#TheY WilL DesTRoY YoU HarBinGEr of ChAoS

[imminent-danger-came]

listened to monster from frozen the musical today and had so many mk thoughts. literally “is the thing they see, the thing i have to be.”

^me rn. like this is me a lot of the time but also rn

I'm making my world colder How long can it survive? Is everyone in danger as long as I'm alive? Was I a monster from the start? How did I end up with this frozen heart? Bringing destruction to the stage Caught in a war that I never meant to wage

[ultimateplaylistmaker]

Okay, if all your AU Kokichi's met eachother, what sorta terrific/terrible chaos would happen?

Okay we're going to separate this into tiers

Mostly okay with this

Harbinger, he's basically just canon kokichi but he is looking for information and gets really awkward if anyone mentions miu

SCP kokichi has definitely seen weirder

Log Horizon Kokichi is just glad to be in the real world again for a bit

DR Lore Kokichi is just like "This might as well be happening"

Dnd Kokichi thinks its weird to see himself as human but also thinks its really neat

Robo Dictator Kokichi is just glad to have the chance to stretch his legs

Shuichi Enoshima Kokichi is once again just another Kokichi

Stans Kokichi is glad to get away from all That Drama

Hope's Peak Destruction Kokichi is recruiting them all for further crimes and pestering them for information

Pokemon Kokichi is showing off his Salandit by holding him up like Simba

Homestuck Kokichi has faded into the shadows and just watching

Spiral Alien Kokichi has challenged someone to a panta chugging competition

Digimon Kokichi is saying that his dracmon is better then the salandit

Dice Haxs is again a normal Kokichi

Both the Alicorn Kichi's are gossiping and annoyed that all the Kokichi's want to pet them and poke them

Swap Kokichi is teaching Kokichi's to bend themselves weirdly

Oumelette Kokichi is SWEATING and wondering if she should do something about the fact none of them seem to have realized they're girls

Paronpasight is glad to have a break from the death murder shenanigans

Unsettled but vibing

Serial Kokichi is more paranoid then a normal kokichi so he's definitely at least a bit on edge

Slay Kokichi doesnt exactly have the greatest experiences with being in a room of a dozen other versions of yourself but also hes got nothing better to do

Danganronpa/b/o Kokichi is being jealous they dont have presentations and also weirded out by the lack of smells

Overlord Ouma misses Gonta and feels really weird about seeing his old body

Minecraft Kokichi is being weirded out by the physics of this world

Trying to leave

Schrodingers Kokichi does NOT need this existential crisis

Pokedice Kokichi does not trust being a room with so many humans

You Destroy My World Kokichi is really confused and kinda freaked out

Warriors Kokichi is trying to follow Pokedice out of here, animal who doesn't want to be around so many humans club

Trying to fight

Mastermind Kokichi is such an insult to all the other kokichi's that it keeps causing fights and he's having a BLAST

EVERYONE ELSE is trying to get away from

Talent Infection for obvious reason

Fae Kokichi is having A BLAST and wants to kidnap them all

[cherllyio]

Li Jing has trapped Nüwa - A season 5 theory

Now I know, this sounds crazy, but dont worry it will all make sense when i show you my evidence for it:

Evidence number 1: How he has the power to do

Evidence number 2: How he has the right motivation to do so

Evidence number 3: Its is shown IN THE LEGO SETS

Evidence number 1: He has the power to do

First of all, Li Jings "Pagado" is weapon used to "trap" people inside of it(sort of like the calabash). He even used this in the original mytholgy against Nezha, when Nezha tried to kill him(Dont worry, i will make an analysis about them soon).

And we even see Li Jing! trap MK in the Pagado in the trailer! (Notice how MK is the only one being pulled forward, while the other are getting pushed back) (This was metioned in a breakdown here)

Second of all, we know this Pagado, is IMPORTANT, with how it placed in the direct middle of the season 5 poster. MK and the rest are even IN A PAGADO IN THIS POSTER. (picture of real life pagoda underneath)

Evidence number 2: He has the right motivation to do so

If we want to understand how Li Jing's motivations works, we first have to look at where he got his ideals from: The Celistial Realm.

Since season 4, we have all been made aware that the whole "Celistial realm system" isnt that great. The Jade Emperor being a prime example of this, as mentioned by Azure.

Azure: "But overtime it became clear for me, that The Jade Emperors only concern was kepping his subjects under his boot"

And if we actually start analyzing it further, we realize that The Celistials realms biggest flaw is that they focus too much on "Order".

Bassicaly: Everyone has their roles and needs to follow them, like how Nezha was so intense about his whole "protect the celistial realm" role. So much indeed, that it was WORTH MORE THAN HIS OWN LIFE.

So it would make sense that in this next season, we would get a direct antagonist(or even villian) who is FROM The Celistial Realm.

Because lets be real, even though MK and the rest are heroes, they dont really follow the celistial realms whole "order system".

They are so incredebly chaotic, that of course someone like Li Jing(whom seems very happy for "intrapping the chaotic", aka putting a circlet on Wukongs head) would not like our protagonists.

And with all this in mind, how would someone like Li Jing then react to Nüwa? Someone who seems to embrace the chaotic as not "something that needs to fixed", but as something that is vital for this world (a real philosophy in dualism btw).

Yea, Li Jing would not like someone like that.

Anyway last evidence:

Evidence Number 3: It is shown in the Lego sets:

The only time we have seen Nüwa in the lego sets was something called the "Celistial Pagoda"

Notice how Li Jing is IN that Lego sets, holding his Pagoda, that looks suspingly a lot like a smaller version of the big Pagado.

With all this in mind then....This is how i imagined it went down:

How Li Jing trapped Nüwa

Li Jing one day learned that the creation godess, Nüwa, was creating something called "The Harbinger of Chaos". He didnt know what it even was, but he DEFINITELY didnt like the sound of it.

Therefore, Li Jing goes to confront Nüwa, trapping her in the process, but... what about MK you might say?

Well as RV sketch theorised in their video: "What is MK", MK is acutally Broken/ not complete yet (hence why he is glitching, and also why his stone has that crack).

Therefore they also theorised that the reason that he isnt Broken/ not complete yet, is because that something happend to Nüwa while she was making him, leaving MK alone and unfinished.

He then, somehow, got brought to live, and found his way to Pigsy.

This then meaning, that if both our theories are correct, Li Jing was the one to trap Nüwa and leaving MK all alone on that mountain.

Li Jing might even have found MK's half finished stone and tried to DESTROY IT. And thinking that he finished the job, he just left it there (not knowing that MK is now the result of that).

Conclusion:

Li Jing not only ruins his own family, but also ruins other peoples(deities) families too!

[divinehedons]

godless promethean, elektran rage.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: pirate!joel miller x siren!reader

word count: ~8.4k words (I KNOW I'M SO SORRY)

summary: when the wrath of poseidon brings in something not quite human, a hardened pirate with the harshness of a soldier at war faces a bright-eyed siren with the delusion of a dreamer.

warnings: this is a DARK, EXPLICIT fic. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT or i will BLOCK you. so much plot, pirate!au, siren!au, joel is a violent motherfucker, reader is a metamorphic creature that turns human-like when not submerged in water, graphic depiction of violence and injury, mentions of abduction and implications of abuse, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, soooo much murder. it's like a greek tragedy without the incest.

note: THANK YOU FOR 600 FOLLOWERS!!! much of this work was inspired by me rereading the odyssey by homer, but the trope of joel x siren!reader is not of my own making! thank you so much for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are much apprciated!

Be strong, saith my heart. A wave crests over the hull of the ship. Then another. And another. I have seen worse things than this. Synchronized hands haul the rope for the sails, a last attempt to regain control of their vessel. The Balkan sea stretches before weary sailors, endless and unforgiving, with one foot in their watery grave and the other clawing to live.

In the midst of this carnage is The Flounder, harbinger of chaos, populated by a crew of men who pillage, murder, and destroy anything that gets in their way. Joel once thought of him and his men as indestructible. The Wrath of Poseidon makes him reconsider otherwise.

“Goddamnit, Bonnie, we’re never gettin’ out of this mess!” Joel yells over the deluge of rain, tightening his grip and growling as the rope digs in to the skin of his palms. He sees another wave crest over them, sturdy as a wall, coming down upon their shivering backs, leaving them spluttering out seawater. He coughs momentarily, heaving in air as he digs his feet into the deck.

When he regains his breath, he hears his name being called. He looks, their Captain bellowing from where he steered. His new orders came through in the middle of the crack of thunder and the whistle of an unending storm. Check beneath the deck for damages. Fix anything that could sink them. He calls for someone to replace his hold and he runs for it. 

In his head, he had begun to pen a letter back to his waiting daughter under the care of his brother. Dear Sarah, he thinks, climbing down the ladder and finding himself in knee-deep, ice-cold water. I promised you that this will be my last expedition. That after this, we shall live out however you want us to. I only hope that I can live up to that promise. He cusses under his breath when he finds a growing leak in the hull, crossing himself as he immediately went about to fix it temporarily with what materials he could find. You’re safer with your uncle Tommy than here in this misery. And should anything happen to me, know that I love you and I trust you to be good to him, too. He crosses the threshold to see if there was anything else, moving across floating bottles, bobbing up and down with remnants of booze. With a sigh, isolated from the chaos above deck, he leans against a column, grabbing a drifting bottle and swallowing down the booze to settle his nerves.

I grow old, I grow old. He mouths the words under his breath. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

The muffled sounds of the world melts away as he tries to catch his breath, gritting his teeth from the ache in his hips. Getting too old for this. He tries to think of a way that rest can be comfortable in this mess. Sleep, he thinks, delicious and profound. The very counterfeit of death.  It is only when his nerves settle that he hears it.

A splash in the common room. Too loud to be some drifting object. Something that continues to move against the motion of the ship between the waves. He stills himself, the empty bottle slipping between his fingers. Slowly, he moves closer to the source of the sound, like a predator stalking his prey in the darkness. He retrieves a drifting harpoon, peeking through the threshold of the room to inspect. In the semi-darkness, interrupted by the flickering of lanterns and dying candelight, he catches the shimmer of something alive. He raises his weapon, looks through his good eye, his brows crinkling at the effort to focus.

Too old and too goddamn blind for this shit.

He blinks a few times more before he finally sees. And what he sees is you.

Your lithe arms reaching against the walls of the ship, trying to find a weak link that could let you escape. Were you brought in by the waves? Were you the very thing responsible for the leak he just had to fix? Initially, Joel made the movement to speak, to ask how you had ended up here—the sea is no place for a maiden like you. But his breath hitches when he looks closer to see… well, you. The incandescent flickering of a scaled tail, blending with inhuman yet somewhat human skin around your hips, and your upper body, glorious, unmarked, and completely fucking naked.

Perhaps it was the months at sea, conversing with no one but the same crew of men who, despite their intelligentsia and capabilities, do not exactly have the looks capable of producing in him the flustering exhilaration of some teenager. But he, of all people, know of the stories, too. The whispers shared in the saloons in the darkness. The shared thrill and excitement of such beauty and danger lurking beneath the temptresses’ skins. He has heard of claws coming for his companions’ throats, have heard of the trickery they can cause with the power of the ocean entirely at their disposal. He thinks of Odysseus again— tethered to the mast of his ship, The only one of his men to hear the voice of the sirens and have survived. Odysseus, who would have laid his life down  just to come close to the very presence of something so divine. 

Another thing he knows is that the price of one siren is half the bounty they had planned for. Months of work cut out for himself. Months closer to seeing his daughter again. It’s enough to give him the taste of freedom. His own little piece of heaven that, ironically, is someone else’s hell. The funny thing was, he does not feel guilt about it.

Perhaps he was not Odysseus. He was not as noble. Nor did he ever want to be. A noble character would never provide a good life for his Sarah, waiting for him oceans away.

That was the decision that sealed the creature’s fate before him. Without a second thought, he fires his harpoon, the sharp head piercing through the creature’s shoulder as an angelic wail emanates from her precious throat. With her pinned down, he had begun yelling, calling for the presence of men to see what they’ve caught in their vessel. Their ticket to riches. The honeypot herself.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.

He swallows down the guilt as the thunder of heavy steps descend upon their victim, her screams only growing louder and louder amidst the exhilarated, disbelieving laughter of his companions. He does not dare to look. Does not dare to see those doe eyes of yours begging for respite, pulling him into your charms.

An eye of an eye. A good life for Sarah in exchange for hers.

Fair enough.

—-

When The Flounder has escaped the barrages of the storm, the sea is quiet. Some would even say peaceful. Joel wouldn't exactly use that word. Not when he hears your wails breaking the silence. That first night, no one understood what needed to be done. No one even bothered to try and treat your wound. The very wound he had caused. Everyone had something more important to do. Clear the seawater beneath the hull, secure the sails, have a quick meal, get a few winks of sleep. Naturally, the mythical being, as all other inconsequential things, were tucked away, you dealt with the usual brusque nature of men.

So when he had been called to watch you before dawn broke, that's what he set his mind to. Stepping down beneath the deck, with spare scraps of cloth and booze in hand. They've cleared out the flooding. But the wood hadn't dried completely. Mick, who he had passed beforehand, gave him a questioning look. "Aren't ya scared she'd rip your throat out?"

He scoffs, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. "I'm more scared of the stench she'll make if she starts dyin' on us, Micky."

What he did not expect when he opens the closet you've been locked in is the metamorphic cross between a tail and legs you kick out at him. What he hears next is the snarl, your body knocking him over, small, webbed hands slipping around his throat. “You asshole!” That same heavenly voice, filled with so much malice that does not fit with the angelic features towering over him. You speak in a language he does not understand, a torrent of words driven by so much emotion that he sees a glance of what Homer was so distasteful about. You could kill him, devour him bones and all and you wouldn’t even flinch.

However, he sees how your rage blinds you, too. Blinds you to his precise movements, making you think you’ve subdued him, only to suddenly flip your positions, pinning you down by your wrists, trying to look into your eyes.

What you see, staring up at him as your last yells escape you, is the strands of silver in his hair. What follows next is his tired eyes. A sea of stories that you feel as if you can almost hear them if the world is quiet enough. However, you cannot deny the warmth to them. The fire that you failed to see in the other men that shoved you in the closet you have been suffocating in. It’s what makes you stop in your struggle as you finally hear his voice.

“Damnit, let me help you, honey, c’mon…”

It’s then that Joel finally comprehends what he sees. You, a mythical being that shifts from merfolk in one instance, to a walking goddess in the next. Perhaps it was what helped your kind survive; camouflaging yourself and disappearing amidst throes of people. “You turn when ya… when…?”

You swallow, breathless and trembling as you grit your teeth. He sees the panic in your eyes, the idea that he can just betray you if he wanted to. If it would benefit him.

“Let me help you, darlin’.”

“W-when I’m…” You breathe in sharply. “When I’m not in water.”

He nods, slowly, watching the lithe legs and your bare body, spotless and perfect in every way. “I see.” He removes himself from you, moving away from your periphery. You gather your breath, turning over to see him, kneeling over an upturned washtub, somewhat filled with some form of water or another. “Those men up there? They can’t see you like this, otherwise…” he trails off, preferring not to picture what they’d do. What they’ve all once done before at sea. “Ya hear me?” He looks back at you, watching the way your hands gripped your bleeding shoulder wound, evidence of what he had already done to you. “You don’t know what else they can do to a pretty girl like ya.”

So, gently, he kneels beside you with a pained groan from the ache in his knees. You flinch under his touch and he gives you a stern look. “Why did you do this?”

He shakes his head, opening the bottle he brought down with him to pour it over the gaping flesh. Your soft fingers grip on to his arm, the softest whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not the only one fightin’ to survive in this world, honey.” He shushes you gently, moving to wrap what pieces of cloth he could find, using them to bandage your wound as you finally soften in his hold. He helps you into the tub, and he tries not to look into your eyes again.

You spoke again when he turned away, giving you the privacy he assumed you needed. “Just because you need to survive doesn’t mean I need it any less.” He stops in his tracks, looking down for a moment before clearing his throat. “Are men always this wretched? That one must tear down the innocent to survive?” He moves to answer, turning back momentarily, before sighing, turning back to continue cleaning up the mess. “Thank you, though. For… this.”

You know exactly how to describe it. You just don’t want him to hear it. The gentleness that comes, not in the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

Joel hears the noise in his head, clouding his thoughts and drowning them out as he moves from one place to another.as he tries not to think about you, quiet in a tub of water, pretending to ignore him. Men are so quick to blame the gods…

He hands you a plate of scraps. The trimmings from a loaf of bread. A slice of some meat, and the last pieces of cheese he could find. “Eat,” he orders gruffly, moving to sit by the side of your tub, while he seats himself with a slice of bread. “Can’t have ya dyin’ of starvation either.”

You obey, weakened by the struggles of the evening, disheartened by your imprisonment, so close to freedom and at the same time so far away from it. You eat slowly, as if considering each little fragment you were handed, as if the world is unfamiliar in the presence of someone else.

Joel couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was your charm. Whatever it was, he started to tell you things.

He tells you of his life, so far away from the ocean, landlocked. He tells you how they make a living with animals. But he also tells you about Sarah. Sarah who dreamt of the world. Sarah who he was doing all this for. Sarah who asked him as a child to read to her every night. Sarah who was growing more and more with each passing day, the gap between the two of them becoming wider than he could ever comprehend.

“My survival may not mean much,” he says, “but hers is the most vital thing in my life, doll.”

He feels your gaze on him, becoming easier and easier to see as the sun slowly grows higher in the sky. In thirty minutes, his watch will end, and you do not know how the next man will treat you next. Will he be kind? Will he have Joel’s eyes?

He turns to leave, taking the plates with him as he stands up with a pained groan. “Don’t cause too much trouble, girl.” He only stops when you say his name, his gaze catching the blurry image of you, your tail sinking beneath you in the tub. “Yeah?”

“Will you read to me when you return?” you whispered, afraid to show fragility in your own internment.

He nods after a moment of thought, clambering up on deck to report back to the Captain.

Men are so quick to blame the gods.

—

For a while, a week or so, you believed things could be nice with Joel somewhat in your corner. Everyone else seemed to care less or cower in fear of you. Maybe because you do try to scare them away. At least, if you were going to be betrayed, it was Joel doing the betraying.

He returned at the same time just as he did the night before. And slowly, a routine emerges. He cleans your wounds, he feeds you whatever he finds. Then he reads to you. His eyes are too weak to read without you holding the lantern. So you learned that second night to emerge from your tub and to hold the lantern for him. He reads to you with the skilled words of a bard. He reads to you as if he’d read this tale before. Perhaps to Sarah? Perhaps to someone else?

You feel your stomach curdle at the thought of there being someone else in his life. You swallow down the bile and listen more closely.

When he leaves at dawn, you lie in the tub, dreaming of the words he had read to you, turning your back to the man that comes next. They do not bother you. You do not bother them. You become a ghost until he brings you to life.

Sing to me, Muse, of the Man of many wiles.

By the third night, he brings with him a blanket for you to wrap yourself in as you sit closer beside him, trying to follow the words he read, only to surrender because the letters are too rigid, too unnatural. You began shutting your eyes as he reads to you, learning of Odysseus, a once too familiar name you have heard in others of your kind before…

Sing to me, Muse, of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,My starting point is any point you choose.

You begin to talk to him too by the fourth night, observing your transformed toes as he hammered little areas he figured needed repairs. You tell him of the world beneath the waves, the languid distances you’ve traveled, never truly feeling as if you have found a home. You tell him, too, of wonders big and small.

You spoke of all these things, pretending to be unaware of the way he listens with such interest. It’s like you wanted him to be interested. How could you not, when night by night his eyes become warmer and warmer whenever they fell upon you? How could you not when he’s the only one that cared?

You try to read his thoughts, sometimes, when it’s quiet and he prefers to sit by himself, finding a few winks of sleep while you ate your food. He’s rather good at hiding them. You wonder if it makes his life easier. You wonder if any of it is easy for him.

Then he asks you something on his fifth watch.

“Is the whole singin’ thing somethin’ you actually do?”

You turn your head over your shoulder, setting down the snowglobe you’ve taken an interest in the last couple of hours. You saw it on a shelf this afternoon. And you had been impatient for Joel to arrive ever since. You consider the question, Then you smile and nod meekly.

“Do…” you pause, moving to face him instead. “Do you want to hear?”

He smirks, moving the chair closer to your seated frame, seating with the backing pressed to his front, legs straddling the seat, arms atop, covering that sliver of chest you had been sneaking glances from all evening. He had that thin linen shirt on again— the one that swoops down his chest. The one you see in your dreams.

“Only if it won’t kill me, sweet cheeks.”

You like that. Sweet cheeks. You barely understand what it means. You nod slowly, moving to lay on your back as you stare at the ceiling, monotonous and unchanged since you last looked. As you sing, you try not to look him in the eye. As if you cannot bear the sight of him seeing your capabilities and forever changing his perception of you. The hymn is warm, almost homely. A relentless Odyssey that means to take you home. A song that’s said to bring forth memories of home. You know Joel does not understand the language. Nor do you want him to. You won’t admit it, but you’re still terrified of what he could do if you remind him of how much he misses his home.

But what is even more surprising is this: instead of reminiscing about the tropics from which you have loved so deeply, all you can think about is him. All you can picture is his face. All you can see is possibilities of how he’s looking at you now.

When you finish, dawn is already breaking over the horizon. He has to go.

Quietly, you rose and slowly return to the tub with your snowglobe, watching as your body metamorphosizes— your last line of defense for survival. The shine of your scales so familiar, but never this clear under the water. The light is always so diffused— as distant as a foreign planet. Joel, on the other hand, stays there for a few minutes more, looking at the spot where you just were—at the plank of wood bearing the wet shape of your body. You started to think maybe he won’t leave when he swallows, rising from where he sat, and approaching you to hand the cheese he couldn’t eat from his portion of the meal.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he confesses, tucking the food into your palm. Just then, he encloses your hand in both of his, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your cool, changed skin against his. He wonders momentarily if you’ll feel different without your tail. “Thank you.”

He leans down, bringing your hand up to his waiting mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you comprehend the sensation. His lips. How warm he is… the scruff of his beard against smooth skin. You feel him smirk against your hand, pulling away as he makes his way above deck.

And on your hand is the reddened skin that evidenced the smidgen of affection you were giving. And for now, it’s enough.

You turn your back to the world once more and into your own dream world, staring at your hand as you dream of Joel all morning long.

—

You suppose everything that goes around does eventually come around. You wonder why you're so optimistic. But, you supposed, just as things were getting better, the fates had other plans in store for you.

The call came just as you were coming of the stupor of sleep. From what you can tell, it was barely midday, and someone was yelling above where you resided. All hands on deck.

The thunderous noise of heavy feet trundle above head. The man watching you grumbled, muttering something along the lines of, "don't you dare think about running, li'l bitch."

You watch him slam the door, and curiosity gets the better of you. You rise slowly from the tub, slinking along the floor, struggling to lift yourself enough to peer out from one of the windows. But when you do, you've come to realize the gravest sin of your naivety.

There is a ship to be plundered. Slowly, the masks worn by the men where you are melt away. You see familiar men with their swords drawn, laughing maniacally, screaming and terrifying the ship they've found to appease their hunger.

You feel your body changing, and you begin to turn away from the window when you catch sight of silver hair and scruff. A visage that you finally see in broad daylight.

Joel is one of the men who almost seem to dance to the song of violence. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the secrets of the shadows are laid bare in the light. Even Joel's secrets cannot escape the midday sun. When you see him, he is in battle with some toughened fisherman, their duel witnessed by cowering passengers and well-dressed women. For a moment, you think Joel will come to his senses, see how senseless all this violence is.

But then he takes the man by his hair, holding his head and facing him to the sun. His sword arches across the expanse of his victim's neck, rivulets of blood bursting forth in gush, an unstoppable stream. A squeal escapes you, the violent image burnt into the recesses of your brain, forcing you away from the window.

You run on shaky legs, screaming and yelling, reaching the doorway and attempting to push the door open, only to find resistance. Your fists pound the hard wood, your body pushing and shoving, unable to accept the fact that you can't call to him— show him that you saw and you demand an answer why.

For the first time, ever since Joel shot you with a harpoon, you truly understood something you tried so hard to ignore.

You sleep under the shelter of murderers. You think you felt affection from the hands of a man who just as easily took someone's life away. You are only loved because you're something else. Something not human.

You are only loved because you'll ensure their survival.

—

The blade itself incites the deeds of violence.

When the carnage ended, Joel raised his head to see the sky beginning to paint itself in bolder strokes of colors. He stretches his arms, only to feel the sticky plasma of drying blood sticking to his arms, his torso, spotting the expanse of his face. He is the last to leave their conquered ship, and he takes his time. He walks along the scattered piles of bodies, putting whoever hasn't perished out of their misery with the very same blade he wielded in battle. He's alive. He can go home. He watches the revelry on their vessel: men roasting the spoils from the kitchen, barrels upon barrels of ale and mead slowly being chewed through.

The stage is set. All they need is a little shock of entertainment.

But what he worries about is you. You who probably cowered from fear at the sudden influx of noise. You who definitely saw the things they are capable of doing. You with the wound on your shoulder, healing at a snail's pace with your imprisonment. So, he takes the time to find supplies to help you. He finds antiseptic. He finds needle and thread. It will have to do.

When he returns to his ship, He has spread oil across the deck where the bodies lay. With one bloody hand, he strikes a match to burn away the evidence of their carnage. The burning ship drifts further and further into the horizon, drowned out by the sounds of cheering. Joel is handed a mug of better than average mead.

As he watches the lights flicker and consume the rest of the ship, one question remains at the forefront of his thoughts, echoed and repeated by every voice in his head.

Do I dare?

Clarity comes when he's two mugs in, everyone else fucking off to see how much treasure piled up. He looks at the door that leads directly where you are and the question becomes clearer. It is in the iambic beat of his heart. I am, I am, I am.

It's in the excitement at the thought of seeing you tonight and having a good meal to offer. He begins to smirk, taking two plates and finding food he thinks you'll like.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

—

You do not look at him when he enters. You cannot, knowing the things you’ve seen today. Especially when you hear he’s happy, humming as he sinks down the stairs from the deck. The jump on his step was not there before. And instead of finding that itching curiosity to see if he was smiling or if you were responsible for this joy, you feel your stomach sour at one thought.

Perhaps the slaughtering of others brought glee to his bones.

“You must be hungry,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You feel a strange stickiness to his touch. So strange that you finally look, only to be horrified by the sight of his bloodsoaked hand. You yelp helplessly, shrinking away from his touch. You shed tears, luminescent in the semi-darkness, as precious as pearls that only he can see. “Darlin’...” His hand comes to cup your face gently, trying to make you look him in the eye. In this form, your skin is cold, the warmth of his hands turning your skin red.

“Y-you killed them,” you finally manage, the iron smell filling your senses. Seeing you panicked, Joel reaches down into the tub to slowly bring you out of your tub and into his willing arms, slow shushes escaping him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

So that was what you were so scared of.

You bury your face into his chest, his shirt smelling of him— of sandalwood and musk, tobacco smoke, and underneath it all, a few specks of blood. Meanwhile, he lets you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to shed your tears. He lets you, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him with so much emotion in that pretty little head of yours.

But when you do eventually calm down, he doesn’t miss a moment. He couldn’t.

“I can never harm you, honey.” He breathes in through his nose, finally close enough to smell you. The sea air in your hair, sunshine and honeysuckles from lands he can only dream of. “I can’t even if I tried.”

Slowly, he lays you down where he had dropped his sheet—the sheet you’ve been wrapping yourself around. The sheet that smells like the both of you; that way he could imagine waking up to you the past few times he had gotten sleep. Slowly, he straddles your changed form, naked and so fucking divine it has his head spinning. “Can I take care of ya, darlin’?” He waits for you. Even when everything is pushing him to kiss you— he has to know you want this.

He has to know you’re not miserable.

Seeing this, you take a deep breath. You hold his face. Your skin, smooth and not exactly human, bright against his, earth-marred, bloody, and burnt from days in the sun. And yet, you do not see those flaws. All you see are his warm eyes, so desperate to tell you he wants you, and yet so willing to walk away if you asked. So you grip him by his shirt, pulling him against you in a wanton, desperate kiss.

It is the first kiss you share. The first of the hundreds you’ll share that night. But you will always remember that first.

Because it’s burning against your cool skin. Because the scratch of his scruff is a sensation you have not felt in the long life you have lived. He holds your face, bringing your head closer to him, pressing against the front of his skull, making you whine from want as he deepens the kiss. You’ll always remember it because you know this kiss.

You can already see the ending before the two of you ever began.

His hand slips into your hair, his mouth pulling away from yours, only to drift down  your cheek, your jaw… He chuckles against your skin when you gasp so meekly, melting like butter in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispers, marking the crook of your neck with his mouth. “Let me show you how ya have me wrapped around your pretty li’l finger.”

Already, you can see him in your memories, tangled up in him. His kisses on your neck, his spit drying against your skin. His fingers reaching and tearing you apart. In the eternity you’ll be facing alone… he’s there. Just there, a willing invitation to a dream.

He’s pushing your legs up, now fully transformed, and he comprehends everything. Without words, it seems, things simply come naturally to him. He cups your cheek with one hand, folding your body in half as your legs drape over his broad shoulders. His thumb brushes your lips, and you part them for him. You let him fuck his thumb into your wet mouth, groaning at the way you suck on him. “Good girl…”

Just then, his other hand reaches down, a warm sensation cupping your cunt as you whine softly against him, looking him in the eye. “Good God, are you always this soakin’?”

You slowly pull back, shivering softly from the sensation of him parting your folds. Only you, Joel. No one else can do this to me. He comprehends, and he groans again, leaning down to kiss you. His cock aches in the confines of his pants. Just like that, everything dulls out and he can only comprehend this: to have you. You, you, and just you.

“Guess I have some makin’ up to do to ya, huh?”

Just then, his head disappears between the valley of your breasts, marking a trail of blood-red hickeys down to your stomach, one hand pinching a nipple harshly enough to make you squeal, to which he shushes you again. Gonna get us caught, doll. He continues his way, finally finding your sweet cunt. He shifts his hands so he can slowly part your folds. He kisses the inside of your thighs just as you clamp one hand over your whining mouth. And, with nothing left to do, he takes a deep breath, looking at your face as he sinks his tongue down between your folds, tasting you with a longing groan of delight.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.

All you can feel is the flurry of rhythm Joel sets. His trembling jaw, as if whispering prayers to whatever powers may be. His tongue splitting you open and fucking you raw in a way so obscene, you think it’s unbecoming. Perhaps it is. Perhaps by letting him have you this way, you have turned your back on your world. But he fucks one finger into your surprisingly warm cunt and everything else fades away into the silence.

“Fuck, baby…” It’s so easy, you whining urging him on, calling for him and begging to just keep going, dear God. One finger becomes two, then three. Then he raises himself so he can see your face better. So he can see the way your features contort into a heavenly amalgamation of beauty and pleasure and wonder in one full spectrum. But there is nothing more beautiful when his fingers brush against something that made you keen closer to his touch, eyes wide open with your mouth trembling.

“That’s it, isn’t it, darlin’? It is, huh?” He chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest, echoing to the backs of your thighs, and finally, straight to your wanting cunt. He smirks, his upper body shifting so his arm was much more free— just so he can keep aiming for that one spot that made you keen so beautiful he gets a glance of your otherworldly beauty.

A long forgotten poem comes up from the back of his head, just as he was pulling your orgasm from your willing frame, his other hand covering your mouth before you get too loud just so you wouldn’t be interrupted, caught, and possibly separated.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. “Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl, honey…” I did not think they’ll sing for me.

You shut your eyes, grinding your hips into his touch, chasing a sensation you can’t even dare put into words. You whine into the palm of his hand, feeling as if your skin, normally so cool, set on fire with the desire you have for Joel. You peer through your damp lashes, making out the silhouette of his smirk, his warm eyes somewhat swelling with pride.

“Joel… there’s… there–” you barely get the words out when you feel it. Your vision going white, the electricity flowing through your body, and coming out of you in warm bursts.

Heaven, you think, from how Joel so lovingly described it.

When you come to, he’s pulling his fingers away, and a spurt of fluids follow in the wake of his absence. He chuckles, the sound of it emanating the very depths of your consciousness. “Didn’t know ya could do that, pretty girl.”

It leaves you warm, slightly sleepy. Slightly drifting in and out—the way the ocean climbs and recedes from the shore.

You don’t notice the way Joel watches you. The way blood smeared your perfect face. You do not notice his hand tracing down your torso, coloring it a faded, rusty red. Marked by him, and for him.

And yet if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so will I endure. For already have I suffered so much, and much have I toiled in perils of waves and wars. Let she be added to the tales of those.

“Please eat,” he finally says as he kisses your forehead. “I saved a plate for you.”

So you do. You sit up, trembling, the cool porcelain pressed against your thigh as you feasted. Grapes, expensive nuts, and meats you could only dream of. You try not to think of the price he paid to lavish you with such an offering. Because now, instead of the guilt, you feel the rumblings of power in your veins. You have become his very god, the one he’d slay men for. The very god to which he offers a plate paid for by carnage. And if you’ve become god, what can you offer him?

Heaven was not fit to house a creature such as I.

—-

He makes love to you after dinner. Slow, careful. He doesn’t want to terrify you. He doesn’t want to get caught, either. He has you on his lap, your cool hands cupping his heated face, spineless from pleasure as he fucks up into you, giving you a moment to accommodate him and get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you wide open. Every vein, his very length, arching and filling you up in the best way there is to be filled.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, and you oblige him. You whine for him, calling, biting your lip and throwing your head back. You lead his hand to your chest, heaving with slow, shaky breaths. He knows what you want without ever asking it of you. And that is why he squeezes the curve of your breast, sitting up to press his mouth to your collarbone. The kisses set your skin aflame, his fingers pinching and pulling the pleasure from your willing body.

So he gives you everything. You cum once again with you on top of him. You cum again after he bends you over the nearest table with his rough fingers rubbing circles on your needy clit. And on the third time, somewhere when it’s quiet, you both lie on the blanket, your back to his chest, his cock unmoving inside of you.

It’s a moment of respite. A lull. A moment to catch breaths.

“How much did you see earlier?”

His arm is around your waist, his mustache brushing against the back of your ear. It’s nice. It’s almost domestic, a word so foreign to you. Perhaps domesticity is something innately human. But he makes you have a taste of it. And it tastes so sweet. You hum softly, tilting your head so he can kiss more of your neck.

“I saw the first man you killed,” you tell him, to which he groans, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t watch any more after that. It was… too much.” You feel his teeth brushing against the curve of your ear. Then he bites gently just to hear you squirm.

“I don’t want you lookin’ anymore, sweetheart,” he whispers, “not if it’s going to upset you this much.” He leans up, peering over your peaceful face, with your eyes shut and your body languid. “But… I suppose I’ll try.” You open one eye, peering up at him. “Less murders, my queen, yes ma’am.”

You giggle, pressing your palm to his mouth as he continues to tease you with such pet names. He speaks behind your palm. Angel baby, cutie pie… Other pet names you don’t comprehend because the sounds disappear into your cool skin.

And then he’s fucking you again, with you on your side and him above you, caging you in his arms. You catch your lip between your teeth, gritting out half-choked moans. Already, the pleasure has begun to border the line between pleasure and pain. Already, you feel your legs quaking, but you feel the tremble in his spine as well.

He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

That’s when you notice how sporadic his bursts of movement are becoming. Fewer and shorter in between. So, you begin to give back, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying on top of him once more, digging your blunt nails down against his biceps. You feel his hands on your waist. Bloody hands that have taken an infinite number of lives before you. Bloody hands that will take who knows how many lives after. Bloody hands, that, despite their track record, hold you as if you are so fragile in his grasp.

Gentleness incomprehensible. The best of the world in the palms of his hands.

The both of you, flying into deep, empty space. Alone with Joel in the aether.

Watching his orgasm wash over him just as yours does for the fourth and last time. He pulls you into his chest, letting you moan into his chest. The only thing that betrays his release is the stuttered breaths, the shaky fingers. That is all. And then you feel the warmth of his seed, buried deep within you, treasured and tucked away. It’s so much, you feel it reach places you didn’t expect it to be.

Even when he’s ending things, he’s giving you everything he’s got.

In the afterglow, he takes care of you. Already, the sun is rising  Once again, you won’t see him until it’s dark again. You’ll be turning away from the world and dreaming of those eyes and his smile. But for now, he wipes you clean, kissing your forehead as he brings you back to your tub. For now, you hold his hand for another minute.

“Y’know… Sarah loved playing siren as a fuckin’ kid,” he finally says, cleaning up the plates in silence. “She loves the sea.”

You peer over the lip of the tub, smiling up at him dreamily. “She must be so beautiful. With your smile?” You sigh, leaning back as you look up at the ceiling. “You must miss her much.”

He brushes your cheek with a sigh, shrugging. “Every fuckin’ day, baby.”

He walks away from you, and you wait for him to look back. He does, with a shit-eating smirk at your dazed eyes, neck marked up by his own doing. “Don’t kill anybody today, Joel.”

He nods slowly. “Get some sleep, squirt.” As you turn away, the smile drops. He cannot show that vulnerability out there, amongst the men he’s shared blood, sweat, and tears with. Men he killed from and men he killed with. Men who’d want to tear you apart and swallow you whole. Men who’d kill him if they knew what the two of you did all night.

Then how should I begin to spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways? How should I presume?

He doesn’t have to presume for long. Not when he emerges on deck and he sees the dark shadow of land specking the endless sea of blue he had grown accustomed to. There stands the rise and fall of a mountain, a jagged line breaking the skyline.

The Captain speaks, and the shock burns through him so rapidly that he tries to hide it by leaning against the starboard side.

We hit land midday tomorrow. Our li’l baggage ‘bout to finally bring in some fuckin’ money.

The clock is ticking, what else can he do? Go, go, go.

—

When Joel returns, he’s waking you from a long, languid sleep. You turn to smile at him, but there’s a different look in his eyes. An urgency, a finger pressed to your lips to ensure silence. He carries you from the water and you’re brought up close to see the crease on his forehead. When he wraps you in the sheet, that’s when he speaks.

“Need t’get ya out of here, baby.”

The great escape. The prison break.

Now you feel the tension.

He waits for you to turn, to become inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he’s hot on his heels. He’s gripping a rucksack in his hands, heavy with some inconceivable baggage, muttering to himself. You start to understand the madness. You start to wonder if there’s two versions of Joel waiting behind every door. One of them is the lover— the man who’d kiss you as he introduces you to a world of pleasure. Then there was the monster— the man who sliced open the throat of the person he was robbing blind, the man who fired the harpoon that caused your imprisonment.

“So the monster has come to set me free of my bonds.”

You rise, shaky on your legs and clothed in that sheet that kept you modest. It’s when he stops in his tracks, looking you in the eye before sighing, tearing the cloth away from you to introduce a linen shirt of his. It smells of him; perhaps it even reeks of him.

“They’re going to butcher you if I don’t try, sweetheart.”

You do what you promised to yourself you’ll do when he asks you something. You put your blind faith into his hands and take a leap.

He leads you through a maze of rooms you cannot comprehend. You stop at the crosshairs. You duck under tables when he asks you to. And you know why. Because the men who thirst for your blood can be found on every corner. Because you’re running out of time. Because he’d rather lose you to the waves than those who shed blood like he does.

In a matter of minutes, you find yourselves in the cool evening air. It’s a blind spot, and it’s far enough that he helps you to the raft while it’s almost silent. The sounds of men beginning to have dinner so distant and far away, it’s like an entirely different world. Skillfully, Joel lowers you both into the ocean, the distant beating of the waves masking the sound of him cutting the rope that tethered you to the ship.

He keeps one hand on the behemoth you’ve escaped, and he audibly counts. Quiet enough for you to hear. Tens. Hundreds. Then, a thousand seconds passes.

He pauses, straining to hear. In the flickering light of the lanterns, you see the silver in his hair and his beard. You wonder, momentarily, if it’s the last you’ll see of him. That’s when you hear it.

Yells. But not of alarm. Not of you, their treasured prisoner, missing from her cage. It’s the yells of panic. Of suffering. Of pain.

Upon seeing your features, Joel finally reveals the hidden card up his sleeve.

“I poisoned them. I poisoned them and robbed them blind so they’ll never come after you.”

You look to him, waiting for another shoe to drop. But there is none. This is who he is, laid bare for you to see. Your devotee, giving you the ultimate sacrifice. This is not the monster nor the lover. This is Joel. All masks have fallen to their knees and prostrated themselves before you. Every post abandoned and conquered, only for you.

“Go.”

You blink, and his trembling fingers hold your cheeks, his shaky lips kissing the crown of our head.

“No one’s coming for you as long as I’m there to stop them.”

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. A second passes, then his arms take you, throwing you overboard and into the familiar depths of an ocean below.

The waves welcome you with a surge of power, relentless and enduring. More immortal than you. More divine than you can ever hope to be. The moment you are released from Joel’s hold, the saltwater licks clean the wound on your shoulder. It washes away the scent of Joel’s shirt.

He’s already being erased from you.

From beneath the depths, everything comes back to you. The kiss on your hand, the scraps of food. His sticky, bloodmarked fingers marking you. All of it, slipping through your fingers like sand. In the cool darkness of the open sea, all you can see is a flame starting from the base where you last saw Joel. A fire spreading amongst the ship which you once hailed your prison.

You can see Joel’s boat, smaller in comparison, already racing away towards the shore.

All you can do now, with the power of Poseidon surging and bubbling beneath your veins, is to sing. To sing a hymn that begs before the very gods themselves. But it’s a song that begs Joel, too. Begs him to remember you.

Don’t forget me. You do not know if he hears you. Don’t forget me.

You attempt to follow him beneath the waves.

Don’t forget me.

—-

Against all odds, Joel Miller disembarks from the train to find himself in a farmland so familiar to him. Against all odds, it is three weeks later, and he’s followed all the roads and finds himself home.

He breathes in the smell of wheat under the scorching summer heat. He embraces it. He puts one foot ahead of the other, sea legs no longer present. The ground is too still that it still sometimes unnerves him.

A few meters away, he catches sight of the house. The windows wide open, the breeze making the curtains dance within. And on his porch is a familiar figure that had lowered her book and peered in his direction. He sees her face, and relief encompasses his bones. Sarah.

She’s running to him, yelling, loud and youthful and her face is like the sun. He feels himself smiling, too. The first time in weeks. Miles of walking and sleepless nights fade away with each step you take closer together. Then she’s running to his arms squealing as he embraces her.

Tell me. Is this really then Ithaca?

Finally, the years that separate the little family are slowly bridged. He rebuilds. He tells her stories. He tells her about you. When the sun sets, he tucks Sarah in and kisses her forehead.

Now, here he is. A couple of months that feels like decades have passed him by. He dreamt of you every night for the past three weeks. He sits in his bath, wondering if this was ever how you felt in those long, terrifying days. Did you feel peace, too?

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.

His eyes fall shut. His breath slows.

A moment of peace as he sees your face, smiling at him, languid hands reaching and asking him to follow you.

He hears your voice, singing into his ear as he chuckles.

Until human voices wake us, and we drown.

-

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @boofy1998 @persephone-girl @lunxramour @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

[canadianno]

ima need you to lore dump about your heritic au becaus i wAS LITTERALLY JUST THINKING ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

:3

The premise of the Heretic Leshy au is that instead of my normal lamb being the last one alive -> bearer of the red crown, it's Anoana, who is. Who is a 5 year old.

And one thing about my Leshy, is that he LOVES kids. So much. It's a little bit ridiculous and this whole au proves it.

Base premise is that after sacrificing the last lamb- which he was already pretty against in the first place seeing as she was 5- the bishops instruct Leshy to go bury the body

(Kinda like a- "you were being so annoying about not killing her, so now you gotta bury her, we're in darkwood anyway it's fine)

So. So. The 5 year old wakes up in his arms while he's in the graveyard. He nearly drops her. You know how it is.

Leshy can't bring himself to kill a child, even if that child is now wearing the red crown and a harbinger of a prophecy that will destroy his family. So he holds her close and takes her back to his temple. And he cries to his disciples about what the hell he's supposed to do.

If he let's her go, just releases her into the wild, she's going to have a very bad time because a 5 year old can't survive on their own, and even with the red crown she will still be traumatized as hell. He doesn't WANT that. He wants the child to be HAPPY. Because he loves them and thinks all children deserve to be happy. For the record he is correct.

Basically- Leshy keeps the lamb, hides her, and at one point gives up his crown to break his shackle on Narinder, but has to just keep pretending he's the god of chaos. Leshy discovers he can call on the crowns even without being the bearer of them- which yeah btw every time we defeat a bishop in this story Ana picks up their crown and the crowns IMMEDIATELY decide they wanna protect her. At the end of this story Ana has 5 crowns and like 12 parental figures.

Leshy is not the vessel of the red crown, but he is the one doing it's bidding. Heket is killed by accident in secret, Kallamar manages to send warning Shamuras' way before he dies, and Shamura is so so so angry. It's also worth noting that there's no Narinder fight, he just gives up his crown (he is NOT going to ask the 5 year old to be sacrificed for him, not when their parent who clawed their way out of heaven and into the gateway is sitting RIGHT THERE)

It's really fun, there's technically more to it but that's the basics :]

Take some doodle page for reading this much lmao

Fellas, does it make you a heretic by not wanting to kill a baby? No, but it does when you start killing your siblings about it

[peanut-with-wifi-access]

What's up with MK?

[a theory crafted thru pure over analysis and attachment to minor characters/scenes]

{thank you to @trix-with-wifi-access for listening to my rants and assisting in my insanity}

spoilers for Lego Monkie Kid s1 thru 4. Made pre-s5

If any of this is unintelligible, blame the fact it's like 6am and I'm only writing all of this outta a sudden burst of motivation.

I don't think MK is okay

Yeah, stating obvious aren't I? Well, I don't mean mentally. Ofc he's not mentally okay. I mean physically (or magically at this point tbh)

I think there's something Wrong with whatever MK is. But b4 I dive too deep into that, let's set up some bases.

MK's monkie statue. We all know that's his. He showed to Pigsy's doorstep covered in clay, which considering Nüwa, this statue is 100% made of.

The thing I wish to point out is that it's broken. Nearly in half. Something went wrong here.

We know we can't trust a word outta Subohdi's mouth, considering that not only does he claim MK's statue was remade from the fragments of Wukong's egg (which was made of stone, not clay) and even says himself that he doesn't know what's up with MK.

Anyway. As you likely recall, right after all of this, The Ink Curse throws Subohdi out of the way and appears directly to MK.

The little statue disappears, and the curse emerges from an ink puddle stemming partly from the rock.

And it appears looking like Monkie!MK.

The Curse (fuck it I'm tired of typing that. This is why we have fan names—) Mozhi doesn't appear like this to anyone else, other than manifesting as past Wukong to mock him alone. Wukong, also a monkie.

but it only does that after it's been directly provoked and attacked. MK didn't do anything, and Mozhi still appeared. In a mockery of what he truly is.

Mozhi appears in the form of an animal. In the form of everything MK's denying. It switches back and forth between "we" and "you". I also wish to mention MK's slip up with "we help people"

For some reason, Mozhi feels the need to directly confront MK, to the point of even attacking him with his own powers (and... Well I'll save that for another post actually).

Why?

Why did Mozhi decide that MK being in denial of what he is was so bad it needed to appear and beat the truth into him?

"This is your fate, your friends will turn on you, seeing you for the monster you will become. They will destroy you, Harbinger Of Chaos"

"Then prove us wrong."

is it just me, or did this seem like a last minute Warning? To be careful of what you will become, or you will be destroyed by your own friends?

Prove us wrong. Us. MK believes it. MK believes that his friends will inevitably turn on him. He doesn't just need to prove Mozhi wrong. He has to prove himself wrong.

Harbinger Of Chaos. We're all so tired of hearing that title, aren't we? Everyone in fandom talks about it non-stop. But I have seen very few mention something rather important.

Chaos is yin. The darkness with the speck of light.

and of course, yin cannot exist without yang.

Chaos cannot exist without Order.

I think that's what happened to the statue. Chaos lost it's Order, dark lost it's light, and now everything is eternally doomed. Unless said Order is found of course, but I'll get into that eventually.

What would the power of chaos do to make up for the lack of order? Well, it'd try to find something to fill the void. To fix that broken half. Anything will do, it just needs more power. It's too weak, it cannot survive like this. Without order.

... I'll just say it. I'm 99% sure MK's actual Mystic Monkie Power™ is Mimicking. The desperate attempt of chaos to fix what's broken without the necessary tools.

Would make thematic sense too. Chaos is unpredictable, Clay is easy to mold, etc etc.

But what does this really have to do with anything? Well, let's tie all those orange threads together, hm?

MK is not as strong as Wukong or even Macaque, two of the other 4 Mystic Monkies. Oh he's certainly strong (need I remind you of what he did to Azure) but simply not as undyingly OP as the SundialDuo/ShadowPeach.

He's weakened by whatever happened to his statue. Whatever ripped Order from Chaos.

MK's clay statue is broken almost in half, and he's only approximately half as strong as he really should be.

I think MK is only one half of a Mystic Monkie that was supposed to truly embody Yin/Yang. Something happened, and the statue that was supposed to become that monkie was broken.

MK winds up with most of what he needs to survive and stay stable (as shown by his statue being about 60% intact) but he's not as strong as he should be, and is left scrambling for anything that can give him even a scrap of the power he's supposed to have.

What happened to the other half? What happened to Order? Well, that leads into another theory... But let's just say I have my suspicions involving a barely-a-character that I got too attached to.

after all, what's more orderly than memories?

Ignoring that, focusing back on MK. My prediction for s5 is him finding out about this from Nüwa. After all, my theory is that she broke the statue.

... Ah, forgot to mention that. Allow me to elaborate.

I think Nüwa was genuinely excited to create something new. Something powerful. A Mystic Monkie! Finally!

But why was she allowed to do this? Because there was one less Mystic Monkie. With Macaque dead for who even knows how long, there was a long time where there were only 3 of the original 4 Mystic Monkies.

Nüwa took this opportunity and ran with it, getting permission from whoever to create a replacement, since Mac didn't seem to be coming back.

But come back he did! And having 5 Mystic Monkies running around would be such a pain to keep track of, especially considering what happened with Wukong!

So, Nüwa was either commanded to break the statue, or did it herself. Destroy what she had created so that nothing like Wukong would ever happen again

Oh but how attached she got, to a little statue not even brought to life yet. So much potential. So much power. Made of the same Clay she carefully crafted her original, precious humans out of. She always loved to create, but was never allowed to bring what she made to life again.

... Well, this time they only said not to have another Mystic Monkie running around... Nobody said she couldn't bend the rules a bit.

With that, the statue was broken. Her precious clay, her yin, her little Chaos. She put him with the humans. They'd take good care of another clay like them! She doesn't even remember what she did with yang, the Order, the—... the other half. She was too focused on watching her precious Chaos.

Even going down to the mortal realm herself, to keep a closer eye on him. She was there when the sky broke, when Chaos went too far, so she'll be there to assist. To tell her perfect Clay where her stones are, so that he can fix this mess, just as she had years ago.

Five stones.

Four monkies, one half.

—·–-–·—

TL;DR

MK is only one half of a Mystic Monkie (clay, chaos, yin) bc Nüwa's an overly attached idiot and Mac died so this all technically Wukong's fault lmao.

[fluffypotatey]

Hello hello, S5 ep 9 let's-a-go! Warning, this one is BRUTAL. QXT: Macaque, what are you doing! M: Xiaotian, stop! You don’t need to do this. QXT: I do need to do this! M: I did tell you before to make your own choices, but this isn’t the way Xiaotian! QXT: You don’t understand. If I don’t do this, everyone will be done for! Everything will be destroyed! M: It doesn’t always have to be you! There’s always another way! QXT: But this is the only way! M: That’s not true. You don’t get it! Nines: Who says…*interrupts/traps* ...he doesn’t get it? Not bad. Who taught you that trick? Who did you make a deal with? M: What deal? Nines: Well, that’s not important. Everything’s ending soon anyways. The Harbinger of Chaos knows his mission. Only by sacrificing himself will you all be able to live. Nines is a real piece of work, making it seem like MK has a choice. That he doesn't care what he does, okay bud. Says that he's tired of being controlled by others LOL. Oh, the irony is enough to make this EP taste metallic. Tired of humans locking themselves in cages, ignoring chaos and destiny, etc. The quiet, seething way Macky asks "what deal?" almost seems guarded. Haha, perhaps he knows. MK saying "not this time" feels like a parallel to another episode, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe something Wukong said? Yeah, that sounds right. "Sorry bud. Not this time." Yeah, S3 no? Wasn't there something like that?SWK: Xiaotian, no! Macky, watching this: *sighs* Even if this doesn’t work, I still gotta give it a shot. HELLO SIR YOU TOTALLY KNOW WHAT IS UP WITH YOUR WEIRD POWERS HUH? I'm skipping some parts, mostly the gang and Nine bc this ep is loaded, but note the way Mac's shadows infiltrate and surround the midsection where the power core usually is. SWK: Huh? What? My boi just turned himself into a shadowy nuclear bomb. I don’t like his prospects for the next season. Nines: You- what did you do? Why have I been separated from the chaos? I- I can’t feel it anymore! What did you do?! *screams lungs out as Macky gasps for breath on the ground.* HELLO MACKY IS MY POWER STEALING HC TRUE???? AYOOOOO Nine's is really flipping here, voice going all glitchy, robotic and echo-y. SWK: Macaque, you good? M: What are you waiting for? Stop Xiaotian! It's all about the tentative way Wukong steps forward and asks and Macky is clearly unwell...Is it worse or better than he was down for longer after fighting possessed!Wukong so we couldn't see his half-lidded eyes/struggle for air. He got himself up in the background of the SunBurst hug in a way that could be memed, but this? Nope. I brought it up bc I wanted to see if possessed!Wukong was holding back bc someone said he was re: laser eyes, maybe they meant him not using it until that fight, or the slow way(?) it charged up bc some part of him didn't want to kill Macky, idk. SWK: I won’t let you sacrifice yourself! QXT: Don’t stand in my way, Monkey King. Please. SWK: Not a chance, Xiaotian. You never abandoned me, and I won’t ever abandon you. QXT: Don’t force my hand, Monkey King. EVILLLLLL. JUST LIKE WUKONG SAID TO MACAQUE- don’t make me do this, Liu’er! SWK: No, Xiaotian. Don’t force mine. DOUBLE EVIL OH MY GOSH HE SAID THE THING AND HIS EYES WENT BRIGHT GOLD HE MEANS BUSINESS. They gave us serious scary Wukong FR.

I’m starting to see how things so easily went wrong for Macky. Wukong does NOT play around, even if you’re MK. Seeing him use the same spell LBD used to trap Macky on top of all this is making me LOSE IT.

QXT: No! No! SWK: There is still a lot I haven't taught you yet. QXT: Monkey King, please! This is my destiny! This is the only way! Let me just say I HATE the expressions Wukong has been making this entire episode. They're ruining me. This one too. SWK: Yes. You're right. It seems like this really is the only way to save everyone. QXT: Then- Then let me go! SWK: Nuwa, or destiny. No matter how you look at it, as long as we came from the same stone... QXT: What? SWK: You don't have to bear this destiny. Let me bear it. QXT: No! Monkey King! SWK: This world needs you, Xiaotian. Thanks...for everything. QXT: Monkey King! Stop, please! THE DRAMA FLUFFY THE DRAMA-! AND WUKONG IS CRYING AS HE FLIES AWAY- and then MK USES THE FREAKING SPELL. I swear everybody is trying to hurt each other and squabbling for the right of who gets to sacrifice themselves first and I'm FLIPPING. WHAT IS THIS?!?!?! This is what happens when you put two sacrificial morons with personal issues in a room together. SWK: No! Xiaotian! No! No! Stop Xiaotian! QXT: I'm sorry. I will be the one to bear my destiny. SWK: Stop! Don't Xiaotian! So anyways, Fluffs. We had all this angsty audio about Wukong crying/yelling if MK got hurt taken from Goku...and now we have to HEAR IT FOR REAL. And like, his VA is seriously good and I think I'll be crying for months if I heard that. I'm going to be crying to YOU about it and that is a threat. We'll cry together. I can kind of see Buddhist influence here since the cycle of reincarnation, while normal here for the characters, is actually the goal to "escape from." So to MK, it's not a good thing. Asides from how much angst Wukong gets from it. You would think it'd be like "oh I get to meet my friends in the next life" but nada, MK here is shook by it. Tho maybe it's because it's not natural, letting them live out to the end, but forcing it early?

OH MY GOD EPISODE 9

I TOOK ALL THE SUNBURST DUO SCREENSHOTS THAT MADE ME FERAL

like…..HELLO?????? 911?????? THERE’S BEEN A MURDER

AND THE FUCKING EXPRESSION BEFORE THE FIGHT🫠🫠🫠🫠 I AM SOBBING

[forgive me for the bad quality 🤧]

AND SWK SO READY TO TAKE MK’S OLAXE BECAUSE “hey, we’re from the same stone, so this destiny of yours should also be tied to me” AND WHAT IF I DIED???? WHAT IF THIS DIALOGUE STABBED ME???? LMK ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES

and the way Macky mourned Wukong privately while everyone else cried for MK (bc they assumed the Pillar repairing itsel meant swk failed) since he knew the Monkey King would try to take MK’s place i— 🫠

also Pigsy trying to change MK’s mind and when that didn’t work:

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME 😭

THATS HIS SON!!!! THATS HIS LITTLE BOY WHO LOVES NOODLES AND SUCKS AT DELIVERING THEM AND SPENDS MOST IF HIS WORK HOURS LISTENING TI TABG’S STORIES BUT PIGSY WOULDNT HAVE IT ANY OTHER WAY

🫠

also i think @/lunarwandering mentioned this in a post of theirs but Nines is so confusing lmaooooo like bro 🤨 do you or do you not want MK to sacrifice himself???? “i am giving you the choice he free!!! but i will also make sure to stop your friends from stopping me and you from operation Commit Die!”

the way he snaps at being called a monster 👀 Nines please share in a way that isn’t the Allegory of the Cave (like sir, that is Greek Philosophy come on) (tho interesting that the borders of the “cave” from ep8 looked like Nuwa 👀

ans Nines clearly has some beef with Nuwa 👀 so. what’s up with that)

i have so many questions about Nines

[then-be-a-warrior]

"Stop holding back. Stop trying to be nice. Your first strike should be your last strike. Every time you attack give it everything you've got. You have power inside you. Use it. Take the power and destroy. Remember: you don't use a weapon; you are a weapon!"

Macaque unknowingly told the "Harbinger of Chaos" to stop trying to be nice and destroy.

Probably not a good idea.

Like I know he didn't know but if apeshit Mk references this speech AT ALL, I'm glaring daggers at Macaque.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Can you please do scarlet witch reader the the wielder of the dark hold ( a book of infinite knowledge), the harbinger of chaos and the vessel of cthon ( a primordial god ) Possessing an ability that can warp reality to its whims and a sorceress

I wanna see all the gods reactions to her, it's okay if you don't want to. I respect that.

-You were a human, that much they knew, but you were far more powerful than any other human, and while they didn’t want to admit it, you were more powerful than the gods in Valhalla.

-Your abilities to warp reality could affect anyone and anything, not even the gods were safe, but it was far more dangerous than many realized, as you could do it at will.

-At any given moment you seemed to grow more and more powerful, wielding the Dark Hold, being a harbinger of chaos with your own abilities and magic, and being the vessel of a primordial god, Cthon, you were not to be trifled with and definitely not to be underestimated.

-However, despite the healthy fear the gods had for you, they also respected you, not all, but many of the stronger ones, who hold power over Valhalla, as you could easily wipe them out with just a blink of your eye, you could destroy everything, the heavens, the underworld, and earth, but you didn’t.

-For the most part, you kept to yourself, living quietly in a calm corner of the Norse pantheon, living in a beautiful house surrounded by your garden, vegetables and flowers, growing whatever you wanted.

-You hated being treated like a freak, a mutant is what they called you on earth, being stared at and judged for something you had no control over, you didn’t chose to become a mutant, it was the fate you were given.

-In Valhalla you were able to live freely, without fear, as many knew about you and what you could do, but since you would rather keep to yourself rather than interacting with others and causing trouble, those who did know you didn’t mind.

-You had made friends with several children who came to investigate the witch who lived just outside a large forest, but you weren’t scary or ugly at all!

-You were super pretty and nice to them, sharing your vegetables and telling them stories, fairy tales that you knew, and giving them soft smiles. You were quiet, but not mean or cruel at all!

-The few gods who treated you with respect were some of the most powerful in Valhalla, and they were the ones you got along with for the most part, because of this respect, but you could sense their fear, their caution, for good reason.

-Knowing what you could do, they did what they could to keep you happy, but were surprised while learning how to keep you happy, that they became fond of you, befriending you.

-And as time went on, they learned you weren’t as scary as they thought you were.

-Treats you with respect, but also as a friend, brings drinks and enjoys sharing them with treats you’ve prepared, talking and gossiping about random things, spending time together. Will defend you from others who don’t know the real you, who only think you’re an evil and powerful witch.

            -Zeus, Aphrodite, Shiva (and his wives), and Zerofuku

-Respects you and your strength, respects that you are a normally calm person when you could easily take over everything. Is fiercely protective of you, not because he doesn’t want you to get upset, but because you’re his friend and as your friend, he demands respect for you.

            -Odin, Beelzebub, Poseidon, Hades, Hermes, and Thor

-Doesn’t find you scary at all, he’s taken the time to get to know you and knows that you aren’t a scary and cruel witch that everyone tries to make you out to be. Can make you smile easily and is always down for spending time with you. You can come home at any given time and find him on your couch, welcoming you home like he lived there, but you didn’t mind. You found him comforting to be around, even when he does eat all of your food.

-Hercules, Buddha, and Loki

[familyofpaladins]

Guys. Monkey king doesn't know

If Monkey king truly doesn't know why he keeps going back to MK's rock when looking for Mk in the scroll, then he doesn't know it's MK'S rock.

If he doesn't know its MK's rock, then he doesn't know that MK came from the same rock he did.

Then he doesn't know the MK is also a stone monkey.

If he doesn't know MK is a stone monkey, then he has no idea why MK is turning into a monkey

He Doesn't Know

Monkey king: - but it's fine!. You look like you're doing f-fine.

Like like. I always thought this moment was like when you're watching over a kid and the kid hits their head and the kid is crying and you're trying to calm them down while trying not to freak out yourself because you don't Actually Know if they're okay yet. Like, that's how I think Monkey King feels in that moment because he doesn't know what's wrong with MK (he has No Clue Why MK is glitching into a monkey!!) and doesn't want to freak him out more.

He has no idea that MK is turning into a Monkey because he came from the same stone that Wukong did.

MK: I don't know what's happening to me Monkey King: we can figure it out after this! But we gotta deal with the now first!

"We can figure it out after this"

He. Doesn't. Know

And he doesn't get any time to figure it out!

Ink curse: Nice of you to join us, bud! Ya know none of this would have happened without you, right?

That's all he gets before the Monkie Crew shows up!

And then the next time the curse is talking about Mk's monkey form is how MK is "a demon destined to bring destruction, a harbinger of chaos", which honestly I'm not even 100% sure the others even heard any of that or if MK was the only one who could hear it considering we don't get to see any of the others react to what the ink curse says.

But nothing the ink says tells monkey king anything about where MK came from or what he really is!!!

I don't know if he'll even connect the fact that he ended up near the area where he kept going back to rock, because MK's fight with the curse kinda destroyed the area and I'm not even sure if they're on the same mountain top!

So Monkey king can't even put the pieces together that MK is connected to the stone!

All he knows is that he gave this wonderful good kid his powers and now the kid is being turned into a monkey and the ink curse is using tha to hurt MK

Ink MK: Ya know this never would have happened without you, right?!

Guys... he's gonna think Mk is turning into a monkey because he made Mk his successor and gave him his powers

[popjunkie42]

Enchanted, Enthralled

I couldn't help it, Halloween weekend is upon us so I wrote you some smut as a treat.

(This is meant to be 3 chapters but tbh I do not have an ending yet, so please enjoy it as a little one-shot for now!)

Enchanted, Enthralled on A03

On a cold autumn night in Velaris, Feyre comes across a beautiful gift in her studio. But as a painting takes on a terrifying life of its own, Feyre begins to realize that not all is well. The question is: how long will her mate and friends take to notice, and will it be too late?

Or: Vampire!Feyre is let loose on an unsuspecting Rhysand.

Tags and Heads Up: Vampire!Feyre, vampire sex (with blood), dubcon (Feyre is possessed)

@rosanna-writer and @thesistersarcheron peer pressured me (they did not) and thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @xtaketwox for brainstorming with me!

Feyre wandered the streets of Velaris, chasing the fading sunlight, her boots crunching on fallen leaves.

The fall night air was chill as it twisted through the streets and snuck beneath her coat, the fabric of her skirts. Above her, the full moon hung low and heavy in the sky, its light shimmering off the cobblestones damp with mist. 

The air around her was full of the scents of autumn, of cider and smoke and mulled wine.

Feyre loved Velaris in the autumn, the brisk cold beaten back by glowing hearths and warm meals at her table. So different from before, when she was hungry, when autumn was the harbinger of winter. Of harsh times and empty pantries.

Or…after that. In endless Spring. Where all was quiet and stagnant, even in ever bloom.

She rounded a corner and took a moment to appreciate the Rainbow, glowing before her under the cold starlight. 

In the evenings, when there wasn’t dinner with the Inner Circle or some formal social event demanding a High Lady, Feyre liked to come to the studio. Knew she would have the place entirely to herself.

The door shut with the ring of a bell and she lit the fae lights in the room, the rest illuminated by the burning night lights of the city street.

The High Lady smiled as she doffed her coat and wandered through the maze of easels covered in the children’s paintings. She pulled off her gloves and scarf and set them gently down on her work bench on the far side of the room.

And paused. The usual mess was here, brushes and new supplies and paperwork and little gifts from the children. Sometimes Ressina teased her for the disorganized piles, but Feyre liked it. This was one of the few places she could spread out and destroy as well as make, without Nuala or Cerridwen or hell, even Rhys sometimes, following after her, picking up.

But what caught her eye was very out of place in the chaos. Atop the desk was a beautifully carved ornate wooden box. Though the wood was polished and immaculate, something about it screamed ancient . 

It was common enough for the children to bring her gifts, and often the parents. But never anything as grandiose as this. 

Patience never much of her strong suit, Feyre flipped the latch and lifted the heavy lid of the small chest until it hung back on its hinges.

No card, no engraving, no initials. Just twelve bottles of vibrant, fresh paint.

A soft smile played on her lips. Perhaps these were from the Continent, or one of the Master’s studios in Day? She was glad she was alone. Whoever had brought this perhaps had a sense of how embarrassed she would be, accepting such a luxurious gift.

The bottle of brilliant blue unscrewed easily and she grabbed a palette knife to mix the heavy pigment back in with the clear binder floating on top.

It was…mesmerizing. Bright and almost glowing. She wondered where they ever found the pigments to make something so otherworldly.

There was a lightness in her chest as she looked at the other bottles, each as vibrant and rich as the first. She had come here to paint, after all.

/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\

The city streets outside were bursting with life, even in the chill. The sounds of conversation and the clap of shoes against the cobblestones grew as patrons left the latest show out at the theater up the street. Music swelled from the city square just beyond, and street vendors hawked their wares.

But when Feyre painted, it all faded into the background.

For too long, she thought, shaking her head as if from a dream. She arched her back and groaned at the crick forming from her bad posture.

Her brush dunked in the water glass beside her as she rubbed her stiff neck. Had it really been so long? She was mixing the paints, brushing on a tinted under layer, and then…

Finally her eyes returned to her canvas and she gasped.

Sworls of choppy blue, green and white centered the canvas, looking like rippling waves. She could have sworn they moved. And around them, bands and bands of dark black. A frame. A mirror. A door.

She didn’t remember painting a single stroke.

The painting seemed to ripple again, and maybe it was the light but she could have sworn…there was something behind the brush strokes, depths upon hidden depths.

She felt a familiar feeling, a dread in her belly and prickling of her skin. So like those first steps Under the Mountain, tiptoeing and peeking around each corner, knowing something terrible was inevitable around one of them.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

The sounds of the street faded away again as her eyes focused and unfocused. Feyre felt her arm lift, her fingers picking up a brush. As if on its own. She took a dab of paint and the world faded away.

/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\

The second time, she still didn’t know how long she had been under. Because that’s what it felt like, thrashing under deep waves, being tossed back and forth. And somewhere, deeper still, a voice. Soothing and gentle. Telling her, just let go. 

Sink .

-Darling?

It was the voice of her mate that brought her back with a start.

-What are you up to? I’ll be winnowing back from the camp soon.

-I’ll meet you at home, she quickly sent down the bond.

The painting had changed. Her heart pounded between her ribs.

Looking back at her was a single slitted eye, red as hot coals. 

And she heard it whisper,

Sink .

/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\

Rhys panted as he rolled his hips upward, the chill night breeze from the cracked window doing little to cool the heat of his skin, dripping with sweat. 

Above him Feyre moaned, her hips grinding against his, her head tilting back to the ceiling with her mouth parted, tasting the air.

Only a single candle lit the room from the bedside table. The cold moonlight cast in, a sharp line through the curtain, the silver light piercing over her neck, her peaked breasts.

Rhys’s eyes were wide. Enchanted . She was so fierce and free tonight, taking everything she wanted. Feyre moved on him, her hand lifting to grasp her breast and he gasped as she clenched tighter around him.

She had been rough tonight, desperate. Throwing him against the wall and ripping away his fine black jacket the moment he stepped into the bedroom. He had barely had time to grin, to tease her for her lascivious hands and lips until he was thrown onto the bed, his clothes roughly stripped from his body.

He gripped her hips, trying to guide his body deeper into her. His pleasure was a wild, feral thing, setting off sparks in his mind the more he felt the wanton drag of his cock through her slick wetness.

Feyre opened her mouth in a gasp as her back arched, the light catching on her pointed canines. Her hands went to cover his on her hips, and he felt her talons growing and scratching against his skin.

Though he was inside her, touching her everywhere, his body only cried out more, more.

Her skin was pale, almost blue in the moonlight, but her body was burning, scorching him under his palms and where they were joined at the hip.

Through his lusty haze, he felt the sudden pangs of a hunger so desperate the breath caught in his throat.

Feyre whimpered, a delicious sound, and leaned forward on her knees to pitch towards him and suckle at the pulse throbbing in his neck.

“Rhys,” she panted. Her voice was deep, desperate. “I’m so hungry.”

He gasped as the feeling struck him down the bond, her aching emptiness traveling through the golden tether between them and gripping his heart.

Between his pleasure he felt the flashes, of a girl starving and cold in the woods, of moldy bread in a dank prison cell. All the times she was alone and he hadn’t been there to provide. It was driving him mad. He felt the urge to let his power rise, to turn back the sun and moon in the sky until he was there every moment she was alone and desperate and surround her with his wings. To place delectable morsels on her waiting tongue, let her suck the taste from his fingers.

That tongue was lapping against his neck, licking off beads of sweat, replaced by the scrape of her teeth, sharp against his skin.

Though she was in his arms, her cunt fluttering around him, his heart was breaking with her hunger, her need. His mate was starving. A primal urge rose within him, to provide, to satiate. 

“Darling ,” he cried, his voice breaking. “What do you need? Tell me,” he pleaded, his arms wrapping around her back, hot and slick with sweat.

She nipped at his neck. “ I’m so hungry,” she said again, nuzzling at his throat.

“Yes, yes,” he cried. As if he could, would ever deny her anything. Certainly not with his cock buried deep inside her and her voice this needy whine. “Take what you need,” he whispered into the dark.

Her body stilled at that and his own cried out at the lack of friction. But he felt her smile against his neck, and then her teeth scraped, and then she was biting, her sharp canines piercing through his flesh to reach his hammering pulse beneath it.

All feeling in his body rushed, like an errant wave, and he came with a hoarse cry as he spilled himself inside of her.

His vision is blurred and his mind is hazy as he comes down from his climax, the thoughts filtering through his mind like wandering clouds across the night sky. Feyre’s mouth is hot against his neck, a heady, burning sensation running down from her lips to his limbs, his body tingling. The feelings down the bond are glowing, warm, thankful. 

Instead of relaxing back into the bed, his body, he feels he’s moving up, and up, floating above the mattress. He feels a drip of something, blood or sweat, escape Feyre’s lips and travel down the muscles of his neck. Her teeth are sharp but her mouth is warm, her tongue dancing over his skin.

And oh, she’s so content. She hums against him, the sound reverberating through his neck to his skull. She’s taking and taking and all he wants is to give her more, to fill her up. She pierced his skin and all his strength, the swirling madness of his darkness rushed out to satiate her need.

She sucks harder and he feels his limbs going loose and light, his whole body weightless and attuned to every place they are connected. He groans with her ecstasy, her joy. Gone is the starving human girl in the forest, bitter and trembling. He is feeding his mate, his Feyre, and here on top of him she is safe and warm.

Just when his body feels like it might sink, might fall through the mattress and into whatever dark earth lies beneath it, she breaks from his neck with a gasp.

Feyre throws her head back towards the ceiling, panting, the moonlight cascading down her body once again. He watches, enraptured, feeling like he’s outside of his body, vaguely charting the dribble of blood dripping from her lips to her chin to her throat, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone.

He is so tired now. He files the vision of her blood stained teeth deep within him for another time. All he feels now is her pleased murmurings across the bond. A deep humming contentment in his chest. The male, now content, who dreamt sometimes about that ancient High Lord, dashing his body and blood against the stone streets of Velaris, to keep it safe. 

He groaned as she slipped off of him, but his hands wouldn’t quite work the way he wanted them to. The mattress dipping beside him as she collapsed. She was still breathing heavily, licking her lips. He turned his head and wished she would do the same, needing to drink in more of her.

And finally she did. She looked at him and smiled, a glint in her eyes that was strange but, her smile, that was enough to send a shiver down his body. His eyelids heavy, he smiled back.

“Are you happy, darling?” He whispered.

Safe and warm and fed.

Her smile widened as his eyes slowly drooped. A buzzing in the back of his head was the only thing keeping him from slipping away completely. His mind clung to the feel of her sharp talons, softly scraping against his skin. Drops of blood pooled with her sweat and finally drifted across her collarbone and down her shoulder.

“I’m so happy,” she said, and he fell into the darkness with a soft sigh. “You taste so good, my love.”

[imminent-danger-came]

Macaque: "I know your latest discovery has thrown you for a loop, between that and Azure and the Lady Bone Demon trying to get inside your head..."

Macaque: "You know what! Just play the game—that'll teach you everything you need to know, for once."

(4x10 The Jade Emperor)

-

Yeah Macaque. Just Azure and the Lady Bone Demon trying to get inside MK's head. Those are the only two people, there's no one else. Just Azure and LBD.

[tiredfoxtf]

The Stillness

The absence of life, not death, but comatose. Associated with cold, dark and quiet. Children of Stillness are the Abandoned, those who live unnoticed or by themselves, either way, lonely, they also often appear cold.

The Entropy

Everything, everywhere, at all times, pure chaos. Opposed to The Stillness, The Entropy is the essence of life, heat, overwhelming existence. The children of The Entropy are called the Spiraling, they have little care for anything besides the pure thrill of life. They need to keep the blood going, they will go along with anything, as long it plays in their favour. They are not burdened with any material attachments, after all their goals are beyond that.

The Fate

Two faced creator of thread of destiny. Although people separate Doom and Fortune, in essence it's a two faces of one coin of Fate. Children of Fate are Prisoners, also known as Harbingers or Slaves of Fate. Their commonality is a role they play, the cycle they repeat, the prophecy they fulfill. They never asked for cuffs and chains, but it is also a role they play, someone must be a martyr in the greater story.

The Reason

The Reason is essence of curiosity, exploration and analysis. It is also a will to change one's path ahead or the world, a will to uncover the truth of the Universe. The children of Reason are known as Sages or Truth Seekers, they value truth over anything else. Calculating, but dignified, caring, but can be cold, after all to uncover all the mysteries, you need to sacrifice something.

The Hunt

Persistent, straightforward, wild and untamed. The Hunt propels every living being, being scared of dying, the thrill of the chase, the glory of the victory on the even field. The children of The Hunt are called the Hounds, once they set their aim, they will chase it until one of them dies. They are stubborn, but proud, to them letting go or forgiving and forgetting is a way of the weak, and they won't be the pray in this food chain.

The Devastation

Destruction, slaughter, death, the force to leave nothing behind, to destroy everything someone ever cared for and kill them after. Devastation is a force behind every tragedy. Children of Devastation are the Adversaries, the agents of chaos, seeking nothing but to destroy everything around them, to stand last laughing, no matter what. They believe in means to an end as long they will reach the finish line, not bothering to look back, ever hungry for more.

The Harmony

Harmonious choir of all hearts of the living, representing temperance, balance, love and care. Children of Harmony are called Melodies, that will eventually synchronize for Universe orchestra. They feel a strong bond with communities and people around them, often finding their inner peace in assisting or leading others. They feel strongly for their idea of balance, and they will hesitate to punish those who disturb it.

The Spread

Every living thing wants to live long, healthy, ideally forever and have more of someone like them - it is the very essence of The Spread. They show their mercy on wretched things and give them the long life they desire. It is also an essence of growth, strength and abundance, but also as disease and corruption, the filth. Some call Them the doctor of the Universe, someone sees Them as the plague. The children of Spread are Seeds, that scattered around, forces of life. They have a very blurry understanding of boundaries, they will do everything that will benefit them, but not out of malice, it's just the natural order of things, to take what you can, to spread your roots far and wide. And if you'll bring an axe to this tree, well, be sure, the tree will always remember and will burry you in your sleep.

The Watchers

Those who, watch, the essence of joy and sorrow of this life, they also look after the rules, but rarely they actually care as long as it gives them strong emotions, whatever they may be. Unlike anything else, they can never do something themselves, those who meant to watch can never play themselves. Children of The Watchers are Jesters and Actors, or Players, living for entertainment their own or others, they want to be seen, their act and play be noticed so someone will weep or laugh.

[cherllyio]

Is Nüwa good, morally grey, or evil? - A lmk season 5 theory/analysis

Now, since this is such an open question, with the very little we know about, I’m not going to give you only 1 answer, I’m going to give you 4:

Nüwa is a Hero

Nüwa is an Anti-Hero

Nüwa is an Anti-Villian

Nüwa is a Villian

Nüwa is a Hero

Now to understand how Nüwa would work with each of these roles, we are for each role going to look at what her motivation, methods and goal would mean for each of them.

If Nüwa was a hero her motivation, based on my past theories (here), would be that she would want do prevent destiny. More specifically the predetermined destiny’s that were meant to happen like LBD destroying the world. Destinys that would kill the humanity she herself created and still loves to this day.

Her method would then be creating MK, aka. The Harbinger of Chaos, to prevent these predetermined destinies to happen. And her goal would then be fulfilled, aka saving humanity in the best way possible.

Nüwa is an Anti-Hero

For this to be true her methods would have to be bad, but at the end of the day, her goal would end in something good.

So, let’s say instead she created MK in a sort of “bad way?” She made him based on Sun Wukong after all, and even though he is good now, if she was an anti-hero, she would have based it after pre-JTTW Wukong. Aka, the heaven rebelling, “I will push away all the ones closest to me”- Wukong.

This would make the methods bad, since MK would just end up causing a lot of chaos in both heaven, earth, but also to his friends, and himself. Yet in the end, her goal of preventing a very grim destiny to happen, would still be fulfilled.

Nüwa is an Anti-Villian

Now, for Nüwa to be and Anti Villian, there would be two options possible, since their also exist two kinds of anti-villain.

There is the “Noble Anti villain”, which is an evil character but with a sort of “code of ethics”, like they don’t hurt children or something.

If Nüwa was this type of anti-villain, she might not hurt people like MK, creations very close to her. But then her motivation for creating him, might be that wants to use this “chaos” part of him, aka. His power to somehow deny destiny again and again and his just general very strong powers, to take over the universe.

Maybe she would even use MK to gain The Jade Emperor powers herself, since in some stories Nüwa is The Jade Emperors daughter.

The other type is the “well-intentioned anti-villain”.

Here the motivation is good, while the method and the goal are bad. A instance of this could be a character like Azure Lion: someone who wants to help humanity, but does it through killing and terror, with the goal of becoming the emperor himself.

If this is the case for Nüwa she would have a noble motivation (stopping this predetermined destiny from happening) but her method would be to team up with “The Traitor” (guy from The Underworld) to destroy the normal status quo by destroying the celestial realm, killing all the gods, and then fulfilling her goal to become the god of EVERYTHING.

A god who would be able to protect humanity forever and ever, and she might even betray “The Traitor”, and become a king (or queen) of The Underworld herself. Therefore, making sure humanity would never experience death again. And in the center of this goal would be MK, who would help her with this, and hopefully stand by her side at the end.

Along with this, there is this theory that Nüwa didn’t even want to abandon MK alone, and that she wasn’t even done making him yet. You can find RV Sketch’s video about it here, but basically, while Nüwa was making her “Harbinger of Chaos” something went wrong, and MK came into life too early (hence the cracks in his stone mentioned in the picture underneath), and Nüwa never saw him again.

Maybe this was even MK´s weirdly changing destiny powers kicking in early and changing what Nüwa had originally planned (which is honestly very fitting). So now Nüwa and The Traitors goal would instead be to learn how to manipulate MK´s to, yes, change Fate, but in a way that benefits them.

Nüwa is an Villian

Now if Nüwa was a Villian, she would have both an evil motivation, method, and goal. So that would mean Nüwa would either be a very silly villain, like Yin and Jing, or just an INCREDLY evil person.

So, let’s just say that Nüwa is INCREDBLY evil(aka her goal).

She doesn’t care for anyone; she just wants POWER.

And MK… MK would only be a toll in her eyes get to her goal (like Emperor Belos´ relationship to Hunter in the series “The Owl House”) She might even team up with The Traitor to manipulate Azure into killing her own family, The Jade Emperor.  Evil motivation, evil method, evil goal, and holy sh@t she would be terrifying.

Conclusion:

We will first truly know what Nüwa will be like, when she finally shows up in the show, but in the end, we do know one thing: Good or evil, she is going to be on hell of character.

ALSO, This video helped me A LOT, so go watch it, its amazing

[jeynoodle]

I have teory about lmk season 5

look, MK hugs Mei, despite her threat to burn the universe. He's ready to save her even in fire.

And i think, I think that Mei will also hug the monkey-demon MK, as if saying “Im with you”

And look at this picture, damn, I think she was more worried about MK, and not his monkey form, capable of destroying the world, as if she see his former self with the samadhi fire in monkey MK. she says "MK!" when Sandy says "No!"

I think the others were afraid of his "harbinger of chaos" powers.

[lmk-aus-galore]

@imminent-danger-came’s Eldritch MK Theory could actually be plausible in this context to be honest…

Season 4 Special Spoilers!

Some people are a liiiiitle bit concerned about the last phrase of the Season 4 Special.

???: The universe is parlously close into tipping into chaos…

Ink K: They will destroy you, harbinger of chaos!

If you ask me, those are some PREEEETY neat choice of words there…especially since in the ending of the special they say:

???: But only a fraction compared to what will come to pass…should you succeed…

Now…some people theorize that these are the Kings of the Underworld, and that they are angry that Wukong wrote his name off the book of the dead, and they are still salty about it…

Soooo with this motivation…why not I just add the possibility that these guys…are trying to release whatever MK is, cause what better way to kill off Wukong, than a creature he just could not beat?

The way the Ink acts around MK is a little off compared to previous scenes of the ink around others.

The first time it manifests into Wukong’s guilt, It was manifesting as multiple people, Wukong angered in his lifetime, their voices echoing and overlapping with one another.

It was the same for the other Monkie kids, with Mei, Tang, Pigsy and Sandy, they were experiencing their ancestors/past lives, but their voices were once more, overlapping with other phrases the Pilgrims have spoken.

The second time the ink taunts Wukong, he taunts him with MK’s voice…he isn’t even just taunting Wukong, he’s taunting everyone, with MK’s voice…

Unlike MK who he speaks DIRECTLY to, he DIRECTLY taunt MK, he makes him QUESTION himself, he makes him try to REMEMBER himself, he’s pressuring him, forcing him to remember as if it WANTS him to remember, it WANTS him to know what he is, and since it’s created from the Underworld, and they have no other reason to give Azure the scroll without killing off the Jade Emperor and making inconveniences for themselves, I think they only GAVE the scroll to Azure because they NEEDED to awaken whatever MK was…

And my little thoughts go…MK and Wukong fight but that’s their plan all along, to make them fight.

Am I thinking too much? Maybe…Hell I’ll just add this into the theory because I’m slowly going insane from how much I’m overthinking things…