#like maybe i sound deranged when i say this but he was literally just a good dude

[cdroloisms]

thinking about c!dream earlier on in the server just makes me sad man. like, c!dream has never been a perfect character. he's always been flawed, always been a bit of an asshole, always had control issues. but also he knew that. he tried to work on that. he and tommy were friends, despite being flawed people with their own issues that would bump into conflicts because of the ways that they differed. c!dream tried, god, he tried; he wasn't even on the server, when the drug van happened, and walked into a place with someone who was practically a stranger to him building a wall and calling for war and having turned half the people dream knew against him, apparently, for no reason that he could've known at the time, and he had looked straight at tommy and tubbo and asked if that was what they really wanted when wilbur told them that there was no such thing as dual citizenship. he tells tommy when he has to sell a disc for spirit's leather even though tommy had surrendered the discs to him at the end of the revolution because he knows it'll matter to him. he and tommy truce, multiple times, and c!dream gets tangled into conflicts that literally don't involve him repeatedly and gets targeted Because He's Dream repeatedly and he plays along with that trivia contest and he gives gifts to fundy and tommy after terrorizing them a little for fun and he plays along with the dreamon thing and he keeps getting pulled into fights that weren't his but tries to make them a little more fair when they get him involved. he fucks around with tommy and they have fun, they're friends, and when he and wilbur look like they're in danger dream is one of the first to find them and lend them real, practical, valuable aid. he calls himself "Big D" in that book and he tells the man that wrote him as a tyrant that he doesn't want to be a villain in the story anymore. he asks tommy if he's okay, and watches that kid's back when he walks alone and unarmed into manberg, and fights with him at the battle of the lake and all of that is thrown back in his face as being a lie. half the intial community structures that exist were built by him; the community house, the nether portal and hub, the prime path. during a time where every other piece of leverage got burned or killed (rip the casualties of the pet war), dream was kind of known for being one that could be fairly traded with, that would minimize permanent damage. the kills in the final control room were originally to strip lmanburg of their gear, which he had kept in a chest so it could be returned to them after the war.

like no c!dream isn't perfect at the beginning of the server. yes he's kind of a jerk sometimes, kind of an asshole sometimes, kind of neurotic most of the time. but god dammit like c!dream does try to mitigate the worst of his control issues, when they flare up early on; the initial disc war ends with tommy getting his discs back as well as a stack of diamonds, in exchange for a netherite chestplate. he's a flawed character and he's still someone pretty friendly on the whole to most of the server, he's also kind of just known for being a little weird. he gives gifts randomly. he fixed creeper holes, and houses, and went along with bits. like whatever im a c!drolo c!dream woobifier and i admit it lol but for as much evil as he ends up doing, pretty damn consistently early on, he's . friendly? kind? funny? helpful? their neighbor. their friend. c!dream isn't just some stranger that flew off the handle; he's someone they knew and lived with who had his actions taken in bad faith because the goddamn story said so and kept fucking trying anyway until he believed the lie too. like he was just a guy!! a guy they knew and lived with!!! like my god

[hyewka]

᭄⁑　txt as yanderes | thoughts

warnings: yandere, noncon, baby trapping, mention of knife play, slapping, perversion, not proofread

yandere!jjun is the type to be too sweet, sickly sweet. like barfed cupcakes and sprinkles, he pretends to care, he love bombs, he kisses you like he truly loves you, like there’s no one else but you and maybe its true, maybe there is no one else but you in his eyes. but its not romantic. not when he has blood on his hands, figuratively or literally, he’s responsible for innocents lost.

“i didn’t lay a single hand on them, how many times do i have to tell you! doll, baby, believe me. please.” his voice cracks, like he’s about to cry. you scoff and turn your head to the side, disgusted, feeling like you could very much vomit right now.

“stop fucking calling me these—these words!”

yandere!jjun, the type to crumble to his knees and beg, holding onto your leg like an abandoned puppy despite having much more power than you, both in strength and status. lips trembling, eyes wide and crazed, full of pitiful tears, giving you a false reality, sense of hope that he isn’t that much more powerful than you could even imagine.

now yandere!soobin on the other hand is the type you don’t even realize is mentally out of it, not until you’re literally two years into a relationship with him with a stable history of 7+ year of friendship. he’s been jealous here and there, one instance of him breaking down over you having coffee with a male colleague that you had to craddle him, rocking back and forth as he sobs and hiccups— that keeps you up at night sometimes, but he’s so convincing you don’t even notice how often he manipulates and gaslights and manipulates. the way he slithers his long arms around your waist, pressing your bodies flush, holding you tight, whispering random “love you’s”, you almost completely forget. almost.

when yan!soobin’s fucking you senseless, lost in pleasure, tongue out dumb like the horndog he is, you manage to warn him again, “b-baby, not on—hah birth control”

don’t cum inside. don’t cum inside. you told him that before you got too into it, and he agreed, he promised he won’t. of course he won’t.

so why’s he shaking his head? why’s he refusing now? your eyes widen a little, trying to push him but he leans to kiss you, drowning out your protests, turning them to mere mewls. “baby—wanna—wanna make you have babies..”

the alarm bells ring again. and again. and suddenly you remember the few warnings from your friends, the offhanded comments about how he’s a little off, a little weird, that he seems obsessed.

“you won’t leave me when you have my babies, you can’t—” suckling on your nipples through your shirt as if to prove a point, he wets it completely, making it see through with his spit. you feel gross. you feel—“can’t leave me,” he says one last time, moans straining as he empties his load in you. a generous load.

yandere!beomgyu is my favorite in the most deranged way possible. he’s not too sweet, he’s not the meanest, and he isn’t the most pathetic, but he’s definitely the craziest. beomgyu would be the one to go as far as to lock you in his home, keep you chained, bondaged—he’s fucking insane. the type to be into knife play as well, he loves the switch in power dynamic. instead of the past bossy, in control at all times y/n and her pretty lanky best friend who’s probably “head over heels” for her, it’s you on your knees, cold hard wood, getting your throat brutally abused like his personal sex doll.

he loves finally being the one in control. he’s so addicted. sometimes it feels like he’s only inflicting his craziest perverted dreams on you, and you were just his nearest victim, but oh no, out of the five, he’s definitely the most ‘in love’.

“let me out…beomgyu…please.”

his back is pressed against the bedroom’s door, listening in to your sobs that barely transcend the sound proof walls. he sighs, frusteningly running a hand through his hair.

“why—why don’t you love me?”

and suddenly its silent on your part, the sobs not reaching his ears anymore. its enough to cause more cracks in his heart, making him undeniably more bitter but god forbid he gives up on it—on making you love him back, he’ll risk everything for it.

yandere!taehyun is the most cruel but he’d also be considered the least delusional and the most delusional at the same time. he knows you won’t love him back, he could care less (well…debatable actually), it’s about protecting you at the end of the day. that’s where the delusion comes in, he thinks he’s your white knight and you’re only acting out like you’ve always been. stubborn and hard headed. when it comes to the sex, this man has you at all times legs spread up, with your hand restricted, supplying your pussy like a free breed whore. other than the humiliating position, he makes sure you’re aware at all times of what you are to him.

his saliva and cum covering your body like filth, using you like a rag, truly. he’s the type to slap when you act out—a strike against your face, pussy, tits, he’d do it all. and yet he still wholeheartedly believes he’s protecting you from the world that “corrupted” you.

yandere!hyuka is beyond pathetic but you’ll never know because he doesn’t act on his desires. well, in the sense that he doesn’t scratch the eyes out of every one of your boyfriends and doesn’t have you tied to him at all times—he’s the pussy type. in the dark, following, each and every step. that was the beginning. then it was jerking off on your balcony peeking between the blinds as he watches you undress. then it was stealing panties, sniffing, licking, as his hands go manic on his poor dick—it hurts, it’s dry but he keeps going, because he is so fucking addicted he doesnt wanna stop. whining n’ squeaking as he lets out your name out of his mouth over and over and over again.

your scent when he hugs you drives him mad, when you kiss his cheeks he embarrassingly spots a boner, he’s just pathetic with horrible horrible dirty thoughts in his head.

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Finals

Propaganda Under Cut

Sakura Haruno

Her husband is gay and her author doesn't know how to write women. So many people say she's the worst but she. DESERVES. BETTER!!! Save her from this franchise.

My baby girl my bestie my best friend. She committed the crime of um being written by kishimoto who both doesn’t know how to write women and somehow writes men in the gayest way possible specifically naruto and sasuke. Like the thing is naruto and sasuke ARE gay and also she gets so much hate for the crime of kishimoto writing her one dimensionally in love with sasuke. I know her personally she is a butch lesbian to me just trust me she’s in love with Ino and has a lesbian thing going on with Karin okay just trust me. My everything. She needs to divorce the loveless lavender marriage she’s in 

What is there to say, even? The OG Threat to my 90s anime brain, the only woman I've ever hated with such a passion she made me turn away from the color pink. I used to write fics with my friend where she got left behind on purpose so our OCs could join the Naruto and Sasuke team instead. I loathed this bitch until I was 16 and realized the author simply couldnt write women and decided it was time to make peace with Sakura. It is not her fault she's vaguely written and obsessive over Sasuke. She deserves better. Sasuke and Naruto still should be together and Sakura shouldnt be with Sasuke but I no longer believe this because I hate Sakura, it is because I love her. She deserves a spouse who will actually put in the time to treat her like the hero she is.

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime

[wordslikesilver]

I am once again thinking about Hoarah Loux, the only man Marika ever trusted and the only man she ever loved. It’s such an insane thing to think about the fact that the second last boss of Elden Ring is Some Guy. He is literally just A Human Man. Marika looks at this fucking raving barbarian man and decides to My Fair Lady him into a Lord like the deranged woman she is by assigning him a babysitter to perpetually gnaw on his neck whenever he’s in public. As insane as all that sounds, let’s break down that imagery a little because it’s actually really good! His babysitter is the king of beasts, a lion named Serosh, who digs his claws and his fangs into Hoarah Loux’s body to keep him suppressed and restrained enough in temperament to now be fit to be named Godfrey, The First Elden Lord of Queen Marika.

Serosh is frankly quite mysterious as far as what he actually is goes but as far as story themes go, he’s a really interesting symbol of lordship. The lion basically IS Godfrey’s crown, it’s what makes him Godfrey. The symbolism is essentially stating in a very overt way that this man is more savage than all the beasts of the world. In Elden Ring, beasts with five fingers indicate an enlightened or elevated intelligence, blessed by the greater will. It’s fascinating how it’s basically stating that Serosh is more intelligent, refined and noble than Hoarah Loux, that this man is more wild and savage than the greatest of all the beasts in the world. That only a beast king could teach this man to be a Lord. Godfrey can rip him apart anytime but he doesn’t. It takes more than strength of body to wear a crown and he knows it. He needs Serosh to honour and do right by Marika. He is showing his opponents a courtesy, as he puts it. Morgott takes after his example and so too is Radahn inspired by him. It’s really wonderful imagery.

There’s more to the symbolism. My knowledge of alchemy is, I completely admit, too surface level to elegantly speak at length but I’ve done some light reading online to back up my confidence in what I’m saying. We know Miyazaki loves dark edgy anime like Berserk and I posit that he also gained inspiration from the anime/manga Hellsing, in which the main character recites the line “I am the bird of Hermes, eating my own wings to make me tame.” This line comes from the Ripley Scroll and is theorized to have many meanings but popularly is presumed to mean giving up higher philosophy and knowledge to live normally on the earth as a human. Miyazaki uses lots of alchemical symbolism in his works, Elden Ring especially (go watch Quelaag’s videos!) so I could be totally full of shit about hellsing but I’m completely confident that Godfrey is meant to be an inversion (like literally everything else about his character) of what the Bird of Hermes represents. Godhood is a prison, a shackling. The entire plot is Marika (and Ranni tbh) trying to escape that imprisonment. Godfrey loves Marika enough to chain himself down, to eat his own wings, to pull out his own teeth and claws for her to make himself tame and ascend to lordship.

What’s especially fascinating about him is that he carries Serosh out into the badlands with him, as the opening cutscene shows. Cut dialogue indicates he already knew the Elden Ring would shatter and the tarnished would be beckoned to return. That Marika told him her plan in full before she took from him and his warriors the grace of gold and sent them away. A line from him saying to trust in gold, always, that it will guide our fates to our true destiny has wonderful implications I would certainly love to expand on in another post maybe. Hoarah Loux was just a human man and Marika trusted him enough to tell him everything. Trusted him with her gambit to escape the shackles of godhood. This is the fascinating part about taking Serosh with him. Keeping himself disciplined enough to remain a Lord when he returns. To hold back his aching heart just enough that he could follow through on this dark plan and allow his wife to protect him from the machinations of the greater will by sending him away. Also note that in that opening cutscene, he’s being crucified, with a lion about his shoulders and spear buried in his abdomen. They could not be milking the Jesus imagery harder if they tried. The Bird of Hermes is also thought to represent Christ, more points for that symbolism.

I love Godfrey so much as a character. He loved his sons and he loved his wife. The tenderness that he holds Morgott with is enough to make me cry. How he wished he could’ve seen him sooner, I’m all too sure. He’s the only other character we see guided by grace in the entire game. Marika guides you and her beloved husband, that’s it, that’s how much she trusts him. When he rips Serosh from his shoulders, you understand how Marika felt such faith in him. In Elden Ring, it is through battle that you face the true self of an opponent. Godfrey reveals to you Hoarah Loux, Warrior Chieftain of the Badlands. It is a test. Are you worthy to free her? Can you do what I could not? I have shown you courtesy enough as a Lord. You served me well, Serosh. I relieve you of your burden and feel only gratitude for your service. Now begins the test. Are you, tarnished, stronger than the only man who was strong enough to bear the burden of Lordship? Are you stronger than the only man that Queen Marika ever trusted? Are you stronger than the only man she ever loved?

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (make the danger feel good)

(~11 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

there's a bunch of things in this one that might make some people want to skip it. please be aware this tips into suggestive stuff (ok maybe a notch beyond the line, but nothing too explicit). there's certainly intimacy, nudity (that was there all along but now we Pay Attention To It) and more prominent cws would probably be... everything around vex instincts. so mentions of: blood, biting, consensual violence, blood/fear-play, prey-play?? they're deranged. i tried to keep it as tame as possible lol but be aware those are the topics and tones.

in case you skip this one, just know this is when scar and grian start to be truly intimate, and this is when grian gets the mating bite from scar (neither of them are aware that's what it is; there's a whole bunch of bites.) (dEranged.) also, there's more wing touches.

rp based, so wordy. <3 this follows directly after the wing spiral so we're still in the hotspring cave

---

The moment slowly tips into something else as they both lay on the spread-out cloak, fire crackling behind Grian’s back, his still somewhat-damp wing slung gingerly across Scar.

It all drags at Scar’s heartstrings, watching as Grian navigates his way through the maze back to something sensible, something more like himself. Freckles barely show in the flickering light, eyes dark and shiny from recent emotions, a bruised spot on his lip from nervous biting. Grian’s hair falls around him in soft, golden strands, fire painting over them with copper.

“You’re…” Scar stops, almost scared to finish the sentence. It feels like they’ve reached a comfortable silence after what felt like literal hours of agony. But he’s already broken it, so— He tucks his head into Grian’s hand, smothering the words into his palm. “… so beautiful.”

He looks at Grian’s eyes when he says it. No part of his wings, even though he means to include every bit of him. But he needs Grian to know he means it whether the feathers are included or not.

A swell of emotions rushes through Grian at that; he isn’t sure how to react, all he knows is he feels heat and tingling, and it’s so, so very different from the tingling of that numbness from earlier. This is nervous, skittish, warm, present. He feels rooted to the moment, to the softness of Scar’s eyes and his breath against Grian’s palm and—

And he feels like Scar is a hot spring and Grian is floating, melting into it.

“You can’t— You can’t say that,” he sputters, not quite able to pull forth any better quips than something stumbling and lost and irredeemably flustered. “What do you even mean.”

As soon as he says that, he realises those words might be a mistake. He doesn’t want Scar to answer.

Grian’s mind spins for something else to jump to, and he blurts out, ridiculously: “It’s because you washed my hair.” (He doesn’t quite remember that either. He regrets falling asleep so fast, although he can’t deny he slept so well, even if only briefly. He… really needed that.)

“Mm,” Scar mumbles into Grian’s palm again, buzzing his lips there. “No, I thought that before I washed your hair, too.” He was meaning not to say something embarrassing again, but failed completely.

Grian’s mind snags on the way Scar’s words feel against his palm, a riveting, delightful experience that he wishes to relive a million times. His thumb gingerly brushes across the heated skin of Scar’s cheek, but he keeps his palm in place, ready to catch any and all words that might spill out of Scar’s lips. 

“You’re silly and sappy,” Grian accuses, but it sounds so achingly soft and fond.

Scar changes his mind almost instantly about not saying embarrassing things, seeking out more of that softness Grian’s voice holds— that simplicity and affection. He’ll keep saying embarrassing things if he gets that. It’s worth it.

“This is true,” he admits easily. “But I’m also right.”

Craning his neck, Grian leans in to place a kiss against Scar’s face, tender and loving. (He’s weaving all the gratitude into it, all the affection, all the apologies and forgiveness all at once.) “You’re also ridiculous,” he adds, a little bit cheekily, but it again carries no bite, words made of cotton and warmth.

His wing shifts higher, covering their upper torsos and faces, dunking them into more darkness—something that instantly makes Grian sleepy. The fire crackles behind his back, somewhat still keeping up, although definitely in need of more fuel. 

Grian doesn’t want to move.

“Also true.” Scar nods. “Thank you for noticing.” 

There’s an unsaid thank you for so many more things in the way Scar delivers the line so seriously: Thank you for speaking to me. Thank you for shielding us with your wings. Thank you for going along with my shenanigans. 

Thank you for being here. 

Scar wants to fall asleep then and there, unperturbed by the mess of remaining concerns that still plague them, but he tries to be the strong one here. “…I should fuel the fire. Maybe set up a small perimeter so we can both get some sleep?” 

He wants to sleep beside Grian. He doesn’t want to take turns keeping watch.

And isn’t that a wonderful thought? For both of them to be able to sleep at the same time, curled up together by a warm fire?

They don’t get that often.

Grian latches onto that hope, pushing his fatigued body up as he gingerly releases Scar from the cocoony hold of his wing. He offers to help even though his mind still feels a little slow, body a little off; if he can assist Scar and make this happen, then he wants to do it.

Scar gets up reluctantly, but he’s pleasantly surprised how little his muscles protest after the nice soothing bath they received. That’s a rarity. He directs Grian to check up on the fire while he’ll make some walls, promising cuddles at the end of it. 

The idea of that sort of reward makes pushing through their exhaustion and putting in the effort worth it.

Tending the fire isn't a skill they needed on Hermitcraft, but through trial and error, they learned the best ways to distribute fuel materials for the most efficiency and the least smoke. It comes to Grian easily now, automatic, and notably it takes much less time than wall building.

Once satisfied, Grian looks over at Scar, asking if he should help with the wall. After all, the faster they're done, the faster they can cuddle. 

Scar nods, noting he’s sleepy and he might miss spots. A second pair of eyes to check after him would be good, and any help is certainly appreciated, especially since it’s their safety at stake here. He’s using a bit of a hodgepodge arrangement of materials, just doing the minimum to keep mobs out, but it’ll do, as long as they do it properly. 

Grian pushes himself to his feet; his wings feel a little strange, and he can't quite tell why, but he swerves away from thinking about it. His muscles feel weak, wanting to go back to blissful resting, looking forward to sleep. A faint lightheadedness hits him at the first step, but a short pause and a deep breath is enough to chase it away.

He slots himself next to Scar, reaching to take some materials from him. As soon as he's in his orbit, Scar can’t help but reach over and lightly touch him on the waist, pulling him in for a brief, only slightly-awkward kiss. He smiles, toothy and real, before handing off some of his materials, whistling to himself like it didn’t happen as he turns back around.

Grian can't help but adore and crave the easy intimacy; the way he's reached for and tugged and kissed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He gravitates towards Scar in return, peeking at him and quietly studying his expression as Scar whistles and works.

There isn't terribly much needed to do with the walls, and Grian fixes up his end to the best of his capabilities given his energy level, then makes sure to look over Scar's work as requested, too, making sure they don't miss something due to fatigue. (Mistakes are too costly here. They can’t afford them.)

When they're done, Grian clicks his tongue appraisingly. "It's not a terracotta shack, but it'll do."

Scar snickers, highly amused by the callback. “Yeah, it might actually be uglier. I should put up a sign for any googlies to leave a review.” He slips in behind Grian and kisses the top of his head, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Mmm, warm clothes?”

Grian shifts his wings gently out of the way, but he itches to press himself against Scar, so he clumsily turns around in his loose grip, trying to maintain some space for his feathers as he goes. 

Somehow, now that this is all very intentional, without the mental fog and fresh tears and jumbled cravings, this feels more intimate. Their bare chests are near each other, reverberating with heartbeats and moving with their breaths, and there's so much skin and—

Timidly, Grian's fingers find Scar's waist, a featherlight touch exploring upwards, fingertips counting across the lower ribs.

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Scar's jaw. "Mm." His head tips and he rests his forehead against the spot he's just kissed. His hand travels higher, across Scar's chest, to his shoulder, mapping out his skin. "Warm clothes," he agrees, even though nothing about his actions suggests that.

Scar shivers at the drawn out touch over his bare skin, ears flicking wildly as his heart stutters in his chest for a moment. Sure, he’s no stranger to walking about without a shirt, but people don’t typically touch— 

He rather likes it when Grian does, however.

Not nearly as bold, Scar settles for tracing small shapes over Grian’s sides, gentle and reverent.  “And warm cuddles,” he adds, also not making any move to do so.

Grian hums at Scar's touch; on nothing but wishful instinct, he moves closer, trying to get deeper into Scar's hold. (He wants Scar's hands to wrap around him. To envelop him fully and properly.) (He wants to be held.) (He wants to be wanted, in a way so wholly different from what this world demands.)

He tips his head and presses a kiss to the side of Scar's throat as his fingertips dance from Scar's shoulders across his collarbone. He likes this. Being able to trace paths across Scar's skin. To, hopefully, provide him with something that can touch him without causing pain and scarring. 

The air is cold on the back of his neck, and he figures Scar is not any better off, without having the extra fluff of feathers shielding his spine. He tucks a small sigh against the hollow of Scar's throat, because he knows he should pull away. He knows they should get dressed. His legs feel weak underneath him, craving a bed. (There's no bed here) 

"Yeah... Yeah. Let's go get some rest."

He's still not moving to make any of it happen.

Scar really doesn’t want Grian to let go of him right now (nor does he want to let go), so he’s glad Grian is yet to make a move to leave. He’s tired and cold and wants to go to sleep, but after the absolute rollercoaster back and forth of emotions, Scar is too attached to this moment of serenity. 

In a spur of stubborn refusal, Scar strengthens his grip and lifts, hoisting Grian up just enough so that maybe he can walk them both over. He pulls the avian tight, letting him secure his balance onto him.

And it’s silly, because they’re really not even that far from the fire— and they still need to separate to put on their clothes. They’re still only in their underwear, which makes Scar’s ears twitch again when it occurs to him.

But it’s worth it.

Just a little more contact.

He needs it so bad.

Grian lets out a delighted chirp in surprise as Scar's hold on him tightens, and then— then he loses contact with the ground. He tips forward, easily trusting Scar with his weight, and he giggles quietly against the crook of Scar's neck. His wings unfurl, instinctively seeking out balance. (He doesn't remember when was the last time they felt free to do this; to give in to instincts.) (He isn't even paying attention to them, not really aware that it is happening.)

Without complaint, he presses himself against Scar, and oh, this is different. This is skin on skin. This is—

“Mhm, off to sleep with us!” Scar cheers as he presses Grian close to his chest.

Grian wraps his arms around Scar's shoulders and stays close, heart hammering against his chest in a way that Scar's surely bound to feel, right against his own ribcage. He coos in a flustered encouragement at Scar's statement. Off to sleep. (He'd go anywhere Scar takes him right now. He'd stay anywhere Scar puts him. He'd be anywhere Scar wants him.)

Maybe the earlier struggle was all worth it if Scar gets to hear those sweet little chirps pressed into his neck and feel Grian’s heartbeat against his own fluttering chest. Past anxieties forgotten, Scar is entirely smitten. He feels warm even though logically he shouldn’t. He hums a jaunty tune while he walks them both back over to the fire, pleased with himself and the entirely unnecessary decision to carry Grian. 

And Grian happily lets himself be carried, even though he could’ve easily taken those four steps himself. He isn’t carried out of necessity (for once). He’s being carried because Scar wants to carry him, wants to hold him, wants to keep him pressed close. It warms Grian, too. It makes him feel cherished and safe.

But he’s always been made of mischief, and he can’t help it. He tips his head, lips brushing over the skin of Scar’s throat, and then he’s baring his teeth, letting them come into the gentlest contact with the skin. (Just to tease.) (Just for the reaction.) (His hold on Scar tightens just in case he’s about to be dropped in response.)

Scar’s legs wobble as he muffles a tiny yelp, but he’s been trained to deal with Grian’s tendency toward menace, so he does manage to stay on his feet and keep his grip. 

If he dips just a little and lightly pinches at Grian’s sides though? Deserved. 

“Youuuu…” Scar warns, attempting to growl even though it comes out purely silly. “You love to tempt fate, don’t you?”

Grian takes a sharp breath and squirms as Scar dips, holding onto him. (Even if Scar did want to drop him, Grian refuses to go easily.) At Scar's light disgruntlement, Grian huffs out a breathless laugh, all of it right against Scar's pulsepoint. His teeth are back on Scar's skin, still gentle, but he does apply a little bit more pressure this time, cheekily. 

"Maybe I do." He sounds entirely too cheerful and unbothered, another quiet laughter broken against Scar's throat.

“Mmmm,” Scar grumbles, holding back a full-body shiver. It’s definitely the chill. Definitely.

In retaliation, Scar takes one large step to finish their path to the fire, then dips Grian even lower, threatening to plop him back down on the cloak. “Then accept your fate, you rascal!” Scar cackles, wriggling his fingers at Grian’s sides to try to get him to forcibly let go and fall the rest of the way down to the floor.

Grian laughs openly now—at Scar's attempts to get him off. At his grumbles. At being called a rascal. He delights in it and stays stubbornly clinging to Scar, wrapping his legs around him for extra security.

"I like to tempt fate, Scar, not accept it," he informs him all too giddily, voice still heavily tinged by laughter. "And you can't get rid of me."

Scar snickers, amused by his new clinging bird accessory. “Ah, I wouldn’t dream of it, but—“ He exaggeratively sways from side to side like he’s trying to shake Grian off (he’s really not). “—pesky birds deserve retribution!”

Grian still holds on, unwilling to lose. He cranes his neck, on his way to the next mayhem. "Well then you're going to have to try harder," he lectures. And he lightly squeezes Scar's earlobe in his teeth. (It's not his fault it was so perfectly within reach.) (It's not his fault he has zero impulse control when he gets pesky.)

Scar opens his mouth to say something in return, but all that comes out is a flustered squeak. His face properly flushes as his ear attempts to flick out of reach. ”Griannn!!” he whines, embarrassment obvious in his tone. He’s released his hands at this point, but Grian’s grip is all too secure. So now his hands wave about in the air pathetically, unable to decide on exactly what retribution is in order for Grian.

Grian laughs, a bright, joyful, unbridled cackle pressed against the sensitive patch of skin directly under Scar's ear. His wings flap lightly (the fire flickers momentarily, sparks sent flying, explosive like Grian's soul) at the loss of Scar's hold as he rebalances himself, but remains clingily wrapped against Scar, not budging. "Yes, Scar?" he hums innocently.

Scar finally settles on some form of revenge, bringing out his claws and trailing a very long drag of his nails up Grian’s spine, careful not to actually scratch— just a graze, just a tickle, just a suggestion. He can’t go too far without risking touching the wings, but he does what he can. Grumbles again in response to the innocent hum from a very not innocent bird. “Menace,” he breathes out, still somewhat dazed.

Grian doesn't even try not to shudder under the graze of Scar's claws; he's sure Scar can feel the way he took in breath, then held it in, too. The uptick of his heart rams against Scar's ribs as Grian presses closer, an instinctual back-arch to the sensation.

He still manages to laugh again, a breathless little thing. "Your menace, though."

And it's surprisingly easy, to give himself over to Scar, in a world where everyone wants to own a part of him.

Scar stops that slow drag of claws, settling somewhere in the middle of Grian’s back and instead tapping them there as he hums out what comes across a bit too much like a low growl. It’s not meant to be threatening— it’s not even meant to come out at all, really— it was supposed to be an exaggerated groan, but it instead comes off as a deeply satisfied confirmation. 

“Mine,” Scar concedes, voice barely a whisper, before remembering they’re meant to be teasing. “… Lucky me.” 

Except he’s still not kidding.

And yet despite the fondness with which Scar means it, there's an instant swell of something ugly in Grian at the words lucky me, a razor-edged impulse to make Scar regret those words, to show him just how wrong he is— but he swallows it all down, in a moment of uncharacteristic quiet after all the giggling. He presses himself closer to Scar, takes a deep breath, tries to claw his way back to that pesky playfulness from just seconds ago.

Instead of more teasing, he tips into tenderness. His hold loosens, and he presses his lips to the side of Scar's neck. 

He isn't sure Scar understands just how his Grian is. 

A breathless half-chuckle leaves him despite himself. And he can't help but ask, quietly, edging shyness. "Does that mean you're mine...?" He's okay with the answer being no. He'll still be Scar's, heart and soul. But... He just wants to know. To hear Scar say it. "My ridiculous person?" These words come easier, softer, more playful.

Scar’s hands shift back to holding Grian, claws fading away into harmlessness. He tries to lean his head back to see him, to look at him as the words fall into place so easily. But Grian doesn't let him pull away, doesn't let him move to see his face; he burrows, hiding himself in the crook of Scar's neck. His wings fold—still loose, instead of what they're used to—feathers slotting over Scar's skin without a hassle. 

Scar doesn’t mind Grian’s insistence on keeping his face pressed close. He likes that as well. In fact, he gives up on dropping Grian down at all and plops himself onto the cloak with Grian still attached. 

“Always,” he replies, voice still low and grainy, but filled to the brim with affection. “Always yes.”

"Always," Grian echoes quietly, and the word leaves his tongue like something precious and fragile.

Feeling sappy, as usual, Scar tacks on, “… Have been for a while.”

Words line themselves up in Grian's mind like poison, things to fight back and argue with, to explain that this is not going to be good for Scar. That he really, really isn’t lucky for this.

He swallows them all down. This isn't about that. This isn't and shouldn't be about that.

Scar is saying something incredibly fond, and Grian shouldn't try to destroy it.

His wings press tighter, feathers still slumped right over Scar's arms. 

"... Can we keep it that way...?" he asks in the end.

“Mm, I’d like to, yes.” Scar nods, teeth clacking as he grows a big grin. He takes one hand to fumble for Grian’s sweater.

"Okay." Grian pauses, and then adds in a soft murmur: "Me too." He feels Scar move, but doesn't process what he's reaching for. Grian just stays clinging to him, placated by Scar's words and his hold.

Scar brings the warm fabric over to their bare skin. It makes him giggle slightly at the heat, because it means at least one of his ideas tonight was good. “Here,” he says as he pushes the sweater in between them for the warmth. “As much as I’d love to offer to help you dress—“ he clicks his teeth again in amusement. “—might be a little difficult.”

Taking the soft, warm fabric, Grian puffs his cheeks in an overdramatic pout. "Don't need help, I know how to dress myself." That being said, he still doesn't let go of his wrap around Scar, even though this isn't the best position for putting clothes on.

“Oh I know, but I like to touch you,” Scar goads, grinning innocently.

Grian's cheeks heat up, the words spurring him enough to pull away just to be able to look at Scar, wide-eyed and flustered. "You wh—"

“Hm?” Scar continues to grin, innocent as ever. He looks over Grian, seeing the red trickle over his cheeks. “Oh I think you heard me, but I can repeat myself if you want?” Now that he has the chance, he leans his face in close to Grian, even completing the act with a goofy wink.

"No!" Grian immediately says as his hands fling up, covering Scar's mouth just in case he'd do it anyway, and oh, it's good that Scar is sitting down and holding Grian, because if they were still up, Grian'd definitely fall. His wings fling out anyway, just in case, gathering his balance. The sweater pools between them, a warm barrier between their chests. "That— You don't have to repeat it," Grian blabbers, red.

Scar kisses the palms that cover his mouth, several times like an attack to free himself from the hand prison. He muffles into them as well in between kisses: “But I want to!”

"Scaaaar," Grian groans, and he releases Scar from his hold, only to bury his own very red and very warm face in his freshly-free palms.

Scar follows those hands despite just being freed, kissing them again now that they cover Grian’s face. “I mean you’re not making a lot of progress putting on your sweater— are you sure you don’t want help?” His hands find their way to Grian’s chest, pressing lightly right in the middle.

Grian's heart positively skips a beat, a tiny squeak leaving him at the offer. He's dissipating, too flustered to really form words. 

He wants to scold Scar again. 

He wants to tell him he's fine, he can dress himself. 

He wants to tell him that, actually, yes, Scar can help, whatever that help would actually mean.

Instead he just grumbles something incoherent and flustered into his palms.

Still feeling playfully devious, Scar slides his hands up Grian’s chest over to his bare arms, grabbing slightly and pulling them upward. His movements are needlessly slow and incredibly drawn-out. “Well it would help if you raised your arms like this…” he teases, far too pleased with himself for the shade of red that’s spreading across Grian’s skin

Grian's palms are still pressed to his face, the angle Scar tugs at slightly awkward, but it doesn't make the explosion of sensations rushing through him any weaker. Scar's touch is so delicate, so slow, Grian can't help but go insane under it. 

He makes more incomprehensible noises into his palms. His arms shiver under Scar's fingertips. The hold of his palms over his face relents a little bit, not because he doesn't want to be hidden anymore, but because everything in him yearns to give in to Scar's guidance, no matter Scar's goals.

Gingerly, the palms leave Grian’s face, his arms lifting the littlest bit. His eyes shine, flooded by some deep, rich and raw—and entirely flustered—emotion. His lips are slightly parted, cheeks flushed— and then his earwings fling to take the spot his hands occupied just a moment ago, hiding him away from Scar's gaze in a flash.

Scar’s entire plan comes to a stumbling halt when he sees Grian’s face. His eyes are shamelessly drawn to Grian’s lips, the way they hang open ever so slightly, framed by reddened cheeks and accented freckles. 

He’s momentarily stunned, enamored by the gorgeous sight before him, but it’s stolen away all too soon. And with the earwings no less, so he can’t exactly pry them off. 

He decides to drag his hands back down to settle in the dip of Grian’s shoulders, no longer fooling either of them into believing this has anything to do with helping. “Hey—“ he starts, unsure of what to say exactly, but gosh does he want to see Grian’s face again. “Don’t hide from me,” he croons, voice low and sultry.

Scar's touch is electrifying, sending sparking signals across Grian's body, something culminating in the pit of his stomach. He's asked not to hide, but his embarrassment only rises, at the implication that revealing himself would mean being plunged straight to being seen, Scar's eyes surely intense and scrutinising.

He whines a little, breathing deeply but shakily against Scar's hands.

And then he shifts the earwings, just a little bit, half-obliding, peeking through the feathers.

Scar is about to complain, insist Grian show his entire face, but this is even cuter and he can hardly handle it. His expression shifts into something softer, adoring. Instead of his drawling voice from before, confident and insistent, Scar speaks timidly, an easy smile spread across his face. “… Hi, pretty.”

Grian huffs against his feathers; his earwings twitch, wanting to go back to shielding him as embarrassment swirls in between his ribs, spreading incessant warmth through his face. 

But he is drawn to Scar, like a damned moth to a flame, and he can't pry his eyes away from the soft fondness in Scar's green ones. "Hi," he returns, voice cracking.

Scar leans down to place a kiss on Grian’s chin where his feathers don’t quite reach. He wants to say so many things, keep showering Grian with compliments, but he spares him. He lingers close to Grian’s lips with a sly smile, eyes flickering up to meet his. “… Your sweater’s gonna get cold.”

With Scar this close, Grian's earwings twitch a little bit more out of the way—not out of unwillingness to brush against Scar, but because— Well. Grian's tightening stomach has something to say about Scar hovering so close to his lips. 

"Don't care." it's hushed, but entirely dismissive. Grian’s eyes roam across Scar's face, returning the favour of lingering at the sight of his lips, taking in the curvature of them, remembering how soft and warm they feel pressed against his skin.

Scar grins when Grian doesn’t take the out, so he doesn’t waste any time capturing those lips from him, desperate and yearning. His fingertips dig into the soft skin directly next to his neck, pulling Grian in as close as he can.

Grian leans in easily, without resistance, meeting Scar back. His earwings fall completely away from his face, his eyes closing. His own hands find their spots on the sides of Scar's face.

Without breaking the kiss, Scar grabs at the sweater and places it next to them and the fire, not necessarily with the idea to keep it warm, but simply so there’s nothing in their way— Scar likes it when their skin brushes together. It’s vulnerable and exciting all at once, something satisfying about baring yourself for someone in a world that would normally punish such foolishness. 

His hands are back on Grian in an instant, and he closes his eyes as he traces over more of that skin, exploring and teasing all the same.

Entranced, Grian hums against Scar's lips. He shifts, tracing kisses from the corner of his mouth down across his cheek and jaw, until he finds his spot right under Scar's ear. One of his hands slides back, fingers dragging over the back of Scar's neck until they reach his hairline and dip in. 

It's tantalising, to be this vulnerable and open. To have his skin, soft and defenceless, right under Scar's fingertips to map and do whatever he pleases with. To trust Scar fully, boundlessly.

He doesn't want to stop.

"Scar." He breathes his name right there, on that sensitive patch of skin that he so adores. Right under Scar’s ear.

Intimacy wraps around them, tiny step by a tiny step and then suddenly all at once. 

They give in, drunkenly following its lead, forgetting all about the world that wants to relentlessly hunt them down, take apart their bodies for nothing more than bloodied trophies that will gather dust. 

Instead, they take each other apart in a completely different way. Entranced by their closeness, their skin heated, they familiarise themselves with a whole new vocal range of sounds that draw out of their throats, exploring what they have to offer. Giving and taking and unravelling.

Somewhere amidst it all, early on in this game they’ve invented for each other, Scar runs into the wall of impulsiveness that buzzes underneath his skin, begging for more. Because Grian is a daring menace, insinuating Scar should put him in his place if he doesn’t like his pesky retaliations. Telling him to do something about it if he finds it unfair, while his wings lift, half-unfolding. 

It’s a gesture made on instinct of Grian’s dazed mind, coaxing him to put his feathers on display in a situation where he feels completely safe and equally completely besides himself. The violet hue, freshly cleaned, dances with various shades in the firelight.

Scar’s eyes are instantly drawn in by the lifting feathers framing Grian, firelight dancing across Grian's skin and wings alike— Scar is so doomed. He feels entranced, so entangled by the myriad of sensations and desires that he almost doesn’t register how his fingers gravitate to the feathers. 

He stops himself quickly, breathing out a wisp of blue, and refocuses on a patch of freckles that spread across Grian’s chest as he processes what he almost did on instinct alone.

He wanted to touch. He wanted to touch so badly. He hasn’t seen Grian’s wings shine so brightly in months, or seen him bare the undersides like that to him ever before. He’s not sure what that means in bird body language, but he was almost certain it was an invitation.

But he would never forgive himself if he messed this moment up.

If he messed that up again. 

(It’s not fair that he can’t unravel Grian the same way Grian can with a nip to his sensitive vex ears. Scar wants to hear what kind of sounds Grian would make if he raked his fingers through his wings. Would it feel as good as Grian’s hands do in his hair? Better?)

Scar shudders, expelling those thoughts before he entirely spirals. The treacherous hand finds its way to Grian’s chest, tracing a pattern into those newly discovered freckles. His eyes flick back up, meeting Grian’s with a complicated expression— it’s one of slight conflict, immense adoration, but more than anything, intense desire. 

“…careful what you wish for there, G,” he says, restrained.

Grian hums, shuddering slightly under the touch of Scar's fingertips mapping out patterns on his skin. A purr-like coo makes it out of his throat, and his wings lift the littlest bit again, positioning themselves so perfectly within reach. 

His head is muddled, thoughts dragged through velvet that so softly covers up rationality and leaves behind something gently ravaging, able to pull the string and let him unknot into a puddle. But even through that, he is able to catch that torn expression Scar has, something not quite right in his eyes, the words almost a warning.

He can't decipher it.

He leans away; his wings stay where they are, half curled around them, a brillaintly violet feathery offering. His hips don't move either; it's just his upper back, making his spine arch. (He wants Scar's claws to rake over that curve—) He's watching Scar carefully, even though the firelight continues dancing across his dark irises in endless, unspooling want. 

"If it's unfair," he says, voice low, quiet, a purring string for Scar to follow. (He's always been good at pressing buttons. At not knowing limits. At trying and testing and teasing.) "Then do something about it," he suggests, because he doesn't know why Scar is looking so horribly conflicted, and he doesn't want this to be unfair; it should be mutual, and he's welcoming Scar to take, to even out the playing field. (He'd even let him tip the scales completely, if that's what Scar wants.) 

Scar does drag his other hand up that curve Grian’s making for him, although with no claws involved. He feels the dip in Grian’s back, that divot where he can rake his fingers over his spine. 

Another breath, another wisp of blue smoke. 

Scar’s claws emerge and he has to actively pull his fingers up to avoid scratching. 

It’s not fair because while Grian can lean into his instincts, use them as a familiar crutch, a display of trust and warmth— Scar’s not nearly so fortunate. Letting his vex urges surface would mean violence and danger and taking and— god Scar wants to take. 

And Grian is egging him on. His fingers twitch with want, tapping their pointed nails against soft, bare skin. If only Grian knew what he was asking for right now…

Scar’s hopelessly pulled along by that alluring string, that low purr that escapes from Grian’s throat. He thinks, dazedly, that maybe Grian does know. 

Especially since the drag of Scar's fingers—that moment of them shifting into claws—makes Grian arch more. Not away from it, but into it, encouraging, needy.

He knows what Scar is. He knows he's made of sharp things, claws that can tear and teeth that can bite.

He doesn't care.

He wants Scar, and he wants all of him, and—

His thoughts are slipping from him, dazed and lost in some deep, raw want that pulls him under. 

“Always a fan of the resistance, huh?” Scar’s tone is rough, not unlike a low, warning growl. 

Grian can’t help but grin, ever so cheeky, mayhem running wild in his veins. Scar was always the first one to witness this part of Grian. Whenever there's a spark of mischief, Grian feels drawn to him, wants him to see it, to catch on fire together with him.

And maybe Scar is. Catching on fire together with Grian. Because the next thing Grian knows, he's pushed back, he's pushed down, and—

He's a fan of resistance, but he gives to this so willingly. His eyes never leave Scar's as he lets Scar's hands dictate the way gravity shifts around him. His thighs remain wrapped around Scar even as his back lowers, wings spreading across the ground. (He spares one mindful thought to shift his wing to avoid the campfire. The feathers flutter, instead, near Scar's skin, wing curved upwards, almost brushing his shoulder.) 

He lays down, and he wonders, does this make it fair?

Or is there more?

He looks up at Scar, his heart wild in his chest but expression calm and endlessly fond. Waiting for the next step. Licking his parted lips, waiting to see what happens, wordlessly inviting Scar to do more. 

Scar’s eyes dart from the wing that curves around them back to Grian’s face when he sees Grian’s tongue slide over his lips. Shamelessly, he finds himself mirroring the motion, green gaze hungry.

"It felt good, you know," Grian murmurs, and it's the quietest thing. (He means the claws. The growls. The way Scar pushes and skirts taking more.) "It all does."

Grian’s words scream at Scar to let go, to let loose and see what it is exactly that he wants so desperately from Grian right now. 

Although he’s pretty sure he knows. 

He plants one hand firmly beside Grian’s head, using it to hold his weight, then uses the other to cup Grian's chin, two claws tilting his head while the others graze across his throat. 

Scar leans in closer, ghosting their lips together. “Still good?” he asks, though his voice seems so far away, like he’s floating astray as his resolve grows ever thinner. Instead of kissing him, Scar ducks down lower, pressing his lips just above Grian’s collarbone, kissing roughly enough to threaten a bruise.

The way Grian succumbs to Scar's touch is so simple. Through all the resistance in his soul, none is reserved for Scar right now; he's surrendered, a willing participant in the fate Scar strings up around them like a sticky, inescapable spiderweb. Grian's baring his neck, not shying from the claws; the most he does is let out a shaky breath, a tingle of promising excitement shooting through him like fireworks. 

He feels lightheaded in the best of ways.

"Good," he confirms, more a coo than a word, but the fraying string of vowels still makes sense.

It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, and they’re both aware of it. And they’re both still choosing to continue hurtling down this path.

The rein Scar has on his vex side demanding he takes more slackens, falls out of his grip at Grian’s goading tug. He lets out a low hum against Grian’s throat before slacking his jaw and biting. His fangs hook into the skin above his collarbone, threatening to break skin, but not quite yet. No blue magic escapes Scar’s mouth this time, only hot and heavy breath in between roughly teething at Grian’s soft skin, reeling at the feeling of blood coursing so close to his fangs. Instead the haze trickles across his irises, eyes flickering blue as he indulges instead of resists.

Grian's head is quickly becoming a mess, but it's a mess in the best of  ways. There's not a smidge of fear under his skin, and oh, isn't that something. It's entirely replaced by craving, by this submissive need to push Scar over the edge and take everything Scar gives him— and, equally, let Scar take everything he wants. 

Intoxicatingly vulnerable, Grian offers no defences, leaving himself wide open, tempting Scar to continue. The pain sparks, but it translates to pleasure; it says good good good, it makes Grian want to press closer to Scar, it makes him want to keep his neck bared, it makes him want to sink his own, dull fingernails into Scar's skin just to let him know that this feels wonderful.

A dizzying thought hits Grian, a hazy wondering if Scar knows Grian is giving him everything, right now. All of himself. Every little bit. He's putting himself completely at Scar's mercy. 

But maybe Scar knows.

Maybe he knows, because when Scar lifts up, looming over Grian, what he chooses to say is mine.

The word reverberates through Grian, shakes something at his core, but it feels warm. It feels tingly and like a precipice, but one he wants to fall over.

Breathless and defenceless, he chirps in affirmation, before he vocalises it in a hoarse half-whisper, and despite the pleased haze that coats every letter, something in his tone is almost daring: "Yours."

Scar loves that little chirp — he loves the confirmation, however daring it may be posed. In fact, he likes that particular detail a lot, because he's happy to oblige.

His fingers trail across the curves and freckles, exploring again now that he can shamelessly stare and watch for Grian's reaction. He meets Grian's gaze, vision still somewhat foggy, and he realizes he needs to say something now before he's too far gone to resist. Because he's slowly losing himself to the boundless desire to consume, whatever that may entail, and his skin is practically sizzling and singing every spot where feathers overlap…

Grian meets Scar's gaze back, equally dazed and indescribably present; a scalding, endless pool of emotions reflected in his eyes, open yet unreadable. He makes soft noises at Scar's touch over the tender skin, fingernails lightly dragging against Scar's back in response, but none of him is running away from this.

He's staying put, an obedient little prey, ready to be consumed.

"Grian," Scar forces out, leaning back in so his breath is felt over Grian’s cheek.

Grian's breath hitches instantly in response, eyes falling shut. His name sounds so sweet yet strained on Scar's lips, and he wants to take it from him, to unshackle those restraints around it.

But Scar's leaning over his cheek, not his lips, and Grian is nothing but obliging, baring his skin, whichever part of it Scar happens to desire.

"Scar," he returns in a hoarse whine, the need to call him back scalding hot in his veins. 

"You're—" Scar’s voice cracks, but it's different than before. It's like he's interrupted by a needy growl, teeth bared. But Scar recollects himself, eyes still blazing, alight with wild magic and yearning. "You're toeing a dangerous line here, y’know..." He's trying to be delicate about it, merely allude to the burst of primal emotion he's fighting to control. "... toying with a vex." He says it like it could just be a joke, a simple tease, but he's so entirely serious about it.

Ah.

There it is.

Grian suddenly understands all the complexity swirling through Scar's expression.

And he takes it without flinching. He hums, bringing one hand up, to brush through Scar's hair, fingertips reaching to the back of Scar's ear, teasing lightly. A featherlight touch.

"I know." 

It's so simple to admit.

His lips are slightly curved. A miniscule grin, something knowing, tender, welcoming.

He cranes his neck, leans in, steals a quick kiss.

"I know, Scar." 

And he's still right here. Still so willing. Still absolutely surrendered. One wing draped over Scar, the rest of him pliantly underneath him, neck tilting to regain its bared position, not a shred of survival instinct left on display.

Scar still swallows hard, nerves alight. He's certain his desire is practically a tangible thing now, magic thrumming across his skin and driving him crazy. 

"If you—" he starts, hoarse, still so very strained, speaking through his teeth as they involuntarily press tightly together. With a shaky breath, he admits it, timid, but determined to be entirely transparent by just how much his instincts are running wild: "I'm gonna want to touch them— you, your wings—" He wants it to be clear it's only because it's a part of Grian that he wants this, and he prays that's coming across, but words are so difficult to form in his dizzying haze. "... so if you don't want that, you need to tell me now."

Before I can't control myself, goes unsaid.

The conflict is so clear now, the way Scar is trying to hold back, for Grian, always for Grian.

Grian thinks maybe he wants Scar to let go. 

Thrill runs across his spine, delving into downy feathers that coat his back, as Scar says the word wings. It's not often Grian hears it on his tongue, with Scar always carefully skirting around it. And what would at other times make him uneasy, now makes Grian perk up—some bird instinct that's taking deep root in him, tangling into myriad of desires. 

Because, yes. Wings. Wings.

The feathers draped over Scar's bare skin move lightly, brushing against him. repositioning. Not leaving that point of contact. Not shying away.

The possibility looms in Grian's mind, something set ablaze at a deep dark precipice, and as he swallows thickly, all he can think of is: want.

Scar needs an answer, and Grian thinks maybe he can give him some. Maybe he can— Maybe they can—

He licks his lips and his fingers tenderly brush through the hair behind Scar's ear, trying to soothe him into this. "I can't promise it'll be okay..." he starts. And it's true. He can't. He's aware he's riddled with countless barely-buried triggers right under his skin (under his feathers—), all of it linked to a horrible terror, always just half a step from dreadfully raw, spiralling panic. But this, this feels different. This feels like maybe he could be something else, too. Like it doesn't have to be that.

He feels it, that glowing, intense desire to give himself over to Scar fully. A prey to a predator, shameless, fearless, unabashed. Untamed, both of them. Wild. 

He tilts his head. Strands of hair shining with shades of gold in the firelight shift, fall across his forehead and out of the way, soft and clean, thanks to Scar's careful, loving hands. 

The pause is there, hovering.

Grian is going to break it.

"But... Scar."

He lifts himself up, reaching for Scar; his hand tugs lightly at Scar's hair to aid him in his movement; his wing presses against Scar's back, too, helping Grian reach Scar's lips. He presses a tender kiss there, affectionate and pleading, and it tips into unbridled craving as he finishes with a flick of tongue and a gentle bite of his teeth.

"Make the danger feel good," he whispers, a half-purr half-growl tucked against the corner of Scar's mouth, breath hovering over the bitten spot on Scar's lip. 

And then Grian's hand falls away from Scar's hair. All of him falls away, as he lets himself lie back down, his gaze flickering with warmth and desire in the hot, glowing light of the firelight. He's putting himself here willingly, underneath Scar, defenceless, skin bared, chest lifting up with breaths as his heart hammers against his ribs.

"And then you can touch," he finishes hoarsely, so very quietly. Soft and inviting, equally as hopeful as it's needy, his eyes never leaving Scar's.

And it's still so very different, a craving driving him insane—he wanted Scar's claws on his feathers not too long ago, but that was for destruction, and this— this isn't that. This is something completely different, miles away from whatever that spiral from before was; something that leaves Grian's throat dry, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

He's playing with fire, and he fully intends to let it burn him. To consume him. He yearns desperately for this kind of intimacy, for Scar, Scar, Scar, for things to be something else for a moment. (Hands in his feathers and teeth on his skin and him amidst it all, willing, pliant, giving.)

Make the danger feel good, echoes throughout Scar's increasingly emptying mind— he's slipping further, those words are driving him wild. He blinks several times, trying to process the roundabout permission he's been granted, the chance to try if only he can fulfill the promise of pleasure amidst danger. He hopes to clear his vision, lift the haze for a moment to provide a coherent response, but each blink only serves to hide the swirl of vibrant blue that dances across his eyes, glowing brighter each time he opens them.

Grian watches, patient and silent, lips parted in invitation, as Scar processes what he's just said. He sees the brightness of his eyes, the blue wisps that dance around. He knows how fraying and thin Scar's self control is.

He wants it to snap.

Scar opens his mouth, but no words come out, just a needy, shaken huff before he's leaning down and devouring, barely even a kiss, more of an open drag of teeth that's pressed into Grian's mouth, nonsensical and demanding.

There are claws and fangs and a bright blue fog swirling around the both of them, fighting against the vibrance of the firelight and winning.

Despite the initial apprehension, it’s a wonder to Scar how he ever doubted himself, because of course he wouldn’t irreparably hurt Grian— protecting him is as ingrained in his instincts as anything else. It’s a spiral of both sides of his vex urges— to please and to devour— a dizzying mesh, a thrilling fusion of desires. 

They let themselves slip into this. Into controlled violence and hovering threats, into claws and fangs and blood, into nails dug into skin and bodies pressed close. Into danger that feels mindbogglingly good, stripping them of sanity as they keep, all too willingly, sinking deeper and deeper.

(Listen they’re little freaks they definitely should’ve negotiated a safe word before this all went down.) 

"Mmm." Grian groans, a drawn out sound. There’s a fresh bite wound at the side of his neck that throbs, overcome with sensations as the tender, broken skin meets air and Scar's mouth, the fresh, warm blood smeared around in the process. 

Deliriously, he tips his head to the side, eyes closed and hands trembling, giving that whole side of his throat to Scar. (He'd give him anything now. Anything.) 

Scar grins, teeth bared and lips slightly smeared with blood, when Grian cranes his neck even more, allowing for even further abuse. He presses in close again, kissing the spot using his wicked little smile. "You'd really give in so easily?" he murmurs against the bruised skin, tone as crackly as it is velvety, a contradictory blend. His words are playful, but his voice drops as he adds, pensive: "... only for me I'd hope."

There's a small spur at the words, a reminder that Grian's soul should be made of resisting, stitched through with endless, mischievous fights. And yet it leads nowhere, a dead end against Scar's breath at his throat, the velvety rumble of his voice. 

Grian whines, nonsensically, fingers weakly pawing at Scar's back without any real intention to sink in for now. His wing brushes over Scar again, a restless little motion of soft feathers, vulnerable prize caressing a vicious predator.

"For you," he echoes on a whine, barely remembering how to speak. And then he adds, laying himself bare and pliant, stripping all the defences and pressing control solely into Scar's palms (into his claws, into his teeth—): "Anything for you."

Scar practically keens at the admission, the surrender and for a second his voice is incredibly lucid as he lets out a quiet and almost incredulous, "gosh," words interlaced with a small chuckle. 

The chuckle anchors all of Grian's attention for a searing moment, a different kind of delight rushing wildly through him, curving his lips heedlessly into a triumphant smile. Knowing he's making Scar feel things tastes like victory, like a reward in itself, and he wants to gloat, taking it in, before he throws himself off the precipice and gives Scar more of himself, to exacerbate that, to make Scar tip into this  fall with him.

There's a more gentle, fond and intrigued touch down one of Grian's sides, a little less claw as Scar drags down his bare chest, but the tether snaps again as Scar licks over his lips, still hungry for more. The touch grows more purposeful and intense as he maps out his prey, testing the skin, seeking something. 

He spots whatever it is in the center of Grian's chest, the dip of his ribcage, something vulnerable and alive as he feels the rush of blood and a battered heartbeat under his fingertips. His claws tap there eagerly as his grin once again grows toothy and wild, presenting his expression to Grian and drinking in the sight of his own.

Grian shudders under the touch Scar traces across his chest, something soft and exploratory. Grian can feel his breath stutter against those fingertips, wonders how Scar feels about that; but his answer is right here, as his gaze meets Scar's at the attention-calling tap of his fingers. 

Breathlessly, Grian takes in Scar's grin, and oh, he's in trouble. His heart beats wildly against his ribs, somewhere under Scar's claws, as his eyes hang on Scar. Grian's irises are glowing with reflected blue, gaze as intense as it is hazed, vulnerability fighting with desire. His neck still throbs. The rush of urgent craving is ceaseless, drumming through his veins. 

With a pang of ache that travels all the way down to pool below his stomach, Grian leans up, not minding that there are claws in the way on his chest, reaching to press the smallest brush of his lips against Scar in an almost-kiss, reverent puff of breath tingling in its wake.

"Yours," he murmurs, pushing Scar on.

Scar has to reel in his claws so as not to break skin when Grian moves— that's his job to do— and he purrs lowly against Grian's lips, smile turning devilish when Grian's speaks, the word music to his happily-flicking ears. 

As pleased as he is by the gesture, he pushes Grian right back down where he belongs. 

With a tantalising, toothy smile Grian obeys without struggle, cooing in encouragement, a praise, an affirmation that Scar's doing what he should here.

There's a searing awareness of their roles tearing a path through him—something about Scar's ability to tear him apart at the slightest whim; something about his own helplessness; something about how he's essentially pinned down. The flush of dizzying, quivery pleasure he feels at the thought is disintegrating all of his rationality, rendering him into an all too willing prisoner of any and all of Scar's cravings.

Scar’s claws drag down Grian’s chest, enough to mark but not to break skin. He's toying with the idea, letting the thought of drawing blood dance across his mind, set something ablaze in his eyes. (But he shouldn't— not here— not too much…)

Grian shudders; his rapid breaths tremble right underneath all that sharpness, his fluttering heartbeat rabbity beyond a cage of ribs that suddenly feel all too brittle, paper-thin, a protection that means nothing if Scar decides he doesn't want it there.

And still, Grian pulls up no protections.

He’s a willing participant in this bloody abuse, letting Scar claw and bite, lost to the deliriousness of the sensations it brings. Like sea dragging him under, beckoning him to let it happen. 

And at some point down the line, soft feathers of Grian’s earwing brush across the back of Scar's hand that’s cupping his face. Grian wants him to know how much he's at his mercy, and how much he wants to be at his mercy.

Scar extends his fingers, no longer curling around Grian's cheeks, now experimentally carding through the feathers of the earwing that's been offered. He almost doesn't consciously register his decision to do so, he just feels something soft and knows he wants to touch, to claim, to pull, but no— No, he won’t. 

He is not going to harm Grian. Not like that.

He has other ways of claiming him after all. 

And while Scar might only be dazedly, barely aware of the shift and touch of his hand, it shoots across Grian's senses—the fingers burrowing into the soft feathers of his earwings.

It's got nothing with a conscious decision; Grian’s body is controlled by a nonsense of instincts, and they dictate him to go limp, drawing a low, soft sound of out him. His earwing twitches, at first away, then towards the touch, giving itself over just like the rest of him.

Scar feels the moment the earwing gives into him, and he's instantly thrilled, sliding the longer feathers in between his fingers and releasing a low purr. His other hand does the same, mirroring the touch on the other side. 

The earwing touches are enough to drive Grian insane, triggering something in him that's been dormant for too long, drawing out a spillage of pleading bird noises out of him. His wing that was lying sprawled across the ground lifts somewhat, curves, just to show off the feathers; they glisten with brilliant shades, reached both by blue wisps of magic and the warm glow of the campfire.

Scar shifts to more gentleness over the bruises, then reverently kisses the tips of Grian’s feathers, a soft little gesture he’s never been allowed to offer. His claws trace circles over the indents of his latest bite, and he leans to kiss and lightly suck on it, dazed from the taste of blood on his tongue.

And then he notices the wings.

The beautiful, multicolored span outlined by his own spectral glow— a breathtaking sight. Scar’s eyes dilate as they lock onto the delicate hues that are normally so hidden away. They shine, freshly-cleaned, and although perhaps the method wasn’t preferable, Scar still feels his soul catch fire with the knowledge that he was the one to wash them. He’s the reason they sparkle right now and simultaneously the reason they’re on full display. 

His eyes are wide and eager, scanning the feathers and grinning wide at the sight— his expression a mixture of ravenous and adoring. 

Almost brainlessly, Scar mutters a string of nonsensical phrases under his breath: ”mine, pretty, my pretty bird, so good, so good—“ before leaning down and properly kissing Grian, the words still slurred against their lips. 

At the string of praises and possessive words, Grian coos, equally as incoherent. His wing stretches a bit higher, delighted, feathers shining against the multicoloured glow. The muscles ache, unused to the motion, but it feels good, something in him tingling and telling him that this is right. The vulnerable underside of the wing is there, perfectly within reach, not trying to hide or tuck away, a state they haven't been able to achieve once in this world before this moment.

Grian's gaze snags at Scar's grin, at that expression that tells him Scar's treading the thought of devouring him whole. It tugs at his guts, tightens his stomach, sends his breath out of rhythm, but none of it feels bad. He revels in it, shivers and sinks into it, the feeling ultimately warm, slinking around him like a spiderweb, making him hold still, dazed and unaware of the imminent danger.

"Yours, yours, good, yes, all yours," he echoes back at Scar, words half-coos, melting into the kiss. He hums against Scar's lips, a pleased, needy little noise. His hands travel higher up Scar's back and press, tugging at him, telling him he wants him right here, over himself. 

When the kiss breaks, he follows, nipping at Scar's lips, trying to elicit something more yet again, playing into Scar's instincts in a way that seems deliberate, but is just a hazed jumble of incomprehensible cravings, something deep and richly yearning that doesn't take no for an answer. 

Grian refuses to let Scar retreat in the slightest, and it’s that utter willingness and provocation that’s keeping Scar just barely tethered to reality— because surely his prey shouldn’t be this pliant. Shouldn’t be urging him on.

Because Grian isn’t his prey, nor or his meal—

But isn’t he? 

Once again, Scar’s head spins, dizzied as the line between mate and prey becomes muddled in his vex brain. And somehow through it all comes laughter of all things because— because this started with a bath and now Grian is underneath him trilling and begging to be manhandled. It’s borderline absurd and the sheer irrationality of both their behavior right now results in a sudden, throaty chuckle emerging from Scar as he teases Grian’s lips with his teeth. 

It’s almost silly, but more than anything, it’s electrifying, thrilling, exciting. There’s blood smeared over Scar’s fingers, and yet he’s having fun. 

Scar's laughter sends a wave of warmth through Grian, so very different from the scorching heat of everything else. It's a sound he basks in, slotting it somewhere next to his wildly beating heart, treasured amidst the inferno that ravages the rest of his body. He hums quietly against it, reveling in the way the sounds merge, even as it tips into a whine at the tease of Scar's teeth on Grian's lips.

With struggling clarity, Scar continues to giggle, although it morphs into an alluring purr. “Always said no one can have ‘em—” Scar’s hands frame Grian’s face, tucking his earwings over his cheeks. “—well what if I want them?” A careful drag of claws through those tiny feathers and heavy breath over Grian’s lips. “What if I want you?”

Grian’s breath hitches, noises falling silent for a moment as Scar's claws lightly rake across his feathers, tucking the soft fluff of the earwings against Grian's cheeks. Grian's gaze holds onto his, dark and intense, and his throat bobs as he swallows emptily. 

He feels dizzy, like he's going insane. His brain bounces the sharp thought of danger against his feathers, but he's holding still for Scar, expression hot and adoring and desiring. It feels explosive, like sparks of a live wire, and he wants it, all of it, a tinge of fear crashing into safety of this being Scar, the trust at the dazed awareness that he's in good hands, and he wants those hands to be clawed and at his skin—at his feathers. 

A part of Grian’s brain that's made of pure instinct trills in happy victory, telling him this is what he wanted, that he succeeded—he showed off his feathers and his mate now wants him. It's intoxicating, a jumbled mess of agreements thrashing underneath Grian's tongue while he fights to figure out how to express any of them. 

In the end, he coos, a small whine pressed against Scar's hovering lips. His earwings twitch, sending a spike of sensation though him as that creates a gentle drag against Scar's claws, eliciting a tiny mewl from his throat. 

And through it all, he's still here, still not running.

When he finds his voice, it's equally soft and pleading; it sounds like gentle affection and like deep craving, all at once. It's showing boundless love to the beast while tempting it to devour him. "You can have," he murmurs, low and hoarse. "You can have me." All of me.

Scar feels as if he could howl with excitement and triumph, but instead what comes out is a hushed purr, a rumbly thing pressed right up against the corner of Grian’s lips. 

“Won’t hurt,” he whispers, in spite of all the damage he’s already wrought. But even in a haze of delirious bloodlust, Scar still draws the line there. He doesn’t want to harm Grian’s wings. He has no intention of breaking those gorgeous feathers or of taking them for himself. He doesn’t need to. He has Grian, all of Grian, and all Scar wants to do is to admire his lovely possessions.

To give them the love they deserve. 

To give Grian the love he absolutely deserves.

Scar tucks a promise against the corner of Grian's lips, and Grian quietly coos back. A hushed, I know, tender and loving and trusting. 

There’s still slight hesitation in Scar’s movements, months of ingrained resistance still fighting his every motion, but Scar’s hand finally leaves Grian’s cheek and those soft, tiny feathers to embrace the real prize. Dozens of greedy hands have tried and yet Scar— fangs and claws bared— is being offered them willingly. His lips curl in satisfaction.

Grian hums quietly at Scar's hesitation, hands tracing light patterns into the skin of Scar's back. Mapping out all the scarred tissue there, the edges of which he's seen many many times, memorised, and now they unfurl under his fingertips. His to touch. His, his, his. 

He's going to be gentle with Scar's wounds, like he is with Grian's wings.

— and then his thoughts dissipate, his breath hitching shakily, as Scar's hand makes contact with his wing. A confusing onslaught of feelings rushes through him, and he both wants to look and doesn't want to see it. Some deep-rooted part of him tells him that he should be scared, that this should be dangerous, but the rest of him pushes against it, whispering soft and pliant I know, I know, I know. 

He wants Scar's hand right where it is, and more. He wants—

Claws sink in between the feathers harmlessly as Scar trails his fingers down their length, positively entranced by this allowance. There’s a soft hum of appreciation, of reassurance, and Scar’s other hand stays, just as content with raking his claws through Grian’s hair.

Grian shudders, his emotions a tangle that tips into pleasure as Scar's clawed fingers drag across the tender underside of his wings, caressing the feathers that have been untouched for months. He tips his head into Scar's other hand that's tangled in his hair, nuzzling as a spillage of coos makes it out, a nonsensical string that is very, very far from distressed. 

He takes one deep breath, that's meant to be steadying but instead quivers all the way through, and he pushes his wing into Scar's touch.

Eager to get access to every bit of what’s just been offered to him, Scar drags Grian up, settling him once again in his lap. His other hand snakes around Grian’s waist, searching for a spot he was never allowed to touch, travelling to the base of Grian’s wings, claws running over the smaller feathers. He sinks his fingers into their length, revelling the softness in contrast to all his sharp edges.

And Grian is doomed. So completely, utterly doomed.

He shudders in the best of ways, the coo that makes it past his lips vibrating with it as his back arches and wings blissfully push into the touch. The hands in his feathers are driving him crazy. He's pressing himself against Scar, a babble of purring, whiny, defenceless bird noises spilling out of him unbidden, any semblance of self control left.

Neither of them wants to stop here.

And so they don’t. 

[there’s somehow 10k more rp words to this debauchery. just use your imagination we now fade to black <33]

[bibibbon]

Chap 429 made me realize I can't stand Class 1A anymore, I like individual students like Tokoyami but as a whole I can't stand them. Their bond is so artificial especially when none of them gave any concern about Izuku's well-being throughout the first year and took Bakuhoe's word immediately. Plus, they are mostly flakes riding off of Izuku's heroism and hard work during the Villain Hunt arc. None of them doing were jackshit about the criminals including "Symbol of Victory" Bakuturd until they remember that Izuku exists. The fact that Hori never lets the students addresses or think about Izuku's quirkless nature after the OFA reveal is something I will never forgive Hori for.

Hori tries so hard to glaze them as this unbreakable team of heroes, but he cheats using plot armor and plot contrivances to make his point seem valid but most of these kids would be dead if the villains were allowed to kill them instead of Hori holding them back with puppet strings. I hate to sound deranged but if some of the students had actually died during the first battle then I could see 1-A actually building a bond and realizing how precious life is and the dangers of being a hero then their concern for Izuku's well-being would seem more valid after all of the other crap they were ignoring about.

Lastly, I hate that damn poem that Hori claims was the inspiration for Deku because it feels like an excuse to justify his narrative abuse of Izuku and deny him any moment of confidence or pride in his achievements. This was supposed to be the story of the Greatest Hero not Class 1-A nobodies. Meanwhile he is too busy celebrating Bakuhoe's moments for during the bare minimum and fans on reddit and elsewhere eat up like its pure cinema or something.

Fair enough it's not that I actually hate class 1A but for some reason I can't simply believe that their dynamic is one of a little happy found family. I just can't and its probably because there's too many characters and we don't get the screentime needed for them to develop such a dynamic.

That is to say I don't hate class 1A like I love the individual characters like tokoyami, iida, jiro and I even love the little groups they have or at least the potential that was in those groups and dynamics.

It doesn't help that it's class 1A that gets the whole we are all heroes thing and the whole we will be there for you Izuku in the vigilante arc. I don't know it falls flat and becomes underwhelming simply because their dynamic isn't well built neither is it well developed. Also them saying they care for izuku seems like it's quite difficult to believe considering that we haven't seen them voice concerns over Izuku's injuries or even visit him during the first war arc when he was in a coma but maybe that's me saying too much because they were in a war and everyone was busy with stuff and trauma.

When it comes to the whole thing with bakugo I personally think that he was supposed to be a minor character for izuku to surpass but him being Izuku's symbol of victory and all of that shows us exactly that izuku hasn't DEVELOPED AT ALL IN THE SERIES!! izuku has continually been an incredibly static character and the ending shows that. Izuku still thought of OFA as a gift from all might instead of his own quirk, he literally never understood the wrongs of the hero system and he never stops viewing all might as this big hero who does so much. Like ugh this could of been things that izuku develops from and becomes a better person but I guess not.

Realistically many 1A members should either be

1) expelled (how is mineta and bakugo still there)

2) dropped out (Iam sorry you're telling me all of these kids parents let them contribute in this bs like are your parents that bad)

3) dead (you're telling me in a field of naive and not properly trained first years none of them have died really?!?!)

These factors would definitely make 1A closer to eachother and would show that they would care a lot more because of what they experienced and what they might blame themselves for what happend previously and it would be realistic/make sense within the series.

Also less 1A members would show just how competitive and tiring the hero course can be (proving aizawas words right) and it would also make the characters big moments that hori gave them have more actual suspense and impact within the narrative and plot.

I have mixed feelings about the poem and the post "the uselessness of izuku midoriya" while I do think it's a good post that shines a different perspective onto things Iam also just not a fan of the concept. I suppose it's because I don't think MHA was built in a way where it's story is a tragedy, like I don't believe tragedy suits the plot of MHA especially when it's not being treated as one.

However, I do think that it could be used as something that izuku starts with at the beginning and then develops into something much more. I think that having izuku choose the name deku and then developing into the name deriku would be fitting just how I would of liked for him to develop from someone whose acknowledgements and influence aren't recognised to someone whose achievements are recognised but not overly praised or anything of the sort something like having him be somewhat of a myth someone whose influence is known but works in the shadows (not literally) but he isn't directly known and isn't like all might. Ugh I don't know how to word it but I hope you understand. I suppose the closest example I can think of is Kim dojka (minus the angst)

(for context this is the poem I assume you're talking about)

Edit

I suppose this maybe better phrasing to what I was trying to say last paragraph.👇

[actualbird]

/ spoilers and thoughts for luke's 4th bday card, SSR Journey Beyond + some deranged theorizing

i really liked this card story!! it was a refreshing novelty from most of the other luke SSRs released this year which tended to err on the side of "sickeningly sweet and romantic but not really telling much of a story" because this card story was different, it actually had a PLOT. WITH STAKES. WITH A BIG BAD VILLAIN FROM 2 YEARS AGO (SSR Dark Swirl) WANTING TO TAKE REVENGE ON AGENT RAVEN. i was very hooked, i found the entire conflict between Bright and Luke (and Rosa) interesting and entertaining, this story actually had me invested in what would happen next (which i havent felt for a while, with recent luke cards). i found that the flashbacks to the past were very valuable too, and my heart all but broke upon learning how Luke and Rosa missed each other all those years ago because they were BOTH yearning idiots who went to visit the other in their respective cities. IDIOTS. THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER.

all that said though, the thing from this card that ended up sticking in my mind the most though was the memory Professor Carlson shared where Luke told him he was giving up his studies and his position in Professor's Carlson's research group to join the NSB

because

what

i talked about this with Chika @khickuwa last night and we both agree that Luke's sudden desire to join the NSB looked like it came out of nowhere. of course, we know the backstory that he crossed paths with the NSB due to that transnational case that he got caught up in, but like thats one thing to be Aware of them. it's a completely other thing for Luke to sound so genuinely excited to join the NSB, to say that it's his dream, to sacrifice his prestigious position at the research group, to give up his studies in a field of study he'd excelled in for years. thats....a lot to sacrifice. why would he do this?

this card makes me desperately want more lore about the specificities of that transnational case Luke got caught up in, it makes me want to see the exact scene where the NSB interacted with Luke because like

holy shit, what did the NSB say or offer to Luke to make Luke literally shift gears on his entire life so definitively? did they appeal to Luke's deep seated sense of heroism, is that all it took? possibly, but if im to put on my Theory Goggles for a moment, this all gives me the feeling that like...the NSB wanted Luke specifically.

when the NSB found Luke, he was nothing but a particularly bright college student, but thats nothing out of the ordinary, there are tons of bright college students out there. so why did they extend recruitment to Luke specifically? perhaps because the circumstances of the death of Luke's parents has more to it than meets the eye, perhaps they were connected to something the NSB was investigating. i dont have any theories for what exactly they got caught up in, but i do know that if like....if the NSB had information on the death of Luke's parents...

that sure as hell would be one damn good hook and bait for Luke to bite onto

the NSB: there's more to your parents' death. if you join us, maybe you might be able to learn more about what happened and uncover the mystery---

Luke, before they even finish speaking: here's my application

while this is all just a theory, it's somewhat supported by an AU card, SSR Dreamlike Drama. in that story, Luke's parents were killed and he spent his life tracking down the perpetrators so he could enact revenge. as much as Luke in the present likes to say that hes Over It, he still misses and loves his parents (as is evidenced greatly in SSR Burning Reminiscence) and them being a trigger for him to change the trajectory of his life is still within the realm of possibility

this whole post is all over the place but my general conclusion is that like......Luke's life is so much more complicated than it originally appears. whether it's his later ties to the NXX substance due to his condition, or the possibility that his parents were connected to it when he was still a small child, it's like....i enjoy thinking about AUs where Luke lives a normal life, but man, it seems like he's almost destined to end up in this web no matter what he does.

[offical-ouroboros]

I Love You

John Doe x Reader Blurb

CW: Unhealthy Relationship, Referenced Kidnapping/Captive Reader, General Relationship Angst from Yandere Doe, Author Projecting on You

Literally just wrote this because I'm sleep deprived and wanted to post some angst id normally write in a doc or something LOL

He didn't understand why you were crying. Why you were ignoring him. Why you seemed so scared when he came near you. Of course, he liked seeing you scared. He liked your tears. He liked how jumpy you were. But... Not like this.

"You... Look at me." He whines, reaching out to touch your arm before pausing as you flinch. "You, what's wrong? Did something happen?" His voice is full of concern.

You can't muster up the energy to even respond with a sound.

"My love?" Doe brings himself to force you into a hug, no longer minding it as you tremble and try to shake him off. "Talk to me, You! I miss your voice..."

You don't want to look at him. You don't want to talk to him. You don't want to be anywhere near him. But you can't escape. Whatever he is... You're just trapped. Wherever you go in his 'house' he'll find you. The front door, the windows- It all leads to a terrifying abyssal mess that you're sure would kill you if it had the chance. You're safest with him. For now, at least.

He takes a deep inhale of your scent, sighing as he nuzzles into you. His arms are wrapped around yours, and his hair is smothering you as it coils and clings with an equally deranged need for you.

"You...?" He speaks up again. "I love you.~"

I love you. You hated how he said that- You knew he meant it, to an extent. But...

"I love love love you!" He repeats, grinning as he rolls his head against yours. "Don't you love me too?"

No. You didn't. How could you? He'd... Taken you. You barely knew him!

~ "Can I come home with you?" He'd asked. Of course you said no- This man was on the bus you took to work, then showed up there too- Who knows how long he'd been watching you?

It didn't matter what you said. Because soon enough, he'd shown up in your home. You told him to leave- And when he wouldn't, you tried to leave your self. But the second you turned around, you realized something was wrong. Your house... Wasn't yours.

It was his.

You didn't understand how it happened, or why, but now you were here.

It had been a day, maybe. You couldn't tell. It didn't matter. All that mattered to him is you were there. ~

"Doe." You say softly, and he immediately becomes ecstatic. "Yes, You? What is it, my love?" His hyper voice hurts your ear as he talks so loud. With the flinch you make, he seems to understand.

"I want to go home." You continued. His joyous persona faded a bit. "What do you mean, You? You are home! You're with me!"

"No. I want to be at my house." You say a bit more sternly.

His smile is a bit more forced now as he moves uncomfortably. You can keep telling him that all you want- He hates the idea.

"But... You? I love you! Why do you want to leave?" He can't even comprehend why you're uncomfortable in this situation.

It could take a few minutes, days- Might never happen. But hopefully, one day he finally caves. With a lot of guilt on both sides.

- "Doe, you don't do this to someone you love." You reason while trying to stay calm. "I want to go outside. I wanna see the sky- Feel nature under me- Have fresh air."

He lets out a soft whimper, similar to a dog. "But, You-"

"No, Doe." You don't let him finish whatever he's planning to say to make you feel bad for wanting to leave. "This isn't normal. I want to leave. Now."

You hate the feeling as it hurts you to raise your voice at him, to use a negative tone with him. But you have to. If there's any chance of you loving him back, he needs to let you go.

The look on his face is so... Scared. If he could cry, he would.

You look away, taking a deep breath. "Doe..." Your voice is much more gentle now, and he anxiously awaits your words.

"I just want to go back to my house." You start to explain. "I want to go home. I want to go outside. I want to do... Anything. Anything outside of here. It doesn't mean I'm leaving you."

He's holding his jacket and trembling.

"I'm not like you. I can't just stay cooped up like this. And you can't make me stay here and claim to love me."

"But I-"

"I know. You do love me. That's what you're going to say, isn't it?"

He tenses up more. It looked like he was almost breaking under the stress. You hesitate in your mind, eventually reaching out to touch him.

"I understand you don't want to be alone. I know... You love me. But right now, I can't feel the same. Let me go. Take me back to my house. You can stay near me. I just... Need a break."

He's quiet.

" . . . Do you promise you won't leave me, You?"

Silence.

You sigh, pulling him into a hug.

"I promise I won't leave you, Doe."

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

sharing my blurb for SLUT ME OUT 3 here (although i recommend reading all of them, everyone across the spectrum of haters and champions brought their A-game for this, as is only right and proper), both because this was the most fun i had blurbing all year and because i need to share the greatness of SLUT ME OUT 3, the most fun two and a half minutes in music i've heard this year, with as many people as humanly possible; do yourself a favor and click play, but, like, maybe not in public (this song is disgusting and i am obsessed)

Nothing about such an aggressively single-minded ode to fucking as many bitches as physically possible should work, and yet I listen to “Slut Me Out 3” and am filled only with radiant joy. The song is is so hyperbolic, so extreme, so wildly filthy and yet weirdly unhorny that it’s impossible to take at face value as an expression of actual human behavior or desire; it reminds me less of other songs about fucking and more of that sketch where Vanessa Bayer can’t nail the tone on a cutely self-deprecating Instagram caption. Every single detail is miraculously deranged: the most genuinely disgusting scatological image I’ve encountered this year or possibly this decade, all the more jarring because it comes right on the heels of an incongruously sweet bit of mama’s boy pride; the concept of an endorsement with Plan B, as if the manufacturers of emergency contraception are a cereal brand signing a deal with the gold medalist of the Sex Olympics; the fact that she wants him to have her baby; “marinated pussy.” Take the proclamation “fuck her til my dick bleedin’”: for a half second it sounds normal, just a guy bragging about his stamina in the sack, and then your brain processes the actual line and you think, wait, what? Is that… good? Is it supposed to be hot? Is it even possible? Should he be seeking medical attention? Lines like that break reality, rendering the universe of the song cartoonish and bizarre. NLE comes across as some kind of pornographic comic book mutant, a superhero whose gift, burden, purpose, and promise is to fuck every woman alive. His dick is not just huge, it’s inconveniently large; his touch is so hot it can literally be fatal. When he excuses himself after finishing the job with two freak hoes to depart for an orgy at “pussy villa” (a pussy villa? the pussy villa? is Pussy Villa a proper noun?), his attitude is that of Batman, depositing the Scarecrow at the precinct before turning right back around to resume his unceasing rooftop watch. His hunger for justice (sex) is as insatiable as his determination is relentless; wherever there is pussy to be fucked, he’ll be there, Tom Joad as written by Philip Roth. The whole ridiculous scenario floats easily by on an ebullient beat, busy but never crowded, anchored by NLE’s motor-mouthed nonchalance. Carey Washington’s playfully chipper refrain functions similarly to the close-ups of women laughing in ecstasy during the stripping scenes in Magic Mike XXL, reassuring the audience that however it might look from the outside, everyone involved wants to be here and is having a grand old time. After the music cuts out, she says “Oh my God,” laughing and incredulous. You can almost see her rolling her eyes, giving him an affectionate shove, turning to us as the house lights come up, smiling and shaking her head as if to say, can you believe what we just did? [10]

[spilledmilkfkdies]

So what are your personal thoughts on Yilidth (if you haven't already answered). I hadn't read the comics in a while but I don't think they ever said anything about him being related to Duman, though considering his eye and hair colour I guess it was probably implied. How do you think he created him? Like did he just use magic or did he had a one night stand and then years later, a basket with baby Duman just appeared with a letter telling him he's the dad, and he's like "Oh, f*#k".

I actually made an au where the wizards had joined Yilidth's wizard cult as novices and one task that he made them do was babysit Duman. Imagine the chaos😂

I think I have given my thoughts on him before, but that was both a while ago and I didn't appreciate him as much as I do now, which you can tell 💀💀 very angry very rambly stuff over there- So let me give some more/updated thoughts!!

Him being underused and shoehorned is still very true, unfortunately. He could've been a super handy tool to give us more information about the whole Terrestrial conflict, since that was an interesting part of canon that might have benefitted from a bit more exploration, even if it was a bit late. But then he just. Wasn't?? He was announced, he came, he died?????? And that was the first and last we saw of him. Honestly deranged boooo yucky.

He never even got to interact with the wizards again- You could literally say he was just some random criminal that had been locked away and almost nothing would change, and that's really his main problem. Aside from his design. I mean, love a blank canvas to throw a bunch of takes at, but come on!!!!!

Him and Duman's relation was never really mentioned either, I don't think? Beyond the "He was the leader of the fairy hunters!" there's really um. Nothing. Like in general. Ask canon Yllidith their names and he'll give you a blank stare fgbhbn- Tbh I'm surprised Duman's even in the lil flashback thingy at all ngl

Now, can we call any sort of relation implied? Are we gonna give them that much credit? Well idk! I'm just personally a fan of it so I just kinda. Squinted real hard. Matching eye colour? Mhm. Hair colour? Sure kinda. Yllidith having illusion magic and Duman being a shapeshifter? Yep that lines up enough for me, that does it, they're related now. Some people see the vision, others might not- I've spoken to plenty of people who aren't a fan of the take and that's a-okay, just know that I very much am 👉👈

This is a. Surprisingly consistent thing for me too?? Like yeah there's a case of "it depends on what I'm doing", there usually is- But not to a large extent ig? The method varies, but in a lot of stuff I'm doing now there's definitely a relation in one way or another.

Usually Duman is more or less made from scratch, a magic'd up baby, if you will. Though the process did include Yllidith's blood, so you have enough wiggle room to still say there's a blood relation. (Duman wouldn't.) (Yllidith only does when it's convenient.) But I've been getting the urge to explore a more normal approach where he was just regularly born lately, so maybe I'll get to that at some point too.

And!! If you ever feel like sharing more of that AU in any way, please do, because it sounds absolutely DELIGHTFUL. Imagine them thinking it's gonna be an easy enough task, and they wonder why nobody else wants to do it, then little Duman starts shapeshifting into horrors beyond mortal comprehension. Bye, I'm obsessed.

[sinkableruby]

on ougi tease flirts (araragi edition)

(also interjecting here this bit is a lot funnier in japanese. ougi is like "you're gonna be fallen in love with by me you know!" "uh" "it's gonna suck for you if i fall in love with you you know!"

like she's warning him. it's very funny to me

this from the onimonogatari commentary track is also significant:

now. nadeko says "too" (も) but when ougi replies she doesn't use that particle, instead saying 私は. は is the topic marker, so what ougi is saying is kind of like "well, as for me, i like araragi senpai." it's a subtle distinction ougi's making from her and nadeko here.

also, the translation for the next part is actually wrong here!

if you listen closely, ougi says GAKE, not KAGE. ougi does not say "i adore him from his shadow to his back," ougi says: お慕い申し上げているよ崖から背中を押したいくらい

which literally translates to "I adore him to the point I want to push his back off a cliff."

which sounds very scary and deranged.

and is. ougi wants to push araragi off a cliff. this is literally what she is saying. nadeko's "adore?" ("おしたいって。。。") should probably actually translate to "you want to push him...?" (they're homonyms) because ougi is being deranged and insane. she's so real tbh she only gets realer

but the idea of 背中を押す (to push one's back) in this case is also like, pushing someone forward, cheering them on. giving them the push they need to succeed. so, ougi wants to push araragi to where he needs to go, while also severely hurting him in the process. classic jeerleader ougi move

adore "慕う" is like... love dearly, adore, but can also be kind of like worship, honor, revere, idolize-- fitting because ougi is a big fan. she also says it very politely, because of course she is nothing but a polite and respectful kouhai. :)

but to me all this indicates ougi's feelings are something more platonic than romantic-- or maybe it's more like queerplatonic. ougi flirts teasingly but its not really meant to be taken as anything more than just that, a joke, hence ougi's strange almost non-sequitur response to nadeko's reaction. in other words, i think araragi is probably right on the mark when he says ougi is just teasing (or being malicious. never forget that a lot of (maybe even most of) what ougi does and says is criticism. it's entirely possible she's mocking him). though whether ougi would truly mind kissing araragi or not is left a mystery... what can be said for sure, though, is that she loves him very much.

[ananke-xiii]

T stands for Tara (or maybe for Trauma)

Rewatching S9 sure is a lesson in paying attention for me 'cause I missed so many things the first time it's almost like I'm watching a new season now. The biggest example is, of course, Dean's emotions vs Responsibility/Accountability.

The Gadreel Thing is so much more layered than I thought and this was on me cause the show was spitting facts: Dean gets manipulated by the angel, there's no doubt about that. The show makes it abundantly clear from episode 1 that angels are, generally speaking, not to mess with and now even more so, now that they're on earth, fallen and in pain they are even more deranged and dangerous than usual. They're desperate for vessels and it's a real fucking mess, it's absolutely ugly.

Now, Dean doesn't really know about all this but he does know that angels are dicks, I think he even trademarked the phrase. However, Dean's desperate cause a fucking doctor told him that Sam's life is in God's hands (as he had a right to be, fuck you Doctor but also, in hindsight, LOL if only they knew they were indeed in God's hands all along...). He prays to Cas, Cas doesn't answer and what does he do? He prays to angels, any angel who will listen.

And this is Dean's fatal flaw: one might say he's too emotional or that he's emotional disregulated but Dean acts based on what he feels at the moment and he has two modes: either he feels nothing or too much and this is unfortunately not healthy, talking from experience.

The thing is that Dean's emotions are treated as a sort of moral compass in the show, as something that either justifies or blames him and I'm not sure that's fair to Dean, to the other characters and to the audience too.

But back to S9, S9 really pointed the finger at Dean's emotions and said this is what happens when you're not centered in yourself: people take advantage of you. Because Dean was taken advantage of by Gadreel, by Crowley and even by Cain. it's abysmally sad.

So, in my view, Dean was responsible for making a desperate call to desperate monsters based on desparate emotions and that sets off a chain of events that he cannot be entirely held accountable for. This doesn't mean Sam shouldn't be pissed, he has all the right to be so. What I'm saying is that they're so focused on their issues (the same they had by the end of s8 that s9 has just taken to its tragic extremes) that they're not seeing the bigger picture. And while Sam can be justified for failing to see it because he was also a victim of manipulation (a manipulation where his own brother has a hand in) and literally not in his sound mind, Dean should be able to start gathering the pieces but he fails to do so. Why?

I think an extremely interesting episode is "Bad Boys", if I remember the title correctly. The one where we come to know that Dean was in a boys' home for 2 months. Full disclosure I don't like the episode for its overly sentimental tone and 'cause there are a lot of factual incorrect things but it very well succeeds in showing us the root of Dean's behavior.

In this episode Dean clearly states (and he seems to believe it) that it wasn't John's fault (as Sam pointed out) that he got arrested and brought to Sonny's boys' house. It was his fault.

And we, we absolutely see that this is 100% not true. Like, none at all. All the fault was 100% on John, period. But here they are, something like 15 or more years later and Dean, a full adult now, still thinks that it was his fault.

So, once again, in case we had forgotten, the show reminded us that the main source of Dean's issue with responsibility stems from his childhood trauma.

This is why he now blames himself for Kevin's death and Sam's possession. Which it's actually true cause he did call the angels in a reckless, illogical, desperate moment, bringing havoc on that poor hospital instead of waiting for 5 fucking minutes and calm down. So yeah, Dean's got a problem. However he is NOT responsible for Gadreel's con just like he wasn't responsible for John being a neglectful and abusive father. And yet he takes these burdens on himself because he did call the angels and he did steal the bread but both times he acted from a place of desperation and both symbolical and literal starvation.

it's still a problem but it's another kind of problem.

Now, what does S9 in this regard? It made it all worse. Yeah.

Dean makes the same mistake twice but this time I will hold Dean if not responsible, surely accountable for it.

Tara is the glaring example of what I'm trying to say.

Tara is the woman John Winchester had a thing with while they were hunting a knight of hell together. Or something like that. She dies because of Dean but this time Dean doesn't blame himself, he blames Crowley and he's in the wrong.

Crowley manipulates Dean just like Gadreel did. In fact, Dean was hunting for his prey, Gadreel, when Crowley shows up promising to do something fun fun fun together. And Dean capitulates because this is what he thinks the solution to his problems is: fun without consequences. Except, there are. like. tons of them.

Of course, Crowley's not Gadreel and he knows Dean so much better and uses the ghost pf John Winchester to lure him in ("Does T stand for terrible father?" etc). Together they go to one of John's storage units (parents trapped in demonic storage units while their sons become ghosts or even demons is a literal thing in s9, ask Linda Tran; the symbolic implications are simply delicious, I'll forever love Carver for his command of symbolism) and the dance begins.

They end up in Tara's shop and here Dean is the absolute worst: he fucking shows there with the literal King of Hell by his side, downright lies about it and fucking reassures Tara that it's all good and she should trust them. Them?! A literal stanger AND the King of Hell? Dean was out of his mind with grief and hurt etc but this is borderline stupid and demanding and all sorts of bad things that got Tara dead by skin-peeling. Ugh.

Tara immediately calls his bullshit because she has the knee thingy: her knee aches in the presence of a demon. Yeah, yeah, Dean's a demon foreshadowing, cool, but also. like. Dean lied and he came clean just cause he couldn't do otherwise.

He vouches for Crowley and this leads to admittedly even stupider Tara to believe this stranger and put a bullet in her demon trap, an action that will later prove fatal for her.

So Tara dies horribly because of the Capital Sin of Trusting Impossibly Beautiful White Men Who Claim They Want to Save&Protect People but really, mainly because of Dean.

And I find it sooo interesting and telling that Dean is ready to beat himself up for Kevin and Sam to the point of taking on the fucking Mark of Cain because he didn't have the tools to handle big emotions (not his fault but it is his responsibility as an adult to try and look into this since it's apparenlty hurting people). However, he promptly distanced himself from Tara: that was on Crowley.

And maybe it was. Because Crowley was manipulating Dean etc. But how come Dean CAN see where responsibility lies NOW and yet he cannot see it in the Gadreel Thing? How can he absolve himself so easily?

Here lies Dean's second fatal flaw, one that he shares with his brother: for all their talks about saving people and the world, at the end of the day they only care about their own world, that is strictly each other. And they do that because SURPRISE!SURPRISE! their only caregiver didn't care for their well-being and closed them off from the real world. Literally so. Dean didn't go to the dance, supposedly didn't keep learning how to play guitar, didn't do any other boxing match or whatever he did in high school.

The show presents it as HIS choice but was it really??? He was a goddamn kid, of course he wanted those things AND he wanted to be with his brother. If choice it was, it was an utterly unfair one and definitely a choice too big for a 16 yo teenager. Similar thing applies to the Gadreel Thing: it was Dean's choice but was it really? People see it differently but I'd say that choice under coercion is not a real choice, add trauma and unresolved issues to the mix and you've got a recipe for disaster.

Now, I'm not one for "John's the monster in this story" cause he's another complicated character but also yes, as a parent he is a monstrous parent and understanding his trauma doesn't justify him, just like with any other character.

This is, of course, the core of the Carver era and one of the reasons why I like it: because it doesn't shy away from showing Sam and Dean's hypocrisy and where it comes from.

Finally, I just want to say that Tara in Buddhism is "The Venerable Mother of Liberation", the one who compassionately saves people in the samsara. It's ironic that she gets brutally killed right before Dean takes on the mark, am I right? It's also not ironic that Carver era ended with the Resurrection of Mary Winchester after Dean was released of the Mark and released The Darkness in the world. They did a thing.

[wawamouse]

⭐, please !!!!! (if it suits you)

Dealer's choice, ei? I guess I will talk about "Life Gets Tedious Enough"/Something Deranged, my very first Oz fic(s). :) Immediate thoughts: horrible title. Doesn't match the theme I created with the rest of the series. The series also has a horrible name—"Something Deranged". Bit of a misnomer. The series is pretty tame. Fic #1 and the series title are both song lyric titles, that's why they don't match the theme. I honestly want to change both but idk what to so eh.

But yes, let's take a walk back to August 30, 2023. I will set the scene and first admit that the I had originally watched Oz in 2018 bc my college had HBO Go lol, but I had not watched it in its entirety (so Rewatch 3 is more like Rewatch 2 if we're honest…). I had read a lot of fanfic back then (mostly Miguel/Ryan) for obvious reasons (abundance) (Keller/Beecher didn't interest me that much) (I actually didn't ship anyone when I originally watched Oz — kind of amazing in retrospect). I download fanfic rather than bookmark it, so a partial Fringe rewatch in 2023 had led me to remember Charlie (Kirk Acevedo) was also in Oz, which led me to remember my treasure trove of Oz fic. I had actually used Miguel's character as the basis of an OC for a story I was writing back in 2018, about these two guys stuck at a cabin in the middle of nowhere, having to pull a lever everyday to prevent the sky from collapsing or whatever (as bad as it sounds), and I was like "hm" maybe I should reread some Oz fanfic to be re-inspired! (Note: I never did end up revisiting the story) Cue me rereading all the fic I had saved. Cue me rewatching parts of the actual show to contextualize the fanfic and Remember. Cue me being like "Hold on a sec, this Chico guy…"

Again, I didn't really ship anyone with anyone, but I thought Guerra was kind of funny for the atrocities (also and perhaps mostly because he was hot) (his pretty privilege...) (But also: him being a character that basically only exists to support Miguel's storyline = very funny. Very gay). In my Oz revisitation of '23, I was like "Wait, d'oh! enemies to lovers! Claaaassic! I'm sure this has been done!" Well, no spoilers there, it had been done. About 5 times, with only @/merelyafigment's wonderful "Dose" existing at the time I would've initially been crawling through the fanfiction archives. WOEEEEE!!! <My bafflement and disappointment.

Here was a dynamic that spanned nearly the entire show that seemed primed for the fanfic girlies (and me lol) to read into. Only 5 fics?? (I will say it was pretty serendipitous that 2 of them were Chinese, which I had taught myself to actually read starting basically just 3 years prior 🫡 物以类聚 人以群分 😆) That said, I think it was perfect that I got back into Oz when I did, though, because I didn't have much confidence in my fic writing ability before 2020 when I lost my mind and wrote 59 fics for a TV show I watched in April a month after most lockdowns began LOL. That experience was literally the only thing that made me go (SIGHHHH) "I guess I will have to be the change I wish to see in the world". And then I wrote "Life Gets Tedious Enough".

Ah, and now the commentary of the actual fic itself begins.

It's kind of funny to read it back and see where some of the characterisations and dialogue quirks I wrote into that fic, and that series in general, differ on how I would approach Miguel and Chico's characterisations now. Firstly, I used "hermano" a lot in that series, something I picked up from reading other fanfic which I don't use at all in my fic anymore, as I realised in subsequent rewatches that it's not really used in the show by anyone except by Ryan, mockingly.

I like the Chico hallucination choice I used in this series, though:

A part of him thinks nah, no way, remembering the fucking shadows—pointing at him, sending him away, back to Oz, that place he’d never left—remembering all those hands grabbing him, ghosts jumping on his back, sliding a garrote around his neck. But the green tab sliding out onto Alvarez’s finger brings to mind other memories, too—music pulsing through him, colors of the world warping to the beat, the world spinning, Alvarez seeming to glow in front of him— The little pill of Destiny sits pretty against the color of Alvarez’s skin, and Chico—Chico starts to lean forward.

And I see my penchant for writing Chico winding up Miguel until they straight up fight about it began here. There is a sensitivity and uncertainty I gave to Chico's characterisation in this series which began at the end of "Life Gets Tedious Enough" that carries into "Holding Up the Sky". I still flip flop on in terms of whether or not I think it's a stupid choice and random characterisation. There's definitely a lot in this series that I think I missed the mark on/feel self conscious about, but I was pretty satisfied with how "Life Gets Tedious Enough" turned out at the time that I wrote it, and I still think it's one of the better fics in the "Something Deranged" series. Idk. It's kind of a whatever series in general imo so I'm a little 🥴 that it's more or less got the most eyes on it out of all my Oz fanfics. It's okay, though. I was trying stuff out. I wish I had made "Thicker Than Water" a little more stand alone, though. It's highly referential to "Holding up the Sky", which is a bit of a weakness maybe... Although it was fun to rework certain moments into Chico's POV and change the emphasis of the scene or tweak the vibe, something I revisited in the alternating POVs with "Third Day of Spring". Worse fics in the series gotta be "Ripples in the Night" or "Aftershock", just because they are forgettable, I guess? Like among all the Oz fics I've written, those two ping the least in my brain and memory 😂. My favorite moments in the "Something Deranged" series gotta be when Chico no-nonsensely holds Miguel's hand in "Rolling On" and also in "Sun Dog" when they're standing in that patch of sun in the private hospital room, and Chico's leaning against Miguel :)

Okay, I've rambled way too much so I will leave things off here.

[rknchan]

HAPPINESS CHARGE PRETTY CURE LOVE POST

i just finished hcpc and i really enjoyed it !!!!!! its not going to be some kind of deep analysis i just gonna be silly about things i like in hcpc

THE CHARACTERS i adore each and every one of them (except for namakeruda i wanna punch him with lovely punching punch)

MEGUMI CHAAAN shes so precious to me !!!! so pure so truly lovely her desire to make everyone happy is so heartwarming megumichan always puts a smile on my face whenever shes on screen ^^

i saw people thinking shes mary sue but i cannot agree :c for me marysue is a character so perfect that theyre unbelievable (!)

and megumi IS believable to me . people like megumi do exist,,,,, and she has more serious flaws than being clumsy and bad at studying;

shes all about helping others but cares about herself little, when shes suffering her pain is hidden behind a smile to the point she can't resist her pain anymore, she worries about being weak and her help is not needed - altruistic people like megumi often experience this feelings too

also she reminds me of my fav person </3 and she motivates me to become a better person myself and believe in love and happiness,,, sorry it sounded cheesy but its true.. thank you megumi ^^

HIME HIME HIME my blorbo !!!!! at the beginning her anxiety and arkwardness, feeling of being not worthy enough to be a precure, escaping from problems felt so relatable :c and it felt so good to see her grow. the moment when she saved iona was so powerful. i wish we saw more of her family when she returned to blue sky

btw i love meguhime as friends and as a pairing theyre so pure so cute they care for each other so much awwww,w,w,,w,w,w, *holds them gently*

YUKOO precious rice bean and the most canonical lesbian of hcpc

i love her rice song its cute and catchy i often chant it ahhahaha

also i like how she always wants to keep peace, to befriend villains and give them love they lacked !!! "why keep fighting if we can eat delicious rice together" SAY THIS LOUDER QUEEN HONEY shes so based for this

i can't say much about iona maybe ??? shes a deep and realistic character and her story with cure tender makes me cry but tbh she put me off in the beginning as it was uncomfortable to watch her being harsh on hime (tho its justified)... but she grew a lot too ,,,,

i expected to dislike seiji but actually he was such a nice character and a loyal friend who actually has chemistry with megumi and role in the plot

QUEEN MIRAGE is my fav villain ever and tbh i can even relate to her

deranged traumatised emowoman ily

the story of her relationship with blue breaks my heart ... the moments when she still wants to be loved by blue but cant resist her anxious thoughts and red's manipulation... HER PURIFICATION SCENE WHEN ALL THE CURES COMFORTED MIRAGE;;;;; HER REUNION WITH BLUE;;;;;;;; sobs

the generals are so fun to watch :) dorks with goofy hats

hosshiwa remains my crush forever..... and oresky and namakeruda are just fuking silly smashing them smashing them

tho their final battle with the cures and their purification was such a deep and impressing scene

i love how brutal and creative was this season with its attacks. lovely punching punch <333 lovely beam <33 princess bullet machine gun <333 let cute girls do some violence

and their innocent form attacks are just beautiful

hcpc is often criticized for its repetitive designs and i sorta agree... but at least they were creative with international cures designs (aloha and bomber girls are my favourite, also im glad to see a cure from my country !!!! cure katyusha <3) and form changes AND FOREVER LOVELY DESIGN JUST SLAYS. SHE LOOKS LIKE A LITERAL ANGEL

also maybe theres a meaning behind the similar designs??? like, all the cures all over the world have similar costumes and it can symbolize they have a lot in common, theyre unite, they are a million-cure team .. while the phantom generals are all different, there's nothing uniting them, there's no team spirit or friendship between them

also the soundtrack is so good and catchy !!!!! i adore the opening and the rice song (and especially honey and hosshiwa's song battle) and the innocent song !!!!

i love the message of hcpc that everyone is worthy to be happy and loved, even if youre in deep despair, disappointed in life, thinking you'll never be loved and thus love is worth nothing - someone is always going to be here for you

but at the same time it points out that love can be a destructive force (red, mirage, dark seiji), that its impossible to be happy all the time, that feeling pain and hate is valid

sorry it turned out so long i hope i could share my love for happiness charge with you ,,,,,

i love you megumi i love you hime i love you yuko i love you iona i love you blue i love you red i love you mirage i love you seiji i love you masukomio i love you phantomu i love you hosshiwa i hate you namakeruda i love you oresky I LOVE YOU HAPPINESS CHARGE

[eternal-moss]

Thoughts on Arlecchino’s animated short part 1

This will obviously have spoilers for the new animated short, and my thoughts on it. I’m fairly up to date on the lore, but without having certain 5* characters, there may be information I’m missing that’s already been explained more. Cw for child death

At the beginning I thought that what was obviously ‘water’ from the colour and sound effects moved quite weirdly, but when I looked back at it, they seemed more like flames, which is pretty fitting. Not only is the House of the Hearth in Fontaine, but it has Fontainian children, who were quite literally made from the primordial sea. The flames are also a reference for the ‘hearth’ part of the name.

So. The ‘bat’ on the left is 100% Dottore and no one can convince me otherwise (who’s on the right? No clue lol). I know he looked quite different in Nahida’s story about Scaramouche, where he was a strange bird thing wearing the skin of a fox. But seriously the stethoscope, the plaster, the half-half colouring like his webcomic mask and the deranged grin looks so much like him. I think there was a lot of illusions to deception in this short, and Dottore’s deception in Scarmouche’s story is similar to the ‘halo’ above Dottore’s head, where he’s pretending to be charitable as opposed to just using the children.

More on deception, presenting this whole thing as a children’s story is to make it seem more exciting to children while obscuring the truth, which is something I’m sure Arlecchino loathes. The false sense of joviality and kindness from the ‘Mother’ is probably why Arlecchino operates in a very honest but cold manner, explaining what will happen and how. Also, Arlecchino seems to have changed the entire function of the House of the Hearth, which I’ll talk about later.

But seriously, I don’t understand the Fatui at all, why do so many of their plans centre around slaughtering children?? They obviously see children (especially foreign children) as a disposable commodity which is depressing. With Dottore’s experiments being aimed at children like Collei, taking them en masse and killing many on the off chance that one might survive taking on god remnants. The House seems to be similar, but like a more hunger games style trial to create physically strong people, instead of magically enhanced people (although, there’s probably some overlap, which you can see with Arlecchino…)

Arle’s (or rather Peruere’s) curse appears to spread when she’s upset. I love this scene, our girl was emo from birth it seems. I completely understand the grief of loosing a pet spider, I was probably around the same age when it happened to me too coincidentally.

Look at these two. Their relationship is so cute, and Clervie seems to have a genuine appreciation for Arlecchino’s behaviour and quirks. I could write pages about Arle’s gender non-conformity, but the clothes she wears are much more similar to young boys’ clothing (and it’s super reminiscent of Freminet’s clothing too!).

I love Fontaine architecture man, and the waves here look super eerie and foreboding. We know that Arlecchino was *heavily* invested in preventing the prophecy, which is the main motivation we know of hers. I wonder if things have changed a lot in the House after the Fontaine archon quest ending. We know something is amiss from the trailer & Arlecchino’s discussion with Neuvillette but I have no idea what

This might be an animation error, but why did Arle’s doll have an earring before she did? These two shots are years apart, and Arlecchino clearly doesn’t have an earring in the first one but does in the next. Maybe she vicariously pierced the doll’s ear first before having permission to do it to herself?

“I’m sorry… thank you” seems ironically like something someone with a curse might say, who was looking to be killed (stares at Albedo), so what happened with Clervie?? The two seemed basically inseparable before, and even though the patching-up scene earlier could have been a fight between the two of them, I feel like it’s unlikely that they would have genuinely fought to the death without some serious compulsion. I don’t think that threats would have been enough to make something like this happen, so maybe the ‘Mother’ influenced Clervie’s mind somehow? The fact that Arlecchino had to kill her to fully subdue her & the flames in the background makes it seem like she exerted herself a lot, and so Clervie must have been a pretty good fighter too then.

Still trying to figure out exactly where tf the house of the Hearth is located. Is it in the new area that’s being released? Is it even technically in Fontaine boundaries if it’s beyond the ‘terrestrial sea’?

Metaphor time! The first quote with the Lumidouce Bell is “I should have pruned this flower long ago, not waited ‘till it wilts… how grotesque.” And the second is “a bird tied down will never fly the nest. You are no exception.” Both seem pretty vague to me to be honest- the Lumidouce Bell is Clervie’s symbol, and it could be about killing Clervie. But I also think it could refer to disciplining Arlecchino and making her conform (especially with the ‘grotesque’ comment and the fact that pruning isn’t supposed to kill a plant). Maybe it’s referring to all the children of the Hearth, and how she let them grow too old before setting them to fight each other, and as a group how they would have developed rebellious attitudes in that time. Who knows.

I’m wondering what the ‘ties’ are for the second one- are they physical restraints or emotional ones? The nest is very obviously the Hearth, and ‘flying’ presumably means leaving the House (like the expression to describe children reaching adulthood & leaving their family home), which the ‘Mother’ doesn’t want if she wants a ‘king’.

More of Arlecchino’s curse progressing in a time of stress. And also being motivated by the Lumidouce flower (again probably symbolising Clervie).

All this about becoming the one true ‘king’ confuses me so much because genuinely what is the point?? It seems that most of the children are dead now with a few exceptions, and if she wants a ‘king’ to stay in the House of the Hearth and not leave to go on missions, what purpose do they have? ‘Ruling’ over the few remaining children?

I presume we’ll have an explanation soon, but the fact that Arlecchino wants to emulate the practice of having a ‘king’ confuses me too, because she seems to want to be the opposite of the previous ‘Mother’.

What an icon lmao. Arlecchino’s fighting style is so satisfying and so was this kick. The way she didn’t say “Mother… my answer is no!” And then kick but just immediately kicked after saying ‘Mother’ is so hilarious to me. Girl did NOT hesitate.

‘DiDnT sHe kiLL a hArBiNgEr” Then why is she locked in this ridiculously low security cell 😭. If you look at the lines in the floor the bars of cell are quite literally wider than her body, and she isn’t even tied to that chair. I know it’s probably so they could get a good shot but still it’s slightly cartoonish

SPEAKING OF CARTOONISH. Scaramouche looks so so silly here, I love that for him. He quite literally looks like a preteen boy, complete with the hood. Signora looks incredible here, I wish we could see more of her outfits. I really don’t care much for the other two, Pierro could be interesting in the future but I’m not particularly drawn to him

Okay. I’ve reached the photo limit…. I’ll do a part two…

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

"Is Religion Inevitable?" - Richard Dawkins Reveals All

Is white privilege the modern day Original Sin? How is mass denial about the truth of gender, any different from Catholic transubstantiation? Is woke culture today's dogmatic religious mob? Join me and @drpeterboghossian as we explore these questions and more in another episode of The Poetry Of Reality.

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Peter Boghossian: I wrote, you know, "A Manual for Creating Atheists," and I was trying to make the world more sane and more rational. And I was trying to help people become more thoughtful and reflect on their beliefs, have reliable epistemologies upon which they could rely. And one of the things that I noticed since maybe 2013, maybe 2012, was that as religiosity decreased, deranged woke beliefs increased. And I guess my first question to you is -- uh, I don't know who came up with this, I might have come up with this, I don't know who came up with this -- but the Substitution Hypothesis.

Richard Dawkins: Yes.

Boghossian: So, do you think, and I honestly do not know the answer to this question, do you think that as one religion fades another -- like default is the belief state for humans, they just have to believe something -- and as one, as the old religion fades, a new one has to come in?

Dawkins: Yeah. Gullibility expands to fill the vacuum.

Boghossian: Exactly. Precisely.

Dawkins: I suppose that's right. I hadn't really thought of it before, but it sounds plausible to me. I think G.K. Chesterton, who was a very religious man said, "when people stop believing in God they they believe in anything." And he was a very witty, clever man, although he was a devout Roman Catholic. There's something in it I think, and there's no doubt about it that we seem to have exchanged one form of superstitious religiosity for another, and the analogy goes pretty deep. I think John McWhorter pointed out that there's a strong relationship between original sin in the Christian religion...

Boghossian: No, that was me pointing that out. 2014, with my article with James Lindsay. "Privilege is the original sin," but yeah, go ahead.

Dawkins: Good for you. So, original sin being we're all born in sin, we all inherit the sin of Adam. And we white people inherit the sin of slavery and colonialism and because we're white we have to feel guilty for what are, not necessarily our ancestors but people of the same color as us, in past centuries did. So that's that's one analogy. And then, well, transubstantiation which in the Catholic religion you know, the wine literally turns to blood, where "literally" doesn't quite mean literally, it means what Aristotle called the "accidentals" stay wine but the true "substance" of the wine becomes blood. So when somebody stands up and says "I am a woman," although they've got a male body, that's transubstantiation. In the accidentals they still have a penis and they still have Y chromosome, but in the true substance, they have become female. So trans -- that's where the word transubstantiation comes from, the transubstance, and there's a very strong analogy to transubstantiation in transsexualism.

Boghossian: Tell me more, how so?

Dawkins: Well, the wine becomes blood where the priest simply declares it as it is. And a male person becomes female when he declares himself to be female. And in the Aristotelian terms, the substance has changed, the substance of wine has changed to blood, the substance of maleness of changed to femaleness, but the accidentals, the incidentals are what are regarded by Catholics as trivial and by trans people as trivial. So they really believe that they have become the other sex.

Boghossian: It's remarkable how obvious it is that those are delusions. I mean it's crystal clear to anybody not caught in the orbit of the ideology that that is a delusion.

Dawkins: Yes. They get around it by this word "gender," which is separate from sex. And there are some who I think even think their sex has changed.

Boghossian: Correct.

Dawkins: And others who think that, they admit that their sex hasn't changed but their agenda has.

Boghossian: So, I guess I have two questions. One is, it seems to me that there are degrees of delusion that one can have. So, if we accept that, like there are certain things that are -- if I told you those books are really aliens from another planet and they've come down, okay that's another level of delusion. And so, I often think -- this is the thing that that's been causing me to think about this. I'm utterly incredulous at the sheer madness that people believe now. In a way that I was not incredulous, you know in 2010 or 2000 or so. So, let's take a look at, somebody walked on water. This guy named Jesus, he walked on water, you know, this is intervention in the space time continuum by a supernatural being and it caused this individual to walk on water. Okay, that's clearly a delusion if somebody believes in it, if someone accepts that is true. And then you have the belief that men can get pregnant. That to me seems like a significantly more profound delusion. Or am I wrong?

Dawkins: Yes. But doesn't it come from the postmodern belief that feelings are more important than facts?

Boghossian: Yeah, standpoint epistemology. And it comes, I guess they could just say that it's the redefinition of the word. But they actually like, they literally believe men can get pregnant. And the thing that I've been thinking about is, kind of goes back to Plato, is it better to let people believe benign delusions? I mean, in an ideal world, people wouldn't believe, people would proportion their confidence in the belief to the evidence they have for the belief. But humanity is sloppy and messy and the thing that I've been thinking about recently is, if it's true that there are degrees of delusion and if it's true -- and I don't know if it's true -- that there's a substitution hypothesis, then should rational people step out of the way or -- not encourage people to believe things that are false, because I would never do that and I think that's grossly unethical -- but there are certain delusions that are better for people to believe in en masse than others.

Dawkins: Yeah, so if you've got to believe in a delusion, if there's something, some law that says there's a certain quotient of deludedness that everybody's got to have, and certainly some are more harmless than others.

Boghossian: Correct.

Dawkins: I mean, I sort of feel there's a little bit about Islam and Christianity that -- Islam is such an evil at the moment, or Islamism is such an evil at the moment, that in Africa especially, maybe Christianity is a better alternative and it may be that it's no good trying to preach atheism in Africa, and Christianity might be a better a better alternative.

[..]

Dawkins: I think Stephen Pinker in his latest book has evidence that when we make our political judgment -- we, I mean humanity -- it tends to be not based on evidence, but tends to be based upon tribal loyalty, And that's a very depressing conclusion. And, by the way, one of the things that's been depressing me about my being sort of anti-woke and anti-the militant trans lobby, is that people think I must be right wing. And I've never been right wing. I voted left all my life and, I mean, I detest Donald Trump, for example, but there are people out there on Twitter especially who think that because I detest Donald Trump, therefore I must be an apologist for trans-wokeism or vice versa.

Boghossian: Yeah, so let's talk about that. I think that that is an intentional tactic of people. I think that that is what woke people use, people who have fallen -- have had their cognitions hijacked to this ideology, and I think it's very easy to write you off entirely if they say, "oh Richard Dawkins, he's just a right-wing extremist," you know, "Pinker he's a right-wing extremist," although he's the second largest donor to the Democrats and Hillary Clinton and Harvard, or who whoever it is. I've never voted for Republican candidate my whole life. I'm constantly getting that I'm on the right, but I think it's a tactic both because they don't have to do the intellectual work to rebut the arguments, so they can just a priori say that's not true. And it's a tactic because the left-wing media won't have me on, for example, so left-wing media won't, it has a kind of allergy to any self-criticism. So, then I'll go on the on the right-wing media, and the people on the left will say, "well look Boghossian's a right-winger." Well, no I'm only going on the right because -- I'm more than happy and nobody's ever invited me. I've actually invited myself and they won't have me. So, I think it's a kind of strategy to not do the intellectual work to rebut the position. Because it's hard to rebut the position.