#masked beast war

[where-skies-end]

the shepherd's dog

[ben-talks-art]

My Childhood

What did you watch when you were a kid?

[quibbs126]

Honestly I don’t know why I’m showing this now. I don’t think I’m done drawing Dinobot, and sure, it’s a page I probably won’t ever fully finish knowing me, but still

Uh, Dinobot

I first drew him for that meme redraw, and then when I went to work later that day, I decided to keep drawing him in my spare time. As such, I’ve grown somewhat adept at drawing him, or at least I have a process to drawing him now

Admittedly I think I have his body shape wrong. I want to make him on the slimmer side, but in reality he’s the current largest Maximal and has some width to him. I don’t really know how to draw him properly, I don’t have much of a concept of every character’s general body type in this show yet. It’s also difficult for me to get good references for the characters in this show

I also have no clue how to do his stripes. I need them simplified for my sake

Also, with Dinobot, I didn’t use the 3D box method I’ve been doing with the Transformers One people. I just didn’t feel like it here. Honestly, I think they look pretty good. Dinobot’s head might still be too big compared to his body but he isn’t horrible looking

I think I’ll need to find some sort of balance between the 3D box method and my normal, since admittedly I have a tendency to make the boxes a certain way, or like the characters are stuck at certain angles

Anyways, on to what I actually drew

Scrolling through tumblr yesterday during work makes me like dinoprimal/doop, even if I’m not too far into the show yet. It’s not that I won’t like it (I probably will), but it’s already stuck itself in my brain. Originally Dinobot’s thought was about killing Megatron, but I didn’t know how to draw Megatron, so doop yaoi instead. The only objective was that it was funny

Also I know the second thing isn’t accurate, Dinobot is actually pretty competent. But I think it’s funny. I want him to think he’s doing a good job, being a proper Maximal, meanwhile war crimes have been committed

Tumblr told me the dude’s a weird freak. He will apparently eat his clone later, and I am looking forward to it

Anyways so yeah, this

[tank041]

Petition for Ultra Magnus to be a Brachiosaurus in Beast Wars: Rise of the Dino Knights

[prythianpages]

Tonight, the Light of Love is in Your Eyes

Azriel x Rhysand's Sister (reader) | You find yourself in the middle of a political affair, where you seek refuge in a dance with Azriel. And in the spur of the moment, Azriel tells you he loves you for the first time.

warnings: secret love, implied smut (brief mention), you and az being impulsive and risking it all

word count: 1,900

a/n: I used the dialogue of this scene from The Witcher as a prompt for this fic.

“Hybern is still close to Spring. Though they’ve lost the war, it seems their alliance still stands. Bradwell has shown interest in her, it’d be best if she takes his favor tonight. Or even Tamlin’s, they are closer in age.”

Your gaze is fixed forward, but your mind drifts, creeping into the quiet mental conversation between your father and brother. They speak of you, as if your own desires are inconsequential, and it stings more than you let show.

“Why should she? When the High Lord of Autumn, who fought alongside our armies, has six sons and one on the way…”

Breathe in, breathe out. You force the command on yourself, struggling to maintain the composure you’ve perfected over years of courtly life. The mask you wear feels more fragile tonight, your heart threatening to crack the facade. 

You allow your eyes to wander and regret it when you meet the gaze of Bradwell–the eldest son of Spring. He is watching you, green eyes gleaming with a predatory sharpness, his smirk oozing arrogance. As if you’re a prize to be won–a prize already won. The sight of it turns your stomach. 

It’s instinctual almost–the way your eyes gravitate toward Azriel as they always do at the slightest discomfort. He’s been your anchor, your safety blanket for years. He stands just a few steps below you, tall and stoic. 

His hands are clenched into fists, shadows weaving and writhing along his limbs in a frenzy, whispering secrets to him that you ache to hear. His head is turned toward Bradwell and there’s no doubt his gaze is hardened into an icy composure when the eldest of Spring suddenly peels his gaze off of you.  

As you pull your gaze away from the Night Court’s Spymaster, you catch your mother’s eye. She sits beside your father on a much simpler throne. She sends you a sympathetic smile and you cast your gaze down, mask faltering as a blush creeps up your neck.

By the Cauldron, how you wish you could be anywhere but here. You’d much rather be alongside Cassian and Mor, who are most likely indulging in the fine wine and cheeses. The only redeeming part of these insufferable court parties.

“Is it not best to keep our most at-risk enemies close? Spring–”

Your body tenses, each muscle coiling as you listen to the words between your brother and father, their minds still unaware of your presence within them. It’s laughable, almost. Rhysand taught you well. You were a later bloomer when it came to the manifestation of your powers but the daemati power runs strong in you. 

Movement catches your eye. It’s Bradwell. He begins to make his way toward you, one hand already reaching for the sage-green handkerchief embroidered with a golden beast. A token you know he plans to offer. The sight of it makes something in you snap. You can’t take it anymore.

You whip your head around, your heart pounding, and your gaze finds Azriel once more—the only one you want. The only one you’ve ever wanted.

“Azriel, will you dance with me?”

The words escape your lips before you even realize you’ve said them. There’s a brief moment where the world seems to still as Azriel turns to meet your gaze. His eyes widen slightly, shadows pausing briefly in midair–the only sign of emotion he shows. 

But you feel a flutter in your chest.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s danced with you. The two of you have danced plenty of times before. However, it’d be the first time you’d give him your first dance. A notion that seems silly but held to a high esteem in the Court of Nightmares.

You feel your father’s and Rhysand’s gaze also on you–the latter’s eyes narrowing at you. He’s already sensed the lingering presence you left in his mind, and you can feel his talons scratching at the edges of your mental walls. But you hold steady, just as he taught you and push him away.

Azriel keeps his eyes on you yet his shadows peer over his shoulders, the dark tendrils darting back and forth between your brother and father. Cautious and a bit defensive.

It’s your mother who breaks the silence. She had kept her gaze on the dance floor in front of her, that same knowing smile playing on her lips. “It is impolite to keep a lady waiting.”

Azriel nods his head. “Of course.”

He shifts forward–one foot resting on the first step while the other remains on the ground floor. He extends his scarred hand to you, his shadows barely able to contain their excitement, betraying the cool mask he dons.

You smile—truly smile—as you place your hand in his, and together, you walk toward the dance floor. Your heart swells with defiance as you purposefully avert your eyes when passing Bradwell, chin held high. Rhysand’s mental claws scratch harder, desperate to break through your defenses. You continue to shut him out, strengthening the walls of your mind. 

The Cauldron simmers in your favor. As you reach the dance floor, the music shifts to a slower, more romantic melody. Azriel’s hand wraps around yours, his fingers enclosing around your palm while his other hand rests gently at the small of your back. The tension in your body melts under his touch and you find yourself leaning in closer to him, your body always yearning to be with his.

Shadows slither softly around you, hiding within the seams of your black dress like a protective shield. Azriel’s eyebrows furrow and you recognize the brief distant look in his eyes. “Rhys is not happy,” he murmurs. “Your first dance was supposed to be with the eldest son of Spring.”

His jaw clenches and you see the way his shadows curl tighter around him as if to suffocate the jealousy he dares not voice.

“Let him sulk. I get to decide who to dance with, who to be with.”

Azriel was the master of composure. He’s always calm, steady, controlled. But tonight, something in his gaze feels different. There’s something vulnerable there, something pained. He looks away for a moment, as if trying to keep his emotions from manifesting further. 

“I can’t offer you what he can..."

His hand twitches in yours, like he’s about to pull away, but you hold him tighter. “Good,” you respond without hesitation. “I don’t want anything that arrogant ass has to offer.”

Azriel’s eyes snap back to yours, searching, conflicted. He hesitates, as if still grappling with the part of himself that believes he doesn’t deserve this. That you deserve more, much better than him. Someone who can give you the world, not someone who only knows to live in the shadows.

You intertwine your fingers with his, lips curling into a small grin. “Your ass is the only one I want,” you add, your power reaching out to him and gently slipping past his defenses to show him the marvelous view you had of his backside earlier.

And as your thoughts drift to the last night you shared together, where you got to see all of him, Azriel lets out an exhale, his lips mirroring the upwards curl to yours. Taking advantage of the grip you have on his mind, you show him more memories from that night. The way his scarred hands had caressed every inch of your body, his lips following the path his hands made…

 “I can’t give you much,” Azriel’s voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed with yours, lips hovering right over your own.  “But I can give you everything I have.”

You smiled softly at him, your fingers brushing the side of his face, tracing every line and contour of the male who held your heart. So beautiful, so perfect. 

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you replied and then closed the small gap between you to kiss him.

The pained look in his hazel eyes melts into something warmer, something sweeter, as he takes in the memories of that night through your eyes. He had never doubted your love, but the weight of his own insecurities—his belief that he was beneath you—constantly gnawed at him.

Every time he touched you in secret, every night you spent hidden away together, he feared that someday you might wake up and realize he wasn’t enough.

But here, dancing with you, the way your eyes held him, he felt that overwhelming doubt ease. To see and feel the depth of your sincerity, as if your very soul called out to his…

“I love you.”

Your heart stilled at the words, your step faltering. In a smooth maneuver, Azriel spins you around, catching you effortlessly before you could stumble. His hands steady you as you face him once more.

 “That’s the first time you’ve said that,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, though you know Azriel’s shadows are already ensuring no one else can hear your words.

“It can’t be,” Azriel murmurs in disbelief, brows furrowing slightly. 

“You used to think it,” you quietly admit, your gaze dropping for a moment before returning to his. It wasn’t that you had ever meant to pry, but when it was just the two of you, his mind was often at ease, unguarded. Sometimes, his thoughts would be too loud for you to ignore. “But tonight, you finally said it.”

The shadows hidden within the lacey seams of your dress stir and you watch as one of the shadows lingering over Azriel’s shoulders slithers up and curls around his ear. His grip on you tightens and your ears perk up. 

The song is coming to an end and though couples continue to dance and whirl around you, your nose picks up on an approaching scent. Fresh wildflowers and oak—rich and lovely, exuding the essence of Spring. Yet it fills you with dread. You don’t want this moment to end. You’re tired of pretending, of living this life of secrecy.

“Azriel,” you say, one hand reaching out toward his face to turn his attention back to you. A bold move but tonight, you’re ready to be even bolder. “Kiss me.”

His shadows stir, swirling anxiously around him, their whispers warning that too many eyes are upon you both. You can feel his hesitation, the unspoken question in his gaze as he searches your face.

“In front of everyone,” you confirm. Show them I’m yours, you speak into his mind, and only yours.

Azriel pauses, his chest tightening at the implication of your words. He can feel Rhysand’s presence–furious and demanding– trying to slip into his mind. No doubt trying to steer him away from this impulsive display and away from you. 

He feels the weight of the room pressing down on him—the sons of Spring and Autumn watching his every breath.

But all of that falls away when he meets your eyes again. 

There is only you in this moment.

The one who had always been able to see through his walls, the one who made him feel like the most precious thing in the room, the only one he cared about.

“Kiss me,” you whisper again.

And Azriel is not going to let you ask a third time.

Not when the light of love is shining so brightly in your eyes. His hand covers yours on his cheek, and then, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that silences the room.

Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

a/n: It's been awhile since I wrote for Az. Miss this shadow daddy lol. Part 2 is already up 🫶🏽 you can find it here.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry

[hardkookiecookie]

OP i don't know how much Beast Wars you have watched but his mask literally already does that when he activates it

he only activates it when he goes into battle! to protect his face

[ID: two screenshots from Transformer's Beast Wars, both showing a close up of Optimus Primal's robot face, which is grey and blue with red eyes, and a white, partial facemask that has two bands, one that covers his nose, and one over his chin, leaving his lips exposed. The second screenshot has been edited to extend the faceplate until it is full coverage, completely obscuring Optimus's mouth. End ID]

I fixed Optimus Primal's Body Horror, Mummy-looking face.

I think he would have looked less creepy is they even just made whatever's going on with his battle mask thinner, to show more of his nose and face, gotten rid of it entirely, or like in the above edit, just gave him a full, traditional battlemask.

It also helps solidify his identity as (a?) Optimus, while the rest of his design keeps him distinct enough from his Autobot counterpart.

[novaursa]

hello !! i hope ur doing amazing and i wanted to say how much i rlly enjoy reading ur work like its always amazing and just MWAH chef’s kiss fr fr !!

do you think you can do a short writing for either aemond or aegon and how they betray their mother and grandsire for the reader <3 ! sorry if it’s not detailed this is my first time requesting 😔💕

oh and if u can’t i completely understand bookie !!

Broken by War

- Summary: When his mother and grandsire declare you a threat to be rid off, Aemond betrays his family for you.

- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: The reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra and is bonded with Vermithor.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Next Part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The pressure in the small council chamber was stifling, every member seated at the long, dark table focused on the map sprawled before them. A heavy silence blanketed the room as Dowager Queen Alicent’s voice echoed through the stone walls, calm but insistent.

"We must strike at Rook’s Rest," she said, her eyes glinting with determination. "Vermithor is a threat that grows with each passing day. We cannot allow her to roam free."

Otto Hightower, standing at her side, nodded in agreement. "Rhaenyra has grown too bold. Your niece wields too much power with that dragon. Vermithor must be neutralized, Aemond. Only Vhagar has the strength to bring the beast down, and only you have the will to do what must be done."

Aemond sat at the far end of the table, silent until now, his one violet eye fixated on the map. His jaw clenched as the voices of his mother and grandfather droned on, discussing tactics to trap her. You. The only person he had loved, the one who haunted his dreams and memories of youth. 

The very mention of your name, though unsaid, sent a ripple of heat through his chest. His gaze shifted from the map to Alicent, then to Otto, as they spoke of you and Vermithor as mere obstacles—just another enemy to be destroyed. 

But you were not a mere enemy. You were his niece, the daughter of Rhaenyra, and the girl who had once shared moments of innocent laughter with him. Before the war, before the bloodshed, before the divide of loyalties had driven them to opposite sides of this cursed Dance. How could they expect him to harm you?

A sharp crack split the air. The sound of his fists slamming against the table reverberated through the chamber, startling everyone into silence. Alicent and Otto turned, eyes wide, as Aemond rose from his seat, his face a mask of anger and resolve.

“I will not harm her.” His voice was low, dangerous, shaking with barely contained fury. “I will not harm my niece.”

“Aemond,” Alicent said softly, her brow furrowing as she reached out a hand as if to calm him. “She is a threat. You must understand—”

“No,” Aemond snapped, cutting her off. His gaze burned as he turned on them. “You expect me to kill her? To kill the one person I have loved since we were children? Vermithor is no more a threat than Vhagar is. And Y/N—she is not the enemy you make her out to be.”

Otto’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something dark in his eyes. “She rides a dragon that is an old menace. Rhaenyra and her supporters will stop at nothing to see the end of this war, even if it means your death. You know this, Aemond. Only you can put an end to this before she burns the realm to ash.”

Aemond’s gaze flicked back to the map, the cold stone beneath his hands, and then to the faces of those who had shaped his life, who had molded him into a weapon. But not for this. Not against you. His chest heaved with barely contained emotion as the weight of everything pressed down on him—his duty, his family, his love for you.

Slowly, he shook his head, his voice low but firm. “No. I will not do it.”

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice sharpened, desperation edging into it. “Where are you going?”

Aemond had already turned, his long coat sweeping the floor as he strode toward the door, each step heavy with purpose. He didn’t look back as he answered, the words cutting through the air like a blade. “I am going to Dragonstone. I will kneel before Y/N and Rhaenyra. I will beg for their forgiveness. For everything. For Lucerys.”

There was a stunned silence in the room as the weight of his words settled. Otto’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp as steel. “They will kill you the moment you set foot on Dragonstone, Aemond.”

Aemond paused at the door, his hand on the cold iron handle, and turned to face them. His eye gleamed with a fierceness that made Alicent flinch. “Then let them. I would rather die at her hand than live knowing I betrayed her.”

He left without another word, his footsteps echoing through the stone corridors, each one bringing him closer to you and the fate he had chosen. The weight of his family’s expectations, of the crown’s demands, fell away with each step. In its place, only one thing remained—his love for you and the need to right the wrongs that had torn them apart.

As he mounted Vhagar, he knew there was no turning back. His path was set, and for once, it was a path he chose for himself.

[be4chywritez]

sickness and health | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

quinn catches a stomach bug and you take care of him.

request: Pls do prompt 15 with Quinn!

prompt: "Don't touch me I'm sick.” “That's okay."

beachy’s masterlist🐚

part two

The gray light of a rainy afternoon filtered through the windows. The lake house was oddly quiet—Luke was staying with friends, and Jack was at his girlfriend’s place. The reason? The walking bacteria cell that was their brother.

You sighed, hearing Quinn gag for what felt like the hundredth time. You raced upstairs, grabbing a bucket that you and Quinn had splayed out around the house. As you entered Quinn’s room, you found him curled up in bed, looking utterly miserable.

“Hey,” you said softly, placing the bucket beside him. “How are you holding up?”

“Like death,” he muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you to get sick.”

You walked over and sat down beside him, ignoring his protests. “I don’t care, we agreed in sickness and in health,” you murmured, placing a kiss on his forehead.

Your brow furrowed. “Q, you’re burning up.” He sat up in bed, watching as you rushed into the bathroom. He could hear the water starting. He groaned slightly, his joints hurting as he padded to the restroom.

“What are you doing?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning up against the door.

“Running you a bath,” you replied, checking the water temperature. “It’ll help with the fever.”

He sighed but didn’t protest further. Allowing himself to relax in the warm water seemed to soothe his aching body, and he leaned back with a contented sigh. You reached over to brush a strand of hair out of his face, and he caught your hand gently.

“Don’t touch me, I’m sick.”

“That’s okay,” you said softly, your eyes filled with concern. “I’m here to take care of you.” His eyes closed in content with your cool touch.

After his bath, you helped him back to bed, making sure he was comfortable before heading downstairs to start cleaning up. Just as you were getting into the groove of disinfecting everything, the door opened, and Luke and Jack walked in, wearing gloves and masks.

“You guys look like Martians,” you said, eyeing them.

“We’re here to help,” Luke said, looking around the place and taking in the dirty dishes in the sink. His UMich blanket was in a ball on the floor. He crouched down, taking a whiff of it, then groaned, holding it away from him.

“Yeah, you might want to put that down, Lukey.” He obliged, dropping the blanket back on the floor.

“This place is a war zone,” Jack muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Luke nodded in agreement. “Seriously, how are you not grossed out by this?” he asked, watching you pick up the blanket off the floor, folding it, and throwing it into a hamper.

You shrugged, smiling slightly. “I’ve got it under control. Quinn’s the one who needs the care right now.”

You heard a groan from upstairs, followed by Quinn regurgitating his lunch. Jack and Luke both groaned.

“Can you go get that bucket?” you asked, not looking up from the dishes. Both Luke and Jack pinched their noses.

“You were late,” Jack said, making Luke groan as he walked toward the bedroom.

Luke found Quinn, pale and exhausted, slumped against the bed. He steeled himself, trying not to gag as he picked up the vomit bucket.

Quinn managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Luke. I know it’s gross.”

Luke shook his head head, genuinely concerned. “Don’t worry about it. I just… I hope I find someone as amazing as y/n someday. She’s a beast for handling all this.”

Quinn’s eyes softened, a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite his discomfort. “Yeah, she really is. You’ll find someone, Luke. Just wait.”

Luke nodded, feeling a bit more at ease as he carefully carried the bucket out. “Get some rest, okay? We’ve got this.”

Quinn closed his eyes, the reassurance from his brother making him feel just a bit better. “Thanks, Luke.”

Back downstairs, you continued cleaning with ease, handling the buckets and cloths, making sure everything was spotless. Meanwhile, Luke and Jack worked with exaggerated caution, making sure to avoid any potential contamination.

Quinn had woken up feeling way better than he did a few hours ago, he padded downstairs both Luke and Jack jumping away from him.

“Hey Quinner, how you doing bud,” Jack asked from the other side of the kitchen. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Much better, thanks,” Quinn replied, though he still looked a bit pale.

Luke glanced at Quinn, then back at you. “Y/n’s been great. I don’t know how she does it.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty incredible,” Quinn said, his voice filled with admiration.

Jack nodded, agreeing. “You’d be a mess without her.”

You smiled at their words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, guys. But I couldn’t do it without you helping out too.”

Luke grinned. “Just don’t get too close to us until you’re sure you’re not sick.”

Quinn chuckled weakly. “You’re gonna come take care of her when she gets sick.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Alright, I think we’re done here. Y’all are free to go guys.”

Luke and Jack bid their goodbyes both of them not waiting another second to get out of the house.

Let’s go to bed, Quinn.”

As you laid down Quinn leaned on you slightly, his eyes drooping.

He was already half-asleep, but he opened his eyes when talking to you. “Hey,” he whispered. “Thanks for everything.”

“Of course,” you whispered back, brushing a hand through his hair. “In sickness and in health, right?”

He smiled weakly, his eyes filled with love. “Right.”

You leaned down and kissed his forehead gently. “Get some rest, Quinn. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

He nodded, closing his eyes again as he drifted off to sleep. You watched him for a moment, feeling contentment.

You eventually closed your eyes letting Quinn’s steady breathing lull you to sleep.

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost.

This story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 0 - Prologue

[Lament of the Fallen]

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"I have lost everything."

The relentless battle against the Honkai beasts rages on, your katana slicing through their monstrous forms with a desperate fury. Explosions erupt around you, the searing heat mixing with the blood and sweat that drips down your temples. The ground is littered with the fallen, comrades who once fought beside you now lifeless amidst the swarming beasts summoned by the Herrschers.

"My family..."

The horrifying sight of humans, transformed into mindless Honkai zombies, fills you with dread. Your grip on the handle of your Divine Key falters as you witness your little sister and brother among them, feasting on the remains of fallen soldiers. Tears blur your vision as you dash towards them, the agony of what you must do tearing at your soul. With a heart-wrenching cry, you end their suffering, beheading the only family you had left. You had promised to protect them, to create a peaceful world for them.

"My dear comrades..."

A wall of flames engulfs the encroaching monsters, giving you a momentary respite. Kalpas, your grey-haired, masked comrade, stands before you, his power saving you once more. Exhaustion is etched on his face, but he urges you to keep moving. Before you can respond, a piercing laser beam shoots through his chest, and he crumples to the ground. One by one, your friends fall, their bodies lifeless on the battlefield. The bonds forged in blood and battle, severed in an instant.

"My world..."

The battlefield is a graveyard of Honkai beasts and fallen soldiers, their bodies buried beneath layers of ash. The sky above is a mournful grey, reflecting the lifeless desolation around you. You stand alone, the sole survivor amidst the ruins. Have you won the war, or merely survived its horrors? The answer eludes you.

"And..."

In your hand, you clutch your new Divine Key, forged from the shattered remains of 70,033 blades and the essence of twelve Herrschers. You gaze up at the bleak, grey sky, the weight of your existence pressing down on you.

"I realize now..." You unsheathe your Divine Key, Nihility, unleashing your Active Honkai Reaction. Golden cracks spread from your right hand, blossoming into ethereal flowers. Your hair turns snow-white, your skin pale as ivory. Golden horns sprout from your head, and your eye color turns into gold.

"I've lost myself."

"...That the ultimate fate of this world is nothingness, and therefore, worthless... or even the whole universe?"

With a final, devastating swing of your Divine Key, you begin to unravel the very fabric of this world, reducing it to void, to nothingness. The ground beneath you crumbles, the sky shatters, and everything you fought for dissolves into oblivion. As the world collapses around you, you raise your katana high.

"Yet... I still want to stay..."

With a heavy heart, you turn the blade upon yourself, splitting your soul in half, and embracing the void.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Snowflakes drift gently from the dull, grey sky, their delicate forms hitting softly against your window. You stare blankly at the wintry landscape, your mind lost in the endless dance of the snow. Your right hand, adorned with claw-like metallic finger guards, rests against the cold glass. As you blink, the serene snowflakes transform into ashen rain, and the snowy ground becomes a graveyard, littered with swords and corpses.

Startled, you stumble back, your heart pounding in your chest. The haunting vision fades as quickly as it appeared, leaving you standing in the quiet room. A single tear escapes your eye, tracing a cold line down your cheek. You wipe it away, confusion mingling with the sorrow etched on your face.

"... A forgotten memory?" you whisper, your breath fogging the glass.

Before you can ponder the vision further, a knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You turn away from the window, your expression hardening. "Come in," you command, your voice firm yet distant.

The door creaks open, and a Fatui Skirmisher steps in, bowing deeply. He holds a letter in his trembling hand, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Lord Innamorati," he begins, his voice wavering with fear. "A letter from Her Royal Highness."

'Her Highness?' The title feels foreign, a distant echo in your mind. You frown, trying to grasp the fleeting memory.

"Can you remind me of her name?" you ask, your tone soft yet icy, sending a shiver through the skirmisher despite his thick winter coat.

"H-Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod slowly, the name stirring something within you. A fleeting sense of purpose, lost in the haze of your fragmented memories. "Thank you," you say, your voice carrying a trace of melancholy. "My memory... it often fails me."

The skirmisher quickly hands you the letter and exits the room, his relief palpable. You turn to your desk, the weight of the message heavy in your hand. If the Cryo Archon herself has written to you, it must be of grave importance. Did something terrible happen? Or have you forgotten another mission?

You break the seal and unfold the letter, your eyes scanning the contents. With a sigh, you crumple it and toss it into the trash. Your hand instinctively moves to the scabbard where your Divine Key, Nihility, rests.

"A funeral..., huh?" The words hang in the air, heavy with sorrow and resignation.

You move to the window once more, the snowy landscape a stark contrast to the inner turmoil you feel. The snow outside is pure and untouched, but in your mind, the vision of the dead and the desolate ground lingers. You know that each snowflake, each fleeting memory, is a piece of the past that you can never fully grasp.

In the quiet of your room, you can't shake the feeling that you're losing more than just memories. You're losing yourself, piece by piece, like the snow melting away under the weight of the ashes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Reblog if you like this story

[lionneee]

On The Bottom Of The Ocean

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: smut, piv, degradation, slapping, chocking, dub-con, belt-play.•

Ghost!Aemond x Modern!Reader

Harrenhal, was the center of the story of Prince Aemond’s tragic fall.

Harrenhal was key to Prince Aemond Targaryen’s downfall in the Dance of the Dragons. Stationed there, Aemond took it as a base for the Greens. When Daemon Targaryen arrived with Caraxes, he lured Aemond into a fateful aerial duel. The two fought over the God’s Eye lake, where Daemon killed Aemond midair by plunging his sword through Aemond’s eye. Both riders and dragons fell, marking Harrenhal as the site of Aemond’s tragic end.

Aemond’s character has always intrigued you, and you always craved to find his skeleton in the bottom of the ocean, his and his beautiful dragon, a beast of a massive size, and power.

You have read all the stories about Aemond’s life, the loss of his eye, the murder of his nephew, the starting of the war, his attempt to murder his brother, his period as Prince Regent.

When he was sent to Harrenal, his secret relationship with Alys. 

His death.

Your parents were never enthusiastic of your fixation with One-Eyed Aemond, his evilness was known to them as well as all the people who studied history.

Yet, you believed there was more in him than simple evilness.

So you knew you had a one chance in life when your parents had to move in King's Landing for a few weeks because of your grandma sickness.

It was the moment to make good of your scuba diving lessons.

𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓆉 𓂃𓂃𓂃

You took a few breaths as you looked at the water as you sat at the edge of your boat.

The water was deep blue, it was almost scary.

But you were determined.

You had studied the position with precision, considering the current of the water over the years.

You were miles above the position you believed Aemond’s skeleton was.

You took a few deep breaths, exercising yourself before diving into the water.

You knew this was dangerous, even more since you were alone but you felt like you had to do it.

You needed to see him with your eyes.

With one last deep breath you put on the oxygen mask and let yourself fall into the water.

It was cold. Colder than usual, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

It was like the water itself was trying to tell you to emerge and go back home.

No. No, you had to see him.

You kept swimming, pointing the light to check you were safe, and heading in the right direction.

You distracted yourself only a moment, and your chest suddenly hit something.

You gasped and immediately jerked away, startled as you moved the light to point in front of you.

A bone.

A rib.

A massive rib. The diameter was probably over five inches, and the curve was way bigger than the one of a human.

You lightened around, then you caught the glimpse of her.

Vaghar.

You were right.

You were fucking right!

Aswam towards the cranium, getting closer to her mouth, your height covered maybe the length of one of her teeth.

You quickly took off one of your gloves and placed your hand on her skull, smiling, as you started to swim around her skull, caressing the bones.

You looked around, moving the light to accommodate you right, when something reflected the light against you.

Something blue. 

It was right in the middle of the remains of the large dragon.

You swam towards the blue, finding a saddle, chains, and other bones. As the realization hit you, you started swimming faster, extending your uncovered hand, ready to touch the sapphire.

Aemond Targaryen.

As soon as you touched it, you felt some kind of electric shock run through your hand up your arm and chest.

You scanned the bones with your eyes, before returning to the sapphire. It almost seemed to sparked of its own light, it almost felt like it was alive.

The skeleton was still chained to the saddle, even if it was covered in kelps.

You wanted to stay longer, study the surroundings better, but your oxygen tank was slowly reaching its limit.

You sighed and quickly swam back towards the surface, reaching your boat.

You had to buy another tank and go back down there.

You had to.

𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓆉 𓂃𓂃𓂃

You were thrilled, to say the least, about your discovery.

Even if in a dark sort of way, you could finally say that you met Aemond Targaryen.

As soon as you reached home, you let out a little scream and started to jump from the excitement, that you didn’t feel it containable.

During your shower you sang your playlist loudly and shamelessly, you were too happy to care about anything.

You made it.

You still had a smile printed on your face as you walked back in your room, your hair dried, your body covered only by a towel.

Then you heard the doorbell.

You looked back towards the door, confused.

Who could it be?

You weren’t expecting anyone, but maybe your parents returned home earlier than scheduled.

You tightened the towel around your body and you walked to the door.

“Who is it?” You asked through the door.

“You know me.” A male voice said from outside. Your brows furrowed, confusion written on your face, the voice sounded like no one you knew.

“What’s your name?” You tried again.

“You visited me today.” He said with a sigh. “I have your wallet, you lost it.” He added then.

You walked over the door and opened slightly.

White hair, sharp jaw, prominent chin.

“Who are you?” You asked as you felt your heart pumping in your throat. The man turned his face, a devilish smirk on his face as his eyepatch came in your field of view.

“Aemond.” He took a step forward, slamming his hand on your door, making you fall back, the door opening completely. “Aemond Targaryen.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, glancing down at you.

He was tall. You’ve often imagined it, but seeing him towering over you like this, surely made him taller.

You shook your head, confused and terrified.

“That - That’s impossible. You’re dead.” You saw his smirk growing wider at your words. He raised his hand and looked at it.

“I don’t look so dead to me. What do you think, slut?” He took a step forward, but you immediately crawled back.

“This is a sick game.” You shook your head. “You think it’s funny to dress up like him?” Your hand immediately flew to your towel as you felt it loosen slightly around you.

“Dressing up?” He bent down in front of you, so you could see his face perfectly.

The scar, the shape of his face, his hair, even his clothes.

They were perfect. What made you truly believe him though, was when he took off his eyepatch.

A blue sapphire instead of his eye.

And you’ve seen that sapphire, from up close.

It was him.

“N-no… it’s impossible.” You shook your head, completely in denial.

Aemond rolled his eye, his hand moving on the back of your hair, gripping them tightly in his fist.

You whined as your hand flew to his wrist, trying to get him off of you, but he seemed irremovable.

He used the hold on your hair to lift you up from the floor, and he kept his arm raised as he studied your face.

“You want to see just how real I am, whore?” He smirked as he started dragging you back.

“Stop! I’m not a slut, or a whore!” You tried to free yourself, but it all seemed useless.

“Sure you are. Who else would welcome a man dressed like that?” He nodded towards your towel. You whined loudly as he shoved you on the bed, your hands immediately fixing the towel to cover yourself. 

“It's not a dress, it's just a –” He gripped your cheeks in his hand, squeezing them harshly, growling annoyed at your talking.

“I’ve had more silent whores than you. Shut your mouth.” He pressed your head against the mattress as he hovered over you. “Even if…” His hand trailed over your body, over the towel, shamelessly, his eye sparkling with desire. “Not as pretty as you.” He grinned as he started to move the towel.

“No-” You immediately gripped his hands, but he let go of your cheeks and gripped your wrists, using his eyepatch to tie them together over your head. “No!” You squirmed, regretting it immediately as you felt the towel losing even more, letting him see more of your skin.

His eye darkened, his pupil dilated as he looked down at you, keeping your wrists pressed against the bed with one hand as his other hand moved to his belt that was keeping his black leather coat closed. He quickly unbuckled it, taking advantage of your squirming, your head raising to slip it behind your head and closing it around your neck.

You immediately froze as the belt tightened around your throat, making it hard to breathe.

Your gaze immediately fell on him, your eyes widened as you looked at him grin.

“I know, I have quite questionable tastes.” He gave a tug at the belt, the material tightening even more, making you cough and move your hands to the belt to loosen it up enough to breathe easily.

Aemond didn’t stop you, he watched closely as you struggled beneath him.

“You know, the one I had before you was older.” He smirked. “She didn’t like me on top.” He pulled away to take off his coat, then his shirt.

You would have lied if you would have said he wasn’t incredibly sexy.

His muscles flexed at every move he did, as he folded his coat and shirt and placed them on the table, as he took off his pants. His bicep flexed deliciously as his hand wrapped his cock, pumping it to full hardness as he walked back to the bed.

You should have run.

But it was too late anyway. Aemond grabbed the belt again and opened your legs with his hands.

“No, I-I’m not a whore!” You raised your voice, but the sound that came out of your mouth the moment Aemond fucked his cock inside you, was even louder.

It was big.

Big enough to fucking hurt.

You cried out and tried to close your legs, push him away, anything to get him away from you, but all you’ve earned was him pulling the belt, the string wrapped around his gist to make it easier and faster to choke you whenever he wanted.

You arched your back as you gasped for air, your fingers trying to get under the belt, your nails scratching desperately your skin.

Aemond groaned as he stood still for a moment, enjoying the tightness that your spa smile, violated walls were giving to his cock.

“Fuck…” He groaned. “I haven’t felt like this for… Gods I don’t even know how long anymore.” He pulled back for a moment, only to trust back in harshly.

He moved slowly, but deep, and hard.

And you hated it.

You hated it because it was so fucking good.

He finally stopped pulling the belt, so you managed to loosen it again.

You took a deep breath, that one of his thrusts quickly took away.

You moved your wrists down, you pressed them against his abdomen, a weak protest against his movements, but Aemond was quick to yank them away.

“Fucking stay still, you whore.” He growled as he gripped your hips from under your legs, and started thrusting faster, pulling your body back to his, forcing you to meet every one of his thrusts, forcing you to take his cock inside you, his painfully, deliciously long, thick cock.

You could feel your insides begging you to push him away, to make him let go of you, but at the same time, the stinging stretch was becoming pleasurable, your walls slowly coating the skin of his cock with your fluids, making it easier for him to slip back in.

“Starting to like it? Uh?” He chuckled darkly, speaking with arrogance.

He knew he was good.

“Fuck you!” You whined as your back arched, the movement stretched the belt, that tightened slightly around your neck again, but it wasn’t enough to make it impossible to breathe.

It only made your eyes roll back, you head dizzy, and suddenly, the only thing you could feel was him, fucking you like a doll, bringing you a pleasure no one, not even yourself has ever been able to make you feel.

“You’re tight for a whore —” He panted. “So tight —“ He looked down at his cock, how it disappeared from his sight as he pushed inside you, he watched how your cunt would suck him in. 

You moaned loudly, the sound half strained by the belt, as Aemond pulled it again. You knew you had to be ashamed of how much you were enjoying it, or about your expression, of how your mouth hung open, of your tongue falling out. The belt cutting off your breathing was just the cherry on top.

Your head was dizzy, your mind obfuscated by pleasure.

“Look at you.” He scoffed as he started to thrust harder, faster. “Acting out for not wanting it, but now…” He looked at your face, the expression of pure pleasure written all over your features. “So fucked up you can’t even talk. Or protest.” 

You moaned as he kept thrusting inside you, and the sight made something inside Aemond snap. 

He immediately leaned over, placing a hand on the mattress beside your head to keep himself up, his other hand slipping under the belt, closing around it in a fist, and tugging your face closer by the grip. His thrusts became suddenly more intense and harder.

“You don’t even want to. You don’t want to protest.” He growled in front of your face. “You like my cock so much?” He tilted his head to the side, looking down at your face. “You like how I fuck you? How I am reducing you into a complete useless, stupid, whore?” 

You moaned louder, the tip of his cock brushing mercilessly against a sensitive, very sensitive spot inside you, that you didn’t even know existed.

“Shit!” You whined loudly as every muscle of your body tensed, ready to snap. 

Aemond did just that. 

He didn’t stop, he kept moving, he kept wrecking you even through the most powerful orgasm you ever experienced.

You cried out as you squirmed beneath him, your whole body trembling and asking for a break, but he seemed unstoppable.

His eye was fixed on your face as he raised back on his feet, letting go of the belt. He slapped your face before grabbing your hips and lifting them from the bed so he could move you however he wanted.

Your walls were still spasming from your orgasm, and Aemond couldn’t think of something in his life remotely as pleasurable as that.

“Now make me come.” He growled as he deliberately moved your body, his fingers digging in your hips.

“Please, wait –” You sobbed. “Aem -” He slapped you immediately as he heard half his name coming from your lips.

“Shut up.” He growled, positioning your ankles on each side of his neck, both his hands wrapping around your neck, not enough to cut off all of your air, but mostly of it.

“A-Aem –” Your hands immediately flew over his as he started moving faster, his eyes closed as he clenched his jaw. 

He let out a moan, then another one before letting his head fall back, giving you a clear view of his Adam apple moving, and the prominent veins on it.

He tightened his hold on your neck, effectively choking you as he gave you the last few thrusts, shooting his load inside you.

You hit his hands, wrists, his arms, you scratched him, you tried anything to get his hands off your neck, but he wouldn’t let go.

“I’m keeping you.” Those were the last words you heard before it all turned black.

𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓆉 𓂃𓂃𓂃

You woke up sore, confused, and tired.

What the fuck happened?

Ghost Aemond fucking you was surely a strange dream.

“I’m keeping you.”

A shiver went down your back as you heard those words again in your head.

A dream.

You moved the blankets off of you and sat up on the edge of the bed, and as soon as you eyes landed on your thighs, another shiver shook your body.

Bruises. 

The ones a hand would do.

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy @agoldenwoe @sapphirevhagar

[where-skies-end]

working on new matching toyhouse icons for all of wob

here's the FENCE and non-academy venture citizens

Captain Celbalrai Constella - Lieutenant Draconis Constella

Dame Artemis Shire - Dame Astra Pike - Sir Jeremiah Fangmire

Laika of Venture - Rockwell of Venture

[vivwritesfics]

Sleepless

She's struggling to sleep, and it's all Bucky's fault

warnings: violence, choking, nightmares, angst

Her hands clawed at his wrist, trying to pry his metal hand away from her neck. As desperate as she was to suck in deep breaths, air wasn't reaching her lungs. Oh God, she was so damn dizzy.

There he stood before her, mask covering his mouth. His dark hair hung limp around his face and his blue eyes stared at her, furious. Metal fingers wrapped around her neck, his grip bruising. He was gonna kill her, and he didn't even care.

"Please," she gasped as she dropped her hands away from his wrist. But she just couldn't hold on anymore.

"Bucky!"

His head whipped to the left. A second later he dropped her, body falling as he released her neck. Even as she hit the ground she was sucking in desperate gasps of air as her attacker ran.

She awoke with a gasp, desperately trying to suck in deep breaths. Her hand was against her chest but, every time she shut her eyes, she saw her attacker.

"Doll?" Her husband asked, voice groggy as he reached towards her. But the moment his metal fingers brushed against the skin of her thigh, she was flinching away.

Bucky sat up at that. He couldn't hide the flash of hurt in his eyes, but he couldn't exactly blame her.

He didn't remember what he'd done, didn't remember who or what he was during that stage of his life. He wasn't Bucky. He was some mindless beast who killed whoever got between him and his mission.

They met again a good few years after this. He was a different person when they met again. He was Bucky Barnes, a war hero (several times over), a soldier, and a man who had celebrated his one hundred and something birthday.

The bruises had long since faded from her neck when she met him again. She hadn't forgotten the man that had choked her, but she hadn't seen enough of his face to pick him out in the crowd. But still, she'd never forget the way his hair fell around his face, just how angry his eyes were.

She didn't recognise him and Bucky didn't recognise her, even once he'd helped clean the coffee that he'd spilled on her. (Now, you might be thinking, how didn't she see his arm and freak? It wasn't something Bucky liked to just have out and about as he walked around. No, he wore long sleeves and had a single, leather glove covering his hand. His hair was cut and his eyes were so sweet). He asked her on a date and the rest was, well, history.

Even on the date, Bucky wore long sleeves and that glove. He saw her gaze lingering on his hand, but she didn't ask. And Bucky wasn't ready to tell.

She didn't find out until the first time she took him back to her apartment. Her legs were wrapped around him as he stumbled back into her couch, sitting down and placing her on his lap. Groans left his lips as she kissed down his neck.

But then he stopped her, gently pulled her away. "Doll," he said as his flesh hand cradled her head. "I need to show you something."

It was early in the relationship, but it was something Bucky couldn't hide anymore. He picked her up from his lap and sat her down beside him.

His leg bounced and he dug his nails into his thighs. "Before I show you, I need to explain," he said. He tried to being his sentence a couple of times over, but it wasn't happening. Giving up, he let out a sigh, head dropping forward. "Have you ever heard of the Winter Soldier?"

A dry laugh left her lips. "Are you kidding me, Buck? That psycho tried to kill me," she said as she looked at him, head falling against the back of the sofa.

He swallowed, mouth dry. But he had to keep going.

Slowly, Bucky began peeling off his gloves off of his fingers. "The Winter Soldier is an ordinary man," Bucky began, unable to meet her eye. "The ordinary side of him doesn't know what the Winter Soldier side of him has done. He doesn't know the people he's hurt, doesn't know the ways in which he's hurt them."

He slipped his shoulder down and a gasp left her lips. "No," she gasped, backing away from him.

"Doll, I swear I've never hurt you. I'm not the Winter Soldier," he said quickly. But he didn't reach towards her. "It's.. hard to explain. But I'm not the Winter Soldier. I need you to know that it wasn't me."

It took a lot of time, but Bucky explained it to her. They had to start things again. So early in their relationship and they had to start everything again. But Bucky was willing. As long as she had him, he was gonna do whatever he could to keep it that way.

Here they were a year later.

Clarity overcame her features as she looked down at Bucky. "Fuck," she hissed and wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry, Buck. I-I had a nightmare."

He sat up slightly. His arms were open, allowing her to crawl inside of them and rest against him if she wanted to. "I know, Doll," he said. Her eyes moved to his metal hand as he own hand reached forwards her throat, feeling for the phantom bruises that had disappeared so long ago.

For a moment she just sat there, knees tucked up to her chest and her cheek resting against her knee. The sight broke Bucky's heart.

What were you meant to do when you were the person that terrified the love of your life more than anything? Bucky wiped his hand over his face and climbed out of the bed. He pulled shorts up his legs to cover himself up and headed out to the kitchen.

She watched him go and her heart dropped. She was fucking everything, and she knew it. Fuck, she loved this man so much. Everything was fine while she was awake, but the moment she shut her eyes, she was terrified.

"Shit," she groaned and wiped her eyes again. She climbed out of bed and grabbed a hold of Bucky's shirt. Pulling it over her head, she pulled it up to her nose and breathed in.

And then she set off, bare feet padding against the floor as she headed to the kitchen. "Buck," she called as she walked down the hall and into the kitchen.

There Bucky was, sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee. "It's the middle of the night," she muttered as she walked over and pulled the cup away from him. "You're not gonna be able to sleep."

He looked at her, but his expression was unreadable. "Bucky," she tried as she stepped into his arms. He didn't move to wrap his arms around her, and her heart leapt into her throat. "I-I love you. You know that, right?"

He gave a nod. "I know, Doll," he mumbled and stood up. "Want me to get you some water?"

Her hand reached up to cup his jaw. "I want you to tell me you love me," she said, head cocked to the side.

Bucky brought his flesh hand up to rest over her own. "I love you, Doll." He to a pause to suck in a breath. "I just wish it wasn't me that you're scared of."

"Buck, I know I'm scared of him, not you. I know you're not him."

She reached down to take his metal hand in her own. Bringing it up to her lips, she kissed his thumb. "You're my everything, Buck," she whispered and dropped his hand. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. This time, Bucky let his arms wrap around her.

No man had ever looked at her with so much love in his eyes. He dropped his forehead against her own. "I can sleep on the couch tonight," he offered.

"Don't you fucking dare."

A small grin split across his face. "Yes ma'am."

[livinforthetea]

By giving Bryce the mask, Nesta has already proven that she would make a much better ruler than Rhysand ever could - and maybe this is WHAT MAKES RHYSAND AND CASSIAN SO MAD IN HOFAS. Nesta barely knows Bryce and she doesn’t know any of the millions of beings on Midgard but she believes in fighting to protect innocent people, Rhysand only believes in fighting to protect his family. If that in itself wasn’t a very problematic trait for a ruler to have, it’s even worse considering who exactly Rhysand family is. 

Looking back at what happened when Amarantha trapped everyone UTM, Rhysand uses his powers to shield Velaris, and only Velaris, and let’s be real here, he does it because he really just wants to make sure to protect 4 people. The thing is though, these 4 people are actually supposed to be 4 of the most dangerous (according to what the other courts believe) and strongest people in Prythian. Rhysand would rather lets millions die than risk his all powerful mate, who has the power of all of the High Lords from having to lift a finger, he would be fine with families being wiped out so that the strongest Illyrian in the history of Prythian, since Enalius, who is a general and leads armies, trained to fight wars, doesn’t have to fight. He would be fine with children being slaughtered by the Asteri in another world so that his cousin, who is supposed to have the power of truth and who he would send into a battle once everyone else has fallen which implies she has some kind of ultimate power, doesn’t have to do anything. 

He, himself, is supposed to be the strongest High Lord in the history of their world, he can infiltrate minds, mist people at will, turn into a great beast and shred people apart and he would rather sit back and see an entire world destroyed than risk his family being in any danger. 

Imagine if you will that Tony Stark decided to let Thanos do his thing, as long as it kept the rest of the Avengers from suffering any damage. That is pretty much the way that Rhysand thinks. 

Meanwhile, Nesta, even as just a human woman was advocating, begging and demanding for the protection of the innocent humans below the wall. She was willing to give up the mask, knowing that yes she was putting her world at risk, but understanding that when risk came, they would do everything in their power to fight it and perhaps had faith in the people around hers power to do so. 

I don’t care how much you love Rhysand, or how much you hate Nesta…..but you have to have the rationality to understand this and realize that Rhysand is a bad ruler and whether Nesta wants to rule or not (and I firmly believe she DOES NOT), she’s already shown she would do a much better job than him. Maybe the Inner Circle actually knows this deep down and they are pissed that she is bringing it to light. 

[dalishious]

Notes on Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain from The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilgaurd

ELGAR'NAN:

With Solas, we established that hair loss would be the only outward indication of an ancient elf's age. Elgar'nan wear sa wiga ttached to his crown.

The shards of lyrium around his collar were each taken from a slain Titan during the war between the first elves and the Titans. They have become corrupted by their time in the Black City.

Elgar'nan uses an eclipse shape language, a reference to being the god of firie and shadow.

His costume was meant to reflect the general or dictator archetype; he proudly brandishes the medals of his previous conquests as a symbol of authority. The badges on his coat are more modest at the bottom but become more and more ostentatious as his victories (and his pride) increase. He also wears around his neck a vial of dust, taken from the same spot where his spirit self-formed his body from the dust.

GHILAN'NAIN:

Goddess of monsters. Mother of the Halla. Ghilan'nain was once an elf chosen by Andruil, the goddess of the hunt, to become a god as reward for her devotion to the world's animals. She then became part of the elven pantheon.

She is the goddess of monsters, creating countless twisted creatures. She has modified herself so much over the years that whatever her face may have been, its long forgotten.

Her mask tells the story of how she was made the youngest of the gods. On the first day, she struck down the monsters of the air. On the second day, she drowned the giants of the sea. On the third day, she killed the beasts of the land.

Ghilan'nain's horns are meant to reflect a hunting bow in reference to Andruil.

Ghilan'nain is our sinister mad-scientist god, using her blighted magic to create horrors out of Thedas's people and wildlife. She mutates the darkspawn into even more powerful and "efficient" forms, for example, and also warps the Antaam who foolishly come to her for power.

Ghilan'nain wants to restore the old elven empire so she can continue her work. Analytical and curious, she sees everyone as potential stock for experiments (except for fellow god Elgar'nan, with whom she gets on well). Ghilan'nain is pitiless about her work—she'll happily slice open a hundred people for parts—but she's got a soft spot of pride in her monsters once they're complete.

[crazy-rafe-madler]

Attack On Titan

Jealous Levi x Reader

A/N: not exactly following the events of the battle, but I really wanted some jealous Levi so enjoy!

The screams of soldiers and the thunder of Titans filled the air as you sprinted across the rooftops, ODM gear propelling you forward. The fires from the Colossal Titan’s explosion lit the night like a funeral pyre, casting a hellish glow over Shiganshina. Your heart pounded as you leapt, dodging chunks of falling debris and the scattered remains of comrades.

You had barely survived the explosion alongside Hange. The rest of your team was gone—dead in an instant, consumed by the blast or crushed by falling rubble. Their screams echoed in your mind, haunting you as you fought to keep moving. There was no time to grieve. You had to live, if only to make their sacrifices mean something.

Somewhere beyond the walls, Levi was fighting. The thought of him battling the Beast Titan alone made your chest tighten, but you buried your worry. There was no time for distraction, no room for hesitation. The chaos of war demanded focus, and your feelings for Levi—feelings you had never dared to voice—were a vulnerability you couldn’t afford to show.

“Stay close, Y/N!” Hange called, their voice sharp and commanding, though grief was evident beneath their words. “We can’t afford to lose anyone else!”

You nodded sharply, determination masking the turmoil beneath your calm exterior.

When Zeke and the Cart Titan began retreating with Reiner’s body, you saw your chance. Hange was far behind you, and you weren’t going to let the enemy slip away. With a burst of speed, you pursued them, your ODM gear slicing through the smoke-filled air.

“Stop them!” you shouted, your voice raw from the heat and ash.

The Cart Titan growled, its claws swinging wide as it tried to deter you. You dodged easily, adrenaline pumping through your veins as your eyes locked on Reiner. He was vulnerable—injured and barely conscious. This was the moment to end it.

You landed on the rooftop ahead of their path, cutting off their escape. The Cart Titan hissed at you, its claws scraping against the rooftop as it crouched low in a menacing stance.

“Get out of my fucking way,” you snarled, your voice dripping with fury as you glared at the grotesque beast. “I’m ending this!”

Reiner’s human form stumbled toward you, his face contorted in pain and frustration.

“You never give up, do you?” he rasped, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You didn’t respond. Words were meaningless now. Your blades were too worn from the battle to be of use, so you engaged him with your fists.

The fight was brutal and raw. Reiner was strong, but you were faster, ducking under his strikes and delivering precise blows that sent him reeling. For a moment, you had the upper hand, driving him to his knees.

But then his hand found a blade lying amidst the debris. With a sudden burst of strength, he swung it toward you. You dodged, but the move left you open. He tackled you to the ground, using his weight to pin you.

Pain exploded through your side as the blade plunged into you, the sharp steel biting deep. You gasped, blood spilling from the wound as Reiner shoved you toward the edge of the rooftop.

“Die already,” he muttered, pushing you over.

The world spun as you fell, your vision blurring from the blood loss and the sheer drop beneath you. Just as you thought the end had come, strong arms caught you, jerking you upward.

“Y/N!” Jean’s voice was desperate as he held you tightly, his ODM gear anchoring you both to a nearby rooftop.

He landed carefully and laid you down, his face pale as he took in your wound. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he muttered, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

Your strength was fading fast, but you managed a faint smile. “Thanks… Jean.”

“Don’t talk. Just—just hang on,” he said, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding. He brushed your hair from your face, his touch gentle despite his panic.

Far below, Levi arrived in time to see you collapse. His chest tightened as he saw Jean holding you, his hands on your face and your blood staining his uniform. A dark storm of emotions churned within him—worry, fear, and something far more bitter.

Without hesitation, Levi shot toward you, his movements fueled by pure adrenaline.

Levi landed beside you, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. “Move,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Jean hesitated, his hands still on you. “She’s hurt bad—”

“I said, move,” Levi growled, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jean reluctantly shifted back but stayed close, his expression tense as Levi crouched beside you. Levi’s hands were steady as he pulled out his medical kit, cutting open your uniform to access the wound.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but trembling slightly. “What the hell were you thinking, taking on Reiner alone?”

You tried to respond, but the pain was too overwhelming.

“Don’t talk,” Levi said firmly, his tone softening. “Just stay awake. Look at me.”

Jean knelt behind you, holding your shoulders to keep you still while Levi stitched the wound. You winced, the pain sharp and biting, but Levi’s steady presence grounded you.

“You’re going to be fine,” Levi said, though his jaw was clenched tight. “But you need to stop closing your damn eyes. Focus on my voice.”

Jean glanced at Levi, his worry plain on his face. “She’s losing too much blood—”

“I know,” Levi snapped, his irritation masking the fear gnawing at him. He worked quickly, his hands deft as he sealed the wound.

Once Levi finished stitching you up, he gently lifted you into his arms. Jean followed closely as they made their way to the top of the wall, where the wounded were being treated.

When they reached the top, Jean sat down with you cradled in his lap, refusing to let go. Levi crouched beside you, his face carefully blank as he cleaned your wound again, his sharp eyes watching for any signs of infection.

“You’re tougher than you look,” Levi murmured, his voice so low you barely heard him.

When the treatment was done, Levi placed his hands on Jean’s shoulder. “Let me take her,” he said, his tone more a command than a request.

Jean hesitated, his grip tightening on you. “She’s fine here—”

“Give her to me,” Levi interrupted, his voice cold.

Jean finally relented, though his jaw tightened as he watched Levi carefully shift your head into his lap. Levi brushed your hair back, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he watched your pale face.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He kept you in his lap for a long while, his fingers absently stroking your hair as the others worked around them. Only when Sasha was brought nearby did Levi reluctantly lay you down beside her, his hand lingering on your shoulder before he stepped away.

When you finally opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Jean leaning over you, his face lighting up with relief.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. “Thank god. I thought…” He shook his head, his expression softening.

You tried to sit up, but he gently pressed you back down. “Don’t move. You need to rest.”

As you processed his words, you noticed the others nearby. Hange stood a little apart, their sharp eyes darting between you and Levi, who stood silently a few feet away. Sasha and Connie waved weakly from their spots, their smiles a welcome comfort.

Jean hesitated, then blurted out, “You know, back in Trost… I kissed you. After that mission. Do you remember?”

Silence fell over the group like a hammer.

Your cheeks flushed. “Jean…” you began, but his earnest gaze stopped you.

“I thought I was going to lose you then. And now… I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted, his voice soft but unwavering.

Levi’s expression shifted—subtle, but telling. His jaw clenched, and his steel-gray eyes darkened, flicking from Jean to you. The muscle in his cheek twitched, his emotions a storm just beneath the surface.

“It was just a thank-you,” you said quickly, your voice steady but your heart racing. “Jean, you’re a good friend. But that’s all.”

Jean’s face fell slightly, but he forced a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Hange smirked knowingly, their gaze flicking to Levi, who looked away sharply, his fists clenched at his sides. The tension was palpable as the others began to disperse, Sasha and Connie throwing sympathetic glances at Jean as they left to rest.

Hours later, the quiet night blanketed the wall. Most of the squad had fallen asleep, their exhaustion overtaking the remnants of tension. You were awake, sitting quietly against the cool stone, your wound freshly bandaged and throbbing dully.

Levi approached from the shadows, his movements silent as always. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes scanning your face with a rare vulnerability.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and even.

You shook your head. “Not with everything that happened today.”

He sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the day hanging heavily between you.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Back there, when Jean said that…” He hesitated, something unusual for him. “It pissed me off.”

You blinked, startled by his admission. “Levi…”

He turned to you, his gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’ve seen too many people die, Y/N. Too many people I cared about.” His voice softened, the hard edges smoothing slightly. “I didn’t think I had room for this anymore. For you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your throat tightening as his words sank in.

“But when I saw you fall,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “I realized I couldn’t lose you. Not like this.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You were too stunned, too overwhelmed by the depth of his confession.

Levi’s hand reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’m not good at this,” he muttered, his cheeks faintly pink despite the night’s shadows. “But I’m not letting you slip away. Not now. Not ever.”

This time, you found your voice. “Levi…” you said, your own voice trembling, “I’ve felt the same. For so long.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his lips met yours, firm and warm, yet achingly gentle. The world seemed to still, the horrors of the day fading into the background.

When he pulled back, his eyes softened, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good,” he said simply, his voice laced with relief.

You rested your forehead against his, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Despite the war, despite the loss, you had found something worth holding onto. And you knew Levi felt the same.

[keikakudori]

                               Aizen had seen Gin in many states over the years; he had seen him seething with anger and he had seen him playful. He had seen him whining dramatically and he had seen him pouting when he had rebuked him for some behavior or another. There, too, were those nights which had been quieter and he would hold a book in one hand, reading aloud while his other hand played with silver strands of hair or stroked over the sleek back, voice a steady rumbling and divulging into conversations about the contents within. Then the evenings of heat and passion, sometimes ignited through one of their arguments or inspired by teasing, a flirt exuded by sharp blue eyes and a baring of skin that had drawn his full attention. Sometimes a crane of the neck. Sometimes a flicker of thigh and calf beneath one of the yukata that seemed to ever vanish from his wardrobe, stolen by slim hands.

                               Sometimes he wanted to ask Gin about that thievery, inquire as to why he would want to ever steal his yukata. Yet he had never commented on it beyond a lifting of an eyebrow, a hint of a bemused smile. In time, he had grown to love the sight of this young man wrapped in the drapes of fabric which seemed to swallow him up, perpetually sliding from those slim shoulders and inspiring Aizen to develop the absent-minded habit of ever reaching out to pull the fabric into place once more. How many nights of him reaching for Gin had been inspired by the fact that the sight of the viper wearing that garment had stirred something in him?

                               For over a hundred years, they had been entwined together.

                               For over a hundred years, this had been in the making.

                               It had been in the making from the night that a boy out gathering firewood had crouched behind bushes, his sharp blue eyes focused upon a young god accepting an offering presented him by men who had stolen something important. Something precious. That night, he had indeed felt something nearby but had made no move to investigate; residents of the Rukongai often did sleep beneath bushes, out in the open, trying to survive. Trying to live. In those dark hours, he had eluded his captain and departed to take in those offerings. How pleased he had been by that one, he remembered. A fragment pulsating with acute power. A shard that had been added to the Hogyoku's hunger.

                               He remembered Gin asking him a question, once: How do you know when it's done? When will it be enough?

                               A boy, with persimmons in hand, watching him. Always watching, always following in his shadow. How many comments he'd received, of how adorable it was that he was accompanied so closely by the new third seat of the division. He would smile that warm smile of his, eyes gleaming behind the lenses of the glasses which helped diffuse the oddity of his stare. Like a baby chick, someone had said once. All that had been seen was the kind and gentle lieutenant taking in a boy fresh out of Shino'o Academy, teaching him how to be a proper seated officer.

                               The result had been rather entertaining for about five minutes in seeing those that adored him cooing over the image presented. He'd even heard a rumor or two on speculating on whether or not Gin was his son. Gin was indeed HIS -- yet not how those people thought. Not a child spawned from his own loins but the viper that had chosen to coil about his wrist, then slithered up to drape over his shoulders.

                               Yet never, never, had he sought to force Gin to follow him. Not truly. But how the boy had seemed eager, back then.

                               Of course, that had been over a hundred years ago. And now, here, he had reached towards the younger man without thinking.

                               It was habit built into Aizen, a habit formed by their years together. How many times would he reach out to the snake in his bed after one of their bouts of intimacy, soothing sore limbs with his touch or stroking lotion into welts raised thanks to their idea of discipline? How many hours had been spent with those large hands tenderly applying attention to the impressions of ropes or cuffs, tongue easing across some marks, his fingertips over others?

                               For all of how heated their sex could be, even in those darker edges when the line of consent had seemed to blur and fold in on itself, even during those nights when their fucking was inspired more by anger, still Aizen would extend his hands forth to touch Gin, ease his partner into relaxing with the aftercare that had seemed built into everything. Even when he had been angry, he would still take time to tend to him afterwards.

                               So was it so strange that Aizen reached to him now?

                               For one moment, Gin's cheek came easily into his hand. For one moment, he felt the way the other man seemed to almost lean into it.

                               But anger -- ah, that red-tinged emotion, that vicious thing that rolled up through him - that was what had been lacking until this point and he found it something hot in his chest. Of course, that could've been the physical ache his body was carrying. He knew he was running on fumes. He knew that he did not have the energy to sustain this fury yet how he gripped at it, clinging like a cockleburr to the tail of a horse. How dreadfully seductive, that feeling. How it churned in chest and stomach.

                               How anger could conceal the aching HURT within his own heart and soul at the words which had been spit at him in the divine wrath so bestowed upon him repeatedly by this serpentine compatriot. How he drew it close to mask the way that something in his chest felt broken. It was as if he had inhaled glass ground into dust, gritty and obstructive; how it made every breath he drew in feel ragged even as Gin launched into another tirade.

                               He tried to speak, to get a word in edge-wise, to break through what he said only for him to find himself frozen for a second as Gin hurled those words at him: I'd like to think I know ya well enough to know y'would've sooner killed me.

                               The world around him seemed to shimmer like waves of heat rising from flat surfaces, rippling and nearly distorting while he seemed to hear the other words through a roaring that rose in sharp crescendo in his hearing. A liability --- not being seen as worth future investment --... knowing about Kyoka Suigetsu's weakness--- Control, overstepping, his anger, still not forgiven you----

                               Black tarmac below his prone body, arms outspread.

                               Blue sky above, with the sun bearing down.

                               Yer gonna---

Blink.

                               Yer gonna---

Blink.

                               Yet what truly made Aizen's face go ashen was not the observation that Gin made about what he would have done, nor of what he said about the purpose of using that as a message for Ichigo. It was not the comment which encapsulated of how he had become WORSE THAN THE SOUL KING -- though that did sting.

                               --- all you've ever done to anyone who's ever gotten even close to you was ruin'em.

                               That pool of brown with its fraternal twin of silver and purple was the only color in a face left gray, his features bloodless as darkness swam at the edges of his vision. Air scraped from his lungs, surprising him only briefly in that it was not expelled in a cloud of red-toned mist, and Aizen was not entirely sure that he drew a breath in again. There was a sense of feeling apart from his body, as if it were distant and far away. How feebly the stump of his right arm twitched even as his left hand fell to his side and he just stared at Gin still, lips slack and white from what had been stirred through him.

                               It was not often that he was a man to struggle with words, yet how he did now and his struggle was all too obvious. Those words cut Aizen to the quick, and that stump moved again as if he were trying to reach to his own face. A moment was taken as he looked down at it, as if confused as to why his arm was not responding, before his gaze moved back to Gin almost as fast. Had the traitor ever looked so before? Not even in those months and years following the sharply-dealt display of anger towards his own captain had he shown anything near this.

                               Not even when Gin had reached out and set his fingertips against Aizen's chest had he ever looked like this.

                               For a man of such tremendous presence, there was something small about the brunet in this moment; if he were capable of sitting up, then he would've curled in on himself. Yet here he was staked out and unable to move, bared to the sharp cruel talons and fangs that so easily tore at him. For a few seconds, that anger he wore was extinguished, snuffed out like a flame in high strong winds. No one had ever been able to cut into him the way that Gin could and no one else would ever have the hold over him that was displayed here.

                               Then the anger was rising again, Aizen starting to openly struggle on getting to his feet while air hissed out between clenched teeth. It was a strange emotion, a ravaging effect of grief and anger and a strange, strange pain that was like molten ice in his throat and chest; it was true that Aizen Sousuke had seen Ichimaru Gin in many states over the years. But never had he seen him show such pain. Not even on that awful, terrible day when he had ripped this man apart with his own hands and bade had he seen him in this sort of pain. And that pain HURT him; it plucked and tugged at the emotion which he had only but some short hours ago been finally forced to admit to.

                               And he could not deny, either, that Gin was correct in what he said.

                               ❝ Oh, that's rich, ❞ he managed, jaw clenched tight as he worked to climb to his feet, ignoring the dribble of blood still running from the stump of his arm as he managed to lift himself up to one knee, the other, feet beneath him. The ruined layers of the shihakusho that Gin had dressed him in sagged in blood-sodden flaps away from his body, revealing the glistening sphere of dulled purple once more, its sheen apparent even despite the blood that covered it. ❝ That's -- rich--- given what you just said, Gin--- ❞

                               The edges of his vision seemed gray now, like a foggy mist creeping into his perception of the world. How it seemed to shimmer in and out of focus, draping around him. He worked to lock his knees even as his posture wavered, feet shifting to work on keeping him upright. This was an anemic energy, likely to be fast exhausted but how he needed to reply, to respond. At his side, his remaining hand shook and there was a feeling of shaking through his body. Yet Aizen ignored it, pushed, seeking to bring up a reply. HIs chest hurt. How his heart labored.

                               ❝ I t-- trusted you--- trusted you with something that I never --- NEVER GAVE TO ANYONE ELSE! I ENTRUSTED A PIECE OF MYSELF TO YOU THAT NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER HAD! I GAVE IT ONLY TO YOU, GIN! ❞

                               It was, perhaps, the deepest intimacy that two Shinigami could share; to reveal the extent of what their powers encompassed. It was the deepest display of trust that could ever be had. In those years following his elevation to the exalted title of captain, they had both learned there was a way to bypass his Kanzen Saimin. How Aizen remembered that boy folding over his blade, grabbing it, the feeling of something shattering----- 

                               ( kudakero, kyoka suigetsu )

                               ❝ And you-- you--- you're standing here and telling me that I--- I-- never opened up to you---? NEVER?! I GAVE YOU A PIECE OF MY VERY SOUL! ❞

                               For Gin, Aizen had slowly opened up, baring himself further and further; for a man who did not trust easily, it had been a significant thing. How many things had he shared with him over the years? How many times had he spoken with him, unsure, halfway to disbelieving that anyone would ever want to know him? Yet Gin had asked him questions and earned that trust, gaining Aizen's favor rapidly until he had become the brunet's right hand. The right hand of the god of Las Noches. The one who would have been his divine spear had he ascended the throne which was his by heritage and bloodlines. In his veins ran blood tainted with the shades of royal purple. A heritage he had never asked for. A power he had loathed.

                               How many times had he spoken with him, covered him with blankets, reached to pull the yukata up into place? How many times had he chased Gin down to get medication into him when he'd been ill? How many meals shared together, Aizen silently permitting the younger man to steal food from his dishes in a gesture known and understood only by those who came from the rattle-bone hells of the Rukongai's worst districts? How many times had he shown it over and over and over that he had found his world view encompassed by this young man?

                               How many times had he shown that gentle tender pain called love?

                               ❝ You had plenty of chances to speak to me about this, Gin! Plenty! OR DO YOU PREFER TO THINK THAT I WOULD NOT HAVE LISTENED TO YOU?! DID IT MAKE IT EASIER IF YOU THOUGHT THAT?! AFTER I GAVE YOU THAT PIECE OF MYSELF?! WHEN I KNEW --- WHEN I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING BY TELLING YOU THAT?! Or did you convince yourself that I wouldn't have ever fucking listened to you?! How many times did I do that! How many times HAVE I done that?! HOW MANY TIMES DID I SHOW YOU THAT I TRUSTED YOU?! ❞

                               Barring one thing.

                               Barring that sphere in his chest.

                               But a hundred years; a hundred years and more together. Decades of how they had been bound to one another. And now he knew. Now he knew why and he saw that pain in Gin, a pain that had been kept hidden from him, concealed. Grief and a sick understanding built atop horror dwelt in him - yet they were superseded by the anger he felt. At last, Aizen had begun to swing back.

                               His voice was a crackling vituperation, seeking to conceal the way that his eyes burned. Again, that broad form swayed, and those legs trembled, forcing him to work on straightening once more. He was not going to collapse in front of Gin once more. Ah, how stubborn he could be. How stubborn they both were. And how they had the power to harm one another tremendously, it seemed. The darkness of Muken seemed to swell around him for a second, blotting out the fire-lit interior of the small cabin and he was all but sure if he looked to his right, he'd see a drifting of white snow cascading there.

                               Another shuddering before he was forcing his shoulders to straighten, his spine to align as he sought to stand at his full height. A ragged, broken man ---- who had broken a boy he had not met for a full year. A boy who had pursued him with all the hunter's intensity.

                               ❝ You could have TRIED to speak with me about it so many times over the years --- you never did. ❞

GIN KNEW HE SHOULDN’T HAVE STRUCK AIZEN AGAIN, not so soon after accidentally killing him… again. But in fairness, he wasn’t thinking straight – hadn’t been since Aizen spoke of that name so casually, so certain of himself, so sure that the conversation thereafter could be done in a civil manner when that was anything but the truth. Gin was vulnerable now and he hated it, raw and bleeding, despite Aizen being the one currently recovering from a beating that left him pulse-less and bloody. He hated that he didn’t pull away, too, when Aizen reached to soothe him. How strange, that, to be the point of all his ire and yet seek to comfort him, seek to alleviate that pain Gin knew was becoming blatantly apparent in himself – how ugly, this state of his, and yet Aizen did not flinch away, even after – everything. It felt stupidly backwards.

But shortlived, the way his final words cracked and seethed all in one, how Ichimaru Gin’s remorse and pains made themselves known in full here and now, over a hundred years in the making. Over a hundred years since he went to collect firewood for a distressed girl struggling to keep warm through the night because something was wrong with her, something was taken, and he saw this man bowed before, being offered up pieces of souls like he was a deity of old. THE FIRST TRUE SEETHE OF KILLING INTENT BY ICHIMARU GIN UNDER THE DARK MASK OF NIGHT. Looking back on it, Gin reckoned Aizen had sensed a blip nearby, a shift of twigs underweight of a child’s foot, and surmised it was of no real consequence if his meeting of those men was overseen by a spying eye. Gin hadn’t been worth a second glance. Only when he gutted a full-grown man a year later did he earn Aizen’s gaze.

I COULD’VE BEEN GOOD –

No, no… no, he wasn’t capable, he hadn’t ever been capable of being good. He was detestable. Deplorable. He shouldn’t have said that, it was a lie, it was a lie – he never turned into that snake, he had always been it, he had always been capable of devouring others with that mouth. Gin couldn’t place the blame on Aizen, no, he withdrew and despaired inwardly – he had always been a monster, a bad omen, chased out with rocks pelting at his small back, a child in appearance alone.

Try as he might, Gin couldn’t reel his anger back in, it was far too intertwined with his hurt, his century-old wound that Aizen had brazenly plucked the scab off of. Yet Aizen dared to look at him, hurt also, shocked, offended, all measures of various things and that question had him all the more ready for a round two of flaring anger. You asked for this! You pushed, you insisted, you cornered me!

Over a hundred years and why, oh why, hadn’t Gin mentioned anything? Oh, he was ready to punch the guy all over again – forget feeling any remorse over that previous strike.

❝ Why didn’t I tell ya? Oh, lemme guess, you would’ve stopped your entire plan and disassembled your precious Hogyoku all ‘cause a kid you just met asked you to? Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d like to think I know ya well enough to know y'would’ve sooner killed me and started from scratch with a new Third Seat. If I told ya too soon, I would’ve been a liability for askin’ for too much and knowing too little and not bein’ seen as worth any further investment. If I asked too late, within another decade or two? I would’ve been a liability to ya too, knowin’ Kyoka Suigetsu’s weakness and now askin’ ya to hand over a soul y'wouldn’t even remember takin’ from a girl you wouldn’t even recognize was in the Gotei 13 at the time. Cause you wouldn’t have cared, all you’d care about was managin’ to get me under control, you’d probably kill her, then kill me for oversteppin’. If I mentioned it later than that, y'would’ve asked me this same fucking question now as to why I waited so long when the whole fucking point of my anger ain’t even centered 'round the fact that I wanted it back, no, it was also the fact that it fuckin’ happened in the first place. You can’t undo it, a week later and I would’ve still not forgiven you, you can’t undo the damage you’ve done – I can’t either, I knew that goin’ in. I knew gettin’ that piece back wouldn’t’ve fixed shit. But I wanted it anyways, and most of all I wanted ya to pay. ❞

Gin stood, stepping back and away from Aizen, away from any reaching hand. He didn’t want to be touched. Still, his voice shook, strained, hoarse from emotion and anger alike that ravaged his throat thickly, as though he had swallowed sand in the span of his angry rare moment of shouting. Aizen was unraveling him, even now, words spilling freely akin to a weeping wound’s blood.

❝ You started spiralin’ the moment ya put that thing in your chest and I watched as you became th’ thing you hated so much, more outright than ever before. You’ve always had that spark of heartlessness in you, doin’ what you did to hundreds and hundreds of souls across the Rukongai, but you started huntin’ human kids down for sport because y'thought hangin’ their corpses outside'a the town you were about to obliterate would send an intriguing message to a fuckin’ teenager you manipulated since birth. You wanna dare imply I had some sorta responsibility to open up to ya when all you’ve ever done to anyone who’s ever gotten even close to you was ruin'em? Do you think I’m fuckin’ stupid? ❞

Trembling, overwhelmed by too much happening in such a short and potent burst, Gin wanted to flee. He wanted to turn tail and run – Shunpo off in whatever direction. Let a Quincy snipe him out of the sky, he didn’t care anymore. He needed to breathe, he needed to get away. But equal parts stubbornness and logic spoke of staying, of holding his ground and not rushing into enemy fire potentially the moment he breached their safehouse’s barrier. He doubted Aizen would feel as generous in reviving him a second time from death, especially considering all the things Gin was spitting at him now. And he was too drained, far too drained, to use such a powerful ability once more. Not now, not yet at least.

Thus, Gin was cornered yet again, a creeping despair filling his throat the way that blood had, that terrifying moment of feeling skin split apart at the weight of a sharpened blade’s edge dragging across his neck – the sensation of death still filled Gin’s nostrils, the way that blood from a fatal wound had a different scent than the rest, the way it smelled thicker and deeper —- it’d haunt him, just as those words of Aizen’s certainly would. THE IMPLICATION OF BLAME WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE GIN SNARL AND STRAIN, a deep sadness and guilt and anger and defensiveness rearing its ugly mangled head. I WAS A KID, I WAS JUST A KID, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO SAY ANYTHING? I DIDN’T KNOW HOW, I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY, I DIDN’T WANT TO, I WAS AFRAID, NOTHING WAS SAFE, YOU WOULDN’T HAVE LISTENED, YOU WOULD’VE SOONER SAPPED ME OF MY ENERGY AND STOLEN A PIECE OF MY SOUL, TOO, TO FEED YOUR HOGYOKU. IT WASN’T MY FAULT!

It was my fault, I saw them crowded around her and I didn’t do anything, I could’ve done something, I could have charged at them, I could have yelled, I could have had them beat me down instead, I could’ve run at you from the bushes that night too, I could have had you gut me on Kyoka Suigetsu before we even met under the moon. I could’ve tried sooner, I could have tried harder –IT WAS MY FAULT, IT WASN’T MY FAULT, HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN? I WAS A KID, I WAS A KID, I WAS A KID –

❝ – it ain’t my fault you did what you did, it ain’t my fault you used others and didn’t care about it until over a hundred years later. This reflects poorly on you, not me, not me. ❞