#sprinkled some lore in there

[aangelfreckles]

Ok, so-

My old pencil broke so I had to order a new one but while it's on the way I can't really draw anything (quite ironic for an art blog huh?)

But I want to post more Twin rulers content so here's some fun facts about my au! :D

~~~~~Twin Rulers au fun facts~~~~~

♡ Sun and Moon were street performers before they were jesters in the castle!

♡ Sun has made it his personal goal to see different sides of Y/N that aren't just "I'm nothing more than a Royal guard" although a difficult task, Sun is thrilled with even the little things he learns about them.

♡ Y/N won't even think about relaxing until the day is over and the boys are safe in their room

♡ Moon would never admit it but he makes sure that him and Sun end their day early so Y/N can rest, after noticing their need to make sure the boys end their day safely before sleeping

♡ Y/N can be found training in the gardens during not so busy days! For some reason they refuse to train anywhere else

♡ Moon would not give up his hat when Roxy (the tailor) was discussing wardrobe change with their new title, she found it easier to just let him keep it

♡ Sun and Moon have an eclipse state, I will not elaborate that's all you're getting out of me for now ;3

♡ Y/N likes to read! And if Moon were to accidentally leave one of his books in Y/N's room after seeing them look intrigued at them that totally wouldn't mean anything, right?

♡ Sun and Moon still like to do little tricks from their jester days for Y/N and although they don't really show an outward reaction the boys know very well that Y/N thoroughly enjoys moments like that

♡ The boys were not thrilled to find out about Y/N's past living situations

♡ There is a rival kingdom that sees the new rulers as the perfect opportunity to put together some plans

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that's all I got for you guys rn! :P

Please excuse my horrible grammar btw-

I have some art in the works but can't finish them till my new pen arrives so naw on this until the meantime (maybe I'll post a part 2 in the future :O)

Enjoy thy meal 🤌🏻

[herebecritters]

Can you draw flippy x flaky please

You’re lucky I love them ❤️

[scarapanna]

Here's some Intertwined opposites AU sillyness at 1 am for y'all to feast on while I work on the huge info dump post for it

Idk if this applies to normal canon as well but it looked funny/silly

[disenchantedif]

Here’s a commission I did for @stephschoices and her MC Lili since we’re all in a Luci mood lol. While I code the rest of Luci’s scenes, here’s this to tide you all over 🤲

Remembering the anniversary of a relationship that’s ended is a unique kind of torture, you think. It was once a day you celebrated and now it caused nothing but pain. Time is ruthless, and nothing stays the same.

Well, some things stay the same.

Like how your heart skips a beat when you see him slumped over the railing in the hallway, looking out at the night sky. That’s never changed, and you don’t think it ever will. Lucien Rivera will, perhaps unfortunately, always take your breath away. Then your heart sinks as you see the ruffled wings, the whiskey bottle dangling between limp fingers, the way his head is bowed as if in prayer.

He’s not praying, you know that much. Despite being part angel, Lucien never had much faith in anything.

You approach quietly, your steps silent against the concrete. He’s too far gone to hear you anyways, you realize, reaching out a gentle hand to nudge his shoulder. He spins around, the shitty overhead light reflected in his wide eyes.

It’s quiet for a moment, then your name tumbles out of his clumsy lips, “Leliana…”

Maybe it’s providence, be it of fate or the divine or something you aren’t even aware of, that you brought you both here. Maybe it’s your shit luck, or maybe it’s a chance you’ve been wishing for in the depths of your heart. Either way, he’s here and so are you.

“Lucien,” You force his name out, and it feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs, “I think…I think you’ve had enough.”

You glance pointedly down at the bottle. He looks away.

“I’d disagree,” He mutters.

When you hold your hand out, you don’t expect him to actually hand the whiskey over. He does, though, obediently and with shaking hands. There’s no lid in sight, which tells you he fully planned on drinking the whole thing tonight.

“Is Cameron back at your dorm?” You ask, and the knowledge that you don’t know the ins and outs of his life anymore is like acid on your tongue.

Lucien gives a stilted laugh, “No. He’s with his aunt.”

You offer your arm when he tries to stand on wobbling legs. He stares at it for a long moment, like he isn’t quite sure if he’s imagining it or not. Then he moves gingerly to take it, his skin on yours both foreign and familiar.

You know very well where his dorm is. Perhaps you’re over conscious of it, the fact that he lives just down the hall. It was stinging, at first, that he was so close yet so far. That seems to be the common theme between the two of you.

“Why?” Lucien asks, his gaze dismal.

“You need help,” You say, as if it isn’t tearing you apart from the inside out to be so close to him.

The look he gives you calls you out on the lie, but he’s retained enough manners to say nothing.

You reach his dorm, and he’s left the door unlocked. You’d fret about safety if it was anyone else, but it’s Lucien, so you push the urge down. He ambles to the couch when you release him, sitting in a heap of mussed curls and disheveled feathers. You open the fridge, cringing slightly at the lack of food as you get a bottle of water.

“Drink this,” You say, handing it to him before you drift back into the small kitchen.

The crinkling plastic tells you he listened as you pour the rest of the whiskey out. He doesn’t object, despite seeing you do it. When you turn, his eyes are locked on you, a half empty bottle held in his hands.

“Do you need anything?” You can’t help but ask, surprised when the question makes him wince away.

“You,” He mumbles, sullen and slurred.

At first, you think there’s more to what he’s saying. That he has some request for you. You almost ask a question, to clarify, when the realization strikes you.

It’s just…you.

Perhaps you sit next to him because your knees are weak, or because you feel like you can’t quite breathe, but either way you end up on the couch. His hand is so close to yours, and you long to reach out. When you look up at him, you see he’s looking down at your hands as well. You wonder if he has the same impulse, the same desire.

You think he does. You hope he does.

“Do you-“ You swallow the words down, unsure if you should ask.

Does he remember? Does he know what today is? Or is it just another thing lost, another thing time has consumed in its ruthless pursuit of your memory?

You already risk forgetting his touch, his skin, his smile. The way his voice used to sound, so kind and in love.

“I remember.” He says, voice rough.

Is that better or worse? You don’t know. Then his fingers brush yours, bold, and you lose track of any thoughts you’d been scraping together.

“You should rest,” You say, instead of the thousand other words that threaten to spill out.

“I…” He hesitates, his lip trembling before he bites it, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh.

“I can stay,” You offer, unsure if it’s wanted.

“Please,” He whispers.

It’s wanted. You’re wanted. You thought being forgotten was torture, but this is so much worse. Knowing he wants you and you want him but history and pain and things that can’t be taken back are pushing you apart…

You curse fate, the divine, your luck, whatever it is that brought the two of you to this point.

“Okay,” You nod slightly, “I’ll stay for a bit.”

He leans forward, curling into the couch, tucking his wings around him like a blanket. He keeps ahold of your hand, though, clutching it like a lifeline. He rests his head on the stiff upholstery, turned so he can still watch you.

“Would you sing?” He asks, his voice painfully small.

You falter slightly. He squeezes your hand. He wants you to sing, so you sing. It’s a lullaby, one that lingers in your memory from a past long gone. Just another thing time has ripped away. The Latin spills out easily, as if you know it by heart, your voice shaking just like your mother’s used to.

He doesn’t care. Not about the shaking, or the way your hand trembles in his. He looks at you with shining eyes, fighting the fatigue that threatens to close them. He doesn’t want this to end, and neither do you. In the dim light of the living room, he watches you sing like he’s finally found faith.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

"what is that you're listening to?"

"oh, that- it's my Old Earth radio, it's the only thing able to pick up the signals of the stations we pass by." "The stations are little beacons set up on random planets by humans, mostly those from Old Earth. They took whatever songs were their favorites and put them on these little transmitters to just... play through them at random until the transmitter breaks... or the universe goes out, I guess." "I like looking for 'em whenever I'm on long treks like this. Dunno why, some of them are just full of garbage, but... It's like, y'know, you're not really on your own out here, for as long as the music plays. Keeps the madness away, I guess."

"Humans are quite sentimental."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You wanna listen for a bit? This one reminds of some the old man used to listen to; no words in it, just the instruments... Pretty nice, really."

[nightdrawz]

does your oc have any powers or is just useless

Click on “read more”!!

Send asks for him if youd like,,,or dont,,,no one cares,,,wait no i do

[saevus-brutalis]

morning to you too, ker.

[whumble-beeee]

The Man in the Sweater Vest

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 7

Content: attempted noncon, threatened mouth whump, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, scissors, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, noncon touch, past captivity references, graphic threats, blood, crapton of whump. As a treat :)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[Inevitably, there will be disagreements on how you should treat your captured hero. One villain might want to just hold the hero hostage long enough to finish their dastardly plans. Another will want to break the hero’s will entirely! Or anything else in between! 

But when working together with other villains, bounty hunters, henchmen, etc, it is crucial that everyone is on the same page about how your captured hero is to be treated, lest your hero end up with a few less limbs than you meant them too, or your months of breaking down the hero's fragile mind is undone by a single nice gesture.

Always communicate effectively, your hero will thank you for it (or curse the day you were born)!]

* * * * * * * *

Sweater-vest stumbled back, reeling from the punch and clutching his face before pulling his hands down and gawking at the blood staining his hands.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!” Stan screamed. 

An intense elation washed through his chest despite the surprisingly sharp exploding pain that crackled up the very bones of his arm when he punched the man, and the now freshly ripped open scabs and bruises from where he’d forgotten to account for the handcuffs and yanked on them violently, streaming new ruby red over dried light brown that already carved down his arms; 

Because he'd got him. He'd got him! Punched him, made him back off! Stan did that! He'd finally managed to actually do something about the atrocities being committed against him and it was so, so sweet. 

Relatively short-lived, though. 

Vaughn, the sweater vest man, started to giggle to himself as he wiped the blood streaming from his nose onto his sleeve. Elation gave way to tentative confusion. Then a sinister seed started to take root in Stan's gut, the roots already reaching out and tightening around his body.

“You-...” Vaughn giggled some more. “You– you think–?...”

He started fully laughing, speech overtaken by an apparent hilarity that Stan must’ve just been too shocked by the sudden mood change to understand. He was cackling. Then practically shrieking, crazy, loud, heaving laughs.

He must be crazy. 

Insane. 

Well and truly insane, the way he was shriek laughing into his shining red-stained hands.

His gaze snapped up to Stan, and Stan could practically hear the horror movie crackling effect with how fast it snapped up, crazy maniacal shudders still overtaking his body, piercing gaze turned wide, animalistic.

“You think you can HURT ME?! HURT ME?! AHAHAHAHA!!”

Suddenly Stan slammed into the wall, cuffed wrists pinned above his head, chest to chest with the crazy man and staring up into his crazy bloodshot eyes.

“You can't hurt me,” he growled into Stan’s ear through gritted teeth. ”I don't feel pain. I carved that weakness out a long time ago, my brain doesn’t register it anymore! And I did it so I could deal with horrible little brats like you–” he slammed Stan's wrists into the wall, “--however I see fit! So I could do whatever I wanted to them. So that even if they fight back, they always, always, always lose.”

He pulled back and leaned into Stan's face, staring the captive directly in his glaringly defiant, wide and shining eyes. Hot shaking breaths misted surprisingly minty breath onto Stan’s cheeks, nearly overpowered by the metallic tang of blood that still poured down his face.

“Always submit. Just like you're going to.”

Stan pulled down hard against Vaughn's grasp, struggling and wiggling and tugging and screaming and kicking and doing every single little thing he could to, if not escape, at least make this as difficult as possible.

“Get away from me!" He cried. "GET AWAY FROM ME, get OFF of me, I’m not gonna let you do this you sadist, you can’t do this to me!! LET GO–!”

A punch to the gut. Stan tried to double over and wheezed as much as he could with his arms pinned up, which delivered him right into another punch to the face.

 Then something cool and sharp stabbed into the soft underside of his chin, straining his neck with how far his head pushed back into the wall.

“This is why I like to keep my victims gagged,” Vaughn gritted. “That bounty hunter of yours never does it, no matter how I tell him to. Always has to do stuff his own way, never listens. All he does is talk talk talk, always has a retort for everything. So defiant, and so is every single subject he brings in.”

A dull aching throb emanated from where Stan’s head pressed into the wall. Black spots dotted his vision. 

“You–... y-you can't–”

The scissors pulled back and dove toward Stan's mouth, eliciting a loud cut-off scream of revolt as he cowered and squeezed his eyes shut from some vain, animalistic instinct to protect himself. 

Then he pried open his eyes again, confused when no cutting metallic pain ripped through the fragile flesh of his face.

The handle of the scissors were fuzzy, too close for his eyes to focus.

They weren’t that far into his mouth.

Just enough that if Stan tried to close it, his teeth would clip on the tip of the metal blades instead. 

The scissors lifted slowly, tapping on his top teeth, tilting his head up until he stared into Vaughn’s metallic blue eyes once more.

“I could always prep your throat with these if you like,” he drawled softly, letting go of Stan’s cuff chain and instead lightly grasping his thumb and forefinger under Stan’s chin, forcing his mouth open further. A small sob crackled out from Stan’s throat. 

“It would be so easy… I could just–” 

The scissors lurched further into Stan’s mouth, and Stan let out another involuntary squeak and an open-mouthed, unintelligible pleading of “no, no, no, no…” as tears started to sting at his eyes.

But he let him do it. 

He even still held his arms up, because surely if he tried to fight back now, with the scissors in his mouth quite literally pinning him to the wall… He didn’t even want to think of the consequences.

“Careful, dropje. Wouldn’t want to cut yourself. Be quiet, be still, be good for me, right? You can be good for me? You can finally shut the hell up. No more fighting.”

He let go of Stan's chin and let his hands wander lower, caressing Stan’s sides, the curve of his waist, making his entire body tense and shudder. His breathing turning loud and shallow as he cringed away. 

Vaughn just giggled.

“See? Isn’t this better? You’re not getting hurt, you’re doing what I say…” His fingers slipped under the waistband of Stan’s pants again. Slower this time. More deliberate. 

It took all of Stan's willpower to not start hyperventilating at what he knew was about to happen. He knew. It was always this, wasn’t it?

Vaughn’s voice lowered as he leaned closer, pressing his body into Stan’s. He could feel the fibers of the stupid damn sweater vest against his stomach, deceptively soft, almost pleasant. The hard blade of the scissors tapped on the tip of his nose. “Because you physically have no other–”

BANG!!

Stan screamed. 

Vaughn screamed. 

The ghost of the gunshot echoed off the cinderblock walls. 

Vaughn also nearly fell backward, pushing off of Stan just in time for Stan to fall to the floor in a duck-and-cover position and pray to whatever gods would listen that his last day on earth wouldn't have been spent dealing with two of the worst people he'd ever had the displeasure of being kidnapped by.

Wait, scratch that, his knee reminded him. He'd had worse.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest completely, but he finally realized that in fact, he was still alive. So he opened his eyes to what he never thought to be one of the most beautiful sights in the world;

Deeby. 

Gun pointed to the sky and streaming a light grey smoke into a small puff of explosion that hadn't had time yet to dissipate. 

“What in the ever-loving SHIT are you doing?!” he shouted.

He was completely maskless, face now on full display, fiery eyes matching his equally fiery sneer. The sudden absence of the mask almost scared Stan more than the gunshot, the sight making his heart beat in his throat.

Then, for just a split second, Deeby's enraged eyes met Stan's stare. His eyes scanned down his body, looking him up and down, his face changing ever so slightly when his gaze caught in Stan’s chest. A slight crinkle of the eyebrows, a small tilt of the head. Then his eyes widened in some sort of realization, and Stan felt his heart turn to ice. 

Recognition.

No. 

He couldn't have realized who he was. 

Just because of the binder?!

Stan choked on his own throat as the collar suddenly constricted once more and he was dragged violently forward to his knees.

“Your fucking dog punched me in the face!” Vaughn shouted, jangling Stan around enough that he had to grab the collar just to gain back his breath.

“Just because–!” 

Vaughn jolted Stan's collar back hard and cut him off with a violent gag.

“I was disciplining him.” Vaughn narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. “Like we're supposed to.” 

Deeby’s jaw set. And still, he managed to find a slight smug smile within his fury. “That why your face is gushing blood, then? Disciplined him too hard?”

Stan didn't even realize when they started, but tears were practically streaming down his cheeks now, chest heaving in panic. “Deeby, Deeby, he was gonna–”

“Shut up!”

A kick this time, straight to the back of his spine, and Stan's throat strained hard into the collar before breaking free of Vaughn's grasp and nearly face-planting into cold concrete. He scrambled to get up, but the same foot planted on his back and slammed his chest right back to the floor, grinding the heel of its shoe into the captive’s spine. Stan clutched at the ground, screams barely bit back by force of sheer willpower.

“Christ, man! Stop it, get off!” Deeby yelled with uncharacteristic urgency.

The force pinning him down suddenly released, followed by the scattered footfalls of someone catching themself from nearly falling over. 

Stan just lay there limp. Heaving and shivering. He couldn't move. His limbs felt like heavyweights, the world tilted on it’s axis, and he was sure that if he lifted his head up, he would lose every last morsel of that protein bar he'd shoved down earlier.

But at least now no one was methodically turning him into a fine red mist anymore. 

Deeby stood between the two of them like an impenetrable stone wall, hand resting on the unlatched holster of his gun and pointedly ignoring Vaughn’s stuttering disbelief as he patted at the pockets of his jacket, pulling various probably very sharp things out and shoving them into his pants pockets.

Protecting him.

“You– You just–...” Vaughn finally composed himself. “You pushed me off! You're saving him? He needs to be taught a lesson!”

Stan tried to push up despite the dizziness. “Only–... D-Deeby, he was trying–”

“Shut up, Stan, I know, let me handle it! Here.” Deeby slid his jacket off and dropped it practically on top of his captive’s head, never once letting his gaze slip from Vaughn. Stan shakily pulled the brown leather of the jacket over his shoulders before he had time to think better of it, doing his best to just enjoy the show and not think about the implications of what was currently happening.

 “Because he wouldn't let you put your dick in him without a fight, right?” The bounty hunter said sarcastically. “Or– or– or because he wasn’t gonna let you mouth-gore him without complaint? Let you ‘teach him a lesson?’ Yeah, I am stopping you. Piece of shit.” The bounty hunter grabbed the scissors off the floor where they landed when Vaughn dropped them after the gunshot. Then he used them to point sharply at the door. 

“Get out.”

Vaughn scoffed and melodramatically rolled his eyes.

“You got the message from Lana then? Is that why you're acting like such a belligerent wittle babeee?” Vaughn posited in his most obnoxious baby voice.

Deeby bristled. Stan could've sworn for a moment he could see the man shaking. 

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I talked to Lana. Your useless job is done. You can go back to being an even more useless sidepiece now.”

Vaughn’s shoulders tensed, and he laughed.

“Good! And I’ll make sure to tell Lana all about you taking the side of the disobedient dog of a test subject–”

“Yeah, go cry to your girlfriend about it, he's under my jurisdiction and I'm not gonna let you fuck that up because you feel the need to live out your perverse power fantasy with the helpless people you kidnap and torture. As if it isn’t torture enough to have to be in the same room with you at all.”

Vaughn clenched his fists at his side and forced on the worst imitation of a smile Stan had ever borne witness to.

“You better watch your tone, Deathberry,” he said, sickly sweet voice doing nothing to mask the hissing rage. “I could have you in the same spot as him in ten seconds. Don't ever–” he jabbed Deeby in the chest. “–forget that. You're only allowed to be out here roaming around with your fancy gun and your fancy cowboy boots because you're useful, otherwise you'd be locked up with the rest–”

Vaughn had just started to reach for the holster on Deeby's belt when, faster than Stan could perceive, a flurry of movement between the two men, a cry of surprised fear, the shuffling of feet and spinning of bodies and suddenly Vaughn was pinned back first to Deeby's chest, a wire that Deeby pulled from somewhere stretched taut between his fists and pressing a hard line directly under into the skin of Vaughn's throat.

Vaughn's hands quickly flew up to the wire to try and pull it off his throat, then just as quickly let go when he realized the wire would sooner cut through his hands before it would be pried off.

Stan couldn't help but stare.

“You're just about at the end of my rope, Verhulst,” Deeby growled, accent fully presiding now as he stepped backward and pulled Vaughn toward the door. “Don't you ever put your filthy hands on my gun.”

A slight rasp to Vaughn's voice was the only thing that denoted anything was amiss. “You sure this is about the gun, Deebs? Sure you're not taking your frustrations at Lana out on me?” 

“Trust me, if I was takin’ my frustrations at Lana out on you, bud, you'd be dead.”

Vaughn's eyes shot to Stan, and his smile broadened. 

“Ohhhh, I see. So what then, you are falling for the captive? I'm sure Lana would love to hear about how you're going soft, how you miss her, and how spectacularly you're failing at finding someone better so you have to–”

A small gurk finding its way from Vaughn's throat as he was pulled to a sudden stop.

“You know what, maybe I am. And maybe you should use your mouth to do something not completely useless for once.” He spun the both of them around to face Stan again. 

“Apologize to ‘im.”

What?

Vaughn stared at Stan, apparently more stunned by the notion of apologizing than the motion of having a garot wire to his throat. Stan… honestly had to agree.

“Come again?”

“Apologize to Stan. For tryin’ to rape him. It's the least you could do.”

“You want me to… apologize?? To the test subject? You really are losing it, Deathberry, let me go.”

The wire dug into his throat more. “Say sorry, doctor.”

Vaughn glared at Stan. Stan glared back as well as he could.

“I can't feel the pain of this, you know,” Vaughn's voice came, even raspier. “You're not doing anything.”

“You can still bleed out from a slit throat. Still drown to death in your own blood as it slowly fills your lungs,” Deeby dismissed lightly. “Still bleed out. Very quickly. I wonder what would happen if I hit your carotid–

“And I wonder how Lana would feel about you slitting her head scientist and boyfriend’s throat.”

“Probably call you a little bitch boy for invoking her name every time you need to defend yourself like a spoiled toddler ‘steada bein’ a man about it and defending yourself. Or maybe not. You’d never know, you’d be dead.”

“You wouldn't–”

Deeby twitched the wire across Vaughn's throat and a line of red bloomed across the light tan of his neck. Vaughn's face grew just a little bit paler. He brought his hands up to graze across the wire and felt the warm wetness smear across his fingertips.

“Apologize.” Deeby growled. “Now.”

Vaughn's eyes flitted back to Stan, fully appraising the wonderfully wide-eyed mess he'd had pinned against the wall only moments before. 

He narrowed his eyes. 

Took a deep breath. 

Stared daggers directly into Stan's soul.

“Sorry.”

Oh you bastard.

“Go jump off a cliff!” Stan yelled, erratically reaching into the jacket pocket he'd seen Deeby pull the protein bar out of earlier and luckily finding many more, one of which was immediately thrown directly at Vaughn. He couldn't even attempt to dodge it, and it hit him directly in the chest. 

The mercenary let out a singular loud laugh and spun Vaughn back around, letting the wire retract into what Stan now realized was a little housing box on his weird arm sleeve thing and shoving Vaughn at the door as hard as he could.

“Guess he doesn't forgive you. Better luck next time!” he laughed. Stan genuinely thought (and hoped) Sweater-vest would fall flat on his face, but he managed to grab the door and right himself before that happened. Shame.

“Now get out.” Deeby said.

Vaughn glared with a literal snarl, jaw half a second away from cracking in two. Right before he took a slow, deep breath and reset his features to a forced neutral. Then an easy smile. “As you wish, my liege.” 

He bowed exaggeratedly low in a show of mock respect, retrieving his scissors from the ground in a surprisingly graceful sweeping motion as he went. Deeby just rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and Stanny?” He drawled, peeking back from the door as he left and pointing his scissors directly at Stan's face with a flourish. “I look forward to seeing you soon~.” 

“Get outta here!” Deeby yelled with a threatening stomp toward the door, at the same time Stan stuttered out a very surprised and agitated “In hell!”

The door slammed shut. 

Stan could swear he could still hear Vaughn's deranged laugh echoing through the room even as an eerie silence fell over them.

He was finally gone. Finally.

See you soon.

He didn't completely understand why his breath continued to quicken. He'd won that encounter, right? Or… well, Deeby had. But still.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

He felt dizzy. More than the concussion could have caused. This was different, made him feel like he was suffocating, even though Vaughn was no longer here to strain the collar against his throat. Yet he could still feel the knuckles digging into the back of his neck.

I look forward to seeing you soon. In hell.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe

[pure-vessel-thoughts]

I have so so many siblings and I love them so so much

I'm not good at expressing those things though- my sisters said it was because I wasn't meant to, which makes sense

But they also said they always understand what I'm thinking, and that makes me happy :3

[mblue-art]

Hi yes I would like it if you went insane over cross (publically on Tumblr dot com) thank you

(hehe hi catto i appreciate u 🫶🫶🫶)

today is not the day, btu. i really wish you guys could see through my brain, and look at the part of my brain that's responsible for simping for cross (DAILY) and see how fucking, weird it is, how delulu i am for him how ill i am for this guy

[aangelfreckles]

Alrighty! Finally the second part of this ask! (Again, I'm sorry for disappearing TVT)

They've had other guards before but none of them ended well so they definitely are a bit apprehensive. Even with this both Sun and Moon have varying opinions on Y/N, especially Moon

(TW this piece has slightly impactions of attempted suicide...I think? I'm just gonna put this here just in case)

(I had to combine some of them cause I didn't know Tumblr had a limit oops and also sorry that it looks super messy)

Basically Moon's opinion on Y/N is he doesn't necessarily trust them yet, but he can tell they're different from his past guards, he's confused by them if anything

Now, if you didn't read my last post, my drawing system crashed and I lost all of Sun's part and I didn't have the motivation to redo it so I'm just gonna explain his part in text

Sun has always been the more trusting of the two, he's still hurt about his past guards and their betrayals but that doesn't stop him from trying to have a positive look on Y/N! When he first met them he was astounded by their abilities, the more he interacted with them the more he took a sort of fondness to them. Y/N's stoic personality is something he is still confused about, he appreciates their drive to keep him safe but he still wants them to have their own hobbies and joys, that's his personal goal.

So they're both basically confused on Y/N's drive to protect them and unknowingly to Y/N it's unneeded and they can protect themselves just fine ;)

[teamplasmaofficial]

Ghetsis.

This is very important to me.

I have just figured this out. Behold.

":3"

It is a Glameow face. Look at it. Are you looking at it? Look at it longer.

That is all :3

(It apparently is a punctuation mark, too.)

-Cyrus. (@longing-for-a-perfect-world)

I have been haunted by this symbol for the last few weeks. Are you aware of this, Cyrus? Is it supposed to be a Glameow? I haven’t any idea why you’d send this to me. Do you know about the identity of ‘:3’?

[sonicblooms]

not hector’s dad, randall, developing a crush on diamond within moments of meeting her...? buddy worked through discovering he still has a heart on the treadmill while ruby and hector had a play date upstairs

[spicyraeman]

"Hobbies? 'Sides smokin weed? Probably photography, Night City's gotta bunch of real beautiful views 'tween all the garbage. Coronado s'gotta be my favorite place to take pics though, view from the dam is fuckin gorgeous."

[tojisun]

telling people (usually from uni or work since theyre in a whole diff city) where exactly i live in is always a trip because they always have such intense reactions. like, i had one research partner (back when i used to take evening classes and they’d end around 10 pm so id usually be home by 12 am) say she’s already afraid of travelling to my city in the morning so doing it that late was beyond her. i mean its really not bad here but it always fills me with surprise when ppl are horrified for me lmfaoo

[saevus-brutalis]

last art this year

was supposed to be for pride month but— ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒.

some lore surrounding these two that is too long overdue but 🤷‍♂️

not as detailed and rambly as i’d like it to be, but i’m really burned out and i’m trying to get back to it🧍‍♂️

nevermind it’s pretty rambly lol

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

all the way back in 2038 Vincent and Ray, after dating for around two years, agreed to leave California together on august 21st — Ragan’s birthday; it was supposed to be his birthday gift of sorts, a start of a new chapter, new life;

buuut Vince, being a little shit teenager, got cold feet (in Ray’s eyes, Vince always justified that as being rational) and ditched him last minute, not showing up in their agreed spot, making Ragan leave on his own after hours of waiting.

this caused Ray to despite his own birthdate, it always reminding him of the heartbreak and betrayal. 🧍‍♂️

Vincent has felt guilty ever since, but firmly believed it was the right choice. he was never fit to live a nomadic lifestyle at such a young age.

four decades later their paths cross again and a long healing journey ensues.

so now this date is pretty bittersweet to both of them 🧍‍♂️ but it gets better overtime

basically right person, wrong time

although i think if they did ran away together then, it wouldn’t have ended good at all 🤷‍♂️ with Vince still being pretty immature emotionally, still struggling with some inner personal things (family stuff, internalized homophobia, etc.) and not familiar with the nomadic culture and ways of living. they’d probably get in bad fights more and more as the time would go on, and eventually split. Vince would’ve decided to go back to Night City probably (if he ever would make it back) and they’d never end up back together has they met in the future.

their separation allowed them to grow and mature on their own, in their own familiar environments, experience different things, and after they met again, after all those years, they put their feelings and mutual attraction to the test

and it turned out they still want each other even with all the imperfections 🧍‍♂️(i’m not crying you are) they could lie all they want but their brain chemistry couldn’t. Vincent never loved someone they way he loved Ragan, and Ray never quite felt the same way with anyone else like he felt with Vince. there was always something missing, something not quite right. and while they could tell each other they’re looking for something too far out of their reach, that they’re looking for a too perfect partner, in reality they always just wanted each other 🧍‍♂️

they still have a lot to work on together in their relationship, but now that they’re too old for teenage fights and too tired for heartbreaks, they make compromises and their fights make their bond and their understanding of one another stronger 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

like we acknowledge that Vince did a shitty thing by ghosting Ray, going no contact and being a puss, too scared to man up, and tell him face to face ‘hey i can’t go, this type of thing ain’t for me’. he didn’t want to acknowledge that, saying that out loud, or even in his mind, would make that real and that scared him. he was definitely a teen who’d rather avoid doing something he wasn’t comfortable with to not experience the uncomfortable feelings altogether. the avoidant type we all know and love 🧍‍♂️

and yet Ray still chose to love him 🧍‍♂️ he’s definitely like ‘this man’s trash but he’s *my* trash’. Vince gets better eventually after Ray finally gets through his thick ass skull.

but also i’m not gonna sit here and say Ragan fixed Vince coz that wasn’t the case 🤷‍♂️ this is not a ‘i’m gonna fix him’ type of situation. Ragan wasn’t and isn’t perfect either, his perspective was kinda askew as well; can’t quite describe it as i haven’t psychoanalyzed him as much as Vincent but they’re both flawed, make mistakes left and right and learn from that (sooner or later) like human beings 🧍‍♂️

but in the end they’re just old men in love