#spine as in support for the puppet

[mebis-art-dump]

Iterator's puppet arm is like a tail to me

[urprettylildoe]

I'MA TEAR OUT YOUR HEART, IT'LL ALWAYS BE MINE

you're brought back to the time were you spent birthdays in the love of your life's arms, and oh, you're truly foolish if you thought that you were going to spend such a special occasion without him.

word count: 1.8k words.

warning: obsessive themes, yandere behavior, isolation, dependency, slight violent thoughts, suggestive themes.

a/n: big thank you to the talented @moyazaika who let me write for his lovely oc valentine my husband!!! please do check out his blog and leave support under his writing, he deserves all the love <33

"smile, bunny."

you look up at valentine, whose sick amusement is illuminated by the candle's glow that quite nearly matches his amber pools for eyes in the otherwise dim room.

"aren't you happy? after all, this is your special day." once again, that awfully belittling tone soaked in sacharrine that has your palms curl in on themselves. you never asked for this stupid cake in the first place. you never even wanted to celebrate from how upset this suffocating isolation from anyone but him made you feel.

but how he insisted from the moment you woke up, shushing your whines of protest with sweet, hushed nothings pressed your lips that made you feel like a puppet on strings, even if this was your day.

you were lonely sure, before you met valentine, but you had your mum to celebrate your birthdays with. perhaps that's the closest to love you could've ever gotten.

oh, but a traitorous part of you yearns so desperately for the approval of the man in front of you, who loves you to the ends of the earth then beyond that he would travel to and back. and you despise yourself for what you've become.

a hum comes from behind you, "sweetheart, y'still there?"

you're snapped out of your stupor, to find him looming over you from behind, lips lingering just shy of your earlobe.

a smile, albeit a bit weak, finds its way on your lips, "yeah. just, thinking." for the first time, you meet his eyes, a shiver crawling its way agonisingly slow down your spine. it's one of these rare times the lighting truly highlights what your boyfriend really is, despite his unfairly gorgeous face that paints a different story.

"come on," he groans, teeth that seem sharper than they really are nip at your shoulder. "lighten up, will you? i put a lot of effort into this."

on instinct, your body leans into the only means of safety you have now, his chest. "thank you, val." the purposeful tone of your voice has him unravelling with an impatient hum of his chest, but that can wait on its own until after the little party you have going on.

you're swayed from side to side as you both sing, elliciting a few giggles out of that feel like blissful ignorance to everything around you. it's one of those moments where you shun yourself for ever thinking that valentine could be a bad person.

then, comes the time to make a wish. valentine is very patient, and it's like he knows every thought running through your head.

the candle stares back at you. you blink. once, then twice. what do you really want?

think hard. a part of you chants.

when you do make up your mind under his smothering gaze, your lips form an o shape to blow on the candle, then the whole room goes dark.

he claps — a little too loud — before beaming at you, dimples adorning his cheeks. "happy birthday," upon turning on the light, you notice a gift in his pale hands, a box. his own surprise.

you tilt your head, brows furrowed, "what's that, val?"

he smiles and places in front of you, "for you; open it."

an unsure smile graces your lips, perhaps it is all in your head to doubt him when he's so tender with you, so caring at this very moment. almost enough to overlook everything he's done.

your fingers slowly open the gift, and your throat tightens. a necklace — with the letter V as the pendant.

"isn't it wonderful?" he speaks with purpose, knowing exactly where it hurts, and where to kiss the wounds he carved. "a reminder of how much you love me, and you do, don't you?"

you should be happy, you should be. darling of his, why do you cry so?

because you understand exactly what this noose dressed up as something fancy he bought, means to be worn around your neck, like a sign of who you exactlg belong to.

"awww," valentine coos and kisses the tears away from your cheeks, savoring the taste of your distress. "don't cry, baby. m'not going anywhere, okay? i'm yours, i love you too."

screw your pathetic mind for even thinking this man was anything but a monster. god, you hate him.

you hate valentine. you hate his eyes, his butterfly tattoo, you hate his stupid dimples —

— and most importantly, you hate him for making you fall in love with him.

your boyfriend assumes your wish and hysterics were all about your undying affection for him, and oh does he know how wrong he is, just makes up for it with his condescending, hushed words.

his hands cup your cheeks, smushing them together and drawling, "none of that, now. come on, let's eat your cake." the blade glints in his hand as he turns it over, and you wonder if he would ever be this triumphant, this smug, if you plunge it into his chest.

when you plunge it into his chest.

but you can only dream, as he pushes a forkful into your mouth, smirking as the frosting stains the corner of your lips, where he next brings his own to kiss and lick it off. even after all this, you feel your cheeks heat up, and you know this is just the beginning. the night is still very young, after all.

and later that night, when you lay on his chest, flushed and worn out (just as he promised you would be), you find yourself even more powerless than before.

valentine is bathed in the moonlight, looking ethereal even with hickeys littered across his chest where you lay your head comfortably. for once, he looks harmless, just as you assumed that monday evening on the train, three years ago.

and as you doze off, you hope that someday, you can find a way out of his embrace. but for now, you settle into his warmth.

NOW.

it's your birthday. much different than the last one, or at least you think so.

so many things can happen over a span of a few months, and you find yourself breathing as much as you can in this new life you've built for yourself.

red is out, saying they'd be back to celebrate with you later and that their errand will take some time. you don't blame them for this, honestly; they got thrown in this tangled web all because of you.

you close your eyes and will them not to sting every time you think back to your last birthday. it won't happen again. he won't happen again. you only allow yourself a sniffle before regaining your composure.

finding yourself oddly determined, you pad into the kitchen. if no one is going to give you a happy birthday, you might as well do it yourself. it is in a way a new beginning in retrospect of everything that has happened.

you steal one of the cupcakes red brought earlier, and whilst lighting a candle, the lighter reminds you of a familiar hot pink you gave to a certain someone years ago —

stop. this day is about you.

"happy birthday to me, i guess." you mutter as you settle onto the couch, your cupcake sitting on the table in front of you.

your lips quirk up into something akin to a bittersweet grin. it feels good to be free, to finally fly out of the cage you've trapped yourself in for so long. you're alone, sure, but not lonely. it makes you feel empowered to have endured all of this and finally, finally, a moment of reprieve.

the candle awaits your wish.

you lean in, ready to blow it out —

something crashes in the kitchen.

shit.

"red?" you call out, voice clogged and thick with pitiful emotion. the lack of answer sends you spiralling. what if it isn't red? it can't...it can't be him, you made sure of it.

you shoot up, finding your way into the bedroom on shaky legs. you feel around for the knife and grip the handle like a lifeline.

whatever force propels you to move with such bravery, despite your shaky hands, it has you slowly creep into the kitchen. bracing yourself for whatever faces you but...

you expected at least something, or someone. the most you get is a broken plate that was misplaced. you suppose you can clean it up later, after your 'party'.

then, a low whistle, followed by laughter, from behind you.

"celebrating without me?"

your limbs go numb. the taste of relief on your tongue goes sour with the bile rising up your throat.

oh, god, no

please don't let it be him. please.

your boy— no, ex boyfriend, is standing in front of you when you pivot. he smiles sickeningly, "i admit, sweetheart, i was a biiit hurt that you didn't invite me to your little party." the cupcake, with the candle lit on top, sits in his hand.

please, no.

valentine brushes the hair out of your eyes, "but m'sure you didn't mean it," his amber eyes show nothing but a storm on its way, the restrained anger evident from the way the vein running through his neck tattoo bulges. "after all, you promised till death do us apart, right?"

he shakes his head, chuckling as he closes his eyes, almost as if he said something foolish. "but who am i kidding? i'd still find my way back to you even after death, bunny." his finger reaches up to boop your nose.

"val, please, stop." you can barely see him through your tears. all of this, all the blood, has gone down the drain. and he could evidently care less, as long as he's got you.

"it's cute, really." he brings the candle between the two of your face, relishing the way the light reflects in the fat tears welling up in yout eyes, "how you think that i wouldn't come wish you a happy birthday, because no matter how utterly stupid you are, you always seem to have a way of crawling into my head.

and no one, even that red, can take you away from me. you only got away because i let you."

the tears now flow freely down your cheeks, as you blubber, "i-i hate you." the state you're in doesn't even allow you to attack, just drop the knife, just like he wanted. "so, so much."

he rolls his eyes, "no, you don't." — he's right, you don't — "but i've got you now, babe, and i'm excited to see how this lovely game of yours turns out."

with that, he blows out the candle. everything goes dark.

"happy birthday."

your wish, last year, was to finally spread your wings and be free. you didn't specify how long before being hauled back into the glided cage of his love.

so be careful what you wish for, darling of his, because your little escape has only prolonged this game of cat and mouse further...

...and you truly don't know him if you think he's going to settle for losing you.

[cheesycatz]

Local Cryptid Spamton EX

Spamton didn't just control the NEO suit; he fused with it. NEO was completely reliant on the wires, so their combined being compressed into the Dealmakers after the bossfight. As Spamton, in his puppet form, tried to recover, NEO used any energy he had to grow back into their combined form. Horrified about his body changing against his will again, Spamton used the last of his energy to try and heal himself, resulting in NEO compromising his brain function in an attempt to continue growing. He shambled around like a feral animal as he grew larger, forced onto all fours from the weight of the wings dragging behind him. While he does eventually recover, he already gained a reputation as Castle Town's cryptid.

Or: Peeled Spamton NEO (Lobotomized Edition)

more art and 8k word lore dump below

LORE

Today's vocabulary terms (These WILL be on the test)

Pin feathers: also known as blood feathers, they are the undeveloped feathers that appear on baby birds and adult birds when they molt. Each pin feather is covered in a protective keratin sheath that resembles a quill. Once the feather has matured, the sheath can be broken off, allowing the new feather to unfurl. Pin feathers have a blood supply that they lose once they develop into full feathers. A damaged pin feather can cause heavy bleeding.

Flight feathers: The longest and stiffest feathers that make up the outer tips of a bird's wings (and tail, but that doesn't apply here). Birds can't fly without them.

Preening: The act of cleaning and rearranging a bird's feathers. Preening also includes the process of breaking sheaths off of matured pin feathers. Preening can be a group activity, especially to clean areas that a bird may have trouble reaching. It's generally a relaxing process for a bird, especially when done by someone else.

Content warnings:

body horror, transformation horror, many mentions of blood, amnesia, general blorbo suffering idk

Now reading “Some Assembly Required”

NEO's intended lightner user would've been able to freely enter and exit the suit at their will. However, because Spamton’s a darkner, and therefore made of the same darkness as NEO, his code combined with the body itself when he entered the disk. Spamton initially couldn't move after the disk was inserted into NEO. His code—organs, bones, fur, muscle, anything available—was spread and warped in order to rapidly fill the incomplete metal husk around him. The wires, acting as a bottomless source of magic power, burrowed into his body, reforming his veins, and allowed his code to stretch and intertwine with NEO's own, creating a new being entirely. Spamton and NEO, two incomplete messes of code, came together to form a new being, a conglomerate of flesh and metal: Spamton NEO.

Spamton's magic yield was far too low to support such a drastic size increase, so this new being was almost entirely reliant on the artificial power source of the wires. Spamton NEO fired off powerful attack after attack at the Heroes of Light, each a combination of NEO's and Spamton’s own magic. As the turns passed, he could feel the heavy strain in his weak, rapidly developed limbs, but, with the wires, he could do anything. Driven mad by his desperation to escape the only thing keeping him running, he wouldn’t acknowledge the way his feathered wings drooped and the way his arms and legs swung limply, even despite the assistance of the wires. Unaware of their true purpose, Spamton NEO was ecstatic to find only one wire left. It was the thicker, central one, which traveled under his skin and through his spine. It was the only reason he wasn't fully paralyzed yet. And so, when the final wire was cut, he collapsed to the ground within an instant, shaking the earth.

Without the wires, NEO was completely reliant on Spamton's magic capacity, and he would've been too weak to move even if he hadn't been using countless attacks. Most of NEO'S code purposefully became dormant so they wouldn't die. The tiny puppet, now heavier with his new code, was strung up with vines in an attempt to wake him up. He managed a small moment of clarity, enough to accept what must be his death, but even that was too much exertion. Fully prepared to die and serve the lightners, Spamton collapsed into an even smaller form: the Dealmakers. 

As a pair of glasses, Spamton couldn't feel or perceive anything. He was left on the nightstand of Kris's room in the castle, oblivious to the outside world. Eventually, he stirred, unceremoniously reappearing in his puppet form and falling onto the plush carpet, gasping like he had just been held underwater. A sharp pain stabbed through his chest as he fell to the floor. He awkwardly shuffled until he was against the bed, breathing heavily. Where the hell was he? He'd uploaded himself onto the disk, hadn't he? This clearly wasn't the basement. Had Kris bailed somehow? He struggled to ignore the deep ache coming from his chest, as though his very SOUL was itching. He partially unbuttoned his dress shirt, trying to scratch at it, but his blunt plastic fingers did nothing. He felt a seam across his chest that was not supposed to be there, then, a click, and suddenly his cracked soul forced its way out of his chest.

Normally, Spamton's soul forcing its way out would result in a giant bloody hole in his chest, but there was nothing but a small opening hidden under his shirt. Spamton tugged on his soul's chain, forcing it to look at him. It was then that he noticed a disk forcefully lodged into his SOUL, clipping through its eye socket. THE disk. How did this happen? Did the transfer process go wrong? Spamton immediately tried to pull the disk out, but the pain that shot through every nerve in his body stopped him. His own SOUL angrily nipped at his fingers and retreated back into his body, The painful itch worsened, and Spamton passed out again. 

Spamton slowly adjusted to, well, whatever happened. The blue coloration of the bedroom he woke up in reminded him of his room in the mansion, so Spamton tried to escape as quickly as possible. He soon realized that it wasn't actually the mansion, but he didn't particularly enjoy being in a foreign castle, either. After a daring escape (hugging the walls and stopping to take a break every 10 seconds), he was weary of the unfamiliar darkners outside. He essentially returned to being homeless as he tried to adjust to this new environment, more focused on avoiding people than attempting to sell anything.

Fortunately for Spamton, Castle Town was a little less capitalistic than Cyber World, and the Card Kingdom darkners weren't prepared for tiny puppets rummaging around in the trash. His only plan was to hopefully see if NEO had been brought here. If the disk was here, then surely the suit itself had to be somewhere, right? He hoped to find it and make it take its damn disk back, or, better yet, take him. In the meantime, Spamton kept trying to remove the disk, but any progress was reversed by severe glitching fits that made him pass out everytime he tried to yank it out. He wanted to bide his time until he could get more information. He also wanted to bide his time in hopes that the perpetual headache and static covering most of his vision would dissipate on its own.

But, something started to…change. The random panel allowing his soul to pop out should've been a dead giveaway, but Spamton wasn't exactly fully aware of his surroundings at this point. Eventually, while scratching at his furiously itchy neck, the shot nerves in his fingers finally registered that there was now fur growing out of his neck. He tried to forcefully rip it out, but the uselessly blunt tips of his fingers had no grip. The strands he did manage to pull out were colored a dark black, lacking the greasy, matted texture of the rest of his hair. The first new growth he's had since his fur and skin had fallen off 20 years ago.

Spamton panicked. After being transformed into a puppet, unrecognizable from what he had once been, the idea of anything more about his body changing against his will scared him. He hated being a puppet, but at least his body had stopped warping at a certain point. Now, though, something was wrong. It wasn't his addison fur growing back; the hair was just as black as his once-dyed-but-now permanently dark hair, forcing its way through his plastic exoskeleton rather than skin. No matter how many clumps he ripped out, it seemed to just grow back. He could feel it spreading, tickling his chin and spilling against his collar as the strands grew longer.

The fur got worse, but Spamton did his best to ignore it, just as he did when he was turning into a puppet. He continued trying to pull the disk out of his SOUL, but that was getting more painful by the day. Spamton also continued to search for NEO, now with the hope that it might reverse whatever was happening. Once long black claws split open his fingertips and new digits wiggled their way out, though, he could no longer ignore it.

The fur wasn't the strangest thing. He did have it as an addison, even if it used to be white. And, he did once have blunt, chewed claws, but not these shiny 2 inch long black talons. Somehow, he could feel that they were only the beginning. He really needed to find NEO; he knew from experience that no doctor could fix a supernatural transformation like this. NEO was the only hope he had when he was turning into a puppet, and it was the only thing he could pray to now. At least it was easier to tear open garbage bags now that he had miniature knives growing out of his fingers.

The fur continued to spread. Trapped underneath his clothes, it became tangled as Spamton ignored it out of spite. An ache, different from the one plaguing his SOUL, spread across his body. He could hear his plastic frame creak as something he couldn't identify slowly grew. One night, curled up inside of the small cave he had started living in, his jaw cracked open and formed new joints at the cheeks. This couldn't be traced to puppet feature or an addison feature. This was something horrifyingly new. As much as he wanted it to be just another nightmare, he was left with no other choice than to adapt to the tender muscles that now attached his mouth to his face. 

It quickly became apparent that the aches he was feeling were a sign of change. His jaw ached, and then it formed new joints. His feet ached, and then claws matching his fingers split them open. His gums ached, and new teeth grew in. His spine ached, and now the tail he lost 20 years ago was starting to grow back.The fact that the ache in his upper back had done nothing but grow worse without anything actually popping out was getting deeply concerning. Whatever was causing the changes, it must've been corrupting his code. He's heard of Cyber World darkners with code so corrupted that tumorous limbs grow out of their body, and the idea terrified him. Could something like that even be cured? Who would actually bother to help him?

It was only a matter of time before the things starting to twitch under his plastic skin broke free. The sickening feeling of something scraping from inside, of being trapped in an ever enclosing box, desperately trying to push against the advancing wall. Spamton curled up in his empty cave. He missed his dumpster’s pillow; all he had now was dead moss. Unaware that he even could control them, the two things trapped under his back tried to flex with each heartbeat of pain. Eventually, two sharp hooks finally cracked through the thinning layer of plastic, and the rest forced its way through. Thin plastic bones, now exposed to the cold air, shakily wrapped around their owner. Spamton passed out with the new pair of bloodied, featherless wings shivering against his tattered suit.

When Spamton woke up, it didn't take him very long to notice the highly sensitive wing bones twitching behind him. And, with his now concerningly flexible neck, he could see them in full detail. Spamton didn't recognize them as wings. Once he found enough water to clean the blood off with, he saw that they were pure white and ball-jointed, just like the rest of him. Well, except for the tiny black spines already growing out of them: pin feathers. He mistook them for more hair. Convinced he had somehow grown a pair of malformed arms out of his back, Spamton was becoming desperate for any sort of cure. He had tried to find NEO using what little energy he had, but Castle Town was dense, and he didn't know where to start looking outside of the castle he was definitely not allowed in. Was it ever going to end? Was he doomed to mutate into an unidentifiable mass of broken code? 

Spamton started picking at the lengthening pin feathers. It was clear they weren't hair, but he didn't want to think about what else the protrusions could possibly be. It had been just a day, and they were already all over the wing bones. Of course, he ended up breaking one, causing black blood to immediately start pouring out. He panicked as he failed to stem the bleeding, eventually trying to summon a healing spell. Static buzzed in his vision as he coughed out a tiny cherub. It was covered in so much of his own blood that it couldn't fly. He pressed the weak thing against the wound, hoping his healing magic would just work already! The cherub finally attempted its only job, and the migraine stabbing into his eye socket grew exponentially as the tiny angel disappeared, leaving a drying bloodstain. Spamton collapsed onto the ground.

(2)

NEO was as unfinished and buggy as the man who merged with it, and it was never designed to execute a task like this. It had been draining all of Spamton's magic reserve in an attempt to reform Spamton NEO again. The healing spell had used up the already extremely little supply he had, and NEO decided to sacrifice part of Spamton's mind for the sake of maintaining its rate of progress. Now forced into power saving mode, Spamton lost most of his ability to think. He began to operate on emotions rather than solid thought. Perpetually hungry from the constant drain of his body growing, all he did was scavenge, eat, and sleep. Anytime he digested something, he curled up in pain as NEO immediately used any energy he gained to continue growing. He had no ability to regain his mind until the transformation ended.

Spamton mostly relied on the instincts he had gained from living on the streets for so long. He avoided any darkners he saw, and would react violently if approached in an attempt to hide his severe weakness. This led to the first cryptid allegations. His glowing eyes (glasses), scruffy body, and extremely distorted yet humanoid face made him stand out to both Cyber World and Card Kingdom darkners. And so, his existence had become a rumor shared between a few. He wasn't a feral animal, but his mannerisms and the fact that he could barely speak even if he tried made him seem like one.

Because Spamton's recent memory had been compromised, he didn't remember what was happening to him and assumed he was just sick. He neglected his fledgling wings as they sprouted down feathers and grew larger, not registering that they even existed outside of angrily scratching at the itchy pin feathers. Because he never exercised them, the weak wings began to limply drag behind him. When the flight feathers grew in, they quickly became shredded from being dragged against concrete. He broke many pin feathers in the process, coated his wings in a layer of sticky blood. While he disliked the heavy “blanket” he thought was covering his back, Spamton decided to mostly ignore it. It wouldn't fall off no matter how hard he tried. Eventually, his increasingly top-heavy build forced him to start crawling on all fours. He became disoriented as the world around him seemed smaller and smaller and his tiny cave, lined with bloody feathers, had turned from an easy fit to a shoulder-scraping doorway. 

As Spamton grew larger, other darkners actually started to fear him. His limp wings made him look much bigger despite the fact that he was perpetually hunched over. Staticky, heavy breaths came out of his voice box as his throat reformed to accommodate NEO's white energy spitting abilities. With his claws and fur, most darkners assumed that he was some sort of beast rather than an actual person. He growled and blindly swiped at anyone that got too close to him, eventually resulting in a blurry photo of his shadowed form making it to the first page of Castle Town's local newspaper. Although his nose and glasses were the only thing that could be made out, Swatch instantly recognized who the “cryptid” was. Though, they naturally assumed the witness account was a bit exaggerated. 

Castle Town was small, and it would only be so long before the two encountered each other. One night, a swatchling taking out the trash was unfortunate enough to find a half-transformed Spamton eating out of the dumpster. Upon recognizing his face, the swatchling tried to enact the usual dumpster puppet removal protocol, but Spamton had nearly doubled in height already and was difficult to scruff. He scratched the swatchling during his wild thrashing, causing them to drop him. He slammed against the dumpster, crumbling into an unresponsive pile of fur and feathers.

When Swatch was called to the scene, he was understandably baffled by the fact that this… thing was Spamton, but the man's head and clothes were clearly attached to it. The lightners had informed Swatch about what had occurred in the basement. From his own personal investigation, Swatch surmised that NEO had been completely destroyed after the fight, as he found no remaining evidence of its existence. And, hearing that the only remnant of Spamton himself was his off brand glasses, Swatch assumed that the man had died alongside it.

Clearly, Swatch's hypothesis was incorrect. And, somehow, Spamtom was even less recognizable as the addison he once was. But, with NEO gone, and an entirely different café under Swatch's management, he wasn't technically required to forcefully remove Spamton from the premises anymore. Swatch really didn't like the guy, but they weren't cruel enough to leave a heavily injured and unconscious man on the concrete.

As a feathered darkner himself, Swatch was appalled by the state of the wings Spamton apparently had now. Covered in a strange mess of adult feathers and dark gray down, tattered fluff shed from his wings like spores. Swatch tried to coax Spamton's wings into folding shut as they half carried / half dragged Spamton inside, but they remained limp, showing the lengthened upper arm portions of the wings and the sharp hooks sprouting at each wrist joint. Every bird-like aspect of his new form was warped, like a failed replica made from memory.

Did Swatch mention that Spamton was covered in his own blood? They were going to have to sanitize the entire building after bringing him in. After half a stack of disposable rags and possibly an entire bottle of disinfectant, Spamton was mostly clean (can't be too sure when his hair and jacket are the same color as his blood), aside from his wings, which appeared to be the source of the majority of the damage. The base of each one was caked in a layer of dried, flaking blood, revealed by two relatively small tears in the back of his jacket. Swatch couldn't imagine shoving feathers through holes that small; no wonder Spamton's wings looked like they had been put through a wood chipper.

The group of fretful swatchlings hovering around them cooed in concern at the sheer amount of broken pin feathers, but Swatch wasn't generous enough to spend several hours preening the monstrosities hanging from Spamton's back. He figured that he should remove the loose feathers, lest their swatchlings had to sweep more crusty Spamton-colored fluff off the floor. As Swatch removed entire clumps from the wings, the muscles underneath twitched in response, but couldn't muster much movement. Well, at least Spamton's wings weren't completely paralyzed.

Eventually, Swatch's persistent touch was too much, and something moved in Spamton's chest before shoving its way past his lapel. It was Spamton's SOUL, cracked and corroded nearly beyond recognition (how was this guy even still alive?), with a very familiar disk lodged through it. Two smaller, disk-less copies of his SOUL popped out, taking turns glaring at them. Oh. That was where NEO went. NEO would explain the fact that his heart(s) could just pop out now. It kind of explained the wings, but all these feathers, claws, and fur must be connected to Spamton himself. Swatch raised their palms and stepped back as the main SOUL snapped at them, the chain rattling noisily. Swatch didn't know how NEO would've reacted to a darkner attempting to use it, but this was definitely not his first guess. Apparently pleased with their submission, the cracked hearts disappeared back into Spamton's chest.

Spamton slumped forward, falling off the bar stool Swatch had placed him on. They half expected him to still be unconscious (did he have a concussion from hitting the dumpster?), but a staticky groan confirmed that he was awake. Swatch tried to question him, but the only response they got was some sort of growl. Spamton shakily rose to all fours, his wings forming a ragged cloak behind him as they dragged. He frantically looked up at the flock of swatchlings around him through pink and green lenses, steam billowing from his jaws as he produced garbled sounds. Spamton charged through the still unlocked back door, clipping his wing on the way out and ripping out another massive chunk of dead feathers. 

Swatch no longer assumed that cryptid witness account was exaggerated. The fact that Spamton hadn't produced a single decipherable word was, for Spamton, a sign that something was very wrong. He had acted like an injured animal. Swatch decided to inform Prince Ralsei about the situation, who was surprisingly relieved that Spamton had been found. Apparently, Spamton had somehow transformed into a pair of glasses, then went missing just a few days later. Ralsei was interested in giving him a room in the castle, since he had technically agreed to help the Heroes of Light.. 

Swatch kept an eye out on behalf of the prince, but it would be a while before they saw him again. Spamton didn't really remember that he had even been there, instead just mindlessly wandering across the streets in search of food. As he got larger, gaining more and more of NEO's strength, the cryptid allegations got worse. He hadn't physically hurt anyone, but if how easily he punched a dent in a dumpster was evidence of anything, he could. The feathers he was leaving behind by now were far larger than could be explained by any normal darkner species; finding the biggest, least damaged feather of Castle Town’s Cryptid was a fun challenge for some darkners. There was plenty to go around, as Spamton was constantly molting and growing more feathers as his body grew. 

Mentally, Spamton hadn't been able to recover. He thought he was still in Cyber City, and was distressed about not recognizing any landmarks. But, with the constant hunger that plagued him, he didn't have time to dwell on it. He still despised the weighted blanket that dragged against the ground and forced him to crawl on all fours. But, he got a migraine anytime he contemplated why the “blanket” was physically stuck to him, or why he could feel how itchy it always was, so he stopped bothering. He was frustrated that his little cave had shrunk; only half his body actually fit in there anymore. The dumpsters here were weirdly small, too. The darkners in general were like… half? a third? of what they were supposed to be. The distress from that thought also gave him a migraine. The shredded remains of his suit were the only bedding he had other than moss and his own feathers.

Of course, Spamton wasn't the only secret-boss-turned-item up and about. Jevil enjoyed joining the heroes of light as the DEVILSKNIFE, but did poke around Castle Town a bit. He was genuinely too tired after the fight to enact too much violence, but not tired enough to not take joy in harassing Spamton once he found him. Jevil hadn't seen Spamton since his big shot days and was very curious about his new near unrecognizable form. Spamton wasn't opposed to slapping Jevil out of the air but wasn't coordinated enough to land a hit. When he got too tired to swat at Jevil, Spamton would (attempt to) ignore Jevil while he played with Spamton's wings. 

Swatch did coincidentally meet Spamton again. They had noticed increasingly large feathers showing up in the streets and on the local news (they did find it hard to believe that someone had actually found an 8 foot long flight feather), but assumed that it was just Spamton's wings developing, not the rest of him. So, Swatch was admittedly startled when he witnessed a much larger Spamton neck deep in their dumpster a month later. Spamton's chest heaved with each breath, his neck twisting backwards until he met them at eye level despite the fact that he was currently quadrupedal. His wings, still pinned to the ground, were longer than the building itself. He grumbled something that almost resembled a sentence, then entered a violent coughing fit, leaking an unhealthy amount of steam. Swatch decided to go back into the café and grab some expired leftovers. They did not want to deal with rotting food spilling into the dumpster because of a certain someone currently ripping the bags open outside. Predictably, Spamton ate everything Swatch threw at him. Swatch couldn't make out what he attempted to say, but they could imagine the sales pitch he was coming up with in an attempt to “trick” them into giving him more. At some point, Spamton keeled over as his body processed the nutrients, NEO in the final stages of forming their combined body. Most of what was left was internal, so Swatch didn't really know what was happening and let him be. Even if they could help, they didn't trust Spamton not to hurt someone when he was this large.

Eventually, the transformation was complete. Without its armor, NEO relied on Spamton's code to form as close to a complete version as it could; Spamton EX. Spamton was alone in his cave when he finally regained his mind. It felt like gradually waking up from a deep sleep, groggily coming to his senses. He first remembered what happened before he entered power saving mode, then…the NEO fight. He had merged, he had gained its power, he used it, it was HIS and—the strings. Everything was so heavy, but he was supposed to be free! A shock down his spine, then… nothing. He thought he was dying, but he woke up, still a broken puppet. That—that damn disk! Taking NEO from him wasn't enough; of course it had to corrupt his code in the process, causing… whatever was happening to him.

Spamton tried to get up, but his center of gravity was completely off. His back ached, but it was a normal ache, not the unnatural one that preceded a transformation. The pain traveled further down the—oh, the disfigured arms that popped out of his back. They could shrivel off for all he cared. Spamton forced his eyes to fully open, then froze at the vertigo that struck him as he saw how far away the ground was. His neck twisted in on itself like a snake as he recoiled, which did nothing but make him want to vomit more. 

Spamton pressed against the cold ground, his deep yet shallow breaths disturbing the feathers littered across the ground. Where did he find those? When did he find those? This was obviously a different cave than the one he passed out in, right? He tried to take a deep breath, but was quickly disturbed by the fact that his lung capacity had somehow tripled. Okay, he had definitely transformed more since the last time he was awake, as much as he would love to pretend he was still asleep. Spamton awkwardly rolled onto his side; he didn't think he could handle trying to sit up again right now. Time to assess the damage.

When Spamton looked over his shoulder, all he could see were feathers, the same color as the ones scattered across the floor. He noticed the random spikes sticking out of the limbs, alongside the long hook at the wrist. The arms he grew; they were wings. Nervously, he tried to move them. They twitched, and he could feel that they were alive and attached, but nothing happened. He tried again and again, but the wings wouldn't move. Spamton grabbed the wing's wrist with his hand, pausing at the sight of his jacket-less arm. He tried folding it in and out with his hand, but the wing refused to hold a pose. Spamton could've spent an hour trying to get the things to move, but all they did was weakly twitch. Just that made him feel like he had sprinted across the entire city twice. 

Spamton couldn't sit there forever. He was unfortunately already growing used to the long neck after fretting over his useless wings for so long, but the height was still an adjustment. The best he could manage was a kneel before the weight of his wings would knock him over. Why had he been given the gift of wings if they couldn't even move? Was it some kind of punishment? They were feathered, like an angel…a gift from NEO? A gift that had been blackened, losing all its color because of him. Him and his broken, broken, broken code, managing to corrupt even the wings of a god. A cruel joke. Can't fly to heaven with paralyzed wings.

He was starving, and what choice did he have but to go back to the disgusting lifestyle he was trapped in? Spamton tried to take a few experimental steps, but his legs shook the moment he took his hands off the ground. A plume of steam escaped his jaws from the effort, and he sputtered at the weird, warm taste. Something unidentifiable in his throat moved independently, and—he really did not want to think about that right now, or the faint trails of steam coming from the vents(?) slashed across his ribs like gills. This transformation was far more than skin deep. Distressed at how much easier it was to walk on all fours with his now digitigrade legs, Spamton hobbled toward the town.

Any progress Spamton made getting used to his new height was destroyed the moment he reached civilization. If he could actually stand up, he would've been taller than some of these damn buildings! He hated being a tiny puppet; it was one of the many reasons he wanted NEO, but he hadn't really considered the logistics. Could he even fit in a dumpster anymore? Not that he'd thought he'd have to hide or scavenge as NEO, but…he was still so weak. No armor, no arm cannon, no phone-hands, no bullets—no wires. That was good! He wasn't strung up anymore! Just dragging around broken wings, unable to support his own body weight, limbs strained from trying to crawl for more than a few minutes—he's fine! He doesn't need the strings, he can live without them, he can, he doesn't need them, he's just…tired. 

Spamton lugged his upper body over the edge of a dumpster, shredding open the bags easily. The long claws poking out of his fingertips were a bit more proportional now that the rest of his hands and arms had grown, but just as sharp. Perhaps it was a good thing he had an external layer of plastic instead of skin; he would've accidentally sliced himself open already if he didn't. Spamton ate his fill, but it barely impacted his hunger. He wondered what time it was as he looked for more dumpsters. Without a color-changing sky-grid for him to look at, it could be 3 am for all he knew. Spamton was still learning where the quietest alleys were in this town, so it wasn't surprising that he almost immediately ran into another darkner; something not from Cyber World that he didn't care to identify. God, they were tiny. He smiled at the fact that he had to look down, not up, to make eye contact. Before they could finish fearfully backing away from him (That was a bit extreme. He wasn't even doing anything!), he decided to be productive and ask for the time. 8pm? Could be worse. He asked if the darkner had any kromer, and, after he said several synonyms, they dropped a good amount of it before sprinting away. Hmmm, this could work. He wanted to be feared as NEO, but in a “groveling at his feet” way, not whatever that was. 

Regardless, the fear meant that Spamton was alone as he embarrassingly adjusted to his new form. He had managed to almost stand up with the assistance of a tree, but had no luck on his own. It was getting a little easier to hold a crouch, but walking was out of the question. The wings were as useless as ever. All they did was respond involuntarily to his emotions, which was uncomfortable to experience. The legs, the size, hell, even the tail wasn't the worst to adjust to, since he had one as an addison. But the wings were completely alien to him. He wouldn't be so frustrated if they didn't hurt and itch all the time! He found out that the hard spines growing throughout his wings housed feathers, but only sometimes. If he tried to force one open, it would start gushing blood. He thought feathers would grow in like hair (those damn swatchlings clearly didn't have quills growing out of them like he did!) but, apparently they were far more complicated than he thought. Regardless of their broken, bloodied state, he lost track of time while using his hand to open and close his wings, mesmerized by the way the feathers fanned and folded. As useless as they were, he couldn't bring himself to hate them.

While looking for food late one night, Spamton stumbled upon a familiar café. He couldn't remember ever being here, yet he somehow remembered that it had a lot of food. The dumpster wasn't too out of the ordinary, but food was food. He nearly choked when he heard Swatch's voice. What the hell was feather duster doing here? Unlike everyone else he'd encountered, Swatch was not fazed in the slightest. They seemed curious about the fact that Spamton seemed coherent now, explaining that he had been… growing for at least a month, unresponsive aside from growls and crawling on all fours. When Swatch disapprovingly pointed out that his wings were still dragging, Spamton bluffed about the fact that he physically couldn't move them. He got defensive when Swatch asked if they could inspect his wings. They bribed him with food that was going to be thrown away anyways, and Spamton reluctantly agreed. He promised to crush Swatch if they tried anything, but Swatch was still frustratingly unaffected by the threat. 

Spamton sat outside, since his wings were absolutely not fitting in there. Apparently Swatch was running a new café not associated with Queen, which admittedly relaxed him a bit. His relaxation was ruined the moment Swatch made it blatantly clear that he was only helping Spamton because Spamton’s wings were disgusting enough to be an insult to all feathered-kind (give or take). Spamton glared intermediately at Swatch, folding his arms like a pouting child as they prodded at his left wing. They asked him to try to move it a few times, inspecting the plastic “bone” of the wing as his muscles tensed and relaxed with no wing movement. They were prodding at the ball joint connecting the wing to his back when their finger suddenly dug into the ball joint’s slit. Spamton yelped, and his wing briefly flapped in response, the gust ruffling Swatch’s feathers. Spamton was torn between yelling at him and trying to get his wing to move again. Swatch said that his theory was that Spamton’s wings were underdeveloped. Assuming Spamton hadn't been using them at all in the past month, the muscles had adjusted to their lack of use and never grown properly. Considering how much Spamton had already grown, he could probably get the wings to develop if he kept exercising them. How the hell was he supposed to exercise if he couldn't even move them!? Spamton was about to storm off when Swatch mentioned that Prince Ralsei was looking for him, as he had prepared a room for Spamton in the castle. Who? Wait…that was one of Kris's friends, right? And, technically the ruler of Castle Town, Swatch pointed out. 

Spamton contemplated it for days before eventually deciding to accept Ralsei's offer. He was a bit suspicious of the kid's generosity, but if Ralsei was stupid enough to give even that damn clown a room, Spamton was going to take full advantage of that naivety. He was way too big for the bed (and the room in general), but it felt like heaven. The Castle had food! And showers! It was the first time Spamton had seen his face since… before he met Kris, actually. The green lens was new. The same bright, acid green as the wires. He thought it was a weak connection, but as he washed away the dirt caked in his joints, he could see them. Green veins, trailing through the gaps between his ball joints, spread across his entire body, pulsing with faint light. Leading to the interior of his chest panel, traveling up the chain of his SOUL, and illuminating the broken eye socket of his heart, the socket that corresponded with the green lens. The very fiber of his being had been permanently altered, his own blood traveling through NEO's wires. It wasn't his, no; he was it.

After the topic was awkwardly brought up, Ralsei made him a green sweater. Well, Spamton assumed it was custom made, because it was baggy even for him and had wing holes in the back. He was hoping that it would stop darkners from thinking he was some kind of animal. He was well aware of his “return to fame” as a cryptid, and hoped to move past it. Actually getting the knit sweater on was another ordeal, as his limp wings were not very helpful. He snagged his claws damn near every time he touched it, and tried filing them down to more manageable blunt tips. The claws grew back to their full length the next day. Apparently, NEO didn't understand how hair and nails work, as it regenerated anything he trimmed to its original unruly length as soon as possible.

Spamton was a little more comfortable leaving the castle once he had gotten better at walking. He was still hunched over enough to look like a velociraptor, but at least he was back to being bipedal. His wings were actually getting better! Most of their movement was involuntary (he refused to listen to Swatch’s advice to exercise them), but that was enough to stimulate growth. Each wing joint could actually manage a few degrees of motion. But, they were still constantly itchy and in pain. Spamton tried washing all the dirt and blood off of them, but having waterlogged wings somehow made him feel even worse. No matter how many he ripped out, loose feathers would follow him anywhere he went, since NEO regenerated them as fast as it regenerated fur and nails. 

Desperate (because he completely refused to speak to Swatch), Spamton summoned one of his F1 angels in an attempt to study it. He was a little nervous, considering what happened the last time he produced one, but it came out perfectly normal, if not confused when it saw what its creator now looked like. Spamton made it sit in his palm while he observed the way its pristine wings folded across its back. He gingerly pulled its wings open with two claws, watching how they opened and closed. He was tempted to destroy the angel after it started biting at his fingers in response, but decided to keep it around for observational purposes. He used his hands to manually fold his own wings closed, surprised at how much better they felt. Perhaps he should've expected it, but the tiny angel he kept didn't know how to keep its wings clean, either. The feathers he accidentally plucked out of it showed no signs of regrowing, and the leftover feathers looked progressively worse by the day, so he eventually put the thing out of its misery. 

As one could imagine, learning how to properly fold his wings and making an active effort to keep them from dragging on the ground quickly improved their health. His involuntary twitches became actual flaps. His wings started to naturally bend when he wasn't actively extending them. And, finally, they could support their own weight. He did it! He had fully functioning wings! He could finally fly too—he experienced a new terror—what if he couldn't actually fly? The shredded mess of feathers attached to each wing hadn't actually generated enough lift when he tried to ascend. Even if they were in perfect condition, was it enough?

In the meantime, Spamton tried to go back to selling junk. Capitalism still ran through his veins, whether those veins were green wires or not. He wasn't actively using the fear factor to get more kromer—okay, he might've been taking advantage of it a little bit. These cowards deserved it for treating him like filthy trash for decades! He's finally BIG. Let him enjoy it a little bit! Now he gets to be the one picking up little slimes by the scruff. He found (cornered) some Card Kingdom darkner who made clothes and asked (threatened) them to make him blazer in his size. And, because they weren't some petty addison, he actually (scammed) paid them! He needed something Spamton-y, not just a green sweater. This wasn't the comeback special he had planned for NEO, but he was starting to enjoy it. He always had food and a place to sleep, even if he didn't make any sales. But, he actually was making sales (scamming people)! And he was doing it all by himself, no strings required! What else could he want? He… he wasn't lonely. He doesn't need friends…

For absolutely no reason in particular at all of course Spamton decided to spend some of his new funds at Swatch's café. He just needed to rub it in their face how great he was doing, yeah. After definitely not struggling to fit his shoulders through the doorway, Spamton made the elective decision to sit on the floor rather than try and fit on a chair. He smugly flared his wings (once everyone found an excuse to leave the moment they saw him), but accidentally bashed them into the walls. To Spamton's chagrin, Swatch was not impressed whatsoever. They couldn't understand how he was fine keeping his wings in such a disgusting state. Hey! He washed them! H–his wings are fine! Swatch realized that they were getting nowhere by insulting him, so they asked Spamton if he knew how to preen his wings.

Preen? Spamton just said he was cleaning them! Daily, in fact, with how many loose feathers he had to pull out. Swatch tried to explain that it was more than that. He demonstrated with his own arm, showing how the feathers had to be arranged and layered, especially for flight. Spamton pretended he wasn't highly invested as he finally ordered the drink he came here for. He sat in the furthest corner, frowning as he looked at his own wings. Because his mere presence was driving away customers, Swatch could easily see that Spamton was trying to mimic what they did with their own feathers. They still weren't friends, but they could respect him if he was going to make actually paying for his food a habit. They would hate to see NEO's potential go to waste because of user error.

Okay, fine, he'll admit that bird brain knew more about feathers than he did, and his wings were looking better now. But, god, why did they need so much damn maintenance? He signed up for a mech suit, not this. Alas, now that his wings didn't look and feel like moldy shower curtains, Spamton knew the next step: flight. He summoned another angel to study. The laws of physics did apply to it at least somewhat, so it was a good starting point. He was back on the rocky outskirts of Castle Town, so he really didn't want to fall. He was nervous, but, now that he finally had a full set of flight feathers, it was possible. Probably. He hoped.

He cried the first time he truly flew. He was clumsy, constantly changing altitude, and practically crashed when he tried to land, but it was euphoric. It felt like the sky was where he was meant to be all along. The thought that he could fly straight up to heaven crossed his mind, but he knew he couldn't. He'd suffocate, or he'd run out of energy long before he reached it. But, he got a taste of the sky. Just enough to indulge, more than enough. It was beautiful.

Spamton has settled in the castle. He finds any excuse he can to go out flying, as it's easily his new favorite hobby. The novelty of scaring people into giving him money has worn off, but he'll never not enjoy scamming people out of money. He's still a spam program at heart, no matter how much his code has been changed. Outside of his exterior changes, Spamton kept NEO'S ability to spit white fireballs in the shape of his face, which is the root cause of the steam that leaks out of him whenever he's frustrated or has overexerted himself. He has three hearts, his own SOUL and the two smaller ones from NEO, that support his larger form. And, of course, the wires are now threaded through his body, powered by his own life-force. Spamton is definitely still lonely. Despite all his faux confidence, he's nervous around darkners both new and old, and keeps to himself when he isn't selling something. His life is far from perfect, and his deep-rooted issues haven't gone away, but he's more content, safer, then he ever has been. He just wishes that people would stop bringing up the whole “cryptid” thing. He'd rather forget that ever happened.

END

I hope that was an enjoyable read! Originally, I kind of forced myself to make a Spamton EX when chapter 2 came out, because everyone else was doing it. But, he wasn’t that fun to draw and didn’t have any story associated with him. It took me a while to come up with the idea for a “cryptid” Spamton EX, and even longer to create a story/setup I liked. I didn’t know whether to make him gremlin sized, comically large, or something in between (I think you can tell from the 41 ft wingspan which one I picked). I also wasn’t sure whether he should be completely unaware of his transformation until the end or mentally suffering the entire time. A mutual of mine suggested “why not both,” which led me to the final story here. Hooray! Maximum Spamton suffering!

I did try to make a happy ending, but it's hard to do that with a character like Spamton without making a multi-novel length fanfiction. He’s still very lonely, but he gets to fly so eh, he’ll probably be fine. I choose not to include the addisons at all, since my other AU (Wormton) is so focused on them. And, idk how to feel about the canon addisons considering that they seemingly knew that Spamton was both homeless and puppetified. I at least mentioned Jevil, but I’m honestly not sure how much he cares about Spamton, since all we know is that Spamton hates him and Spamton hates everyone he used to know, sooo… I didn’t plan for Swatch to be as prevalent, but Spamton definitely needed someone who actually knew how to care for feathers. I’m not a Swatch expert, but hopefully they aren’t crazy out-of-character or anything. 

THIS WAS FUN! HAHAHA I LOVE TRANSFORMATION HORROR A VERY NORMAL AMOUNT

[autistic-sidestep]

while i was writing up the wiki article for the heartbreak incident (yes i've been working like a maniac on the wiki) i figured out why sidestep has the burning hair smell and blood in their mouth when they get super stressed out, they're having functional seizures (and auras)!

i didn't actually understand how sidestep could have seizures while not being epileptic, but then i found out that's still possible. anyways, sometimes people smell burning hair or other phantom smells when they're about to have a seizure, and burning hair in particular is a stress scent for sidestep. you can also bite your tongue during a seizure.

they (almost always) trigger when sidestep's facing something very traumatic eg:

the final hb flashback in rebirth (and malin confirmed they're having a seizure in their sleep for the december 2023 qna)

[i]Around you, the apartment shrinks into focus, the hallway ejecting you into the living room. A small, dead space, smelling of feet and antiseptic.[/i] (And burning hair.)

when they wake up in their body at the gala debut, they have the burning hair smell and the taste of blood in their mouth

"It takes a moment to tap in the right sequence, bringing the armor to life; green numbers scroll across the corner of your vision. You can taste metal on your tongue as you feel the Rat King cozy up against your hindbrain, the telltale stench of burning hair tickling your nose as the nanovores contained inside your glove come alive.

triggers if you fuck up setting off the sword of damocles left in argent's head during the bridge fight if you didn't already trigger it in rebirth

("You can feel their thoughts wrap themselves around yours, tugging at you, and you obey, falling back in their grasp, falling back in your body, gasping in pain as you're greeted by what must have been a seizure.")

release the catastrofiend in chapter 19 at the auction (even as the puppet it will trigger) or chapter 20 (mortum shoots you with the disintregun)

end up seeing chen's version of the heartbreak events while attempting to dethread him when you ask him to help you find the threads with too low friendship.

"What…happened?" Things start coming back, uneasy things, terrible memories. You must have blacked out again. Running on empty, too tired, and Chen's mind was a lot tougher to work with than you imagined. "You started seizing up. I was about to call an ambulance when…" His voice drifts off, and you can see it in his eyes. No ambulance. He wouldn't have. Not this time.

it's also possible that this is a defense mechanism against telepathic intrusion

[Ortega's immunity against telepathy as an epileptic] has something to do with the electrical storms in the brain that cause the seizures; there is enough static in there to make it nearly impossible to read ${his} mind. Or in this case, be influenced from the outside.

dunno how well this works if HB is riding shotgun inside their brain though. these moments are often (but not always) accompanied by sidestep's scar level increasing and/or a gate being opened

notably, rat king is Scared of you

    You must have had a panic attack. You're five blocks away from the casino; you've walked past your pickup point. Is anybody following you? Your head is hurting too badly to scan for it. Instead, you try to jog the Rat King to life, finding…     Nothing?     You stop, a cold shiver down your spine, checking the life support…still green. Still alive. They are still alive. Your worried wave of concern prompts a small, questioning reply.       [i]A tiny squeak. Barely.[/i]     Are you okay? Are you? The answer is no, the Rat King is…terrified. Of you? No. Not anymore. That doesn't make sense.

so it might've been the imposter (or heartbreak?) briefly taking the wheel.

also, food for thought, from yoinking carter's memories.

    It's hard to keep mental shields up under torture. You should know.     You do know.     Your helmet disguises the twitch on your face as you kneel down and take hold of Carter's face. Physical contact is not needed, but it makes it easier to focus.     Pain makes it easy to slip inside because that's the brain's priority alarm. Unlike panic, which can shut things down, or fear, which can lock things into loops, pain opens everything up. All the gates. All the hidden rooms. Enough pain, and it's impossible to focus on anything but, leaving defenses crumbling and hidden secrets crawling out.

[flickeringquip]

Convince the Fighter abstinence is bad for his health. There may be consequences(?) <<

A text continuation of this post, feat. @thedolmainblog's Blythe (shamelessly self-indulgent smut below the cut)

Your lips meet Blythe's a bit more forcefully than you intended, but you don't let that slow you down. You take advantage of his gasp to swipe your tongue against his own, hoping to entice him into responding.

Your knuckles turn white as your grip tightens on his shirt; you don't have a back-up plan to speak of, and frankly you're not sure you'd ever be able to look him in the eyes again if he shoves you away—

(1) And then he does move, but it's certainly not away.

In what feels like barely a few blinks, you find your positions almost completely reversed. You hear wood crack as it's kicked out of the way and internally thank your trusty crate for its service—

A firm thigh pushes between your own as warm hands slide over your ass with a squeeze, and then you get a taste of your own medicine as it's your gasp that's taken advantage of, this time.

(1) You don't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't quite this.

This being how you're pinned firmly to the concrete wall behind you, weight supported by the leg slotted between your own and the hands on your ass as every shift and squirm finds you inadvertently grinding down against Blythe's thigh — and making the most dreadfully embarrassing little noises that are only mostly muffled by the Fighter's own lips against your own.

Already you can feel the desire pulsing in your middle, can feel the heat building between your thighs with each of your little shifts and squirms, each squeeze of Blythe's hands as he kisses you like a man possessed.

(1) It's only when you break the kiss, feeling like you can't quite get enough air, that his attention shifts.

Those same lips trail down to your throat as his hands slide up to take a firmer hold of your hips — and this time there's nothing to muffle the moan that startles out of you when he sucks a bruising mark over your pulse and grinds you down harder against his thighs.

His echoing groan rumbles through you like a physical touch, tension winding hot and fast in your middle as Blythe guides your hips into a rolling rhythm against his leg — and fuck if the easy way he moves you doesn't make you burn all the hotter.

You lose a bit of time, then, losing yourself in the all-consuming onslaught of his affections. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and leaves you utterly unable to focus on anything other than him—

(1) Which leaves you caught entirely off-guard when you suddenly find yourself only scant seconds away from cumming.

"Blythe—" Your fingers fist tighter into his shirt, the only part of your positions that has remained the same, a shivery note to your voice you're unfamiliar with as your thighs squeeze around his own, not even aware of the faint quiver working its way down your spine, "W-wait a sec, I, I'm—"

Blythe, who most certainly did notice your little tremble, the way your breath begins to catch in your throat, the heat he can feel through both of your trousers—

"Cum," The order is as demanding as it is desperate, all but growled into your ear as he presses even closer, tilting your hips until the next roll of them has you loosing a stuttered cry, every inch of you going taut as a bowstring in his grasp, "Aster, cum."

(1) And really, what can you do but listen?

Pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave, and you're only dimly aware of the lips slanting over yours to muffle noises you hadn't even realized you could make. Your body moves of its own volition, hips rocking jerkily against Blythe's thigh as you ride out your orgasm with mindless intent until you're finally spent.

You collapse against the Fighter's chest like a puppet with her strings cut, trembling all over as you try and catch your breath in the wake of such unexpected intensity. Just above you, Blythe makes a noise that nearly sounds pained, and it's jarring enough to have you lifting your cheek from his collar to peer up at him in somewhat bleary concern—

And then you're being moved again, faintly trembling hands no less strong as they hoist your legs up around his waist. You can't help but fidget, and Blythe responds by taking another half-step closer, leaving you pinned flush between him and the wall — and entirely unable to miss the firm bulge that grinds into your still-sensitive sex, hot enough to make you whine even through the layers of cloth between the two of you.

(1) "Again."

Time blurs again. You try to cling to your composure, but it's a battle you lose laughably quick when every rock of Blythe's hips sends frissons of heat shocking through you. The high-pitched little noises - nearly mewls - have you flushing bright enough to rival your hair, but it's blessedly easy to ignore, because—

Blythe seems fixated on wringing another orgasm from you just like this, grinding into you with laser-focused intensity, adapting real time to what pulls the best noises from you. Normally you'd feel a little bad at your lack of participation, but honestly it's all you can do to hang on for the ride, what with how determined the Fighter is on driving pesky little things like thoughts out of your head.

(1) Your next orgasm leaves you twice as breathless and shaky as the last, and you only just catch the muttering coming from above you.

"Not here, not here," Blythe all but chants the words, and the fingers flexing against your hips are your only warning before you find yourself plucked away from the wall, arms slipping instinctively around his neck as Blythe walks with a single-minded focus to. . . Somewhere? You get your answer when you find yourself set gently down upon a leather seat. It's Blythe's motorcycle; you've seen him on it a handful of times, but you've never been on one before. He hands you a helmet, waiting a little impatiently for you to put it on, and you're in enough of a daze from your unexpected - and successive - climaxes that you do so without even really thinking about it. He tightens it for you before getting on himself, reaching back to pull your arms around his waist, guiding you grab your opposite wrists before looking over his shoulder with a look caught somewhere between stern and feverish. "Hang on tight." (1) Why did no one tell you motorcycles vibrated so much?

End of Pt. 1(?)

[reyrapidsbutgayer]

Ranking all Elden Ring Base Game NPCs by Fuckability. PART 4 of 4 THE TOP 10 MOST FUCKABLE

Why are we here just to suffer? Tumblr has a 30 image limit and there are 91 characters to get through. Don't blame me, blame @azothinc

[PART 1 (91-66) | PART 2 (65-37) | PART 3 (36-11) | PART 4 (Top 10)]

Time for the top 10 finalists, place your last bets now. I think it's obvious what my preferences are.

#10: Millicent

Pros: Badass Valkyrie warrior woman. Cons: Is rotting a little, but not a deal breaker

Reasoning: What is there to say? She's cool, she's tough, she's honorable, she has the pride to hold onto herself even in death. She fights by our side, she sees us an equal. She has just a hint of crazy in her, but not enough to end up killing me. She's like a travel sized Melania but less likely to stab me with anything I don't consent to being stabbed with. Peak lesbian warrior woman, I am down on my knees for her. For sexual purposes? To propose? Why not both?

#9: Iron Fist Alexander

Pros: Perfection personified. Cons: Technically not fuckable.

Reasoning: I don't think Alexander is capable of sex. When it comes to livign Jar biology, the clay seems to be their actual body. The innards are kinda incidental. They can seemingly removed and add them as they see fit, and can exist just fine without them.

Alexander wouldn't want to engage in sex even if offered. He'd probably laugh and say something like "Ah ha! I've heard of this sort of thing between you and your compatriots. A melding of flesh and emotion as it were? Ha ha! Not unlike our innards I bet! I wouldn't bother with such behavior, it's unbecoming of a warrior such as I. Besides, that kind of melding seems to be far less permanent than ours."

However, I am certain that he would let me fuck someone else inside him. He wouldn't even bat an eye, he'd just enjoy the experience of two warriors bonding inside him. "Quite a display of trust to include me in such an intimate little tarry! Hah ha! How wondrous!"

#8: Lunar Princess Ranni

Pros: Mean Sexy Evil Witch Lady Who Kills God Cons: "Are we the baddies?"

Reasoning: I didn't want Ranni to end up this high on the list. She technically can't have sex since she is a doll puppet, and doesn't seem particularly interested anyway.

But I mean... she's the daughter of Radagon and Rennala, two of the horniest most bisexual characters in the entire FromSoft catalogue. (only surpassed by Marika, who is also Radagon.)

If she was in her original red-haired 8 foot tall body, she would literally clench and rip your dick off in a millisecond. She'd bend you over and fuck you so hard your spine would be curled into a pretzel.

No matter how fuckable she was in the past, we have to come to terms with the fact that she is pretty evil. She gets a lot of innocent people killed in her "ends justify the means" methodology. (Her means are pretty good, I mean, killing the Greater Will benefits literally everybody.) But we can't overlook just how many innocents she tramples underfoot. She allies with Rykrad, abuses Albinaurics, and creates the Deathblight plague in her attempt to escape her fate.

It's gonna happen, she's gonna rearrange your guts like an origami calendar no matter what you do. So you might as well steer into the skid.

#7: Fia, The Deathbed Companion

Pros: Enjoys some good warm, lifely vigour Cons: Skeleton Skeleton Skeleton Skeleton Skeleton

Reasoning: Fia is rather complex. She supports the downtrodden, cares for those who need her, and seeks to reshape the word into a kinder place...

But she is also full of bugs. And skeletons. And the lifely vigour of many champions. And you are next.

She is a huge creep, but she fucks so good she brings back the dead. You are legally obligated to obey her and partake in the sweet nectar of the Baldachin Blessing at least once before you become a skeleton, even if it results in you becoming a skeleton way faster than anticipated.

#6: Latenna the Albinauric

Pros: Loyal Companion, Loves Dogs Cons: None, don't you dare say otherwise.

Reasoning: Weirdly enough, Latenna won out against a LOT of other NPCs. She's just a good person with genuinely no faults. Is that boring? Or marriage material? I know my answer. She hates Gideon, she loves dogs, she wants to put a birthing droplet (cum) in Phillia. We have so much in common it's crazy.

#5: Rennala, Queen of the Fullmoon

art credit: @chaospyromancy https://www.tumblr.com/chaospyromancy/679194108441608192/rennala-took-the-dog-in-the-divorce?source=share

Pros: Giant depressed bisexual witch lady Cons: Extremely Divorced

Reasoning: Rennala is the poster child for sexual prowess in the Land's Between. Literally the only feasible way for Radagon to trade up was to marry himself. She can rip a hole in a man's bussy from 50 meters away, and that's WHILE she is depressed.

In her prime, there wouldn't even be a list, because she would have fucked everyone else to death already.

#4: Sorceress Sellen

Pros: Mean, Heretic, Creepy, Crazy Cons: Mean, Heretic, Creepy, Crazy

Reasoning: I really didn't expect her to get this high in the rankings. Sellen is mean, she has committed war crimes, she probably holds the same racist beliefs towards albinaurics and misbegotten that the rest of the Carians do, and she made me kill an old man in silly pants.

But I can't say no to her. Could you? My fist has been inside her soul, that's a bond you can't break even after being smashed into a giant ball of screaming mages.

She is the toxic ex who keeps hitting you up whenever your life is finally back on track, only to ruin it the moment she leaves your bedroom. And you'd do it again happily, no matter how many times it happens.

#3: Patches

Pros: He's Patches Cons: He's Patches

Reasoning: There was originally a different NPC for #3, but Patches stole the position, sorry about that.

Even still, you are already fucking Elden Ring characters. You aren't a real fan if you don't make an exception for him. He's slightly below average in terms of sexual prowess, but I mean... You have to try it out at least once.

#2: Nepheli Loux

Pros: Everything Cons: Nothing

Reasoning: Nepheli is the most morally upstanding character in Elden Ring. She fights for the little guy, she questions her own morals, she tells Gideon to go blow himself, she apologizes to her enemies, she upholds the values and traditions of a vanished civilization.

Plus she is fucking ripped, and is as close to banging Hoarah Loux you can get while managing to survive afterwards. There are more compelling characters, more dangerous characters with more dynamic sexual aspects, but Nepheli has literally no drawbacks as a partner. She's more of a hero than the player is, and that's honestly a sexier quality than most people give it credit for.

Is she is a little bit sad? You fool, you absolute fool. Give her a bird and she will come back as a fucking Queen of an entire kingdom.

She's the #1 sexiest Elden Ring Character for a reason. If given the choice between every other NPC, she is the obvious choice and always-

what do you mean I miscounted? She isn't #1? Well the. who the hell is?

#1: Miriel, Pastor of Vows

Pros: Turtle Pope Cons: Not even gonna consider any.

Reasoning: Not even in a sexual way. He's ascended beyond the need for sex.

But he is our pastor, and all of the NPCs I marry on this list will be officiated by this Turtle. And the consummation of all those marriages will also occur directly in front of him at his request. "All things yearn to be conjoined" indeed.

Rapid-fire list of all the NPC's I'd actually want to marry:

Nepheli Loux

Latenna

Millicent

Yura

Boggart

Melina

Diallos

Blaidd

Roderika

(all of the Valkyrie sisters)

Rogier

Rya

Kalé

Hewg

Boc

Thops

I've noticed that this list was definitely influenced more by "are they a good enough person to justify sex" rather than strictly just "are they hot?" I guess it's because I genuinely don't find jerks attractive. That might be a healthy mentality, but then again I also made these posts, so stable mental health isn't really something I can claim with much confidence right now.

And it is finished... I can't believe I wrote all of this (i mean I can, i just don't like it.)

If this gets enough likes and reblogs I'll... I don't know, rank all the spirit summons by how long they would survive squid game, or be able to catch Kira, or which degree they would get if they went community college. I'll figure it out when I figure it out.

<- Part 1 <- Part 2 <- Part 3

[serxinns]

Hero's await but a deadly fate...

Yandere villian au x reader (potential series?) This is a rewritten verison

A/n note: this is a rewritten and sort of continuation to the story "Heros vs villains" by @Msmimianime all the credit amd concept go to her so please support! They're making new stories!

Summary: y/n is a pro hero in her early 20s a few years ago she found out about her classmates, teachers, and even some of the students has been in on this as well and working with the LOV!! and now a few years later you are the guardian of Eri by the hero commission and also hide from your past and a bunch of psychopaths!!

Wake up....

You kept running with a crying distressed 6-year-old sobbing in your back wondering what was going on... you trying to ignore the protest from your classmates and running by the confusing teachers seeing you run but quickly chasing after you

Wake up..

your head turned back seeing your former classmate and friend Izuku and his gang who were also your former classmates chasing after you begging you to stop and let them explain their selves your teachers their quicks to retrain you midnight with her smoke, Aizawa desperately aimed his capture weapon towards the two of you and mic telling you to stop but you didn't listen to anything they had to say you just had one goal to run to the police..

WAKE UP

"Nagh!!" You bolted up awake you saw Eri already in her school uniform glaring at you "Uh...I'm sorry.?" "You have been twisting and turning in your bed for the past 30 minutes! We got 20 mins or I'll be late" Eri puffed her cheeks out "Sorry bud I'll get ready in a jiffy" You ruffled her head and went past her to get your clothes and take a quick shower "You had that dream didn't you?" You stopped in your tracks in silence looking back to Eri worried and concerned with a soft smile "Yeah..I'll probably take something of these nightmares don't stop" you said as you walked down the hall to take a shower

After a quick shower, you quickly put on your shoes and your work uniform made breakfast for Eri and you, and went out the door and into the car...

Timeskip cause I want to

When you to work a few people stared at you with pity and confusion and worry you were confused why until you looked at the news "The famous hero known as "a puppeteer" died at the hands of the villain Izuku Midoriya and his group called the "Dekusquad" at the back of the alley in the most brutal way to go too!" You flinched when you heard those names and pictures pop up on the screen

Ochako uraraka

Asui Tsuyu

Tenya iida

Shoto Todoroki

Momo yaoyorozu

Izuku Midoriya

You stared in fear knowing that they were still out there free...ready to get their hands on you ... watching "y/n.."...waiting.her .."y/n!" Taunting you like you were some kid and waiting to nab you and snatch you-"y/n! You finally snapped out of it looking around and it was your co-worker and good friend Mirko "you ok kiddo?" She looked at you concerned "yea yea! I'm fine I'm fine!" Her worried expression quickly turned into a smile "Great! Cause me and you have a new mission we're gonna do and it involves catching dangerous villains tomorrow"

"...what?" "Yep! These villains have been killing heroes from left to right" She dropped the files of each villain their crimes, the place they've been and went to when they killed their victims and victims' bodies evidence, and more each of them having the names you knew very well unfortunately

Katsuki bakugo

Kirishima eljirou

Mina ashido

Denki Kaminari

Sero hanta

Jirou kyouka

"They also have a group..?" "Yes a group just like the "dekusquad" are apparently and it seems like most of your former classmates and teachers, the most powerful 3rd years, and even some of the 1b teachers and his students, and the LOV is also associated with this as well.." You grabbed every file to observe to see if what Mirko said was all true and a sudden chill went up your spine.

Seeing all the names and pictures of your once best friends and mentors being monsters and people becoming their victims all because of your "protection" in their vocabulary, you flipped over each page on each file seeing the names "Mei hastune, Hitoshi Shinso, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, Ibara Shiozaki, Aizawa Shouta, midnight, thirteen, present mic, and more it was so disturbing.. so sickening that they would do this just for you!?

The paper you were holding was crumbling up in your grip shaking in anger confusion in frustration you didn't know why. Why would they do this to you why are they hurting innocent people just for your thoughts and questions were running through your head "y/n.." Mirko grabbed your shoulder and looked at you sympathetically

"You know why don't you go home for the day it's already close to closing time.." Mirko said, "No really I do I can help nothing bothering me!" "Are you sure? Cause this seems like a very dangerous mission and you're already a tar-" "No I can do it im mentally and physically capable plus I trained with you and Hawks right beside me right?" The bunny hero sighed and looked straight at your face "I'll think about it but please get some rest.. tomorrow PLENTY OF IT" you chuckled and rolled your eyes at her stern tone "fine fine!"

You went out the door in your car humming to yourself unaware that an certain someone was watching you giggling to herself with cat like eyes

[thr0wnawayy]

A few weeks ago someone in my inbox asked me what I thought of AFO and of I ever thought he was a proper villain.

My answer is simple: he was.

At first AFO was a mentor. where All Might struggled to teach, AFO excelled.

Always finding a way to turn every play into a learning opportunity.

He allows for the USJ to heppen so he can Tomura "show" that collaboration is important, he uses Stain's rejection to teach Tomura that he has to use tact. He uses the Training Camp to prove that there is strength in numbers

AFO always thinks ahead, he learns from his mistakes and that makes him deadlier than the HPSC could ever hope to be.

The Nomu are a great example of this, the USJ Nomu was a great start, although I suspect it was designed to fail. It served as an excellent display of what a Nomu could be.

The Hosu Nomu failed because of a lack of armour and variety, so AFO made the Forest Nomu better.

The Forest Camp Nomu is seen wearing a helmet and has multiple quirks to account for it's blindspots.

The Forest Nomu failed due to a lack of awareness and intelligence, so Hood was designed specifically for his intelligence and his strength as to not be caught of guard.

(I suspect AFO left some notes for the doctor)

The Nomu came back stronger each time, the data collected was building up towards an optimized specimen( which we were supposed to see with the Finalized High Ends)

Each and every time AFO let Shigaraki use the Nomu, he was killing two birds with one stone.

Additionally, he supports Tomura while not smothering gum

Letting Tomura learn from his own experience (be it successes or failures) and forcing Tomura to learn restraint.

He prevents him from lashing out at any one individual (like he did w Kurogiri) by forcing him to actually work with his teammates.

AFO makes Tomura reflect on why he failed, he encourages Tomura's ventures constantly and gives him advice.

These are hallmarks of someone who wants to see their student succeed.

If that's not enough then there are two lines that solidify AFO'S original character:

The line that really settles me however, is this:

"Just When Tomura had begun to think for himself "

If Shigaraki really were just a puppet from the start, why would AFO go to all the trouble of guiding for him, teaching and training him. Letting him build a legacy of his own and support him.

Why would he hire Giran, after all it will all be for naught, so why waste resources?.

The simple answer is to blame Hori and inability to stay consistent in anything. (In the business we call this, having no fucking spine)

His Character

AFO's terror lay in his simplicity. Like AM, AFO is a man with a goal and he has the means to achive it, something he had worked for decades to achieve.

This is best demonstrated in his early mannerisms.

AFO never lies, he uses metaphors and technicalities to his advantage.

In the prison scene, he never lies about his goal, which was simple. Take out All Might with as a symbol and threat, while also getting Tomura to leave the nest.

He is also a show man, holding out on Tomura's history and turning his retirement into a spectacle to land a critical flow on his nemesis.

He's a master strategist, being able to predict the current state of society within his cell. He took everything AM loved, even going as far as to turn Tenko's tragedy into a triumph and spat on hero society in the process.

In short, AFO was the villain and when All Might walked out those doors, AFO was as good as dead.

The Downfall

Later, everything I mentioned was stripped and what we are left with is a gutted out husk, a shambling mockery of the genius we once knew.

After season 3, AFO might as well be dead because the leech that takes his place was probably the final nail in MHA's rapidly flooding coffin.

AFO goes from being a legitimate threat, a true symbol of evil. Someone so fearsome, that his mere presence causes visions of one's own death.

To a LARPer who's got as much depth as a kiddie pool, evil for the sake of evil.

From Symbol of Evil to (ugh) 'Demon Lord'.

This character is so far removed that I've taken to calling it 'The Husk'. As to me, AFO is canonically dead*.

This emptiness is even displayed in his musical themes

Where 'The Power of AFO' only needs a few simple instruments and hooks to instill dread, 'All For One Prime' falls flat.

The Power of AFO is dread inducing and it knows it. The song itself feels alive, like an unfathomable evil making it's presence known.

It reflects it's "master" with ease. It is dark, sophisticated and unlike any other piece heard in the series, it is quiet.

True power doesnt need to say it is powerful, it shows it through it's actions. Real power stays in the shadows

Meanwhile AFO Prime is lacking.

It's grandeous and "lighter" but that's it, beyond that it is hollow. Ironically representing what Hori did to MHA.

The theme is nice but ultimately uninspired, causing it to ring hallow when coupled with a failing plot that is speeding towards it's quiet demise.

Few more thing's before I check out.

Why the fuck did they change AFO's eyes.

It completely ruined the parallels between AFO, Tomura and Eri, while also the unspoken lore of:

Quirks that deviate from both their parents often share the group traits of (red eyes, white hair).

You know what fuck it, Red Eyed AFO is Canon, Hori can suck it.

Secondly I have a theory for why AFO had such a stark shift in personality (outside of Hori's bullshit)

From My Notes:

When AFO was defeated and saved by the Doctor, he remained in a coma for 2 years, regenerating the missing tissue and brain matter.

This stopped the brain damage and deterioration from getting worse (sort of putting it in stasis), however upon being defeated by AM again at Kamino, the brain damage was aggravated and began to slowly break down his metal state, causing him to become increasingly delirious overtime.

Due to Tartarus' less then ethical treatment and safety protocols, as well as the brainwave scanner not being designed to detect which issues. The issue went untreated, by the time Shigaraki broke into Tartarus, AFO was long lost to mania. So much so he failed to remember his own background and the orgins of those around him.

(Hence the change from Symbol (Pre Kamino, Menacing, Intelligent) of Evil to Demon Lord,)

[explaining why he didn't take Overhaul and why he changed from passing the torch to parasite in "canon" and why he was so out of character (idiotic)] Also explaing the lore inconsistencies throught the later chapters.

Just some food for thought.

[lisenberry]

Ngl I feel like price has a size kink… he loves how big his hands look splayed across your waist. His hand completely encompassing the nape of your neck!!!! Don’t get me started on how tight you feel around his thick fingers….

I apologize. That sound you heard was my brain screeching to a halt and coherent thought leaving me for a few days as I pictured John's hand on your hip. 

Nsfw. Smutty smut smut. Bossy, handsy Price.

His fingers gripped you dead center, just above your pubic bone.  His thumb circled around to graze the opposite polarity.  Massaging deep circles where your ass met your spine.

You'd never thought of yourself as small.  No one ever called you 'little' or commented that you would fit so nicely over their knee.  Not until him.

Not until you watched from the mirror above the cold, stainless steel sink as his other massive paw circled your neck.  He made you feel like a doll.  A toy.  A mouse trapped in the jaws of a great beast.

"Just for me, aren't you?"  He raked teeth and stubble along your cheek.  "I need one more."

"No, I c--can't.  Not again."

You were boneless now, even more pliable under his strength.  The hand at your neck trailed lower, and your head rolled back against his shoulder without its support.

"Can't?  Of course, you can.  I've got you."

It didn't stop, only paused to cup your breast.  There was a primal hitch in his breath as he admired the way he could cover it all.  A stiff, darkened peak notched between his knuckles as he gave it a squeeze.

So small and yet he looked at it like it gave him purpose.

He was big enough to swallow the moon.  Eclipse the sun.  Envelope you into darkness.  Nothing but the stars bursting behind your eyelids as his palm slunk lower.

As stealthily as an avalanche of rocks and sand.  Abrading and disrupting everything in its path until it settled down to the core of you.

"Please."  You whispered, whimpered, on some foreign tongue that felt too big, to thick, to be yours. 

It's because he was in your mouth.  Lips against yours.  Skin on your skin.  Body against yours from behind.

You felt the root of him buldge on the other side of layers of fabric.  Yours and his.  You weren't even naked.  Military issued canvas and cotton stood between you.

But he still had his hands.  His fingers.  His tongue.

The grip you had on the sink felt strong enough to leave marks.  Dents.  Tiny little divots like prints in the snow.

"Open up, darling.  If you ever hope to fit the real thing, you still need some practice."

He found you wet, a small accommodation as you muttered a silent thanks to your nature.  Your heart desired him, and your body did its best to oblige.

"I want it.  Let me feel it." 

"Next time, love.  Show me how good you can be."

His long, thick fingers disappeared three at a time, to the gnarled and swollen knuckles before your hazy eyes in the mirror. 

The cry that slipped from your lips would wake up the others if you weren't careful.  The reverant moan from his could conjure magic.  Gods and monsters.  Things best let lie dormant.

He liked it like this.  Where you both could see in the stark, fluorescent reflection.  The dark hair of his hand reemerging from your depths silky and dripping with slick.

It was the barrier that left you both satisfied as he circled those same fingers and curled them inside, tormenting your most vulnerable weakness.  The heart of you.

He felt on top of the world.  And you were his puppet on a string.  Brought to life.

[violentdelights-violentendss]

Bath Time

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Tangerine

Synopsis: You successfully manage to drag Tangerine into a bath after a long and strenuous job.

Requested by: I lost the username…I’m so sorry!!!!

Warning: Nothing.

(So sorry this is maybe too short and very bad, but I just wanted to post something to show you guys I’m alive and currently working on all your requests!!! Please send many many more! I love writing all of them!)

You were cooking in the kitchen, making a plate of carbonara for yourself. Tangerine’s necklace was heavy in between your breasts. He always left it with you when he went on jobs.

The bacon sizzled in the pan, making you come back from your memories. You took one out of the pan, dropping it in your mouth. The juicy flavor covered your tongue, even if scorching.

As you hummed along to the song playing on your phone, the door squeaked open. Instantly, the music was too loud and the sizzling of the bacon hurt your ears. Fear slithered down your spine, freezing you.

Dry and heavy steps started trudging towards you. Silently, your hand shaking, you grabbed the knife on the counter, stepping quietly towards the wall of the kitchen. You gripped the knife just like Tangerine had taught you to do, ready to stab the intruder that had come in your home.

The steps were getting closer to the kitchen. Your hands started trembling even more, and you clasped the knife tightly to not drop it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shape flickering closer. Without waiting, you twirled away from the wall, ready to attack the man.

“Darling?” Called a familiar voice.

Slowly, you opened your scrunched up eyes. In front of you, Tangerine stood in all his bloodied and exhausted glory. His clothes were covered in blood, and the bags underneath his eyes were bigger than when he had left. Your trembling knife was pressed against his throat. The knife tumbled from your hand, falling at your feet.

“Tangerine?” You stuttered, fear still clawing your jaw shut. The man didn’t reply, but wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, hiding his tired face in your neck. You didn’t hesitate to embrace him. You didn’t care that the blood, his or someone’s else, was soaking into your white shirt.

He stayed silent for a second before you heard his tire voice croak out, “Missed you, love.”

“I missed you too,” you whisper back, holding him tightly against your chest. You inhaled his perfume, letting your hands tangle in his curls. “Come on, we have to get you in the bath.” You gently grabbed his hand, supporting his fatigued body and carrying him towards the bathroom. Tangerine followed limply, his feet dragging on the floor.

You reached the bathroom, heaving and panting, delicately sitting Tangerine down on the toilet seat. His eyes were glazed and his head hung low. You spun towards the bathtub, flicking the tap open and turning it to choose hot water, which soon started pouring into the bath. Grabbing one of the bath bombs you kept tidily on the side, you dropped it in the water, watching as it dissolved, turning the water a sunset pink, the room now smelling like roses.

As the water gurgled, filling the bathtub, you knelt down in front of Tangerine. “Darling, I’m going to start undressing you.” You whispered calmly, not wanting to trigger his fight or flight responses: it had happened once when he was in this state and it had not been pretty. Tangerine didn’t seem to see you, but your words must have gotten through to him, his head nodding slightly.

You started unbuttoning his vest, slowly peeling it off his sweat-covered body, gently folding it. Then came the button-up shirt that was splotched with blood — a gruesome painting. You reached his pants, unbuckling his belt. You tugged them down with the boxers, helping him to stand so he could safely get into the bathtub.

Tangerine let himself be moved, as if he were a puppet, once loved and now forgotten. He sunk down into the water, leaning heavily against the side of the tub, eyes pointed to the ceiling, lost in memories of the mission you were sure were going to haunt his already tormented dreams.

You quietly started washing the encrusted blood off his face, body and hair, humming a quiet lullaby to soothe his tired mind. After a while that Tangerine had been soaking, listening to your quiet voice and feeling your warm touch on his skin, he seemed to snap out of his daze, slowly blinking awake. “Hey, Tan.” You welcomed him back, watching as he seemed to come back alive, warmth flushing his cheeks.

Tangerine looked at you as if he were seeing you for the first time, his eyes starting to glimmer with tears when his heart realized he was safe. Immediately, you were pulled into his arms, and into the water, simply embracing him as tightly as he needed. “God, I thought that…for a minute, during the mission, I wouldn’t make it back.” He croaked in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips, his tears falling onto your lips, running down to nestle on his necklace.

You shivered at just the thought, pressing him closer. “You’re here now. You’re here. Safe.” You said, gently rocking Tangerine in your arms, hoping to reassure him.

You stayed, embraced, in the cooling water for hours. When you later tried to move, Tangerine simply held you closer, pressing soft kisses against your neck. You sighed, getting comfortable, knowing it was going to be a long night. But you were ready to be there as long as Tangerine needed you, and Tangerine loved you till the end of the world and back: you two were going to be together for all eternity.

[feralbutfluffy]

Interstitial: The Library of Alexandria

Instead of a chapter, today there's a one-shot inspired by chapter 59.

********************

Crowley watched Aziraphale as he ran his finger lightly over the scrolls, looking for something in particular. He didn’t ask what it was he was searching for. 

He didn’t really care. 

He sat on the floor, ignoring whatever was digging into his shoulder. Something old and terrifyingly valuable, no doubt. 

He sighed and took a swig from the jar of wine in his hand. “You going to be much longer?”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

Crowley grumbled something indecipherable and took another swig.

“It wouldn’t kill you to help, you know,” Aziraphale said, irritation clipping his words. “We’d be finished quicker if you would just-”

“You’d be finished quicker,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale glared at him from underneath his eyelashes. “Well, yes, but it hardly signifies. It comes down to the same thing, surely? The sooner I find the scroll the sooner we can break for lunch.”

“I fail to see the incentive. I’ll remind you that you’re the one who’s been banging on about that fish thing since we ran into each other this morning.”

“Be that as it may-”

“Anyway, helping you would be against my job description, wouldn’t you say?” Crowley crinkled his nose. “Bit unprincipled from a demonic perspective, to be helping your lot with… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I assure you this is entirely personal,” sniffed Aziraphale.

“Be that as it may…” imitated Crowley, his tone entirely mocking.

Aziraphale shot him an annoyed look and crouched to examine the shelves at Crowley’s feet. 

Crowley took another swig and let out a deeply contented sigh. There was nothing like needling the angel to brighten his day. He let his shoulders fall back against the scrolls, enjoying the satisfyingly soft crunch of crumpling papyrus and the equally satisfying look of horror on the angel’s face at the sound.

“Crawley!” He hissed, sounding appalled. If they hadn’t been in a library Crowley imagined it would probably have been an indignant shout.

“It’s Crowley now,” he reminded him blandly.

Aziraphale hurried to his side, placing a hand against the dip at the base of his spine and sliding it up to his shoulders, neatly pulling him forward and away from the damaged scrolls behind him.

“You can’t do that! These scrolls are invaluable!”

Crowley ignored the strange prickling heat he felt at the angel’s touch.

“How do you know? You haven’t even looked at them yet, they could be…” he scrambled, “... a painstaking account of someone’s dreams! Or the ramblings of a madman! Honestly, look at this place, it’s packed to the gills with scrolls. They can’t all be important.”

“This is the finest collection of written material in the world, Craw- Crowley. Of course they’re all important!” Aziraphale was still supporting Crowley’s back with one arm as the fingers of the other smoothed out the creases in the scrolls behind him. 

Crowley gave no sign of intending to support his own body weight.

“Move,” Aziraphale said commandingly, shoving him upright. Crowley bounced forward, head falling against his chest, looking like a puppet with cut strings. He sat like that for a moment, listing forward, as he listened to the soothing sound of the angel putting everything to right. He wondered if Aziraphale might touch him again if he lay back and crumpled more scrolls.

He might.

Or he might discorporate him for crimes against papyrus.

He put the jar to his lips and drank deeply. Wine. What a marvellous discovery. It was the only good thing to come out of that whole mess with Noah. The rainbow- 

Well, the rainbow was fine, he supposed. But the wine …!

Truthfully, he’d needed it to get over that atrocity. He couldn’t understand how Aziraphale had managed to take it so in stride. The cries, the bloated bodies, the smell… He shuddered and swallowed down a large gulp of wine.

“I know I’ve already told you-” started Aziraphale at the sound of the wine sloshing against the side of the jar. 

“Yes, yes, shouldn’t drink in the library-” mumbled Crowley, waving the jug in front of him at the same time as Aziraphale continued, “You really shouldn’t drink in the library. What if you spill it?”

Crowley tried to look offended. “As if I would! Nectar of the Gods, lest you forget,” he said pointing at the jar.

“There is only one God as you very well know,” said Aziraphale primly, kneeling to face Crowley. “I’d thank you to refrain from such blasphemy when you find yourself in my company.” He looked extremely disapproving, hands folded in his lap, a frown etched on his face as he eyed the jar in Crowley’s hand.

He could be so sanctimonious sometimes. It really was unbearable.

Continue reading....

[gfthe-fearsome-foursome]

"Now isn't... this... interesting~?"

@the-muses-puppeteer

*The four of them couldn't help but stare, their eyes locking on the figure before them. It was undeniably Ford— or at least an obvious version of him— but the sight of the man had each of them reeling in their own way.*

"WHO???"

*Stan’s voice cracked slightly as he stumbled back a step, his finger jabbing toward the otherworldly variant. His eyes darted between the figure and his brother, his tone a wild mix of confusion, fear, and outright disbelief. He gripped the back of a chair for support, as though bracing himself for the sheer absurdity of it all.*

"Why does he have so many eyes?"

*Fiddleford stepped closer to Stan, his voice low but tinged with alarm. His brows furrowed deeply as he leaned forward, squinting at the glowing figure like it was an unsolvable equation. Concern dripped from every word, his mind clearly racing to process the sight before him.*

"Fordsy, why do you have so many copies?"

*Bill attempted a laugh, his tone light and teasing, but the pitch betrayed his nerves. His gaze flicked from the variant to the Ford he knew, his hands fidgeting as if unsure whether to gesture in disbelief or shield himself from potential doom. Something about the other Stanford sent chills down his spine.*

"SAYS THE ONE WITH A TRIANGLE FOR A CLONE???"

*Ford threw his arms in the air, his exasperation boiling over. His sharp tone was laced with frustration as he turned to Bill, clearly fed up with the double standards. His expression twisted between irritation and something dangerously close to betrayal as he gestured toward the variant that bore his likeness.*

"Who are you?! And why do you look like me?!"

[captainai-47]

Convincing

I just wanted Present! Lucifer to see Isa's demon form :p

CW: Dom! Mc in NB!Demon form x Og! Lucifer Sexual tension but that's as far as it goes

'i' = thoughts

""= speaking

My first and a very short fic and more like a test of my writing skills. English isn't my first language so I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes

'This is damning.' Lucifer thinks, ignoring, or at least to the best of his capabilities, the slit eyes that followed him up the staircase. He can feel the figure trailing behind him, waiting. Anticipating. Leading himself to his private chambers and to whatever event might happen next. There was a sort of stillness in the air that he swore if he breathed the wrong way, he'd be taken just right outside of his own room.

Lucifer could hear the clicking of heels, and the gentle flicks of a tail as the figure approaches him. It stops just a step away from his stilled being. The scent of pine and rain filled his nostrils, and seeing the shadow that loomed over him and the walls caused chills to run down his spine. His hand rests on the doorknob but he remains in place as if he forgot how to move. Lucifer rarely felt anxious, much less cornered.

He lets out a tiny gasp when he sees a tail coil around his wrist. The touch is gentle and tender yet it sends a violent bolt of electricity through his frame.

Lucifer watches it as it coaxes his arm to twist the handle, manipulating his frozen hand to open the bedroom door and his limb follows listlessly. Like a puppet bound by strings, Lucifer staggers inside as the door swings open, embarrassment colouring his cheeks a light pink when the tail pulls him back upward.

'It's just a form. A guise.' He mentally chastises himself for acting so clumsily. He was the one who asked to show him her impersonation of his species. She's still human, still Isabella.

So why is his heart beating so rapidly?

"I-Isa." Damn the effects this woman has on him. He sounded small, beyond out of character. Yet the humiliation that settled in was quickly thrown out once he felt the tail tighten around his joint. A response from calling her name.

"Lucifer."

For a moment, his mind fogged with the tone of her voice ringing in his eardrums. It was monotonous, yet it felt like a hundred messages were being conveyed. He swears his vision blurred for just a second, almost going limp. It was embarrassing, he felt weak. As if her mere voice poisoned him. He felt like he was trapped in a daze.

Her trained eyes easily spotted how unsteady he was becoming.

Lucifer yelps in surprise when the tail unwinds from his wrist and wraps itself firmly around his waist, bringing the demon closer to her own body. He staggers, caught off guard by the motion but he remains upright thanks to the support. He hears a low chuckle.

"Well, what do you think?" Isabella grins, presenting pointed teeth that were never there in her original form. "Quite convincing, no?"

'A little too convincing.' Lucifer thinks sourly. He turns away and instead, opted to answer with silence.

"Is this form an eyesore to you?" Isabella cocks her head to the side, a playful glint sparkles in those brown orbs of hers and Lucifer swears under his breath as he feels both irritation and fondness swell in his chest.

"Since when were you this chatty?" Lucifer huffs, his eyes narrowing in annoyance when he is met with a soft chuckle.

"Since I can finally look down on you." The human smirks as her faux tail squeezes his hips with a teasing pressure. "Not that I haven't in 'other' situations."

She casually ducks as a pillow magically hurls itself towards her.

"You're uncharacteristically insufferable today." The woman only smiles as she stands upright and hums in acknowledgement, her tail comfortably perched on his waist. Lucifer sighs, exasperated but amused all at once while he glances up to gaze at his lover's new features.

"But to answer your question, it's a no." His lips curve up as his glare softens whilst he stands on his toes, brushing their noses lightly against each other. A little gesture that they've developed in their relationship.

Isabella merely laughs, making no comment at the adorable gesture as she nuzzles her face at the top of his head. Her horns and hair tips glow a rosy red, a testament of her affection towards the Avatar of Pride.

"I'm relieved to hear that." She laughs softly, her fangs poking out of her mouth whilst she grins. Lucifer couldn't help but return the gesture, pulling at the woman's sleeves so she could bend down and receive a peck on her lips.

'Maybe the height difference isn't all that bad..'

[pinkofatom]

Horny needs Attention

You are laying in your bed. Sleep slowly recedes. And between your legs burns a simple desire. You toss. You turn. Thighs press together.

You know this feeling. Like a siren it sings inside your mind. The heat pulses and throbs in a rhythmic cadence that echoes from between your legs and resonates throughout the your body. You are horny.

And you know what that means. In one fluid motion you stand up. The cool air tickles the wetness between your legs. You are completely naked. You take a deep breath, inhaling the musk of arousal and the smell of sex. You are already getting ready.

Your heart beats fast, but your mind is calm. This is a ritual. There are no decisions to make here, only motions that you have memorized, and that have become part of you.

Hips rolling you go into the bathroom. It is a large, spacious bathroom. In front of the sink and the mirror, a plush rug welcomes your feet, inviting them to sink into the fabric and be cradled by it.

Your body shimmies with pleasure as you feel its touch, and the arousal burning inside you is fanned by that touch, a heat rising between your legs that begs to be satisfied. But not yet.

The arousal pulses and throbs between your legs, and a wetness builds, but it must wait, just a little longer.

You look at yourself in the mirror. Your body, naked, flush, your eyes dilated, the heat radiating out from between your legs and making your nipples tingle and perk up. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch the reflection move, your hand traveling to the brush. Your eyes track every movement of your naked body as you brush your hair, as the bristles run through your locks and send shivers down your spine.

The brush runs down the strands, each hair is touched by the bristles and each time they come away clean. The rhythm is hypnotic. Next you open the vanity case. Your hands find your tools. You apply them to your face, to your skin, and to your body. And in the mirror you watch as you are transformed into the object of your desires.

Your face is contoured to highlight your beauty, your eyes accentuated to make them deep and captivating, your skin toned to highlight its smooth texture and its perfect complexion. With each stroke you become a doll.

And with every layer applied, your body feels more and more tingly, more sensitive. The heat radiates out of you, making your skin warm and flush with arousal. The air is thick and hot. It feels like a blanket wrapped around your naked body, caressing your skin and sending shivers down your back. Your breathing is shallow. Your breasts bounce up and down.

You watch your breasts rise and fall, the nipples stiffening and poking out. Your body feels so sensitive, and you feel so naked. A moan escapes your lips as the heat throbbing between your legs makes your insides quiver with anticipation. But not yet.

Like a puppet you walk towards the wardrobe. It is a big wardrobe, and it is filled with beautiful clothes and toys.

Your eyes take in all the outfits. You feel the heat inside you burn. You know what outfit to wear, what will show off your beauty. And so you grab it, the fabric soft in your hands.

You slide into the dress, and you feel the fabric caress your skin. It feels so soft, so silky against your naked body, the fabric teasing the tips of your breasts

Your body moves on autopilot, pulling up the zipper and tightening the belt. The dress feels snug around your hips, tight and form-fitting, accentuating your figure. Your breasts are held up, supported by the cups, the nipples barely contained within.

Long stockings flow along svelte legs. High-heels enclose your feet. Your toes are on display, the nails painted a deep shade of red, matching your dress and the paint on your fingernails. The heat throbbing between your legs is almost too much to bear, but not yet.

With simple clicks you log in. A red light on the webcam signals its on. The camera, mounted on top of the screen, stares at you. It watches you, takes in your beauty. And it invites you to share it with the world. Your fingers tap away at the keyboard.

You type. The words are simple. You have done this so many times. You have a script. No need to think.

You are horny. And that means, you are ready to be displayed.

You are horny. And in need of attention.

[that-one-kiddo-in-the-back]

1st: Ableism isn’t a joke. I’m disabled and I find it very offensive of you to jokingly accuse someone of being ableist. What’s so funny about ableism to you that you thought that joke was appropriate?

2nd: Democrats, again, don’t have a reputation for being anti-gun control. Rich Democrats will still frequently pay lip service to gun control while rich Republicans don’t. That’s why it’d be more notable for Republican politicians to start supporting gun control, which is what Lily’s, amongst plenty of others’, post pointed out.

3rd: Earlier you said that if Lily wanted to call out the Republican party, she would’ve said the Republican party. As you said: “If you're gonna talk about the party. You call it the party.” But now you’ve just said “She called out a party, not the rich.” So which is it? Was Lily calling out the Republican party and failing to comment on the interests of the rich, or was she not calling out the Republican party because she said “Republicans” instead of “Republican party”? You aren’t even consistent in how you’ve interpreted her post, which makes it appear as though you were just looking to get mad at what she said regardless of if there was anything actually wrong with it, which there wasn’t. You clearly wouldn’t have had a problem with it if anyone other than Lily said it.

1st. I'm disabled as well. I have a learning disability as well as a spine disorder that will paralyze me if I'm not careful and cystic ovaries. Not that was any of your business.

2nd. The rich pay off Republicans all the time, but for minimum wages and anything to keep the poor poor, just like the democrats.

3rd. At the end of the day, Lily said nothing about the rich. You know that main people who are the real problem yeah they didn’t get any mention inside she yelled at the puppets not the puppeteers. The rich control the USA. We all know that. So again, calling out Republicans is the same as Ben Shapiro calling the left evil people for celebrating the CEOS death.

[jackdaniel69nice]

since i am an angst connoisseur and starved of content i gotta ask, based on your timeline, what would your idea of "the incident" be?

my other question is, what happened that warranted the bandages?

Hi! When I posted about Tokoyami’s parents I made illusions to this incident but I can go into more detail!

There was a lot of drama that lead up to the incident, specifically the loss of Tokoyami’s grandparents who understood and took care of him and shadow the best and this loss devastated tokoyami. His other family members (aunts and uncle) also didn’t cope with the death well and weren’t able to support him, leaving him to his mother’s overbearing and strict lifestyle. He acts out more and gets in fight at school due to grief and it gets him in trouble. He is also trying to suppress this grief response because that is what he was taught so it is building up.

When his mother scolds (yells) at him after school for having a break down at school and “attacking the teacher” (the teachers was shining lights at shadow and they had enough and fought back). He is so frustrated and angry he purposefully releases dark shadow so they can attack her. He quickly loses control though and when his father defends Kohane (his mother) he gets terribly injured damaging organs and his spine so it’s hard to walk. As much as the incident itself is traumatic, the things that follow are much worse.

Tokoyami is arrested first of all and left in high containment nearly a week. His aunt who just recently had triplets finally comes to get him. during his time in jail he has a very wrong “realization” that everything wrong with life is actually dark shadows fault and blames them.

You see, his mother has been trying to instill this idea in him for a very long time. If he can just force dark shadow to behave, to control them, then everything will be fine and he can have a normal life. His grandfather though, always stressed the idea that dark shadow and him need to work together in cooperation, and harmony. Now that his grandfather is gone he is doubting his word and dark shadow injuring his father in their rage makes his mother’s words ring more true than ever. So tokoyami decided to finally lock down on dark shadow, no more leniency, no more free rein. Tokoyami is the warden and shadow is his prisoner, nothing more than a puppet. To keep the people he loves safe…right?

Welllll dark shadow is not happy about this. They are heart broken, worse than, completely betrayed, scared, Fumikage is supposed to be the one person they can trust, their other half, who would never turn on them, never blame them. All they ever tried to do was protect him, why are you doing this?? This isn’t fair. If they can’t trust Fumikage then they can’t trust anyone. The whole world is rotten. And everything is Fumikage’s fault.

So basically tokoyami starts a war for control with dark shadow that is taking place within his mind. Unfortunately Tokoyami’s aunt can’t have an unstable preteen near her newborns and reluctantly drops him off with his mother. Kohane needs to take care of her husband who is still in the hospital (not to mention her own injuries) and has no idea what to do with tokoyami…so she does nothing. She tells him to stay in his room with the lights on and not leave. She comes home, brings him a meal, leaves, locks the door, then returns to the hospital for a few hours to do it all over again. Meanwhile Tokoyami’s mind is slipping.

Tokoyami has had mental training his whole life to control dark shadow. It just upset shadow so much he never used it to its full extent. Now he has no care for “hurting” shadow, they’re just a beast after-all. So he sticks shadow in a cage doesn’t let them out. Dark Shadow fights so hard for their freedom at every chance they get, every scrap of darkness they find, they let it full their strength, their rage. They fight with everything they have until Tokoyami’s mind is in tatters, shredded by their claws from the inside. He paces the floor, he can’t eat, he can’t sleep, he pulls feathers and bites his nails. All for some semblance of clarity, to make his head stop hurting. He plays loud music to drown out shadows cries. He bangs head against the floor to match the migraine shadow is forcing from the inside. He feels like he is splitting, he thinks he is dying, maybe he is, maybe they will tear each other apart. He losing time, losing memory, he’s not sure where he ends and shadow begins. Drowning in darkness.

And one day it stops. One of them had to give, and for some reason it was Dark Shadow. They are quiet for a while much to Tokoyami’s confusion, did he win? Why does this victory feel so hollow? Why does it hurt. Regardless, it happens just in time for him to start his new middle school which is…special. For kids just like him.

Anyways dark shadow isn’t completely compliant obviously; they just let up the constant fighting. The “years they Endoor” (Dark Ages) are spent like distant roommates that despise each other. Stay on your side of the room and don’t look at each other. Unfortunately dark shadow’s only ability to converse while caged is with tokoyami telepathically so they end up bickering a lot still.

((Dark Shaodw has a reason for ending the fighting. Tokoyami just doesn’t remember it))

I’m really glad you asked about this anon because I have simply been dying to talk about it. To answer your question more simply. The incident refers to tokoyami losing control again but instead of protecting someone it was from pure built up malice. His hands are bandaged, his feathers unkempt, and him being visibly unwell is because of the mental break following the event and due to self harm.

Perhaps you are thinking Tokoyami should have gone to the mental hospital, and you would be right. Unfortunately he has been to hospitals before where he was horribly treated (part of the Trauma of his past) and has a fear of doctors and psychiatrist now. He wouldn’t take himself to the hospital ever. Kohane was also aware of how terrible Tokoyami’s mental state was, she was the one who would bandage his fingers and force him to eat when he couldn’t. She is also afraid of the hospitals mistreating him again (she feels responsible for him suffering through their abuse before) but there is also her stigma towards poor mental health in general. In Japan there is a wide spread stigma towards mental illness and the mentally disabled, such conversations are taboo. Kohane was raised very traditionally to suppress her emotions and never seek mental help, she wouldn’t have taken tokoyami anyway, even if it had killed him.