoxo figure out title later (yes the document is called that😭)

happy little cute vintage bandfic with no tragedies and no plot whatsoever

rosier twins character study

silly drag race au

mary centered thingie ???

that's... it, actually. some of them are pretty long (out of order is almost 80k!!) and some are just snippets of midnight genius.

i don't have that many writer mutuals (new to tumblr heheh) but i'm tagging anyone who wants to do this!!! mwah<333

[sanguineterrain]

a bloody vow | jason todd

Summary: After the racy encounter with your knight, you seem to lose all progress made in your relationship. You hardly talk, and you're lonelier than ever. But after a house break-in has you running to Jason for help, you're forced to face each other, blood and all.

Pairing: knight!Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: violence! Jason kills a man. reader and jason's house is broken into and the thief attacks the reader (but they're okay.) mentions of self-flagellation, religious guilt. reader feels very lonely without their big strong knight :( the eroticism of killing for another person. codependence. partial nudity. probably not the healthiest relationship but whatevs. Jason would do anything for them what more could you want?

the divider

Everything's changed since the morning that you found Jason with the whip.

He won't even eat with you anymore.

He accepts whatever you make and thanks you quietly, then eats his supper in the shed. He didn’t say much before—now you're lucky if you get more than a word from him.

He's also taken to punishing himself regularly. Jason does it far away, so he won't wake you. But you've seen his back and the welts peeking beneath his tunic and the spots of blood. You also see fresh injuries from his training, injuries that could be avoided if he was more careful. You've tried to offer him a salve to heal his back. He always refuses, flinching like a kicked dog if you get too close.

You fear that you'd pushed Jason too far that morning. You replay it in your mind, wondering what exactly had possessed you to act in such a vulgar manner. Exposing yourself to him like that after spying on him earlier—what were you thinking?

You weren't, is the truth. It seems all rational thought leaves your brain when you're around him.

It's truly like living with a ghost. Your feelings are jumbled, caught in a maelstrom of guilt and fear and desire. More than anything, you're unbearably lonely. You'd feared a harsh hand when you first were deposited into Jason's bed. You never imagined that there could be a worse fate than being wanted: being ignored.

So, it's been three weeks of this new routine. Jason has been disappearing at night to the pub. Not that he told you that—you know this because of the incessant gossip that flies around the market. It's not hard to decipher who the 'hulking knight' is when people stare at you.

You try not to think about what Jason gets up to. You really have no right to be angry if he finds someone to warm his bed. You're lucky he hasn't thrown you into the sea after your insolence.

Routine is all that keeps you sane. You do the washing and cooking without complaint. Jason still leaves you money to go to the market, and sometimes you save a couple of coins to buy books. You keep the books under a floorboard in your room. He never asks you for change.

You don't know if this routine will be enough, though. You wish Jason would just throw you out and be done with it. You're certainly not performing the duties that the king expected of you when he brought you here. Jason can hardly look at you, much less touch you.

You eat alone tonight. By the time you wash up and are ready for bed, it's late. Jason still isn't home.

Not unusual these days. You get into bed and blow out the candle. Maybe you won't wake in the morning. Then you'll both be free.

A crash jerks you out of slumber.

You're awake immediately, fumbling under your bed for the small dagger you'd secretly purchased when you first came.

Your first thought is that Jason came home drunk. But if he’s come home drunk in the past, you've never heard him, and it's always as quiet in the morning as it was the night before.

A chilling second thought hits you as the floor creaks outside your door.

Someone's broken in.

You quietly get to your feet, dagger in hand. If Jason were home, he would be here already, dealing with the problem. As it is, you're alone and completely vulnerable without your knight.

Your door splinters open. You stumble backwards.

"Wha' have we here?" A lantern shines in your face. "Look a' this. Pretty thing like you shouldn't be left alone."

You bolt for the front door.

“Oh, no no, you don’t.”

The intruder darts after you and stops you before you can open the door. He hauls you backwards and throws you against the dying fireplace. You land on your ribs and the wind is knocked out of you.

"Too big of a house for a little mouse like you,” the man says with a greasy sneer. 

You turn and lunge at him. You catch him off guard enough to stab his shoulder with the dagger. He howls in pain and shoves you off. Your head hits the wall, and for a moment, you fear you’ll vomit. But you don’t, so you stand.

"You bitch!" he shouts. "I'll fuckin' kill ya for that!"

That's all the motivation you need to run.

You’re aching all over, head pounding. Your legs are cold, being that you're only in a nightgown. You might be bleeding. But you keep running.

You run all the way into town, which feels like miles at this time of night, bruised as you are. It’s easy to find the pub, and it doesn’t even occur to you that you’re not allowed inside. All that’s on your mind is Jason. Find Jason.

You pound your fists on the door of the pub, crying.

"Jason, Jason!" you shout. “Help me, please! Please!”

The door opens. You stumble in, almost tripping on the uneven wood. Men stare at you as you enter.

"Jason!" you yell.

A knight you don't recognize stares down at you, blocking your path. You stumble back, grabbing the wall for support.

"Out," he snarls. 

"Please," you beg. "Please, I need my husb—"

He's shoved aside suddenly, ale sloshing over his mug. He growls in protest, but someone drags him away by the back of his tunic. 

Relief floods you at the familiar face who takes his place. Jason.

He's obviously shocked to see you here, eyes roving over you. His shirt is unbuttoned, a thin fresh cut on his cheek. He says your name. Every inhibition you’ve felt over the last month disappears.

"What—"

You throw yourself into his arms, weeping. Jason catches you, cradling the back of your head. You're surrounded by him, the rest of the world blocked out. He smells like the strong yellow soap you make in large chunks because it’s cheaper than purchasing it at the market. He smells like the home you share.

"What is it? Where do you hurt?" he asks quietly, shielding you from all the pairs of eyes. He rubs your back, bent over you. You cling to his neck, shaking with the memory of tonight.

"A man b-broke in," you say, and Jason's grip tightens. "He said–he said he w-would...k-kill…"

You trail off. Jason pets you, breathing even on your neck.

You know that you hardly have any rights, that the men here would sooner see you die than step into danger for you. Perhaps that includes Jason too. Perhaps it's too late. 

"I understand," Jason says into your ear. He doesn’t waver despite how you tremble. "It's alright. I won't let him hurt you again. I'm... I'm so sorry for leaving you alone."

He exhales, long and slow. You feel him begin to pull away. You panic, digging your nails into his arms. Jason quickly soothes you. He doesn’t chastise you for clawing him. 

"It’s alright. I'm going to handle this, and then we'll go home," he says. "Roy."

A redheaded knight approaches. You slowly turn your head. He smiles gently at you.

"Your Highness," he says, bowing deeply, and you feel a little lighter.

"Roy's going to take you home while I handle the thief," Jason says. "I promise that I'll be fast, alright?"

"You promise you won't leave?" you ask. “You’ll come home right away?”

Jason takes your hand, stroking your knuckles. "I swear. May God strike me down if I don't return."

“Oi, man, get your little harlot out of—”

Jason stands, rising and towering over the angry drunk. He’s immediately cowed under Jason’s gaze.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason says, even and deadly. The man leaves in a huff.

"I'm sorry for causing trouble," you whisper, cheeks still wet.

"You haven't," is all he says, before leading you outside.

You have an audience, which is absolutely humiliating, but neither Jason nor Roy pays them any mind, so you don’t either. 

Roy helps you onto his horse, and in the time that that takes, Jason is already headed back to the house by the time you and Roy start off. You realize then that you trust Jason. You've never met this Sir Roy in your life—Jason's never even mentioned having friends. But you trust that you will get home safely. 

“Jason won’t let him get away,” Roy says. You believe him.

The ride is short. You don’t know if you’ll manage to go back to sleep without Jason there, but the least you can do is host Roy, perhaps. You’re bone-tired, but you ought to be hospitable, shouldn’t you?

But as you get closer to the cottage, you hear voices in the woods. Jason’s horse is out front. You dismount without Roy's help and take off running. He calls after you. You ignore him.

You don't go through the house, not ready to face the destruction your intruder left in his wake. Instead, you go around and follow the stream into the woods. The voices get louder. When you get to the clearing by the shed, you stop.

The lantern has been knocked onto its side, flames flickering. But you can very clearly make out Jason in the dark. His shadow cuts a frightening figure that dances across the trees. Moonlight flickers through the canopy, illuminating him and the other figure. Your attacker.

Your attacker, who’s discovering that he picked the wrong house to rob.

Jason's got him pressed against a tree. Blood drips from the man's head and face. You stay a few yards away, behind a tree. The bark dully bites into your hand. You’re torn on whether you should make yourself known or not. Stop this or not.

"You touched them," Jason says, and does something with his sword that draws out a strangled groan from the attacker. The metal shines with fresh blood.

"I am worse than you," he continues. "I lost sight of my duty. My reason for living. Everything I do is for the star-crossed beauty my king captured for me. It's all I can do to pay penance for my sins. And you come into my house and dare to lay a hand on what is mine?"

The breath leaves you in a punch. You're cold with sweat, but something tugs at your gut. Something frightening. Something that tells you to stay hidden.

"I am worse," Jason says. "Because a good man would show you mercy and let you be hanged for your crimes."

"That fuckin' bitch deserved it," the intruder spits.

Here, Jason loses his composure. Here, he twists his sword.

"I will tear you apart," he says, voice a snarl.

And Jason does exactly that. It's bloody and gory. You feel sick a few times. You can't see everything in the fractured light, but you can hear it all. Bones crack, the man screams, but Jason doesn't relent. He drives his sword deeper and deeper. Blood gurgles from the attacker's mouth.

You watch on, feeling quite like you had the day you saw Jason fucking his fist.

The body drops with a thud as Jason lets him go. You imagine a sword slick with blood. You imagine Jason covered in it.

The realization is dizzying. You are an executioner, and Jason is your axe.

You don't know what you're more horrified by: the fact that it took you this long to look away or that you don't mind the stench of fresh blood.

Jason takes two steps and picks up the lantern. He sees you. He stops.

"He's dead," you say dumbly.

Jason swallows, face otherwise blank. "You... you were not meant to see that."

"I didn't." But you did.

He knows you did.

"Roy should've taken you inside," Jason says.

You can't understand why shame draws the lines of his shoulders. 

"I didn't want to go inside," you say. "Not without you."

Jason inhales sharply. Then he looks away. "I shouldn't have... I pray that you'll forgive me, but I understand if you don't."

Jason is covered in more than a little blood. Red spatters his cheek, though it looks black in the shadows.

He's slick with blood. You wonder if he'll bathe in the river. If you might help him.

You step forward. Jason is still. He watches you steadily as you approach.

You pull down the sleeve of your nightgown and reach for Jason's face. He flinches. You hush him.

"It's alright," you whisper.

He lets you touch his cheek. His eyelids flutter as you wipe the blood from his face. Then you hold his cheeks with both hands. Jason shudders.

"You can touch me," you say.

Immediately, Jason shakes his head, hands curling into fists at his side.

"No. I'm unclean. You shouldn’t touch me either, you’ll—you’re—”

"I don't mind." Your thumbs trace the contours of his face for a moment, feeling the hard line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his full bottom lip. He lets you, eyes locked on yours.

Then, you pull up your nightgown, revealing your bare thighs, your underwear, your belly. Jason’s chest heaves. He immediately looks away. But you’re quick. You guide Jason's hand with your other hand. He stains your flesh with blood. You picture the sticky, bloody handprint he'll leave on your waist. That frightening feeling returns. 

Jason's hand is hot on your skin. He exhales shakily. 

"I'm sorry," he says again, cupping your waist. His fingers gently knead your skin as if he's testing if you're real. It tickles, but you don't move, fearing Jason will pull away at the slightest jerk.

"Don't sleep in the shed anymore," you say.

"Alright."

"Eat supper with me."

"Okay."

You draw Jason closer. Blood smears your clothed chest. His thighs warm your exposed legs. You will not let him punish himself in the morning. You will sleep on his chest if that’s what it takes. Only you are allowed to draw blood from him. 

"Are you mine?" you ask.

Jason's answer is instant.

"Yes."

[seannessy]

⚠️POLITICS⚠️

haha bet you forgot through the shitposts that i have a bachelor's degree in political science

here's a bunch of reasons why Kamala Harris is going to win the presidency because i can never find the effort to edit this into a video:👇

1. The current polls are VERY biased towards republicans. Most large polls just take the averages of other smaller polls, and right now the GOP has been dumping LOTS OF MONEY into publishing a lot of fluff polls in swing states to make themselves look better and to get more donations. Democrats don't usually publish their polls publicly. Odds are it's another red mirage.

2. The majority of people who Trump is catering to just don't vote. A lot of the latest pushes in the Aiden Ross Gamerbro communities are not reliable voters, even as loud as they are online. You cannot convince me that the twitter edgelord crowd has ever even seen a ballot in their lives.

3. In elections canvassing matters by about 300% more than advertising (my own ballpark estimate, not a specific datapoint, but still very true having worked in both canvassing and campaign marketing). The only people signing up to canvass for Trump are just stealing Elon's money, meanwhile people are flying out from all 50 states to swing states to canvass for Kamala.

4. "This is Hillary Clinton all over again." No it isn't. Hundreds of papers have been published that all agree that the reason Hillary lost (besides the Michigan debacle) was that largely a lot of people already assumed she was going to win, and so they didn't go out to vote. Sean Westwood did a really good paper on this in 2018, the more likely you are expected to win, the less of your supporters turn out. The entire narrative is that Kamala is either tied or behind, so anyone who supports her will NOT be sitting this one out.

5. Kamala just did a MASSIVE rally event in Texas. Texas. In this part of the campaign, any sane strategist would tell you to do ALL campaigning in the swing states, so this makes no sense... unless internal democrat polls are saying that Texas is now winnable for democrats. I will remind you that Texas is not NEARLY as red as the stereotype says, and Greg Abbot has himself previously said that Texas would have gone blue if not for all of the voter suppression he did. I'm not joking. This is real. The only reason Texas is still Lean Red instead of Moderate Blue is because of insane levels of voter suppression by Texas GOP.

6. When turnout is low, republicans win. When turnout is high, democrats win. Turnout is already STUPIDLY high in the early voting metrics. Even higher than 2020 (which i will remind you, we won) in some cases.

7. Voter demographics just aren't on Trump's side here. Lots of republicans have bled out of Trumpism, and in a close enough race as this one looks to be even a few thousand republicans deciding to stay home could make or break it in a lot of states. Additionally, while Trump has made a lot of progress in minority voters (daily reminder that the median voter is stupid enough for "median voter" to be used as a slur in political science communities), Kamala has the white woman vote locked down. And oh no! Look at that! Which voter demographic is orders of magnitudes both larger and more active voters than all of the minority demographics that Trump has been gaining in? Yep! Kamala's lead in the white woman demographic has entirely erased Trump's gains in other communities. Abortion was the final nail in the coffin of republican chances, they took the mask off too early. The dog caught the car and didn't know what to do with it.

8. Voter demographics are STILL not on Trump's side even ignoring all that other stuff, because keep in mind, Trump voters have largely been older people, and the waves of people who elected him previously have... well they've kind of died. Covid really didn't help with that. I mean obviously not everyone, but like, this is a close race, and a very large chunk of those voters have been reincarnated as plants or whatever now.

9. "The X Factor" is 100% on Kamala's side. By that I mean just the force of raw charisma, the Kamala campaign is just more appealing and less unnerving to the general population. I really hate to keep hammering this but oh my god dude have you SEEN JD Vance????? Even after the debate where he performed as best as he possibly could and Walz performed as bad as he possibly could, samples STILL said they supported Walz over Vance by a factor of 85 PERCENT.

10. "The Shy Trump Effect." There's a myth a lot of people believe that Trump underperforms in polls and overperforms in elections because voters are shy to admit they're fans of him. A few things. #1: This was disproved so many times, including in Sean Westwood's previously mentioned paper. #2: Even after it's disproved, many polls already factor it into their calculations, which is actually INFLATING his odds in the polls. #3: Anyone who would have been a Shy Trump Supporter either just isn't going to vote this election cycle or is going to follow the Cheney's lead and vote for Kamala instead. This is probably the one election in our entire lives where Democrats have appealed to the right and it actually fucking worked.

11. Polymarket. A lot of people point to the new Polymarket as evidence that Trump has a lot of support among the average joe crowd. These people have no idea how the Polymarket works. American citizens legally can't bet in it, and the only way to get around that is by using Crypto. How many tech illiterate boomers do you think are going to know how to use both Crypto and a VPN? All of Trump's support there is coming from techbro whales or people in other countries. Infact, I think the number was that about a whopping 30% of all bets made on the side of Trump were sourced back to this one French Billionaire.

That being said, it's not a predetermined victory. Currently I'd put the odds at anywhere between 60-40 and 70-30 in favor of Kamala, but that still leaves Trump plenty of room.

The moral of the story is that things aren't hopeless! We have a very good shot at winning--as long as we all keep pushing like hell!

Oh also, if they try another Jan 6th, reminder that Biden is now the one in control of the military and national guard at the capital. Lol, Lmao, even.

[lavendermin]

Ououghhhh vampire Jing yuan jndjejdjcjr

The soft intimacy paired with the bitter twist that comes with it, in the way he holds you so softly as his teeth press into your neck-

There’s equal parts dread and anticipation when your neck is waiting for that familiar prick of sharpened fangs. The momentary few seconds of pain is something you’ll never get used to. But Jing Yuan feels the way your scent grows thicker—heady with the rush of adrenaline pumping through the veins in your neck.

He gulps almost audibly. Parched.

But he needs to keep up this little ritual, for the sake of keeping sane and not devolving to the monotonous cycle of feeding over and over and over like an animal driven by the brink of extinction. He needs to feel.

cw | blood, suggestive

Not human, no. That’s something he’s long given up on.

Just Jing Yuan is enough. To feel like he was, or who he could be, or who he wants to be. Just… him.

Intimacy, longing, exhilaration—he holds back the primal instinct to feed on the crimson life that courses through you. The very essence that keeps him sane for a few spare nights.

Perched on his lap you lay against him, his hands wandering the plush of your thighs so warm and fragrant. There’s still a bandage wrapped around one of them where he sunk his fangs into their inviting delicacy a couple weeks ago. He had his fill in blood and body, his shame put to rest as you gripped his hair and urged him to where you need him—mind high on adrenaline and blood loss.

His breath is hot on your neck as he licks a stripe along the pulse that quickens under his tongue. A tender kiss pressed just under your jaw. His affections—or his preparation as he likes to call it—made you squirm in his lap. It earns a deep, velvety chuckle from him, vibrations you feel against you where you lean further into him.

“I’m beginning to think you look forward to this little rendezvous more than I do, songbird,” Jing Yuan teases. His fang just barely grazes your skin, pulling a stuttering gasp from you.

“Being the general’s lifeline does things to one’s ego,” you bite back with a breathy laugh. A shiver courses through your body as he teasingly presses his fangs just enough to feel discomfort but not enough to break the skin.

“Noticeably, with how you wear rather… enthusiastic outfits to these meetings. What would the people think?” The question is sarcastic with a playful glint in his eye.

“The general I know doesn’t care for rumors as long as peace is long-standing. Besides, I hear the general is quite fond of my daring little red dresses.”

He chuckles at your quick witted arguments. And this is what he most craves. The faux normalcy—the way you never miss a beat, never treat him significantly different with conversations. Just you. Just him.

He nuzzles his nose along a prominent jugular vein, arms hugging you tighter against him. And he breathes in deep, grounding himself and taking in the sound of your pulse that is all too apparent for him. His hunger is progressing.

Jing Yuan acknowledges he is greedy. Definitely needy. It’s a cruel intimacy he seeks from you often. But this is sound company he’s made with a little unconventional transaction between you both.

Of course you love him. You wouldn’t be baring your neck for him every few days if you didn’t. Going through special diets for blood quality and too many doctor appointments to count—your selflessness was your self-destruction. But you wouldn’t put your fate in anyone else’s hand.

He doesn’t envy your humanity. Nor does he wish to make you his equal in this vampiric curse of abundance. It’s simply you and him and these vulnerable moments before he feels less than himself as he takes from you.

[mistresscitrusslice]

Why does the intro end with Jayce and not the sisters?

Pardon my shitty screenshots. I know I already made a post about the weird things in the intro, but there's even more that I didn't include in that post, and most of it is weird as HELL stuff with Jayce. This whole intro sequence has been weird as hell and I love it.

(I'll put it here since I'm not going to mention it later, but Ekko's first scene in the intro has his shadow as a clock ticking counterclockwise and I love it, but I won't talk about it again since we all pretty much know what that means.)

Last season's intro ended with our two lead women at each other's throats. That's no surprise. The whole show is about them. This one, though, ends with Jayce, a supporting member of the main cast. Matter of fact, he shows up a lot in this intro.

In my other post, I mentioned how his scene in the intro is eerily reminiscent of the moment he met Mel (other than the Council trial) when she shined a flashlight in his and Viktor's eyes in the hallway.

Could this be an indicator that he is once again meeting someone new who will change his life forever? Or could it be a reintroduction to someone he already knows? It could easily be Mel again, maybe after she's discovered and learned to control her magic? It seems like she wasn't aware of her powers until now. Considering how much the animators love to compare Mel with Viktor, it could just as easily be Viktor after he's gone full Machine Herald. They've already met again in the commune, but maybe they'll meet again when Viktor is more mechanical and Jayce is more... how do I put it politely... sane.

The light in front of Jayce's hand appears twice more, but something tells me it's a different light. Has the light evolved or is it a different light altogether?

This comes right after Mel on the lounge chair looking at the black rose and right before Viktor putting on the mask (we'll get to that). It is SO much brighter than before, less like a flashlight and more like a spotlight. Jayce's arm is more outstretched, too. It's less reminiscent of the hallway and more reminiscent of the moment he stepped onstage for the Progress Day speech. Bright, burning spotlights that he flinched at. Arm outstretched not only to block the light, but to wave at an audience.

The light and pose when he ends the intro also has these qualities.

I know it's a reach, but nothing is ever fucking reaching with this goddamned show.

So what does this mean?? Is it symbolic of the presence of magic in his life? Once a light in the dark, the path to success -- now burning, all-consuming? Is this another hubris metaphor??? I'm so tired of hubris metaphors. Let Man become God!

Seriously, what do you guys make of this? Because I have no clue. I have negative clues. Everything I see only opens new questions.

Okay, on to the Jayvik amalgam. :D

Who. The fuck. Is this.

Two pics since the camera rotates a bit and idk if the slightly different angle helps at all.

If you look at it from far away, the eyebrow ridge and nose resemble Jayce. If you peer closer, the eyebrow ridge looks more like Viktor's, but the nose still seems like Jayce. This person also looks to be at a healthy weight and has thick thighs, also qualities that Viktor unfortunately does possess. I want to say the hand also looks like Jayce's, but it's hard to tell. The lighting also makes it hard to determine their skin color. All in all, everything about this scene would suggest that the figure is Viktor except for the figure itself.

My gut instinct had me thinking it was Jayce the very first time I saw this intro, but then Viktor showed up with his blanket and mask later in the song and has been in said blanket for most of the show. The lack of purple limbs doesn't mean anything since the sisters also lost their tattoos, Mel lost her gold, and Ekko lost his face paint too.

And then we have this shot. Whose hand is that? NOT FUCKING VIKTOR'S.

That's Jayce's hand putting Viktor's mask on him. The hand looks like it fits naturally on Viktor's arm.

This could mean that Viktor will be wearing his mask because of Jayce. Partly in a "you see me as a villain, so a villain I will be" kind of way, but maybe also in a self-fulfilling time loops sort of way.

It's obvious that we're not supposed to be able to tell Viktor and Jayce apart in this intro. I even saw someone suggest that the animators made a whole new 3D model that was a mix of them both to be able to get the effect across. They might have also made one for Viktor with Jayce's hand.

This is basically saying that Jayce and Viktor are so deeply intertwined that they can't even be told apart. That's really ironic considering how different and divided they are right now. Could this imply that they'll end up back on the same side by the end?

[lets-try-some-writing]

Death Korps and Warframes has my interest, honestly. Days of Old is up there too, ngl.

Though, Warframes would be a very interesting thing to read.

Considering I got an ask for Warframes, imma roll with Death Korps and write a little something for it :)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"What do we know about this Prime?" Megatron sat back in his chair, finally restored to proper functionality. He'd looked into the Prime briefly before, while he was still little more than a processor hooked up to the abominable scientist's machinery. But at the time he hadn't bothered to look much deeper. All the Primes were the same, each of them fanatical soldiers until the end.

At least, that was how it worked when he still ruled over his Decepticons eons ago. Looking at this Prime though, it seemed Ultra Magnus and his Council had gone out of their way to adjust the program to make their puppets.

"Optimus Prime was originally a dock worker, low caste." Strika, his most loyal general, adjusted the screen in front of him to show images of the young Prime when he was but a newbuild. The Optimus shown in the image was doe eyed, bright and smiling. He had the roundness of the newly framed, his protoform still tinted blue to denote his inexperience. Exposure would dull the coloration eventually, thus indicating that he must have been less than a century of age when the initial image was taken.

"His records state that he was taken in by the Academy sometime after his first century." New pictures projected themselves, showing a young and impressionable Optimus standing in line with dozens of other recruits. They all looked terrified, as was only right. Megatron could only guess as to what torment they were put through in order to turn them into the Primes the survivors eventually became.

"He was unusually optimistic when it came to Decepticon ideals and thought processes, earning him his designation of 'Optimus'." More images, each showing Optimus's training. The youngling in the images looked determined, but terrified. A video even played at one point, showing Optimus running for dear life and pausing to help one of his fellows before getting hit for it.

Slagging Autobots. They beat empathy out of their youth before they even had time to learn what caring for others meant. It was no wonder they threw lives around like scrap metal. To them, it must not have mattered.

"He was apparently beaten quite severely for daring to side with our thought processes, my Lord." Strika huffed. Megatron fought the urge to do the same. What sane nation shut down freedom of thought? Optimus could have been quite the speaker, a freedom fighter. His records indicated that he was startlingly intelligent, and based on what combat Megatron had witnessed, his current battle prowess was nothing to scoff at. And yet here he was, a Prime.

"He developed and extraordinary bitterness toward our cause due to the abuse. This sped along his indoctrination." Another series of videos played, each showing Optimus's progression into the Primely patterns Megatron was familiar with. Long sessions of indoctrination with the Primes in training all kneeling as they were preached to. The Primes rushing across landmines and other hazards, learning to disregard pain and each other for that matter. Sparring sessions that were closer to death matches than anything else. Weapons training with every Prime being meticulously assisted in finding their niche...

The images of Optimus were brutal. He went from smiles and laughter to grim brutality. He seemed to still hate every cut he inflicted, but his optics blazed with rage as he learned to use an axe. He seemed haunted, and many of the pictures showed him covered in energon, be it his own or another's. He never looked happy, and as time wore on, his frame became darker, grayer even, almost corpse like save for the blue and red. He stood at perfect attention in one image, his optics a solid blue without the barest hint of cycling or emotion.

Beside him, two comrades stood. Sentinel Prime and Elita-One, a trainee who never made it through the Academy. Both seemed just as vicious. Where Optimus was stoic, Sentinel practically frothed at the mouth. Elita for her part seemed ecstatic, thrilled to fight.

"Optimus was part of an experimental Prime program meant to group Primes up into 'trines' like our seekers. It fell through after the death of the one called Elita and the subsequent fallout between Optimus and his remaining comrade." Strika informed him calmly. Megatron hummed in response.

Primes, according to him memory, were solitary creatures. They were trained to be brutal death machines. When they were deployed, it was to end something, not to claim data or otherwise act subtly. They often fought one another when they interacted outside of formal setting, usually until one of the duo died. Competitive, cruel, and dogged in their loyalty, Primes were practically feral.

This was new. From the looks of it, the Autobots had refined the technique and created more intelligent creatures. That much was obvious just from seeing Optimus's face. The Primes Megatron knew from his reign were so brainwashed they hardly had a personality, much less self control. The one called Elita and Sentinel Prime matched the appearance and disposition of Primes Megatron knew far closer than Optimus. He must have been quite intelligent even after his indoctrination.

The fallout situation was likely caused by Sentinel, based on the images. He seemed more by the books, and likely killed Elita in sheer jealousy. Megatron simply couldn't see such behavior coming from Optimus considering the fact that he had proven himself capable of caring for his team.

"He was exiled after the death of Elita-One. Supposedly, it was punishment for trying to murder Sentinel Prime on top of losing his comrade." How fascinating...

A final image appeared on screen, and this one caught Megatron's interest.

Optimus stood before a jury, still perfectly composed, almost unemotive. And yet burning in his optics was rage. Carefully controlled rage. He was covered in scars, heavily armed, and ready for war. Yet he didn't flail or fight as he was condemned. A video that played following the image showed him expertly directing his team, a group of dropouts and other undesirables. He was tactful, calculating... and most importantly.

"He didn't kill my Decepticons when he had the chance." He mused aloud, earning an agreeing sound from Strika.

He could use this.

Primes were special units, each given access to highly sensitive data since each was essentially a General. Up until his exile, Optimus was very well regarded. He had to have information. And more than that, his disposition was intriguing. It was possible Megatron might be able to speak to him, and in turn learn far more about the Autobots than he'd had the chance to uncover in millennia.

This could be his key to victory.

"They didn't appreciate you, Optimus Prime. But I most certainly will... once I change your mind about who to offer your service to." Megatron grinned, a laugh bubbling in his throat as he imagined the possibilities.

Now all he had to do was convince-

"DIE DECEPTICON SCUM!"

An axe came flying at his helm, one that Megatron narrowly dodged as he used his blade to block a flurry of frantic attacks from the smaller Autobot before him. Optimus had somehow managed to rig himself a makeshift jetpack, and by the Allspark, he would have been a deadly seeker if he were born a warframe.

"Autobot, you have been cast off. Why do you still serve?" He attempted to speak amidst the chaos of combat, but Optimus was simply too fast for him to properly track. The smaller bot flew between his legs, coming up behind him with a harpoon gun ready to strike. Megatron deflected the attack, but not before Optimus swung at him, throwing his jetpack into his face.

He screamed as the makeshift tool exploded, temporarily blinding him. Optimus was quick to press the advantage, flying at Megatron's legs with his axe.

"Enough!" He grabbed the smaller bot before Optimus could do any more harm, holding him tight enough to dent. Optimus, of course, squirmed. But his team who rushed to help quickly came to a halt, not wanting their leader to be damaged.

"You have been abandoned, Optimus Prime. I've read your records and seen your devotion. It is wasted on the Autobots. They do not care for you, nor do they fight for freedom and peace." Optimus continued to squirm, his optics bright with anger. The other Autobots called out in disagreement, but Megatron simply watched as the Prime in his grasp met his gaze with those oh so calculating optics.

He was listening, even if he didn't show it.

"You want to fight for something greater than yourself. A truth worthy of your devotion." He paused, watching as Optimus stilled a degree.

Good. Very good.

"My Decepticons are fighting to free all of Cybertronian kind. We want to create a home where we can all live in peace." He stressed the last word, noting the reaction it got from the Prime in his grasp. Optimus scowled, the first real reaction aside from sheer bloodlust he'd earned throughout their entire interaction.

"You are traitors who abandoned and betrayed Cybertron." Megatron fought the urge to roll his optics as he squeezed just a bit tighter to make his point.

"We betrayed the Council who sought to enslave us." Looking up, the Autobot medic seemed to agree with his words. The ninja appeared to be of similar mind. They all knew the truth, they were simply too afraid to say it out loud.

"We broke free of our chains." He met Optimus's gaze once more, noting the slight widening of them.

"We can help you do so too." Megatron smiled, and for the first time since he'd met the Prime, Optimus's face betrayed something true.

He showed interest.

[melodygatesauthor]

Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now. 

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,” you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[ana-rinray-art]

...Just developed an awesome plot for ulquihime comic/fic while I napped.

So! Here's the list of cool big plots I that have more or less worked out at the moment:

Aiichi (in progress: "Outlines", read here!)

Grimmichi - post-TYBW spin-off about how the 'peaceful' 'human' life is not what Ichigo actually wants or needs.

Byaichi - post-TYBW; Ichigo gets dragged into another supernatural conflict! This time, an old enemy of the Kuchiki clan comes into play, and they won't stop at anything to cause Byakuya as much pain as possible.

Ulquihime - post-TYBW; A being is found deep in the deserts of Hueco Mundo, barely alive, almost unrecognizable. Later a Garganta appears near Inoue's bakery.

Attack on Titan major AU. What if there was no humanity behind the walls? Alternate titan lore, closure for Ymir, everyone lives. Possibly platonic Eren&Levi.

Resident Evil, Albert Wesker/Leon Kennedy - a very old idea that I'd like to work on someday. Basically it's Wesker rescuing Leon's sorry ass, and Chris having to help his archenemy to save his friend. Claire is the only sane person in all of this.

...

Help

[inkyarcturus]

give me all your headcanons for snape nEOOOOWWW (pretty please 🤎)

Okay so I think I’m going to break this down into chunks because I have a LOT of thoughts so here’s the first chunk :D

TW: for child abuse?

PRE HOGWARTS:

it’s pretty much canon that Sev came from an abusive home with an alcoholic muggle father and a pure blood mother.

Personally, I believe that his mother Eileen Prince was disowned by her family upon marrying Tobias. Although at first they were a happy couple, Eileen becomes pregnant with Severus and reveals to Tobias that she is a witch. Tobias, coming from an era where witchcraft is demonized and realizing the drain that a child has on his finances, becomes abusive.

Eileen tries her best to keep the abuse from Severus as much as possible, leading to her stopping herself from using magic as she believes that would just anger Tobias even more.

Severus is absolutely a mamas boy as a child and you can pry that headcanon out of my cold dead hands. He would do anything for his mama, growing up hearing stories about Hogwarts, magic and the legacy of the Princes, it was all he had to stay sane. Whenever Tobias was out of the house for extended periods of time, Eileen would brew with Severus as well, usually healing potions.

He would often be seen wearing his mother’s clothes because of the families lack of funds but also just because it was a way to connect with her.

The first time Severus uses accidental magic was to help his mom avoid Tobias, blasting him unconscious. It’s a mess of emotions for the rest of the night. Eileen is panicking, worrying about her husband’s health and her own but also trying to celebrate Severus’ magic so he knows magic isn’t bad (pure bloods are aware of obscurials). Severus is in tears worrying about his mother’s injuries, unable to understand the situation. Eileen calms him down enough to get him to agree to never tell Tobias about this incident.It happens again more times afterwards.

Severus is sensitive as a child, always crying despite his father’s anger towards his tears. He becomes agitated with himself, being unable to control himself. His father’s words haunt him every time he cries.

He goes years without any friends, not going to school because of his magical status, but still being allowed to go out to play and escape his fathers grasp.

The kids usually don’t like him cause of his poor hygiene, odd clothing and even stranger words. He’s rather intelligent for his age, but being raised in an abusive household has only taught him vulnerability is weakness and everything is a threat.

When he meets Lily he learns how to let go of his shields. He’s made his first magical friend, someone who doesn’t mind his clothing, or hair, or overall oddness.

He goes over to the Evan’s family house at least once a week. Lily’s parents constantly fuss over him, asking if he’s alright or need food or clothing. He constantly denies it because he doesn’t want to burden them, or have them look too closely at his home life

Eileen is so grateful her son has a friend she is brought to tears wherever she hears Sev talk about Lily (which he does, a lot). Whenever she knows Tobias will be out of the house she’ll ask Sev to bring Lily over so all three of them can make potions together.

Petunia is less receptive of him, constantly starting arguments with Lily over why she even talks to him, but generally leaves them alone to stay in her room.

Sev was always quiet as a child, he would play silently whenever on his own, keeping his thoughts within his imagination. His preferred method of play, pre-Lily, was organizing objects. He would organize them by color, shape, name, then mix them back up and start again.

With Lily he would let his imagination run wild, playing the part of dragon, knight, prince and spy, usually acting as a helper to Lily. They call each other sun and moon. He sees himself as a reflection of Lily’s light. His self esteem will only get lower as the years progress.

Occasionally, Lily would get extra allowance (Lily’s parents purposefully gave for Sev) and they would go to a corner store to buy sweets. I imagine he has a pallet for less overwhelming sweets, like matcha flavoring, but as he grows older he convinces other people he likes bitter sweets the most. I think he has an appreciation for berries the most.

Hope you appreciate these :D think took almost an hour to write and I keep on wanting to add more but this is honestly already too long :,)

Side note I just realized I can’t do multiple posts on one ask? So if you want the second chunk can you please send another ask :,D

[fading-butterflies]

I’ve lost 22kg here’s some of my fav ana rules 🤍

1. never eat past 6 pm

2. DRINK WATERR

3. Throw out binging food when you’re in a clear state of mind

4. never accept snacks- eventually people will stop offering

5. TAKE PROGRESS PICTURES I do mine on the first of every month and seeing the progress keeps me sane

6. WEIGH YOUR FOOD a food scale is less than £10 and will make a HUGE difference

7. Never tell anyone- it might feel validating for people to worry about you but it will only cause problems

8. work out everyday- even if it’s something little

9. PLAN- this is so important, plan meals, plan fasting, plan workouts - plan down to the minute and STICK TO YOUR PLAN

10. Finally- if you mess up- move on. dont ‘punish yourself’ you have so much time to reach your goals and getting upset will only make fasting harder

These are just some of my rules but they’ve really helped me and I hope they can help you tooo 🤍

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

That First Terrible Step

Prompt Day 18: Free Space (Hurt/Comfort) | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Injury | Tags: Post-S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Physical Therapy, Recovery, Pre-Steddie, Building Friendship, Caring Steve, Eddie POV

Eddie is too tired to deal with any of this today. Physical therapy takes too much out of him and he doesn't feel like he's making any goddamn progress, anyway. 

He flops his head back against the pillow and closes his eyes. His leg hurts, and it doesn't want to cooperate, not with that much muscle loss. The bats took a big enough chunk, that he's having to learn to walk again with this new body.

Losing that much thigh muscle isn't exactly ideal, he quickly learned. It had gotten infected with what they called Necrotizing Fasciitis, and it was a particularly stubborn strain they'd never seen before, so they didn't know how to treat it effectively. So they kept cutting, whittling away, trying to save him.

Trying to save his leg. 

They succeeded, but now he needs to learn to walk all over again, missing part of what made it easy, before.

Steve had it, too. On both his sides, and the hospital was baffled at what they had been exposed to, together. 

Despite Robin's fretting, it wasn't rabies. The hospital decided it was from bacteria growing in Lover's Lake, and they went with it. They didn't really have any other choice, they couldn't exactly tell the truth about the fucking bats.

The kids visit. Robin, Nancy. His bandmates. They all come in shifts, and switch out with Uncle Wayne and sit with Eddie, to keep him sane. Motivated.

Steve. 

Steve's here more hours a day than he's gone. 

He recovered, his sides eventually healed, and he was released. 

But he hasn't gone far. Steve pulled him out of the Upside Down, and now he's determined to pull him out of this rehab center.

"I'm too cold to walk," Eddie says, stalling.

Steve takes off his yellow sweater, and pulls it over Eddie's head.

"Arms," Steve demands, and Eddie raises them. "There, now you can walk."

Steve never lets him get out of it, no matter what he tries.

He doesn't want to take steps that are excruciating. Trying to use muscles that just aren't there, not anymore. His therapist stands beside him, as Steve stands in front. 

Steve's walking backwards through the parallel bars with ease, as Eddie hangs onto them for dear life, each step a fight.

"That's good, that's really good," Steve says, and Eddie knows it's not. It's not good at all, but he's trying.

Steve counts him down. 

"Four more steps," Steve says, and it helps. 

"Three," Steve updates him, as he forces his leg to move.

Step two isn't as bad, that leg still works.

"One more," Steve says, and Eddie gathers up his strength, and takes it. Foot coming down through the pain.

"That's good, you did it faster today," Steve says, helping Eddie back into his wheelchair.

The therapist is there, leading the whole process, but they learned weeks ago that Steve was better at getting Eddie to work than they were, so they've utilized Steve, liberally. Day after day, Steve has helped him take that first terrible step, and all the painful ones that have followed.

That he's even in this facility is thanks to Steve. They released Eddie from the hospital once his wounds had healed, but he was unable to walk. 

He couldn't afford this kind of therapy, no way, but Steve made it happen. Eddie doesn't know how much it's costing, Steve won't tell him. Just that he needs to do it so he'll get back on his feet.

And Eddie wants that. 

All his wounds healed, in various levels of terrible. His face, his neck, his nipple. The defensive wounds on his hands had gotten infected, thankfully less so than his leg, but it had scared him so fucking bad that he wouldn't be able to play the guitar again. But he can, and expects it'll get better with time.

Steve brought in Dragon Slayer, Eddie's acoustic guitar. And Eddie sits and plays him for hours, rebuilding that strength.

The rest of the time, Steve is here, forcing him to use his damaged leg, as often as the therapist will allow, for as long as Eddie can stand it. 

Steve says they're getting him home next month. 

Eddie sees no proof of that, but if Steve says it, it's probably true. 

That's something Eddie's learned over these past few months. Steve has a gift to fix problems, to dig in and make change. 

He'd had no idea.

He's a good dude, that Steve Harrington.

And now he's arriving with food, a pizza box balanced on one hand and a brown bag in the other.

"Dinner is served," Steve says, sliding the little wheeled table over Eddie's lap, putting the box down. 

"Smells good, man, thanks," Eddie says, and he opens the box to see what they have. Supreme, his favorite. 

Steve pulls up a chair, and unloads the sack, bringing out cans of pop, and a stack of napkins. 

Eddie's already eating, but Steve is picking the black olives off his piece, first. Eddie's told him a dozen times to just order it without, but Eddie likes them, so they keep getting it the same way. 

Every Friday night is pizza night.

Mondays they get takeout from Enzo's. Big containers of pasta and breadsticks.

Tuesday is burger night. 

On Wednesdays, Steve drives twenty minutes to the Mexican joint Eddie loves, and brings back big platters of food, and sacks of greasy chips and homemade salsa.

Thursdays are a wildcard, and Eddie is always curious what he'll turn up with next. Soup. Sandwiches. Fish. It could be anything, and it gives Eddie something to think about besides his pain.

Steve spends every night hanging out in his room, keeping him company. He's dragged in a VCR, and they are quickly burning through the entire stock of tapes at Family Video. Debating what makes a good movie. Why sometimes bad ones are the best.

And Eddie feels normal for a few hours, because Steve makes sure of it.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[the-music-maniac]

This is one that ended up way longer than I would've liked but the brainrot has reached concerning levels.

Brief mentions of sephgen, sephgeal, sephzack, multishipping, spoilers for crisis core, rebirth etc. etc.

I've begun realizing the longer I traverse the various pages of FF7 fanworks that when I say I ship Sefikura, the romantic/sexual aspects of it don't matter as much to me as the emotional catharsis of it. And I say this because I feel like sefikura is often used to explore one specific type of fantasy/smut/kink etc. There's a portion of people who like the ship because they like exploring how fucked up it is for post-nibelheim Seph to try to make Cloud into a puppet - this is usually (not always) accompanied by size difference kink, sub Cloud dom Seph, etc. Even in sane! Sephiroth fics, for some reason Seph is still a dom/top. And while I personally despise that characterization common in that interpretation of the ship, it's still valid, cause y'all should be able to explore your own fanfics however you want. An "Ew. Oh well, none of my business." kind of deal.

I would like to make it known though, that as a Sephiroth fan I kind of hate domroth. Block me if you must, we can just agree to disagree lol.

My interest in Sefikura stems mostly from Sephiroth. I'm gonna shamelessly admit here that while I love Cloud as a character, he doesn't intrigue me as much as Sephiroth does. And I know I'm biased cause he's my favourite, but I get easily stuck on characters who were abuse victims that became villains because they gave into their demons, characters who managed to stay kind, up until they were so beaten down they snapped, characters who I think have redemption potential, even if it wouldn't be easy to do. Which can be the case with Seph both pre- and post- Nibelheim.

Post-nibelheim is a LOT harder to write convincingly, seeing as how he actually did fuck up like. Everything. And his victims don't have to forgive him. Not Cloud either, even though I am writing a post about sefikura. The redemption is more about personal improvement, rather than forgiveness. But it's really interesting because a Sephiroth that even has a chance at redemption post insanity, is one who is a mix of before and after. He still has all that rage inside him from how he was treated by humanity, still has visions of annihilation and delusions of grandeur in his head, but he also remembers that he used to love, that he used to have companionship, scarce as it was, and cared for the well being of the soldiers he lead, etc. How does he get to that point in the first place, and how does he deal with it after? With the warring that is likely occurring from those two sides, the festering resentment of knowing he was given so much less than he should've been, knowing that he had a human mother, but since he IS closer in capability to a god than a human, does he think he's a monster because of his heritage still or because he gave in? Does it even matter at this point, what he is? And what will he do, now that he has a portion of his humanity back (however that occurred) and isn't just purely Jenova? How does he deal with knowing that even in the depths of insanity, he still just didn't want to be alone? And of course the turmoil on Cloud and Co's side, usually some flavour of, okay so repeatedly killing him isn't working, I'm tired of fighting him every couple of years, I still have the responsibility of making sure he doesn't fuck everything up again, and of course the hatred they understandably feel for the shit Sephiroth has done. And as Sephiroth kind of fights to recover some semblance of identity and understanding of himself (without destroying anything), watching that occur and knowing objectively that your enemy didn't deserve what he got when he was a child, that a part of what occurred was after he was pushed to that degree - even if you subjectively can't make yourself feel it at the beginning. And then as the story progresses and characters undergo development, Cloud likely wrestling with the fact that he actually is starting to understand Sephiroth's predicament, realizing Seph can be so very human at times. And dealing with the worst sin/betrayal of all, enjoying his company for his company's sake. A Sephiroth that gets through that and finds some semblance of contentment is meaningful because it would take a mind-boggling amount of hardship and work to get there. And tbh here's where the bias comes in - it's what I would say is a happy ending for everyone. I know people would disagree, a lot would say Cloud and Co getting rid of Seph is good riddance, why should he get a chance, why should they have to deal with him, etc. hence why I acknowledge this is biased - but a happy ending to me is one where everyone else gets to stop fighting Seph and move on with their lives and Sephiroth actually gets to live the life he wanted when he was a child. I won't ever be entirely satisfied with FF7 canon for this reason (true of any tragedy). Nothing that happened to him pre-insanity was fair. So. Catharsis.

As for "redemption" of pre-nibelheim Seph, I read time travel fix-its when it comes to sefikura cause I find it more interesting. For anything pre-insanity that involves canon divergence without time travel, sephgeal, sephgen, sephzack, shipping, platonic or poly makes more sense to me, cause those three are positioned better to help Sephiroth in a meaningful way. Also I personally do think Cloud is a little too young for that then (even if I'm also convinced he 100% had a celeb crush on Seph. Which is also not what Sephiroth needs at that point).

So, for sefikura, pre-nibelheim redemption usually involves Cloud getting yeeted back in time, either by the planet or by choice, to stop things before any of it happens. Cloud usually believes he has to kill Sephiroth, so he'd likely be in close proximity. So how would he deal with seeing, first hand, all the ways that Sephiroth was isolated and dehumanized in Shinra? Cloud still hates him at this point, for good reason. So he's here, witnessing not only Sephiroth being a kind/decent (awkward) human being, but also the lab visits, Hojo being Hojo, being paraded around for propaganda, the effect the "betrayal" of the other firsts likely had, Sephiroth being straight up depressed and malnourished and overworked, hearing whatever lies were fed to control him when he knows the truth. How does he deal with the moral repercussions of killing a technically innocent man? Especially when he realizes that a little support and compassion could've changed the outcome entirely? And Sephiroth on the other hand, now stuck with this persistent stranger that doesn't treat him like either an emotionless weapon or a legend, but some secret third thing (is he trying to kill him???? Can't tell, mixed signals are happening). Cloud would also likely help take Sephiroth's mind off things by virtue of existing - not because Sephiroth particularly cares about Cloud at the beginning (why would he, they're strangers) but because Cloud is fucking weird. Not a soldier, still mako enhanced, angry/aggressive at him in particular and seemingly frustrated about it, history that doesn't match up to current behaviours, etc. Hell, Shinra would likely even order Seph to keep an eye on Cloud. Meanwhile Cloud is desperately fucking with the timeline to ensure everything ends up differently, and accidentally becomes some sort of support for Sephiroth in the process. Because while everyone else was so fooled by the propaganda surrounding their hero, leaving him alone to his own devices (despair and depression), Cloud knows that his attention should be on Seph right now. And I don't think he's the type to just leave things alone out of spite if Seph where to, for example, stumble out of the lab, half delirious from Mako, because of one of Hojo's whims. There's also the question of whether Cloud would know to help with Angeal or Genesis' degradation, which could help either clear up some misunderstandings between Seph and his friends, or just ensure that Seph doesn't lose them at all in the first place.

And if Sephiroth were to find out/be told the truth, about his mother, or about the future, HOW is he gonna react to that???? Knowing that okay, so my heritage isn't actually that of a monster, I have human DNA, but ended up snapping and trying to destroy the world anyways - once again, what does it mean to be a monster, and is he one already, if he hasn't even done all of it yet, technically? In this timeline he's likely closer to Zack, maybe close to Cloud, potentially has met Aerith, maybe Genesis and Angeal are still alive, so he's more tethered by a support system, so how would that change his viewpoints? Would he feel guilty? Does that send him into a worse depression?

Sefikura just tends to give me emotional catharsis when it's written like that, because it gives Sephiroth the opportunity to mourn what he should've had, and gives him a fighting chance to change it. It's someone else being shown the decades of neglect, how deep the hypocrisy of Shinra actually went, the systemic abuse, acknowledging all of the bullshit Sephiroth went through before Nibelheim. It's him breaking out of other's expectations of him, Jenova, or Hojo or whoever else, and getting his childhood wish to just be normal. Like Angeal said (quoted loveless I think) "and what do angels dream of?" "Angels dream of becoming human."

This is also why I find very little enjoyment in reading domroth sefikura. Sephiroth isn't someone who reminds me of that type of personality, before he went crazy. He seems like a very awkward, calm and even sometimes soft dude in his downtime. He's literally just some guy. We don't see a lot of his personality because he was trained (tortured) into believing anything other than perfect control is weakness and failure. I don't think he would have any sexual experience. I think he's depressed, and exhausted and alone and is just very good at hiding it. I don't think he even wants or needs sexual intimacy necessarily, so much as he needs someone to feel safe around.

Anyways. This is. Way too long now. Goodbye.

[spoken-tacenda]

tip: do not let your desk get cluttered to the point it feels like it's gonna make you cry.

it's been said before, I know, but it doesn't make it any less important. your desk state correlates heavily with your own mental state.

see this picture? yeah, that was me at the peak of my depressive episode; I was crying in the stairway from sheer stress.

and you know what? my desk worsened it. I constantly felt as if I had a lot to do in such little time. Everything seemed suddenly worse than it actually was.

I'm not saying cleaning up your desk is going to magically fix your life, but it'd definitely help your progress.

stay safe and sane out there, darlings.

[amiserableseriesofevents]

For your boys: 9. What annoys each member of your otp about the other? Do they tell them? Do they compromise/work it out? 

From this ask list

Hi anon and thank you for your question!

We've seen them arguing about how to fold and do laundry but that's just a silly moment! There are more serious things that they're annoyed about.

For John, the thing that annoys him the most is Gale holding grudges. It happens also in the fic, when John apologizes for having flirted with a girl while drunk and Gale says he's forgiven only to then throw the whole thing back in his face during their big, serious argument.

John hates it because he feels like Gale's not being honest with him, keeping secrets and maybe even secretly hating him for things John thought were resolved — it could lead him to not trusting Gale anymore because clearly Gale doesn't trust him, so why should John? It also plays in the whole miscommunication thing that defines the early stages of their relationship.

As they progress in it, wanting to build together something sure and lasting, John tells Gale that this is a problem for him; Gale tries to avoid doing it and he finds it easier and easier going forward because they're resolving their communication issues and he learns that if he's actually pissed off about something he can just say it plain and clear to John so they can work on it together as the thing happen, and he won't use it as further ammunition in a future fight. Of course sometimes he still does it, but it annoys John way less since it's only once in a while and Gale always apologizes afterwards.

For Gale, his problem with John is the fact that he doesn't take care of himself, like at all. He doesn't sleep, he's always straining his bad knee and never has ice or hot packets on him when he needs them, he rarely limits himself when he's drinking, etc.

Gale sees those things as him effectively gambling with his life/health, and in addition to the fact that he worries about him because he loves him, it actually triggers him a little so he often tries, as gently as he can, to ask him to be more careful.

The final straw is one night at the theatre when the Hundredth is rehearsing for their new play after The Tempest and John is so agitated and nervous about it (he's afraid he's been a one hit wonder, the fight with his dad is quite recent) that he hasn't been sleeping at all and at one point he stumbles and falls on stage, hurting his bad knee — not badly but enough to scare everyone (I might actually write a Drabble about this moment, thanks for the inspo!).

That's when Gale decides it's time to fix at least his sleeping habits. It takes a while but eventually they manage to have him sleep normally most of the nights, and all the other stuff gets resolved along the way; John doesn't feel the need to drink so much to feel sleepy/numb enough to sleep, his joints ache way less, and with a sane dose of reminders from Gale he always has ice and whatever he needs for his knee. He still has bouts of insomnia, especially when an opening night is getting closer, but he can manage the stress and the lack of sleep way better!

This also becomes a problem later in their life, when they find out John has an heart condition that could bring him to a stroke if he doesn't keep it monitored. Gale almost loses his head trying to keep him safe and healthy and John promises he'll stop acting for a while to get all checked up after he's finished with his current show, but when he tries to jump to a new one anyway Gale gets really angry at him; when they settle this fight, John agrees that he should be more conscious and careful about his health and tries to do his best.

Bonus: John also hates how short Gale sells himself, especially about his acting, and makes a great effort to make him understand he's good and worthy of the praise he gets!

Thank you for this question, I really love picking those little theatre men apart 🥰🥰

[i-lost-my-last-blog]

I have taken it upon myself to judge all the ace attorneys and legal professionals ( and then some !) in terms of how they would be as a partner . 1 sentence explanations only

(Warning this is stupid and long also play ghost trick )

legal disclaimer this is a joke

Blaze Debeste - The fact that the prevailing fan theory is that he murdered his wife is probably not a good sign

Kristoph Gavin- He WOULD gaslight you people stop simping , that man is a MENACE

Sebastian Debeste- That is a teenage boy

Godot- He would make you do all the fucking work and then be so condecending too don't even lie

Simon Blackquill- Simon would not want to be in a relationship with you tbh and who are you to force him

Miles Edgeworth - He is already a taken man

The Judge - That man is too senile but he seems like a loving grandpa :(

Fransiska Von Karma- unreasolved anger issues do not bode well but if nothing else she is devoted , cute lesbians may have a chance

Nayuta Sahdmandhi- Not a single day of peace without him arguing with you in circles I fear

Phoenix Wright -Phoenix has two hands and they were already taken years ago

Apollo Justice - If I had a lame ass boyfriend-

Klavier Gavin - Probably a good boyfriend but his fanbase gives me possessive kpop fandom vibes

Athena Cykes - Asks hella intrusive questions but generally supportive??

Mia Fey - Woman sexy AND nice ?

Callisto Yue - If you are into bullying and humiliation she would provide plenty

Robin Newman - Probably needs to figure out the disphoria situation first but if loudness doesn't bother you the deal doesn't seem bad

Aristotle Means - Take it from me you don't want to date a Greek statue much less if his slogan tries to justify murder

Manfred Von Karma - Canonically a wife guy???

Raymond Shields - He is giving cringy dad energy but I just KNOW he gets petty as hell during fights

Phoenix Wrong (Furio Tigre) - He does not love you don't fall for it he just wants the insurance

Judge Courtney - She is OUT of your league

Robert Hammond - There is no way you would find him alive to romance , there is LITERAL cosmic intervention

Professor Courte- Apparently the only sane person in that entire academy so points to her I guess

Dhurke Sahdmandhi - Also canonically a wife guy but becoming his automatically makes you an enemy of the state AND a tragic widow

Hugh O'Connor - Do you count his lying about his age as catfishing ?

The Kurain Judge - ??? I don't think a single person thought of him when the prompt was datable ace attorney characters and I'm already reaching with half of these people

Lana Skye - She loves you but goddamn is she good at making you think otherwise

Juniper Woods - Sweet girl , precious girl would make a great girlfriend if you can handle eating only organic foods

Gregory Edgeworth - Husband and father shaped

Queen Ga'ran - Not only is she a dictator but also a spouse killer

Byrne Faraday- He is not cheating on you he is just out doing his vigilante shit

Winston Payne - He says he is a wife guy , we don't know if she has settled

Gaspen Payne - Professional hater

Ryunosuke Naruhodou - If I had a lame ass boyfriend- pt2

Kazuma Asogi - He would love you but the ghosts of his past cling to him still can you handle that?

Barok Van Zieks - Polite and protective but your political views cannot be progressive

Mael Strongheart - He would feed you to a dog if it came down to it

Auchi Taketsuchi - Probably not the worst husband but he is a conservative in a conservative country in the 1800s so…

Ryutaru Naruhodou - That is a teenager pt2 No relations to Susato Mikotoba

Klint Van Zieks - Husband and father material but his dog is dripping human blood

Judge Jigoku - Yes he is a silver fox but he is also mafia coded

Judge Santa Claus - Is probably already in a committed relationship at the North Pole

Bonus :

Dick Gumshoe : Already taken but either way it's already been established that Gumshoe is peak male performance I'm sorry

Ema Skye - food and forensic prints sharing as a love language <3

Shi Long Lang - look you HAVE to accept that you are getting initiated in a wolf pack of 100 men , yes they are all commited to the bit , no it's non negotiable so if that's not a deal breaker then …. by all means live your omegaverse fantasy

Tyrell Badd - if manpain needed a textbook definition

Bobby Fulbright ( prime ) - I'd describe him as if a golden retriever was prone to moral panic and constant lectures on exaggerated moral superiority and justice

Bobby Fulbright ( lite) - He WILL kill you and steal your identity maybe you don't believe me but it's not my problem if you get replaced

Tobias Gregson - If you are fine losing a husband to heart disease in his early 50s then maybe

Herlock Sholmes - Unless you have nerves and patience of steel it's recommended that you stay as far away from that man as possible for your own sanity and safety, he is hazardous and yes it is contageous

Genshin Asogi - Honestly if I were Mrs Asogi I too would fall gravely ill if I lost such a chad, and she had him in the bag too fully devoted

Lynne Ghost Trick - Needs a partner as well as a babysitter as she does appear prone to stumbling onto life threatening situations

Jowd Ghost Trick - if manpain was a word pt2 but he is actually worst

Cabanella Ghost Trick - Tee hees too close to the sun and is kind of a bitch sometimes but at least you can leave him alone without him having either died or sacrificed himself within the span of 2 minutes

[illwilledomen]

Is there lore as to what happened to hero and what void bornes are?

To answer your first question: the ancient humans died out due to three factors, lumped together in an event called The Fall.

I’ll put a read more since this is kind of long.

- The first was a huge war between two major kingdoms, which would cause the next two catastrophes. They were butting heads as their technology began to progress and they needed more materials.

- The second was the undead plague. This was caused by necromancer magicians playing God in order to gain an upper hand over the other kingdom, but the bioweapon got out of control and people started zombifying.

- The third was the Wither. The wither was sort of their equivalent to a nuclear bomb. It was the weapon to end all weapons. This was made in a last ditch effort, but as it turns out, summoning an angel of entropy isn’t a good idea, and the land was scourged with radioactive withering.

- Due to the voracity of the wither combined with the zombie outbreak, the surviving humans scattered and fled to the ender stronghold and underground (different groups). However, the group that went to the stronghold, in their panic as they wrangled random civilians together, had not accounted for the fact that the end portal was on the enemy kingdom’s land, not theirs, and so they didn’t know that the portal had been shut off by the ender dragon when she had been summoned.

- They were stranded, and soon succumbed to the ravaged landscape they found themselves in. Meanwhile, the people who went underground found a strange biome full of tarry black mould that seemed to be sapient. This group was led by Rana, once a princess of one of the kingdoms. She negotiated as best she could with the organism, which called itself Sculk.

- the Sculk was intelligent, but it was entirely single minded in its goals — Get Food, Spread More — making it somewhat untrustworthy. Not to mention being around it had hallucinogenic, mind altering consequences. This would soon spell the death of the Rana’s ancient city inhabitants, as the population soon descended into a sort of cult that worshipped the superorganism. It became less of a mutual benefit situation and more of a “feed our eternally hungry god even if we starve” situation.

- Some of the few sane people left in the ancient city (including a now aging and unwell Rana) knew they were screwed. They had kept the notes and documents from the old world’s genetic experiments, and used this to create new forbears that could give them a second change in the far future once the world had recovered. These genetic experiments were called Players. They were made to be very durable, resilient and curious, and were to construct the foundation for the future civilization they would produce.

- Eventually, the ancient city was overcome with the sculk, and they too died (causing the mould to spread even further through the bowels of the world). 1000 years later, the Players exited stasis and spawned into the world with no memory aside from Basic Information, instincts and concepts engraved into their brains by their creators. These Players were Steve, Alex and Hero.

* The ancient humans had not accounted for the fact that some remote farming settlements and monasteries had survived (they were far away from the main cities where the catastrophes took place, so they only really got some of the second hand affects like areas of crop failure) and over the course of 1000 years they would become what are now villagers and illagers.

Okay, with that out of the way, about Voidborn. Voidborn are creatures native to the Void (the expanse of darkness between dimensions). Due to their origin in the Void, they are chaotic forces and exist as a form of sentient entropy, like the Void itself. They are semi-corporeal and while they can influence the corporeal realm, they can’t exist in the likes of the Overworld or Nether. However they tend to want to be corporeal. Lesser beings, like White-Eyes, latch onto things to feed off of them. In the case of White-Eyes, they latched onto Hero’s soul, and became the entity known as Herobrine. Stronger beings exist in Shells, biomechanical bodies built for them by corporeal beings they have influenced. This encompasses the likes of The Ender Dragon and The Vengeful Heart of Ender. These guys have a tendency to fuck shit up to put it bluntly. The heart of Ender, even when imprisoned in the orb of dominance, influenced many mortal beings through history to become utterly demented tyrants, such as the Arch-Illager.