#it's not canon but consider this: shut up

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 7

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

We're back baby 🥰

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

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It was a bold tactic.

Feyre knew that. Long before she'd been subjected to Nesta's listless criticisms at the breakfast table, where the eldest Archeron sister stabbed hole after hole into the fabric of Feyre's ill-conceived plan, leaving her with tatters that she had neither the time nor resources to mend, Feyre had known it was ambitious.

You can't outsmart a High Lord, Feyre.

Of course she couldn't. Rhysand wasn't like the men she normally conned—the rough, uneducated tavern-goers who were usually sloshing the ale in their tankards by the time they found themselves seated across her card table.

Feyre was a cautious huntress, who had only ever scouted easy prey.

Now, she was standing at the yawning den of an apex predator. His door was wide open. Inviting, daring her to come inside, knowing there wasn't a single weapon in her arsenal equipped to bring him down.

None except the interest in Rhysand's eyes as he swept them over her body. Once. Twice.

Feyre was expecting triumph, but his expression was surprisingly measured as he called over his shoulder, "Everybody out."

He was answered by grumbled protests and screeching chairs from somewhere inside the townhouse. Feyre stiffened at the sound of feminine laughter—light and peeling. It hadn't occurred to her, for some reason, that the High Lord would have company.

Female company.

Who were they? And what did it mean that he was kicking them out before he would let her inside?

She arched her brow. "You don't want me to meet your friends? Afraid it will sully their thoughts of you?"

"Their thoughts of me were sullied long before I met you, Feyre." He offered her a roguish grin, like it was something he took pride in. "And I'm a selfish male. I have no interest in sharing what limited time I have with you."

All she could think to say was, "The bargain hasn't started yet."

"No," he agreed, cocking his head to listen for any lingering sign of his guests.

When he was satisfied the house was vacated, he placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the antechamber. The front door snicked shut behind them on a midnight wind, and the moment it was shut, she became acutely aware of the High Lord's presence.

It was like being trapped inside his mental walls again, the way he circled her, his gaze like warm fingers dragging over skin. She held herself still beneath his assessment, coaxing her expression into neutrality, even as his eyes lingered on her collarbone, her stomach, her hips—all of the places she'd deliberately left on display for him.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow. Her clothes weren't immodest, exactly, not for the styles that were popular in Velaris. But they were different from what she usually wore. Enough to be a statement.

Her top was a beautiful, soft blue fabric that wrapped across one shoulder and caped down her back. It bound her breasts tightly and stopped just below, secured by a golden band threaded with strings of beads that tickled the bare skin of her stomach each time she took a deep breath. Her skirt was made of similar fabric, long and layered and pooling all the way down to her ankles—save for the slit up her thigh where she'd tied the layered ends together. It slung low at her hips, revealing the delicate golden chain she wore across her abdomen. A perfect match to the bands circling her biceps.

She thought Rhys must have liked what he saw, the way he couldn't quite drag his focus away from the glinting jewelry. He ought to like it, considering they were bought with his money.

Feyre almost told him as much, but thought better of it when she felt a talon scraping over the adamant shield protecting her mind. He hummed to himself, as if pleased to discover that he couldn't penetrate it.

Evidently finished with his assessment, he gestured towards the open archway into the dining room, where she noticed three chairs had been hastily abandoned. Her mind paged over the possibilities of who had occupied them, sifting through all the information she'd spent the last two days gathering about the High Lord and his Inner Circle. Gambling for it, if necessary.

From the tales peddled on the street, she knew the High Lord had a cousin, the Morrigan. She was often seen flitting around the city after dark, dancing the night away in pleasure halls that catered to a much higher clientele than the taverns near the docks. But anyone with half a copper could get information on the Morrigan. She was the only pure-blooded High Fae in the High Lord's retinue, maintained an active presence in the city, and was a war hero. Those things ensured she was well perceived and, more importantly, very well featured in the city's papers.

The two Illyrians often seen in Rhysand's company, on the other hand… information on them was scarce. She knew they were Carynthian, she knew they fought in the War, and she knew they were not to be fucked with, unless she had a death wish.

But is that who had just been here? Three of deadliest people in Prythian, dismissed like it was nothing?

Feyre eyed Rhysand's clothes. He wore a black jacket, casually unbuttoned so that the white shirt beneath—which was also unbuttoned—showed off a V of bronze skin and hard muscle. Rather informal by his standards, but was that because he was among friends? Or visitors of the more… intimate variety?

She allowed herself the space of a heartbeat to admire the sight, noting the strips of black ink peeking through his neckline. Then she pried her eyes away, trying to swallow back the heat threatening to rise to her face.

"Would you like some tea?" He asked mildly, as if this were an ordinary house visit.

"I want you to agree to the bargain first. I don't intend to spend time with you without being compensated for it."

"You make it sound like such a chore." He tilted his head in a way that sent her every nerve on edge. Though his smile was easy—playful, even—it told her the game was afoot. "Is my company really that insufferable?"

When she leveled him a dry look, he held his hands up in defeat.

"Let's discuss it, then." He ducked under the tall entryway to the dining room, trusting her to follow without direction. "This bargain."

"What's there to discuss?" Feyre asked, treading carefully in his wake. "It's the same terms as before."

With a flick of his hand, one of the abandoned chairs shifted towards her. She slid into it, wary of that casual display of power. His friends weren't the only thing discussed in the streets of Velaris. The most powerful High Lord in History, she'd heard. At the time, she'd dismissed it as a lie he or his cohorts made up.

In Prythian, a leader wasn't selected from political prowess or the favor of the people; it wasn't even dictated by bloodlines, though noble families often coveted powerful matches to keep the scales weighted in their favor. But even the ancient High Fae scions would admit that power, true power, was crowned by the will of the Cauldron alone.

And to be the most powerful was to possess unquestionable authority.

Maybe she denied the truth because it scared her. It made her a fool for coming here, sitting at his dining table as if she had any right to join the playing field of a High Lord.

"I'm amenable to the same terms." Rhysand splayed himself across the seat in front of her and propped one of his polished boots onto an adjacent chair, the picture of arrogance. "But I'll admit, I'm surprised by your change of heart after you told me so firmly that you couldn't be bought."

"Maybe," Feyre said slowly, testing her courage. When her voice didn't tremble, she continued, "I didn't come here seeking coin."

His eyes flickered with interest. "You don't want money?"

"Let's not get hasty; I expect to be paid. But I've been thinking about what you said, about what I should be doing to earn my living."

Rhysand raised a dark brow, encouraging her to go on.

Feyre flicked her tongue along her lower lip. It was only partly deliberate, to court more of that razor-sharp interest. But her mouth was also becoming dry as her next words took shape in her mind.

She forced her voice to stay level. "I'm not educated and I don't like intensive labor. That excludes me from most honest work. But pleasuring males? That's something I think I could do well. And why would I settle for just any male in a pleasure hall when I know I could please a High Lord?"

Rhysand's pupils flared. He leaned forward, bracing his powerful arms on the table. His focus was lethal, flickering from her lips to the bob in her throat as she swallowed, trying to keep her breathing even.

He said, slow and soft, "I'm a notoriously very difficult male to please, Feyre."

She recognized the challenge for what it was, but it was difficult to feel any sense of victory when she was pinned beneath his stare. Now was the time for follow through and she realized that she was walking a very, very dangerous line.

"Then it's a good thing," she said, tilting her chin to stare up at him through her lashes, "that you'll be able to do whatever you want to me through our bargain. Whatever will bring you pleasure."

Rhysand stared at her, long and hard, before sitting up in his chair. One second, he was across from the table, and the next he was standing over her. Feyre blinked past her surprise. Did he really bother to winnow—

Survival instincts took over, seizing the trivial line of thought to direct her attention towards far more pressing concerns, like how the High Lord gripped the back of her chair, caging her between the table and his large, overpowering body.

Trapped, those instincts bleated, and she fought to keep her muscles from locking with panic.

The wood groaned beneath his grip as he leaned in closer, using his other hand to snare her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Silver rings pressed against her skin, their metal a cool contrast to his heated touch.

That's how she would paint him, she decided, if she was ever bold enough to try. With all his contrasts. The smooth and the rough, the light and the dark, the gentle and the vicious.

He wore both sides ever-present. She could see it now, in his blazing eyes and how they were tempered by the cool wisps of shadow creeping over his shoulders. Tendrils of them snaked forward, brushing over her bare arms—a lover's caress, sprouting pimpled skin in their wake.

"You want to know what will bring me pleasure?" He crooned, each breath a promise. "Taking you apart. Slowly. Piece by piece. Until I've known and tasted and fucked every inch. That's what you'll be agreeing to if you make this bargain, Feyre."

He was watching her reaction. Waiting, she realized. For the fear of his threat to set in, for her to start scrambling towards the door and decide she was better off at a pleasure house, afterall.

Feyre tilted her chin into his touch, bearing more of her neck to him. She thought she might have heard a growl rise in his chest. “I want half up front. Not in credit.”

At this, he straightened, rightfully suspicious.“Why not in credit?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I have debts to pay. The kind that shouldn’t be traced back to the High Lord’s name.”

“What kind of debt?” When she said nothing, he pressed, “Are you in danger?”

At that tone, and the rage she sensed simmering beneath his placid expression… An image of the captain’s slit throat flickered through her mind.

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like.” 

Feyre was a practiced liar. For so long, the survival of her sisters had depended on her ability to cheat and swindle and hustle. It should have been an easy thing to reach for a lie, but as she stretched her fingers into that overflowing well, she found it dry, uncertain what she could tell him without inciting his wrath.

Uncertain if she truly wanted to go through with this.

“Feyre,” he warned, the grip on her chin tightening.

“This was a mistake." She pushed at his arm, finding that he dropped it away with little resistance. "I can see that now. I’ll just—“

“You’ll stay."

It wasn't a command, not like the way he'd spoken to those sailors in the alleyway. There was no hidden edge, no promise of violence. He didn't so much as raise his voice, and yet her body still responded instinctively, the words pouring over her like silk bindings that ensnared every limb, every muscle.

Before she could take any of it back, Rhysand said, "I accept the terms of your bargain. Half to be paid now, half upon completion.”

A prickling sensation brushed over her forearm, like the invisible stroke of a paintbrush, leaving behind another twisting black whorl to her ever-growing collection.

Just like that, her fate was sealed. Even if she were to miraculously come to her seneses and admit this was a suicidal, hare-brained decision, it was too late. For the next twenty-fours hours, she belonged to him. And he'd already made it perfectly clear how he intended to spend that time.

Rhysand leaned back, rubbing a hand down his face as if to compose himself. Then he vanished without a word, reappearing moments later with two glinting objects in his hand. It was only once he held them up, allowing light to scitter and bounce off their surface in a hundred different directions, that she saw they were cuffs of pure diamond.

“Here,” he said, reaching for her arm. She was completely limp, allowing him to take her wrist into his hands and clasp the diamond cuffs around each of them. “These are worth more than the amount you’re owed. They should be sufficient payment for any of your debts.”

No kidding. Feyre stared at the diamonds, noting how out of place they looked against her plain clothes. The fabrics were new, and expensive by her means, but hardly extravagant. She must have looked like a child playing dress up in his eyes.

"People will think I stole these," she said, holding her arm closer to admire the myriad of colors catching at every angle.

Rhys huffed in amusement. "Will you claim otherwise?"

"It won't matter if I did." She dropped her arm, frowning. "Everyone's already made up their mind about who I am."

He tilted her chin, bringing her face inches from his. "And who are you, Feyre Archeron?"

"The witch of Velaris," she answered, hearing her own bitterness. "A con. A cheat."

"Is that all?"

"Well." Feyre looked up at him, cautiously taking a step closer, raising her hand to his chest. It was like touching a stone wall. A warm, rapidly rising and falling stone wall. "For the duration of our bargain, I'm also yours."

"Mine," he repeated, like it surprised him to hear it. Then he let out a long breath. "Oh, Feyre. You are so much more than that."

For some reason… it stung to hear him say that.

Like it wasn't enough. Like he believed she was degrading herself by being being here, selling her time to him, or anyone.

What does it matter? She thought. Tomorrow none of this will mean anything.

Feyre pressed in closer, feeling the draw of his body heat. This close, she could feel his exhale brush her cheeks, and she blamed its warmth on the heat rising there. She made of a show of pouting her lips, imitating the females who she often saw lurking around the docks, greeting sailors as they debarked.

When she knew she had his full attention, Feyre extended a mental talon towards him, stroking it over his adamant shield in a suggestion of the ways she might pet him elsewhere. A small, amused crack split open for her, the High Lord watching carefully all the while. Like he was uncertain if this was part of an elabrate trap.

Feyre purred into his mind, Where would you like me to start, High Lord?

Rhys only stared at her.

She began lowering herself towards the floor, maintaining contact with those bright, burning eyes.

On my knees?

Before she could touch the ground, that same thumb and forefinger squeezed the bottom of her chin, stilling her. Feyre paused, halfway down his body and feeling like she was on fire from how close she was to his—

Don't look, don't look, don't look.

Oh. She broke eye contact with him just long enough to assess the outline rapidly growing in his trousers. Part of Feyre had always quietly assumed that High Lords couldn't be carrying much. Nature had to have balance, surely?

Not in Rhysand's case. At least, not in what she could gauge through the stiffening fabric.

And the smell—fuck, the smell. She was used to the scent of arousal. It was so saturated in that old tavern, it could become a place of sanctity today and still reek of sex for the next handful of centuries. But in all those years living in the attic, with the sounds and scents of fucking constantly permeating through the walls, she had never come across a scent like this. One that made the back of her mouth water.

Feyre caught herself taking in a deep breath before she could restrain the temptation. Her eyes fluttered shut, yielding to something deep and primal that wanted more.

"Feyre," Rhysand called, his voice a little strained. Those fingers became less patient, yanking her attention back up, forcing her eyes to snap open and meet his. His, which were becoming wide and dilated. "What did I just tell you?"

Casting her mind back was difficult. Like trying to retrace her steps in a fog.

"That I'm yours?"

It was a sincere guess. She didn't mean to make his expression darken. But the growl that rumbled through his chest… it made her gaze drift back between his legs, suddenly intent on a taste.

He yanked her again, this time hard enough to bring her to her feet. Her balance swung out, not prepared for the shift in her weight. Rhysand caught her at the shoulders, maneuvering their bodies with the momentum so that she was trapped against the table as he leaned into her, further and further, until she was resting on her elbows, practically splayed atop it.

"I said I was going to take you apart slowly." Rhys looked delighted by this change in position, perusing her body as if mentally calculating where he'd like to start. "Putting you on your knees doesn't further that goal."

Oh, but it furthered hers.

"How about we flip a coin?"

He laughed. "I imagined it will be weighted."

"It's not weighted!"

It was enchanted, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

Rhys shook his head. "You've been avoiding me, Feyre, which means I've had a long while to think about how we'd be spending our time if you ever came to bargain with me again."

"And your plan involves your dining table?"

"This table, the walls, my desk. Pick anywhere in the house and I'll tell you how I've thought about fucking you against it."

"Romantic," she said dryly.

He arched a brow before leaning down to nip at the gold chain at her stomach. He withdrew at the sound of her yelp, grinning like a fiend.

"Is that what you want then, Feyre? Romance? I can be romantic." He placed his hand on her stomach, tracing his fingers along the golden chain, and then higher. Past her navel, to the string of beads lining the underside of her breasts. "I can fuck you nice and gentle. Would you like that?"

Feyre was trying not to have any reaction to his words. But that was very difficult when she could feel the rough pad of his thumb tease under her breasts.

"This is supposed to be about what you want, High Lord."

Rhysand paused, considering that answer. And then he said, "Let's play a game. I know how much you love them."

Feyre only really loved a game when she knew she could win. But she was quickly learning that no game with a High Lord was ever winnable.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course," Rhysand said, feigning insult. "I can either fuck you right here, or we can go into the study to practice your mental shielding."

What kind of choice was that? Feyre wasn't a fool. She knew this was a trap, she just hadn't figured out how. And she contemplated just asking him to carry on with fucking her, because at the very least she knew she would enjoy it.

But she had been practicing her mental shields in the past weeks, and she wagered she was more proficient than he was estimating. Maybe that would give her an edge in whatever he was planning.

Maybe she wanted to say yes simply because she was curious and, somehow, she trusted he wasn't going to do anything to hurt her.

"Let's practice our shields, then, High Lord."

His grin said that was the option he hoped she would choose. She tried not to let that daunt her as he backed away from the table, allowing her to sit up, to breathe for what felt like the first time in hours.

Rhysand led her into the study. Feyre followed at a healthy distance away, swallowing air that no longer smelled like him and for some reason finding it… wrong.

He paused at the entrance to the study. Over his shoulder, she could see the spiral staircase where he'd tormented her in her dreams. She noticed dust particles hovering in the thick shafts of light that streamed in from the windows. There was a thin coating on the table, the shelves, Rhysand's desk, as if no one had come in here or bothered to clean since their last bargain.

"So," Feyre started, eyeing where he stood in the doorway, blocking her path. "Are we going in, or…?"

"No need," Rhysand said. He waved his hand to the top of the doorframe, where a thick black rope uncoiled, hanging high enough above her head that she'd need to stand on her toes to reach it.

"This is part of the game," she guessed.

"Grab hold of it."

Feyre wondered if it was a trait of High Lords, being unable to answer questions directly. Was it something they were taught in their lessons, a habit of the trade? Or was Rhysand uniquely insufferable? She knew which was the more likely answer.

Even so, she rolled her weight into the balls of her feet, stretching her arms above her head to grab hold of the rope.

Rhys made a sound of approval. His eyes, she noticed, were fixed on the bare stomach she was stretching wide in display.

Feeling strangely vulnerable, Feyre snapped, "I don't see how this has anything to do with shielding."

A black talon skimmed her mental wall, a mirror to the backs of Rhysand's fingers as they brushed over her stomach. Feyre gasped, instinctively tightening her grip on the rope to keep from letting go.

"I can tell you've been practicing," he said. "It's a strong passive shield. I could break through it, but it'd take me a while, and it wouldn't be subtle. You'd have plenty of time to react."

"That's a good thing… right?"

"Of course it is. You'll learn in time, Feyre, a good daemati is a stealthy one. You want your target unaware there's someone else pulling strings in their mind. That is," his magic slashed forward, whipping against her shield and pounding shockwaves through her skull, "unless you're aiming to kill them. But with a shield as strong as this, there's much faster ways of accomplishing that."

Feyre bared her teeth. "So, why the rope?"

"Like I said, it's a good passive shield. But I want to test how it holds up when you're distracted. If a daemati needs to break into your mind, they'll resort to other tactics before they try brute force."

"What kind of other tactics?"

Rhys grinned. "The game is very simple, Feyre." He let his fingers drag over her skin as he circled her, murmuring in a voice soft as velvet, "Let go of the rope, and I'll stop what I'm doing. But if you keep hold until the end, you win."

Feyre hated that she already sounded breathless. "What do I win?"

"Anything you want," he said.

The fae were taught to never define the spoils of a bargain so loosely. Anything could literally mean any thing—his life, his throne, his palaces. Feyre could seize control of the Night Court if she was so inclined. No one would propose something so reckless unless they had full confidence in their victory.

Or if they believed the risk was worth the reward.

"And what if I lose?" She demanded. "What do you get?"

"Six more hours added to our bargain."

Was that really all he wanted? Feyre couldn't fathom his reasoning, aside from perhaps an awareness that if he raised the stakes too high, she would never agree. Knowing she was getting the better end of the deal, she held her tongue from probing for answers.

"Fine," she said. "I agree to your terms."

A new bargain mark tingled her upper arm. Another black brush stroke, merging in the sea of other bargains, three of them now his doing. How many more would there be? Would they spread to her other arm, an entire sleeve to illustrate the ways in which the High Lord had ensnared her?

No, she reasoned. This is the last one.

Tomorrow, I'm never going to see him again.

I just need to hold on until tomorrow.

With her mental shields firmly sealed, Rhys had no way of reading her thoughts. It was coincidence, pure coincidence, that he chose that moment to flash his cruelest smile and croon,

"Hold tight, Feyre."

[electricalhuzzah]

You know who the relationship reveal is gonna be objectively insane for? Soos.

Like yeah Dipper’s gonna be furious but also he knows Bill and Ford have a history so it’s not necessarily the biggest shock. Soos doesn’t know they have any more of a backstory than Bill and the rest of the family so from his POV he brought this messed up triangle home and Ford immediately started fucking him with no preamble. If you don’t already know they’re exes who never got over each other that must be *nuts*

my good man you keep hitting the nail on the head with this shit.

to be fair, with or without the history, ford basically started fucking bill with no preamble within what? five(ish) hours of making eye contact? granted the pines don’t necessarily know that they hatefucked on bill’s first day of being human.

i didn’t mention this in the story, but in the fic, the book of bill never made it out past theraprism security measures. so the pines never got it, and they don’t know about the missing pages unless they were told. thus, the degrees of awareness amongst the pines are as follows. NOBODY CONSIDER THIS CANON TO THE FIC yet BC im still plot mappin and shit and i dont want to accidentally commit an incontinuity. ok here we go.

while dipper knew about the history between bill and ford (from the last mabelcorn i think? whichever one they done the brain scanner), i’m operating under the impression that he believed them to be advanced colleagues. somewhere between a professor-student relationship and a deity-worshipper relationship. he knew it was fucked up, but he thought it was like,,, normal fucked up.

mabel is still under the impression that bill is just hung up on his deity ex “bjorn.” ford never really got around to telling her about their history, and frankly he never really wanted to. so she also has no preamble, AND she thinks bill is just rebounding with her grunkle.

stan probably has the most context out of all them, and even that’s not a whole lot. during their sea ventures pre-fic, ford probably said something to the effect of “my relationship with bill was, in a few instances… less than professional and more than platonic. now, please, stanley, can we leave it at that?” then they got drunk and emotional and ford said a bit more than he likely should’ve. by the next morning, they were deeply hungover. ford didn’t remember saying anything; stan thinks he remembered something about someone loving a triangle and torture and eye stealing, but then again, he also seems to remember playing strip poker with a mermaid, so he’s not entirely sure how much was real.

soos. dear soos. we love soos. he’s got no context. he thought they HATED each other. and he’s begun to see bill as his employee/mentee/child who’s tryna do better. soos is reading those contracts with the theraprism to make sure he won’t get his probation officer/parental rights revoked on the grounds that his paternal figure’s brother is fuckin the convict/patient.

im keepin my mouth shut about melody for now.

OK PEACE AND LOVE AND CORNDOGS

[sparkleboiswagger]

I think it could very well be plausible that if Chuuya died, (please Chuuya please die), Dazai would cry.

Every time I mention the possibility of Dazai crying if Chuuya died, everyone gets mad at me lol. So please let me explain myself. -This is simply my interpretation of Dazai's character, but I'm open to criticism and discussion cuz I think its fun and I like gaining new understandings of characters like that.- Also to preface this, this is my ideal situation of how Chuuya would perma die

I want Chuuya to think Dazai's dead, but the readers know he isnt, so Chuuya goes absolutely apeshit with corruption and Dazai has to watch, unable to get there in time until Chuuya's body dies. By the time Dazai gets there, he's able to turn him back in time for Chuuya to call him an idiot, and then dies in Dazai's arms For the angst, y'know? ANYWAYS

Reason 1: Dazai is a lot more emotionally there than he was when Oda died I know Dazai didn't cry when Oda died. I'm not suggesting Chuuya means more to him than Oda (I think he's important to Dazai for different reasons, not more or less important), but when Dazai was in the mafia he wasn't in a place where he was able to feel emotions. He was completely shut down and emotionless. He's been out of the mafia for 4 years, and though old habits die hard, I think you can reasonably conclude he's allowed himself to feel more. Especially with Atsushi, you can see how he's changed over the seasons. Looking back at the Dark Era is especially chilling because of this. He's found comfort and safety in good people, learned to rely on them, and overall grown "happier"

Reason 2: Dazai is scared right now. I'm fairly certain I've seen more honest expressions on his face in the recent chapters than we have in the whole series /ex Dazai is either not even bothering to hide his emotions, or he's so stressed that he cannot keep the mask up right now. Either way, he's likely scared of losing Atsushi, or Kunikida, or another person he cares about again. Intense negative emotions followed by a loss he likely isn't even considering as possibility very well could make him snap.

Reason 3: Chuuya is the last person still there who was there during the most messed up times of his life. Its not just the death of Chuuya, it would be the compounding effects of everything. Oda is dead. Ango betrayed him. He was Chuuya's safety, the one person who could bring him down and back to reality in a very literal sense, and Chuuya was the same to him, but more in regards to life and his emotions (imo). And if he died from corruption while Dazai watched, he would have failed Chuuya. Reason 4: It would be an interesting way to show his development, if it was written to parallel Oda's death I think if he was able to shed even one tear for Chuuya, it would show how much he'd evolved. More than anything, more than I want him to cry in mourning for Chuuya, I'd like to see him cry in front of Kunikida and Atsushi. Also yes I think Kunikida is coming back, Asagiri cannot commit to a death for the life of him

If the fan theories of Dazai being forced back into the mafia are true, Chuuya's death would just add a layer of cruelty to that. He'd have to go back to where he was before, without any of the people there who helped him through it, after finally finding some semblance of peace and normalcy IN CONCLUSION Am I a bit Soukoku brained? Yeah sure. But thats only a part of why I would like this. Dazai crying would be beautifully devastating, depending on how it was written. I don't necessarily think it would happen in canon, but I don't think its impossible. Also I'm sure theres a lot I misunderstood about Dazai, I've only been analyzing him for a few months and I am admittedly much more obsessed with Chuuya lol, please share your takes unless its just that Dazai doesn't actually care about Chuuya in canon cuz thats a load of bull <3

[moonlit-dreamers]

"your ship will never be canon give up"

bro if they make sun/eclipse canon im ripping my house apart dont they DARE touch my otp

​all my shit will never be canon and it should STAY like that

[14dayswithyou]

Is the secret scene at the start just a metaphor?? Or is Ren actually a siren?? I’m struggling to make it make sense if the playground comic is canonical

✦゜ANSWERED: aaaaa the default storyline will always officially be canon (and by extension, the playground comic as well). The Mer Ren scene is just a lil homage for me to say "thank you" to everyone for all of the hard work they put into the AU! ^^

And while it does showcase Ren's canonical abilities (and the things he's capable of), it's not official material because it's only an easter egg. Just a bit of fun for those who know about it!! ♡

[triglycercule]

alright!!!! kitchen CLEANED ‼️ carry on PACKED ‼️ now i just need to do my homework and then maybe take a really really really quick (4 hour long) nap before dinner/online class. then i will grind on the silly silly why did i decide to do this animation meme/animatic until 3 am hits and i've gotta hit the port. the AIRport :3

in exchange for my incredible unprecedented productiveness i made this little doodle just now. i'm actually a liar i did this in school but still

[svtskneecaps]

i had arin for two days and i'm deeply endeared. i miss him. i miss arin, tails.

[yuridovewing]

I think a big thing that keeps muddling the family trees is that they keep giving legacy characters new litters! Like when I think cloudtail/brightheart kits I think whitewing, not their later ones who I keep forgetting are even theirs! Not saying every pairing should only have one litter, bit it'd be a big help if they didn't have them YEARS apart, I think a lot of mess could be avoided

oh absolutely. i think it's cute to give older couples new litters (like i'd have been cool with another sandfire litter) but also... what's the point if they're only background fodder? sure, lilyheart has more to do, but why make her another brackensorrel kit at all if she's not gonna be relevant to her older sisters at all? why not utilize the new cast more and make her a po3 character's daughter?

I think that's also what makes these so frustrating- these couples have new litters, and then the other siblings just don't interact with them much? for some reason? why did lioncinder have another litter when their first litter got nothing to do in AVOS? why are we suddenly running to give them more babies rather than fleshing out hollytuft or sorrelstripe?

everyone shat on ferncloud and her three separate litters...... how i yearn for those days, where ferncloud's litters at least felt relevant and like a full family (also side tangent, hmmmmm wonder why no one got on DUSTPELT'S ass for this..... only ferncloud's.... he made those babies too like cmon now)

[villainsidestep]

ah., evil thoughts hour

[arguablysomaya]

i’m being dead serious: this 5th grade level series changed my fucking life

[twosidedcherrytrees]

Oh yeah btw I'm not saying it's the mimic in the main ending I do believe it's Gregory that killed Cassie I just think he should be allowed to commit atrocities. As a treat.

[joleneghoul]

the whole Rip training Booster canon is really funny with the added canon that the time masters are a thing again and Rip actually has friends and a partner.

Booster saying "I need a second opinion from a different doctor" just to piss Rip off every day.

[accirax]

got tagged in this game by @samglyph like a week ago but i'm only getting to it now. sorry about that! thanks for tagging me :)

Rules: Make a poll of your favorite female characters (no limits - as many or as little as you want) and see which your followers like the most!

limited myself to one lady per thing. i think it's pretty clear that i generally have a type for which girls are my favorite (silly and/or evil)

iiiiiiiiiii can't remember who i tagged the last time i did one of these so let's try @venus-is-thinking @1moreff-creator @thebadjoe @a-star-that-burns-brightly @gleamingtempest and @sapphireroses282 . for any of those people feel free to not do it if you don't want to, and for anyone who i didn't manage to tag feel free to do it if you want to! i'd love to see it :)

[tortoise-teapot]

i'm like a real good writer

[fruitsofhell]

       An idea I’d been working on for a second was that Morpho Knight isn’t the only grim reaper of the Kirby universe, and more just fills the specific niche of taking the souls of warriors. It came from reading the novel where Meta Knight falls into hell, which explained that he came just for the purpose of taking the souls of strong warriors, (something that was then canonized in KatFL). Which is fun cause it opens up the idea of like a little pantheon of reaper butterfly characters for specific niches.

Which I will talk about a lot now.

       So building off that I thought about Morpho’s actions and how it seems he specifically shows up when a character has long overstayed their mortal welcome and needs to be taken away, or needs to have a “final battle”. Given the nature of how Soul Bosses work and how Forgo himself was in that state before Morpho came and got him, I figured the idea was that in the Kirby universe character’s souls can linger on and get lost when they’re still filled with too much emotion and a will to fight on. Thus needing to be tracked down and forcefully taken away by a reaper. It’s easy to imagine this happening with warriors, who are likely to die in fights still full of energy and vengeance, but also power seeking maniacs drunk off power are commonly turned into soul bosses within the games.        Another part of it I thought of though is how much “judgement” is emphasized in Morpho’s descriptions, so obviously that’s an important part of why reapers would exist beyond souls just wandering off. Warriors are probably very tricky to judge because their job includes spreading death and destruction, and you have to weigh that against the good they brought as well as intended to bring with it. And back to the theme of those power hungry maniacs, while some of them were clearly vain like Sectonia, you have Haltmann who started just with the wish to bring back his daughter before he went down a path of corruption.        And Morpho’s origins had always been hard to think about for me, the most obvious idea at first was that it was the same species as Galacta, Kirby, and Meta, but his appearance couldv’e just been because of absorbing Galacta. But then KatFL comes around and he’s still an orb with wings which is in line with our description of their species. As well as the fact that Forgo manages to get “Chaos” powers it previously never showed off only after escaping Morpho... I think it made a strong case for Morpho being soul matter, the way Kirby is heart matter and Zero is dark matter. It’s power’s seemed in line with the idea of how Kirby and Zero represented their specific elements.        (Also as an aside, I wondered if Elfilis would be dream matter, but if Kirby, Zero, and Morpho are our bases for this species... it would not make sense. Plus like I said, it only got the “Chaos” powers related to Astral Void after interacting with Morpho. So no in my opinion.)

Headcanon Starts Here:

       ANYWAYS, thankss to KatFL I’m very sure Morpho, and subsequently his reaper pals, are all a form of Astral Void. But unlike Kirby (Heart Matter) or Zero (Dark Matter), they’re weird trans-dimensional shadow orbs. Which is how they can teleport, turn into butterflies, and break the rules of space-time in order to judge souls across the universe. A butterfly of a certain type comes to everybody who dies, but these bad boys only really make true appearances when things are special. The butterflies work kinda as just pieces of them spread across time and space, and they can appear from them at will as long as they have enough power.        There’s probably far more I could hypothetically make (it would be fun to make a whole rainbow of them), but these are the ideas I have now based on the qualifications of being needed to wrangle troublesome souls and/or those souls needing careful consideration. They also have roles in the actual underworld, which is probably where they consciously spend most of their time as their butterflies go about bringing souls to them.

       All the reapers regard eachother warmly, as being an eternity old makes it hard to keep grudges, and they see eachother sort of as friends or coworkers. Unlike Heart Matter and a lot of other creatures in the universe, they don’t have a burning need for deep attachment and they spend lots of time completely solitary from eachother. They sometimes have small rivalries and running gags though. A big one is how Morpho had been looking forward to claiming Galacta Knight’s soul for most of the warrior’s life in order to punish his hubris, but once he got sealed outside of space-time that became rather impossible - much to Morpho’s despair and the others’ amusement.        The reapers are also completely sexless, and regard themselves as genderless. They just pick up whatever mannerisms or characteristics they feel suits their niche, like Morpho adopting warrior-like traits that could be read as masculine, and Shepard adopting caring and nurturing traits that can be read as feminine. They mostly refer to eachother by name or maybe as “it”, but adopt the pronouns of any peoples or mythologies who regard them as well. To a patriarchal culture the King reaper would be thought of as a man inherently, but to cultures like the Ripple Star fairies who are matriarchal they’d refer to it as a ‘she’.        Most cultures across the Kirby universe pick up on the connection between the butterflies and death, but interpret them in different ways. Some base their versions of them on accounts of their true forms, and some make up characteristics from scratch. The ancient Halcandrans were very familiar with accounts of Morpho and the Artisan as a culture who valued both valor and ingenuity. The fairies of Ripple Star are most familiar with the Shepard as a species of children, and the King who comes to take their queen. Some cultures like the Jamba whom are very absorbed in their own beliefs actually attribute others, such as Astral Void, to ferrying the dead. Which surprisingly holds a tiny nugget of truth as the reapers are spawn of it.

       And speaking of Astral Void, the reapers do tend to pay extra close attention to their fellow voidspawn cousins. Morpho watched Galacta very carefully from a young age, knowing that he would be a truly great warrior but blinded by ego. He did try to scare the guy into not developing a god-complex, but Galacta was stubborn and only saw death’s warnings as challenges. Ever since then he’s watched Meta and Kirby very carefully, and is actually a big fan of Kirby due to him quickly becoming such a humble, merciful boy. Zero created a similar problem for King, and it waited very very patiently for his unimaginably long reign as the god-king of dark matter to be ended by everyone’s favorite pink ball of peace.        They’re not able to communicate directly with other beings, only with their souls, which isn’t very easy to reach in life. Even when appearing as Morpho did in KSA and KatFL, it wasn’t able to talk to others, but it could finally talk to Galacta’s soul in it’s head. The only way they can make appearances like Morpho did to the living and healthy is by using a dead or dying soul, and to those in that state already they can appear like that when casting judgement. They can also control souls of the dead as ghosts to do their bidding and send messages too. But that’s fun stuff for my HC writing. I’ve rambled on long enough.

TL;DR - Morpho is the Knight of Hades, and I thought up a King, Shepard, and Artisan of Hades who have their own niches of souls to guide and judge. They’re genderless, solitary, hyper-dimensional shadow people who are interpreted across the cosmos as different pantheons of death gods. They’re cool with eachother and even look out for their fleshling void-kin, but don’t interact with mortals outside of death matters. Morpho is an exception with it’s shenanigans cause Gala and Forgo cause hard times.

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

this is the greenest thing ill ever draw in forever im going to miss it (they are exes. i think that would be Highly funny)

as promised id draw him but since he lost - consider this as a consolation price because anyone against sans (except for cecil) is doomed to fail

anyways did you know hes the reason why i knew criminal by britney spears