#this isn’t a condemnation of any relationships

[chissjedi]

Even if the Jedi Order prohibited romantic relationships, warning psychic empaths who literally pass out and nearly die from touching inanimate objects to think twice about committing to an emotionally driven relationship with another person isn't a bad idea, actually.

[zeb-z]

y’all ever think about how Harry loved Dora to such a degree it was worship, she wasn’t his lover but his savior, his deity, a symbol of the good and the lovely in the world - and she’s portrayed as Dolores Dei because of this, because his love was his religion and he put her on such a pedestal that when she left it absolutely destroyed him (because what else would losing your salvation, your hope, your god, do to a believer?) And how this comparison is a warning of putting someone, anyone or anything up so high and believing it can do no wrong, only to be devastated when it leaves. How she’s also the middle/upper middle class who can just leave the conflict, decide to fly away because they have the money and means, and leave the ‘poverty stricken fucks’ behind. The danger in placing blind and total faith in something that tells you (or that you tell yourself) its morality is infallible, and it will be forever, because you will be blindsided when it leaves or does something terrible, and that utter devotion will be the dagger you fall on when this clean and holy thing, this love, leaves you for something better, betrays you in the worst way.

y’all ever think about the comparison between Dora and Dolores Dei and moralism and middle class with the religious themes, how love is just as dangerous as wrath and despair and ego, how Harry wasn’t great, not even good, but there was nothing he could have changed. the layers of how he has to learn to live for himself instead of the woman who left him half a decade ago, how Dora is Dolores Dei is Moralism and the privilege to stay neutral with the ability to leave when things are rough, how he has to pull himself out of his misery and try his best and it’s not always enough it’s not going to stop the nightmares it’s not going to bring that holy love back it’s not going to save him, but it has to be better than nothing.

y’all ever think about that beautiful stained glass wall in the old church, Dolores Dei larger than life, a picture of innocence so lovely and divine - but all it’s ever been was glass, and it’s shards are all over the hardwood floor.

[merakiui]

winter woes.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, dub-con, breeding, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, implied stalking, obsession note - strangely, jade is thrown into his mating season in the middle of winter.

Jade thought it wasn’t so bad when he woke up in a feverish fog. He assumed it would dissipate once he got to moving, but it only seemed to worsen as the day wore on. He trudged through his classes with dimming focus, reasoning that if he wasn’t about to keel over and die he could survive a few hours of lecture.

It was fine. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He’s Jade Leech, Octavinelle’s talented Vice Housewarden! A masterful actor capable of brilliant efficiency, even when he’s at his lowest.

And yet he’s never experienced a day as detrimental as this one. He’s endured his fair share of sleepless nights, stagnant days, and monthly burnout. On some level, Jade suspected it was coming when the frost began to encroach on withered plants and leafless trees. He always finds himself bogged down with an annual case of winter woes. 

This pattern of behavior isn’t any different.

Except it is. Very different, actually. Unlike his previous blues, this one is markedly unique. He’s never been this delirious before, so much so that he staggers about like he’s learning to walk all over again. Winter blankets the world in white, condemning Jade to what he believes is Mother Nature’s padded cell.

Without enough stimulation or spontaneity, how can he possibly function?

Normally, he’d take to trekking in the mountains to clear his head. The biting cold is familiar, a reminder of the comforts of home, but it doesn’t soothe him like it should. He’s restless and itchy, perpetually hot all over. His clothes aren’t helping either, clinging like seaweed. He wants to shred them to pieces and dive into the sea. Or hike in the mountains. Definitely one of those. 

Alas, even if he wanted to scale a mountain, he couldn’t. Not when they’ve called for the possibility of an avalanche.

He is, unfortunately, stuck in the dreaded rubber room with his school uniform for a straitjacket. Only the room itself is made of ice, and it’s unpleasant and isolated. He’s left alone with his thoughts and they’re swirling around his skull in a flurry of snowflakes.

Clothes are truly unbearable… How can land-dwellers possibly endure such constrictive material?

Perhaps he underestimated his own mental fortitude. It’s bad. Very bad. So bad that he’s just as startled as you are when he crosses paths with you in the hall, catches the scent of your shampoo, and sprouts fins. 

“Oh, Jade, your ears!” You’re gesturing at his face with worried urgency. He follows your line of sight and reaches to brush his fingers along the pointed webbing jutting out from the area where his ears ought to be. You take a step towards him and Jade, rather foolishly, takes one back. You blink at him, bewildered. “Is…everything okay? You seem under the weather. Want me to walk you to the infirmary? I’m going that way right now, actually.”

Jade wets his lips and swallows thickly. Did you always smell this nice? No… No, he has to focus! Right. Focus on the issue at hand. His transformation potion must be wearing off. Surely that explains the sudden surprise of… Your hips—were they always shaped so nicely, or is it just an illusion from your uniform slacks?

No, he’s sure of it. Something’s different about you. His nose wrinkles.

Sweeter. That’s it.

You smell sweet like a flower or candy. And your eyes are brighter in this light as they look up at him, glittering like pearls in the deep. You’re wearing the same uniform, but you’ve never looked more appealing. And your hips—

Jade curbs that thought before it can deteriorate his sensibility far past his control. What was the topic of conversation? It’s his turn to respond, isn’t it?

“I’m quite all right. Thank you for your concern. This is merely an error on my part. I’ve neglected the time.”

“Really?” You say it like you don’t believe him. Jade forces a smile, gluing his gaze to your face to avoid looking anywhere else. “It’s not like you to be so forgetful. Geez. Is Azul giving you a break over there?”

He chuckles. “I assure you all is well in my world.”

As it happens, his world is currently tilting and spinning and blurring, messy like a shaken terrarium. Jade’s attempt to excuse himself is made in vain, for he strides past you and immediately stumbles. You hurry to steady him, your fingers wrapped tight around his arm. Your touch sends an unusual electricity bolting up his spine, and suddenly he’s overcome with a wild urge. He wants to push you against the wall, slot his knee between your legs, and bite your lips bloody.

He could do it. He knows your preferences. He knows you like he knows his hand. Intimately acquainted, even if you’re not aware of your second shadow. 

Jade yanks himself free as if the contact is scalding. His heart skips in his chest, frenzied in a way it’s never been before.

He’s had plenty of scandalous fantasies in passing, and he was content to leave them as such. But now…

Sweat beads at his brow and rolls down his back between his shoulders. He needs to shed these layers. A wildfire rages beneath his skin. It’s the middle of winter. Why is he so hot? Surely there’s a logical explanation for…you. Looking at him. You’re looking at him.

Oh, you’re so pretty.

“Jade?” You move in again, lifting your hand to his forehead. This time, before he can jerk backwards, you pull away. “You’re burning up!”

“Is that so? I must not have noticed…”

He has a quick-witted retort to tack onto that sentence, but it’s scrambled on his tongue.

“If I may, (Name), have you always looked so…”

He pauses, tasting the adjective in his mouth. He was certain humans didn’t have the same sort of broadcasters merfolk do—the shifts in behavior that allow for successful mating. Colors and sounds, a duet of language. Special scents and other bodily cues to convey secret messages. A mutual understanding between two. The need to fulfill a biological imperative beneath the sea.

Is that what this is about? He was certain his transformation snuffed that part of his biology. He’s not a mer right now. He’s human. So then why is he feeling so…not human?

Ready is the word he thinks he’s searching for, but he’s starving and so it comes out wrong. 

“Ripe. Like fruit.”

“Uh… No?” You cough out an awkward laugh. If Jade could feel shame, it would be raking its nails across his back. “Are you sure you’re okay? You know what—don’t answer that. Let’s just get you to Professor Crewel. He’ll know what to do.”

Jade spies his reflection in a nearby window. The markings under his eyes are showing through pale skin. There are flecks of scales gathered on his forehead. Mindlessly, he reaches to touch them.

You turn to look at him, and he can parse the shift in your attitude like it’s blood in the water—deliciously potent. He wants to dig his claws into you and never let go. He wants to love you until the very feeling is muddled and you’ve lost sense of what’s healthy and sane. If only you could understand, peer through his eyes for the day, and navigate the labyrinth that is his heart.

“Jade? You coming?”

He already knows what’s happening. He doesn’t need the diagnosis from Professor Crewel. He just needs you.

Before you can continue onwards in your beeline to Professor Crewel’s office, Jade seizes your hand. You don’t flinch, but you do struggle to put your confusion into words. The feeling is almost palpable, clear on your countenance like a cloudless sky. He watches you, trailing his eyes over your face and finding new things to appreciate. If he allows delusion to grip him by the throat, he can pretend the makeup is all for him—a discreet, enticing signal.

He reads it. He listens. He knows, even if it’s the furthest from what he believes it to be.

Jade clasps his hands around yours.

“Um… Okay then.” Your shoulders shudder with laughter. “Is this really you, Jade? This isn’t Floyd putting on an act again, is it?”

He shakes his head, suddenly disgruntled. Why would it be Floyd? Do you want it to be Floyd? His grip on you tightens to a possessive degree. He steps closer, not yet pressing himself against you but edging dangerously close. He doesn’t speak a word when he opens his mouth at you, revealing pearly points set in razored rows. You don’t seem to grasp the meaning behind his gaping maw, and it’s somewhat disheartening.

Logically, he’s aware of your very human ideals—ideals that fail to encapsulate the intricacies of moray courtship. Still, he hopes the sentiment comes through.

“Something wrong with your teeth?” You tilt your head and squint up at him. “They look fine to me.”

Jade shuts his mouth, considering his options. It would be much easier if this was the sea. Then he could present you with hypnotic bioluminescence, drape a chain of sea flowers around your neck, and offer you an entire month’s worth of fish. None of that is very viable on land. At the very least, he could replicate it—take you in a dark room and hope the shine in his eyes is bright enough to entice you, conjure flowers with magic, and scour the Mostro Lounge’s storage for enough food to last you through the season.

Surely the desire I feel for you transcends the great depths of the sea. He breathes out a sad sigh. I want to make you mine. I want you to look at me in the same way I look at you. Won’t you do that for me? Please…

As far as he’s aware, humans follow their own palaver when it comes to romance and attraction. What he’s learned from his time on land is that human courtship is, by his comprehension, excessively complicated. While moray courtship has clear, defined goals, each one outlined in the body language of both parties, humans baffle with the time it takes to secure a mate. Jade watches students get together and fall apart within the span of weeks. It’s fascinating. Dating is almost like a trial run—like testing a new ingredient in a recipe to see if it sweetens or sours the overall dish.

He could have gone that route; he was fully prepared to, but the human and mer sides of his brain are leaving him in a daze. It’s impossible to think like a human when his mer instincts are vibrating so intensely beneath his skin, every part of his deep-sea biology saying he ought to do it the mer way.

So he opens his mouth again.

He’s cheating when he nods at you. Somehow you work out half of his intention.

“My mouth? What about it?” It hits you then, and your eyes widen into the shape of a full moon. “Oh! You want to compare teeth size, is that it?”

Not exactly what he was aiming for, but it has you reciprocating anyway. You open your mouth to show off your teeth, and if Jade was of a more stable mindset perhaps he would have been content to simply observe. He doesn’t expect land-dwellers to know anything more than what’s taught in class.

“What do you think? Mine aren’t as cool as yours,” you say after a moment.

“I think…” He hesitates. The words are jumbled, and he almost says it in mermish. But it’s difficult to produce the syllables with his limited nasal capabilities in this form. A smile curves his lips up, and it’s so similar to Floyd’s dopey grin that it leaves you slack-jawed. “Pretty,” he says with a happy hum. “Very pretty.”

Before you can respond, his hands slide away from yours to secure tightly around your wrists. And then he’s pulling you in the opposite direction, through the main building’s many halls, until he finally arrives at his destination.

You’re tugged into the Hall of Mirrors next. Jade seems to be losing his usual gentlemanly flair, for he issues you an apologetic chuckle as an afterthought. His mer features look more defined now—even his skin tone is darkening to suit the color palette of his mer form. You weren’t in objection before, but now that you find yourself being pulled through the mirror and trapped in the bubble transport with Jade you begin to worry.

“Hey, hold on a minute! Shouldn’t we find Professor Crewel? Your transformation potion—”

The sound of shredded leather disturbs the air. Jade lifts his gloved hands for both of you to survey. His claws have ripped through the material, and he’s grown webbing beneath the tattered remains of his gloves. When he reaches for you, you flinch away.

An uncomfortable quiet falls over the bubble, only bursting once you’re inside Octavinelle Dorm.

Jade’s heart aches when he spies the unease scrawled on your face. Don’t look at me like that. Please, my pearl, don’t fear me. I would never hurt you.

Is it so wrong to want to smother you in an abundance of love? If this kind of love is forbidden on the surface, how is he meant to exist in the same world as you? It was possible for the mermaid princess and her lover. Is this not the same? It’s just love. There’s nothing wrong with that.

Right?

He curls his hands into fists and hopes the stabbing pain of his claws piercing his palms is enough to quell the urge to hold you.

“J-Jade…” Your voice is meek, a mere wobble. “Are you okay?”

He blinks, suddenly aware that blood is oozing from open wounds. “Ah… Forgive me… I’ve shown you such an ugly side.”

“No, I’m sorry! It startled me, that’s all.” You attempt a brave, albeit flat, smile. “I’m not scared. Just…surprised. Is this how all merfolk get when they’re sick?”

Jade wants to understand, but he has never known dread like that before. He’s a predator. He doesn’t need to feel fear when he instills it in others.

Still, it bothers him more than he thought it would. If you fear him… If you can’t present him with a real smile…

Is there even a point if he’s not the reason for your happiness? What is he if not the blight that destroys your flowering radiance?

Without fail, like a cruel cycle destined to burden him, the winter weather evokes morbid gloom. It darkens his consciousness like a shroud over a corpse or a cover on a mirror.

If you’re not scared, why are you keeping your distance? Am I truly so monstrous that you feel the need to cower? My love is sincere. I promise I would never hurt you.

But he would, if given the opportunity. And that’s precisely what he plans to do now.

So it catches him off guard when you surge forward to lace your hands with his. Carmine drips from his claws, pattering the floor in tiny drops. He stares at you with pupils blown wide.

“You’re my friend. Why would I find this side of you ugly? Just because you’re not at your best doesn’t mean it’s weird or bad.”

And isn’t that the worst? 

Jade’s lungs constrict when he kisses you. You try to jerk away, but he holds firm. Your lips part only briefly, and you manage a squeak of protest before he reclaims the space with ravenous intent. Your whines are swallowed whole as he all but devours your mouth like a famished animal. Sharp teeth click against your blunt ones. Jade laps at the back of your throat, savoring every gasp. You press against his chest in a weak struggle.

“S-Sto—wait. Jade—”

But even those words become appetizers for the feast that’s soon to follow.

It’s because I’m your friend that you place your trust in me. Thus, it will hurt all the more when I take that trust and crush it beneath my heel.

He’s never felt more alive, his body buzzing with exhilaration. When he pulls back, breathless and panting, you’re still reeling. He doesn’t give you any time to recuperate, for he tugs you along down the shadowed halls of Octavinelle.

You dig your heels against the tile. “Please wait! I don’t understand. What are you—”

You’re yanked forward again, and the rest of that sentence trickles into reserved silence. You hurry to keep pace with Jade as he drags you towards a door. A large indoor pool, dimly lit by the lights above, greets the both of you once it’s opened.

With furrowed brows, you glance at Jade. He’s looking right back, but it’s a strange gaze. He’s ready to pounce, just barely holding on to nonexistent restraint, every muscle riddled with tension.

“Sometimes we’re permitted to use this area for personal reasons,” Jade explains, shutting and locking the door with magic.

“Personal reasons… Like what?”

He smiles, watching the shiver roll though you. “Nothing against the rules, I assure you.”

“Right… Look, Jade, at the very least…” You wring your hands. “Um… Could you at least get in the water? I’m worried your potion’ll wear off any second now, and there’s no way I can lift you myself.”

“Your concern is much appreciated.”

He places one webbed hand on your shoulder, the other situated at your lower back. In one fluid swoop, he gathers you in his arms. You don’t have time to yell at him to put you down because he’s already striding over to the poolside.

“I do hope you’ll forgive my temperament. I confess I’m a touch impatient.” A lopsided smile strains on his flushed face. 

“Jade, don’t you dare—”

Your scream cuts through the air, echoing off the walls. He tosses you into the water without decorum. Jade sheds what’s left of his already tattered uniform and dives in just as the rest of his mer features overtake his human shell. Salt sprays around you in a resounding splash when you, coughing and spluttering, break the surface.

Jade watches your feet kick back and forth as you paddle towards the edge. The motions are hypnotic. What pretty, fragile limbs…

Gliding through the water with minimal effort, he circles you like a moon hopelessly devoted to remaining within your orbit. His hand wraps around your ankle, and he pulls you beneath the water to meet him. You struggle in his grasp, kicking and thrashing, but he doesn’t let that deter him.

Jade cradles your face in his hands. “So pretty… Like a pearl,” he clicks, his words musical and foreign to your human ears. “My treasure.”

He captures your lips in a mystifying kiss. Clumsily, his deft fingers work to peel your clothes from your person. You push back just as your bra is unclasped, gasping for air, and he allows you to surface after nearly a minute. He comes up with you, drunk off the taste of you. The world could be ending just beyond the confines of this pool and it wouldn’t even matter to him. Not right now, at least. Not when he’s at the verge of vehemence. So close. He’s so close.

“W-What’s up with you?” You cling to the pool wall, chest heaving. He follows your hand as it moves to cover your mouth. “You’re not usually like this.”

“Does it bother you?” He swims closer, effectively pinning you to the wall. He presses his nose to the dip between shoulder and neck and hums. With a boyish giggle, he smiles again. “You smell so pretty…”

“Jade…” You pat his head. “Jade.”

“Hm?”

“I… I’m flattered. Really, I am. But we can’t do this.”

He detaches himself to look at you. “We can’t?”

This time, unlike in the past, he isn’t playing dumb for the fun of it.

“I’m sorry, Jade. I think you’re a great friend, but that’s it. I tried to tell you earlier, but you wouldn’t let me.”

So that’s how you feel.

He’s cold-blooded by nature, but somehow this confession chills him more than the Northern waters ever could.

Just a friend.

“Ah. Is that so? My apologies for overstepping a boundary.”

You turn towards the wall to hide your exposed chest. “I-It’s fine…”

He admires the water droplets cascading down the slope of your shoulders. Winter woes and mating season make for a devastating combination, and Jade is the tsunami who will tear through you with reckless, remorseless abandon.

A clawed finger taps at your cheek. Defiant, you keep your gaze pinned ahead. “Are you, by chance, embarrassed?”

“O-Of course I am! Please close your eyes and don’t peek until I’m out of the pool.” With one arm held over your chest, you fish through the water in search of your waterlogged clothes.

Jade takes hold of your empty hand, marveling at how small yours is compared to his. So precious. I could hold this hand forever…

“There’s no need to be shy. Nudity is commonplace where I’m from.”

“Well, it’s not like that up here. Not always, at least.” You swallow thickly. “Please don’t look…”

“That’s tantamount to asking someone not to admire artwork in a museum.” Gently, he coaxes you away from the wall and into his chest. “You deserve to be cherished in full. Is that not why land-dwellers sculpt the human body?”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

Please, (Name), you’re driving me wild. Please just let me love you. Please. It’s all I want.

“Most of them are representations of deities and other important symbols.”

“In that case, I am but your humble devotee.”

You roll your eyes. “Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

“No? Then how about this instead?”

Jade turns over on his back in the pool. You’re tugged along for the ride, settled on his chest like a turtle resting on driftwood. His arms wrap around you. Stubborn—an adjective known to describe Jade on occasion.

“Now I won’t see a thing.”

His smile is too cheeky for your liking, but that’s the last thing you’re thinking of. His hands creep down the expanse of your back. You yelp when he squeezes your asscheek. 

“H-Hey! Watch where you’re touching!” Your expression is meant to be threatening, but all it does is earn you a gentle laugh.

“Forgive me. My hand slipped.”

“Yeah, right. You’re not slick.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a retort. Instead, he floats aimlessly on his back. You press yourself to his toned body and silently hope he can’t feel your hardened nipples.

“Can you bring me back to the edge?”

“I can.”

Just not the edge you’re thinking of.

“Will you?”

“Eventually.”

It’s spoken like a promise, a sweet sigh. You don’t believe him for a second.

Once more, his hand dips lower than it should to rub against your bare pussy. You flinch out of your skin, sucking in a deep breath. His whimsical laughter is more grating than nails on a blackboard.

“Oops.”

You want to throw yourself into the water, but that would risk giving him an unintentional show and that’s the last thing you want. So you squeeze your eyes shut and, body taut, lie still. 

“Can you—will you tell me what’s going on?”

“I will.”

You wait for him to continue, but he chooses to bask in the silence instead. If you weren’t trapped in his embrace, you’d throttle him. Or try to, at least. He’s all muscle in this form, and it would be so easy for him to subdue you if he felt so inclined. The result of a wrestling match with a moray isn’t exactly in your favor.

Groaning in defeat, you play right into his game: “Can you tell me?”

“Allow me to show you.”

He propels himself backwards, his tail fin cutting smoothly through the water. You’re taken from the shallows to the deepest end of the pool. His hands find your waist and, with startling ease, he helps you up so that you’re sat just above his slit. It brushes against your pussy every time you shift. Minding his claws, he digs his fingers into your thighs to keep you still. You hurry to cover yourself with your arms, hoping to preserve what’s left of your decency.

“Many mers prefer spring and summer climates.”

“Because the water’s warmer?”

“That’s part of it.” His hands crawl up your waist to close around your arms. Gently, he pulls them away from your chest. His eyes stick to your breasts, but you can’t muster the courage to fight him. “The water is warm and food is plentiful. The perfect time to find a willing mate.”

“So this is—you’re in…heat, basically?”

“It’s rather unbearable if left untreated.”

“You say that like it’s an illness…” Shaking your head, you sigh and offer a sympathetic grimace. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I can help. I don’t know the first thing about moray mating!”

“I wouldn’t say that. You possess all the proper equipment. It’s merely a matter of body language, really. Think of it like dancing,” he assures, petting your inner thigh. You watch his fingers inch closer and closer to your pussy, and with an embarrassed gasp you place your hand over it. “Won’t you be a dear friend and help a poor moray in need? I would be very grateful to have your assistance. In fact, I would be in your debt. Isn’t that most advantageous?”

“No way! Ask someone else.”

“I would if I could, but this isn’t the type of issue one can treat so carelessly. Selecting a mate is of great importance in the sea.”

“So go to the sea and do it.”

“We’re already there.” He chuckles at the dubious glower you give him. “As it happens, Octavinelle’s surrounding territory is entirely oceanic. How fortunate for us.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

My dear pearl, I treasure you something fierce, but you’re wearing my patience painfully thin.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t you just say picking a mate is super special?”

He hums, wondering if you’re feigning ignorance for the sake of the situation or if you’re genuinely this lost. It’s likely the latter. After all, you accepted his invitation to mate without even knowing it.

“It’s a special occasion, yes. Many mers have new partners every summer. Sometimes they remain and other times the tide carries them along, bringing in new opportunities with every changing season.”

“And finding the one who sticks is the goal?”

“For some of us.”

“So what about you?” You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “You’re speaking for everyone but yourself, Jade.”

Jade flushes. Your perceptive words are pointed, stabbing through thick skin to reach his heart. It isn’t often someone parts all of his curtains to peer at the truth.

“I would like that,” he admits, soft and sweet, almost demure. “Someone who sticks, as you’ve put it.”

You watch his face carefully, but there’s no lie to find. With his pinched brow and shimmering coloration, so much so it’s as if he’s been set aflame, you steel your nerves. He brightens the dark pool with his light, a beacon on still waters. Jade looks right back. The eye contact is heady—more hypnotic than a swaying pendulum. He waits for you to make the first move, as is customary in his courtship, but when you don’t react he begins to suspect it’s the opposite for yours.

But then you find your voice. So words are valued in human courtship. I see…

“If I help with this… W-What exactly happens? What does it mean?”

Jade knows his pearl isn’t stupid, but sometimes he really has to wonder.

“It means—” he takes the hand that had been previously protecting your nudity and pulls it away, fingers intertwining— “we would copulate like every animal does.”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“I’ll be very gentle.”

“Still…”

“You have my word.”

“I know. I understand. But—”

“It’s my first time as well.”

You stare at him, astounded by the revelation. “Really?”

“Indeed. So I ask that you forgive my boorish insistence. I’m usually very prepared for my season, so it’s a shock it’s come so early.”

“Yeah, that’s weird. I wonder if it’s because you’re a human. Maybe something with your transformation?” Your breath catches in your throat when he presses two slender fingers against your clit. “H-Hold on… If you touch there—”

Jade’s mismatched eyes sparkle when he looks at you, wet with tears. “Please,” he murmurs, resting his head back against the water. “Please, (Name)…”

You’ve never known Jade to cry or beg outright, let alone utter that single word in such a submissive tone. He’s so vulnerable, an image curated for this very occasion. Not that this is imperative information you absolutely must know.

With slumped shoulders, you glance elsewhere. “I’m not so sure…”

Jade considers himself fortunate to have his wits about him, otherwise he would have already had you plastered to the pool tiles, his cock thrust up in your tight pussy.

“I understand my size in this form may seem rather intimidating, but I’m still myself.”

“I know. But…”

“You can lead. I’ll follow. Almost like a dance.” Taking hold of your hips, he rocks you back and forth as if you’re a doll. Your cunt brushes against his slit and, though it isn’t nearly as euphoric as the actual ordeal, it still sends a wave of carnal relief washing over him. He hums pleasantly, gills fluttering. “Mhm… Like so. It’s simple, isn’t it? Nothing to fear.”

You place your palms against his chest to brace yourself. A reedy breath shakes through you. Jade can see the gears turning. And—oh—how he wishes to be able to poke around your head to understand what it is you’re working through. He’s certain he’d be walking on air if he could hear your innermost monologues: To love or not to love Jade Leech… Or, at present, this would be a better and very humorous phrasing of your secret dialogue: To fuck or not to fuck Jade Leech… 

Even if you don’t love him now, you will later. Just as all life in his terrariums inevitably blooms, so, too, will your affection for him. Patient and persistent care will get him far. He’s sure of that.

You shiver above him, face scrunched and bottom lip bitten to muffle your musical moans. He doesn’t bother hiding his very obvious enjoyment as he guides you along until, eventually, your hips move on their own accord. You grind down against his slit, panting wetly, and he watches your lashes flutter, beautiful like butterfly wings. He admires the divine softness of your nudity, picturesque like that of the Renaissance.

No matter how delicious you are on the eyes, how electrifying it is to have your body pressed to his, it’s still not enough. Jade has half a mind not to buck up to meet your dripping pussy halfway, even if his every sense is telling him he should. Too much force and he’d throw you off into the pool; there’s no telling what he’d do if you were in the water, fully at his mercy. So he allows you to have your fun, deems it polite that you find your end first before he follows. He has to remind himself that you’re not a mer and, thus, you won’t find it very appealing if he succumbs to animalistic urges.

Humans like gentle creatures. Jade is not a gentle creature by nature, but he enjoys masquerading as one.

If it were up to Jade, he would have just taken you for himself ages ago. The minute you looked him in the eyes, he would have grabbed your face in both hands and yanked you up to smash his mouth to yours. And then you’d know there’s more beyond that curtain of placidity.

But that’s not the approach he wants to take.

What he really wants, right now and in this moment, more than anything, is to be inside you, pump you so full of himself that you’ll feel bloated like a whale carcass. Sink his teeth in your throat and taste the blood puddling beneath. Chew you out like you’re nothing more than a squeak toy and he’s your wildly disobedient dog. Dig his claws into your thighs until red ribbons slide down broken skin and cloud the water.

Your yelp brings him back to the present. For a strained second, he thinks he’s hurt you—gone too far and chased you away before the game could even begin. But the source of your startled reaction is easy to pinpoint, for it’s currently prodding at your folds.

“W-What’s that?” you ask around another gasp.

More of Jade’s prehensile cock wriggles free from the safety of his slit. He squeezes his eyes shut to collect himself, hissing through his teeth.

“Most mers are equipped with—mmh—with both sets of…anatomy…” His mind is whirling. He can’t finish that thought. Does it even matter? You’ll understand without the explanation. “It won’t hurt… You can touch it.”

You shake your head and—sevens, you’re lucky he loves you so much or else he wouldn’t have the foresight to be mindful of your inability to breathe underwater. What he’d give to take you below the surface and ignore the world passing above—to spend what little eternity he has rutting into you, tails twining, mouths meeting…

“I shouldn’t… T-That’s your…thing.”

He wasn’t sure you could get cuter, but you do. Surprises are endless with you. He could never tire of this.

“Of course it is. How else am I to copulate without it?” he replies smartly. “It’s called breeding season for a reason, my dear.”

You lift your hips slightly to avoid the tip searching for a home within your gummy depths. Panic paints itself on your face. “W-Wait! You can’t—”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself moments ago. I promise you this will feel even better once it’s inside.”

“That was before I—b-before you…” You swallow thickly, stumbling over your tongue. “There’s no way I can—it looks…too big.”

“Any size is going to seem so if you’ve never taken it before.”

Jade presses two fingers inside your pussy and spreads it. Slick strings from the opening, coating his digits in your arousal. You stiffen and hide behind your hands.

Aah, if only I could devour you right here and now… You’re just too adorable. Are you doing this on purpose?

“You needn’t fret. If my fingers slide in like so, then I’m certain it will be the same for my—”

“I don’t know how mers do it, but if it’s anything like humans…” You shake your head again, adamant. “I don’t wanna get pregnant.”

That’s unavoidable, he wants to say, but that would serve to scare you away.

“We’re incompatible.” Even I’m not certain of that, but it must be false if the mermaid princess could start a family with her human. “Therefore, the risk is nonexistent.”

“Are you sure?”

Not in the slightest.

“Quite.”

Apprehensive, you still refuse to lower yourself onto him. He’s aching, desperate and near-deranged from waiting, and if he were still in his human form he’d be sweating out of his skin. Jade grabs your hips again and, somewhat forcefully, brings you down to meet his tip.

“Please,” he stresses, putting on his best, most convincing pout. “Please, (Name), won’t you help me? I fear I can’t endure any more of this torture.”

You open your mouth, but a trembling breath slips out in place of a protest. Jade’s cock presses against your pussy, gradually delving inside. You almost flop on top of him, the air knocked out of your lungs as he spears you open. Jade grits his teeth. His claws rake across your sides. He has to remain calm, but how can he do that when he’s finally inside you after months of fantasizing? He knows now that his hand could never act as a substitute for the real thing.

To think he was missing something as grand as this all along! No amount of warmth could ever compare to you. You’re an angel who’s just taken him to Heaven.

You gasp again when he slams you down without warning. “Ooh…”

He heaves a shaky, satisfied sigh. Tears dot his lash line. He’s never known relief so strong. It wraps tightly around his cock, squeezing like a vise. If not your mind, your body definitely agrees to this connection. You’ve taken him so well. Surely you wanted this all along. It was just convoluted courtship, a messy tangle of misunderstanding. You want him to knock you up—to stuff you over and over until you can’t fit anything else.

Oh, if only he had eggs. If only he could give you a clutch.

Next time, he thinks, and he means it.

“See?” he says, finding his voice. It comes out breathless, like he’s just been squeezed dry. Not yet. Soon, though. He’s sensitive, and it betrays whatever image he hoped to curate by seeming unbothered. You’re supposed to fall apart first, yet here he is on the verge of coming undone. “You’ve fit every inch. I surmise you could fit even more.”

“I don’t want to!” You lift your body, but it’s a silly endeavor. His cock twitches and curves up against your walls. You and Jade groan in unison, your eyes squeezed shut. “We should’ve just gone to—haa—Professor Crewel and let him handle this…”

“Magical intervention would only pause the inevitable. These cycles are easier to manage as they happen. And this—” he helps you grind down against him, to which you do with startling obedience (but then perhaps he’s just strong enough to manhandle and pretend it’s compliance)— “is the best medicine.”

His webbed hand closes around one of your breasts. It’s soft and springy in his grasp. He pinches your nipple experimentally, and you clench around him.

“Ah, do you like being touched here?”

“Mmh—no… Not there. Don’t—ooh!”

“Or perhaps here?” he asks, circling your clit.

“Stop—you can’t…”

“But I already am.”

You muster the energy to glare halfheartedly, but it soon unravels when he drags you up and down once more. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, every lewd, wet slap an addition to your cries. Jade wonders if this is what true inner peace is, for he’s never been more elated. So utterly, indescribably relieved.

You’re just what he needs to weather this cruel winter.

Jade’s mind, once so organized, is a chaotic scramble. You’ve always occupied a majority of his thoughts, but now you’re made front and center. Everything revolves around you at this moment. He even tries to sync his breathing with yours, if only to feel closer to you. As if this bodily connection isn’t already close enough.

You happen to glance at him then. There’s a glaze to your gaze that wasn’t there before. He admires the way it makes you look—the softness in your eyes and the subtle part of your lips. You appear so blissful while you rock yourself on his cock, dragging your hips in jerky motions. He doesn’t think twice about the sloppy nature of your union, for he moves with a singular goal in mind.

He reaches without meaning to, searching for your heartbeat so that it can align with his, and you squeak in surprise when you’re pulled against his chest. Jade’s reminded you’re not a mer when he tries to wrap his tail around your nonexistent one, feeling legs kick out instead. Just like that, ripples run across tranquil waters as you’re flipped over.

Ah. I was too hasty.

You break the surface, coughing and spluttering. He mourns the disconnect immediately, yearning for your warmth again. When he comes up to join you, he’s met with a splash.

“A-At least warn me before you do that!” You mumble the rest of your disappointment, but Jade’s keen ears pick it up anyway. “I didn’t even get to finish…”

Jade chuckles and wipes water from his eyes. His face is bright, burning with joy. “My apologies. I may have gotten carried away.”

“Obviously.” You huff. “Now can you bring me to the edge?”

He winds around you. “It would be my pleasure.”

You’re pressed against the pool wall, legs spread and wrapped around his waist. He braces himself on either side of you, his fingers curling around the ledge. With how strong his grip is, it’s a shock the tiles haven’t cracked under the pressure. You avoid his stare while he pushes in. He listens to your breath stutter, and that’s all it takes to shatter his self-control. He draws away, savors the confusion polluting the air, and then snaps his hips forward to fill you with every inch of his strange, inhuman cock. A strangled moan rips from your throat and you throw your head back, deflating flatly against the floor.

Jade’s brows knit together. He bows his head, gasping into your neck. His teeth are centimeters from unmarked flesh. He wants to bite you, but the sensation of your velvety walls wrapped around his cock is so distracting. He thinks he might faint. It feels too good. So warm. So wet. So tight. Is this really what humans feel like on the inside? Are they always so soft? He feels boneless as he rolls his hips, numb and dumb, mindless like an animal.

That’s really all he’s ever been: an animal enthralled, his sights forever locked on you. He’d do anything to get you to look at him.

Your arms snake around him, and you cling so sweetly, your nails scraping at his back, that he almost cums right then. Your voice is in his ears, wanton and whispery.

“J-Jade… Aah, Jade…” You hold firmly, unyielding, and chant his name like it’s something holy. “Oh, please, Jade!”

You were so averse before. Now look at you. You’re so cute. The cutest, in fact. I want to make you mine and lock you away forever. Your voice, your body, your smile, your everything… It would be mine to admire. A fascination reserved specially for me.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” he asks, tracing your cheek with a claw.

A fond smile graces his face. You blink up at him. Tears track down your cheeks, but he knows they aren’t woeful. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is. You want him. You like him. You have no choice.

“Feels full…”

“Does it?”

“Mhm.”

That angelic smile fades into something wicked and proud. Full. You’re full. Full of him and, very soon, full of as many loads as he cares to give.

His hand dips between your bodies to nudge at your clit. You choke around a bawdy moan. If he fools himself, he imagines your parted lips are mirroring the same invitation he voiced to you earlier. Maybe it really is. Maybe you’ve finally understood this facet of his language. 

Hypnotized, Jade watches your lips. He doesn’t even register he’s leaning in. You struggle somewhat, but he just kisses you harshly. His tongue slithers past your lips to explore the insides of your mouth, prodding at the back of your throat until you’re digging your nails into his shoulders.

I love you. I love you. I love you and need you and want you. You’re all mine. Finally mine.

Saliva dribbles from your lips when he pulls back. His eyes are blown wide.

All mine.

When he leans in for another kiss, this one more dizzying than the last, he presses his hips to yours, aiming to get as close to your womb as possible. He needs to. Needs to be deeply acquainted with your insides. Needs to flood your empty womb with enough cum to guarantee pregnancy. Needs to knock you up and watch you swell with his child so that you’ll be even softer than you are now. Oh, the beauty of it all is too tantalizing! You’d look so cute, maternity wear stretched taut around your gravid belly. And your tits would grow fat and heavy with milk. He can already picture it: You’d fluster when you leak through your shirt, even more so when he takes your teat in his mouth and drinks his fill. He wonders if you’d call him gross, a pervert, a freak… Would you do so if he asked?

Would you hate him if you knew all of the depraved fantasies that flit around in his head?

Maybe. The lack of linear clarity excites him. Endless possibilities. He wants to know all of them.

He wants to—

With a wheeze, he cums quick and hard, lashes fluttering and vision whiting out. Your body flinches beneath him, caught in the throes of pleasure as you, too, ride out an orgasmic wave.

He comes to moments later, his heart racing, and rests his forehead against yours.

“That’s…it, right?” you mumble, running your fingers through matted hair. “It’s over, isn’t it?”

Jade tries a shy smile. “On the contrary, we’re only just beginning. A mer’s season isn’t over until they’ve emptied everything, heart and soul, into their mate.”

Can he really call his dick his heart and soul? Maybe. It sickens him with a wild delight.

No matter how many rounds, he’s going to love you until you’re thoroughly worn out.

You don’t have a choice.

But then you already love him, don’t you?

You will by the end of this.

And suddenly he doesn’t feel so bad anymore. Suddenly, he’s no longer embroiled in the sticky shackles of winter woes.

[ddarker-dreams]

BRILLIANT fucking idea: SR reader insinuating/offhandedly admitting… she has never been intimate. everyone hearing it like 🧍🏾‍♀️ how do you mean. idk j the flustered bashfulness of suddenly being like “wajt wait if im her bf ,,, im her first love”

SCREAMINGGGGG

[Scarlet Ribbons index]

Giorno

Giorno is a bit strange because he almost wishes he had a predecessor to analyze (and completely outshine). He isn’t disappointed per se, he’s not that weird, but having more study material never hurts. Positive relationships are foreign to him, since he’s been distant from others most of his life. He got along with people well enough — he just preferred his own company. Now that he’s had a taste of your company, he’s keen on making it a lifelong occurrence. Overhearing this admission has him wondering if traditional courting methods don’t do much for you. Or, more realistically, that they go over your pretty head. He's witnessed you interpreting the gang's flirtations as platonic. Consequently, he gives considerable thought to ensuring this isn't a fate that befalls him. Corny as it sounds, his new dream is to stand beside you as your husband. He's chasing this goal without abandon.

Bruno

Bruno feels immensely guilty for eavesdropping on a conversation involving something so personal, but he couldn't help himself. An immense weight feels like it's been lifted from his shoulders upon learning you haven't gotten romantically involved with anyone before. This relief is followed up with sharp self-condemnation — as your leader, he shouldn't get involved with your personal affairs. Maintaining any professional distance is difficult though, especially when you're so likable. People are naturally drawn to you and he's no different. That's why this revelation comes as a surprise, albeit a good one. He tells himself he'd be happy for you if you loved someone else... however, deep down, he knows the regret would eat him alive. He struggles to concentrate the rest of the day. His mind keeps wandering back to thoughts of you, specifically, finding solace in one another’s warmth. The most innocent thoughts make his heart flutter, the man is smitten.

Fugo

Fugo almost renounces his atheism — perhaps there is a God after all. Then he's reminded that you're completely out of his league, submersing him back into the Nietzsche headspace. His self-esteem isn't the best, so the way he looks at it is if no one else was good enough to catch your attention, what chance did he have? It's a miracle you even put him with him. He's blunt, stubborn, and easy to agitate, yet you're one of the few people alive who don't treat him like a ticking time bomb. When his initial pessimism dies down, he fantasizes about you getting flustered by things like a first kiss. It's a cute mental image. Would you fidget? Accidentally bump heads and apologize? Get sweaty palms? Before he knows it, he's invented an entire storyline in his head. It's mushy enough that he struggles to look you in the eye the next time he sees you.

Mista

Mista pretends he knew it all along, as if the Pistols hadn't kept him awake multiple nights, speculating over your relationship status. The little fellas held full-blown debates. Since he's a chill, go-with-the-flow type of guy, he wouldn't have turned green with envy had he learned you former lovers. If they brought you happiness, who is he to hold it against them? Regardless, he can't deny his budding excitement. Should you reciprocate his feelings, you'll experience all your firsts with him. Those initial milestones are the moments that stick with people throughout their life. It's your first kiss in particular that he'd like to have for himself. He intends to sweep you off your feet — literally. It's got to be like those old Hollywood flicks he grew up watching, or what's the point?

Narancia

Narancia has to stop himself from audibly cheering. The multiple abandonments he underwent in the past has him latching onto the few people remaining in his life. This includes you, naturally. You've brought him so much joy, the risk of losing that, losing you, it's a fear that eats away at him. He worries that if you had exes, you might compare him to them and determine he's subpar. Then he'd be cast aside like trash as he had been multiple times before. These insecurities nourish his possessive tendencies. Learning that he has no exes to fend off is a great relief because he would've defended you viciously. It isn't until later that he daydreams over the more innocent implications, like being your first (and only!) boyfriend. He gets so preoccupied by the thought that he walks into a few walls.

Abbacchio

He's actually surprised to learn about this. He considers using Moody Blues so he can hear the entire conversation, but decides against it, believing it to be an intrusion of your privacy. Abbacchio's of the opinion that to maximize your happiness, you should find love outside of Passione. He wants that for you, and yet... his heart physically aches whenever the possibility crosses his mind. What's the alternative, then? Would he make for a suitable partner? He finds the mere possibility laughable. Your brightness would be engulfed by the gaping maw that is his existence. He considers this an empirical truth, not some 'woe is me' sentiment. Ultimately, anytime your love life (or lack of one) is brought up, he distracts himself, so as not to fixate on his shortcomings.

[velvees-archive]

Some post-SOJ DLC case thoughts about Edgeworth, his opinion on marriage, and by extension, love.

…and how, at the very center of this discussion is one Phoenix Wright.

Contains spoilers from 3-5, 6-5 and 6-DLC

As if the subtext wasn’t enough.

I wanted to share some thoughts about the DLC case and Edgeworth's insistence on remaining unwed, which, from what I've seen, is a commonly employed gotcha moment against NaruMitsu (because all relationships must end in marriage, right? /lh). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really mind. I just…didn’t find the dialogue exchange very damning.

Coming off 6-5, where Edgeworth says this,

I saw the DLC as an extension of Edgeworth's sentimentality, this time directed at Phoenix’s romantic prospects.

To make my stance clear, I don’t think Edgeworth is blind to romantic overtures; he just doesn’t care about them very much. As in, Edgeworth is largely unaffected by and uninterested in matters of the heart (with a concession that he is obtuse when it comes to people expressing interest in him, unless they're Wendy Oldbag over the top about it). But even if you feel he's terrible at sensing romantic tension, my argument still stands. Edgeworth doesn’t care about romance, and we never really see him prying into anyone’s romantic relationships…

…with the exception to this being Phoenix Wright’s.

From Bridge to the Turnabout:

Sorry for the janky screenshots. I didn't didn't take 3-5 pics on my Switch so I had to search for YouTube clips. Let the record show I actually really enjoy Feenris PLUS I love angst, so this interaction was…chef’s kiss.

Assuming Edgeworth doesn't care about romance but he can understand romantic signaling, this is already pretty condemning. Why are you poking around Phoenix's business if you're so uninterested in love? Surely, there are bigger fish to fry, like investigating the Inner Temple Garden because the clues found could be vital to catching the victim's murderer?

Assuming Edgeworth sucks at detecting any romantic undertones, the implications are even worse. You're telling me the guy who doesn't know the first thing about romance somehow clocked Phoenix and Iris's chemistry this quickly? How? For what reason were you able to catch it? How attuned are you to Phoenix's personal affairs?

Now, shifting back to the DLC case, we have this lovely interaction when you show Miles the wedding chapel pamphlet:

Something to note with Phoenix’s “W-Wait. You’re not thinking about finally settling down and getting married, are you?” is that the screen flashes and we hear the damage sound after the “W-Wait."

Once again, Miles inquires about Phoenix's love life, this time after Phoenix asks about his. I've analyzed my fair share of Miles Edgeworth dialogue, and I don't think he pingpongs questions just to make conversation (see: “Say something, Wright. I’m not good at small talk.”). This leads me to believe he was genuinely curious and (subtly) trying to fish for information. And why would that be the case?

My overarching point is this: Edgeworth isn’t as obtuse about romance as everyone makes him out to be (both in-universe and from a fandom perspective), which makes his mentioning marriage plans around Phoenix even more suspicious. The way the scene reads to me is that Edgeworth, in Phoenix’s company and swept away by the intimate atmosphere, lets his interest in Phoenix Wright slip through the cracks once Phoenix shows him the pamphlet. It's sentimental of him and it surfaces—once again—while he's investigating a case. At risk of sounding repetitive, there are bigger fish to fry.

It'd be less suspicious if Phoenix had similar conversations with other cast members he shows the pamphlet to, but it never gets to be this personal, even when he presents it to Maya, his best friend.

Good news if you feel otherwise about my “Edgeworth isn’t that obtuse” headcanon though, because should you believe he is actually just that clueless, you now have to contend with this:

If Miles can’t pick up on all things love, why is he so attuned to Wright’s (and to my knowledge, only Wright’s) romantic prospects in particular?

So yeah. Checkmate, I guess. Edgeworth might not be interested in marriage or love, but he’s definitely interested in Phoenix’s partners, or lack thereof. Take that how you will.

[nyctoaerah]

𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐔𝐒”

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au.

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Jjk x Fem! Isekai’d! Goddess Reader.

╰┈➤𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3. Also posted in Quotev and Wattpad.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 6,040 words.

╰┈➤𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

╰┈➤𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 & 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MYRIAD OF LIGHTS OF multiple colors danced in your eyes as if on orchestra, it was intense, so intense that it seemed like they could blind you.  The overwhelming brightness left you feeling lightheaded and disoriented, while waves of excruciating pain reverberated throughout your entire body. The vertigo you experienced was excruciating and it felt like as if you were going to faint.

It felt as if an immense weight was being forcibly pressed upon you, causing your bones to crack and shatter. The splintered fragments traveled through your veins, intensifying the pain you were already enduring.

In an effort to cope with the pain, your teeth gnawed at your lower lip while your trembling intensified, unable to quell the torment in any way.    

To make matters worse, your regeneration abilities seemed to be failing you in this dire situation, leaving you defenseless against the onslaught of pain.

But Suddenly, as if transported to a parallel dimension, you found yourself immersed in something akin to a vast galaxy. The immense pressure in your lungs threatened to rupture them, and indeed, they gave way—They ruptured, hindering your ability to draw breath.

Although you are a goddses, you were somewhat comparable to a human in certain aspects. Your bodily functions mirrored those of humans, complete with human organs, and other human stuff—Like a demigod, yet you couldn't truly be classified as a demigod. This was due to the fact that demigods, while weaker, lacked the divine powers you possessed. They only had semi-immortality, whereby old age posed no threat, yet this alone was a dreadful fate, as it essentially condemned them to a lifetime of servitude.

Moreover, You are the biological child of Aionarch and Xeranthi, and Aionarch has a strong aversion towards demigods, thus, meaning that If you were a demigod, it is highly likely that aionarch would kill you without any second thought. But funny enough, even though you're not a demigod, he attempted to kill you, which doesn't surprise you at all.

However, it still confuses you why he hadn't killed you yet, though, one possible explanation for this is that aionarch intentionally chose to prolong your suffering, as he derives pleasure from witnessing others in pain, as he is undoubtedly a sadistic motherfucker.

Gradually, you began to feel your internal organs and bones slowly regenerating, although it was a sluggish process compared to before. Previously, you can just get any part of your body get cut off and it will heal instantaneously, as if the act of severing had never occurred. But this time, the regeneration process was markedly longer. Perhaps it lasted around three minutes, and you wondered, did Aionarch tampered your ability to regenerate?

Probably.

Then Suddenly, a realization struck you like a bolt of lightning, causing your mind to shift gears. It was as if a light bulb went off in your head, triggering a series of intense emotions. Your eyes, filled with a mix of fear, anger, and apprehension, snapped wide open, while your heart sank and a shiver tingled down your spine.

Ataraxia.

You were all too aware of the sadistic nature of Aionarch, who took great pleasure in inflicting pain. It dawned on you that he would likely target Ataraxia, , simply because she was your lover and he harbored a deep-seated hatred for anything that deviated from his narrow view of sexuality.

You knew he would not hesitate to subject her to unimaginable torture. However, a slight glimmer of hope emerged as you contemplated Ataraxia's abilities. Being capable of transforming herself into solid ice or hiding discreetly, she might have a chance to evade his clutches. 

Yet, doubts crept in. The unsettling realization dawned on you that Ataraxia might not be aware of the grave situation that you and now her, were entangled in. Was she cognizant of the rebellion you had sparked against Aionarch? Did she even know that your life force was slowly dwindling away? The thought gnawed at you, questioning whether she truly comprehended the excruciating pain you were enduring.

Did she understand that your internal organs were rupturing and your bones were fracturing, even though there were no visible wounds on your battered body?

Did she know how much pain you're experiencing right now because of her?

Ataraxia was definitely a personified peril, a reality you had to confront head-on. You swallowed thickly, feeling your chest tighten at the thought of ataraxia dying by the hands of aionarch playing through your mind like an unwanted nightmare.

Please, be safe, ‘raxia. You sniffled, your teeth gritting together.

You serious vowed to take Aionarch's life if he dared lay a finger on Ataraxia. The thought of your beloved perishing was simply unbearable, leaving you with the resolve that you would rather embrace death yourself than allow her to meet such a fate.

The desire to obliterate aionarch, to snap his neck in two and subject him to brutal torture if he ever dared lay even a single filthy finger of his on your ataraxia, consumed your thoughts, but that would be only on your daydream, as he possessed a superior strength compared to your own, for he was the originator of all existence, while you were only his insignificant and useless daughter that struggled to even  cook a simple soup without burning it, because peculiarly enough, you can set even the water ablaze without any logical explanation.

And all of a sudden, a vibrant streak of skyblue emerged right in front of your eyes. The intense force that had previously immobilized you vanished instantaneously, leaving you free-falling from the heavens.

Unexpectedly and with great velocity, a bird collided directly with your forehead, causing you to emit a sharp hiss and wildly thrash your arms in the air, desperately trying to swat it away in irritation and your pyrokinesis ended up working and it burnt the poor bird down.

And when you finally fell down to the solid ground below, the sheer force generated by your landing left an indelible mark on the land, forming an enormous crater. The impact was so powerful that it caused the very Earth itself to shake uncontrollably, sending shockwaves rippling throughout its surface like a magnitude-intensive earthquake.

Moreover, the intensity of your landing was accompanied by a resounding and thunderous explosion, which echoed through the atmosphere with an almost deafening presence as mist swirled on the place.

Excruciating pain surged relentlessly through every single fiber of your existence. you gritted your teeth with a force that could crack diamonds, whilst your muscles became as taut as tightly wound springs, while, your hands grasped onto the uneven, rough, and jagged terrain beneath you.

Your skin bore the traces of burns, blisters, and cuts adorning your body. Each breath you took through your nose was burdened with the heavy scent of blood and decaying flesh, reminiscent of the odor emanating from a freshly butchered pig, causing waves of nausea to wash over you. 

Although the blood did not carry your personal fragrance, it undeniably belonged to you, beceause it was ichor, and your oxygenated blood was currently trickling down your jawline, leaving a visible trail as it trailed down to your neck, gradually seeping into the delicate necklace adorning your throat while the uneven terrain below you etched bruises onto your already battered skin.

Your brow furrowed in distress as you struggled to catch your breath, feeling the constriction in your chest and the inability of your lungs to fully expand and take air, whilst the pain coursing through your body intensified, relentlessly tormenting you, making each breath a challenging task.

Your eyelids quivered as you tried to focus, but your vision started to fade, gradually becoming hazy and unfocused as a sudden and intense coughing fit took over you.

You instinctively reached up and clutched at your throat, feeling the warmth and stickiness of your vividly ichor blood trickling out. The droplets of your vibrant blood descended towards your body and to the ground, adding to the already stained complexion of your body. The searing sensation in your throat persisted, causing it to constrict even further while you continue to regurgitate blood.

Eventually, as the disturbing episode subsided, you slowly lifted your trembling wrist to your mouth, using it to gently wipe away the remnants of blood that had clung to your lips. In doing so, the vivid sanguine liquid was smudged across your skin.

The combination of smoky, metallic, musty scents, along with the burning aroma of leaves, assaulted your nostrils, which caused you to involuntary cough, although you were relieved to find no blood this time. Slowly, you gingerly lifted your head, taking in your surroundings with a look of cautiousness etched on your face.  

Where were you and what the fuck did just happened?

Utter confusion consumed you, and you couldn't help but question what had just unfolded.

Earlier, you were subjected to an excruciating torment inflicted by unknown forces, likely orchestrated by that bastard aionarch, and then you found yourself hurtling downwards from the celestial realm.

The events that had unfolded left you utterly flabbergasted.

In an attempt to make sense of it all, you furrowed your brows in puzzlement, lifting your head to carefully survey your surroundings, attempting to comprehend your current location.  

As you glanced around, a sense of unfamiliarity struck you, realizing that you were situated within a dense forest. However, a mist encircled your vicinity, reminiscent of a raging sandstorm, and despite the obstructed view, your vision of transparency allowed you to perceive through the swirling haze. 

The scene that unravelled before you was one of destruction and chaos, as fallen trees littered the ground, creating a disarrayed landscape, and Notably, a colossal crater lay beneath you. The forest floor was adorned with a carpet of decaying leaves, some of which were set ablaze, releasing plumes of smoke that engulfed the surroundings, which was probably caused by you.

As you gazed at the trees tumbling down, a feeling of unease washed over you, causing you to wince at the sudden destruction unfolding before your [E/c] eyes. It seemed almost as if the trees were toppling over like bowling pins, crashing to the ground in a chaotic display of you power and the realization dawned on you that perhaps your descent had triggered this chain of events, further deepening the sense of guilt and regret weighing heavy in your stomach. You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat as you grappled with the consequences of your actions. 

The dryness in your mouth and the lingering metallic sensation of your own blood on your taste buds only added to the discomfort.

Yet, Amidst this pandemonium, there was a sole detail that gripped your attention, and that detail was the fact that you're in the human world.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍, 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟎𝟐 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟒

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Satoru, do you really think you can handle riding the bicycle?” inquired the man with the sleek black hair, his purple eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion as he tightly clutched the plastic bags containing their purchased eggs for breakfast.

Without missing a beat, said latter, Satoru confidently replied, placing a hand on his hip in a sassy manner as he looked at the black haired man cockily,

“Of course I can. Don't you have any faith in me, Suguru?” His ocean blue eyes squinted as he cocked his head to the side inquisitively, a small smirk playing on his succulent lips.

“No, I don't.” Suguru murmured bluntly, his words devoid of any sugarcoating, causing Satoru to whine in disappointment, for this was not the answer he was expecting to get.

Suguru approached the bicycle, asserting himself as the rightful driver instead of Satoru, for he was hesitant to trust Satoru behind the wheel, knowing all too well the recklessness that would ensue if Satoru were given control of the vehicle.

“Don't be like that suguruuuuu”

Satoru whined, sounding like a child who hadn't gotten their desired toy, the desperation was evident in his voice as he grasped the black haired man's wrist and attempting to persuade him to switch roles.

“Please suguru? Just this once,”

Satoru's lips quivered, blue eyes looking at Suguru with desperation, adorning his face with a pitiable expression that tugged at Suguru's heartstrings, prompting a faint sense of pity to stir within him, despite the man’s annoyance.

“I really do know how to ride, I promise!! pretty pleaseeee?” Satoru insisted, employing a childish tone and batting his long lashes while looking up at Suguru with puppy eyes, clasping his hands together in a pleading manner to emphasize his pleading. 

Grudgingly, Suguru let out a frustrated sigh, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he reluctantly gave in. His brows were furrowed, and he couldn't help feeling irritated that he had caved so easily just because of Satoru's pitiful expression.

“Alright,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he doubted Satoru's driving abilities. 

“..Just this once,” Suguru stated firmly, his lips pressed into a thin line to show that there would be no room for negotiation.

Satoru beamed in delight as he squeezed suguru’s wrist.

“I promise, you won't regret it! You've chosen the right person to trust,” Satoru exclaimed enthusiastically, causing Suguru to let out a heavy sigh, his breath visible in the cold air as he observed Satoru's excitement.

“Have I really, though?” Suguru muttered to himself skeptically, before letting out an amused scoff at the whole situation, his lips curling up into a small smile.

Satoru confidently positioned himself on the bike, his eyes sparkling with excitement, a bright beam on his face. Meanwhile, Suguru carefully positioned himself behind Satoru, his grip on the bag of eggs tightening.

And the moment satoru placed his feet on the pedal, suguru knew that this drive is going to be fucked up because satoru was literally driving so fast.

Suguru could feel his heartbeat quicken as Satoru accelerated, their bodies were pressed closely together and Suguru's head was  leaning on Satoru's shoulder as he spoke softly to him in hushed tones.

“You said that you'd be careful,  didn't you?” he murmured, his warm breath tickling the skin of the white-haired man's neck, sending a slight shiver down his spine.  

“No, I didn't, i never said that after all” Satoru countered, feeling a bubble of laughter forming in his throat.

“I simply mentioned that I am capable of handling the bike and this is just a one-time thing,” he added, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He tightened his grip on the handlebars, urging the bicycle to go faster, prompting Suguru to pull away and let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Please, slow down,” Suguru implored, his grip on the plastic bags tightening.

Passersby gave them strange looks as they navigated through the road and Suguru's eyes widened in alarm when they narrowly missed running over with an elderly woman on the road. He instinctively gripped Satoru's shoulder, urging him to decelerate and suguru almost fell off the bike because of the speed.

“Watch out!” Suguru exclaimed, fearful of harming the innocent pedestrian. 

“Oops! Sorry!”

Satoru laughed and swerved, barely avoiding the elderly woman, causing her to cry out in indignation. Ignoring her protests, Satoru continued pedaling while Suguru hastily apologized for the incident. 

“Satoru! I told you to slow— ah! Slow Down!” 

Suguru felt a sudden jolt in his chest as he saw the lamp post looming dangerously close, almost taking the air out of his lungs. However, Satoru steered them away from the collision just in time.  

“Oh my god, satoru, i told you to be careful!” Suguru moaned in annoyance.

“Lighten up, Suguru, don't be such a buzzkill!” Satoru teased, shaking his head in amusement.

“no, ‘m not. ’m not being a kill joy”

“Yes you are,”

The cool wind rushed through Satoru's hair, adding to the exhilaration he felt as he barely managed to maneuvere through the narrow and winding streets, Suguru regretted that he had let satoru drive, because it was obvious that satoru doesn't have any hesitation or regard for the rules of the road.

Suguru felt the bag slipping from his grip as the force of their speed increased, causing his fingers to tighten around it and his face to contort in annoyance.

“You’re driving too fast, seriously” His heart raced, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind.

Apprehension painted Suguru's face as his eyes suddenly widened, realizing the danger they were in. However, Satoru remained completely oblivious to his friend's alarm, too consumed by the exhilarating rush of their ride to heed his warnings. 

“Damn it, Satoru, slow down! We're going to crash!”

As the road stretched out before them, a sharp curve emerged in the distance, and Satoru, being the dumbass he is, saw this as an invitation to push the limits of the bike, gripping the handlebars tightly and leaning into the turn, They careened through the bend, their bodies mere inches away from disaster as they narrowly skirted the edge of the road. The bag containing the precious eggs shook violently, teetering dangerously, and for a brief moment, the thought of breakfast seemed inconsequential compared to the imminent peril they faced. 

As they sped along, with satoru ignoring suguru's complaints, the looming figure of the forest ahead seemed to rise up to meet them. However, it was not the familiar sight people would expect.

The forest was an ashen wasteland, littered with fallen trees, charred leaves, and other debris and The serene presence of nature had been replaced by chaos and destruction for some unknown reasons.

Suguru's eyes widened, his jaw clenching slightly. “Satoru... Slow down..” Suguru said for the 500th time, wincing as satoru increased the pace again.

“Damn it, slow down a little would you?” He hissed, because despite the unfolding devastation, Satoru's adrenaline-fueled need for speed hindered his ability to see the danger that lay ahead.

“Slow down! WAIT—” Suguru's eyes widened as he saw that they were going to crash, his Adams apple bobs as his breath hitched in his throat.

“STOP SATORU—!”

And Before they had a chance to react, they found themselves hurtling into the dense foliage, the loud crash of their impact engulfing their surroundings. The bike skidded and twisted, throwing them off with a forceful jolt, causing their bodies to tumble through the underbrush like rag dolls, the bag of eggs swung wildly in the air before ultimately smacking Suguru square on the head, the impact shattering the fragile shells and releasing the yolks in a messy torrent.

Sticky, golden streams of yolk rained down upon Suguru's neat jet-black hair and his bewildered face, causing him to gag and grimace in disgust as the slimy egg white dripped onto his nose and managed to sneak through his tightly pressed lips, leaving an unwelcome taste in his mouth. With furrowed brows and a raised wrist, Suguru attempted to wipe away the offensive yolk and egg white, his frustration palpable in the swift motion.

“I f-fucking told you to slow down, didn't i?”   With a tone filled with bitterness, Suguru directed his words towards Satoru, his voice dripping with venom as he expelled the remaining pieces of the egg from his mouth, clearly displaying his irritation.  

“Remind me never to entrust you with a bike again,” he continued, his tone tinged with irritation directed both at Satoru and himself for allowing the reckless behavior to unfold. He should have known that Satoru's lack of driving knowledge would lead to disaster. And not only had their breakfast plans been ruined, but their current predicament in this peculiar forest had left Suguru feeling thoroughly disgruntled.

Grumbling under his breath, he brushed the dirt off his shirt, only to find that the hair tie he had used to secure his unruly mane had snapped, leaving his once-tamed locks to cascade freely on his shoulders.

Meanwhile, Satoru let out an abrupt yelp as he tumbled face-first into the dirt, eliciting a grimace as the taste of earth invaded his mouth.

“EWWWW!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with revulsion, as he stood up and reflexively stuck out his tongue in an attempt to rid himself of the unwelcome earthy flavor.

“Must you always find a way to involve us in mishaps?”  Suguru chided, his voice tight with exasperation as he gingerly plucked the eggshells from his hair and threw it on the ground. His once impeccable appearance was now marred by the yolk that was now slowly dribbling down his neck as he shot an accusing glare at Satoru, who was attempting to extricate a leaf from between his teeth with little success.

“Hey! It's not my fault!”   Satoru protested as he gasped for breath,expelling the leaf from his mouth, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he desperately tried to replenish his oxygen supply. He could feel the strain on his lungs from the impact that had taken his breath away.  

“Yes it is,”   Suguru replied with a hint of frustration in his voice, his face contorted in a grimace as he stared closely at the gooey and sticky remains of the broken egg shell.

“Now we're a mess, and our breakfast has gone up in smoke,” Suguru grumbled, his tone heavy with dissatisfaction.

“And on top of that, we're currently in this weird forest.” Suguru harrumphed, his eyes darting around at the scene of destruction that surrounded them.

“Where on earth have you brought us, Satoru?”

His purple hued eyes narrowed as he carefully observed their surroundings, feeling a sense of unease as his throat constricts slightly, his jaw setting tight and his eyebrows drew together with concern, trying to make sense of their current situation. 

“Uhhh...”   Satoru blinked, unsure of how to respond. He gazed around, realizing that the surroundings were completely unfamiliar to him. The latter attempted to recall any information that could explain his current situation yet he found his mind oddly blank.

“I dunno, maybe a Forrest or a desert?”

Satoru said dumbly.

Suguru ignored satoru’s obtuse suggestion of them being in a desert, responding with a disapproving glare and even gesturing with his middle finger to show his frustration. Feeling frustrated, Suguru took a deep breath and centered his attention on examining the unusual environment they were in.

While navigating through the landscape, Suguru observed that it was far from being a typical forest. The terrain reminded him of the desolate and eerie settings often depicted in post-apocalyptic zombie apocalypse movies. Proceeding with caution, he remained vigilant as he surveyed his surroundings, making sure to avoid tripping over the discarded and broken bicycle. 

Despite the annoyance of having an egg cracked over his head, with the yolk and egg white trickling down his face before, Suguru was more focused on knowing their current location. 

“This isn't a normal forrest, not at all,” Suguru mumbled.

“No shit, Sherlock. Who said that this was a normal forest?”

“Shut up, Satoru.”

Satoru scoffed at that and scanned the area, acknowledging the strange isolation of the place and doubting the existence of another forest like this on the way to their school. Confident in his knowledge of the route to their dorm, he dismissed the possibility of mistakenly venturing into this peculiar location, because perhaps, this was the same Forrest that had the shortcut to their school.

Just as Satoru was lost in contemplation, Suguru's voice broke his reverie, prompting him to refocus on their current predicament.  

“Satoru,”

“What?” the white haired man replied, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Look at this,”

Suguru's eyes were focused intently on a massive bush engulfed in flames as he gestured towards it. The size of the bush was quite substantial, with what appeared to be feathers decorating its foliage. Satoru, following Suguru's pointed finger, squinted slightly as he too directed his gaze towards the blazing bush before his eyes widened for a split second.

“What the hell is that?” Satoru whispered.

“Why is that bush orange and red?”

“I don't know either,”

Suguru cautiously approached the bush, his mind racing with thoughts of a possible cursed spirit lurking within its depths. His lips were tightly pressed in contemplation, his senses heightened as he tried to discern any signs of cursed energy emanating from the mysterious foliage. Despite his keen perception, Suguru could not detect any cursed presence, only a lingering sense of someone's invisible presence. 

 “Do you think that there’s a cursed spirit there?”

“No,” responded Satoru, his expression growing somber as he joined Suguru near the very huge burning bush. His brows furrowed slightly, betraying the gravity of the situation at hand. 

“I don't sense any cursed energy nor do my six eyes reveal any hidden truths,” Satoru remarked, after all, with his extrasensory perception, he possessed the unique gift of discerning the intricacies of cursed energy flows and reading cursed techniques with unparalleled accuracy, and he couldn’t sense any cursed energy om that ‘bush’.

“Do you?” Satoru asked.

“No,” Suguru admitted, taking a cautious step closer to the imposing burning bush or whatever that stood before them. He was intrigued by the enigma that lay before them, unsure of what secrets it held within its vibrant exterior. 

Before Suguru could walk closer to it, Satoru intervened, seizing his hand and forcibly pulling him away from the bush. His eyes narrowed in focus as he studied the object intently, a sense of unease creeping over him.

“That's not a bush,” Satoru declared the obvious that they failed to notice before.

“Nor is it a cursed spirit lurking in the shadows.” He gestured towards the bush, drawing Suguru's attention to its subtle movements.

Initially, Satoru assumed that the object in question was simply a regular bush that had been surrounded by lava or some other substance, even though logically that would not be possible. However, he had a strong conviction that the entity was actually alive, as he observed subtle movements in its form that resembled the act of breathing.

“Look closely, Suguru. It's breathing,”

“I don't know what the hell that thing is, but it's definitely dangerous.”

Releasing Suguru's hand, satoru folded his arms tightly across his chest, keeping a vigilant watch on the subtle gestures of the unfamiliar being.  

Suguru stood frozen in place, his mind working overtime to decipher Satoru's words. It took a few moments for his comprehension to catch up with his thoughts and he realized that satoru was right, it's not a bush.

Because after all, why on earth would a bush burn and not turn into ashes? Suguru couldn't help but wonder if he's getting just as dumb as satoru.

As he peered closer, he noticed the steady rhythm of the creature's breathing. The enormity of the beast and the intense aura it emitted filled him with an unshakable sense of intrigue.    

Suguru's gaze locked onto it and his breath hitched as he saw something—a stunning display of colorful feathers in shades of crimson, orange, and even cerulean was in it.

It was at that moment he identified the unmistakable shape of wings stretching out. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning—this wasn't just a simple bush. It was a living creature, concealed within the fiery blaze.    

Phoenix.

A fucking phoenix was present in front of them, resting, the same bird that is known for its ability to be reborn from its own ashes after burning itself on a funeral pyre, allowing it to live another life cycle with renewed youth, was Infront of them.

“It's a phoenix,” Suguru whispered, his voice barely audible as his breath caught in his throat. The furrow between his brows deepened, a mix of astonishment and understanding clouding his features. The legendary phoenix, a creature of myth and legend, was materializing right before their eyes. Despite being obscured by the flames.

Its avian form was evident in the way the fire danced along its plumage. The brightly colored feathers in shades of red, orange, and the dazzling cerulean radiated a vivid aura around the creature.

“I thought that they were already extinct and existed only in mythology...” Suguru mumbled to himself, his brows knitting together in confusion, As far as he knew, phoenixes were simply mythical creatures and did not actually exist. So, why in the world was there a phoenix here? 

Realizing the potential danger of the situation, Suguru knew that he needed to inform the higher ups about the presence of the mythical bird. 

“Satoru,” Suguru called out, turning to look at Satoru with a grave expression on his face. 

“We should not disturb it and instead report this to—”  Suguru's words trailed off as he was taken aback by the sight of Satoru picking up a large rock, preparing to hurl it at the slumbering phoenix. 

“Satoru, NO!”

Suguru exclaimed as he made a move to intervene, but it was already too late. The rock was hurtling towards the phoenix, and Suguru winced as it made contact, shattering upon impact on the bird's figure.

His lips slightly parted as he swallowed thickly, the movement of his Adam's apple noticeable. A vein throbbed on his neck as his heart began to race, the pounding sound echoing in his chest.

“...are you attempting to get us incinerated and friend by an angry bird?” Suguru questioned with a poker face despite panicking internally while casting a wary gaze at Satoru, who blinked in response.    

“Well—” Satoru began to explain, but his words were cut short by a sudden feminine voice, tinged with a hint of hoarseness as if the speaker had just woken up.    

“Urgh...was that?”

inquired the voice, causing Satoru's already pale complexion to go even more ghostly, while Suguru froze in place, his mouth hanging open in shock like a fish out of water. 

“...what did I just hear...” Suguru muttered, feeling his heart race in his chest as he realized that the voice belonged to the phoenix, probably.

“Su..su..suguru..” sputtered Satoru, struggling to find the right words as he pointed a trembling finger at the phoenix, which began to awaken.    

Suguru turned towards Satoru, a look of bewilderment clouding his features, his breathing becoming labored as shock set in.

“Satoru,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Suguru! It spoke! It actually spoke! The phoenix fucking talked!” Satoru screamed like a girl in disbelief, his voice reaching a high pitch as he processed the astonishing event, for he was taken aback and bewildered by the unexpected event of a phoenix speaking.

The idea of needing therapy after such a surreal experience seemed like a possibility to him. He had encountered cursed spirits that can speak before, but a phoenix that lacked cursed energy and speaking was beyond anything he had ever imagined.

It made him question if this was how the first person to hear a parrot speak felt.

The series of bizarre events that had led to this moment added to Satoru's sense of disbelief and horror. First, their unexpected crash landing in the strange forest, then accidentally ingesting dirt and having a leaf stuck in his teeth, and now, a phoenix was speaking???

Terrifying.

Mortifying.

Petrifying.

Horrifying.

Suddenly, Satoru felt suguru’s hand firmly encircle his waist, before lifting him effortlessly into the air. Satoru was so flabbergasted by the unexpected turn of events that he couldn't even voice a protest, especially after witnessing the phoenix speaking before his eyes.

Suguru then hoisted Satoru onto his shoulders in a manner reminiscent of carrying a sack of potatoes, swiftly and decisively moving the mortified man away from the unfolding scene.    

“We need to report this to the higher ups,” Suguru murmured urgently. Suguru was aware that he and Satoru had the ability to fight the phoenix easily in battle, because they are the strongest after all. but what he was concerned about was the potential consequences. He didn’t want to attract the attention of the higher-ups and face their stupid scoldings.

The discovery of a phoenix had just been made, and Suguru knew that the higher-ups would be fascinated by such a rare and powerful creature. Thus, this meant that they couldn't simply eliminate the phoenix without facing severe repercussions. 

Raising one hand while holding Satoru with the other, Suguru conjured a portal-like opening, from which his cursed spirits started to emerge.

Satoru on the other hand, Despite his lack of knowledge and mastery of his cursed technique, raised two of his fingers to attempt to use it.

“Cursed Technique Reversal: Red.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.[Name] has already lost her immortality, thus meaning that after her descent to the jjk world, she's not an immortal anymore, meaning that she can die now.

𝟎𝟎𝟐.It also means that her achilles’ heel is gone too, so she was basically vulnerable. (Also, her high pain tolerance is now gone too cause she's not an immortal anymore teehee)

𝟎𝟎𝟑.[Name] still has some of her powers like her pyrokinesis and shapeshifting, but she definitely doesn't have her regeneration ability now. Also, she decided to shapeshift into a phoenix for a reason!

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.Satoru and Suguru are still second years in this, meaning that Yu and kento is still on first year!!

𝟎𝟎𝟐. Suguru and Satoru would’ve just assumed that the reader is a weird bush if she didn’t spoke or moved.

𝟎𝟎𝟑. At first, Suguru and Satoru thought it was a ghost since technically, the place where the reader fell in is a suicide Forrest.

𝟎𝟎𝟒. Satoru was fascinated and definitely has an idea on what to do to [Name].

🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐒atoru wants to kill you, like literally, because he wants to eat you. He thinks that he'll get stronger if he eats you, Though, he's still wondering on how to cook you.

╰┈➤ 𝟐% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)

—𝐒uguru is intrigued by you, and he was planning on consuming you, just like satoru (even though you're not a cursed spirit) because he thinks that you're pretty powerful and all. Though, he has a lingering suspicion, that you might be one of yaga's creations for two reasons, one phoenixes only exists in mythologies and they were also said to be extinct too in mythologies, and two, you can speak.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Satoru still doesn't know how to use red, cause yk, he's still a teen in here and hasn't awakened yet, meaning that it might not work, so meaning that [Name] has a chance of being safe. But Suguru is still there, so it's still dangerous.

I used the manga version of suguru's eye color because why not? Purple eyes suits him.

[rallamajoop]

On Mia Winters, misogyny, and abuse

As should be pretty obvious by now, I love Mia Winters. I honestly think she’s one of the most compelling characters in this whole damn franchise.

But let me make clear: you don’t have to love her. Mia’s canonically done a lot of shady shit in her time, and her relationship with Ethan has real problems. There are perfectly viable interpretations where the only thing really holding it together is his own denial. Only I never seem to get to read any of those takes, because the most common characterisations Mia gets in fic are an irredeemable monster, or a cardboard cutout who exists only to be written out as quickly as possible. And to write Mia out to that degree doesn’t just do her character a disservice, it does Ethan a disservice, and a big one.

The amount of Mia-bashing I see out there in this fandom turns my stomach. It’s not just the slash fans who’d rather ship Ethan with another dude. I have seen Mia loudly bashed in tags on het or gen fic in which she does not even appear. I have seen male fans reviewing these games on youtube who treat her the exact same way. But it’s never more frustrating than when that hate comes from the same fans who’ll turn around and talk about characters like Chris or even Lady Dimitrescu (she who canonically abuses her and murders her servants, and, y’know, eats people without a shred of remorse) like they’re perfectly forgivable and have done no real wrong. And don’t get me wrong: I love Lady D, but I love her because she’s magnificently evil. Mia? Mia’s a whole lot more complicated.

But to really explain why this hate makes me so uncomfortable, I’m going to have to start with the start of Resident Evil 7, and Mia’s very first scenes in this whole franchise.

Let me quickly summarise the opening of that game. A man whose wife disappeared without explanation suddenly gets a message about her whereabouts. He travels to an isolated location, breaks in, and finds her. She denies ever sending him that message, and seems incredibly distressed that he’s there at all. They fight. It ends with him sinking an axe into her neck and shooting her several times with a handgun. But see, he didn’t do anything wrong! It was all self-defence! She started it! She was acting crazy!

If you didn’t spot it, the whole opening of RE7 reads uncomfortably like a story about a woman escaping an abusive relationship, then being tracked down and murdered by her ex.

Obviously, I am not here to tell you Ethan’s abusive. He’s not, we’ve got no reason to imagine he is. He was legitimately acting in self-defence.

But the fact the first thing Ethan has to do in this game is find the balls to kill his own wife ‒ that a whole new era of Resi games has opened with a sequence so easily read as a sympathetic justification for how a man might perfectly innocently track down his missing spouse and "have" to kill her – that made those opening minutes into by far the most uncomfortable part of this whole franchise for me. Shit like this really happens. I mean it, I will track down the fucking statistics on women who are murdered after trying to leave an abusive partner if I have to.

What happens to ‘Mia’ in the opening to RE8 isn’t much better: it's as textbook a fridging as any I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s a fridging that gets retconned away later when she turns up alive, but the fact that’s even possible speaks to just how awful and confusing her death is. The game opens with Mia’s violent murder at the hands of this series’ longest running ‘hero’, and the event is framed entirely in terms of how awful it is for her husband. That's as frigid as a fridging gets.

The eventual reveal that the real Mia was just trapped alone in a cell being experimented on by a madwoman for god knows how long doesn’t actually make it better. The horror Mia goes through in both these games is a footnote, barely explored.

I bring these events up not to condemn the RE franchise, not to say that including these sequences was unconscionable, or that violence against women can never be shown in a horror title. A quick glance at my tumblr should demonstrate how much I adore these games. Tropes like fridging become problems only because they’re so ubiquitous they can come to define almost the only roles women get to play, not because any individual example is necessarily grounds for outrage. If anything, there’s just as much to analyse in all the hate thrown at characters like Ethan Winters (or his predecessor, Jonathan Harker) as a archtypical examples of sexism against men – backlash against the very idea of a male character in the disempowered role of horror victim, usually reserved for women.

But with this context in mind, my god is it uncomfortable to see people talk about Mia as irredeemable monster who deserves to suffer more. People who will valorise the likes of Chris Redfield, who didn’t even bother to stop to tell Ethan that’s not Mia, yet talk about Mia like being shot to death in her own living room was only what she deserved. That is just a whole load of yikes.

And given that both games open with Mia being violently killed by a male protagonist (twice in RE7, with the player in control), it sure is convenient how so many people have managed to ‘find’ the evidence that proves she’s the real villain. You don’t have to think too hard about Chris Redfield as a violent maniac or Ethan Winters being forced to kill his own wife if it’s okay to inflict violence on this woman. “Yes, but she shouldn’t have done [X]…” or even “But what if she’s the real abuser” is a narrative that gets thrown at real women in abusive relationships all the time – especially when the man is a friend of whoever’s casting judgement, or even a celebrity. Real world examples of this shit in the wild run the gamut from wild fan-takes on The Shining ‘proving’ that actually the abused wife was the ‘real’ abuser all along, right up to the ongoing hate campaign against Amber Heard. People don’t want to have to think badly of someone they admire, and will take any excuse to shift the blame. The stakes are infinitely lower when we’re talking about fictional characters, but the same pattern plays out.

And look, I do get it. It’s easy to go into these games and come out with a negative opinion of Mia. She’s the one who lures you into danger in RE7, acts all innocent, and then comes at Ethan with a chainsaw – and when you finally find out her big secret at the end, it turns out she was working for the people who created Eveline from the start! You’re really not given a lot of reasons to invest in Ethan and Mia’s relationship before she’s suddenly coming at him with a knife, and the fact she never does get to come clean to him in canon leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

It’s really easy to go into RE8, note all the glaring signs that Ethan’s relationship with Mia isn’t healthy, and draw your own conclusions about a woman we don’t hardly even see again for most of the runtime of the game. Half this goddamn fandom still seems to think Heisenberg is actually a lycan, ffs – most of what people think they know about Mia is more meme than fact, and the rest is pretty surface level. Basic media literacy is not exactly high out there in the tumblrweeds (let alone the rest of the internet).

But as for the idea that Mia’s responsible for all the horrors Ethan went through, people seem to forget that Mia herself went through so much worse. Ethan spent a day in the Bakers’ property, and a day in the village. Mia spent years trapped in the Bakers’ property, and days at least imprisoned in Miranda’s lab, knowing exactly how much danger her family were in, helpless to save them. She’s no innocent herself, but ye gods has she already suffered for her crimes.

So with all that out of the way, well, what’s the actual ‘evidence’ that Mia herself was abusive? No-one's coming into this one without some bias, but let’s at least give it a fair shake.

Right upfront, I want to recognise that in both fiction and reality, women can be abusers, and men can be victims. Abuse in heterosexual relationships is far more likely to occur with the man as the abuser, but the reverse does happen, and the fact culture at large can be so eager to cast the woman as the villain doesn’t make it any easier for the real male victims of abuse to get recognition and help. Society as a whole is still just really shitty about enabling or excusing real abuse.

But the idea that Mia was abusive has very little to back it up. Whatever you make of “her” interactions with Ethan at the start of the game, the fact remains: that’s not Mia, and the fact she’s acting so strangely is meant to be our clue that something much bigger than a little marital strife is going on here. Knowing all this doesn’t really make the scene where she’s violently executed less disturbing, but you can’t miss the hints we don’t yet know the full story.

So the question becomes, is there any evidence that the real Mia was abusive? I’ve dug into this one a bit before in my post about trying to figure out the timeline of exactly when Mia was replaced, but there are no definitive answers as to how long Miranda's been living in their house. To summarise a long post (and a surprisingly lively timeline of events from the days before the game begins): the most likely intent seems to be that Miranda’s been posing as Mia for less than a week, though a lot of the vibes of the scene give me the impression it’s been several weeks at least. Ultimately, that’s going to come down to your own interpretation.

The Mia mentioned in Ethan’s diary who blew up at him at the hospital could be the real Mia, but more likely isn’t: you can’t really use her to argue anything definitive, one way or another. The Mia from the flashback where Ethan gets the call from Rose’s doctor is the real Mia, but if you think getting upset when your husband brushes off your obvious distress over your daughter’s health makes you abusive, then nothing I say here is going to convince you otherwise.

The only ‘real’ evidence that Mia might be a problem is one line you might hear from Ethan while taking Rose to bed, and it is admittedly a red flag: your mother’s scary when she’s angry.

And to anyone whose whole hatred of Mia has been built backwards from this one line – especially anyone who’s grown up in a dysfunctional household themselves – hell, I get it. It is one really yikes thing for Ethan to say about his wife.

But in Mia’s defence, I can only point out that, well, yes, canonically, she is scary when she’s angry.

Oh, did I say angry? I meant fucking possessed.

And if Ethan’s bringing up the spectre of that time, even subconsciously, maybe that should be an even bigger clue that the Mia in this house right now isn’t Mia.

But what really shows this line for what it is is that we’ve seen the real Mia angry. We’ve seen her cold fury at Eveline, daring to go right back to asking ‘can we be a family now?’ within hours forcing Mia to assault her own husband with a chainsaw. We’ve seen her frustration at Ethan’s own denial, and we’ve seen her stalk out of the room when he blows off an important conversation for a call from work. We’ve seen her advance on Chris after he shut her down, demanding, Where is my husband? Where is my daughter?!

We have never seen her angry without real justification. Her anger is neither violent nor disproportionate. It’s consistently purposeful, focused, and contained. There is nothing scary about the real Mia’s anger, unless you’re threatened by the very idea she might have something valid to be angry about.

There is evidence of tension in the Winters’ marriage from before Miranda’s arrival, but it takes a very different form – most evident in the flashback scene where Ethan receives the call from Rose’s doctor. Far from Miranda’s brusque, dismissive copy of her, the real Mia is anxious and depressed, scared of what Rose’s results might reveal. Here, Ethan’s the one brushing her concerns aside (“We talked about this […] Rose is fine!”) He recognises there seems to be something Mia’s not telling him, says they should talk about it, but then immediately brushes the conversation off when he gets a call from work, while Mia storms out of the room.

You can certainly read Mia as a hypocrite here, getting angry at Ethan for not knowing things she’s deliberately kept from him. But it’s Ethan who decides a call from work is more important than a conversation with his wife – someone who is obviously distressed, canonically still on a regime of drugs after the traumatic events of RE7, very likely suffering PTSD along with Ethan, and maybe even some form of postpartum depression. We don’t know anything about Ethan’s work, so there’s no point in speculating about how much he ‘needs’ to take that call. Mia’s no clear villain here – quite the opposite.

Personally, I tend towards taking this scene as evidence that Mia has tried to talk to Ethan about what really happened to him, but hasn’t managed to get him to face the truth. For all that Ethan supposedly wants to talk about the past, it’s a defining plot point that he’s badly in denial himself.

Or they could both be at some fault here: Ethan unwilling to face the truth, while Mia is reluctant to force him to face something she knows will hurt him and bring him distress. Even when Mia says outright that she ‘tried to keep this a secret, but…’ to Chris at the end of the game, the implication is as much that she’s tried to keep it a secret from people like Chris, who might decide Ethan is dangerous. She’s lied to protect him before, and if she’s still lying to him about her past with the Connections, then the fact that knowing the truth will hurt Ethan is obviously among her reasons. Protecting Ethan has always been among Mia’s top priorities ‒ even at her own expense.

The only other real hints we get about Mia’s inner life come from the glimpses of her we get in Donna’s domain. But I’m hesitant to read too much into these, given how unclear it is how much is just a manifestation of Ethan’s own anxieties. If anything, the ‘Mia’ in these scenes almost seems to have some far worse secret than simply having not told Ethan something he really ought to have put together on his own, and I’d kind of love to see that explored too – at least as long as that goes somewhere more interesting than round umpteen of ‘and that’s why Mia sucks’.

But my point here isn’t that you have to read any of these scenes the same way I do. I do think it’s important to recognise that nothing written for a game like RE is truly character-driven; scenes exist to serve the plot far more than to reflect consistent character motivations or hold up to fridge logic (which, let’s face it, is the real reason for most of Chris’ horrific behaviour in this game, let alone anyone else’s). The result is rarely super consistent, and leaves ample space for multiple interpretations of anyone’s motivations. Regardless, the idea there’s any hard evidence that Ethan and Mia’s relationship is dysfunctional, or that whatever’s wrong is Mia’s fault alone, is going to be incredibly hard to justify.

Any assertion that Ethan and Mia are somehow on the verge of divorce also needs to be weighed against the masses of evidence of how much they love each other – the number of times Mia has said she loves Ethan, up to and including (yes, I’m bringing this up again) how ready she is to die for him in RE7. Her speech to Chris at the end of RE8 states explicitly that being together with Ethan and Rose is the only thing that matters to her. “Mia, I’m sorry, I love you,” are some of the last words Ethan ever speaks – and I can’t help but read into how the moment he finally pushes Rose into Chris’ arms so they can get away with him weighing them down is right after he learns that Mia is alive, and thus implicitly that Rose won’t be alone if Ethan doesn’t make it. And good god does that scene break my heart every time.

It’s worth recognising that the fact Ethan and Mia love each other doesn’t inherently mean their relationship is healthy, or that you have to love them together as much as I do. Like I said up top, you don’t have to like Mia, and you don’t have to justify not liking her if you don’t. I would genuinely like to see fics where Mia and Ethan’s supposedly-necessary break up feels in character. Where Ethan loves her but just can’t deal with the resentment and the fallout over all the lies she told him, where he's been clinging to his 'happy ending' with Mia after surviving the Bakers so hard he can't face the fact things just aren't working, or where he’s having to face that their relationship only ever really worked because she was away so much. It will break my heart, but fiction is allowed to do that.

But god, it would be nice if people could just take the bashing below an eleven around this place. The number of times I’ve had to sigh and back-button out of reading something, because yet another author has decided to project their own hatred for Mia onto the husband who’s still reeling from watching her being violently murdered in front of him… it gets fucking old, y’know?

I would really like to think that in the year of our lord 2024, fandom would be a bit past this thing where they bash the canonical female love interest in the name of shipping the hero with another dude. People will bend over backwards to try and cast Heisenberg and Chris as guys who really care about consent and worry about Ethan getting hurt, because heaven forbid anyone be caught shipping something slightly problematic. And yet misogyny still somehow gets a pass.

You do not have to love Mia. You don’t even have to like her. But ye gods, the hate she gets is baseless and absurd.

Hasn't this poor woman suffered enough?

(And on that note, I promise I am finally done soapboxing in defence of Mia Winters, thank you for bearing with me for this long.)

[merwgue]

Rhysand’s treatment of Nesta is a direct parallel to the abusive behavior we saw with Tamlin, yet it’s often excused or even praised by the fandom. When Rhysand locked Nesta up in the House of Wind, cut her off from the outside world, and isolated her under the guise of “helping” her, it was eerily similar to what Tamlin did to Feyre in A Court of Mist and Fury. But instead of the outrage that followed Tamlin’s actions, Rhysand’s behavior is viewed as justifiable, as though trauma gives him a free pass. It doesn't.

Let’s break it down: Rhysand threatened to send Nesta to the human lands, essentially exiling her to a place she had no ties to and would be utterly alone. This wasn’t a mere threat—it was emotional blackmail, an effort to bend her to his will. Then he locked her up in the House of Wind. Nesta, a woman already struggling with mental health issues, was physically isolated from the world and people she could turn to. This type of confinement is abuse. Tamlin did the same to Feyre, locking her away in the Spring Court, and we all saw how that broke her spirit. But when Rhysand did it to Nesta, it was somehow considered necessary? It’s hypocrisy at its finest.

What makes it even worse is that Rhysand’s abuse of Nesta escalates in HOFAS (A Court of Frost and Starlight). When Bryce Quinlan steals the Trove from Nesta, Rhysand completely loses control. His power flares, and he starts breaking tables, throwing a tantrum like a man unhinged. It’s the same explosive behavior Tamlin displayed, the same violent outbursts that were condemned. Even Ember Quinlan, who witnesses this scene, is reminded of her own abuser. Rhysand’s lack of control is terrifying, and yet the narrative glosses over it. A High Lord, someone with immense power, should not be this unstable, especially when it comes to matters of family. If Rhysand can’t handle these personal situations without lashing out in violence, what kind of ruler is he really?

And let’s not forget that Rhysand threatened to execute Nesta. In HOFAS, his rage toward her reaches such a boiling point that he seriously considers taking her life. This is supposed to be the same man who prides himself on offering “freedom” and “choice,” yet he’s perfectly willing to control, confine, and even kill a woman who defies him. How is this any different from Tamlin’s overprotective, suffocating behavior toward Feyre? The answer is: it isn’t.

Rhysand’s relationship with Nesta isn’t just abusive, it’s hypocritical. He uses the same tactics that he once condemned Tamlin for—alienation, threats, isolation, and intimidation. The difference is, the narrative excuses it because Rhysand is supposedly a “better” man. But if we look at his actions, especially in HOFAS, they tell a different story. His anger, his need for control, and his willingness to use violence to enforce his will all point to a man who is just as dangerous as the villains the story seeks to overthrow.

It’s clear that Rhysand’s behavior toward Nesta is abusive, both physically and emotionally. The fact that he explodes in rage when Bryce takes the Trove from her, breaking tables and creating a scene of chaos, is just another example of how unstable and dangerous he truly is. If this is how he treats someone close to him, how does he treat his subjects? His people? What happens when someone else steps out of line or defies him?

The truth is, Rhysand’s so-called “freedom” is conditional. He offers choice and liberty, but only to those who fall in line. To those who don’t—whether it’s Tamlin, Nesta, or anyone else—he responds with violence, manipulation, and control. And the fact that his behavior is excused within the story, while Tamlin’s is vilified, shows just how deep the double standard runs.

Rhysand may be the High Lord of the Night Court, but his actions prove that he’s no better than the man he claims to despise. His treatment of Nesta is just another example of his abusive tendencies, and the way he handles conflict—whether with family or enemies—shows just how unfit he is to lead. A ruler who responds to defiance with threats, isolation, and violence is no ruler at all. He’s a tyrant, plain and simple.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Miss Raven! I’m new to twisted wonderland, so I’m still confused by a lot of things, and I still can’t understand Idia’s curse and what it exactly does. Also, I don’t understand, why his friends memories will be erased? Can you explain it to me? I’m really lost

I believe you’re bringing up some points I mentioned from this post (since I got this ask shortly after that original post went live)?

Your questions are answered in book 6 of the main story. However, I realize that not everyone has access to the game, the time to read/watch it, and/or the cards to power through to that deep in the story. It’s easy for newcomers to understand the gist in the beginning (~prologue and book 1), but books 6 and 7 are packed with detail and lore that can be overwhelming to understand without sufficient context.

Firstly, the Shroud family curse originates from the Age of the Gods. The Shrouds are considered a branch family to the Jupiter family, and during this time period they attempted to overthrow them. For their defiance, they and all their descendants were inflicted with a curse which quickly burns away blot (the byproduct of magic). This seems like a strength (since that means it’s hard for a Shroud to overblot), but in reality it condemns them since their bodies will start to burn away at their own magic/life force if there isn’t any blot around to consume. In other words, the curse is detrimental to the health of Shroud mages.

Back when mages were still feared and the relationship between magic and lot was not well understood, the Jupiters sealed away overblots and a Watchman (from the Shroud family) was appointed to guard them. Over time, the Watchmen would become Styx, a secret independent organization that researches blot. Some Shrouds they could perhaps find a cure for their curse through these endeavors. Being around blot for their work also technically benefits them, as their bodies would burn the blot in their environment, thus making it less burdensome on the Shrouds’ physical status. However, Idia often phrases their circumstances as shackling and restrictive, as the Shrouds have basically been put in positions they cannot escape from due to the nature of their curse. His childhood is also presented to us as very dreary, as he grew up in Styx HQ, isolated from the real world and in a sterile environment surrounded by Styx staff.

In book 6, Idia reveals himself to the OB boys up until that point as the acting director of Styx. He then proceeds to conduct experiments on them and they goof off a little as well. Ortho expresses hope that Idia could maybe become friends with the OB boys, to which Idia is pessimistic and claims it’s pointless to try since they’ll “be sent down the River Lethe” eventually. In Greek mythology, that river is said to wipe the memories of those that submerge itself in its waters; in TWST, it’s a special program thar Styx uses to purge the memories of outsiders brought into their HQ. This would allow the outsiders to return to normal life without issue while also preserving the secrecy of Styx. It’s like… the ultimate NDA 😂

Because the OB boys are outsiders, Styx has to wipe their memories as a safety precaution before they can be released. This means that all of the fun times Idia spends with them in Styx will be forgotten too, so Idia doesn’t believe it’s worth it to make an effort to befriend them. It’s implied that Idia has always been pessimistic about his chances at forming friendships because of his isolated upbringing in combination with the expectation that he is going to become the future director of Styx—a thankless job that forces him to toil in a cold, dark place, far away from any intimate human connections.

Hope that helps ^^

[nekropsii]

More Reminders:

Karkat is a bootlicker. This is a prominent character trait. He’s rooting for the Alternian empire- yes, even though it’s ruled by a system that wants him personally dead- and really wants to be a part of its military.

Eridan has a “genocide complex” and is able to be roughly described as the troll equivalent of a white supremacist. This is one of the first things we learn about him.

The Beta Trolls are 13. All of them. This includes Equius. This includes Eridan. This includes Vriska. This includes Gamzee.

99% of Gamzee’s character is racial caricature. No, he is not intended to be a Dionysus parallel. He is intended to be a “satirization” of Black people.

Sapphic pairings have always held precedent over MLM pairings. They’ve always been more important to the plot, been handled with much more grace, and had more screen time. This isn’t a bad thing.

Doc Scratch is a child predator. This is an incredibly prominent character trait of his, and you’re way past due for a reread if you’ve forgotten. He has a particular fixation on, as canon puts it, “little girls”, and targets both Rose and Kanaya. Do I even have to bring up what he did to Damara?

Regarding the previous point, Rose and Kanaya both get very traumatized during the course of Homestuck’s story. They’re not well put together sophisticated “mom friends”, they’re 13 year olds just like almost everyone else is, and they’re going through hell. Rose in particular makes the effect all of this trauma has on her very well known. This is what Grimdarkness is.

Cronus is a child predator, too. During the course of the Openbounds and Ministrife, we see him unabashedly predate on three specific kids, and this behavior is made out to be extremely creepy. These three kids are Karkat, Tavros, and, yes, Eridan.

The Exiles were incredibly important to the plot, actually. You guys are just mean.

Almost every relationship in Homestuck is flawed in some capacity, that’s the point of a tragic drama. The main cast is literally nothing but traumatized and/or mentally ill 13-16 year olds. A good chunk of them aren’t even socialized, or grew up in an actively hostile environment. Or both. No shit characters mess up sometimes, or have unhealthy behaviors- it’s just natural in that situation. Some dynamics are substantially more healthy than others, but the main appeal of Homestuck is that everyone is flawed and damaged.

A good majority of Vriscourse was just people leaping at the opportunity to express pure, unabashed misogyny. I don’t think I have to elaborate upon this.

No, Jane is not a fascist, nor is she racist. She’s never been either of these things, that’s something that was invented out of left field by the Post Canon writing team. Being a fascistic racist was never within the scope of Jane’s character. No, it being “a result of her having grown up being fed propaganda by The Condesce” does not explain that plot thread in Post Canon for a single second, because Jane experiencing a major personality shift because of HIC literally already happened in canon with her going Crockertier, and she came out of that a stronger person. Never once has “racism” been on the list of problems she has.

Hemoloyalty is not intended to be a 1:1 metaphor for racism, nor is it intended to be a 1:1 metaphor for classism, or any other type of oppression. It’s not a 1:1 metaphor for literally anything, it’s intended to be flexible and contextual. This is not a bad thing, and is, in fact, a common storytelling method used by a lot of fantasy/sci-fi writers. Condemning Hussie for a lot of things in their writing is valid, but Hemoloyalty not being strictly analogous to only one type of real world oppression is patently not one of them. You do not know how metaphors work.

Official =/= Canon. No one is calling Pesterquest canon. You really shouldn’t be doing the same for Post Canon. The Homestuck Epilogues and Homestuck^2 are Official, but they are definitively not Canon. This is literally the first thing you learn about either of these projects. This doesn’t invalidate anyone’s enjoyment of any of these properties, of course, but it has to be stressed: Official does not automatically mean Canon.

[freekicks]

I suppose I’m not sure what you want me to do here. I could explain what a kink is or do some psychosexual analysis on why some men are into “daddies,” but I think all that would accomplish is bringing us both five minutes closer to our last breaths on earth. If it’s not something you’re into, and it’s between two consenting adults, then I don’t see why it’s our business. I’m also unsure how, as someone who is reading erotic stories in their spare time, “daddies” is the subject that compelled you to write a letter to your local advice columnist. I have read things in the realm of smut that would make the common “daddy fetish” story look like “Goodnight Moon.” Come back to me when you reach the cold, hard bottom of the slash fic iceberg. You also seem to be conflating real-world relationships with erotica. These are not the same. Sure, there can be overlap, but to go from “this fictional character crossed a line in a fictional story” to “and that’s why I’m uncomfortable with people who remind me of that character” suggests, to me, that you took a wrong turn or two navigating this ethical corn maze. It’s not even a script limited to gays. I mean, mainstream pop culture is littered with what I would consider “daddy trope” dynamics. There’s a whole genre of beauties falling for beasts. There’s a popular children’s movie about it with a singing teapot and a fruity candelabra. What is a beast, if not a daddy by another name? You be the judge. I’m certainly in no place to dictate what makes you uncomfortable. I can see how you might look at, say, a large age gap between two adults in a sexual dynamic and think, “weird!” I’ve had thoughts like that as well. But I think discomfort in and of itself is not always a surefire sign that something immoral is afoot. Discomfort can be caused by any number of factors—personal experiences, biases, preferences, and so on. [...] Sadly, it’s all too common to see people exploit power dynamics—experience, money, fame, access, etc.—for personal gain. But this isn’t exclusive to age. All three times that I’ve been violated by men, the men have been around my age. Abuse can happen in any dynamic, and while I, too, find comfort in the notion that abuse can be easily sniffed out ahead of time, that there will reliably be telltale red flags, that’s just not how things typically work. I’m also reluctant to abide by the increasingly popular belief that “power dynamics” are inherently manipulative. The reality is, there are power dynamics in every relationship. If you are involved with another person, then you have entered an uneven playing field or two. No two people will be exactly the same age, same economic class, same appearance (I hope????), and so on, and so forth. This is not violence. This is dating. These are things that have to be worked through and navigated with mutual respect. There is risk involved, yes, but risk cannot be entirely avoided in life. I hope I’m not coming across as harsh, Confused! I think, or at least hope, that you’re coming from a place of genuine concern for others and, to be sure, I’d never want to outright dismiss anyone on a subject as serious and prevalent as abuse. But on the other hand, I find myself a member of a community presently under attack by accusations of “grooming” and predation. It’s made me particularly sensitive to insinuations from any political stripe that the gays are sex monsters trolling for their next victim, or that we’re all just victims in waiting, idling around until one of those nasty older gays creeps up and takes advantage of our vulnerabilities. I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing here, but again, what two consenting adults (ADULTS) do is not my business. I can make my own judgments, but I don’t have to give my rubber stamp of approval on it. I don’t have to formally condone or condemn it. If harm hasn’t been explicitly stated, then I won’t read harm into it just because I’m uncomfortable. I am not entitled to a perpetual state of comfort.

-Advice Columnist Hola Papi (aka John Paul Brammer) responding to a letter writer who was uncomfortable about the prevalence of daddy kink in gay erotic fiction.

just thought this might be relevant to a certain fandom right now...

[lizziesfirstwife]

Xaden Riorson Dating Headcanons

This man isn’t playing around when he likes someone

Alright, maybe he will tease you about the most embarrassing things to see you blush, but that’s only when you’re not together yet

Once you are together…

Let’s just say, together you’re far more of a menace than independently

But not for the obvious reasons

You tended to be utterly clumsy sometimes, to the point where Xaden had to escort you to most places so that you wouldn’t accidentally hit someone with your bag

It happened more times than you could count

One month, Garrick even had more bruises from you than from training

No one could grasp how someone like him could be with someone like you

You were…actually nice to people

How did your kindness and optimism not vanish over the time spent at Basgiath?

When he still had a crush on you, Sgaeyl bullied him for how distracted you would make her rider in the span of an eye glance

Wearing a different hair style? He was smitten

And it didn’t change after he asked you out

Asking you out was a phenomenon itself with the whole mindset of ‘we could die any second, why have relationships’

Whereas Sgaeyl didn’t stop teasing her rider about his soft spot for you, Xaden couldn’t care less about that

As long as he could hear the delighted giggles that escaped your mouth before you could help it

To say your sunny personality often contrasted against his grumpy one, wasn’t an understatement

With anyone else, he did not take off his tense, on-guard expression

But once he was in your presence again, his shoulders dropped with relief of finally letting down the mask he wore for everyone else

The mask of a man that couldn’t afford to have any weaknesses, or be seen as having a soft side

But believe me, once you two are alone, he doesn’t stop spoiling you

And I don’t mean the other spoiling cough cough, that’s a whole other story

All the random items, like the new flight jacket, or the leather boots that suddenly appeared in your room, of course had nothing to do with him

You always teased him about the redness that would paint his face when you confronted him about it

How shy he would get all of a sudden

He would make you regret laughing at him, later when you two were alone

Overall, he's that Barbie meme when dating

On the outside, a brooding and overly serious male

But on the inside?

He was just a mistreated person that cared deeply for the ones close to him

He would do anything to make you happy and content

Your dragons had had enough of your lovesick behavior by now

But how could they condemn you, with the times that were yet to come…

~~~

(Edit: As of my knowledge, this was the first ever work of fiction on tumblr, ao3, etc, about Xaden. So please, reblog this, like this, comment, share it with your friends or on social media, as it gives me utter motivation to continue my work! 🫶)

Thank you for reading! There are literally no Xaden Riorson works out there, so I thought, let's make something! Normally I don't write for book characters, but we somehow have to survive until November 🌸 If you liked it, let me know in the comments or by liking and reblogging this post!

[girlactionfigure]

Jewish Defiance

Below is the speech I gave at a tiny, spirited protest of Jews - and their allies - who faced off a vast, snarling, swarm of pro-Hamas racists marching through London. Thank you to the organisers and those who turn up every week to show the indomitable defiance of the few.

This is a nice day out, isn’t it? What a lovely day out? Isn’t it nice to shlep into London when we could be doing anything else? We all really wanna be doing this on a weekend, don’t we? It ain’t what I want to be doing with my life. I don’t want to be here. I don’t think any of us wanna be here. These idiots are making us waste our time. But you wanna know what’s even more stupid? They’re wasting their time because they are not going to win. The State of Israel and the Jewish people are not going anywhere. We haven’t gone anywhere for three and a half thousand years. We’ve seen off the Romans, the Babylonians, the Nazis. We’ve outlasted all of them. And we’ll outlast these schmucks. Because antisemitic movements don’t have a long shelf life. History is not kind to the antisemite. And neither should we be. Any antisemite who transgresses should be made to suffer within the full scope of the law. They should be made to suffer consequences, socially, occupationally, legally.

Let’s be clear about who they are. We are not the same as them. They are fakes and frauds. Their calls for “ceasefire” aren’t about peace? You’re not for peace if you’re for globalising the intifada. You’re not for peace, if you’re calling for a Palestine from the river to the sea. You’re not for peace if you ignore, justify or excuse Hamas and their rocket attacks and their acts of terrorism against the Jewish People. You’re not for peace if you don’t condemn Hezbollah for firing rockets. You’re not for peace, if you don’t condemn the theocratic, Mullah regime of Iran and their complicity in all of this. You’re not for peace if you haven’t been calling for the complete and unconditional return of the hostages since day one.

If these liars on the streets of London were for peace they would be marching with Palestinian AND Israeli flags. But they aren’t. If they were for peace they would be screaming for the end of Hamas - a criminal rape gang of Islamic fundamentalists dedicated to jihad and the total extermination of all non-muslims. But they aren’t. These liars, these frauds, these Jew haters feign their tears and call for a ceasefire when the rapists Hamas are under the cosh, but they cheer when Israel is attacked. Sod them.

We on the other hand ARE for peace. There is no Jew that doesn’t want a world of peace and love. But you can’t shake hands with someone who’s trying to punch you in the face. And that is all our enemy does. Since Israel’s inception we have extended our hand in peace. But we have been met with punches, and knives, and rocks, and bullets, and car rammings, and rockets, and bombs, and rape, and torture, and murder and kidnapping. And if the world just expects us to take that. And to smile. And to say thank you world for allowing us to be murdered - then sod them. We are not the world’s punching bag, and we will not be sacrificed because of the non-Jewish world’s problems, or because of a superior, supercilious and utterly misplaced notion that they somehow own us and can dictate to Jews who we are, how we must live and how we are to die.

No one else decides our destiny. We do. When our destiny was in the hands of the world - the world bullied and slaughtered us. Zionism liberated us from the shackles of an abusive relationship with the world. And no one gets to tell us we go back into that relationship. The dynamic has changed. Get used to it. Zionism is the self-determination movement of the Jewish people. It is OUR liberation movement. Not yours. It is OUR civil rights movement. Not yours. The minute a non-Jew tries to define who the Jews are, or define Zionism or control our story - they prove exactly why we need Zionism - to liberate us - from them.

And like an abusive partner, many in the world can’t handle us being free. They can’t handle seeing us happy, thriving and getting on with our lives. Antisemites in Europe and America can’t handle seeing a Jewish minority making choices for themselves when they believe that they, the oh so cultured and civilised non-Jewish world, knows best. And antisemites in the muslim world can’t handle seeing a Jewish minority thrive outside the totalitarian confines of Islamic theocracy.

And so they come after us. Wanting to enslave us again. Not gonna happen. We will never be second class citizens or dhimmi again. And if you don’t like it that we fight back - good. I’m glad you don’t like it. Fuck around and find out. We’ll go as long as we need to.

And let me reiterate here: Jews don’t want violence. There are a million things we’d rather do. You are stopping us from achieving our full potential by making us have to fight you. We don’t want to spill blood. Jewish laws reiterate relentlessly the sanctity of blood. And then there was King David - who wasn’t allowed to build the Temple, because his hands were tainted with blood and the wars he had to fight. We are Jews and we wanna do good shit. We want to make advances in art, science and medicine for the good that it brings and for the joy of simply enriching our knowledge of this world.

Jews do not want war. But be under no illusion, if you bring it to us we will give you a war. Because there IS a time for war just as there’s a time for peace. And the time for war is when THEY come to kill us. Don’t fuck with Israel. Because our ancestors weren’t just shepherds and prophets and judges - they were warriors. And what was in them is in us. And just as they gave hell and triumphed over their enemies - we will give our enemies hell and we will triumph and we will win and then we will laugh and we will sing and we will dance - and with a bit of luck - we will make love and create more Jewish babies.

Look at the idiots out there who want to destroy us. They have to sing repetitive rhymes en masse - like morons in a cult - because they’re scared to be individuals. They’re scared to think for themselves. Scared to speak for themselves. They’re scared to be different. They’re scared to stand alone. They need nursery rhymes because they’re scared to engage in the complexities of an imperfect world. They’re morons.

Look at the numbers they have to gather in to feel brave enough to chant what they think? To shout that they want jihad and to kill every Jew between the river and the sea?

People who gather in that volume in order to shout at Jews are scared of Jews - and they should be. Because we’re fucking awesome. Being small in number is not a weakness. It is our superpower. It’s always been the Jewish superpower. It gives each of us ten times the resilience of those who rely on numbers. Never forget, no matter how surrounded you feel, strength is not in numbers, it is in your soul, it is in your heart and it’s in your resourcefulness. And we’ve got all of that. We are small in number but the things we’re each capable of are mighty. So go out every day and be mighty.

And don’t ever forget what Hamas did and what these people support. Darkness. They support darkness. There has never been more moral clarity to a fight than the one we face. What Hamas did on October 7th - demons from hell would ask them to be their teachers. And Hamas promise to do it again and again. A ceasefire is not peace. It’s a downpayment on future blood shed. It’s an investment in future war. The first step for the Middle East to even have a chance of peace is for Hamas to be gone.

Hamas are not the same civilisation as us. No peace can be made with them or anyone who thinks like them.

Our civilisation is worth protecting because it offers something good. The next time you’re in Jerusalem go and visit the Kingdom of David and you will see how precarious our origins were and how miraculous it is that we are still here and the responsibility we have to protect ourselves. David’s Kingdom was tiny. A tiny hillside that offered something new. A small outpost of light in a sea of darkness. It offered a revolution. It rejected what surrounded us. And what were we rejecting? We were rejecting the cruelty of those who engaged in child sacrifice. We were rejecting those who worshipped Moloch and set their own children on fire.

Now look at what’s happening today! Nothing has changed.

We’re facing an enemy who still sacrifice children. Deliberately. In Hamas we have an enemy who encourage their children to die, to blow themselves up, to set themselves on fire, to become so-called martyrs and shaheeds. We face an enemy whose parents praise Allah if one of their children blows themselves up with a suicide bomb to kill other children. We face an enemy that teaches their children in kindergartens, in schools, in mosques and in the home to die. We face an enemy that deliberately hides behind its own, and prevents them from seeking safety, so that they can be harmed in a war that THEY started. We should have no ambiguity and no doubt that we are on the side of good, and that good must triumph. Not just for us, but for this planet, lest that the ancient darkness faced by King David conquer every hillside and plunge the whole world into a night without end.

I want to leave you now with something important. The most important thing. What’s going on with our cruel and wicked enemies is deadly - but it’s also theatre. It’s designed to be a spectacle that scares you. It’s designed to make you crumble inside, give up and walk away. But it’s clear from your presence here today that you will not. And that none of you ever will. I wanna say that you are all fucking brilliant. All of you. You don’t even realise how brilliant you are. Seven months into the most disgusting war against us and here you all are standing tall, not backing down, ready to go on for as long as you need to. You are epic Jews, equal to any Jews of the past.

And don’t let the world spin your heads. Because mark these words: this is the best time to be a Jew in 2000 years. It is the best time to be a Jew in 2000 years. Because we’ve always had enemies. There have always been those who’ve risen up to kill us. But this time, this time we have the State of Israel. The Jewish People are home. They are in their indigenous homeland and they will never be uprooted again.

And because we have the State of Israel we will never be as vulnerable as our ancestors. As bad as things sometimes feel we will never know how vulnerable they felt when the rug was pulled from their feet. And they would be SO happy for us. We are the luckiest Jews in 2000 years. With Israel we can defend ourselves. We can fight back. We have an army. We have infrastructure. We have technology. For the first time in 2000 years the Jews can truly fight back. And if our enemies wanna bring it, they will know we can fight.

So you can be anxious now and then. But never, ever give in to fear.

In this life you can be scared. You can be messed up. You can even be fucked up. But the most important thing is to show up. Always show up and give a good account of yourself and with God’s grace we will always triumph. God bless you. Baruch HaShem.

LEE KERN

[alwaysalir]

Bridgerton Twitter is the absolute worst.

1. Some of y’all don’t know the difference between romantic tension and chemistry. There is absolutely nothing wrong with polin’s chemistry. The entire point is that it’s been one sided so far.

2. The trope elitist people need to grow up. Every trope can be top tier if it’s written correctly. The way people act about friends to lovers is weird. I don’t even like that trope but condemning an entire season because of a stupid trope is ridiculous.

2. I’m sorry but Colin doesn’t owe it to Pen to be in love with her. That’s not how relationships work. Yea what he said at the end was awful but it’s so weird that y’all can’t stop and look at this from his pov for 5 seconds. Just because he doesn’t return her feelings doesn’t mean he doesn’t genuinely care about her.

3.The underlying issues with Nicola & Luke not being up to certain beauty standards is just gross. I know people want to be attracted to the male lead but denying Luke is charming & handsome just makes you look dumb. As a plus sized person I’ve always loved seeing Pen and the idea of her leading this show is exciting but it’s clear that some people don’t get that this type of representation is important too.

I do not understand the need to pit the characters & relationships against each other. The way that season 3 is being criticized before we even got any kind of preview is wild. Polin isn’t your cup of tea? Great. But why ruin it for people who are actually looking forward to it?

[ddarker-dreams]

Epilogue.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, Blade's love language is committing murder for you. Word count: 1.5k.

Nexus index.

“You went overboard.”

Blade doesn’t respond.

You know he heard you. He’s lucid enough to comprehend your words, but that doesn’t mean he’ll acknowledge them. Not when he’s standing there, parsing through his frenetic thoughts, which must feel more like a distant dream than reality. This is how you’ve come to understand his mara. It’s a capricious affliction, despite how adept you’ve become at soothing it.

This burden isn’t yours alone to bear. Blade has his part to play. He has to at least, on some level, want to ward off the beckoning madness. Your psionic abilities lay in amplifying base desires, not writing over them. Usually, this isn’t a problem. Usually, you both prefer he retains control instead of leaving a trail of contorted corpses in his wake.

Today, however, was decidedly unusual.

The nature of your new ‘work’ invites risk. Danger has never been a stranger to you — there was a reason why leaving the LOTUS-EATER’s premises was discouraged. This daunting acquaintance loves seeking you out. The feeling isn’t mutual, regardless of how successful the attempts are. It’s the aftershocks that you dread most. In the moment, everything happens so fast, there’s no time to be afraid until you reflect on it later.

Nona would tell you that what’s done is done, no point in dwelling on it further.

Lear would suggest you exercise more caution in the future, whilst barely being able to hold back tears of relief that it wasn't worse.

They aren’t here, though, you think. I only have him.

You swivel around on the kitchen island’s barstool to examine Blade like he’s examining you. He’s wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist as his clothes were dirtied beyond saving. Water trickles down the contours of his scarred, lithe body. The scent of orange and vanilla wafts in the air beside him, courtesy of the safehouse’s shower, no doubt. You prefer that over the metallic miasma which clung to him previously.

His crimson eyes pierce through the dimly lit room. You can’t decipher his expression, nor do you care to. What matters is that he gives some reassurance there won’t be a repeat of today’s incident. Knowing him, however, that’s too much to ask, but you’re starting to wonder if sweet lies are kinder than the truth.

Blade’s predatory gaze pauses at the fresh bruise on your forearm. What he doesn’t reveal outwardly is more than made up for by the sickening wrath his mind emanates. You wince beneath its intensity, a reaction he ignores, surprisingly, as he’s too focused on the hand-shaped indent. It isn’t until you inhale sharply that he snaps out of his reverie and the pressure in the room lessens.

While you rub your aching temples, he approaches, slinking forward like a stray cat. Though he viciously defends you as a guard dog would, you think he shares more similarities with the feline species. He bristles at anyone’s touch but yours, silently stares until you give him attention, and would gladly lay a pile of his kills at your feet, seeking approval for the macabre offering.

There was a time you’d voice this musing to observe his displeasure.

That time has long since passed.

Blade’s calloused fingertips run over the bruise, light enough to spare you any pain.

“Are there more?” he asks.

“I haven’t checked,” you shift back to rid yourself of his touch. His eyebrows pinch together, forming creases. “Is that really all you have to say?”

He’s glowering now. You don’t know what displeases him more — your avoidance of his touch, irate tone, or the condemnation hitherto left unsaid.

“You would’ve had me show mercy to your attackers?”

Blade enunciates the word mercy with every ounce of contempt one would regard their mortal enemy with. Now you’re beginning to better understand why getting him under control was such an ordeal. You encountered every possible resistance when attempting a link with him, a phenomenon you hadn’t experienced since that fateful day in The Lounge’s private room. He was always so receptive to, well, you, oddly pliant to your whims so long as you framed them right.

“You didn’t need to—” your throat goes dry, as the sights, sounds, and smells from earlier resurface, “—Need to…”

Fucking terrify me.

Sometimes, you forget on purpose.

You forget so you can drunkenly ramble anecdotes about your strangest clients over drinks, let him teach you the steps of weapon forging, and not struggle when he pulls you into his chest at night.

You forget so that your resentment can stay suspended in time, never growing past a point that’d suffocate you.

You forget so you can remember how to live.

Streams of sunlight sneak past the room’s blinds. You reach out, as if to catch it, allowing the beam to settle on your hand. The closest star to this planet — Varsig — is named the Spectator. The planet’s earliest inhabitants once thought the giant orb to be a god’s eye. Following their every movement, scrutinizing their every decision.

In the current year of 2157 AE, few still believe this superstition.

You understand where those ancient civilizations were coming from.

Eris’ eternal night hid wrongdoings behind a silvery veil. Stars, however, ensure you witness everything. Every misstep, shame, and regret is crystal clear. There’s no questioning the integrity of what you see. It burrows into your memory where it intends to remain forevermore. You’re reminded again and again that you’re no longer an Exalted Arbiter, but a means to an end for the universe’s most notorious criminal faction.

Either way, it’s a glorified transfer of ownership.

Still. At least then you had Loopy, Nona, Lear—

“You’re thinking about him.”

You freeze upon hearing his gruff accusation. Swiftly, perhaps suspiciously so, you turn the faucet of your thoughts off. Too much slipped through in your carelessness. Blade might not have your level of experience when it comes to decrypting the minds of others, but he’s spent enough time around you to pick up on a few things. The low-level link you share with him goes both ways, as per that miscreant Kafka’s suggestion.

For the most part, it’s an unobtrusive function that’s no more noticeable than one’s breathing. This prevents the continuous uptime from placing heavy strain on you. Identifying fluctuations in Blade’s mara is its main function. However, if you’re not being vigilant, a few segments from your psyche can pass through to him.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

It’s an unconvincing apology.

His mara, previously satiated from its earlier gorging, rouses. It seeks to form a tribunal with you as the defendant. This disease hates you, worships you, and longs to break you so that it might stitch you up and do it all over again.

Blade shakes his head and sighs.

The mara’s deliberation over your sentencing fades, leaving nothing but uncomfortable silence.

He turns around and starts walking away. Your eyes, ever keen in the dark, trace over the scars that cover his back. The off-color testimonies to his many battles have welcomed a newcomer, inducted into the ranks hours prior. The skin is red and angry. His long hair partially covers it — a slash made from the right side of his back to the lower left.

There’s little you know about combat, but from what you can tell, his opponents were skilled. They moved too fast for you to get an accurate count. In the aftermath, the remains were either butchered beyond recognition, or the few intact limbs so spread out, you couldn’t arrive at a number then either. Blade intercepted every shot and stab intended for you. He parried most, yet some slipped through the cracks. Without a second’s hesitation, he’d shield you from the onslaught, unfazed by what must’ve been excruciating pain.

That undying devotion is yours.

He belongs to you, really. Possibly more than you belong to him. This husk of a man who flayed the flesh of your foes and hung them by their entrails. Only the Aeons above know what other desecrations he committed when your consciousness gave out.

Sometimes, you calm the chaos simmering in his veins.

Other times, you raise it to a rapid boil.

“Yingxing.”

His retreating figure stills. Before, holding the memories of who he once was guaranteed he’d succumb to the mara’s influence. It’s less definitive now. There’s an undeniable intimacy to it — speaking a name scratched from history. He isn’t Yingxing anymore, nor can he ever be again. Somewhere, wedged deep into a forgotten crevice of his psyche, a tiny fragment of that splintered identity slumbers.

You rouse it when you think he needs to remember the anguish of losing everything.

“Do you want to be loved by me?”

You’re plenty capable of feeling love.

You love your student, who wrestled with life to reclaim the joy it previously stole. You love your first friend, who didn’t cower away from the unruly girl who decided to change his name on a whim. On some days, you could even love your mother, if your memories deceived you enough.

What about him, whom you might spend centuries beside?

Can loneliness outweigh resentment?

After what feels like multiple lifetimes, he responds.

“Anything’s enough.”

When he leaves, he takes a part of you with him.

…

You rise from your seat.

[cozzzynook]

feed me blitznut(blitzwing x lugnut) or prowlbee pleaseee

Prowlbee

Bumblebee feeling insecure about his relationship with Prowl and his team in general.

He isn’t like other mechs and he knows that.

He isn’t socially graceful, he’s small for a bot— a minicon by dysfunction ( disability ) not physically strong and overly chatty at the worst of times. With a temper and faked over confidence that was far beyond his size with a damaging need for acceptance and to prove his spark existing is not being squandered.

He has many faults that he rather not acknowledge in public and plenty that are written plain as Bulkheads large servos on his transcripts.

He’s a bot with not a lot going for him, he knows this. He doesn’t need you to remind him Sentinel, thank you very much.

He’s not an idiot contrary to belief.

He’s smart enough to know he shouldn’t hope for much let alone have much since he’s just a discarded spark that grew up in the slum sparkling centers that have been condemned since he reached mechhood.

Bee is well aware his chances are not supposed to be great in life.

But somehow…they are.

He’s less bluster and forced ego and over compensation.

He’s become a scout for his faction.

One of the very best they have due to his speed and size.

He’s become incredible at remaining silent during missions just as he once did in the centers and on the streets.

He’s learned to stop broadcasting his flaws by poorly painted confidence and actually excel where he can.

It sucks that he doesn’t have all the good qualities his teammates do but he must have something good if he’s the best scout and Prowl has optics on him.

The ninja bot began courting him in his own strange way that Bee accepted on accident.

They both knew this and yet Bee didn’t refuse any of the mechs gestures, words, gifts or time.

Prowl left him notes reminding him to fuel and to put a pillow on his back while streaming.

The mech would place his servo on his lower back and whisper comforts or reminders into his audial when no one was looking or they were alone in passing.

Simple gifts like cute themes to match his gaming setup. He was a sucker for chibi knickknacks and mini pillows to put on his berth. A little secret between the two that all but one came from Prowl.

The mech was careful and strategic yet natural while courting Bee but all Bee had to offer was spending time with Prowl and gifting him plants to his growing garden.

Bee would sit silently with audial jammers on to listen to music and game while Prowl meditated beside him.

He would join Prowl in the fueler and cook for him.

He learned early on how to make anything taste good since he had no choice but to consume lower dregs most didn’t like.

Bee had no family to greet or welcome Prowl into and he had nothing fancy or expensive to give Prowl.

All he had was his spot on the team, his title as best scout and being able to finally sit still and not yap Prowls audial off.

He figured thats what Prowl wanted but he was yet again wrong.

Prowl didn’t want him to change unless its what Bee himself wanted.

He didn’t want a quieter partner nor just a berth warmer.

He wanted a conjunx.

He wanted Bee.

And who was Bee to say no to one of the few good things in his life?

He wasn’t.

He was simply B from the 127th slum on Cybertron that no longer existed.

A bot who became one of the best scouts his faction had seen and a mech who was under team Prime and helped Optimus Prime on Earth end the war.

…

But at night, at home, in berth, the kitchen, laid back in the oil tubs or relaxing in his gaming chair…

He was Bee.

Prowls little dancing Bee.