#most notably with his blade

[humblemooncat]

🖊+Ki'to!

Ki'to's a hard one to think for because I share so much about him here. xD

There is one thing I can think of though! Sort of more of a fun fact than headcanon.

I know a lot of us have our Sin Eater/Lightwarden Bad Ends, so let me share Ki'to's.

If things were to have gone tits-up at the end of ShB, and the light consumed Ki'to, he would have become a very powerful Lightwarden by the name of Chiron. He would take on the visage of a centaur (much like the titan he's named for), tall as the Crystarium with a greatsword to match, which he would hold before him in solemn vigil before the city he loved even in his transformation.

None could enter, none could leave, so said the gatekeeper.

A twisted form of devotion and protection for those he loves.

It is said on occasion that one could see the Exarch approaching his post, the only one allowed close. What hushed whispers they share however, no one will ever know. For they live and die on crystalline lips.

[tetzoro]

☽◯☾ - SWORD AND SHEATH

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : After another slew at sea, you and Zoro have the ship all to yourselves as the crew restocks up on the island. They say that curiosity kills the cat, but what happens when you've tamed the beast?

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. zoro roronoa x f!reader ; swordplay, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, mentions of spit, pet names (baby, pretty girl), mentions of squirting, lots of teasing and praise — WC : 5.2k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ First Quarter ! ꒱ ― Kinktober Masterlist

Each glide of the polish-infused cloth along the Wado Ichimonji is slow, refined. Zoro was using his practiced hand to do the process he’s done thousands of times with the blade he cherishes most.

It was a form of art — the way the blade would be reborn with the shine it was always meant to have, no longer weighed down by the blood, dirt, and sweat that would so often coat it.

The sun beats down on him as he continues his ritual. Sword maintenance was just as important as training; it was cathartic, another form of meditation that Zoro relied on to center himself, grow stronger, and keep his tools as efficient as he could. 

Wiping away the horrors each weapon has seen makes him feel a little more cleansed himself. Zoro has never been one to shy away from a fight or doing what he needs to do in order to survive, but the process just reminds him that he won the battle; he’s the one who gets to clean his blades and move onto his next enemy — the next step in his dream.

His wandering mind can’t help but drift back to you — his bright star in the night sky, the one that silently guides him along and encourages his every step on his journey, even going as far as lighting the way when the path seems too dark. 

After a few moments of being with you, he too feels the weight of the blood on his hands fade away as soon as you lovingly take them in yours. The tender skin of your palms kissing, the buzz of being grounded by each squeeze you grant him and he finds himself able to begin again.

Seagulls chirp overhead as he works, polishing his blades with intent, his focus unshakeable even though the world around him demands attention. The gentle lull of the waves, the whispering breeze in the air, he was able to tune it all out.

But the moment you came waltzing onto the deck, his ears perked up and his nose scrunched, signaling that he knew you were there and mentally preparing himself for whatever you had planned next. If only he knew.

“What do you want now?” The last word dies in his throat as he takes you in, freezing in place. You only see it because you know him so well, and have studied his face and all of his expressions far and wide. 

The subtle widening of his eye, barely a fraction of a difference but it’s a difference all the same. The stoic mask he so often wears, acting indifferent to things such as clothes, slips away as no one could ever ward off the power of beauty - especially yours.

The facade begins to chip away as a blush spreads across his face, gears turning in his brain to find something to say as you make your way over to him.

Because today, the Sunny was docked at an island for a routine supply run and you were all too quick to volunteer you and Zoro to stay back and watch the ship together. He should've known right then and there that you were up to no good but your syrupy sweet eagerness disarmed him. 

But now you were stalking closer to him, dressed up entirely in his clothes – or at least some of them. Adorned in his notable green robe, his haramaki, and completed with his bandana securely tied around your head. His gaze rakes over your figure, taking in the way you look wearing one of his favorite outfits. Swallowing hard, his adam's apple bobs in anticipation. He can’t help but feel his throat close up and trap all the words he wishes to say behind a wall of surprise.

“What do you think?” You ask, your lips bending in a coy manner. 

A blush blooms across his tanned skin in a slow crawl, blossoming into a darker shade the more you twirl in his robe that very clearly shows you’re not wearing his pants underneath it.

His jaw clenched, unable to form any words as he continues to drink you in. This was the last thing he expected from you today, but he really should’ve known better.

“You’re blushing.” You grin, going to poke his cheek. But his reflexes were too sharp, instantly swatting your hand away before turning his head away from you.

“Am not! Shut up!” He hisses out, the blush only deepening as you call him out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, woman.”

“Don’t I?” You move to get back in his line of sight, that disarmingly sweet yet taunting smile still resting on your lips. “Just tell me what you think of the outfit, Zo.”

“You’re wearing my clothes.” He points out, stating the obvious. You don’t bother to hide the way you roll your eyes.

“Very astute of you. Did you have to use your Haki to come to that conclusion?” 

Without another word, Zoro throws you over his shoulder, marching back into the ship and straight for the bunks. You squeal, accusing him of being a brute as you lazily pound your fists against his back. 

Zoro slaps your ass with a sadistic grin that you don’t have the pleasure of seeing before he begins to squeeze and knead the plush flesh, unable to move his firm hand away from it.

He makes his way into the cramped room. It wasn’t his favorite place to take you but it was the closest and climbing up the crow's nest would only cause a delay between him and what he desired most.

After closing the heavy wooden door with the back of his boot, he tosses you onto the bed, letting you sprawl out for him while he places his swords to the side – perfectly lined up as always.

“Wearing my clothes around like this…” Zoro trails off as his eye zeroes in on the way the robe slides off of your shoulder, teasingly exposing the sliver of your chest. He can feel his face heat up all over again. “Are you really not wearing anything under this?”

“Well, the pants didn’t fit me and you don’t normally wear a shirt under this.” The impassive manner in which you said that did not hold a candle to the way your eyes were fired up with a diabolical mirth wrapped up with mischief. Always playing the little minx that would find a way to burrow under his skin and make a home there just to torture him. Or so he says.

“You little...” Zoro quickly crawls over you, caging you in under him, elbows digging into the mattress by your head. “You make it so hard for me sometimes.”

“Do I? Let me feel—” You reach toward his pants but his hand encircles your wrist.

“Oi! That’s not what I meant.” he almost hisses out. He took your wrists in his hands and pinned them over your head on the flattened pillow on his bunk.

The thread of control he was clinging onto was no match for the ember of desire you spark in him. One single strike and it would be burnt out, turning into ash and falling right into the palm of your hand. 

“I know.” You giggle. The damn giggle that never fails to cause something within him to flutter, stirring it around until he had no choice but to act on it. 

Surging forward, his lips aggressively capture yours. There’s no room for easing into it, just a clash of teeth knocking together, swirling with a mix of heady groans and needy moans.

But that’s one of his favorite things about kissing you — how you were just unabashed about how messy it would get. Swapping spit through the sheer force of each other's tongues shoving their way into hot, receptive mouths.

The amount of passion and unspoken feelings he’s able to express through this simple act is something he flourishes at, excelling at unraveling you. Gripping your cheeks, he tilts your head back slightly so he can deepen the kiss — as if he was trying to spill the words that stubbornly sat on the tip of his tongue and have it reach the bottom of your heart.

The call for air was growing too difficult to ignore and reluctantly he pulled back, letting the string of saliva snap and drip down your chins. He leans down, kissing the droplet off of your skin, ingesting as much as he possibly can before looking at you.

You look back at him through half-lidded eyes, melting into the bed already from the ferocity of the kiss. His steely eye trails away from your swollen, lust-bitten lips in favor of taking in the way you’re panting under him. Need takes over him as he reaches for your — his — clothes.

Zoro has disrobed himself many times, but he’s never had to take it off of someone else like this. He knows the way it unravels open and leaves his chest all exposed before he fights someone, but this isn’t one of those times.

With a gentleness that only love could bring, he languidly undoes the robe, pulling back a bit so he can see how the green fabric bunches around your sides, your heaving chest now out on display for him.

Peppering a few kisses down your jaw, his tongue trails your neck as he works his way down to your collarbone and your supple chest. Each delicious drag has you squirming under him, whining about him being a tease.

“You’re one to talk.” Zoro gruffs out with a bite of sarcasm, giving your nipple a quick pinch. He relishes in the yelp of his name that you beautifully let out before carefully trailing his slick tongue along your skin. 

The way you mewl as his lips enclose your pert bud only reinforces the primal desire that’s been raging inside of him since you first came out dressed in that damn robe.

After giving your other breast the same treatment, he presses his lips in the middle of your chest and lets it linger so he can inhale one of the sweetest parts of your body — the one that lays closest to your heart.

Zoro presses wet, open-mouthed kisses all along your stomach, moving further down until easily slipping your panties off and tossing them behind him.

Running his fingers along your glistening folds, he holds back a groan at the strings of arousal already clinging to him.

“Already so wet f’me.” His eye was trained at the apex between your thighs, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip. “Gonna prep you now.”

Bringing his face closer, he shuts his eye in a hazy bliss as he takes in your scent. The action always made you squirm but he was addicted to every single aspect of your cunt. He could never get enough of your musk, knowing that heaven was only a taste away.

Before you could complain about him taking his time, he dives in.

It wasn't often that Zoro was in a position to praise you relentlessly while his head was normally buried in your heat where you took everything so well for him. 

So, he’s learned to show you his adoration by the precise swirl of his tongue, making out with your clit and giving into every one of your demands. Groaning against your cunt as soon as he got his first taste, never quite getting his fill of it no matter how much he lapped at it.

“Zo – fuck.” The words rush out from your lungs and assimilate into the hazy tension that’s hanging in the sex-filled air. “Feels so good.”

His hands grip your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulder before moving to grab your ass, digging into the plushness and bringing you impossibly closer as he continues his assault.

“Tastes s’fucking good.” He slurs, the sound presses directly against your clit. Zoro's attention flickered back up to you, dark and stormy eye swirling around with a primal hunger as if he couldn’t ever get enough. “My sweet girl.”

You let out a soft whine as you clutch his hair, guiding him even closer as his tongue slips into your entrance.

He keeps at it, pinching your thigh — a demanding little code he uses when he wants to hear you more. Your saccharine moans, addictingly lewd mewls, and honeyed murmurs of praise.

“Please don’t stop, ah, ‘m getting close!” There was no way Zoro would stop. Not even if he wanted to tease you, not when he was so lost in your taste that all he wanted to do was let you pull him under your current and drown in it.

He vigorously continues to lap at your entrance, attempting to collect every drop of your sweet essence. His nose nudges your clit and he can feel your thighs begin to tremble, locking his head in place. He moves to focus his attention there, the flat of Zoro’s tongue adds more pressure onto the throbbing bud.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back raises from the mattress when Zoro collects your puffy clit in his mouth, sucking as hard as he can. You choke back a whimper, letting out a noise you’ve hardly ever released before as you claw at his head, humping his face for more.

“Zoro — fuck! Wait, it’s too much!" The words melt into an elongated moan, losing yourself to the drowsy delirium that zoro is spelling out against the bundle of nerves. He gives out a resounding grunt, gripping you tighter in encouragement. 

It’s all you need to let go.

Thank god no one else was on the ship because they might’ve heard the way you cried out his name in ultimate bliss as the taut band within you fully snapped. Zoro didn’t stop, lapping up the slick that gushed from your sweet pussy.

The bottom half of his face glistens in your arousal and he was absolutely drunk off of it as if it was a bottle of the finest sake in the world.

“Keep 'em spread open for me baby, ‘m not done yet,” Zoro said, sitting back on his haunches and taking in your already fucked out expression. “Need you to do that again.”

After sliding off his pants, he grips the base of his cock, giving it a few tentative pumps as his eyes trail back over your body, covered in a sheen of desire. 

If he didn’t crave to be inside of you so badly he would’ve come all over you, making you as messy as possible. His dick twitches at the thought, heat curling in his gut as he imagines you covered in the white of his essence.

“Zoro.” You gasp out, hands digging into the slightly sweaty sheets. The desperation and utter need that coats your husky voice almost does him in. But you’ve had too much control over him today, and he had to gain some of that back.

“Look at you.” Zoro's voice is low, dark and merciless. The deep desire that overtakes him and makes his words more gravely and coarse, sanding over your skin so gratifying it leaves your hips bucking up for more. The sight below him is surely one of his favorites and he plans on drawing it out for as long as he can. “All spread out for me in my bed, still in my clothes.”

Zoro leans forward, lightly tapping his cock against your sticky folds and nudging it through to your entrance, just resting it at your opening, not yet pushing in. His fingers dig deeper into your waist, keeping you in place before you can think about rolling your hips against him, trying to suck him in with all your might. 

“You’re so mean.” A pitiful pout rests on your pretty lips and he almost gives in. Almost. But he knows you so well by now, knows that you’re used to getting exactly what you want and it only makes him want to ruin you more. To put you in a place where all you want is him, all you crave is his touch. And you’re teetering right on the edge, only a simple nudge and you’ll be falling right into his trap. 

“Yeah?” One of his hands returns to his cock, reddened tip angrily staring at you as he starts to pump himself over your mound, spreading his precum all over his length as he preps himself for you. “That’s not going to get you what you want though.”

“Please, Zoro.” You barely breathe out, your need for him so great that it starts to turn painful, the dull ache spreading through your body like a wildfire, screaming out for relief as the flames of desire consume you. You’ve had a taste but you needed more.  The only thing that would satiate you was his cock sliding deep within you. “Please, I'm sorry. Please don’t tease me, come on.”

The whine in your voice has his dick twitching in his hand, ego fueling the blood coursing through his veins. Zoro wasn’t a power-hungry man, he never cared for it in the same way most people did. He liked being strong, he demanded respect, but never wanted to lead — to rule.

But that all changed whenever he’d have you sprawled out beneath him. feeling like the king of the world as one of the most desired women only has eyes for him, begging for his cock, yearning for his love. 

He’d give into you every time, his heart too weak to win against the love he had for you, but he tried to stave it off as much as he could.

“Only if you think you can handle it.” He smirks, tip catching against your clit, your body jolting forward. “See? You’re already so sensitive just from my mouth.”

“Dammit Zoro.” Another mewl that his cock leaps at. Frustration etches across your features, water pooling in your eyes as you continue to paw at him. It’s what he was waiting for — his pretty girl reduced to putty in his hand, ready to be played with. “Please.”

Something possesses him with the plea that pierces his heart — takes over the last cognitive brain cell he has as he lets out an exaggerated spit, the glob landing on his length.

Your breath hitches as he finally pushes himself all the way in, the stretch splitting you open to the point that no noise can come out, finally feeling full of what you’ve been waiting for all day. 

“You turned me into this — fuck — made me like this,.” Zoro swears, his arm wrapping around your back and pulling you flush against him as he feels the way your greedy cunt keeps him snugly in place.

“Are you really complaining about that?” Your voice almost slips into a whine as he pulls back out a little before bullying his way through you as your cunt accommodates his girth — eagerly welcoming him back in. 

“So tight, look at that.” He ignores your snark, opting to fixate on the way you’re swallowing him whole, slack-jawed and practically drooling over the sight. “Made for me.”

You clench at his words which rewards you with one of his sinful grunts, his head bowing slightly as you pulse around his throbbing length.

“Mhm,” You hum, digging your nails into his shoulders, little crescent moons blooming in its place. He lets out a hiss, snapping his hips all the way back in, nudging against your cervix. “Just fuck me already.”

“Always running your mouth off like a damn brat.” He glares down at you but there’s no bite to it — not with the amused crinkles that cradle his eyes with care.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Famous last words.

But Zoro didn’t do what he usually did; flipping you over and fucking you deep in the mattress until the only thing your mouth can do is sing out his name like a mantra.

His eye held the secrets of unspoken words, a question that he refused to waste his breath on — not when he already knew how to decipher the language of his gaze.

You trust me?

As easy as breathing.

Breathy pants escape his lungs as he keeps a steady pace, looking at you. No matter how many times he’s had you under him, you never fail to weaken him.

“I think it’s time we complete your little ensemble here.” 

“Huh?” Zoro doesn’t answer you as he reaches for the Wado Ichimonji. You shift under him in anticipation.

“Relax, baby. I just want you to hold this for me.”

The heavy hilt lays in your mouth, muffling any of the moans that tried to escape it. Zoro's calloused hand runs along your cheek, down your jaw and chin as he appraises the view before him.

The look in his steely gaze was one you were familiar with but with an edge of possession — pride.

Countless times this treasured weapon has been wielded in his own mouth, fighting to protect himself, but more importantly, his crew. Seeing you laid out under him with a lust-blown look in your eye as tears brim your lashes is something else entirely.

“That's it. Keep holding onto it,” His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he slowly begins to thrust back into you. “Just like that.”

You let out a soft whine that sounded like a muffled version of his name. Compulsion drives him to quicken his pace, moving slow and steady until your body jiggles under the ferocity of each stroke.

“There you are. Keep it there for me and I'll take care of you, alright?” 

True to his word, Zoro keeps pounding into you, his other hand trailing down your body and grabbing every bit of you he can get his hand on before his fingers catch your neglected nub between them.

The way you effortlessly clean his dirty hands, having his sword fit in your mouth like this makes it feel like it’s being cleansed in the most pure form possible. Each rapid rock of his hips has your jaw clenching down against it further, all of your enticing noises are muffled by the intricately woven hilt.

“Fuck, perfect.” The praise spills out of his mouth and pools into your gut. “So fucking perfect.”

The hilt started to slip, threatening to clatter against the floor and finishing all the work he had done on it earlier. 

“Hold it.” He hisses, “Don’t let it fall.”

His hips urgently move faster, thrusting harder into you as you try your best to grip the sword in your mouth. But he knows how strenuous it can be on his teeth and jaw, so his hand slips up to cup yours. 

Once you steady the sword, his hand trails down the sheath but his eye never leaves yours. With a bated breath, he begins to slide the sheath off, watching as your eyes widen in curiosity but make no protest to stop him.

The blade was now out, facing him and gleaming under the rays of light that poured into the room from the tiny window. The sight had his hips stuttering — the element of risk now flirting with his innermost desires. 

You were perfectly safe in his arms, he was the one who should be worried. He knows how sharp those blades are, how a tiny graze could pierce his skin.

Yet the siren call of the silver glint beckons him as it sits so prettily in your mouth — a tantalizing sight. You may be the one under him but he was the one surrendering to your power.

Many more possibilities flashed in his mind, darker desires that had him pressing his chest flush against yours, the Wado Ichimonji only a few inches away from him.

But perhaps another time he could fully indulge in the temptations that swam around in his mind, wondering how far you two could go for each other.

For now, he missed kissing you, missed your lips on his, consuming the very air from his lungs and replacing it with your sweet noises that breathe him back to life. So he bends down further, expertly taking the hilt in his mouth and pulling it from yours.

He gives you a few deep thrusts before he rises up, ready to put the sword aside but your arm stops him.

The look in your eyes mirrors the same desire that licks at his gut, and he knows you two are on the same page — just like always. 

“You want me to keep it out?” Zoro can’t hide the tone of surprise in his voice as he lazily humps against your hips. You give him a shy nod. “Why?”

“It could be fun.” The way you’re looking at him right now is killing him, slowly shredding away all of his worries and pushing him into the pits of temptation. 

“It could be dangerous.”

“But isn’t that exciting?” Zoro swallows hard. It could very well be exciting, showcasing your trust for one another but…

“I don't want to hurt you.” He couldn't live with that, knowing that one of his blades had hurt you in a way you didn’t want. He'd rather slit his stomach open than do that. 

“You wouldn’t but I'll tell you if it does, I promise.” You reach up and caress his cheeks with a tenderness that has him choking for air. “Our safe word can be… sake.”

“Okay.” The unease that previously rested on his shoulders flows down his back and far away from him as he lets out a soft chuckle. “Sake it is, you ready baby?”

After a quick nod, Zoro brings the Wado back between your two joined bodies.

The cool metal kisses your skin as it trails along a precise path with absolutely zero intention to harm. But to have the infamous pirate hunter Zoro hover over you, a dark gaze latched onto the point of his katana to your skin that’s budding with gooseflesh sends a chill down your spine.

It takes everything in you not to arch at the thrill, the simple act could nick your skin and end this before it even begins.

“How's that?” Zoro's voice sounds a million miles away as your blood thrums loudly in your ear. The swordsman lets out a groan as you salaciously clench around him, his fist tightening around the hilt as he continues to glide the metal along your skin. 

“So good,” Your breath hitches as he continues to graze it over your collarbone. “Knew you wouldn’t hurt me, Zo.”

“Never.” He gruffs out, trying to keep his eye open although the fluttering of your walls tempts him to shut them in bliss. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out like this.

Trust could be hard to find in this new world, he was lucky to find a crew that he knew would always have his back throughout everything. but this? This was so much more than that.

To be able to have you in the most vulnerable position imaginable with a blade dancing along your skin, and enjoying it not because of the act itself, but because of the trust and respect the two of you have built for each other, growing into something he’d never dream of attaining. 

If he wasn’t careful, he could finish right now as pleasure shoots down his spine, desperately begging to fill you up. But the last thing he’d ever do was leave you ever wanting more. 

Gently putting the blade aside, he ravenously crashes back into you with a new spark of ardor — chest to chest, ferociously driving into your cunt before his lips meet yours once again.

He kissed you and tasted the familiar steel, but mixed with your sweetness that he’d never stop chasing as long any time he’d have to put this blade in his mouth.

“So fuckin’ good.” The words sink into your lips, unable to move away from you for too long. His hips erratically move now, no set rhythm as they chase the high you both desperately seek. Your nails claw into his back and force a guttural groan out of him, wanting nothing more than for you to mark up his whole body. “So fucking good for me.”

Zoro never minded pain, it came with the territory of who he is. But having you inflict it on him was the sweetest sin he’s ever known, his body bursting with pleasure as it threatens to come undone and feed into all of your desires.

“Zo-!” you gasp out, tears brimming with droplets of devotion that he can’t wait to lick up. “‘m close!”

The sweet sound of your cries only fuels him more.

“Go ahead baby, let go.” His gaze is trained on your expressions, soaking them up as it morphs into an unyielding force of pleasure.

As your back arches up into him, he’s quick to flatten his palm there, keeping you flush against him. He can feel every tremor and tremble, each of your nerves and neurons firing off and coursing through your veins.

A wave of ecstasy crashes over your body, freezing each of your limbs in place and threatens to drag you to oblivion. 

“Almost there, just a little longer.” Zoro pumps into you, your cunt clamping down on him to the point he almost has to pull out as you squirt all over his lower half and the already messed up sheets. “That’s it, fuck yes-“

Zoro begins to release in your cunt with a grunt of your name, letting you milk his cock as his body shudders in the eternal bliss you so readily provide him. He pulls out at the last rope of cum, letting it land on your mound before he nudged your clit with his softening cock, ensuring to make a mess all over your pussy.

“Zoro!” your body jolts, fingers gripping his bicep. “‘m sensitive.”

“Then come here baby.” Zoro pulls you into his strong arms, carefully eyeing the blade that was still unsheathed and still set aside. 

Zoro's calloused fingers catch your earlobe, gently massaging it as he inspects it.

“You know, you still need one more piece.” Zoro's gaze is intense as it sets on you. His hands trail down your body, lightly massaging it as he works his way down in a soothing manner.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“When the others get back, we’re going into town so we can get you your own pair of earrings.” He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Just like me.”

“Really?” The mind fogginess of the shared desire breaks away from the way beams of light emit when you smile at him.

He nods, brushing his lips alongside the temple of your head. Zoro presses his nose into your hair and inhales it.

“Quit sniffing me.” You let out an amused scoff.

“Nah, you just smell so damn good like this.” His lips move to kiss along your face, pressing into your neck before inhaling once again.

“You mean sweaty?”

“Drenched in sweat, arousal and me.” His voice is low in your ear and you crinkle your nose at the strange, but endearing compliment.

“Freak.” You tease, snuggling into him, feeling the way his muscles ripple around you in his strong, unrelenting hold.

“Takes one to know one.” He chuckles, feeling his body start to settle from the intensity of his high, melting into you and the mattress as a nap threatens to take hold. But he just had one more question. “So, if you’re dressed as me, does that mean you can drink sake as well as me?”

“Maybe we should find out.”

tags: @thesunxwentblack @autumnstuffs

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | let’s get kinky

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, The Boy, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; graphic sexual content, kink content

♡notes; pretty much just kink lists babey

oh boy i hope this doesn’t reveal anything about me

also happy easter lol

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> Knifeplay and breathplay are a given with this one

> He likes to be in complete control

> And a hand around the throat or a blade ghosting the skin definitely help him achieve that

> He also loves both tying you up and being tied up, surprisingly

> Letting you ride him while he’s tied to the bed is just about the only way you’ll get the man to relinquish any of that control

> And even then he makes sure you know he’s still the boss- if you’re too much of a brat he’s slipping the restraints and fucking you so hard you walk funny after

> He loves marking you up, mostly through biting

> And he likes to keep the mask on- even if he’s at a point where he rarely wears it around you

> He’ll quietly degrade you if you’re into that- you have to earn praise though

> But if you praise him you may actually be able to fluster him for once

Thomas Hewitt

> Breeding kink breeding kink breeding kink you can’t convince me otherwise

> He loves pinning you down into a mating press and watching your face as he fills you

> He’s so rough and overwhelming

> He likes to lick away your tears when it’s just too much

>And sometimes he’ll keep you pinned there well after, keeping himself inside.

> He’d let you call him daddy- and god does he get into it, but he’d be too shy to suggest anything like that himself

> He loves praise and he loves letting you know how good you feel

> Not usually verbally, but he’ll growl and moan and purr shamelessly

> He’s the king of oral, he’s like a man starved and you’ll end up overstimulated 9 out of 10 times

> And he loves when you reciprocate, especially if you don’t mind him fucking your mouth

Bubba Sawyer

> He’s a bit vanilla, not having much experience or knowledge beyond sex for procreation.

> Insert Drayton’s “sex or the saw” quote here lol

> But he’ll try anything for you at least once, he’s so eager to please.

> Most notably he makes a wonderful little submissive

> Whether you want him to bottom or just power bottom yourself, he loves being used to make you feel good

> He enjoys any and all praise

> He’s rather insecure, so he loves compliments on his appearance especially

> If you call him a pretty boy he melts

> 100 percent would love if you called yourself mommy/daddy/any other dom titles

> He loves when you sit on his face more than anything else

Vincent Sinclair

> The softest dom. He wants to take care of you around the clock, but especially in bed

> He’s a service top- it’s all for you. So much more concerned with you getting off than even being touched.

> He’s into wax play (Because it’s funny but also bc it’s underrated)

> And he likes to restrain you so he can worship you completely uninterrupted

> He’s not afraid of using toys, especially when you’re all tied up and at his mercy

> He loves taking pictures of you as well

> At first he claims it’s for reference but you know better, baby has a documentation kink

> He loves just watching too

> Trying to keep control while you touch yourself and moan his name is his favorite pastime

Brahms Heelshire

> Huge brat in need of taming

> Only a switch in the technical sense- he’ll top if you beg/bribe/pester him enough. He’s just lazy tbh

> Love love loves being both degraded and praised

> “filthy little boy” “pretty little slut” etc

> Prefers calling you mommy/daddy but can work with master

> And he’ll be your puppy if you want him to be

> He wears a cute collar and leash and lets you yank on it while you make him fuck you

> He loves when you edge him too

> Until he’s nearly in tears and whining and begging you to let him cum

> If you have boobs he’s obsessed with them

> And even if you don’t he’ll give the area lots of attention

[danieyells]

Tokyo Debunker Stigmas, Artifacts, And Other Possibly Combat Relevant Information

Since we've met all of our current ghouls, I decided to share my non-comprehensive list of the stigmas and powers and weapons of the ghouls we've seen so far!! This isn't all of them because they haven't all been revealed or explained. But it should be everything we've seen so far! Let me know if/where I've missed things! I've also mentioned some other details for some of them, namely the less human ghouls.

Jin Kamurai

Stigma

Incantation - Bianerus

Effect - forces the target to obey his command.

Currently cannot be activated without the PC's enhancement. At present, only Tohma, the PC, and few if any others know this.

Incantation can be recited mentally

Continuous commands("kneel") only seem to last a few minutes at most

Artifact

Sword - teleportation

Can be used to cut a portal into the air for teleporting someone with him, but doesn't appear to need this for just teleporting Jin

Tohma Ishibashi

Stigma

Incantation - Argeas

Effect - "lets him send vibrations long distances"

Vibrations include the vibrations from his voice, allowing his voice to carry longer distances, making him heard further away

When enhanced he can break through anomalous soundproofing and better specify the direction his vibrations carry(as neither Kaito nor Luca heard his voice from outside the room)

Artifact

Halberd - ?

Other

Tohma naturally has "brute strength" which, combined with his stigma, allows him to essentially make earthquakes.

Lucas Errant

Stigma

Incantation - Iggnaim

Effect - creates a barrier.

When enhanced the barrier becomes visible. It's significantly larger and supported by a large anomaly that's invisible to everyone but the PC and perhaps Kaito, even unable to be seen on cameras or by Luca himself.

Artifact

Twin blades - ?

Appear identical aside from a difference in color.

Smashed through reenforced glass to choose him as their new master.

Apparently sound to Luca like a crying child. He believes the child must be begging for his help.

Other

Carries around a knife.

Kaito Fuji

Stigma

Incantation - ?

Effect - "can see auras sometimes?"

So far hasn't been seen/used, and Hyde didn't sound certain about what it does.

Kaito has notably enhanced vision, able to see things that are further away and surprisingly skilled at reading lips.

Kaito screams when Luca's stigma is enhanced, looking straight up at the anomaly it spawned despite no one else but the PC appearing to see it. While it's possible he only saw its aura, it's likely he saw the anomaly itself.

Artifact

Rogue bow - ?

Veers nonsensically off path when shot, except, seemingly, if Kaito truly wishes to hit the target(?)

Alan Mido

Stigma

Incantation - Yagsal Olbalsa

Effect - super strength.

Artifact

Lead pipe - ?

Leo Kurosagi

Stigma

Incantation - Haxs

Effect - super hearing.

Increases distance and precision of his hearing. Does not allow him to hear through anomalous soundproofing.

When enhanced increases distance further and allows him to hear through anomalous soundproofing.

Artifact

Bubble gum - can be manipulated into any shape when blown.

The longer it's chewed, the longer he can manipulate it

Shohei Haizono

"So if I chewed this one a bunch and stuck it over your nose and mouth...

"...you'd suffocate. Bye bye Honor Roll."

suggests that it can't be removed until the time he's manipulated it runs out?

Stigma

Incantation - Spurno

Effect - forces change in direction.

When enhanced the change in direction is more forceful, like a knockback effect.

Artifact

Motorcycle - ?

Her name is Bonnie. She eats food placed in her fuel tank instead of gasoline, including chewing it and even burping. She's picky about what she eats. Her favorite food is barbecue sandwiches, but she also eats jerky.

Sho drives her just about everywhere.

Haru Sagara

Stigma

Incantation - Bahnti

Effect - reduces gravity's effects on his own body.

Reduced effect of gravity allows him to move extremely fast.

Makes his body much more fragile when used. Possibly includes weakening his immune system?

Artifact

Deck brush - ?

Towa Otonashi

Stigma

Incantation - ? (has an audio file, but the spelling hasn't been shown.)

Effect - Controls weather?

Towa exhibits control over weather as his primary ability, however because it's not shown to be in response to his incantation it's somewhat dubious as to whether or not it's actually his stigma.

Others' understanding of Towa's stigma is only that he controls lightning and that other weather patterns are random, not in response to Towa's feelings.

The weather reacts to Towa's emotions, causing the sky to darken in preparation of rain, lightning, or snowstorms when he's angry.

When Towa was away from Jabberwock for a day the nature conditions deteriorated significantly, with water drying up and the sky dark despite it being sunny the previous day. This may be coincidental, as Darkwick's weather is said to be unpredictable.

Towa is also able to predict weather that he doesn't control.

Towa can create lightning(which he uses to electrocute enemies), rain, wind(used to create a pillar of water for the PC to land on when falling off the boat and to direct the rain sideways to wash bubble soap off of Kaito), snow, and possibly earthquakes(the ground is noted to start shaking in response to his anger.)

His lightning may be able to be used under water without being conducted into non-targets, however it's also possible he used harsh winds instead of lightning when destroying Otohime and her minions.

Artifact

Bubble wand - blown bubbles cause explosions.

The explosions are powerful enough to destroy glass that withheld a full grown Kraken.

Towa warns not to touch the bubbles, as they will kill you.

Other

Towa cannot speak during the daytime and is only able to talk when it's night. This includes being in Obscuary, where it's permanently night, however the cover of clouds doesn't allow him to speak during the day meaning it's not related specifically to the visibility of the sun.

Can speak to and understand anomalies, even those that lack speech capabilities(such as the tree on the hill.) Haru is aware of this.

Able to see and hear ghosts(Zenji) and possibly other things that only people who are "special" can see(the tree on the hill.)

Can jump so high he can essentially fly, although this may be related to control of wind(though there's no notation that the wind blows when he jumps.)

Anomalies fear him and obey him, particularly when he's angry, even to the point of kneeling out of fear when he's furious.

Ren Shiranami

Stigma

Incantation - Raothtas

Effect - Cleans things?

Has only been used to remove Calamari's ink from the floor when wiping it up failed.

Artifact

Swim ring - restrains target.

Cannot be removed by the wearer.

Has a rope attached that allows the wearer to be reeled in.

Taiga Hoshibami

Stigma

Incantation - Malab

Effect - ?

Artifact

Tommy gun - takes anything broken into small enough pieces and fired from it as ammo.

Other

Damage type seems to vary based on what was placed into it. Shards of glass created a swirl of glass shards, whereas bronze from a statue shot heavier rounds.

Doesn't seem to require ammo to fire.

Doesn't seem to work on everything as Taiga says his bullets don't work on anything lately. Possibly limited to hostile entities? (He was able to shoot the Oblivion Dealer, but not able to shoot the Kyklos--which ran away--or the Barong--which was non-threatening.)

Carries a knife and a pistol.

Romeo Scorpus Lucci

Stigma

Incantation - Tiris

Effect - "turns things into bombs".

Able to turn anything into a bomb, including non-explosive objects.

The size of the blast depends on how attached to the target object its owner is. If Romeo truly values something he's blowing up, the explosion is quite destructive.

Hyde has him testing various types of prototype anomalous explosive materials for Darkwick on missions.

Artifact

"To me, these prototypes are a path to catching anomalies in one piece." which implies most of Hyde's prototypes cause non-lethal explosions.

Sniper rifle - ?

Maintains his bullets himself.

Doesn't always carry the same types of rounds. For example, he only had smoke bombs in the prologue.

Ritsu Shinjo

Stigma

Incantation - Acimo

Effect - hardens his body. Increases his weight.

Artifact

Prevents damage from concussive attacks such as kicks and bullets. If you kick him while it's active it'll hurt.

Doesn't seem to experience pain in this state.

Can survive explosions and escape from collapsed buildings unharmed.

Compendium of Laws - ?

Subaru Kagami

Has the contents memorized?

Taiga taught him to use it as a blunt weapon.

Stigma

Incantation - Talnandio

Effects - psychometry.

Experiences memory fragments through almost anything he touches.

Passive, activates on contact with people, animals, anomalies, and objects without incantation.

Using it exhausts him to the point of needing a significant amount of rest, possibly even passing out shortly after usage.

Wears gloves and avoids crowded places to try and avoid accidentally setting it off. Feels bad about being able to learn people's secrets.

Artifact

Parasol - ?

Sturdy enough to destroy a possessed doll.

Haku Kusanagi

Stigma

Incantation - ?

Effect - ?

Implied he prefers not using it?

Artifact

Flute - ?

Used flute to remove himself and the PC from Kisaragi Station, knocking them out with some sort of ethereal water and causing them to wake up back on the empty train car.

Other

Able to see and communicate with spirits.

Able to perform various rituals such as laying spirits to rest and making talismans that allow people close to a spirit to see and hear them.

"Cordoned off the area" of the train and station the PC was on, which should have prevented interference from civilians. May be part of his Artifact or Stigma, or part of his capabilities as a Shinto priest.

Zenji Kotodama (Taro Kirisaki)

Performs the stigma test for Darkwick.

According to Taiga he's able to remove curses if the anomaly that caused the curse is in front of him. It's uncertain if this is his stigma, part of his artifact, or another power.

Stigma

Incantation - ?

Effect - ?

Artifact

Doll - ?

Heavily resembles Jiro as a child, according to Zenji.

Won't let anyone but Zenji touch it. Protects Zenji.

Appearance slightly changes to that of an oni when angered.

Has a mind of its own. Wanders around campus without Zenji, much to his concern.

Able to damage and destroy ghosts.

Other

As a ghost, Zenji cannot be touched, meaning he can't be damaged or killed. However he covers his ears when Haku performs a ritual to lay spirits to rest and covers his face in Subaru's warding card with incense, suggesting that he would be laid to rest under the right circumstances.

Darkwick is unaware Jiro is present as only Haku and Towa(and eventually Subaru and the PC) are aware Zenji's spirit lingers. If Darkwick were to become aware of Zenji's presence they would want him laid to rest.

Due to Obon, people in Japan are more sensitive to spirits and anomalies are more frequent, causing Zenji to sometimes be visible during the summer.

Zenji brings his doll with him most everywhere, however people can only see the doll and not him. The same happens with his biwa. If he carries them, they appear to float. In the summer people in Japan are more sensitive to spirits(due to Obon) and may see or hear Zenji when they wouldn't otherwise.

Zenji can touch physical objects(his doll, his biwa, and his phone) and his footsteps are audible if he doesn't silence them.

Afraid of ghosts, possibly the dark, and maybe dead bodies.

Edward Hart

Stigma

Incantation - ?

Effect - ?

Artifact

Cane? - ?

While his profile lists his Special Artifact as "??", he holds a cane in his combat chibi.

Other

Edward is, or was historically, the world's strongest vampire, implying a great deal of hidden power. As he is 400+ years old, he knows a great deal about anomalies that Darkwick doesn't listen to for some reason. However being old has also made his body and mind much weaker. . .allegedly.

Ed has immense power, which we've only heard of him using on the singular mission he participated in. Using it he obliterated an anomaly and a building in such a way that Darkwick struggled to cover up(unlike Tohma's destruction which was able to be explained as poor maintenance and age) suggesting he more or less vaporized it. It's unknown if this is a vampire power or his stigma.

Ed is able to transform into a bat and fly around. He doesn't seem to be able to speak in this form, only screeching loudly.

If Rui touches him, the touched part will break off(at which point it can be reattached simply by pushing it back into place,) ache intensely for a time, or he will die temporarily. However Ed is immortal and cannot die by normal means. He doesn't need to breathe and cannot be suffocated, for example.

As a vampire, Ed is rapidly exhausted by sunlight. Sunlight won't kill him instantly, but it will cause him to collapse. He claims sunlight will turn him to ash eventually, and he cannot be outside in the sun without a parasol. If it's cloudy enough, Ed is able to be outside during the day. He's usually tired during the daytime, but still seems to sleep during the night.

Ed is physically and mentally weaker during summer months, but stronger during autumn and winter.

Ed primarily drinks tears, although he mentions that he does drink blood in his character story and on the home screen. He finds that human food doesn't taste like much of anything.

Ed mentions that Lyca's soul is misshapen, however it's unclear if he can actually see his soul or if he was merely teasing him.

Rui Mizuki

Stigma

Incantation - ?

Effect - temporary relief of pain and discomfort

Incantation has only been said in his head.

It's unclear if blowing a kiss is required to activate it or if that's just for flair.

Artifact

Scythe - allows Rui to conceal himself in darkness.

Rui admits to using his artifact to keep an eye on others on campus.

Other

Suffers from a 'Reaper Curse' which effectively makes him a reaper.

Cannot make skin contact with living things without them dying. This includes humans, animals, plants, and even mold!

Wears gloves, a turtleneck, and avoids crowded places to avoid committing manslaughter.

Absorbs the life energy of what he touches and kills. This kills almost anything instantly as most things are too weak to survive it. Absorbed energy goes straight to his body, preventing him from sleeping. He keeps himself as busy as possible as a result of having so much energy to spare.

Lyca Colt

Stigma

Incantation - Ramsochisa

Effect - allows him to follow any scent he's smelled before.

Artifact

Claws - ?

Other

Werewolf. Transforms with exposure to the full moon. "The speed of his transformation is affected by how much he's exposed to moonlight and his mental state." Sometimes feels his skin crawling when the full moon is near?

Covering his head when he's outside under the full moon prevents or regresses his transformation. Collapses after his transformation regresses from half wolf and doesn't transform while unconscious. Nothing happens to him if he's not exposed to the full moon on a full moon night. Obscuary is always a crescent moon, allowing him to be there safely during a full moon.

Werewolves have four stages: Human, partial wolf, half wolf, and full wolf. At 'half wolf' Lyca is an anthropomorphic wolf. However, he loses control of himself after he's been transformed for a while, and may attack indiscriminately.

He doesn't remember much when he transforms. He might remember less if he fully transforms?

Yuri Isami

Stigma

Incantation - Agnihaet

Effect - "hyperstimulates his braincells"

"allows him to logically process information and solve complex equations almost instantaneously."

when enhanced seemed to make the information processing instantaneous and extremely accurate?

Artifact

Syringe - Causes injuries received by the individual injected with its contents to damage the entity that inflicted them.

Jiro Kirisaki

Stigma

Incantation - ?

Effect - ?

Artifact

Chainsaw - ?

According to his Christmas home screen dialogue where he cut down a fir tree for Yuri, the chainsaw doesn't cut well. However in the chapter it seems to have no problem cutting through flesh. Perhaps it cuts through anomalies or flesh, but not other things?

Other

Jiro is noted to be especially strong.

Jiro was in a coma until an undisclosed time ago, when Yuri was able to awaken him from it. When he was comatose and for how long and why hasn't been relayed yet, however he was said to be particularly violent during The Clash, meaning he was likely awakened before or during it.

As a side effect of his condition and mysterious illness, Jiro has a poor memory, immunodeficiency, and his wounds reopen very easily. He needs four treatments a day, and they take around an hour to complete. Yuri is the only one who can administer them, and Jiro isn't able to do so himself. Even with his treatments he's forgetful and prone to being sick and has a bit of a fragile constitution. Abrupt changes in temperature, for example, make him choke.

Jiro doesn't react much to his wounds and being in pain, but he will eventually collapse from overexertion or illness if he misses a treatment or has taken too much damage.

[cat3ch1sm]

hii! could i request hcs about illumi's fiancé meeting the zoldycks? something along the lines of her being expected to be the next lady of the house and getting used to the mansion's lifestyle (having butlers, being secluded on a mountain, having the entire family living together)? it would also be nice to see her getting along with the little siblings (killua, kalluto, and alluka)

sorry if i left out any necessary details in this request :(

~✰♡✰♡✰~ hellooo! thanks for ur request :)) haven’t written for hxh in a little while so im happy to write this for you and our favorite bug-eyed assassin :3 if you’re ever unsure about what info to put in a request, just visit the pinned post! ily 💚

fem!reader

𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜é 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐳𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤𝐬

illumi isn’t close with his family in the same sense that normal people are close with their families, but nonetheless he feels the need to inform them of major developments in his life. through a letter he tells his family of his engagement, and says that he is going to bring you to his home to see them all.

silva is indifferent, and zeno couldn’t care less, but kikyo is ecstatic that her illumi is finally going to marry someone- and that it isn’t that awful clown hisoka. she’d been seriously concerned for a second there. but she rounds up all the members of her family to be present on the day of your arrival (using excessive force because nobody really wanted to come besides alluka, who was only allowed to meet you because killua threatened to not show up unless alluka was permitted as well).

when you and illumi first arrive after the lengthy trip up the mountain, you are greeted by butlers gotoh and canary, whose presence startles you. you were aware of illumi’s great wealth and status, but it was certainly different from how you’d grown up. just getting inside the actual home is a process- illumi’s strength slightly freaking you out when he pushes open four of the doors to the entrance of the mansion without breaking a sweat and then encountering Mike, the Zoldycks’ monstrous dog. illumi does notice your apprehension, though, and plainly assures you that the dog won’t harm anybody it isn’t supposed to. you’re still visibly nervous, though, so illumi has you come closer to him and hold on to his arm. regardless, you realize it may be tougher to settle in than you thought.

at last, though, illumi brings you to his family. nobody reacts much outwardly to your presence, but you notice a white-haired boy with catlike eyes observing you closely, his expression a mixture of suspicion and confusion. standing beside the boy are two other black haired children- one with short black hair standing somberly with his hands folded in front of him, and the other an eager blue-eyed girl whose gaze sparkles as she looks at you. the white haired boy stands right behind the blue-eyed child. the tall, blonde man with a large frame illumi tells you is Silva, his father, and the slightly shorter man with white hair beside him is illumi’s grandfather, zeno.

without warning, you feel thin arms thrown around you in an embrace, and you almost jump out of your skin. but when you are released, you see the woman that can only be your fiancés mother, the only member of the family illumi had warned told you about prior to the visit. kikyo wears a large dress with an ostentatious petticoat and hat, and most notably a visor over where her eyes would be with one red glowing dot. her appearance is unsettling, and you find it a little difficult to force a smile when she greets you. illumi watches you from the side of his eye, his face unreadable.

just as kikyo is pulling away, something gleaming and silver and large is thrown right at your head, whizzing right by kikyo’s hat and slicing off a single hair from the feather on her hat. you don’t hesitate to lift your hand to your face and catch the sword immediately, the blade slicing your hand- but you don’t flinch as the blood seeps onto the blade and down your arm. you tilt your head to the side to see your assailant is silva, his arm still poised in throwing position. his expression grows less stony once he sees you’ve caught his weapon.

there’s a moment of icy silence, you lowering the weapon to your side, and silva watches you even more intently before uttering a flat “welcome to the family.” with that, he and his father turn and disappear elsewhere inside the mansion. kikyo, though, takes this as her cue to immediately grab you so you two can walk by yourselves throughout the mansion. illumi doesn’t look super pleased to see his mother take you, but he knows better than to try and stop her.

you two are navigating the long, hollow corridors of the zoldyck home. you pass many unsettling family pictures and paintings as well as various weapons like swords and arrows on the walls, and several human sculptures that seem a little too realistic. you’re also sure that you pass at least two torture chambers. it’s an eerie atmosphere, which was what you’d expected, but it doesn’t help your nerves.

kikyo either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about your apprehension, and instead starts talking about how much she’s wanted a daughter and how thrilled she is to finally have a “daughter” to take in. but then she grows eerily serious. she talks about how you’ll be expected to be the next lady of the house and, since you’re becoming a zoldyck, how you’ll have to follow the same codes they do as a family and exhibit the same values- which makes you antsy. the woman clearly seems a bit unhinged. you’re relieved when the walk ends and you’re returned to your fiancé, who gestures for you to take his arm again. illumi’s mother’s mood changes drastically yet again and she storms off, shrieking to her husband that it’s rude for him to walk off after hardly having said anything.

now you and illumi are left with the four other children- the white-haired boy, the girl with long hair, the boy with short hair and purple-pink eyes, and a homely fat boy behind the three younger ones. he holds a small console in front of his face and doesn’t even seem to acknowledge your presence. illumi introduces them to you.

“y/n, i’d like you to meet my siblings,” illumi states in his usual manner, walking slowly towards them. gesturing to the white-haired boy, he says, “this is my brother, killua. i call him kil.” he looks down at his brother with an eerie smile and black eyes like pits, but killua keeps his stony gaze straight ahead. his hand rests on the shoulder of the girl in front of him.

“this is my youngest brother, kalluto,” illumi continues, placing a large hand on top of the boy’s head. his hands remain folded in front of him, and he gives you a polite nod. looking toward the fat boy behind kalluto, his expression slightly curling into one of disdain, illumi tells you, “and this is the second oldest, milluki.” milluki doesn’t acknowledge you at all, which seems to visibly irritate illumi, but he doesn’t reprimand the boy.

you’re confused when illumi doesn’t introduce the girl, and you glance up at him in confusion. “illumi, what about her?” you look down at the girl in front of killua, who looks surprised for a second, and so does killua behind her. “you forgot to tell me her name. she’s a beautiful little girl.” you manage a small smile, leaning down slightly to stroke the girl’s hair. her blue eyes sparkle with joy, and killua looks up at you as well, looking a little confused but also very relieved. “your mother said she had no daughters.”

illumi’s eyes lower ever so slightly, giving him a dismissive look. “she doesn’t,” he answers flatly, and his tone makes you feel like that’s the end of the discussion. you’re definitely lost- but you suppose it’s something illumi will have to fill you in on later. you glance sideways at illumi, hand still resting in the girl’s hair. she definitely doesn’t seem to mind you, and killua appears to have warmed up to you as well. milluki’s vanished elsewhere and kalluto watches the whole exchange from the corner of his eye.

suddenly you all hear kikyo call for illumi, who immediately stands up upon hearing his name. “you will remain here until i return.” he tells you, his tone no-nonsense, and heels clicking he makes his way down the dark hallway, leaving you alone with the kids.

the second illumi is out of earshot, the girl brightens up. “hi!” she chirps, bouncing on her feet excitedly. “my name is alluka!”

you’re slightly startled, but you smile at the girl anyway and tell her hi, still wondering why illumi seems so detached from this girl in particular.

killua seems to read your mind. “i know what you’re thinking,” he tells you, not unkindly. “listen, my family doesn’t like alluka much- and they refer to her with male pronouns. just go along with it in front of them. it’s safer for you.” he pauses, then looks down. “but thanks for being nice to her.”

you frown and nod, deciding not to ask any more questions about it. kalluto still hasn’t said anything, but somehow you don’t feel like this boy will be anything to worry about.

with alluka and killua having warmed up to you, you get into a conversation, and kalluto eventually offers a few words after awhile- although never acknowledging alluka directly. most of it is basically killua wondering how the hell you managed to get engaged to someone like illumi.

“No way he didn’t force you to go out with him.”

“What the hell do you even see in that guy? He’s batshit crazy- and he’s definitely not a model.”

“How’d he propose? Did he try to kill you and you survived?”

“‘Man, you really gotta be messed up for Illumi to like you.”

“What even made him wanna get married to you? What even made you wanna get married to him?”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“And you said yes? You’re crazy!”

that’s all i got :3 hope u enjoyed <33

[idkyetxoxo]

Davos Blackwood- Sworn To Her

Summary - Set out to command loyalty. She captures the attention of Davos Blackwood, whose admiration turns into a desperate yearning for her command. He is left begging her to dictate their fate, blurring the lines between duty and passion in a world on the brink of chaos.

Pairing - Davos Blackwood x Velaryon reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2671

Masterlist for Davos • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

As I descended from Silverwing's saddle, her silvered wings casting long shadows over the gathered men, I wasted no time. 

Steeling my shoulders and crossing my arms, I surveyed the assembly with a steady, unyielding gaze. 

"What would you do for your queen?" I asked, each word deliberate, carrying the weight of command. My voice was as resolute as the steel at my hip, and the men before me, some of the Riverlands' most notable lords, could only stare back, captivated and uncertain.

I had not anticipated taking on the task of rallying allies myself. 

This was not my mother's plan, nor mine. But circumstances had grown desperate, and when the tides of war demand action, sometimes it is best to seize the reins oneself. 

With Jace far off in the Vale, seeking support from its reluctant lords, I had been left to stand here alone, face to face with the lords of the Riverlands. 

We had both become sick of the sluggish, uncertain steps our allies were taking in this conflict. 

If loyalty to our mother had to be secured with words of fire and a glimpse of dragon wings, then so be it.

Despite Baela's cautions about appearing before these men alone, here I stood. I let my gaze fall slowly across each face, daring them to look away, to doubt the resolve that burned in my eyes.

The scent of wet earth and moss filled the air, the Riverlands heavy with the coolness of dusk. 

I felt the prickling bite of evening mist, seeping through my clothes and clinging to my skin, as though the land itself resisted my presence.

"I expect an answer," I said, my voice sharpened with an edge of impatience. 

Behind me, Silverwing shifted, her massive frame rippling, the low rumble from her throat a reminder of her presence and the deadly promise she held. Her groan cut through the silence like a blade, the sound echoing over the valley and making several men visibly shiver.

I wondered if my mother would approve of what I'd done here, of this choice to face these men alone. 

She'd taught me to lead with strength, but she'd also warned me that loyalty was not always won through power. 

Yet here I was, wielding Silverwing's shadow and my own authority like a blade, desperate to secure the allies we needed.

After a tense pause, a young man with curly brown hair stepped forward, his shoulders squared in reluctant acceptance. 

He was near my own age, yet I could see the weight of his house's loyalty bearing down on him. Oscar Tully, son of House Tully, the Rivermen's pride, looked up at me with a solemn expression.

"We swear fealty to the true queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen," he proclaimed, his voice clear and unwavering as he knelt, head bowed in respect. 

A ripple of movement followed his action as, one by one, each man lowered himself in allegiance, their fealty pledged not to mere words but to the queen herself.

My gaze swept over them, searching for any hint of insincerity, any flicker of hesitation. 

My eyes settled on a knight of House Blackwood, his lips curling into a smirk even as he knelt, meeting my gaze with a glint of something—admiration or challenge, perhaps—that caught me off guard.

The men here had sworn themselves to the queen—and they knew, as I did, that the true cost of their oaths would soon be paid in fire and blood.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the Riverlands and cast a warm amber glow across the hall, a feast was prepared in my honour. 

It was modest by the standards of a royal banquet, but the lords of the Riverlands had done their best, arranging tables heaped with venison, fresh-baked bread, and flagons of wine. 

Musicians played soft, lilting tunes, and candles flickered warmly in the sconces along the stone walls. 

I accepted each polite nod, each murmured "Princess," but my mind was elsewhere, fixed on the allies we would need and the battles to come.

Yet, amidst the formalities, a pair of dark eyes followed my every movement. Davos Blackwood. 

I'd noticed his gaze in the crowd before, but here in the soft candlelight, his attention was both bold and unapologetic. 

He was older than me by a few years, yet young enough to wear his loyalty openly. 

I caught him watching me as I moved between tables, his look tinged with something both admiring and dangerous—a lingering intensity that quickened my pulse.

As the feast wore on, the hall grew rowdy and loud, the laughter of men drunk on wine and the thrill of new alliance filling the air. 

I slipped quietly away, leaving the raucous sounds behind, and wandered through the corridors, searching for a moment of solitude. 

But I soon found I was not alone.

Davos stepped out of the shadows as if he had been waiting, his expression holding that same dark smirk I had noticed earlier. 

He met my gaze, his face half-illuminated by the light of a single torch flickering nearby. 

We stood in a small, dim room, the air thick with the tension that had simmered between us since that moment in the hall. 

He was quiet, his eyes fixed on mine, a slight tilt to his head that spoke of restrained intensity.

"You commanded them well, Princess," he said, his tone both respectful and tinged with that same smouldering intensity I'd felt earlier. "I don't believe I've ever seen men twice your age look so humbled—captivated, even." 

His eyes held mine, his admiration palpable. "It's no small feat to command a room of lords as you did."

I arched a brow, letting a slight smile play on my lips. "The men of the Riverlands needed a reminder of who they serve."

"They did," he agreed, his voice just above a whisper. "And it's clear to me now that you are every bit your mother's daughter."

A quiet heat simmered between us as his words sank in, and something unspoken passed in the space between us, making my heart quicken. 

"And will you serve as loyally as the others, Ser Davos?" I asked, testing the boundaries of this strange new familiarity.

He took a step closer, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his face. 

"I cannot speak for the others, Princess," he began, his voice low and steady, "but know that I would gladly lay down my life for the queen." His eyes searched my face, lingering with a heat that made my breath catch. 

"And for her daughter."

My heart quickened at his words, but I kept my composure, arching an eyebrow. "Oh?" I replied, my tone light, even teasing. "And what, Ser Davos, would you do for the princess?"

The corner of his mouth lifted as he stepped closer, his gaze never wavering from mine. 

"Absolutely anything she desires," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words filled with an intensity that left no room for misunderstanding.

The space between us was small, the warmth of his presence close enough to feel, and yet I held my ground, unwilling to break the tension. The air felt electric, charged with an unspoken promise. 

I leaned in, my voice a soft murmur. "Anything, you say?"

His eyes darkened, the smirk fading into something sharper, fiercer. 

"Anything," he confirmed, his gaze holding mine as if daring me to command him.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the crackling torch on the wall, and the distance between us felt like a thread, thin and taut. 

Here, in this quiet room away from the feasting and noise, with Davos looking at me as though he would march into fire if I asked it, I felt the heady power of my position, and something more—a stirring that felt as dangerous as it did exhilarating.

"I am pleased to hear that," I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath, but he caught every word. 

Davos inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving mine, a mark of respect mingled with an undeniable longing that set a spark between us.

"For there is much I would like," I continued, letting the words linger, each one wrapped in the promise of something unspoken. 

The insinuation was clear, and I watched a small grin lift the corners of his mouth, as though my words had unlocked a wish he dared not voice. He looked at me like he could scarcely believe his fortune, his gaze dark with wonder and disbelief. 

A princess, standing close enough for him to touch, and more than willing.

His eyes dropped for a brief moment, almost as if he needed to remind himself to breathe, and then his voice, roughened and warm, found its way back. 

"With a dragon as mighty as yours, I'm certain there is little you would be denied," he murmured, his hand lifting as though moved by some magnetic force. 

His fingers brushed against my cheek, a soft, tentative touch, almost as if he expected me to draw back, to laugh at his audacity, to reassert my place above him. But I didn't. 

I leaned into his touch, allowing his hand to linger, my skin tingling beneath his fingertips.

The briefest flash of surprise flared in his eyes, tempered quickly by something darker, something more consuming. 

My pulse quickened, the heat between us simmering into something almost unbearable. 

I was a princess—he knew that. And yet here we were, standing inches apart, the gap between duty and desire swiftly fading into nothing. 

For the first time, his loyalty was not to some distant queen or some abstract ideal; his loyalty, his yearning, was here, directed entirely at me.

Slowly, I leaned in, letting my words drift just past his ear, so close that I felt his breath catch. 

"I do not wish to take my pleasures by force," I murmured, my voice a soft invitation, a promise that was as powerful as any order. 

A shiver ran through him, and his fingers tightened just slightly against my cheek as if anchoring himself in this impossible moment.

The air was thick with the unspoken, and I felt him hesitate, battling the disbelief that a princess would want someone like him, a knight whose station fell far below hers. 

Yet his longing was palpable, a heady tension that electrified the space between us. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost reverent. "What would you have me do, Princess?" he asked, his tone weighted with more than just desire. 

It was devotion, his words woven with a quiet, reckless yearning as if he would tear the stars from the sky if I asked it.

I looked into his eyes, letting the silence stretch, each heartbeat a steady thrum that only deepened the pull between us. 

"Anything," I replied, a whisper that held within it the hint of a command and a promise all at once.

His gaze fell to my lips, and his breath shuddered like he was grounding himself in the impossible reality that he was here, with me, alone and permitted to wish for more. 

He let his hand trail down, tracing the line of my jaw with a featherlight touch, his fingers lingering near my neck where he could feel my pulse racing under his fingertips. 

His eyes were dark, wide, caught in some quiet awe, his body tense with restraint.

"Say it," he whispered, his voice rough. "Say what you would want of me, and I am yours."

"Command me," he begged, his voice softened by that same restrained yearning that had chased me all night.

For a moment, the gravity of our situation fell away, leaving only two people drawn together by a desire as dangerous as it was irresistible. I leaned in, my mouth a breath away from his. 

"For now," I whispered, letting the moment dangle like a thread between us, "I only want this."

His lips brushed against mine, tentative at first as if he could scarcely believe that I'd allowed him this close. 

But then, the restraint fell away, the delicate thread snapping, and we were pressed together in a kiss that held every bit of tension, every unspoken promise.

My hands slid to his clothes, and his eyes flashed with surprise before yielding, allowing me to undress him piece by piece. His gaze clung to me, astonished, as though he still couldn't believe I was here with him. 

I stripped off my riding leathers as fast as my hands could manage, hungry to feel the pleasure I'd been craving for far too long.

The war had stolen much from me, stripping me down to my bones, and tonight, I wanted only one thing: to lose myself, to drown in a rapture that would make me forget it all, even if just for a night.

"Bed me," I whispered when we were bare before each other, skin flushed, breaths mingling in the cool night air.

He froze, his gaze tracing my form as if I were a vision, something ethereal, almost too good to be true. His lips parted in silent awe, eyes raking over every line and curve as though I were an angel who had slipped into his grasp.

"Your wish," he breathed, finally snapping back to himself, "is my command." 

He guided me down to the stone floor, its chill biting into my skin, a startling contrast that only heightened my senses.

His lips found my neck, pressing fevered, insistent kisses that sent shivers racing across my skin. A contented sigh slipped from me as I surrendered to the sensation.

He gently parted my legs, settling between them, and I welcomed the feel of him, my thighs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. 

He moved with urgency, as though he sought release from something unspoken, a fever only I could soothe. 

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through me, the feeling consuming, erasing all else.

"Oh gods," he murmured, his voice reverent, as he looked down at me, his face filled with wonder. "You...you are a vision." His words, filled with awe, only stoked the flames in me. 

I met his gaze, my body pliant beneath his, feeling like I could stay lost in this moment forever, his desire feeding mine, each of us chasing the other's heat, until the rest of the world faded away.

My heart thudded in time with his, our bodies aligned and perfectly matched, an effortless rhythm that made me feel whole as if this one night could wash away a thousand memories of darkness and despair.

I held his gaze, feeling myself surrender completely, caught in his spell, in the heat and warmth of his presence as he chased pleasure from me with a patience that made my body tremble. 

I was unravelling, each touch, each movement, pulling me apart in the most exquisite way, and I realized I wanted to let him, to let this moment consume every hidden part of me.

His breaths quickened, and he pressed his forehead against mine, grounding us both in that intimate space, and I could feel his heart pounding, as though echoing my own. 

I held him there, one hand tangling in his hair, the other tracing the contours of his back, feeling the strength of him as we both surrendered.

Finally, in a crescendo of pleasure that took my breath away, I felt myself shatter beneath him, lost in the haze of pure, undiluted bliss. 

He followed close behind, his body tense before he released in a shudder that shook us both, his face a picture of utter, unguarded ecstasy.

Slowly, he leaned back, brushing a strand of hair from my face with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place here on the cold stone floor, surrounded by shadows and memories. 

He traced his fingers along my jaw, as though I were something precious, rare, his eyes softened by the afterglow.

And there, entangled together in the flickering dark, we let the silence embrace us, lost in the warmth and comfort of knowing, for this moment, we were exactly where we both wanted to be.

A/n - This was fun to write, teeny tiny bit inspired by Jude and Cardan from 'The Folk of the Air' series (if you squint basc)

[kerakeriza]

Damian Wayne: Interests and Hobbies

note: this post refers exclusively to new earth (post-crisis, pre-flashpoint) damian!

for starters, we can talk about the weapons he prefers to use. his most iconic weapon of choice is a blade - usually described as a katana, but he's not so discriminatory. he enjoys using plenty of different kinds of blades.

(batman v1 #656, by grant morrison)

(batgirl v3 #17, by bryan q miller)

(robin vol 2 annual #7, by keith champagne)

he's also a fan of bows, actually.

(batman v1 #675, by morrison)

(batman v1 #680, by morrison)

(batman and robin v1 #16, by morrison)

and while he hasn't used them much, he's not against using knuckle dusters (which really only adds to the cuteness factor of his friendship with colin wilkes).

(batman v1 #657, by morrison)

another weapon he likes to use is the crowbar, ironically. it's ironic, because he ends up beating the joker with one.

(batman and robin v1 #2, by morrison)

(batman and robin v1 #13, by morrison)

damian has been known to fight unarmed, too, of course - he's partial to martial arts, actually.

(robin vol 2 annual #7, by champagne)

he even has a black belt.

(red robin v1 #13, by fabian nicieza)

now, i'm not an expert when it comes to martial artists, but... i'm actually quite sure this is a poster of bruce lee hanging in damian's bedroom!

(batgirl v3 #17, by miller)

fun fact: damian even keeps martial arts equipment at his bedside table, as well as spy equipment.

(batman v1 #689, by judd winick)

damian has a notable interest in cars.

(batman v1 #680, by morrison)

(batman v1 #681, by morrison)

(don't worry about the fact he hit an ambulance - the joker was driving it, so it's fine.)

he's not only interested in driving them, though, he also enjoys tinkering with them and fixing them up. he even made the batmobile fly! it was actually pretty easy for him, since he already had blueprints.

(batman and robin v1 #1, by morrison)

besides cars, he's also interested in motorbikes.

(batman and robin v1 #2, by morrison)

he even gifts a motorbike (with garage included) to his new friend, colin wilkes!

(batman: streets of gotham v1 #12, by paul dini & dustin nguyen & derek fridolfs)

of course, one could say that he has a vested interest in the batman and robin dynamic itself. he always did wonder - once his father came back, what would happen to batman and robin? what about this life he chose for himself?

(batman and robin v1 #10, by morrison)

he's not only worried about what will happen to his dynamic with dick - they did build up quite a friendship through being batman and robin, after all, and it makes sense it would worry him that they might lose their connection if they stopped working together so closely - but he's also worried about himself, and whether or not he will be allowed to continue on as robin. it's a role he grew to cherish, a job that he grew to enjoy a lot. it became a part of himself, a sort of hobby of its own.

(batman and robin v1 #16, by morrison)

(batman: the return v1 #1, by morrison)

okay, back to the lighthearted stuff...

damian is also into real estate! it's one of his... higher class interests, let's say.

(batman: streets of gotham v1 #4, by paul dini)

equally as high class is his interest in designer fashion. (okay, he doesn't *have* to be very interested in it to merely have the knowledge necessary to distinguish an original from a knock-off, but... let's just say it's a point in favor of him being into fashion.)

(superman/batman v1 #44, by joshua williamson)

but hey, he does dunk on the green undies that dick wore as robin. (that's another point in our favor! huzzah!)

(teen titans v3 #88, by j.t. krul)

he even enjoys many aspects of business. for one thing, he's not against dressing up to attend a boardroom meeting and accusing everybody there of being incompetent and irresponsible with his father's company.

(batman and robin v1 #10, by morrison)

another cute one: damian prefers tea over coffee.

(batman and robin v1 #17, by paul cornell)

(batgirl v3 #17, by bryan q miller)

when damian was younger, he enjoyed playing with matches.

(batgirl v3 #5, by miller)

damian also enjoys a good race, as shown in his presence for the charity race between kon-el and bart allen. (it could also mean, though, that he just really cares about supporting charity. or both!) note, too, that he had no obligation to attend - he had already ended his brief stint with the titans. (the wayne foundation did make a donation to the charity, but damian wouldn't appear as robin if he felt an obligation in that sense, he would just appear as himself.)

(superboy v5 #5, by jeff lemire)

...okay, that will have to be all for now! i've reached the limit of 30 images per post. i hope it gave you a fair bit of insight into what damian is interested in and what he likes to do with his free time. thank you for reading!

[pebbleisgay]

OKAY SO THE PRISTINE CUT.

happily ever after, right?

i... think i *have* to @blacktabbygames because i've been going insane taking notes on one of the new routes and i hope this is entertaining to quite the incredible dev team.

now I have been going insane for the better part of an hour theorizing and taking notes going through Epilogue: Happily Ever After. so if you haven't done that route and don't want spoilers, please evacuate the post. go on and scroll right down.

Epilogue: Happily Ever After

We open the route by throwing off the narrator by being in a room with only one door, only one exit. Note that it has windows, this will come in handy later.

It is followed by walking *up* the stairs.. which is contrary to any other route. Not even the Tower- named literally after a tower! Follows that. It's always "If she really lived here, slaying her would be doing her a favor." but we can't say that. because we're emerging into a better, fancier place.

We head up the stairs and enter.. a dining room. Sitting at it is the princess, with the dagger around her neck and the narrator suggesting that it would be so easy to kill her, just like that. But for the sake of this, let's say you followed what I did and decided talking to this.. interesting Princess was a better option. Notable pieces of the room are the tapestries and the torches, which too, will come in later.

But the most notable part of this room is that we can see a shadow looming over her. A few seconds before, the voices had commented on how odd it is that they're missing Smitten- and yet, here he is. But we can't hear him.

Which brings me to the point I want to make here,

Epilogue: Happily Ever After is a role-swapped route.

From here on, The Princess refers to whoever is imprisoned. The Savior refers to whoever is leading them to escape. The Narrator refers to whoever is speaking only to the Savior. Long Quiet, Shifting Mound, and The Echo will be called by their names.

We enter the route in a room with only one door, and a window (or like, 8.) These are the traits of the basement that the princess is locked in. Even in routes such as the Razor where the basement isn't really even truly that, the basement has a view of the outside- just a little bit of its light peeking into the cell. Only one room in the story has one door, and it's the basement. Even the Path in the Woods has a second option, if you're chasing the Stranger princess.

Leaving this room leads us *up* the stairs, as if we were leaving the basement. The Echo can't make his classic "doing her a favor" joke because this time around, the Long Quiet is the one escaping the basement. To further this point, the Shifting Mound is the one who calls out to us from the top of the stairs.

Now the dining room is FULL of points that guide us towards this conclusion, but the first one I noticed is that the room has the traits of the cabin's main room. It has a door in, a way out (obscured by the mirror / narrator / some form of the Long Quiet,) it has the Pristine Blade on a Table, and it has accessories on the walls that fit the theme of the route. As the Shifting Mound this time around is a queen, she has banners and torches and large stone walls.

And not only is the Shifting Mound wielding the pristine blade, but she has a figure looming over her, "controlling" her without being able to control her emotions or how she feels about this place, and describing the place itself. We know this figure is Smitten, but we can't hear him. The Shifting Mound this time has even taken up the Savior's mentality, a timeloop mentality, saying "It'll be perfect if we just do it again," and understanding the narrative's drive and what she's "... supposed to have ever wanted."

So if we're the Princess, and the Shifting Mound is the Savior.. And the Narrator is with *us*.. then one of us has to be with the Savior.

Voice of the Smitten, in the Epilogue: Happily Ever After takes the place of the Narrator.

As you continue your way through a conversation with the Shifting Mound during this route, it's Smitten's perception and dictating of what the environment in the room is like that controls what happens. I mean, the Shifting Mound even goes to directly say, "The Voice that whispers sweet nothings in my ear. I think he made this place for us." Which is the Narrator's entire purpose. External to the chapters themselves is the roles they play in the story, and right now, Smitten is playing the Narrator. Which unfortunately makes him a controlling asshole.

As we whittle through options of dialogue and in fact, options of what to do, from the Shifting Mound's perspective, they can't be repeated. Just the same as the way the Long Quiet experiences when traversing the different routes, options that have already been taken are greyed out. This is why the food "decays", as there's no new result from eating the exact same food. Similarly, the game that the Shifting Mound suggests to stall- questions and options that intend to stall, a very Savior strategy to understand her situation better- decays through its options until she downright says that she has no more ideas.

Funnily enough, through this same sequence we as the Long Quiet experience a very.. Princess experience. Based on the way the Shifting Mound perceives what is said in Chapter 2, we wind up with a different Voice, a different Quality. In my playthrough we wound up buddied with the Opportunist and he took up the deceiving and dangerous qualities, similar to the ways that in Chapters 1 and 2 the perception of the Princess changes her personality and qualities. Trying to get up to leave the table results in us being held down by the shadow, although it's not the same hands that loom over the Shifting Mound. Infact, we're held in place, shackled even, by the wrist. We can't get up and leave until the Savior offers it to us. "That's just how it works here," informs the Shifting Mound. After all, with the Narrator not being on our end, it just seems to be that way.

When she finally offers for us to leave, after we've drained every dialogue option and extinguished every torch, the Shifting Mound is the one who insists we leave. Who puts the possibility of freedom into this world. In a truly Savior moment, she remarks, "We can't sit here forever. That part of us is over." She drives the need for us to leave. And in the process, the Echo realizes that we need to leave, too.

We climb the stairs with our queen. She leads us up them (Savior actionssss) and if you didn't know any better, you could even think that this is an image of heading up stairs. With the light at the end of the stairs and the shadows in our direction, it's not a far call. We see her back as she opens the door.

Importantly, when we reach the top of the staircase, it's her choice of whether we leave or not. Again, Savior things. And if we were the princess in the Damsel route, the narrator would've been quiet for the Savior thing right about now. Should you head outside together, caring for each other and arriving at the end of the route, we still follow what she'd like to do.

So we dance under the stars. Typically the Shifting Mound would have enveloped the vessel by now- like in the Eye of the Needle or the Damsel (original) where the happy ending is cut juuuust short.

Once again, as the Princess of the route we've seen the route in the progression that one usually does. Basement -> Stairs -> Cabin -> Outside. But as the Princess, the Long Quiet no longer decides where the route ends. If you've taken the options to be her companion at this point, you get to dance under the stars with the Shifting Mound, just as she wanted. Only when she considers the route done, when the dance is complete, does the Shifting Mound take away its vessel. Shifty waits for us to get our dance in. :)

Now if you've read all the way through this- holy shit, really???? Wow. I'm honored. But if you have then surely you've gotta be asking this question, too.

What triggered the role-swap?

My running theory is that when we make the choice and perceive the princess and world in a way where the solution is to wait forever, the roles shift then. The minute we take a dialogue option indicating that we could want to stay in the cabin forever, Smitten becomes controlling of the narrative and the Shifting Mound becomes self-determining and the Long Quiet becomes reactionary.

I think the role swap happens in Chapter 2.

...buuut I don't really have much about that! It would break my heart to hurt the Damsel like that again just to pull two or three direct quotes, so if you've got input or something to suggest pleaaaaaase let me know! Or really, just anything! I've been going insane about this for several hours.

thank you!

ps, here's a bonus doodle for making it this far. savior shifting mound and long quiet princess <3

[irradiated-imp]

First post in a while. I have since made many things, but for now have my Godzilla work. The First King of the Monsters, The original Godzilla. He first rose from the depths in 1954. He suffered great pain from the nuclear bomb testing's in Bikini Atoll. He took his pain and wrath out on the people of Japan, or any unfortunate neough to find themselves at sea in his territory. He terrorized Japan for years, occasionally battling off other gargantuan monstrosities in his time, before his inevitable demise. He was killed by the Oxygen Destroyer, a super weapon created by the late doctor Daisuke Serizawa, who took his own life after destroying his work on the Oxygen destroyer to keep it from being recreated.

The Second King of the Monsters, Godzilla Though Godzilla perished in the 70's with the first and only ever use of the Oxygen Destroyer, his offspring survived. Godzilla Sr.'s offspring, simply called Godzilla during his time, had taken to his mutations much more easily than his father. Though he was born in his current form, and his body had adapted to its current form so he lived without pain, he knew the ones responsible for leaving him alone, without his father. In 1985, this Godzilla surfaced to unleash his own fury on Japan. Tho he was still destructive, after a few years he settled into life on Infant Island, and only came to Japan when he felt his territory was endangered. He died when his internal nuclear reactor had a melt down, irradiating all of Infant Island.

The Prince of the Monsters, Godzilla Junior The current Godzilla, and son of the previous. It's unknown where he, or his father, came from, but his presence on Infant Island was known prior to Godzilla's death. The radiation from his Father's death empowered him, allowing him to grow into a more powerful form. Jr. is notably more agile and faster than his father and grandfather were, having adapted perfectly to his new form. His atomic breath is also considerably more powerful than both of his predecessors. Unlike his family, Jr. never grew to hate humanity. Though he does not go out of his way for the express purpose of saving man kind, he doesn't actively seek its destruction.

The Golden Demise, King Ghidorah. A three headed alien from an unknown planet. He ofund his way to the Solar System landing on Venus. He eradicated all life on the planet, draining the energy from all of the beings on the planet, before moving on to the next planet, Earth. King Ghidorah however did not expect the planet to be crawling with other, equally large, equally deadly monsters, and often found himself unable to drain the life from Earth. Most often he would face either Mothra or Godzilla, the pair eventually forcing him to flee back into space, before Godzilla's death. Once he has absorbed enough energy, he plans to return to Earth and finally wipe out all life on the Planet.

Multi-Puprose Fighting System 3, Mecha Godzilla With the ever rising presence of giant monsters across the world, the people of Earth came together with a plan to deal with them. The UN formed the AMF, Anti Megalosaurus Force. This military force was made to combat any and all giant monsters that appear, when they appear. The AMF, using state of the art tech, advanced computers, and the bones of the original Godzilla as a base to work off of, created the Multi-Purpose fighting System 3, or Mecha Godzilla. It is piloted by a single person remotely. Mecha Godzilla comes with numerous armaments. On its right arm is a pair of rail guns. The base structure of the rail guns can also extend an electrically charged blade. The left arm comes equipped with the most powerful Maser Cannon ever built. Mounted on either shoulder is a more recently created weapon, high power twin plasma cannons, designed with the purpose of burning through hardened shells. Finally, the most powerful of Mecha Godzilla's abilities is dubbed the Proton Scream, a beam fired from the mouth with enough power put into it to slice many monsters clean in half. This ability is rarely used due to the amount of power it consumes. Though the machine has no life nor will of it's own, many of maintenance crew believe it to be haunted, often making reports of it moving, or activating on its own. One particular report from an engineer claims that Mecha Godzilla came online and watched the Engineer as they worked. These reports are unsubstantiated and assumed to be untrue.

Type 1 Maser Tank The original Maser Tanks invented in the late 60's to deter Godzilla Senior prior to his death. The technology has improved considerably since then, with modern Maser Tanks having a minimum power output nearly double the maximum of the Type 1's.

Size comp of Mecha-G, Ghidorah, Sr., Goji, and Jr.

[tadfool]

thinkin about Astarion mending Wyll's clothes for him but also embroidering something on them when he does. I imagine with all the fighting and traveling Wyll ends up with rips and holes in his clothes pretty often and eventually Astarion gets sick of watching him walk around in tattered clothes (most people likely wouldn't even notice but of course Astarion isn't most people). the first couple times he does it he just mends the damages and gives it back, but maybe one time Wyll ends up with a particularly large rip in his shirt and Astarion decides to take the opportunity to cover the damage with a small bit of embroidery to tidy up the repair. Wyll thanks him for repairing his shirt (again) but then he notices the embroidery and pauses for a moment in both surprise and marvel. "did you do this?" he says, carefully running his thumb over the delicate stitches, he knew it was a bit of a stupid question but he couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. (cont. under the cut bc this got kinda long)

"it was a pretty nasty rip, even with my skillful hands," Astarion flashes Wyll a suggestive grin to emphasize his innuendo but Wyll is still to busy admiring the embroidery in his hands, "I wasn't able to make the repair look presentable on its own, but a bit of embroidery does well enough to cover it up"

"it's beautiful." Wyll breathes.

"yes, well, you're welcome." Astarion retorts, his voice thick with snark to hide how much Wyll's earnest praise flustered him.

Wyll chuckles and thanks him again before they part ways.

the next time Astarion repairs some of Wyll's clothes when he returns the item Wyll once again notices a small patch of embroidery but this time it's somewhere totally unrelated to the damaged area. it's lovely, and he spends a moment admiring it before giving Astarion a questioning look. "there was a stain, I couldn't wash it out so I just covered it up. you're welcome, by the way." Astarion defends, and it's almost believable. it might have been more believable if it didn't keep happening.

every time Wyll hands over a damaged piece of clothing to be repaired, it's returned to him with some new embroidery adorning it. it starts off subtle but after some time he has a collage of embroidery along his left pant leg, starting at his hip and extending further down towards his knee with every repair. the collar and both shoulders of his shirt are adorned with delicate designs in colourful thread. he also, notably, becomes a bit more careful in battle, not wanting to damage Astarion's embroidery.

once, an opponent manages to graze his shoulder with their blade, the cut isn't deep but it slices through his shirt. and through the embroidery. as soon as he glaces over and catches sight of the torn thread, he's furious. he dispatches the enemy quickly and rather ungracefully. when he hands the shirt over to Astarion to be repaired he's positively dejected. "swiped at my shoulder, I didn't manage to deflect it in time, cut straight through the embroidery..."

Astarion clicks his tongue, assessing the damage, "no respect for craftsmanship these days..."

when he returns the shirt most of the old design has been picked out and replaced with a new one. a simpler design, Wyll notes, likely easier to repair if it were to get damaged again. he admires it with the same appreciation as the first. "is your shoulder alright, by the way?" Astarion asks rather suddenly.

"hm? oh, yes, barely grazed it. nothing a bandage and a night or two's rest won't fix."

"good." the silence that follows is almost palpable. so many unspoken words, concern, affection, hanging in the space between them. "well. do try to be more careful." Astarion finally says, then hastily adds "at this rate I'm going to run out of thread before I get a chance to get more."

Wyll smiles softly at him. (so softly it makes Astarion's chest ache) "of course." (the idea that Astarion cares about his safety makes Wyll's chest ache as well)

[vashs-turtleneck]

Preen.

Rating: T

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Summary: Caring for Vash when his wings sprout. CW: angst, fluff, blood, mentions of self-harm, Trimax Vash coded. Word Count: 1.4k A/N: man oh man do I love bird men.

Vash normally stays huddled up in his room on days like this. There's times where he's had to spend nights on end locked inside until his feathers would painstakingly slowly go away. He'd sit on his bed (if he even had a bed at the time) and wait until he was back to normal. He wouldn't leave, he wouldn't eat, most of the time he wouldn't even sleep. He'd just sit there, alone, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. When it was all over, he'd be in a nest of dusty sheets, surrounded by smears of blood and ripped feathers, with crimson dripping from his back from where he had agonizingly plucked at himself.

A monster, huddled away from sight.

Inhuman.

He would never dare go outside like this.

But of course, when you came around, following closely at his heel at all times, you never allowed him to hide away from you like that. You once came looking for him after his prolonged silence, and you had found him in a pitiful state – eyes rimmed red, bloody nails clutching at his own flesh like it wasn't meant to be on his bones, and most notably, white feathers sprouting from his face and wings spread out from his shoulder blades. 

He was mortified, embarrassed, scared.

This is it. You're going to see what he really is, and you're going to leave.

He went through all the stages of grief when he saw your eyes widen and your steps come to a halt. He was ready to hear your screams of terror and then never see you again. As much as he wanted to hide, he didn't look away. If you were going to run, he wanted to get one last good look at your beautiful face.

But you didn't leave him that night. You stayed awake with him, talking to him, and you had no flicker of fear or disgust when you looked at him. You didn't get too close, you didn't try to touch him, you didn't stare at him too intently (though he's sure you wanted to), and in the morning when his feathers were gone, you took him out to breakfast like it was any other day. Like nothing changed.

It took a long time to build up into letting you see him like this. Apart from that first night when you refused to leave his side after you saw the scratches on his back and the blood under his nails, he only allowed your gaze for brief moments, like when you insisted on bringing him food, and when you'd come back to scold him for not eating it. 

Eventually, you started sitting with him. You wouldn't speak. You'd simply sit in the same space as him, often in a chair in the corner, sometimes on the floor by the bed as you read a book, doodled in a sketchbook, or took a nap. No touches, no words, but still offering him a presence he's never had before when he's felt the furthest from human.

He was the first one to break the silence when he saw you using one of his shedded feathers as a bookmark of all things. You simply responded, “I like it. It's pretty,” like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

It's safe to say that nowadays, if he isn't there to greet you when you come down for breakfast in the mornings, you'll be knocking on his door within the hour.

Tonight, you're sitting on his bed, his back facing you as he sits with his knees to his chest, hiding the cracks in his face from your gaze. Your fingers gently run through his sprouted wings, picking out bits of lint and grains of sand caught in his feathers with a tenderness you always grant him, even when he's like this, when he doesn't even have the heart to look you in the eyes.

“I'm sorry, mayfly.”

“Hush. Don't be silly.”

His wings shift, slowly unfurling from around himself the longer you touch them for, as if trying to nudge into your hands for more. A part of him feels bad for liking the attention, but he doesn't want you to stop, even though the feeling of anyone touching the plumage along his back still feels so foreign to him.

“So soft,” you hum, and he feels the heat rise to his face, his cheeks dusting pink under the cracks and feathers. Something about you saying that makes his chest feel warm, despite how much he hates the part of himself you're referring to.

“You know,” you start to say, pulling his attention back to you as your gentle fingers pluck the dirt from him. “I'd like it if you stopped hiding from me whenever this happens.”

Vash winces at your words. “I don't… like it when you see me like this.” 

Don't look at me.

Don't leave me.

These wings, these feathers, these marks along his face and body – they all feel like some curse. It's not something you should be seeing, but he can't help wanting you here. It almost feels like he has to keep his wings from reaching towards you, like they have a mind of their own.

“I know, and I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving you alone,” you say back, your hands carefully running along the lengths of his wings, your palms smoothing over the feathers, and the feeling sends an involuntary shiver up his spine. “Is it bad if I like seeing you like this?”

“Heh. I don't see why you would. It's… strange. I would never blame you if you wanted to run away.” And he wouldn't. He knows this, and he knows you know this. He's told you far too many times that you should leave, that you shouldn't be around a monster like him, and sometimes he was much meaner than he ever intended to be with you. It's something he'll regret regardless of how many times he's apologized and how many times you've forgiven him. 

He just… doesn't feel like himself when he's in this state. He wants you far away, but he wants you close. He wants to scream and cry and curl in on himself until he disappears, but he wants to wrap himself around you and keep you with him in a nest of feathers until he forgets the outside world exists. His skin crawls and prickles where his feathers sprout from, and sometimes his flesh feels like it's burning, but he aches for the feeling of your hands running through his plumage. It's gotten so, so much worse since you've been around, and he doesn't know why, but he'll keep that bit to himself. No point in making you feel bad for his alien biology when he himself doesn't understand it all.

“I would never run away from you. Hell, half the time I'm struggling to keep up with you,” and his breath hitches when he suddenly feels your arms wrap around his midsection, your head resting against the bed of feathers on his back.

“I think you're beautiful, Vash. With and without wings.”

‘Beautiful.’

What a strange way of describing him.

“You like them…” he mutters quietly, more to himself than to you, like he's trying to wrap his head around what that could possibly mean. He doesn't even notice the way his feathers fluff up and bury your face in his down.

“I do, but I'm more fond of who they're attached to.”

You care, inhuman and all.

He was ready to never see you again after that first night, but you're still here, and you're preening him of all things. You've stitched his wounds, comforted him during his nightmares, held him when he's cried, but this? This is a level of intimacy he's not familiar with. It's vulnerable and selfless and loving and… so much more than he deserves, but you’re doing it for him. He has no way of repaying all the ways you've healed him. His wounds are still there, and they're far too deep to ever hope for the scars to completely fade, but your presence alone is a soothing balm he doesn't think he could ever live without again.

One day, maybe he'll look you in the eyes when you take care of him like this. Maybe he'll turn around and let you card your fingers through the feathers on his cheeks. Maybe after that, maybe when you're taking a nap, he'll hold you close in his arms like he wants to and envelop you in feathers, and he'll show you, despite how much he wishes they weren't there, how warm his wings can be.

divider source.

[slowd1ving]

STRESS, STRAIN: THE TALE OF YOUNG MODULUS AND A FORLORN PHYSICS STUDENT ゜゜・BLADE DRABBLE

Dealing with a stalker roommate? No problem, Kafka's got the perfect solution: staying with the unapproachable and cold Blade. Teetering the thin line between sleeping on the streets and facing his rumored wrath, it sure is hard keeping your balance when the engineering student is anything but civil. gender-neutral, physics major reader paired with college au + band au (will come into play in another part I swear) see here for some basic designs for them warnings: some violence? consumption of alcohol, arguments, blade being a dick, college au wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

✧ Perhaps it’s lucky that your acquaintance Kafka finds you at your most dire of moments, or perhaps it’s your Achilles-level misfortune finally catching up to you. Dorm changes aren’t particularly infrequent, sure—but dealing with a stalkerish, obsessive roommate is definitely story-material for when you’re downing shots. Literature major Kafka isn’t one to turn her magnanimous back on whom she considers a friend, even if said friend is currently wallowing their sorrows away by complaining about the lack of available dorms to make the switch and drowning in hard liquor.  ✧ Saviour Kafka, who plays for notorious metal group Stellaron Hunters (she’s a suave electric violinist), finds this a perfect opportunity to help out the cute guitarist from the rival Trailblazers! Her deft fingers are already sending a message to her pinned contact and drummer: Bladie, finally found you a roommate. Respond. It should be okay to put two college students (in bands infamous for their tense rivalry on– and off–campus) together in the proverbial lab rat cage; after all, neither of you are aware of who the other is behind the elaborate masks. It’s not like there’s a deficit of music groups at the Astral Institute—so who will ever know? Don’t ask how she knows the face behind the pretty Venetian mask. She won’t ever tell.   ✧ Honestly, she’s not sure how the bad blood started (she helped spread the rumours). All she cares about is doing you a solid!

“You think the streets will accept me for who I am?” Even with your head slumped over your forearms and the smell of cheap vodka clinging to your clothes, Kafka thinks you look naively charming in the dim amber lights of a bar pretending to be upscale. And by naive, she means very naive—for real, how can a physics major be so gullible as to not question their roommate’s deranged tendencies until it’s far too late? It’s hilarious. 

She’d dissect how this mood is perfectly, pathetically fallacious to your situation; yet her mind is too honed in on the buzz of her phone as Blade finally replies to her text. 

“Kafka,” you bawl into a stack of papers you’d salvaged from your ransacked dorm. “What if the asphalt doesn’t like me when I’m sleeping in the streets?”

21:48 > ok. 

Kafka, being an expert at metaphorical and allegorical interpretation, translates Blade-speak easily: let’s discuss this tomorrow, please and thank you. 

“Found you a roomie,” she murmurs delightedly, watching with her hawk-keen eyes as you sit up drunkenly. 

“That was fast, even for you,” you wipe your eyes cautiously—still wracked with the occasional hiccup. “Who is it?”

“Blade. You know him?”

✧ That sobers you right up.  Of course you know him. Nicknamed Blade for how cold and unfriendly he is, you’ve personally seen him in engineering lectures: making people shiver from just his gaze alone, and on one notable occasion, making his project partner cry after his infamously harsh criticism of her proposal. It’s common knowledge that he practises various martial arts, but the rumours that circle around him like vultures whisper of how he uses them on the streets. But whilst you doubt the reliability of the latter talk, it’s hard not to picture his hands dripping sanguine when his eyes glint the same shade.  ✧ Honestly, how bad could it be? It’s not like you have any other options unless you want to wake up with your roommate standing over you while you sleep again. After her, you doubt he’ll be any more of a walking nightmare.  ✧ Perfect!—Kafka is a bit too enthusiastic at your reluctant nodding, but you cast it from your mind as you pack your stuff with Caelus and Stelle standing behind you like a pair of twin guard dogs. One good thing about this is that you can finally take your guitar with you (rather than storing it safely at Dan Heng’s room) to the apartment—because of course he’s too good for the dorms. Though, after experiencing your batshit roommate, you really can’t blame him for avoiding this area.  ✧ Maybe, just maybe, the rumours about him being insane too are false and you can finally have a peaceful night’s rest without fearing for your life. 

Yeah right. You hate him. You genuinely hate the man over in the room next door. The passage of time on your phone indicates it’s only been a week since you showed up with five boxes of belongings and a nervous smile on your lips—but the agony you’re going through prolongs this mental period to eternity. 

Sisyphus embodies futility for evermore; as do you when you’re knocking on his door for the nth time to beg him to quiet down on his drums. The timings are so meticulous and calculative that you’re sure you could work out a linear sequence to this situation if you tried. 

Exhausted from the laboratory job you’re juggling on top of band practice and reading on Dirac notations? No problem—Blade’s busy expressing how you feel in terms of loud crashing and banging that you hate to admit is (very technically) skilled.

Recalling your first encounter—your nervous smile and his cold indifference as you moved into the room next to his—it’s not hard to imagine that he’d be inconsiderate of you. Those red eyes had slid right past you like oil on water: judging you to be not worth his time to even greet properly. In fact, it’s like he’s trying to chase you out so you leave him alone for good. 

The deep mahogany door swings inward, and you’re left facing an unimpressed, scowling Blade. With the way he’s clutching those drumsticks, you’d think he was about to skewer you—but you’re a bit too preoccupied with how he’s only sporting a pair of loose navy trousers that cascade languidly from his hips. 

“What do you want?” Laconic as ever, he gets straight to the point with his question—as if he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve come knocking. Just like this morning, just like last night, the night before, the night before yesterday’s—every damned night is a problem. 

“For you to invest in soundproofing,” you scowl back, too tired to keep up the fragile facade of politeness. At least when you practise with the electric guitar, you can easily hook it up to a pair of headphones and protect the sanctity of silence elsewhere. Actually, you don’t think he even knows your guitar exists with how considerate you are of your asshole roommate. 

“Why should I?” he crosses his arms, looking directly down at you. If you looked closely, the slight stretch of his lips resembled a smirk—but you’re definitely mistaken, since the man never so much as smiles. The cold expression accompanying his crude words sums up his thoughts: if you don’t like it, beg Kafka for whatever other solution she has. 

His inky hair sways from where it’s tied back, and you resist the urge to yank it until he sees sense. 

“For better quality of life,” you grit out. 

Those eyes turn into sardonic crescents. “I’m good.”

And the door is shut. 

✧ Fortunately, you’ve managed to fall asleep in the middle of the practise room before on countless occasions; tuning the heavy thumping comes easy after a while when you’re exhausted and practically dead on your feet. The problem is during the day—doing your assigned reading and writing up results from practical work comes much harder when you’re constantly accompanied by the rhythmic percussion of a madman who favours metal. It gets so rowdy that you seriously consider whether he’s part of the Stellaron Hunters and knows you’re a Trailblazer—it would make sense, after all, if he was just feeling extra spiteful. However, from the trembling students claiming to be his previous roommates, this is just common treatment: him basically telling them to beat it and never return.  ✧ Two can play at that game. Upon complaining to Kafka of his (rage-inducing) musical tendencies, she suggests that you get back at him with your electric guitar. Don’t ask her how she knows, no she’s not trying to instigate and watch the chaos—Kafka attempts to reassure you. You don’t trust the shady writer one bit, but both Data Analysis major Dan Heng and Environmental Studies student March 7th give the plan the go ahead. If you’re not mistaken, you can hear a touch of personal grief in the normally composed Dan Heng’s voice—something so poignantly irritated you wonder what the story between them is.  ✧ Contrary to his nonchalant attitude, it’s clear he’s annoyed by the loud chords that buzz through the apartment. As soon as he picks up his drumsticks, you plug the guitar to the amps and thoroughly mess with him. You know enough from Caelus’ repertoire to place each genre of music Blade starts to play (which is limited to metal). No problem—you play various styles that decidedly aren’t metal and are so discordant with his own tempo you can’t help but keep a grin on your lips. He’s much too stubborn to knock on your door, but the irritated twitch of his eyes in the kitchen belies just how aggravating this is. And when you know he’s scrawling down notes for his classes, that’s when you’re practising your metal riffs and playing around with the fretboard. If you’re feeling particularly nice, you’ll play along to some darkwave gothic music—something relatively more calm—but these occasions are few and far between. 

Chromatic eyes pierce your back while you deftly chop vegetables for your dinner. Really, now’s the best time to do work: when you’re busy with cooking and not insistent on plaguing him with jarring melodies. For someone so logical when it comes to his meticulous classwork, he sure doesn’t seem it as he leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen—sipping water and just staring at you while you Julienne an onion. 

You shoot him a withering glance as you toss the slices into a bowl on the side, and he glares at you with a matched fervour. If it weren’t for the fact that you literally don’t have anywhere else to go—Caelus doesn’t even have a couch for you to sleep on—you’d have moved out a long time ago. 

It’s a rustic space: sage green cabinets filled with charming, mismatched plates and cups; glossy white counters that house various herbs and the occasional plant; a lacquered table in the middle that has a vase holding a singular dried flower. An orange lily—still retaining a vibrancy that conceals just how long it’s been there. You wouldn’t have expected this style of decor from him, but at the same time, you doubt it’s his influence so much as Kafka’s. 

“Do you have a problem?” you probe icily, turning back to where you’re slicing a carrot into thin matchsticks; if there was a god somewhere, you’d hope it could transfigure the man behind you into the root vegetable you’re enthusiastically chopping. 

“No.” And when he speaks again, he’s right behind you. There’s a sink to your left, but he’s much too close as his breath ghosts over the nape of your neck. Affronted, you turn around; only to watch as his eyes widen minutely, glass of water slipping out of his grasp and spilling down your front. 

“You dickhead.” Your hands angrily grab at his collar—unheeding or perhaps uncaring of his reputation for violence as you feel the cold seep into your skin. You’re seething; for someone with such good reflexes, this is a new level of low in attempting to chase you out. Or perhaps it’s revenge for finally getting under his skin. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

It’s a little too late when you realise the position you’re in: skin showing through the translucent material, breathing shallow from your infuriation, face glaring right up at his. 

“Sorry.” His voice rings out insincere—and there’s that damn faint smile still toying at his face as he looks directly at you with that heavy gaze. “My hand slipped.”

You shove him back, too disgusted to acknowledge him any further. Maybe if you turned back around, you’d see the tiniest pricks of red on his face as you tossed your soaked shirt into the washing machine—leaving you in a damp vest while you continued cooking for yourself. Maybe if you looked back at least once, you’d see the amusement in his eyes as you maul the bok choy on the cutting board. 

Those are maybes.

There’s particular things you know for certain. One, you despise him and his existence. Two, he abhors you and your entire being—because why else would he be so insistent in making you leave out of your own volition?

✧ It’s the time of year that you hate: joint engineering classes so you can cover the materials aspect for your physics studies. Well, it’s not like you hated it from the very beginning—you’ve hated it ever since you realised that once again, you’d have to be in the incorrigible presence of Blade. While he did finally install some soundproofing in his room, he’s taken it upon himself to linger wherever you’re present. Typing up your notes on the deep maroon couch with a mug of lavender tea perched on the coffee table? He’s in the window seat, looking over a thick reference manual for tensile strengths. Going to meet bassist Dan Heng so the two of you can play around with various lines for your next song? He’s at the convenience store you briefly stop at, gazing at you before he glares at your friend. Practising a slow solo in the living room (it’s really got the best ambience)? He’s tapping out a beat that you can very faintly now hear—one that surprisingly goes with the electrifying chords.  ✧ Point is, you’re ignoring him and his presence—while he’s inching ever closer. It comes to a head at the lecture hall; you decide to sit in the third row, since it’s both far from the back (where he usually frequents) and it doesn’t make you look like a beg. When you glance at his predestined seat, it’s empty—unsurprisingly as he’s there usually a minute before the professor—while the seat next to him is taken by a girl you’ve seen before. Despite his horrible personality and the (probably true) rumours surrounding him, there’s a few stragglers who genuinely want him. And you genuinely want those people to seek help because it’s clear something went wrong in their lives for them to be thirsting over a man who looks like he eats cigarettes for breakfast.  ✧ He comes in late, as you expect, but you freeze as he places his bag down next to you. Aghast, you can’t help but stare; yet for once he’s not meeting your eyes, and it’s far too late to make a scene and move elsewhere—not when the professor’s just arrived and is keen to start the lecture for materials. He doesn’t talk much, but you’re so distracted by his presence pressing slightly into your sides that you forget that today the professor’s deciding on the pairs for your projects—mouth agape, you stare in shock as she assigns them based on who’s sitting nearby. To be generous, she says, yet there’s nothing generous about this arrangement as his mocking eyes meet yours. He knew, you seethe, storming out of the hall right as the class wraps up. 

“I hate him.” Your molars grind bone-against-bone as you harshly press angry chords into the fretboard. “I hate him so so so so much.”

“Who are you talking about?” March 7th—in charge of the synthesiser—glances first at the bassist to your side, then back at you. Her eyes are wide in sympathy, yet it’s useless in the face of your despair. 

“Blade.” Poetically, the word is accompanied by the deep twang of Smoke on the Water as your fingers move mindlessly on your precious baby. What, your roommate?—she queries. No, a pet fish—Caelus responds, but you tune them both out. 

“He knew the professor would assign groups like that,” you groan. “That’s why he sat next to me.”

“He’s definitely trying to get you to leave his apartment out of your own will,” Dan Heng’s smooth cadence is somewhat soothing—and his conjecture is one you’ve come to yourself—but the accompanying baseline he’s playing to the song makes his theory sound comical. “But he won’t screw up his own project like that.”

You sigh, and the melody falls apart as you bring it to a grinding halt. 

“Believe me, I know just how much he values his projects.” Your head throbs upon thinking about that poor girl sobbing, and the bassist coughs to stifle a laugh. 

“What did he say that one time? ‘Your vapid idea would be better used on death row than as a functioning building’,” Stelle—the vocalist and also the only Psychology major you know who doesn’t unnervingly stare at you—imitates the deep reverberations of his voice, and you’re astonished at how it’s recalled verbatim (down to the exact adjective).

“I’m surprised it got round that far,” you suppress a smile—after all, it’ll be your head on the chopping block next. “You should’ve gone into theatre like Caelus did.” 

What a waste of talent, you shake your head mock-ruefully, which quickly turns to true woe as you realise just the predicament you’re in. 

✧ It’s not a complicated assignment. Well, it shouldn’t be: designing a sound structure based on the whims of the architectural class (whom you loathe); except that Blade is notorious for being a severe critic for civil engineering partnerships—like seriously, out of all hills to die on and it’s civil engineering. You begrudgingly create a new contact for him in your phone; a digital space just for him, which almost makes you throw up at the thought.

(+2 unread messages) <Dickhead> (new contact) 10:11 > library.  10:11 > east block, 20 minutes.

You stare incredulously at the chat, which is neither phrased as a question nor a request but an encrypted demand. The fuck? Infuriated, you take the break between your reps now rather than later, swilling down water while you irritably type out a reply. 

No can do. < 10:15 I’m busy. < 10:16

The reply comes less than a minute later; three dots animating themselves into existence while you wipe the sweat off your face with a towel. This prick. Well, it’s not so much a reply as an acknowledgement of your words—because he doesn’t reply, but rather your phone starts buzzing and you fumble while looking at the expletive lit up brightly on the screen. 

You’re sorely, sorely tempted to press the red receiver on the device. 

“What do you want?” you scowl, and you hope it translates through your voice that you’re revolted by his mere radio presence. 

“Where are you?” He ignores your question; voice vibrating low through your headphones, and you can’t help but shiver, just a little. Even through the thick towel, you can still feel crescents being formed in your palm from your nails—you sincerely wish you were throttling him instead. 

“None of your business.” 

There’s a budding migraine blossoming to life in your temple as you finally hang up. You think that’s the end of it—after all, it was literally yesterday that the groups were assigned. 

But when you shoulder the gym door open—skin still damp and warm from your shower, clean clothes sticking ever so slightly to laved skin—there’s a sleek car parked outside, and you frown when Blade opens the driver’s door. 

“I’m going to report you for stalking,” you grit out, pressing your body to the cool glass of the building. “How the fuck did you know where I was?”

“Kafka,” he replies simply, and of course, that crazy woman was the one who viewed your private story and sent it to him. “I’m picking you up.”

“No you’re not.” Seriously, he thinks you’re that easy to convince—

“I’ll shut the fuck up with the drums for these two weeks.” 

It’s almost miraculous how quickly you slide into the passenger seat. 

✧ You’ve never been in such close proximity to him before (if you don’t count that day in the kitchen). At least, voluntarily. When you close your eyes and lean back against the headrest, you can smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne. It’s different from the putrid tide of Axe the average engineering student drowns themself in—rather, it’s got the deep undertone of oud and something sweeter. You don’t expect it; maybe if he smelled like first impressions, he’d stink of blood and a dumpster fire.  ✧ Don’t fall asleep—he remarks, and you can feel his eyes on you briefly. Eyes on the road, prick—you retort, but your own lids are still tightly shut. Therefore, you don’t see how his gaze traces the remaining water droplets from your shower: how his hands linger on his gear stick so he can feel the emanating warmth from your damp thigh.  ✧ He freezes. Gross. He doesn’t like anyone, and only tolerates the rest of the Stellaron Hunters since they’ve seen him at his lowest and yet still find ways to bug him. And you. He wasn’t expecting you to last as long as you have. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to irritate him in your own way, and actually manage to aggravate him enough to force him into soundproofing his room. Actually, he still doesn’t know why you did that. He doesn’t know why his heart picked up slightly at the sight of you in that soaked shirt. And in the end, he still doesn’t entirely know why he chose to sit next to you for that lecture instead. It’s to annoy you, he decides. No point in deliberating too much about it.  ✧ It’s surprising that the two of you don’t immediately argue over the project; some eco-facility for sports that surprisingly was chosen unanimously by the pair of you. Eyes flitting to each other and back, it was a miracle you both had the same idea somehow. And it’s surprising when despite your lack of experience in civil engineering like this (you usually opt for mechanical on projects like these), you carefully consider the missing parts in his outlines—security cameras, sound systems, and tiny edits to the structure to really amplify the architecture.  ✧ He doesn’t mind your presence. That’s what shocks him. As you doze off with your head pressed into the crooks of your elbows, he doesn’t reprimand you like he would with anyone else. Instead, he places the material reference guide down and stops considering cement foundations. Before he gets the chance to poke your forehead, your phone buzzes against the table—lighting up with a name he didn’t think he’d see.  ✧ Dan Heng. He knows you’re friends with the guy, but there’s a burning sensation as his eyes watch the pop-up turn into another message, then another. What does he want? In real time, there’s a particular irritation that blossoms with each new notification. 

<Dan Heng> 20:19 > Are you still up? 20:19 > My roommate’s going to move in with his girlfriend, so you’ll be able to…

The message is cut off, but Blade isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what the implication suggests, and there’s a certain coolness in his eyes as he stares the message down. Isn’t this what he wanted? Yes, this is precisely the ending he hoped for: you moving out and him getting his space back to himself. 

But the issue stems from Dan Heng. He can’t have that. He can’t have you moving in with that man of all people. Anyone else would be fine, he insists to himself. 

Dan Heng. Dan Heng. Dan Heng. 

There’s a certain hypothesis he’d like to test. With your guard down like this, he snaps a photo of you with the drool leaking onto your sleeve—sending it directly to you. Just like clockwork, your phone lights up once more with a message. It’s not ‘Blade’ that’s texting you. 

<Dickhead> 20:20 > [photo.jpeg attached]

He grits his teeth, clutching his textbook until his fingers ache from the strain. No, he won’t give that bastard the satisfaction of taking his roommate like this. 

He’ll play nice. When you find someone who works this efficiently with you, while managing to hold their ground under his intimidating gaze, it’s hard not to want them to not scurry away. 

Eat shit, Dan Heng.

✧ Somehow, mercifully, you manage to complete the project with that weirdo. It’s strange—he’s surprisingly more cordial than ever. And with his inky hair pulled into a loose bun, glasses perched on his straight nose—it’s hard to imagine he’d ever made that poor girl cry in front of everyone like that, but you’d witnessed it yourself. So with a sigh, you remind yourself that he’s just as much of an asshole as the rumours say. But, staring at him so relaxed like this, these two different Blades are hard to ever merge.

“Something on my face?” He’s still writing with his glasses sliding down his nose. He sounds irritated, as per usual, but the tiny smirk painting his face lets you know that no he’s not irritated, he’s just being an arse just as always. 

“Yeah, pen,” you mutter, looking away as he finally glances up at you. When you glance back at the desk where your laptop precariously shows the still-unfinished presentation slides, he’s gazing up at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. 

It almost puts to rest the image of a dickhead. 

“There’s no pen, though,” he purrs, voice low while he rests the manual back on the table. “I’ve been reading all morning.”

Nevermind—he’s as much of an asshole as he regularly is. 

“Who knows,” you comment offhandedly, slowly sliding a blue biro your way as soon as he looks back down. There—you attempt to inch forward to draw on his face, but he catches your wrist from across the table between you. 

You freeze. Shit, you screwed up. With how relaxed he is, it’s getting easier and easier to forget the rumours of his bruised knuckles that follow him like a shroud. His eyes glance coolly at you, then at the incriminating weapon within your fingers. 

“What are you doing?” Maybe he’s the questions first, beat up later kind. 

“Getting revenge.” Shameless, you think, but definitely not as shameless as getting told to effectively shut up with the drums yet having the audacity to keep going louder. 

His lips part, and your eyes nearly stray to the pink colour of them. Then, he smiles—something so cynical and disturbing you can’t help but shiver and twist your arm out of his hold, all so you can watch him askance. 

“I can see why people find you scary,” you shudder, tapping your biro on a square notepad. 

“And you don’t?” An innocuous question, but one that almost sounds accusatory. 

“Nah,” you make a disgusted noise, like you’re trying to suppress vomit. “You’re just a prick.”

In the end, that same prick ends up rolling his sleeves upon your request so you can litter blue ink upon his forearms. With how pale he is, it resembles delicate ceramics painted with cerulean landscapes. And while you do include etched illustrations and swirling designs, you make sure to include several phalluses dotted around—just so he lives up to his contact name. 

“Wow,” he remarks sardonically. “Maybe you should quit physics and join the liberal arts programme.”

You ignore him, taking a few shots of your handiwork and sending them to Kafka, captioned I feel like this truly reflects his personality and making sure all the tiny dicks are in full focus. 

“Maybe I should,” you shrug. “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you, at least.”

“Likewise,” he responds, but it’s not as satisfying to think about you quitting as he thought it would be. 

It’s stupid. He finds that he doesn’t want the ink to wash from his arms, not so soon. 

When you log into your account to touch-up the presentation, you spot the comment he left back in the library on the presentation slides—timestamped to the exact twenty past five. 

17:20 > Maybe if you stopped staring at me, we’d be done sooner. 

It’s the longest sentence he’s ever typed out to you—but that’s exactly what makes it so galling. 

go fuck yourself < 22:31

22:31 > ooh you want me so bad aha

You pause, staring incredulously at the text, then to where the bathroom’s situated. The water’s definitely running.

… < 22:32 damn this idiot’s really getting scammed and hacked < 22:33 crazy < 22:33 [feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:33

22:33 > on the daily lmao 22:34 > same two old man passwords for everything

Types like one too < 22:34

22:35 > right?? 22:36 > we should be friends btw 22:36 > [Blade.] sent contact silver-W

Dang he really put a period after than name too < 22:37

22:37 > top ten edgelords 22:37 > [Blade.] sent laughing emoji

[feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:37

It’s not until the morning when he’s looking over the (surprisingly well-done) slides that he finally notices the string of (highly unprofessional) messages that he definitely did not write. 

His head throbs and his eye twitches as he reads through them—burning holes through the wall separating him and you. He hopes you receive the subliminal nightmares he’s so graciously sending you. 

It’s a fiercely deliberated decision. With a heavy heart, he finally presses [backspace] on the typo next to his nickname. 

He only hopes you won’t notice. 

(Silver Wolf notices—immediately screenshotting the new handle [Blade] and sending it to you.)

✧ Good things come in threes. Getting through this project, not getting beat up by that nerd, and getting through the presentation smoothly. By that, you mean you do most of the speaking while Blade clicks through the slides. However, contrary to all expectations, his voice comes low and rich—neither stumbling through the knowledge nor forgetting the important parts. It’s so shocking you can’t help but stare at him; something he definitely notices, judging by the self-important smirk he sends you.  ✧ Perhaps a little too good. The pair of you leave the lecture hall separately—after all, it’s not like you want to be in his presence any longer, and he doesn’t particularly want to be in yours either. But you do want the sweet energy drink that’s been chilling in the shared fridge for the past few days: as tantalising as the very nectar of the gods.  ✧ It’s when you enter an alleyway shortcut that you witness her—your old roommate. Vaguely, you recall she used to have a crush on Blade (a match made in heaven if there ever was one); perhaps that’s why she’s inching towards you with a pipe that is tetanus’ wet dream—so grimy you think you’ll immediately die if you’re struck by it.  ✧ All this over him?—you think with disgust as you try back out of the alleyway, only to collide with the towering body of her boyfriend: some guy unfortunate enough to be entrapped by her pretty face and definitely not her personality. She doesn’t want you, and he (aforementioned: Blade) doesn’t want her either. It’s rather tragic, but woefully you can’t spare any pity for them: not when you’re about to get beat and for what? A successful presentation with Blade?  ✧ They’re amateurish enough that you manage to evade them for a minute, but the alleyway’s too narrow to slip past them, and you’ve never been in a fight like this.  ✧ You’re cornered when he appears: some twisted knight he is.

“You’re late,” you heave, bruises on your knuckles and that man’s face. 

“You…” Blade trails off as he sees the blood spatters on your clothes, and his expression twists into one he’s glad you can’t see—not when his broad shoulders face you in an impenetrable wall. The two idiots—Tweedledee and Tweedledum, judging by how disturbingly gullible they are—stiffen immediately upon his timely arrival. 

He’ll handle it like he always does. 

But it’s certainly strange. Why does he feel so much angrier than he does normally?

✧ It’s late afternoon: dusk barely kissing the rooftops of the city, stars just about peeking from the violet firmament. You didn’t ask questions when he made enough space for you to slip out the alleyway: heart lodged in your throat as you quietly sat down at the local café with blossoming pain in your ribs and fists. Stupid, you were stupid to think that crazed girl would ever leave you alone.  ✧ Maybe it’s counterintuitive to feel safe when he steps into the small building. He smells faintly of blood: a terrible, metallic odour spilling onto his clothes and flesh. But beneath that, there’s a lingering scent of that woody oud—you can’t help but sink into it.  ✧ They won’t bother you ever again—he murmurs as the door jingles behind both of you. You didn’t kill them, did you?—you mutter back, half-sarcastically. No, but it probably hurt quite a bit for them—he shrugs. “Let’s go home.” ✧ Home. He says that, but there’s still that offer from Dan Heng to move in with him—one you’ll probably accept. Blade may have saved you, but he’s still a dickhead who has made numerous attempts to kick you out. 

“Ow, fuck,” you hiss as he dabs antiseptic on the various cuts on your hand. It’s well into the evening now, and you’re currently sitting on the bathroom counter with your injuries on full display. 

So infuriating. You glare at the man standing in between your legs—unscathed completely. Worst of all, there’s a smug smile on his lips; whatever worry he might have had over you has completely dissipated. 

“You couldn’t let them hit you once?”

“Bitter much?” he returns easily, swabbing another cotton ball with alcohol and pressing it against the large cut on the side of your forearm. It stings, but you grit your teeth and bear it—much too annoyed with him to show any more pain. 

In this position, the resentment you feel towards him turns faint; a veil seems to obscure the burning sensation. 

“You talk too much,” you seethe. “What happened to the prick who kept his mouth shut and ignored me?”

Tendrils of his jet-hued hair brush your cheek as he inches forward. “If you like, we can go right back to that—playing at my whim included.”

He hasn’t felt like this in years—back when he was still a boy named Yingxing and unmarred by the burdens life would eventually place on his shoulders. 

“Let me do it myself,” you argue back. 

“Nah.” Silver Wolf will pay for calling him an old man. “You won’t do it properly.” 

Another brief kiss from the alcohol against your bloody knuckles, and this time you can’t hide the slight wince on your face. It takes quite a lot of self-restraint to not dent the tweezers—he should’ve done so much worse to the two who tried this, besides beating the shit out of them and getting Kafka to land them behind bars. 

“That rod probably had tetanus on it,” he shrugs, rummaging around in his disused first-aid kit for plasters and bandages.

“Yeah, I thought that too,” you shudder. It's this moment of casual, same line thinking that strikes you as being far too strange. He's so close you can feel each puff of air when he exhales: practically scalding the bare skin stretched over collarbones. Too close—and if he keeps talking like this, as if he’s no longer disgusted by your presence, you won’t be able to deal with it. 

“What’d you do to her?” he questions, but it’s not the ‘no wonder she attacked you’ tone—rather than that, it’s like he’s trying to prompt you into distraction. 

“This is actually your fault,” you scowl, irritably casting your mind back to when she used to talk your ear off about the man standing here. 

“How so?” Nonplussed, he starts rolling the bandage across your arm—evidently, he’s experienced with this sort of thing. 

Stalker roommate. Stalker roommate has crush on engineering maniac. Stalker roommate sees that your new roommate and engineering maniac are one and the same—you summarise, too tired to give the specifics. He sees the way your lids flutter closed from exhaustion; for once, he’ll use Kafka to get more of the information you omitted. 

“Honestly, you two freaks would be perfect for each other,” you murmur absentmindedly. At that, he pulls the bandage tighter against your skin and you draw in a pained inhale. 

“You should try stand-up.” His voice is thick with revulsion, and it’s quiet for a few brief moments as he gets started on patching up the scrapes left on your back. You’re sitting on a stool now: unable to see his face but awfully mindful of how his hands brush over the skin layered over your scapula. 

“You still haven’t thanked me.”

“Thank you, my aggravating saviour,” you say, much too insincerely. “But that reminds me that I’ve got good news for you. That should suffice as a symbol of my gratitude.”

What is it?

“One of my friends has a room free, so I’ll probably be able to move out soon.”

The worst part is, he knows exactly who this friend is. His hands freeze on the band-aid he’s smoothing on your skin; too absorbed in his murderous thoughts to notice how you stiffen at the prolonged gesture. He’s not jealous; these are merely stirrings of friendship—this ugly, amorphous thing writhing in his gut and condemning him to senseless anger. 

“That’s not good news,” he breathes, and it’s a little too quiet as he finishes wrapping the final bandage around your bruised ribs. 

For the first time ever, Kafka receives a text from Blade that doesn’t consist of just one word. 

<Bladie> 20:33 > I need advice. 

Oh, this is interesting. 

What are friends for?—she coos, making sure to show Silver Wolf the glaring achievement in Blade’s range of text vocabulary. 

He’s clearly been on the rear end of bad news; while for her, on the contrary, this just means her scheme is moving along very nicely.  

[anantaru]

— yandere honkai star rail boys

including blade, jing yuan, luocha, sampo x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — yandere, angsty, toxic, manipulation

— blade

yandere! blade, who won't ever leave your side in the early stages of your relationship, but the smoldering question, the raging reason as to why was deeply purled in an ulterior, much scarier motive.

it's not because of him owning possessive traits, well, he sure did but the motivation behind gracefully aiding you in everything you may require, always showing up to your doorstep whenever you wanted him to with that big, delicate smile on his handsome face and blessing you with sweet gifts of all kind, his reasoning was contrasting.

at any rate, blade can continuously see that you're slowly but surely getting accustomed to him, that you tend to find some sort of unrecognizable comfort and notable security in his calculated antics.

submit to him, to your fate, you do not have to do anything on your own again.

the voice in your head wasn't your own, it was blade's voice, bright, stern and utterly dominating. it's in your head but it wasn't you talking, or was it? it couldn't be.

when you come to terms with it, step by step, you are quick to notice that something changed because blade backs away all of a sudden, without somewhat announcing nor explaining himself.

you try to reach him, desperately, but you're being ignored, no answer, no message or a call being returned. proceeding, you attempt to idly greet him the very moment you see blade suddenly walk past you on a random evening, while at last, being ignored yet again.

the main impetus of his motives, what could it be? fine, to say it without beating around the bush, it's that blade will try anything in his power to make you the obsessed one.

— jing yuan

yandere! jing yuan who was using one noteworthy strategy to ploddingly drive you into his undying arms, so you weren't able to leave nor would you want to leave in the first place.

the golden eyed will make you feel like you're the most special, alluring, stunning individual he had ever laid his eyes on. most of all, will he turn everything around and act like you're in control of the relationship between you both.

hold on a second, it doesn‘t stop there.

for all intents and purposes has the capable and gifted general easily figured out that by giving you any form of large control, an illusion of indurated authority, he can covertly infiltrate that sweet head of yours to deviously influence and manipulate you how he sees fit.

following this pursue of action, you do not realize what you have gotten yourself into by the time it was too late.

for your own pair of thinking— to you it would seem like you are making important choices and solutions, yet not fathoming that in practice it was jing yuan who would put the hand picked ideas into your thoughts with subtle hints and little traces, you barely notice it.

you would end up doing whatever he wants and he smiles, kissing your lips and thanking you for taking such good care of him.

logically thinking, he does it because he wants you to become attached to him, he cannot possibly live a life without you, it's futile— you're the person he fell in love with, he couldn't imagine you walking away now.

— luocha

yandere! luocha, who, on the far side of the color of his innocent-looking, scintillating eyes, will be a crazy skilled liar who will look at you so sweetly that you cannot even process the mere possibility of something going wrong.

at the outset, he was agreeing and relating to everything you were saying or proclaiming, yet keep in mind, he puts it in a way that wasn't overbearing nor appearing as untrue— luocha knew what to say in order for it to come off as his opinion as well, as an oh so little coincidence that the two of you had so many things in common.

almost like you're made for each other, or, almost as if someone was trying to make it materialize as this.

again, you can envision him as a chameleon— following your first dates, he notices that he is wholly obsessed, it's the way you communicated, the small traits you possessed or how you'd slowly avert your eyes whenever he'd try to hold gazes.

luocha looks at you and visualizes a mirror standing in front of him.

for what reason you might wonder, let me break it to you; he needs you to be exceedingly trusting and unquestioning towards him, whatever he says, you wouldn't quiz it.

slowly, deep, decelerated steps, one by one so you wouldn't notice, luocha will gather all the information he had about you, favorite food, most dearest hobby, your habits, your views on life and the future, all written and memorized in his brain until he turns them into his own traits, characteristics of himself— because, ultimately, he was always a step ahead of you, easily lying through his gritted teeth without even realizing it himself sometimes ..

.. yet never letting go of the unfaltering control he now had acquired.

— sampo

yandere! sampo, who on the outside appeared to be rather bubbly and harmless, yet on the inside was excessively skilled in keeping you within his mind altering reach.

because love was scary, or so he thought and sought to point it out, it’s basically handing over a map of all your flaws and imperfections while putting faith in your partner to not abuse that power. 

in advance of your relationship, the man had already gained your abiding trust out of the clear blue sky— lets take this into consideration, whenever you encountered a problem, dear sampo was here to solve it almost immediately, without even trying his utmost hardest.

how come he had a solution to everything you needed, he truly was wonderful, or wasn't he?

and his extraordinary inducements of special care, how he made sure that you were contented and pleased in your life, all while in reality remaining unnoticed in the cruel darkness, as the very cause of those problems you have encountered.

it's quite silly he thinks, how creative he was, again using negative rumors to pull you into a corner, or stealing work utensils and important materials you needed, silently orchestrating a various square of people who will look down on you.

until at the very last, sampo proudly positions himself just right in your life, quite heroic indeed, and placing a fake security on top of your person ..

.. so you wouldn't have to worry about anything in life anymore and fully attach yourself to him.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[alaveii]

dan heng headcanons bcuz hoyo finally let my boy back into the spotlight

dh checks over his teammates all the time. even if he knows logically that nothing is wrong, his eyes will rove over their heads, their forearms, their midsections, and hands. anywhere he can see is evaluated at least twice in 20 mins.

he regularly seeks out exits. a habit left over from being chased by blade, or maybe due to his isolation in the shackling prison, he always assesses any space he’s in for every escape route.

connected to the previous point, this habit of his has shifted to accommodate march, welt, himeko, and the trailblazer as he became more comfortable with them. the most ideal exit went from “what he could escape through fastest” to “what we could get out through quickest without straining welt’s joints, or tripping up march, etc.” thin walls are also now a viable escape route for him as well now, due to the trailblazer’s raw strength and (semi) lack of inhibitions

when he first joined the express, he complemented himeko’s coffee. its not that he genuinely liked it, and he’s fairly certain it nearly returned him to an egg, but she offered and he couldn’t bring himself to deny or insult anything from the woman who gave him a home. when he drinks it now, the strain on his digestive tract is temporarily balanced out by the warm feeling of home and nostalgia, reminding him of when he first boarded the astral express.

in his IL form, his eyes, antlers, and tail fur glow faintly in the dark

he gets chronic migraines. whether caused from nightmares or shitty sleep, they creep up on him slowly before striking hard. the pain goes from ignorable to almost unbearable within minutes, and it’s during these migraines that he least appreciates his natural form. not out of body dysmorphia (like was for most of his time pre luofu arc), but because of the heightened senses and glowing features. they add to the pain, but switching forms usually only makes the migraine worse

dh is, in many ways, more like baiheng than dan feng. while he shares df’s icy exterior, features, and battle prowess, he also is notably more likely to tease and poke at his teammates. he has an odd streak for luck, running into danger just as easily as he gets away from it. he shares baiheng’s low, almost unnoticeable wanderlust and love of travel. he has a hotheadedness in battle reminiscent of the foxian pilot, fast and aggressive but never, ever, putting their family in danger. most prominently, dh and baiheng share an intense curiosity towards their fields of interest, and unwavering love and loyalty to those they hold dear.

dan heng, before march showed up, was very quiet. he rarely ever spoke unless spoken to, and if he did, it was short and quiet. welt and himeko rejoiced in seeing him open up when march boarded, growing into a snarky, protective, brotherly figure.

in his IL form, he has retractable claws. he usually keeps them hidden away, both for convenience (as he’s still learning to work with them) and due to insecurity.

he also has scales, though they’re sparse and scattered underneath his clothing. the biggest patch is at his shoulder, under his large sleeve. he has far fewer scales than df did, who kept most of his hidden under his fully-covered outfit.

dh found himself latching onto himeko the most often when he first boarded, and later the trailblazer as they grew closer. their natural heat was soothing to him, so he subconsciously started drifting to them when he needed comfort.

dh, after getting comfortable with his true form, found himself often lounging near, next to, or even sprawled over the rest of the express crew. he found another love language in physical contact, which his family happily indulged

the staff of herta space station are under the impression that dh is “the mom friend” or “the responsible one” of the trailblaze trio. he is not. he once lost his hotel room keys 3 times in one day. welt later sewed a clasped loop on the inside of his coat for him to attach his keys. him getting involved in a dubiously legal fighting ring (*cough* belobog *cough*) is not a first time occurrence, and will likely not be the last.

dh sometimes dreams of the good times with the hcq. he appreciates these, they make the quintet seem less like legends and more like people.

dh’s favorite dreams are of domestic moments with his express family.

[blissfullyapillow]

┃Blade + “only for the mission”

₊˚⊹♡ Blade x fem reader

₊˚⊹♡ wc: 1,555~

₊˚⊹♡ Warnings: self inflicted injuries + scars (Blade), only one bed trope, fake marriage that develops into very real feelings, totally legit Stellaron Hunter mission, a meddling Kafka & Silverwolf 

₊˚⊹♡ Summary: Blade needs someone to play the role of his wife for a mission, and who else would be a better candidate than yours truly?

₊˚⊹♡ Pillow Talks: I had a random moment of inspiration as I imagined what Blade would be like if he was in a similar situation as Loid Forger. I could see it. (I'm being delusional)

₊˚⊹♡ Masterlist 

‧₊˚ ┊When Blade has to “marry” reader for a really obscure and totally real Stellaron hunter mission he was assigned to

𓆩♡𓆪

⋆〃You wonder why he chooses you of all people to be in a fake marriage with, but his reasoning is solid

⋆〃“We’ve worked together before, and we tolerate each other. I see no better candidate.”

⋆〃 If only you didn’t secretly harbor a crush on the unattainable man

⋆〃 Surprisingly a really great fake husband

⋆〃 Takes care of you and pays attention to details

⋆〃 He typically hates being cared for, but for you, in this instance, he’ll let his walls down and allow you to dote on him

⋆〃Cue a long pampering session where you unnecessarily give him a head to toe massage on his rare day off work

⋆〃He only allowed you to do it for the mission, though. Just to ensure you’re happy with your “relationship”

⋆〃Typically busy during the day; he gathers intel and often finds himself getting caught up in one too many altercations

⋆〃He starts to feel guilty when he returns home one evening and you fret over his many bleeding cuts, most of them of his own doing

⋆〃He can’t find it in himself to refuse your offer to patch him up. He has to swallow the lump in his throat as you delicately clean and bandage his fresh wounds.

⋆〃A soft, unexpected noise of surprise leaves him when he feels the soft press of your lips against his old scars

⋆〃“It’s only for the mission. I have to be in a suitable condition to continue fighting..” is how he reasoned with himself

⋆〃Yet his heart squeezed in his chest when he returned home the following day, with notably less self inflicted scars, and your radiant smile greeted him. He took notice of the unconcealed relief present within your irises

⋆〃He doesn’t know why, but it makes him feel good

⋆〃He has no idea of just how much of a hold he has on you

⋆〃One evening he brushed past you, squeezing by with just enough room, yet he used his hand to briefly squeeze your hip in passing

⋆〃the way your brain just shut. down.

⋆〃Your legs literally felt like jelly as he glanced back at you, only to send a little smirk your way before he entered your shared kitchen

⋆〃If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was flirting with you.

⋆〃… well, maybe he was.

⋆〃On a different day, when you two are in the process of tailing a person of interest, you wind up needing to share a bed. 

♡⸝⸝

“I can’t believe I slept so well last night.” You whisper. You yawn as you stretch your limbs, your butt bumping against something as you stretch your body in a cat-like manner. “Well, that makes one of us.” Blade groggy voice immediately erases any fog of sleep you had clouding your brain.

You yelp, craning your neck back to look at Blade.

He’s visibly tired, an arm around your waist as you’re suspiciously close to him, even after your stretch.

You make an effort to move away, but he simply drags you back. He won’t admit it, but he couldn’t sleep a wink last night since you both shared a bed for the first time. He almost offered to sleep on the floor when he saw the look of sheer horror on your face when you realized the predicament you were in.

You two got the last available room of the gaudy hotel you were forced to reside in, all to continue tailing the person of interest, but there was only one bed in this room. It was late into the night and Blade was ready to sleep. He wasted no time stripping until the only thing left was his pants, before he snuggled under the covers.

You would’ve found the scene cute if you weren’t too busy freaking out.

“If you don’t get in I’ll drag you.” You know that tone. He isn’t joking. His eye pierces through the dark and you can see them narrow at you. When you still don’t move, he gets up. He ignores your flustered protests as he simply picks you up and plops you on the bed.

It seems you have no choice in the matter.

In that instance, you quickly go through your night routine before joining Blade in bed.

You expected to be kept all night as you tried to retain your composure, but you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Lo and behold, Blade was unable to fall asleep.

Your body heat permeated his skin, and he found the sensation to be… pleasant?

He didn’t know how fond he was of the thought, but he knew it was true. Your body unconsciously moved closer to him, and his entire body tensed. You stopped moving for a few minutes, and Blade found himself slowly drifting off.

Unfortunately for him, you wind up inviting yourself into the comfort of his arms.

The content sigh you released melted his heart, and he couldn’t find it in himself to push you away.

And so Blade held you throughout the night, rotating between drifting off and being abruptly awakened when you shifted in his arms.

Since when was his body so hyper-aware of your presence?

𓆩♡𓆪

⋆〃When Blade inevitably realizes that you hold more importance than just being his lovely ‘wife,’ his attitude begins to change

⋆〃It’s subtle, but you know Blade well enough to catch on to the little hints

⋆〃He’ll return home with little trinkets or gifts, things that caught his attention on the way home. They reminded him of you in a way.

⋆〃What really caught you attention is when he returned home with a beautiful hairpin. He instructed you to turn around before placing it in your hair. “This suits you, and it can be used as a weapon.” His simple explanation makes your heart race.

⋆〃You cherish that hairpin. Every time your gaze lands on it, a very obvious smile lights your features. Blade notices this and it elicits an oddly pleasant feeling within him.

⋆〃Soon the end of your mission draws near, and you find yourself longing to continue the charade. Being Blade’s wife has honestly been a lovely experience for you, as surprising as it is to say.

⋆〃Unbeknownst to you, Blade holds similar sentiments.

♡⸝⸝

“It’s not like we’re going to get married and live happily ever after.” Blade’s grumbled words serve as motivation for your fierce retort.

“Why not?”

His head whips around, his wide orbs stare deep into yours.

You hold his gaze.

His lips part in surprise. Honestly, he didn’t expect such a response. A strange part of him likes the idea, and his cheeks flush at the mere thought.

“…Pardon?”

You start, blinking your eyes owlishly at Blade.

The ‘Pardon’ was very uncharacteristic of Blade, and the pure shock in his tone is borderline comical.

It causes you to break character, and soon you’re giggling as you clutch your stomach. Blade is not amused; he closes his eyes as his arms wrap around the shattered blade he carries everywhere.

When you finally stop laughing, Blade is the one to say something first.

“Is marriage with me something you seek?” His question is knowing in a way; it’s almost as if he’s seen right through you, and your breath hitches at the terrifying thought. Were you becoming too obvious in your affections? Well, that question has a blatant answer, but still!

“U-Um..” “Be honest with me.” His words are rough. His eyebrows are furrowed as his eyes slowly open to peer at you. His orbs hold your gaze. You couldn’t think of a believable excuse even if you wanted to.

“I… yes…” You squeak.

You think you see his shoulders visibly relax once he hears your answer, but you must be fooling yourself.

He quickly closes the distance between the two of you. You squeal as he harshly pulls you into him, and your voice is soon muffled by the rough caress of his soft lips.

Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck.

He groans; your touch ignites something within him that has been dormant for far too long.

He quickly pulls away, only to say, “I’ll make it happen. For real this time,” before his lips seal yours once more.

...

Well, this was an unexpected outcome.

But an entirely welcome one nonetheless.

𓆩♡𓆪

⋆〃When you both return to the Stellaron Hunter HQ, hands intertwined, Kafka and Silverwolf are the first to greet you.

⋆〃Upon the sight of your intertwined hands, Kafka’s smirk only deepens. Silverwolf rolls her eyes as she releases a dramatic sigh. You watch in confusion as Silverwolf fishes for something in her pocket, before she hands Kafka a stack of credits

⋆〃“Welcome home lovebirds. How did the mission go? Judging by the looks on your faces, I see it was successful.” Kafka is all too pleased with herself.

⋆〃Blade is a bit confused, still in the dark, but he acknowledges Kafka’s statement.

⋆〃”What of it?” Is his gruff reply. Kafka only smiles, a knowing glint in her eyes, and Silverwolf has a similar look of content on her features

⋆〃Who knew the Stellaron Hunters loved to play matchmaker?

𓆩♡𓆪

[robbie-wallis]

I need to vent about Watcher, endure it if you can

Relax, this isn't a parasocial thing, but it is a long ass post, which suits me as a long ass human.

I need an outlet to discuss the terrible business decision Watcher has made by announcing their plan to leave YouTube, and this long-forgotten Tumblr account reached from its grave to grab at my ankle.

If you didn't see their video, good for you. It's extremely cringe-worthy in its sentimentality and editing, with blurry shots, pensive pauses and obligatory sad piano.

But at least there's no f'ing Ukulele.

Although, I think we might get the Ukulele in a few months.

Even though anyone who reads this is probably familiar with what the "Ghoul Boys" have done, I feel as though I need to add a little history.

WATCHER HISTORY

You can skip this part if you've been obsessively following the shenanigans, this is for the noobs who were never a "shaniac" or a "boogara".

Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara used to work at Buzzfeed. They hosted the successful Buzzfeed Unsolved shows. In 2019 they followed in the footsteps of the Try Guys and Safia Nygaaard and left Buzzfeed to create their own YouTube channel named "Watcher".

They brought along Steven Lim, another Buzzfeed person who is most known for the "Worth It" series. This series followed Lim and his friend/s spending obscene amounts of money on obscenely overpriced and indulgent products.

Think of it as being similar to the $100 V's $10,000 Sidemen content, only without the self-awareness and British "bad lads" humor.

Notably, even the Sidemen seem to have cut back on those adventures, perhaps understanding how bad it looks when so many people are struggling to pay their essential bills.

Steven became the CEO of Watcher while Shane and Ryan continued to create and present for the new channel.

They were wildly successful by YouTube standards. At the time of their self-spanking on Friday they were close to achieving 3 million subscribers, in just 4 years, based on basically only 2 cornerstone shows. If Social Blade is still a reasonably trusted source in everything but estimating income, they were gaining thousands of new subscribers every week.

Their most successful shows were Ghost Files, Puppet History, Too Many Spirits and Mystery Files.

Ghost Files is the only one of these shows which requires heavy investment, travel, a large crew and impressive production costs. These videos are shot on-location and require a lot of work. The rest are basically Good Mythical Morning style, just the two hosts and their banter.

Aside from Ghost Files, their content could be created with 3 cameras, 2 lapel mics and a good editor.

They were massively successful, solely because of Ryan and Shane.

THE DEMISE

So, what did they do on Friday 19th April? They decided to announce the launch of their own subscription platform.

Not a Patreon for extra content, behind-the-scenes, audience interaction etc, (they already had a Patreon with 6,000 paying subscribers earning them at least $50k a month), but a bespoke streaming platform which looks like a clone of Netflix.

The cost is $5.99 a month, or $60 a year.

Comparable to Netflix.

And by that I mean the price is comparable to Netflix while the content is comparable to a 4 year old YouTube channel.

Don't get me wrong, their production quality is incredible. The quantity, however, is not.

From the end of May viewers will have to pay to be a subscriber on their own platform in order to watch their shows.

They'll still be posting their trailers on YouTube, and the first episodes of new shows, but to watch it all you'll have to pay up or miss out.

Edited to add: Variety originally reported the Watcher crew were planning to remove all their existing content from YouTube to monetize it on their own platform. It's since been confirmed they will not be removing their old content. Fans are undecided whether this was a back-track after the announcement or a misunderstanding by Variety. You be the judge.

Of course, they're entitled to do this. They are creating a product and you can either enjoy it or not. No one is entitled to see it, for free, whenever they like.

Why did they do this?

Half of the sombre video gushes about their "humble beginnings" as "struggling young guys in a big harsh world", which comes across as extremely self-indulgent and ego-stroking.

A quarter of it explains how insanely successful they've been on YouTube and how this is all thanks to the fans who stuck with them after Buzzfeed, how it's allowed them to hire 25 people, how it's given them the freedom to create what they enjoy making and what the viewers want to see, and - most importantly - how it's allowed them to increase production quality on Ghost Files.

The final quarter of the video explains that this isn't good enough, the quality isn't high enough, the finish not glossy enough, it's not "TV caliber" enough! They want more, they need more, you have to give them more, mostly (apparently) because their CEO Steven Lim wants to bring back his show where he flies around the world with his bestie sipping Champagne and eating gold-leaf-covered lobster.

In short, they want more money to make even bigger things, even though their audience never asked for that.

WHY IT WILL NOT WORK

Oh my goodness, this is going to be a ride so strap in.

I'm not a YouTube creator so there are a lot of things I do not know. Having said that, I know a little about business.

This ain't Buzzfeed, y'all

Watcher became successful because of Ryan and Shane. It was their friendship, their personalities, and the content we loved to watch featuring them at Buzzfeed, that brought us along for the ride.

The audience they poached from Buzzfeed is there for them and Ghost Files. It's not there for Steven Lim and "Worth It". His show worked under the Buzzfeed umbrella only because they had numerous sub-categories in that community to support it.

The Try Guys left and created their own channel from their Buzzfeed fans.

Safia Nygaard left and created her own channel from her Buzzfeed fans.

Shane and Ryan left and created Watcher from their Buzzfeed fans.

Steven Lim left and became the CEO of Watcher. He didn't take his audience with him.

The audience of Watcher is not the audience of "watch me fly around the word with my pal and spend $100K on hand-reared, Whiskey marinaded, diamond-encrusted Kobe steak".

And... IN THIS ECONOMY?

Steven chose to become a CEO instead of a presenter. He's missed the opportunity to take that Buzzfeed audience with him.

This is made clear by the Watcher channel itself. Their "man eats food" content rarely breaks 500K views while their Ghost Files breaks 2 million consistently.

If a million of their viewers followed them from Buzzfeed to Watcher, the other 2 million have joined them since, based almost entirely on their spoopy content.

Not only did they base their channel on this genre and format, they have distilled their audience further ever since the creation of their channel and no matter how hard they try to diversify into "man eats food" it's just not working.

This ain't Netflix, y'all

As mentioned, the $5.99 charge is comparable to Netflix and just about every other streaming platform. Only Watcher can't give you even 5% of what a competing platform can offer for that price.

Other platforms also tailor their content and their pricing based on geographical location and localized economics.

You're paying far less than $5.99 a month if you live in an economy where the median household income is $300 a month. YouTube has a global audience. Their subscribers don't all live in a stable economy where $5.99 is considered disposable income.

We don't know the numbers, but I would guess only 60% of their subscribers are based in the USA, Canada, and the UK.

Even for those who do live in a stable economy, their audience is predominantly young adults and students. Most young adults are currently facing the reality that they will possibly never own their own home, they're living day-to-day trying to budget.

They've instantly priced-out a large % of their audience.

I confidently predict that diehard fans who can't see anything wrong with this will sign up for $5.99 a month, binge watch for a couple of weeks, realize there's no new spoopy content and cancel.

They'll come back when a full season of Ghost Files has arrived, pay again, binge it and leave.

Steven Lim thinks they're gonna get $5.99 a month, every month, from thousands of subscribers. In reality they're going to get maybe $12 a year, from people signing up to binge watch what they want, then leaving.

This will then decline naturally as attention wanes during the months where there is no spoopy.

This ain't good marketing, y'all

They're going to be posting "trailers and season pilots" on YouTube.

Sure, I bet YouTube is gonna be totes okay with a channel doing nothing but trying to hijack traffic for an external site.

Posting nothing but trailers and season premiers will mean maybe one full video per month during busy seasons. That's not enough to remain relevant for the algorithm.

If 80% of those posts are also just trailers saying "leave YouTube and come here", the channel will be smacked down quicker than a crypto scam using an AI generated Elongated Muskrat.

Their channel was growing steadily, but that was with full content regularly posted. When the schedule drops off, and when most of it is considered spammy by YouTube, it's going to collapse like a flan in a cupboard.

A streaming platform needs a constant flow of new subscribers just to replace the gradual drop-off (maybe ask Rooster Teeth about that). When your global audience at YouTube is gone, where are those new subscribers coming from?

The platform is also an additional overhead. It's going to cost thousands a month to keep the servers going.

This ain't good financial management, y'all

I don't know if they've already spent hundreds of thousands of $s on Lim's "men eat food" gamble, but I suspect they have.

I know they have spent hundreds of thousands of $s on a new season of Ghost Files, flying to the UK to host live events while filming those episodes.

This means they've over-extended their finances just at the moment where they've cratered their opportunities to see a return on investment.

Just that, on its own, is enough to destroy a production company.

They do not need 25 employees any more than I need an editor and proof-reader for this long ass post.

They do not need a production studio in Hollywood any more than I needed an office to write this.

They do not need to spend tens of thousands of $s on glossy graphics that appear on screen for maybe 4 seconds in one episode any more than I needed to add screengrabs to this painfully long essay.

By leaving YouTube they've lost:

Adsense revenue (which might not be much on a per-video basis but adds up with a back catalogue over years of productions)

Sponsorship deals, which allegedly contributes almost 50% of their annual revenue.

Merch sales, which is about to crash if the only people they can promote merch to are already paying per month in their smaller ecosystem.

Patreon. Why would someone pay $5.99 twice, for the same or less content?

And they've abandoned all of this for maybe a few thousand people who will probably end up paying just $12 a year when a new spoopy season arrives for them to binge.

I'm no Will Hunting, but no matter how hard I try to make the numbers work they just don't, and I don't need Robin Williams to tell me it's not my fault.

This ain't nice, y'all

Some of you are feeling like Ned's wife right now, and some of you will have no idea what that's in reference to.

Most of you will hate that I made that reference more than you hated the SNL skit.

I get it.

Maybe the worst part about all of his, from a viewer's perspective, is the dismissive nature of their sign-off.

They didn't mention the Patreon members once, not one single time in the whole video. It's like they consider the Patreon "too YouTube". They're the deformed cousin locked in the attic. They're the relative who wasn't invited to the wedding because they can't afford a Tom Ford suit. They're the colleague who isn't invited to the staff night out because they only work in accounting and no one has anything in common with Janice anyway.

These are diehard fans who were actually paying them extra to support them and enjoy a little bonus behind the scenes, and the boys didn't even consider them worthy of an utterance.

They also finished with "If you don't follow us and pay up it's been real, peace out". I'm paraphrasing, but that's basically what it was.

They spent so much of the video saying how awesome and great it was that the fans and YouTube got them to this point, but they didn't thank their Patreon members, and they ended with a blunt suggestion that if you don't follow them and pay more then you're not a real fan anyway and they don't really need you.

"Thanks for getting us here, sucks to be you, bye now!"

You made them wealthy, you helped them hire 25 people, you helped them increase production value to "TV caliber" even though you didn't ask for that, but your job is done and now you're superfluous. Only the real fans are wanted.

In the words of the great George Carlin - "It's a big club, and you ain't in it".

They're okay losing the vast majority of the people who got them here if a few thousand of those are comfortable enough to be able to pay $60 a year for a YouTube channel.

Can it get worse? Sure!

We've had a weekend to enjoy the constant heat of this bonfire and it's predictably worsened with each hour of silence from the company and its employees.

The fact that they haven't back-tracked, despite almost unanimous agreement that this is badder than the baddest thing that could happen to their company, suggests they're okay with it.

Consensus seems to be that they knew it would be this bad, and they're cool. They predicted 90% of people would scream "Boo to you good sirs! Boo indeed!" and they could still survive on the 10% who don't see a problem here.

The lack of response reinforces the narrative that they're totally fine with discarding almost their entire audience if they can just squeeze the cash they need out of whoever is left.

This ain't fixable, y'all (maybe)

Note: I don't want this to be mean, but it's going to sound a little bitchy no matter how I try to say it.

If they'd brought out the Ukulele on Saturday, or even teased Ukulele's on their socials before putting out a video on Sunday, they probably could have survived this with much hand-wringing and a little groveling.

But now I think they've grilled this Kobe steak for far too long.

They've lost 100K subscribers, and counting. The venom among Patreon members is allegedly worse than the public comments section under the video, which is startling. Dozens of YouTubers are torching them harder than a $100 crème brûlée.

People are scraping their channel content in case it's nuked.

Shane "eat the rich" Madej's sentiments over the last few years look disingenuous, to say the least. To shamelessly steal someone else's comment: "Imagine being all 'eat the rich' right before throwing yourself on the plate". He's silent while his McMansion burns down, at his own hands. "Why not!?" indeed.

Steven "I drive a Tesla" Lim's socials now make him look like a tech-bro try-hard and his use of words like "early adopter" and "soft launch" in the video only compound the belief that this was all his brainchild. He is the CEO, and that comes with responsibility and the associated blame. You can't steer the ship into the Bermuda Triangle and then disappear without looking like the bad guy.

Okay, you can disappear, but that convoluted metaphor is a mystery for someone else to solve.

Ryan "TV caliber" Bergara now sounds like an elitist who thinks YouTube is "too pedestrian" for his big plans, not big enough to meet his artistic vision. You see, he's more James Cameron, while YouTube is more like your student film club. He's grown beyond this pesky platform with billions of daily hits offering exponential growth with almost zero financial risk.

Even if they released a video today admitting they messed up big time it's still going to be hard to get the taste of this Ghost Pepper Warhead out of the collective mouth of their viewers.

This hasn't just burned their shared brand, it's singed their individual reputations among an audience upon which their careers rely.

What they should have done, on Saturday, is release a video (Ukulele or no) confessing their error. They should have announced their new platform will instead just be a bigger and better Patreon, with early access to everything, behind-the-scenes content, extra features, audience interaction etc.

They should have reversed to make clear their YouTube channel will stay the priority, their main source of revenue, but that you could get more on their own platform if you want it.

And, maybe, over time, people will pay for that. If they grow their channel to 6 million subscribers in the next 4 years there will be a couple hundred thousand of them willing and able to pay $5.99 a month for 8 years of shows, 8 years of behind the scenes content, 8 years of community involvement and regular early access to new episodes.

Maybe then they could try out their "privileged guys eat expensive food in expensive places" show and see how it does? Maybe a majority of people won't be living on the cusp of poverty by then and it won't look as tone-deaf as a 13 year old YouTuber trying to cover Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"? Maybe then they could hire another 50 people and make Bergara's "TV caliber" (I still don't know exactly what that means) game shows and reboots?

The clock has been ticking since they hit that "publish" button on their career ending video, but that clock is about to count down to zero and silence will permeate throughout their previously lively community.

That 1980s basement set needed someone crying in the corner, right?

The problem is, their own platform is not a terrible idea. Really, it's not the worst thing they could do. The badness came in the timing, the switch, the middle finger and the f you. They could have released this as an extra, their own Patreon alternative, waited, developed it over time into something sustainable and established.

They could still try to do that and hope this dark chapter is forgotten.

Maybe I'm wrong? Maybe Lim is a financial genius with more skill than the management of Rooster Teeth and their corporate parent company combined? Maybe this gamble will be wildly successful despite all streaming services down-sizing or just going bankrupt? Maybe they won't be back on YouTube in 3-6 months begging for views after having to lay off 20 of their employees?

I know this... if I were one of those 25 employees blind faith would not be enough to stop me from looking for another job.

I suppose this will, for now, remain... a mystery.

EDIT:

I'm not writing another essay about this, but I'm glad to see they've backtracked and made the right choice to use WatcherTV as any sane creator would - to host early access and exclusive content in addition to their YouTube channel.

Over time, while promoting it in every video, building up that trust and fan base, it can be a secure and long-term financial bonus helping them to expand their business incrementally as finances allow.

Why this wasn't the plan all along is anyone's guess. Gambling everything on this was never the sane decision.

I still think they need to scale back on costs. I still think the food content is not currently a viable source of income while being a serious drain on resources. I still think they need to stop hiring all their friends and they need to hire one person who doesn't have personal relationships with everyone there and can make the tough business decisions.

No one likes firing people, it's ten times worse when it's a friend. But this is a reality of business and just wishing it wasn't so isn't going to make it go away. It would be awesome if we could all run a business where we can hire all our friends and family, never have to rely on any outside funding, make whatever we want, make a great living in one of the most expensive cities in the world and continue to grow.

That's just not the reality.

Their apology was genuine, in my opinion. I just hope they can work out the right financial balance.