#want to draw some infinite pain maybe..

[alicenpai]

i started watching infinity train. only thing i wanna say is. infinite pain

[goblinwithartsupplies]

Juno's Point.

For the first time, Juno gets furious, - how dare this lustful bastard!? How dare he impose himself on the grieving groom, how dare he!? Isn't he the god of justice and honor, shouldn't he represent the highest morality!? Why is he acting so disgusting!? He did not save Jason, although for him it would have been as easy as asking a nymph to give him nectar - just one white-hot lightning and a vile chimera infamously enhanced by Hecate's magic would have been destroyed and Jason was alive.. But Jupiter never took care of his children, - Jason's death cry never sounded. This creature bit into his throat too quickly. She trashes their bedroom as when she found out about Beryl Grace's newly rounded belly and silently sits down amid the chaos she caused in a torn dress and with shaggy hair. The nymphs, timidly trying to restore order, run, flashing their heels when she screams at them. Soon everyone will find out that their sovereign seems to have taken a mortal lover again. Jupiter comes in amazingly on time, Juno is silent, just sits next to a broken mirror and combs her hair, Jupiter ignores her and just goes to bed. He is too busy fantasizing about the young body of son of Neptune, Juno would rather turn the boy into one of her peacocks than let Jupiter even touch him with the tip of her fingers.

For the second time, Juno is next to her mother. Rhea refused to change when the Roman Empire came, she remained Rhea, an endlessly loving and faithful mother of her children even when they became different. Juno is crying on her mother's lap, soiling her white linen tunic with tears, grief for Jason eats her nonexistent heart, she was so bad only when Jupiter hung her over chaos. maybe that's why the gods refused to fully love their demigod children? because it hurts too much to lose them. Rhea comforts her with her infinitely gentle voice and says that this is the truth of life, mortals are dying and they must accept it. Part of Juno's consciousness, with a touch of dark humor, draws a parallel between her and some mortal child who lost a pet for the first time. Jason was, in fact, her beloved, devoted and affectionate puppy. When she returns to Olympus, Jupiter greets her in their bedroom with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. maybe grief made her too sensitive, maybe she just longed for love, but this simple gesture melts her like snow in the rays of the sun in spring. They are entwined in a loving embrace in their bed as husband and wife, Juno prefers not to pay attention to his detachment, she feels desired again, and this dulls the grief and that's enough.

The third time, Juno looks and wants to intervene. Perseus is grieving just like her, the goddess is sincerely surprised that he is still alive. Perseus comes to work with trembling legs and a thick fog of pain in his mind, Jupiter is waiting for him as usual and Perseus pounces on any source of comfort. He asks for hugs, simple intimacy and warmth, but for Jupiter it's like a red rag for a bull, he kidnapped and possessed a mortal princess, just because she was swimming in the river where he saw. The wind roars, Juno feels anger boiling inside, no she won't allow it, no no no and once again no, let her husband pursue mortals, but leave Jason's grieving fiance alone. But to her amazement, Jupiter obeys Perseus, does not demand anything in return, there is not a hint of arousal in him, he does not crave his body. They hug, really just hug, - Perseus presses his back against Jupiter's chest, crying into the crook of his elbow, Jupiter presses his lips to the top of his head, his hands gently rest on his shoulders. It looks strange and gentle, pure, there is a strange closeness in them, a strange closeness, not like the closeness of lovers or father and son, but it is a tender and affectionate closeness, similar to love but not being it. Jupiter is not interested in Perseus as a beautiful body warming his bed or as a lover, Juno realizes, But he feels something gentle for him, while remaining loyal to me, a Perseus is still faithful and mourns Jason. Juno decides to give the son of Neptune his mercy, let this closeness with Jupiter comfort him. She would not harm him or the children if this strange union bore fruit.

Hey, hello! could you please rate and voice your opinion about my letter - beginner anon.

This is honestly perfect. I’m intrigued about the idea of a platonic relationship causing kids. The way Juno is protective of Jason even when he’s dead is so sweet

[zoeykallus]

I don’t know if you like writing angst very often but I can’t get the idea out of my head- where the batch is involved with a Jedi but their chip activates. They survive but they definitely don’t get away unscathed. And maybe if you’re feeling reallly angsty they reunite after the chip removal.

(You’re super talented btw I love everything you write❤️❤️)

Aloha!

Well, it always depends a little on different factors sometimes, generally I'm not averse to writing angst. On some days I might not feel up for the task, I pick another ask to do first and then come back to the angsty stuff.

I do like this one, 'cause honestly, I asked myself "what if" in this scenario a couple of times. Thinking of how scary Wrecker was under the influence of the chip, this is definitely worth looking into.

Thanks for the input, and thanks for your sweet words!❤️❤️

The Bad Batch x Jedi!Reader - Order 66

Warnings: Angst/Hurt/Tension/Violence - Don't worry, you get a Happy End this time too!

______________

You thought you are safe, the chip your batcher has isn't functional. You are wrong. The headaches he’s been having, should have worried you more.... "Good soldiers follow orders"

______________

Hunter

Your heart races. There is no way to kill him, you don't want to. You have to be fast, or you might not have any other options left. Hunter already shot at you, you are limping, your leg hurts where his blaster hit you. Clenching your teeth, biting down against the pain, you limp from hiding spot to hiding spot. But you know, he can smell you, Hunter knows where you are. For the first time ever, you are scared of that man, really scared and infinitely sad. Pain, fear, confusion, desperation. All at once. It was hard to focus, to stay calm. It feels like you are on the run for hours already, but it's just a few minutes so far.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are! You know you can't hide from me, I can smell your fear"

You gulp, jump up, out of your hiding place above him and hit him with the grip of an axe you found, to knock him out.

Looking down on Hunter lying there, you feel so shaky and breathless.

"Sorry, hun, you didn't give me a choice", you whisper, softly kiss his forehead and leave.

There will be more clones coming your way soon, you have to leave him where he is. You don't want to, but you have to.

Months later:

"I thought I smelled your scent"

You freeze. Did you really hear that voice? Slowly you turn around, your hand is wandering to your lightsaber, but not drawing it yet.

It is him, Hunter. As he sees your hand going for your saber, he says softly, "Easy, Mesh'la, I'm not here to hurt you"

"Last time we met, you tried to kill me", you say quietly.

Hunter sighs, looking down for a moment, as he looks back up again you see how sad and ashamed he is about that fact.

"I didn't have any control. I tried, I was fully aware, but I couldn't stop what was happening. It felt like... I don't know how to describe it but, it felt like I was controlled by someone other than me"

He shrugs, looking a little helpless.

"Look", he says softly, "You didn't know I was here, I could have killed you already if that was still my goal"

You swallow, you can feel your eyes burn and watering.

"Are you my Hunter?"

He nods, saying, "Yes, Mesh'la, I am"

As you let yourself fall into his arms, you shake and softly sob at his chest, your fingers digging into his back. He was real, Hunter was back, your Hunter.

"I missed you", you whisper.

Hunter kisses your temple, hugging you closer and says, "I missed you too"

Echo

Him suddenly attacking you was a shock to say the least. He hit you pretty hard with his scomp link, had almost knocked you out. By now you've outrun him, at least you think so. Your head hurts, you feel shaky and somehow disconnected from reality. Echo is hunting you, his chip is activated somehow. That is real. Not a bad dream. Reality. It doesn't feel real, but it is. It's hard to come to terms with this cruel reality, but you have to face the facts. Echo will kill you if you let him, you need to stay away from him. Still feeling a bit dizzy from when Echo hit you, you stagger from one hideout to the next.

You mutter to yourself, "This is so unreal"

Looking up because you feel it coming, you see Echo trying to jump you. You can barely avoid him. Reaching into the Force, you grab him and smack him against a wall. It was more of a reflex without thinking, than a reaction. Heart pounding, you stand over his unconscious body. He is clever, and he knows you, he managed to sneak up on you. Echo almost had you. The thought of him really killing you, creeped up and down your spine.

"Sorry, sweetheart", you whisper, "I love you, but I can't stay"

Months Later:

A strange message made you come here, someone wanted to meet you here. It's an old place where Echo and you used to meet, secretly. You are aware, this could be a trap, but you still had to come.

"Cyare"

Your heart jumps into your throat. Turning around, you see Echo approach you. His face, his eyes, you can see right away, he is your Echo again. You don't even think about reaching for your lightsaber.

"Echo", you say quietly.

He stops a few steps away from you, he looks so shy and nervous, like the first time you met at this place.

"I'm so sorry", he says, his voice almost failing him, "For what I did. The chip activated and... the worst part is, I was fully aware, the whole time, but I couldn't stop myself from trying to... kill you"

He swallows and adds, "Honestly, I didn't think you'd come"

A few tears run down your face, but you smile at him.

"I had to come, Echo"

He comes closer and hugs you, softly at first but finally pressing you against his body, shaky and silently sobbing.

Wrecker

He is scary! He pries open doors you hide behind, he smashes obstacles in his way with his pure strength. You know what will happen if he gets his huge hands on you. Those hands which had touched you so lovingly before, hands that now want to crush you. And he literally can if he gets you. Somewhere in the back of your panicked mind, you already hear your own bones crush. Your sweet giant is anything but sweet, right now. You know it's not his fault, it's that rotten chip in his head. Rex warned you about it, but it seems like you still didn't act fast enough. You feel him coming closer and duck. Wrecker rams a dent into the dura-steel wall where just a second ago your head has been. That hit would have crushed your skull, easily.

Making evasive maneuvers, almost dancing around him, you try to think of something to end this and help him. But you know, for now you have to give up and run. You can't carry him, and you know he's called for imperial back-up. You need to leave, now.

As you knock him out with a Force blow and leave him there, you do it with a heavy heart. Not sure if you ever see him again and if so, if he will still want to kill you.

Months Later:

"Mesh'la?!"

You wheel around, startled. You know that voice. As you see Wrecker approaching you in the middle of a marketplace, you look around alarmed, searching for Imps. But there are none.

"It is you! It's really you"

Wrecker has the biggest smile on his face, looking at you with watering eyes. You can see he wants to hug you, but he's holding back.

"Wrecker", you say softly, "You are not here to kill me, are you?"

He shakes his head.

"No! Of course not! I'm so sorry for what happened, I wasn't in control, but I still knew what was going on and..."

You softly place your hand on his chest.

"I know, Wrecker, it's okay"

A few tears roll down his sweet face.

"Can I hug you, please?"

Your heart beats faster, and you nod with a smile. Wrecker softly grabs you with his huge hands and lifts you into his arms. Your own arms wrap around his huge shoulders, and you nestle your face in the gape between his neck and shoulder.

"I missed you so much", he says, hoarsely.

Tech

It's a nightmare, at least that's what it feels like. You wish it was just a nightmare. Tech's got you pinned down, and you are struggling against his grip. He is clever, he knows all about you, it was way too easy for him to catch you and knock you off your feet.

"Tech! Let go of me!"

"You are in violation of order 66 ugh-", you ram your knee into his stomach interrupting him.

"I'm sorry, Tech, I don't want to hurt you, but you leave me no choice!"

Tech is grunting, struggling to his feet and trying to reach for his teaser. You know what he's about to do, and kick him again. The teaser slips out of his hands and clatters to the ground, sliding away over the floor.

Hastily, you jump to your feet. You know he won't give up, and you know he's way too clever, knowing too much about you. You have to knock him out and run for it.

"Jedi!", he spits out as if the word is bile in his mouth.

Seeing your sweet Tech like this, hurts so deep. You love this man with all your heart, but right now he is not himself. You know you have to fight him, and the thought alone, makes you break out in a cold sweat.

But there is no way around it, he's aiming for you again, this time he has one of his blasters back. You reach out into the Force and knock him against a wall, knocking him out.

"Fuck", you swear silently.

You are shaky and feel so down, but you have to leave him. You can hear other Troopers, they are looking for you too.

Months Later:

You feel him watch you before you see him. As you look around, searching for the eyes watching you, you see him standing not too far away, watching you timidly. As your gaze meets his, he lowers his eyes, looking to the ground.

Of course, you approach him. Standing right in front of him, you softly say his name and ask him to look at you.

Tech is hesitating, but finally he looks up.

"Cyare", he says, barely above a whisper.

You cup his face in your hands, smiling at him.

"You are my Tech again, aren't you?"

He nods, still whispering, "I'm so sorry, please forgive me"

He sounds and looks so heartbroken, you almost want to cry for him. Instead, you kiss him softly.

"There is nothing to forgive. It wasn't your fault"

Very suddenly, he breaks out of his frozen state and hugs you, hiding his face at your neck, mumbling soft, loving words.

Crosshair

You reached the clinic too late, just shortly before his chip is supposed to be removed, that hellish thing takes over his mind. He gives you one hell of a fight. You are bruised and limping, barely still standing, and he is still biting at your heels. The place is crowded, people are in panic, and you know soon, it would be crawling with imps too. You need to get out.

Crosshair jumps you at a corridor crossing. He lunges himself at you like a wrecking ball. You scream and groan under pain as he tears you to the ground with him. He's got no weapons with him, not even his armor, because he was already getting prepared for the procedure, when shit hit the fan. But Crosshair is not holding back, still attacking you.

As he lays his hands around your neck and squeezes, for a second you can just look up at him, in horror, shock and disbelief.

"Good soldiers follow orders..."

But shortly after, everything happens like a reflex. You ram your knee between his legs, right before you use the Force to throw him off of you and against a wall.

Gasping for air, you struggle back to your feet. Your heart is heavy, yet your pulse is racing. It's not easy to turn your back on him. But right now, you don't have a choice, time is running out.

Months Later:

"Hey, Kitten"

You freeze in your movement, even holding your breath.

"Keep breathing", Crosshair says softly, "It's just me"

Slowly you turn around and see him standing there, tall and handsome as ever, chewing on a toothpick. You don't know what to say or do, so you just stand there for a long moment, looking at him.

He shrugs, obviously not really knowing what to do and says, "I'm myself again, the chip is out of my head"

You nod, "Good for you".

It's one of his standard answers he used to give you when he mocked you, back in the day. Crosshair chuckles because he gets the little hint, and you can't help but smile.

He comes closer and admits, "I missed you, and I was very worried about you"

"If you'd be looking out for me, you wouldn't have to worry as much", you say softly, as he tenderly grazes your cheek with his knuckles.

Crosshair says with a smirk, "Don't you worry about that, I won't let you out of sight anytime soon"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@puppetswithteeth

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@starwarsnerd111

[o0o0thorn0o0o]

I be back.

Images by themselves below the cut because I spent way too much time on them + text because I’ve been gone for a while—‘course I got a lotta say.

It’s certainly been a while, eh? I did this last cour, too, and I swear to God if I do this for the next cour… Worst part is, I haven’t even watched it yet this time, rip :,) Will definitely do sometime later today, for sure, for sure.

So, I meant to get this done for IchiHime week (and look at how that turned out, haha), but not only was July a month full of pleasure, but it was also full of pain work. I was bordering a D for Orgo, so I spent a good portion prioritizing that—and it wasn’t for naught! Not only did I pass, but I went from a C- to a B! A freaking B, not even a B-!!! I’m still so shocked… I also ended up with over a 100 for lab, but I honestly kinda expected that. I’m just so glad I graduated without failing Orgo 2. Was infinitely better than Orgo 1, but goodbye, will never see you again. If I ever do, it’ll be too soon… Had hella good professors, though. That, I will say.

I go from ranting about Orgo to raving, even though it’s almost been a month… Oops ^^” The grade just still makes me so giddy, haha. Anyway, been mainly prioritizing drawing this (plus a part two to this, which I do have done as well, but I will be posting that sometime later today), though I did spend a good portion of the first half of this month rebooting my personal writing club. Enough about where I’ve been—let’s talk about the piece, shall we?

So, this was originally just an art idea I knew I wanted to do later, and when I saw what the first prompt was, it automatically came to the forefront of my mind. That, plus with the idea I eventually got for the second prompt, I really just had to. I actually probably could’ve gotten this done in a more reasonable time, but, see, when things are just an idea, I don’t put too, too much thought into them—only enough to consider them neat or substantial or something.

When it actually came to it, I found myself at a dilemma of just how faithful I wanted to stick with Orihime’s confession. Originally, I thought about incorporating the five specific things she mentioned into different past lives, but then I realized the timelines wouldn’t really make sense with what I was going for, especially considering Soul Society and stuff, which I had not thought about. So I kinda had to choose between previous lives or parallel lives. I initially went with the latter, but… idk, last minute, like the week of, I decided after checking the prompt list one more time that, nah, I definitely wanted previous lives. So, uh… yeah… I might still end up making a parallel lives version of this in the future, ‘cause I did like those ideas, too. We’ll see.

Anyway, I did try to make them at least somewhat reminiscent of the five things: Orihime and Hikoboshi are related to the astronaut thing ‘cause of space and stars and stuff. Heian Period IchiHime, well, it’s a bit of stretch, but I couldn’t really fit donuts in here since the timeline between them and the introduction of ice cream and the current timeline would’ve made one/two of these lives tragically short without even factoring in Soul Society—nothing wrong with tragedy, but not for this post, haha. So I went with small Chinese cakes ‘cause they’re a sweet? And they’d definitely be a very rare and special treat, so… idk.

Shinigami IchiHime’s also a bit of a stretch? You’d think I’d have the easiest time with being a teacher sometime in history, but I ended up sticking it here, and I was adamant I wanted to draw them in their academy days. So, you’ve got Orihime teaching Ichigo some kido techniques or something, idk. Maybe there’s also a kido equivalent to the dummy Hollow thing? And Orihime has a similar/equivalent position to Shuuhei for that? Idk, am just spitballing here to justify myself even though I know I don’t have to.

Then finally, we got Edo Period IchiHime, with Ichigo introducing ice cream to Orihime for the first time ever. And then of course, I shouldn’t have to explain the last one, haha.

Oh, God, I have so much to catch up on… which I will do later. And hey, since my scheduled posts are all up, I guess I’ll just use my queue to reblog posts I’ve missed since Ik I definitely will be reblogging a lot—don’t wanna bombard you with a ton of posts, aha. I will be making them daily instead of weekly, though, so that I’m not stashing them for too long. Starting tomorrow.

[marabarl-and-marlbara]

I hope you're having a good day! And if not I hope you find comfort

hey there anonymous; good morning, you sent this to me last night when i was well in bed (sun had barely even set, even; time change makes sleeping at 8 feel even earlier than usual);

mostly ignoring this to blog a bit about the usual thing i always whine-about (maybe it:ll help someone 'relate' or feel 'less alone' but lord knows its just me spinning wheels cause i like writing): the flattening of my mood: like every-thing had just become this one singular wide featureless plain with all site in sight being just the same stretch without pit and without hill: the sort-of landscape that'd provoke NO PASSION and NO THOUGHT equally and just-so also smooth away any great pain and any great joy: which is exactly just the comfort i am tired of, as it:s like some crawling thing that keeps taking more and more, example: food now all tastes the same, too, taken under by that same wasteland plain barren; although i:d describe my mood as being fairly 'up' (there are still things i:d been getting keen about: writing isekai story, the new ABA in strive looks really cool, i have religious programming to write, there is new media to read and watch) it never seems to amount more than a small 'pop' that ends-up nearly always more disappointing than fulfilling or centering; it is like the spirit has begun evaporating out of me through these little fissures in the Make of my material that had let that esprit DRY, KILN, BAKE, ASH out and leave the innerworks of me (MARA!) as little more closer and closer to being some fine spotless beetle of mechanics, and operations, clicking with spring and circuit forward and forward to next task: cook, eat, clean, exercise; count in fours always; pray in mornings, too; it is the experience of life not as a person but as the mechanical, where life ceases to be felt as life and yet as mere experience of time (both four letter words, as it were; vision poor enough they:d be the same grey smudge on the screen; vision poor enough they:d be the same dead bug on windshield before the bugs themselves became rare); my mood has been up and i still have these black thoughts flowing out from Dieth and Daniela and centered around how inescapable and infinite Wasteland seems: the self is extricated out and becomes a paperdoll where (impersonal) you imagine it undergoing a hanging or a suffocating of all air, and imagine the 'ecstasy' of whether the viewer can undergo the felt feelings of the paperdoll as it goes to 100% material; the act of moving limbs to go through with the task, to resolve, to collect the instruments, to imagine the Afters (the people who knew), to imagine all the things unsaid and things yet wanted to do and done undone and the willingness to let self be robbed of 'fate' (?) where death claims its 'natural' (?) due;

very-much i:d just like to write and focus and be left fulfilled, but it:s all fairly boring; i:d like to play the new ABA and grind her in practice mode (i SHAN'T be spending money on games though) and just instead imagine how anxious sitting in a practice mode hitting buttons feels and can:t imagine undergoing that more than eight minutes at most (this is much how writing is; much how drawing is); there:s this alien quality being poured in-to me, may-be byproduct of adhering to Etiquette like the years of slowly embodying an ill philosophy has led me further ill and alien: it becomes harder and harder to find any reason to talk to another, to nurture friendships, to say Hey, to want to do anything with others as it all just becomes more stretch on the barrenland and buttons to hit and mechanical beetle limbs to undulate, undulate, driven just by fluid sacs or what-ever dumb organ drives beetles (for me it:s my yap organ).

all of this is to say: i wish i could be playing new ABA cause i like her design a lot but can:t imagine playing a fighting game ever being fun without having a friend to do it with, and nothing sounds more boring to me at the same time, but i:m tired of being bored, too. i want to be at a joyous tone 4! a joyous tone 4! so engender a joyous tone 4 in your own life, anonymous, cause if you will it surely it:ll happen.

[ccarrot]

More Chuuya hcs pls

Lemme tell you a little about my aus while i'm at it!!

Whenever i draw SB lab art, if he's got short sleeves and Dark eyes its chuuya and short sleeves with crazy contracted eyes it's cloneboy! If chuuya's wearing a. longsleeved nightgown it's Chuuya from schoolkoku au!

So the mechanics of Corruption are a little strange because N wants chuuya to say the trigger phrase presumably to "factory reset his mind" but in order to actually activate Corruption he needs to wear the ability proof anti-mindcontrol hat BEFORE he says the trigger so that his mind doesnt get wiped in the process.

To continue on Corruption, if N was intending to get Chuuya to actually activate it, then there COULD be a way for Chuuya to stop it himself. I don't buy the idea that Chuuya's been literally coded to respond a certain way to the words, but maybe it's true that he's been conditioned/brainwashed in a way. In any case it's not lile Verlaine's Brutalization.

Nawy originalaccountname has convinced me that Chuuya has a fear of electricity and lightning storms.

Donut Shop Chuuya experiences an Evangelion Mental Breakdown(tm) at 19. Regains a Lifetime of memories. and the stress of that makes him benched from his executive duties. At some point he just, ditches Yokohama and holes up with Adam and Mary in England for a bit. Donut Shop Chuuya comes back to become Dazai's Bakery employee at some point but not after getting dragged into the Bungo Stray Dogs plot. Hopefully no more fighting for this boy afterwards.

Chuuya's ability is sustained by a singularity ability right? The point at which somthing reaches an infinite value is essentially a singularity, for black holes i think its when the center becomes infinitely dense bc the gravitational pull becomes infinte. My loose memory of physics concepts aside, If chuuya's base ability was enhancement, then Corruption is triggered when the enhancement gets activated on himself, and he's get closer to death when the gravity of his ability gets closer to infinity. Asagiri is a Nerd.

I think if Chuuya ever dies, his ability would like. Explode out of him into a giant black smoke hound thing. A massive BEAST emerges in the wake of his death. Gwahh so edgy.

Like ghhh i think if he never managed to leave the lab he WOULD see N as a caring father figure to look up to. From what we know about N he isn't clinically detached, he's very hands on and manipulative. And we also know that chuuya WILL latch onto any form of kindness and devote his LIFE to uphold that. He'd think of N as his parent.

Most of my skk aus involve Chuuya experiencing the Horrors and Dazai is the pov character who goes through comparitively more realistic trials. I follow Asagiri's formula 👍

More abt hallucinations. That scene was definitely supposed to draw a parallel with him and Atsushi i think btw. So i hc he has issues with night terrors and audiovisual hallucinations, no matter how much he ignores his trauma he wont escape these till he faces it head on. Anyways i think he encounters "ghosts" a lot. The Flags, people he may have killed. Murase really frequently, and N when he gets stuck with sleep paralysis fhh. One he minds the least is Rimbaud actually. Rimbaud's "ghost" is never unhelpful but not one he regrets too much either. Rimbaud's last words to him DID fundementally impact the course of Chuuya's life

Either way he gets bad insomnia. Perpetually has reddish under eyes. He uses makeup lately. The edgy red eyeliner to fit his vibe. Bro is so tired.

Chuuya gets injured easily and a lot but he walks it off like A Champ. Perks of an inhumanly good pain tolerance. Also he gets chronic migranes and pain in general.

He actually smiles a lot. He tries to be really expressive when he talks to people, and if he isn't annoyed or half zoned out he'll try to appear friendly. This doesn't apply to School au or Analog au chuuya, those two girlies are still learning the muscle movements for smiling.

I headcanon Chuuya to be singularly the coolest character in bsd ever and no one can compete. Chuuya won an Oscar.

[jreads]

Unexpected Constellations (Part 12)

Rating: M for dark(er)(ish?) themes

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Warnings: Angst, Mentions of blood, Canon-level violence, Dark themes, Foul language, (small emetophobia again i am so sorry), But genuinely the themes are dark today, please proceed with caution.

A/N: Nothing to say here today except i love you. I am in the headspace of not doing my thoughts justice in writing. The story is good in my brain, please take my word for it. If you're enjoying the fic, kindly consider a reblog; it's really the only way my work gets out there :) Hope everyone is staying healthy and happy. Comment on this post or the Masterlist to get added to the taglist 🫶

You sat cross-legged in your cell, watching the puddle of blood grow larger as it dripped down off of white armour. Some of it had seeped into your own clothes already. Two stormtroopers lay just in front of you, very dead, the food they had been bringing in long forgotten.

But the cell doors activated from the outside automatically, and the soldiers carried no key cards, so it had mostly been for nothing. Mostly, because watching them bleed out slowly had taken the edge off of your bottomless anger, just a bit. 

It was the only emotion you had allowed yourself to feel. Towards him, towards the situation, towards his soldiers… Towards the Mandalorian.

While you had recovered from the internal injuries inflicted by the containment field, you had been overcome with grief. The stormtroopers who attended to you had been armed to the teeth, and you had considered the logic of a more drastic way out. But as the mental fog had worn off, you remembered you had one more thing to do.

“Now look at this.” He tutted at you, as if reprimanding a small child. “Was it really necessary? It’s not as if we have infinite troopers at our disposal now.”

You stared forward, trying to calm your breathing.

“You’re looking better.” He crouched down to be level with you. “Now, I don’t want to use the containment field again, but that means I’ll need you to behave yourself. Can you do that for me?”

You were picturing spilling his blood, in so many ways, across the pristine floor. All the possibilities flashed behind your eyelids. You just had to escape.

So you nodded, one time, still not making eye contact.

“Yes?” He sounded surprised. You couldn’t blame him; the picture before him probably painted you as some kind of feral animal.

He seemed somewhat satisfied with your answer though, straightening from his stoop. “Rest. I’ll come back for you soon. There’s much to catch you up on. You won’t believe the things we’ve been up to in your absence.”

You were clenching your teeth so hard it was a wonder they weren’t cracking. Fissuring and turning to dust in your mouth.

Before he left, he turned over one shoulder. He smiled. He told you he missed you. And from the emotions you read from him, you knew it to be the truth.

--- Years ago ---

You had been lying on this floor for hours. Days maybe. There was crushed glass across the surface, under your curled up body, digging and cutting into flesh anytime you shifted. 

The group had not held back this time, delighting in drawing screams from you. You hated that they could. Each time you would try so hard to stay silent. Bite your lip or grit your teeth, anything to withhold the satisfaction they got from seeing you break. Because it was that exactly.

They got off on seeing you in pain. You could tell from the waves of arousal that would wind through the room as they toyed with you. They weren’t allowed to touch you that way, and that was perhaps the only blessing you had. But anything else was fair game. A stars, could they be inventive.

Fear, pain, rage… those were all emotions that tethered the Sith techniques, strengthened the wieldier. You had learned that much from your brief training. So it seemed this group had taken it upon themselves to give you a fair dose of each. In their minds, they thought they were making you stronger. Fattening you up like a prize hog to eventually deliver to their master.

Only, that was the issue. Palpatine was dead; lost in the carnage of the Death Star. Which meant that this purgatory would go on forever, as they searched in vain. As you grew old and eventually died, maybe on this very floor, on this bed of glass. 

And why not now? If you could manipulate your manacled hands just so, and grab a sharp enough piece of glass, could you do what needed to be done? 

The door slid open, and you feigned unconsciousness. There were arms under your sides, lifting, glass making a twinkling sound as it fell from your body to the tiled floor.

“Come now, let’s get you fixed up.” It was criminal how soft his voice was, as if he hadn’t watched the rest of the group tear you to pieces and leave you in a heap. You hated every place where he touched you, wished you could scrape the tainted skin off.

How sad it would be. That you would never be able to feel the touch of a lover, one that brought pleasure, not pain. How so very sad. It was all you thought about as the medical droid applied bacta and bandages and injected you with a sedative. Even its immobile LED eyes looked sorrowful. You welcomed the fuzzy darkness with open arms.

Boba had cleared off the table and laid a map of the galaxy down, using ornate cut tumblers to keep the edges from curling inwards. “Where was it?”

The two of them had wasted no time in making preparations, and if Din had not been so lost in his own worry and self-loathing, he would have taken a second to appreciate just how willing they were to help. Especially on a mission with so many unknown variables.

��I’m not sure exactly. There weren’t any nearby planets to landmark it. Probably around here.” His had shook slightly as he pointed to a secluded area in the Outer Rim. He knew Fett noticed. “It’s saved in the Crest’s database.”

Fennec came in then, a droid trailing behind her, both of their arms laden with weapons. She dumped her armful atop the stretched-out map. 

“Smoke bombs, grenades, droid poppers just-in-case, and…” She turned a small pistol over in her hands. “…a stun blaster. It’s all I could get on such short notice.”

“It’ll do.” Boba surveyed the stash with an appraising eye. Din couldn’t seem to understand why she’d need non-lethal weaponry. He wanted them all dead. He didn’t say it aloud.

She braced her palms against the table. “Where are we at?”

“Rough coordinates, no estimate on number of hostiles. Din assumes around fifty. Probably more.” A muscle ticked in Shand’s jaw at the information, and she turned to Boba, angling her head towards the hall. He nodded.

“Give us a moment, Djarin.” They both retreated from the war room. 

Din couldn’t blame them. It didn’t look good. He tried not to eavesdrop on the hushed voices beyond the wall.

“…It’s a suicide mission.” 

“It doesn’t matter. We owe him.”

“Is he sure it’s even—” Boba cut her off before she could continue.

“He’s not leaving her. He would never leave her behind.”

She exhaled loudly. “I know.”

“I would do the same, you know? If it was you.”

“Even if it was impossible?”

“Especially then.”

He stopped listening because his throat was getting thick with something, and he felt as if he had been punched in the chest.

Not that it mattered much—they were back in the room within moments.

Fennec didn’t miss a beat. “What ship was it?”

“Nebula… something.” He couldn’t remember the name, just the way it had sounded on your tongue. Silver and beautiful.

“Nebulon Frigate.” She looked towards Boba again. “Shit.”

“Long range sensors… offensive weaponry…” He was thinking out loud. Finally he looked at Din, pointing a finger in his direction.

“I’m going to need you to get those jump coordinates for me. We’re not taking the Crest.”

“What?” Both him and Fennec exclaimed at once.

“The Firespray has cloaking capabilities. We’ll need the element of surprise. We can’t take fifty stormtroopers at once.” He pondered again for a moment. “What class of frigate was it?”

“B, I think.”

He looked intrigued. “Had a long bridge? One larger section, one small?”

“Yes, but it was damaged. Like it had seen battle and been abandoned before they picked it up.”

Boba nodded a few times. “Good. Good, that means it should be immobile. Likely no shields. And hopefully prone to structural warning alarms.”

He shifted the weapons and glasses to the side, rolling up the parchment. “We’re going stealth.” 

The next time the stormtroopers came into your cell, you didn’t kill them. You took the food from them and ate it. If your plan was going to work, you were going to need to keep up your strength.

They had woken you from a light sleep, sliding the tray across the floor, the screech of it seeming to scratch lines into your brain.

It caught on pieces of debris that littered the cell, pushing them out of its path and towards you. You were being sequestered in the main section of the ship, on a lower level, in an area where damage seemed to be at its worst. The lights would flicker at uneven intervals, the floor was pitted and potholed, and every now and again there would be an eerie groaning sound as the ship floated through space.

Everything ached. Especially the wound on your thigh. The bandage was still in place and there was no blood showing through your trousers, meaning the stitches hadn’t pulled, but it hurt.

Din had been giving you pain medication on the Crest which had numbed it for a time, but without them you were starting to struggle. Just the simple thought of him sent another pang through your leg, and a twin one through your chest.

What had even been the point? Of showing you such care and compassion if he was just planning on dumping you here anyway? You could have sworn there were times where you had felt something from him… 

But you were struggling to remember just what it had been. Lust. Yes, there had been plenty of that, but he had been so damn hard to read. Had it really been that easy to play you? He would have cared about your health because he wouldn’t have gotten paid if you were dead. But why keep up the charade with the crystal? Unless he had wanted you and the crystal.

You reached for your food but halted, focusing instead on a piece of metal just beside your knee. An old portion of piping perhaps, scratched and dented and left to rot on the floor. Ironic. You picked it up, tuned it over in your still-manacled hands.

Come to think of it, where even was the crystal?

Din had been keeping it, all too eager to not leave you alone with it. Ah, that made sense now. Perhaps he had handed it over whenever he got his credits. 

Three times the value of the crystal… That’s what you were worth to him. Well, at least it was a lot of money. But what had he been worth to you? The stars and the galaxy and the space in between it all?

Maker, you were an idiot. A lovestruck, naïve, and stupid idiot.

Just like everyone else, he had wanted something from you. And you had let him have it… willingly. You wondered if he knew how much damage he had done. Just how deep it went. How much you loved him.

You would tell him. You would tell him before you killed him.

You finished your meal and curled into a small ball on the hard floor. Clutching the sad piece of piping to your chest, you let the thought comfort you into sleep.

He came for you sometime later, hours, days maybe. It was always hard to tell. Your back had stiffened, and your leg was only getting worse. But when he beckoned you to follow, you stood on steady legs, careful not to let the searing pain show on your features. You tried not to limp as he led you down the halls and up an elevator, flanked by two troopers, with an additional one bringing up the rear.

The control centre was a sorry sight. Only two personnel were working there, standing up from their seats to give a sharp salute. Their uniforms were dilapidated, stained with grime, littered with rips. Quite unlike his own. But, then again, he had always been self-absorbed.

Exposed wires littered the floor, panels had been strewn about, and there was a strange mildew smell to the air. You wondered how many of the ship’s systems were actually still functioning. At least the security cams worked; a wall of them flickered away, showing brief cuts of too many near-identical hallways. It made you realize just how empty the starship actually was. Just how depleted his resources were.

The troopers lined the room, blasters across chests. “At ease.” He ordered from beside you. They obeyed.

“I wanted to show you this.” He motioned to the room, beyond it, where a wide window looked out over the rest of the ship. “We’ll be staying here a while, as we fix the ship.”

You couldn’t help your delirious laugh. “Fix?” He looked unamused. “You mean to tell me the Empire won’t supply you with a brand-new Star Destroyer to go ghost hunting?”

A muscle ticked in his too-wide jaw. Good. You wanted to agitate him.

You laughed again. “We’ll be here for years. This frigate is a piece of junk.”

But he merely clasped his hands behind his back, maintaining composure. “We have time.”

I’ll bet you do. 

Boba activated the ship’s cloaking as soon as it broke from hyperspace. The calculations had worked, and the frigate was still in position, floating idle in space, no signs of life from the outside.

“They must not have expected you to come back.” Fennec mused.

They would have thought he was smart, logical. Eager to save himself. 

They had no idea. If anything had happened to you, he would personally see the whole ship razed, along with everyone inside it. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

The Firespray took a wide berth around the frigate. “When we dock, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that someone comes to inspect the sound.” Boba punched a few buttons on the dashboard. “If we’re lucky, they’ll just mistake it as debris colliding.”

Fennec queried from the jump seat. “And if we’re not?” 

“Then we stick to plan B.” The ship closed in on its docking port. “Everyone gets out alive.”

There was a tense silence as he maneuvered into position. Underneath the gloves, Din’s knuckles were white, clenched into unforgiving fists.

“Easy… easy…” Boba was muttering under his breath. Finally, Slave One made contact with a short lurch.

“We’re locked in. Din?”

“On it.” He gave the docking port only a second to equalize before opening the shaft door, rifle at the ready. The hall beyond it, mercifully, was empty.

“Clear.” He could hear the others unstrapping from their seats. The hunt was on.

A dull jolt and low clunking noise caught your attention. It seemed to jostle the ground, just a little. You looked at him, and then at the troopers flanking the door for any sort of recognition, but there was none.

“What was that?” 

Only one turned back, acknowledging your question.

“Just damage shifting.”

Some nagging part of you knew they were wrong. It sounded like a ship had docked. And if a ship was here… then that meant you had a way off. One step closer. It was now or never.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “It didn’t sound like damage to me.”

Like clockwork, the comms on his wrist lit up.

“Sir, there’s a small noise disturbance in sector 7. Do you want me to check it out?”

His sigh was patronizing. “Take a look but make it quick. It’s probably just loose steel.”

“Yes sir.” 

He pointed at one of the guards stationed at the door. “You, go with them.”

And just like that, you were one guard down. Only two to go.

You didn’t notice the security feeds along the wall slowly start to go dark, one at a time.

Din, Boba, and Fennec had fallen into a pattern as if it were a choreographed dance. They split up, each taking a different route, sticking to the shadows, and taking out cameras as they went.

By a stroke of bad luck—or maybe in her eyes it was good luck—Shand had run into the bulk of the troopers, including a small party sent to investigate the disturbance. They had made a rule to check in every few minutes, along with a Stromtrooper tally. Boba and Fennec were treating it as somewhat of a challenge.

Din could hear the telltale groan of dying man the next time they checked in. “Espa Three checking in. Nearing the command centre. Six troopers down.”

“Espa two.” Boba replied. “Copy. Headed down to the lower levels. Three.”

Mando was the last to check in. “Espa one. Two down, on route to the sky bridge.”

Still no sign of you. 

In the minutes that followed, his kills got progressively more brutal.

He had been talking at you for some time now, a poor attempt at gloating, or so it seemed. In the meantime, you breathed through stabs of pain in your leg and took the time to examine the room.

The mildew smell meant the presence of water somewhere. Probably a burst pipe under one of the loose panels.

“When the others hadn’t survived the crash, I had to find some new talent.” Maker, would he ever stop talking? “Everyone on this ship volunteered to be here… because they believe.”

You snorted.

“You being here reinforces that belief. It was the first step. I told them that I would get you back, and here you are.” 

You raised your wrists, still circled in cuffs. “I suppose you haven’t been forthcoming about the fact that you’re keeping me against my will. In chains.” At that comment, he dropped your gaze.

“What? You never told them about what you did to me all those years ago? I wonder if they’d still follow you blindly knowing that you used to cut me into ribbons, starve me for days on end, toy with my mind—” The other men had shifted slightly in their seats, perhaps unsure what to do with the new information.

He was inches away from your face then, hissing. “I never touched a hair on your head!”

“No, but you were happy to sit back and watch as everyone else had their fun.”

“It made you stronger!” The veins in his neck were bulging. 

You moved forward, the move so abrupt that he relinquished a step. “You tortured me! For years!”

“I made you powerful!” He was seething. “It was because I cared!” 

There.

Your response was barely a whisper. “Really?” you lifted your hands again. “Then prove it.”

He seemed to assess. You could follow the train of thought in his eyes. The ship was floating out in the middle of nowhere, and he had a small cabal of troopers under his command. They could subdue you if need be. You were a threat but seemed to have come to your senses. Cooperated. He believed what he wanted to believe. You knew the feeling.

Finally, he nodded. And again, to a trooper at the door. 

When he approached you, white armour glinting, and lifted a key you almost sighed in relief. And when the cuffs fell away and the world came back into focus around you, the plan was as clear as day.

Another Stormtrooper entered the room then, delivering a slip of folded paper to the man in front of you. Looking frustrated and somewhat confused, he opened and read its contents. Whatever he beheld had his expression clouding over within seconds.

His order was clipped. “Secure the ship. Now.” The troopers filed out. And then he grabbed you by the elbow, steering you to the front of the room, and into the tattered captain’s chair. Your leg barked at the pain and the edges of your vision frayed a little, trying to keep up with the overload of information available now that you were able to use the Force again.

So, a ship had docked. And it wasn’t a friendly. Good. This could work well.

He was looking out the window with frantic eyes. Scared? Really?

You utilized his distraction to your advantage. The water source was behind the wall across the room; you could feel the steady tick, tick, tick, of droplets falling. It was difficult because you couldn’t see it, but the sense was enough. Focusing enough to make sweat bead on your brow, you manipulated the metal until the dripping became trickling, and then the trickling became rushing. 

It pooled onto the floor of the command room, stretching out perfectly in the direction you had planned, right towards the exposed wires. He was too busy barking orders to notice.

But the uniformed technician beside you had, and now watched you with wide eyes. What caught your attention was how his hand shook, hovered over the power button. A question in his eyes.

You nodded and, after what felt like a millennium of bated breath, he nodded back. You both lifted your feet from the floor.

The power engaged with a zap and it was oh so immensely satisfying to see him go down, comms splashing into the water, body convulsing until it finally went limp. The technician cut the power immediately. You could hear men on the other end of the line. “Sir… Sir?”

“Thank you.” You spoke in an effort to break his eye contact on the immobile bodies of his old team.

He turned to you, palms raised in surrender. “I had no idea.” You could feel the reverence in his gaze. It made you uncomfortable.

“I know.” You backed away in an effort to show you meant no harm. “Go. Get off this ship. Take anyone that will go with you.”

He wasted no time, jumping from the chair and running from the room. Leaving you alone.

You didn’t check the man’s pulse, instead going for the discarded note that lay face-down in the growing puddle.

The writing on it was hurried, messy. The water had already dampened the paper, making the ink run. But the text was still clear enough. It was only one line. And it read: The Mandalorian is on board the ship.

Ah.

Come to assuage his guilt, had he? But all of a sudden, doubt was an insistent kernel in the back of your mind. You were shaking. It was from rage… definitely rage… Rage, and definitely not fear and adrenaline and confusion and perhaps a little, little bit of hope.

A fiery blast hit your periphery as the bridge, visible from the deck window, fractured and burst into flames, the two sides of the ship bowing away from each other. The impact had you struggling to maintain balance.

---Minutes earlier---

His tally was up to 15. Maybe he could have taken fifty at once. It sure felt like he could. He had no idea how many more there were. More, hopefully. Enough to quench his seemingly endless bloodlust.

Mando had run the sky bridge like it was a hundred-meter sprint. His heart was thundering once he took cover in the shadowed corner of the far end, sweat starting to feel uncomfortable under the heavy armour.

A few minutes back, blood spray had caught him across the helmet, partially obscuring his vision. He had wiped at it haphazardly, but he was sure he looked a sight. Not that he had any time to dwell on it. He shot out the camera before he rounded the corner.

He had left Boba and Fennec on the other side of the ship to look for you. He hadn’t liked the idea originally, but it was the only way the plan would work. He was the one they would recognize; he was the one they would come after. The next time he took a left turn, he didn’t bother to blast the camera. He let it run, red light blinking as it oscillated to turn on him. He stared it down.

Come and get me.

He had minutes now, two at most, to get back across the bridge before the big wave arrived. He bolted back the way he came.

It worked like a charm. Of course it did. He had never been any good at planning or strategy, but Fett…

He was concealed in a maintenance closet when the cavalry roared past. Maker, it must have been forty troopers at least. He would have laughed at the insinuation if he wasn’t so tense. 

Forty troopers? To take him down? It was downright flattering. Once the last of them stormed by, he emerged from his hiding place, took two long strides, and fired one of Boba’s missiles right down the skybridge channel. 

The blast doors on each side engaged automatically as soon as the explosive detonated. The force of it almost threw him backwards. But, as expected, the ship split satisfyingly into two.

“Bridge detonated. We’re on our own.”

“I’m not so sure.” was Fennec’s only reply.

You were tracking water down the halls. Strangely quiet halls. Some littered with dropped bodies. You were too exhausted to be confused.

You were dizzy, very dizzy, likely still in recovery from the containment field. Using the Force had only made it worse. As you would turn each corner, you had to brace a hand against the wall for stability. It felt like you were going in circles. Where the hell was the loading bay?

There was a barricade of stormtroopers in the next hall. Enough of them to be more than a nuisance. You could take them, but judging by the way you felt, you might pass out in the process. Then who knew when you might wake up. Your chance at escape was a small, fleeting window. But combat wasn’t an option against that many at once. You steeled yourself, pushing off the wall.

“Stop!” Their blasters were raised, but you knew they wouldn’t shoot. You were much too precious.

One push, just one more. You could do it. As your limbs protested and stomach heaved, you drew upon the Force, a deep pull. One trooper broke from the rest, advancing towards you, holding those damn cuffs. You were so sick of the sight of them.

The ship started to shake. Your fists were curled so tight that your thumbs popped. And then they were choking, all of them, grasping at their necks and flailing before finally falling to the ground before you. Your knees hit the tile hard, the impact jarring your body. There were so many; you could barely see the floor through the throng of their fallen bodies. You wanted to vomit.

Footsteps sounded from behind you, one pair, and you half twisted, delirious with fatigue, ready to throw out another blind attack. It took an extra second for your mind to catch up with your eyes.

“Fennec?” She was already speed walking towards you. “What? What are you doing here?”

“Saving you.” She grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you after her. “Obviously.”

“No, but—” Your brain was failing to keep up. “Din is here.”

“I know. I came with him.” 

You yanked your wrist out of her grip, stumbling again. “You knew?” You were slurring your words as if you had drunk too much spotchka.

“Knew what?”

Stars, no. “He gave me up. He took credits for it.” You didn’t want to hurt Shand. You liked her. But if she had played any part in—

But she looked deflated, pitiful. “What kind of lies did they tell you?”

“Lies?” The hall was spinning again. “He left me.”

“He came to get us so we could get you out.”

A sound came from the far end and you both whirled on it. Your heart dropped out of chest and burned a hole through the durasteel of the floor.

He was stained with blood. It was dripping down the side of his helmet. And he was heaving, breastplate rising and falling dramatically, like he was struggling to breathe. You could swear you felt a tether between his body and your own. You felt him again, anger, stress and above all relief… so much relief.

You were moving before you knew what you were doing. Waking and then running. He opened his arms as if to accept you but—

“You left me! YOU LEFT ME!” You were yelling it, screaming at the top of your lungs, barreling fists against his armour. He couldn’t do a thing, couldn’t think of anything to say to make it better so he stood there, still as death, and took the brunt of your hits. They didn’t hurt, not really, not physically, but every impact seemed to shatter a piece of him. Fennec stepped forward to stop you, stun blaster half raised, but he halted her with a hand. You were exhausting yourself, probably experiencing more pain than you were inflicting. “You LEFT…. Me.” You gasped. The hits were getting weaker. “You left. You—"

Your next throw missed, and you fell forward. Into his chest. His arms were around you on instinct, and your fists curled into the base of his cowl. “You left me.” It was a sob this time, and it was as if all of your muscles had suddenly given up. You weren’t even standing anymore, instead held up purely by the force of his embrace.

Tears were stuffy under his helmet. Din could only breathe you in. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ,” he whispered into your hair. He didn’t even notice Boba enter the corridor, a polished looking man in cuffs behind him, blood dripping from his temple. He just held you. 

“I’m sorry, love... I’m so sorry.”

You passed out in his arms.

Boba had led everyone back to the Firespray, including the man who Din now knew to be your captor. The Imperial loyalist you had told him about only a few days ago. Since then, his guilt and worry for you had made way for a sharp anger, a simmering resentment that he was trying so desperately to keep in check. Because he wouldn’t be the one to deal with the man. As much as he really, really wanted to.

That was a privilege that he would save for you. If, of course, it was something you wanted. If not, he would delight in skinning him piece by piece, roasting the flesh on a fire and then feeding it back to him. No, that wasn’t creative enough.

The group passed hallways strewn with the bodies of troopers, some interestingly dispatched. When Boba cast a look towards Fennec, she only shrugged her shoulders. His smirk was fond.

Din carried you, one arm across your back, the other cradling your bent knees. The small puffs of air you exhaled into his neck were the only thing grounding him. But just to have you in his arms again… Tension was lifting from his back, leaving aches and pains in its wake.

The trip back to Tatooine, to Mos Espa, was relatively quiet. Since the ship was tight on space, Din sat, legs extended on the floor, across from the man whose death he was plotting in an endlessly violent myriad of ways.

He had removed his tasset armour plate so that your head could rest on his thigh, body stretched to the side. A piece of stray hair had fallen over your face, and he tucked it back behind your ear with a gloved hand. You didn’t stir.

A piece of old piping had fallen out of the fold of your bloodstained clothing with a loud clang. He had been relieved to find that none of the blood was your own. But it was a strange thing, practically trash, but for some odd reason, you had held onto it. He would ask you about it when you woke. For the time being, he stowed it away in his weapon’s belt.

“You will never value her, you know.” Din looked up to see the man, who was watching him with an emotion akin to disgust. “Not the way I do.”

He shifted on the floor, bound legs moving awkwardly. “You stunt her potential, shrink her to a miniature size so she fits on your ship, among your kind. “But she’ll always be above you. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. You’re filth compared to her.”

“Will you shut him up?” Shand called from the cockpit.

“She deserves more. She was born for more.” His gaze was piercing. “You know it.”

Din didn’t reply. He wouldn’t admit that he might even agree.

Fennec emerged and shot him once with the stun blaster.

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A/N: Got reminded to post my fic on Tumblr so you can read it on AO3 or under the cut! :)

Consciousness split Nine's head open, and no sooner than he had finally began to feel alive did the agony begin. He whimpered aloud and curled into himself, tattered shoes roughly scraping against the floor of.. wherever he was. His brain pulsated and pounded against his head, scattering all his thoughts. The cool floor did nothing to help the horrible burning under his skin and for a moment he considered if this was some sort of hell.

Nausea washed over him and Nine gave up trying to recollect his shot memories. Something primitive in his mind told him to hold on longer. To let this pass. Conserve everything.

...

He wasn't sure how long he had stayed there until the world become a bit more bearable. Nine lifted one heavy eyelid, blearily focusing on the surface he layed on. Bare stone. Dark red stains pooled in front of him. Nine slowly sat up, swiping at nose and felt nothing but the tug of crusted fur against his glove.

"What happened?" His splintered voice carried to no one and did not even have the decency to echo back. Nine looked up and the vast expanse of the shatterverse stared back at him.

Oh right.

Everything had happened.

His entire world had been flipped upside down and newly hatched hopes torn to shreds subsequently after.

He was alone.

Which is exactly what he wanted, of course. That was the whole point of this entire thing. He had fought tooth, the ambient taste of his own blood lingered in his mouth, and nail to keep the Grim to himself. And his plan had worked. So why did something out of place beat against his chest? This is what he had wanted. What he had bled for.

Nine's tails clicked as they came to life and lifted his aching body off the ground, drawing him closer to stare at the infinite space before him. The lights of the other gateways twinkled, almost mocking in their new found reformation.

You're welcome. His mind snarked rather uselessly.

There was no response other than a subtle fizzle of energy that started and supposedly died at his finger tips. Well. He thought it'd have no effect. The energy tingled against a nerve that reignited the burning pain under his pelt, charting out webs of pain up his paws and past his elbows and over his shoulders. He shockingly did not scream and instead gnashed his teeth together and expelled a high pitched squeak as the energy took its course. The arcing pain stopped after what had felt like minutes, until his brain sputtered to start again and he realized it had happened in barely a few seconds.

Okay. Maybe no sassing the semi-sentient gateways. Nine turned away from gateways and took the time to assess himself. While he expected the headache and general ache that came with trying to fight Sonic and his fr- er. He expected that. Not the lingering buzzes that caused his fingers to twitch and skin to burn. So that was the most pressing thing to inspect.

Nine stared at his arms for what felt like a concerningly long time. Furless skin revealed unfamiliar, dangerous patterns. With a trembling finger, he spent some time tracing the fractal like raised skin with senseless disbelief.

His fur had always been shitty. It was prickly and dull, and it clumped together when enough grime clung to it. But this was nothing like it. Webs carved into his skin. They were unlike the other scars he harboured, mauve and faded, but sickly greens and blues. Nine withdrew his paws. How long had those been there? It couldn't have been just now. Something tightened in his stomach but he quickly moved on in his assessment.

Residual prism energy. (Sonic had not been senselessly pleading when he said the prism had been destroying him.) Lasting effects unknown. Monitor for more information.

The rest of the assessment came easily. The stains on the floor had come from his nosebleed, which had long since stopped. No definite cause. Prism usage? The headache he nursed had multiple causes. Dehydration, sleep deprivation, hunger, and hypothetically another symptom of the prism usage. Muscle aches. Extertion. Sleeping on a hard floor for who knows how long. Prism.

A lot of these were coming back to the prism. Nothing he could do about that now except for waiting it off. But in the meantime, he need to eat.

-

Nine had been prepared for this. He had festered in a smog choked landscape with no natural life around him. When he had been abandoned, he could not simply hunt for food like his feral counterparts. That left him rather lacking in living in wilderness 101. More so than he'd ever want to admit to anyone but himself. That is what made the Grim perfect for him. It was no urban empire, but it was certainly not the sprawling jungle he had gotten a glimpse of. While he couldn't recall too much about the Boscage Mage, he did remember his doppelganger that resided there.

Er. Not doppelganger. But he couldn't find another word to describe that mutt that bore too much resemblance to himself.

He was getting distracted. Nine often found himself derailing trains of thoughts to focus on something new for his rattled brain to latch on. That hadn't been uncommon when he lived in New Yoke, isolation meant the only person you had to entertain was yourself, even if that self had to be one of the most miser- Ah. There he goes again.

Back to the topic at hand. Food. Nine had brought rations to last for both him and Sonic. Water, of course, a good amount of his favorite juice packs, and plenty of protein bars. Even when he had the eventual hopes to create more favourable foods with the help of the Prism, he would've been foolish not to bring along enough for a few weeks. And now that it was just him here, Nine was sure he could make these rations last months.

The satisfication that gave him was short lived.

Only a few months. He had planned to live his entire life here. While Nine never expected to live long in New Yoke, he thought he'd have more time in the Grim. Something unfamiliar snaked around his chest and chilled his entire body. He couldn't fully parse out what exactly he was feeling, anger was not a center point and his second guess was that it was related to sadness. Nine's cool expression shriveled into a frown and he stepped away from the rations he was organizing. He shouldn't care that he had only a few months here. It was his world. He could spend as much time as wanted here. There was no reason to be sad.

He was alone.

He should be happy.

-

Nine was not happy.

He cast a long look across what used to be an endless sea of red sand. Crystalline shards relentlessly crashed into the Grim, dotting the dunes creating an echo of a war torn battlefield. While the other shatterspaces had grown back and had their gateways to protect them, the Grim remained defenseless and small. A reminder of his actions. Which was fine. It gave him something to dwell on. There wasn't much to do here anyways. Aside from the little equipment stored in his lab, there was not much to tinker with. All his grim robots had been dissolved and the remains of the Mothership had disappeared alongside with the rest of the Grim. He couldn't create metal out of thin air anymore.

Another crystal shattered against the strong walls of his Citadel and snapped him out of his thoughts, noise so jarring that it rattled his brain against his skull. Nine's ears flattened against his head. It was best not to look at the view for too long. Crystal shrapnel was no joke. His tails lifted him and he scuttled back into his lab.

It was not much better down here than it was out there. Just a more sheltered view of the Shatterverse and of course, twin palm trees with a hammock strung between them. That's where he spent most of his time. Not to sleep, mind you, his mechanical tails made it impossible to lay there on his back, and he did not fancy the idea of being pinned down to the hammock while he slept. But whenever his body was overcome with burning pain he'd lay there until eventually the sensation dissipated. Those episodes of pain came frequently enough that the thing that occupied his time the second most was figuring out why this was happening.

The most obvious answer was the Paradox Prism. He still had his handheld scanner and computer, so of course he figured out pretty quickly that he was still chockful of prism energy. That wasn't the confusing part. He was more concerned on why he still had energy within him. All the prism energy should be gone. Earlier he had hypothesized that he was the reason the Grim had not been repaired. He'd brood over it for a few days before noticing that the amount of energy he had was steadily increasing, but everything seemed fine in the Shatterverse. No tears began taking what little he had left. So he neatly tucked behind that theory in the 'Needs more evidence' pile. Not that he really thought he'd revisit it. But putting it away would get him out his sulking.

Nine's next theory was that he had become a shatter battery. It was also quite weak. The only shatter battery he had known was Sonic and he worked differently than whatever was going on with Nine. That idea he had toyed with for only a few hours before shelving it. He didn't like thinking about Sonic. The power of the prism was something they had barely scraped the surface of, so while the similarities were there he was sure he could come up with another explanation.

But he hadn't yet.

Nine picked up a sizeable shard he left laying around his lab. He had discovered that the shards that floated through the void were the same kind of crystal that made up his citadel, and what he had used to create his alpha grim robots. That had given something for his mind to chew on for a few days but he realized that he still couldn't do anything with it. Not even with the sizeable amount of energy that permeated through his body. It was nowhere near the amount of just one prism shard. But hey. At least these things made okay icepacks. More often than not he found himself nuzzling against the emotionless piece of rock whenever his headaches decided to return. It was almost humiliating. But the cool relief it brought overcame his sense of shame. Which is exactly what he needed right now.

Easing his way into his hammock, tails sheathing back into their plates to make his life just a bit easier, Nine settled down on his stomach and held the rock closely. The headache he had predicated came just as he thought it would. Nine pressed his eyes shut with a huff and waited.

-

Nine yawned, shaking claws tapping against his keyboard. Lately he'd been spending his time monitoring the shatterverse. While it was vast, and he had made sure to send the Chaos Council as far away as possible, there was no harm in just double checking. Or triple checking. Or- you get the point. Besides, he didn't have much else to do. With an idle swipe of his nose, Nine typed in another set of parameters into his computer and waited for the scan to begin. He leaned back on his tails and watched the progress bar slowly tick by.

He didn't really know what he would do if he found the Chaos Council out in the void. It was highly unlikely he would. They were probably dead. His snout twitched.

This was all meant to be a distraction, anyways. So he waved away the realistic option.

I've truly lost myself. He humored dryly.

If Nine found the Chaos Council, he knew he wouldn't venture out into the shatterverse to confront them. No. He had long lost his shattercraft and was not keen on braving the crystalline belt without something to protect him. One of his less load bearing tails tapped against the stone floor. But would he allow them to find their way back to someplace like New Yoke?

That was a loaded question.

Over time in the Grim, he didn't feel his bitterness towards New Yoke melt. If anything, it only hardened. The rebels, or.. inhabitants- whatever they were called now, kept their promise. Which.. he appreciated. But something about it ate his insides up, turning his steel hard resolve into a bubbling mess of emotions he couldn't even begin to put a name to. Thankfully, that confusion irritated him. Irritation was something he could recognize. He was irritated with the knowledge that everyone there were having far better lives. But would he wish the regime of the Chaos Council resumed? No. The sheer hatred he felt towards the Chaos Council made his scorn for the denizens of the city look like mild distaste in comparison. An involuntary growl escaped his mouth and the sound shocked him out of the spiral of anger he almost slid into.

It had been a long time since Nine bothered speaking. Sometimes he sighed or sniffled, and of course it was hard to miss the tick tick tick of his tails, but they quickly blended into ambient sounds he didn't bother to register. The growl had hurt his throat. Nine unscrewed his bottle cap and took a sip of water.

That had been weird.

Anyways. He decided that despite his dislike towards New Yoke, he wouldn't allow the Chaos Council to take over without intervening. Or anyone dangerous like that to enter the Shatterverse. Not on his short watch.

Beep beep beep. His computer chirped and his eyes focused on the screens in front of him. Nothing. Nine sighed and began typing again.

-

Scraping against stone. Curled in a tight embrace. Splinters embedded deep. He's burning alive.

-

The next day was spent plucking out fragments of his makeshift icepack from his arm. One tail tapped against the floor as he methodically squeezed out a smaller splinter from his forearm. Dark red blood welled up in its place.

This was a painstakingly long process. But it was better than having to pull out shards from his eye.

He had a few first aid supplies stored in his lab. Not much for pain relief, he had run out long ago, but enough to disinfect and wrap up his wounded arm.

Nine didn't bother using the shards anymore after that.

-

The tremors in Nine's hands had worsened recently. He wasn't entirely sure why. The pain of his accident had subsided. So that was off his list. While his diet hadn't been.. entirely the best, there was no reason for this. Nothing has varied. Nothing could vary. Not in this blank slate.

Maybe he was due for another scan. It's what he usually did when he couldn't find an answer for anything wrong with him.

The level of prism energy within him only got higher when he checked. It was gradually making him more uncomfortable. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen first. Would his rations deplete and he'd wither away? Or would the prism energy burn him from the inside out? He shut his eyes.

-

The voices in his head were getting incessant. Nine usually was able to tune them out when they whispered venomous things. But it seems like isolation tore out their fangs. Now they wailed.

It was irritating.

Why wouldn't they shut up? Couldn't he wallow in peace? Sure, the clock was ticking. But they didn't have to remind him.

They cried about burning. For escape. For anything but himself.

But there was nothing here. No body. Just Nine.

They begged for escape.

Escape? He couldn't escape.

-

Nine dreamt of a choked clouds, thick with water. Thunder rumbled an ominous warning as the first heavy green drops hit the red sands. A torrential downpour that soothed the wounded Grim. Nine left the safety of his lab and stood under the driving rain.

Pacifying cold enveloped him. If his lab was safe, then this was sanctuary. Sweat, blood, and grime gently washed away while soaking him down to the bone.

When was the last time he had been this clean?

-

The voices were drowned out by buzzing throughout his body. The tremor spread from hands to the tips of his tails. Fur on end. Fractals burning.

Something told him he needed to expell this.

It was almost reflexive. Tails clicking into place. Fingers tense. The energy flowed from all parts of him and shot out from his seven tails.

It wasn't the destructive beam he had used during the battle. Reality tore before him, a portal of light rippling and burning his eyes.

The act exhausted him. Weakness immediately spread throughout his body and his tails limply fell behind him as he stumbled forward, pulled into another world.

It burned.

[floareadeaur]

Now, since vampires do not have any desires other than the desire for blood, it makes me wonder 'how would a vampire like Ferid be in bed?' Don't get me wrong, I understood your analysis of him and I also believe that he has a 'human soul' and he's not an usual vampire. How would he and his lover be intimate? Your fics also made me curious. I see that you present him as a 'vanilla' man, which suits him perfectly actually. It just makes me curious, and I wish to ask you for a few hcs about how Ferid would be in bed. A lot of people in the fandom see him as a villain and a psychopath, which automatically makes them think that Ferid would be 'rougher' in bed. I believe that he would also have some bdsm kinks, but he may prefer softer and loving moments.

《 Warning: Very long essay on the sexual dimension of vampires and a brief portrayal of how I see Ferid making love to his woman. Detailed scenes, analysis, philosophy maybe? Who is actually reading this? 》

Hello!

Interesting ask and quite detailed.

But I think there are more perspectives here.

From a canon perspective, I am pretty sure vampires are absolutely infertile. If they can not cry, I guess the only functional fluid in them is blood?

That would mean no sperm in male vampires.

That is from a purely biological perspective though, which I do not know how completely true it is in OnS, where, to me at least, vampires are both a biological and mythological species, given that Sika's own frustrations, resentments, and suffering have determined "the birth of the first vampire".

I mean, it does not say anywhere that vampires can not be sexually functional at all, just that they have no interest in anything but blood.

So I think that here we can find a "loophole" and rely a lot on the psychological dimension.

We have seen that vampires can feel many, many feelings. So, despite the condition that alters their personality and even their memories due to endless life, their human souls remain alive, even if most deny it and choose the phrase "we don't have feelings".

It is on this principle that I draw the conclusion that vampires can fall in love romantically and these feelings of an erotic nature awaken in them a functionality of their sexual organs.

How does this sexual functionality manifest itself?

Once, in my view, it is only caused by extremely strong, genuine, romantic, erotic feelings (the love of their life), then I think there is a general manifestation for all vampires.

Why am I saying this?

You know, vampires can be dismembered. But they feel pain when it happens, terrible, enormous pain. The way they hear, see, feel is much amplified, to a terrible intensity. They are constantly subjected to great sensory stimulations, which for newborn vampires are even painful or aggressive. Of course, with time they get used to it and learn to live with this, but the terrible pain remains, the excessive sensitivity.

They feel this great pain, but their bodies regenerate infinitely.

Therefore, I conclude in my interpretation that they can be sexually active with their loved one, and all the feelings and sensations during intercourse, including arousal, orgasm, would feel greatly amplified for them.

Just as pain and all other perceptions are amplified to vampires.

I can go into more detail from here, but I do not want to make this post too long. You can ask me about this topic if you are interested and I will elaborate in another post!

Now, I made a kind of introduction to explain my interpretation that vampires can have a sexual dimension.

I think I can now focus on your question about Ferid.

Obviously, every vampire was a human person and has a human soul.

So everyone would have their own particularities in intimacy with their loved one.

About Ferid I can say that he is psychologically unchanged from his human life. My belief is that this is due to his soul and mind feeling "too much".

His memory never forgets anything, so memories are always alive in his mind, even as a vampire. This is worth emphasizing, because it is specified in the novels that vampires tend to forget a lot due to the passage of time.

Then he feels everything "very much". Ferid has an ideal, an ideal as high as that of changing the rotten origin of the world. That can not be born from a soul that does not feel, you know?

There is a great sensitivity in Ferid, I think.

Indeed, an unparalleled sensitivity that keeps his humanity alive regardless of the context, or his condition of vampirism.

That is why I consider him not a man wounded by vampirism, but a man wounded by the putrid world around him and that his life is a continuous line, not fragmented into "Ferid the human" and "Ferid the vampire". It is a line to which Ferid is looking for a meaningful end. I think this metaphor well illustrates Ferid's desire to break "that vicious circle of reincarnation", among other things.

Obviously, there are some difficulties imposed by his condition as a vampire, such as a diet based only on blood, animalistic instincts to drain people of blood to death, the inability to go without blood for more than three days, and an endless, aimless life, just like another "reincarnation circle", but now in one body.

Above all, Ferid hates this vampire condition, as he declared, considering it a "curse".

But back to your basic question.

I do not comment much on the fandom's interpretation of him.

Personally, I do not consider myself a part of this fandom, although in theory I am.

But I noticed many stereotypes falling on many characters, not only on Ferid. And my only answer is that everyone sees in a character what they want and what they can do.

The canon material is right there and anyone can read it, analyze it, re-read it, or just ignore it and choose the stereotypes, as many do!

In the end, it is everyone's freedom and from here on I will present you my vision of Ferid Bathory.

I have to say that these "vanilla" labels, or the BDSM spectrum, are not something I use in the description.

So I can not give an answer within these areas. I know it is a classification used in the hcs / x reader section of fandoms. I find it dry and mechanical, to be honest.

For me, eroticism, the intimate love between a man and a woman cannot fall under labels. I see the whole dynamic as far too organic and derived from the very lives of the two involved to reduce it to a set of labels.

I do not know how much you will appreciate my description further, but I guess if you were interested in my opinion, maybe we resonate?

I see that for Ferid, sexual intimacy with his beloved woman is something very sensitive and fragile for his being.

Disgusted by the thirst of those around him for "material power" since adolescence and tormented by the search for a truth, a harmony in his broken world, he is not attracted to the carnal just for the sake of the carnal.

Eroticism for Ferid derives from his complex of feelings and desires for the woman he loves.

Ferid is deeply philosophical, I think I can even call him "romantic", despite his realism and sharp logic. After all, his suffering stems from his idealism, which derives from the very deep sensitivity of his soul.

I do not know if I can string some "sexual hcs" about him here. I do not like to just collect some ideas in the form of "hcs", I am always looking for the most organic form.

Therefore I will now detail how I see him touching his beloved woman. I think this is important.

Ferid may seem frozen at first, stiff. He can even look at her for hours.

Maybe it is time for him to settle into being himself with her, beyond any masks. And something related to the profound affective deprivation he suffered as a child.

Or, simply, his need to have quality time with the one who understands and genuinely loves him.

Every second spent around her breathing is "quality time" for Ferid.

Despite this attitude, in which Ferid seems stiff in this state of "observation" of her, the girl can deeply feel how his gaze is always on her, and the feeling is not a disturbing one.

Yes, he may look intimidating with his red eyes focused deep on her, but it is just determination and dedication in the way he looks at his lover.

She can feel how no one has looked at her before this way; in fact, with such tenderness, cherishing.

Ferid's gaze is not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it gives her so much peace and a charming feeling that pleases her whole being.

Beyond his apparent "reluctance", his gaze is so warm.

Likewise, Ferid's touch begins lightly.

His cold palm resting on her knee covered by the dress, as she continued to read that book of hers.

A light, delicate but firm touch of his whole palm, with those long and bony fingers of his.

She can feel the tension in his touch, the determination.

Then the touch flows smoothly. His arm encircles her belly so pleasantly, his palm then goes up to her sternum until it rests on the area of ​​her heart that beats so fast for him.

Under his touch, she goes soft, precisely because she feels this complete safety.

For Ferid leads every touch, he is purposeful.

Even if his hand ever trembles, his touch is not weak, one which would "run away" at any time. There is such deep care and such perfect determination.

In the end, Ferid's touches are driven by the desire to feel her, to devote himself to this genuine love offered to one like him.

Slowly, his palm reaches her shoulder that tenses slightly under his caress that slides down her beautiful arm.

Ferid cupped her palm in his. The center of his hand is pressed against her warm one, their fingers intertwining together. He looks at her just as focused, attentive. There is the same passionate tenderness in the way Ferid gazes his eyes on her.

Ferid knows what is in front of him: everything he is ever longed for.

His genuine love and acceptance is right there, in this woman.

His free palm rested on her other knee. Ferid leans over her with the same unsmiling expression, but so beautiful in its depth.

As her back sinks into the couch, Ferid bends over her until he is completely covering her body, his still-clothed hips pressing against her womb, still covered by her dress, where the book she read few moments ago had been.

The book is somewhere on the small table next to the sofa where they desire to make love. He slipped it out from between their bodies.

And from here, Ferid manifests himself totally freely.

Crawling like a snake over her, thrusting his body sensually between her thighs so far apart that her knees resembled a pair of butterfly wings.

I think about how he was forced in his family to play the role of an obedient, submissive son. But his reality is that Ferid has a potential which must be offered to a goal. He has leadership capabilities to achieve that goal. He is actually dynamic, like a sun.

This is very clear to me in the way Ferid would lead the swing on her body from their intimate act and would "crawl" over her almost desperately.

Covering her body completely, savoring every contact with her entire being.

I see how much he needs to feel her warm skin under his naked body, to feel her completely. How he hugs her so much, kisses her feverish lips deeply, looks into her eyes that remind him of the sky — that place where he always looked for love.

And now, the "little sky" beyond her gaze answers him with everything Ferid ever wanted.

Again, his touches are careful but firm.

There is a stormy passion, but a mathematical, meticulous care.

All because Ferid knows what precious "good" he holds in his arms.

And now I kind of created a little scenario...

But to give a conclusion, I see, that by loving her, Ferid sinks into his own soul. And so, everything must be taken lightly, carefully. Intimate love is no exception in this regard.

There is a burning passion in which he immerses himself meticulously along with her. After all, his memory that refuses to forget anything must be holding something really good now. Ferid wants to live these moments to the fullest.

I can go into a lot more detail, but I am trying to give a pleasant ending.

I see that Ferid is conducting the intimate act. His every touch is careful yet confident. When he touches her, it feels that he does not let her go for nothing in the world.

She can rely on him, sink into his touches and open up to Ferid like a flower with its soft petals offered to him willingly and piously, in an almost holy way.

Maybe that is why I see that the way he would most often make love to his woman would be with her beneath him and her knees so far apart, Ferid covering her completely and manifestating himself freely, crawling with mad determination on top of her body to love his woman.

In their intimacy, Ferid can offer his full potential — the philosophical, even spiritual fragility of his soul full of need for soft affection, for tenderness and the dynamism to lead the "goal", full of safety and determination — for him to always be there for her, the one who gives him something geniune and harmonious in that putrid world, already breaking that circle for him.

Honestly, I feel like what I wrote is pretty chaotic. Who will read this?

I can elaborate more on the dynamic between Ferid and the woman he loves, the way he makes love to her.

Maybe I do not write very "standard". The truth is, I am used to writing prose and especially writing Ferid in a dynamic with my original character, that is, in an extremely detailed, organic, human setting.

So I do not think I am very good at writing 'x reader', or portraying hcs about everything in the usual way.

Maybe I feel this character is too complex for that, or I love writing him too much in all his fascinating nuances.

Anyway, I enjoy looking into different topics and thanks for taking an interest in my interpretation!

You can come back with more specific questions about the topic.

Actually, I feel like I need more specific questions so I do not end up creating an endlessly long essay on Ferid. (I already did this. )

Finally, what attracted you to my fics? I am curious about that. Or, why did you write to me?

In general, I am genuinely curious as to why people want my take on a character. What do they see in my analyses, writings that makes them want more?

Finally, again, come back with questions if you want, kind feedback is welcome, and thanks to anyone reading this!

I wish a good to anyone who finds this post! ( it is so long I think I should put the wish at the beginning if I want my attempt to make someone's day better to work. But that is just me! Thank you!)

[cerise-tears]

on aphelios

I haven’t seen Shrek. 

That’s not entirely true. I’ve seen the first... fifteen minutes? My cousins were watching it one Christmas and I happened to be in the room. It didn’t really interest me at the time. But I haven’t seen the full movie, much to the horror of my peers. At this point it’s a recurring bit, and if I watched Shrek I wouldn’t have that anymore. What would be the point?

I am constantly in awe of people who put “CEO of *insert char here*” in their bios, descriptions, regardless of fandom. I have read countless fanfiction and headcanons about Victoria Chase, tried my hand at some fanfiction that I hated because I find my writing pretentious and lofty, commissioned people to draw her, etcetera, and I would never call myself the CEO of Victoria Chase, or assume any such divine knowledge. That’s the beauty of reading art - it’s the ability to have infinite discussions with people about how they’d see the character in various situations. I don’t call myself the “____ gal” for anyone. I worry not invoking this makes me seem like just a casual enjoyer of things. I want to be taken as seriously as any insane person here. 

I want to disregard the community around Settphel. I want to disregard the racism, disregard the fanatics, and talk about the ship itself. I want to talk about how I don’t see Aphelios as stunted emotionally, but socially. I want to talk about how I wish Alune hadn’t been his sister, but instead his only friend. I want to talk about the frustrating “both sides bad” nature to the Solari/Lunari conflict and how if we wanted better storytelling Aphelios should not exist in his current state. But I can’t do any of that because the fans are the ship. Through a cascade of circumstances from the origins as a lite crackship, to genuine dipshits saying Sett is “too cool to be into men”, to Aphelios being a little too good of a character to self insert as, to a genuine lack of proper queer rep, there is a grafting that cannot be untethered. 

I want to be so good of a writer that there is sorcery in my words. That I could show someone that they are wrong about something and have them change on a fundamental, primal level. I want to be able to curse someone and have them thank me. And when I can’t even do that with my favorite characters, characters that have a head start from excellent writers laying the groundwork, it fills me with a profound despair that in fact I will never be that good. I will always just be the town heretic, shaking my fist at the passerby telling them that life could be better, that they’re thinking about it all wrong, that they could be drinking wine instead of tar. I don’t want to be known for swatting cups out of people’s hands. Maybe they’ve been thirsty for their whole lives. 

Aphelios drinks noctum, a toxic plant that constricts his vocal chords and causes him immense pain in exchange for incredible prowess. He also gets to hear his sister, but he can’t talk to her. I think that’s worse than being alone. I think that sometimes I feel that way trying to engage with league lore. I think I’ve been granted incredible knowledge but can never communicate it. I think I am literally Aphelios, practiced and intelligent and cool and alone. 

I think I’m no better than his fans. 

[angeloddity]

Summertime Storms V

Breaking Skin

steve harrington x fem!reader

A stitch in your side, a cold downpour, and a desperation to see your boyfriend. If one more thing goes wrong, you think you might just break.

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: injury, blood, depression

word count: 2,800

a/n: all of my fics are self indulgent, but this one is especially indulgent.

part iv || series masterlist || masterlist

You shouldn’t have decided to walk. You could see the dark clouds looming in the distance, the wind drawing them ever closer to Hawkins. It was a dumb decision to make the journey to Steve’s house from yours on foot, you should have known better, should have thought your choice through. 

Normally you would ride your bike to your boyfriend’s house, but the tires were low on air and pumping them up had seemed like too much effort when you were ready to leave. Why would you take the time to refill them when you could be that much closer to Steve already? At the time, the answer seemed obvious. 

The logic behind making the journey on foot wasn’t entirely sound, but you hadn’t seen your boyfriend all day and you miss him. You always miss him. Sometimes, when you get too excited to see Steve, you don’t think things through. It’s embarrassing, he says it’s endearing. 

You must have walked too fast, or eaten too much for dinner too soon before walking. Whatever the cause, a little past the halfway point to Steve’s house, you feel a stitch begin to form in your side. It forces you to slow down, something you don’t really want to do given how close the clouds have become. They’re nearly on top of you, and they look ready to burst. You have no choice but to accept your fate. 

You’ve known all day that storms could be rolling in, but the weather report said it would storm in the morning, and the morning came and went without a drop of rain, then so did the afternoon. You hoped that by this point the rain would just hold off until night, creating a nice soundtrack to sleep to rather than a nuisance to travel in. 

The whole situation is an inconvenience at most. Sure, taking your time to pump the tires on your bike would have allowed you to be at Steve’s already, and if you were lucky you would have exerted less energy and avoided the cramp in your side, but it was a bother. The simple act of adding air to the tires seemed like just enough of a setback to avoid it. You just wanted to see Steve. 

Now you’re still not with Steve, you’re in pain, and the first drops are beginning to fall. It’s annoying, frustrating enough to make you grumble at the sky. Soon, you remind yourself, almost there. 

The first drops to fall are hardly drops at all. They aren’t big and beautiful. They’re small, sporadic, cold. Summertime storms aren’t supposed to be so cold. The drops fall faster and faster, wind picking them up and blowing them into your face. They soak into your clothes, the fabric clinging to your skin as goosebumps break out across your arms. 

Luckily it’s not a thunderstorm. It’s safe enough to be walking in the rain. Besides, you’re almost at Steve’s now. He’ll just lend you some dry clothes and hold you close, and everything will smell like him. The thought of seeing him so soon gets you to move faster again, that excitement you felt at the beginning of the walk sparking just enough to keep your heart glowing, a lighthouse in your chest. There may not be any thunder, but the elation of being so close to seeing Steve again flows like lightning beneath your skin, making your whole body buzz with it. 

—♡— 

Steve has been waiting for you to arrive. You should be at his house already, even if you made the trip on foot. 

Maybe you got distracted, saw a cat that needed petting or some flowers too pretty not to stop for. It wouldn’t be the first time, and the distractions on the way to Steve’s house seem to be infinite. There’s always something new to look at no matter how little has changed. A small shift in lighting is more than enough to draw your eye to new curiosities. Steve tries to convince himself that there were just a few more distractions than usual, but after all that has happened in Hawkins these past few years, with everything that he knows is hiding just beneath the surface, he isn’t so sure. 

He tries calling your house again, just in case you were exaggerating about being ready to head out the door. He knows you’re always a little later than you say you’ll be, he accepts this, plans accordingly, but the line just rings without an answer. You have already left. 

Steve begins to fiddle with the little things in his home in an attempt to distract himself, or maybe to clear his mind, whatever it takes to keep the worry from taking over. He moves anything that seems even slightly out of place, just to ease his fraying nerves. It doesn’t help. 

A peek out the window shows that it’s pouring rain, small drops falling in heavy sheets, the wind pulling the rain along at a harsh angle. Steve has a passing thought about grabbing some spare clothes for you to change into when you arrive, certain you’ll be soaked even if you brought an umbrella (he doubts you did).

His quick glance out the window also shows a shift in the scenery from his usual view. It’s not a big shift, a change that is almost washed out by the condensation forming on the windowpane, but it’s enough to give Steve pause. He looks again, a little closer this time.  

There’s a lump lying in the middle of the sidewalk just a few houses over. It’s soggy—human. The lump moves, face looking up in Steve's direction as though the person could sense him standing there, watching from a distance. It’s a familiar face, it’s yours. Even from this distance he can tell you look sad, and, to be quite honest, a little pathetic.   

Steve’s legs are moving him forward before he fully registers what’s happening. He’s out the door and running in your direction, crossing over his neighbor’s lawn to reach you, ignoring the way his feet slip in the mud.

The rain is cold, he notes. You must be miserable.

He’s by your side in an instant, hovering, unsure what you need from him. He wants to touch you, but he’s afraid of hurting you.   

“What are you doing?” Steve practically shouts, voice laced with rising panic. He doesn’t mean to yell, not really. It’s a response to fear held over from his King Steve days—bared teeth to mask uncertainty. But you don’t really notice the volume of his voice or his harsh tone. It’s a little difficult to hear Steve even at a high volume, there’s water in your ears. 

“I tripped! And then I gave up.”

You almost made it. You only needed to go a few doors down and you could have been at Steve’s, where it’s warm and dry and safe. If you had been paying more attention you would have remembered the crack in the sidewalk, the one that rattles you to the core every time your bike wheel hits it. 

It’s just not your day. 

Red pools around your knees, lightening into pink before fading completely. Like food coloring in a glass, the rain washes any trace of you away. It’s a slow trickle of blood, skin scraped raw during impact with the sidewalk, but it’s enough blood for Steve to be concerned. Any amount is too much in his mind. 

“You’re bleeding,” he states. “and soaked to the bone. Come on, let’s get you inside.” He bends down beside you, his knees falling into the puddle where you lay, unconcerned by the additional water soaking into the fabric of his clothes. He’s already drenched from the rain, what difference will a little more water make? 

He reaches beneath your arms and scoops you up, tugging until you’re leaning into his chest. You help out, just a little, but he still does the bulk of the work to get you standing again. When he moves, you follow close behind. He reaches for your hand, a familiar gesture, but the press of his palm against yours stings, a sharp pain rather than the usual and expected comfort. The touch makes you hiss slightly, a quick intake of breath, and Steve drops your hand immediately.

“Your palms too? Oh, my sweet, disaster girl. Does it hurt a lot?” His lips pull in a half smile, an attempt to comfort you, the light not reaching his eyes like it usually does. He’s too serious right now, a look you rarely see on him. Steve takes both of your hands in his, cradling the backs to avoid causing you any more pain. A quick glance shows your palms to be bleeding too, though not as much as your knees. 

“It’s not too bad,” you mumble. And it’s true, they don’t hurt all that much, but between the cramp in your side and the cold rain still pouring around you, the setback from walking, the now raw and bleeding skin on your hands and knees, and the ache to just be held, it’s all just too much to handle.

Tears build behind your eyes, giving you no time to try blinking them away before they spill. They fall in heavy drops down your cheeks, searing and sticky. It’s just a couple, you can’t allow more to fall or else Steve might notice—the rain can only do so much to hide the redness of your eyes, even if the tears burning down your face blend in with the freezing rain. You don’t bother wiping them away, not wanting to draw any attention to the mess. Plus, that would mean having to pull your hands out of Steve’s gentle hold.    

Steve shifts his grasp on you, taking only the tips of your fingers and curling them into his palm, the heat of him the closest thing to safety you’ve ever known. 

He tugs you along until you reach his house. The inside is dry and full of the low yellow glow of table lamps, the low lighting giving the home a cozy feel. It’s a trick you learned that Steve uses to make the house feel less empty, a homely light that pulls the walls of the silent rooms in close. It makes the house feel more lived in, something Steve desperately needs when so much of his life is spent in isolation. The trick with the lights works, but it always makes you sad to see. 

“Here,” Steve says, keeping hold of your arm to help you balance as you take off your wet shoes and socks. He holds you with the gentleness you’ve grown familiar with, all fighting instincts settled into dormancy again. “It’s important you dry off, and get these scrapes cleaned.”

Steve bends down to look at the injuries on your knees. His warm breath fans across the exposed skin of your thighs, finger reaching up to prod at the undamaged skin around the scrapes, not quite touching where it hurts. Streaks of crimson spill from friction torn skin. He’s not sure if the blood pooling there is making the injuries look worse than they are, not without cleaning the wounds first. He frowns at them, pressing a kiss to your thighs above each scrape, before standing once more.

You could cry again, the simple act of affection enough to be overwhelming. How could someone love you so much? 

Steve takes his own shoes off before guiding you to his bathroom, where he encourages you to sit down on the side of the bathtub. Then he opens the cabinet beneath his sink, pulling everything out that he might need to clean your injuries, he even has gauze pads to clean off the blood. 

“I’ve been getting hurt a lot these past few years,” Steve jokes, as if each time he was hurt  he wasn’t involved in some sort of fistfight, beaten to a pulp from losing. Somehow it wasn’t the demogorgon or the demodogs that got to him, rather, it was his fellow human beings and, more often than not, his old classmates. 

“Try not to get into any more fights,” you plead. “I don’t think your head could handle another concussion.” 

“I won’t, I promise.” He grins. “At least, I won’t start them.” 

You smack his shoulder in response, instantly regretting the act when the scrape on your palm makes itself known again. You gasp, more in shock than actual pain, but it brings Steve’s attention back to the task at hand. 

He cleans your knees off first, trying to wipe away the blood before it drips down onto his floor. The gauze is warm against your skin, a nice reprieve from the cold of your rain soaked clothes still clinging to your body. He spreads bacitracin ointment across the scrapes before putting two large band aids on them, kissing each one lightly as he goes. Even that gentle touch stings, but you can’t help but grin down at Steve, who is trying so hard to be gentle with you. 

It’s not uncommon for your mood to take a nosedive the way it had along the way to Steve’s, you both know that the bad days can be really hard to trudge through, but he always helps to keep you distracted, easing the pain in whatever way he can. 

Steve repeats the steps of cleaning your knees as he cares for your hands, using a new gauze after the first was completely soiled. He works quickly and efficiently, the methodical nature of his process breaking your heart a little. It’s obvious how often he’s had to put himself back together. He doesn’t have to anymore though. Just as he’s helping you now, you will be there for him when he needs you—even if he tries to fight your help. 

“Thank you,” you whisper when he’s all done. 

“Of course,” he says. He presses one final kiss to your lips for good measure. “I’m going to grab us some dry clothes. I don’t want you getting sick.” 

He leaves for just a moment, taking the warmth in the room with him. Of course he does, he’s the brightest thing you know, burning hotter than a fire, the heat of him spreading to you with only the slightest touch. 

His absence is tangible, even if he’s gone for only a moment. 

He comes back with two sets of clothes, both his despite having several pairs of your own tucked away in his drawers. The thought that he wants you in his own clothing, safe and dry and warm, sends a fire burning across your cheeks. Of course it does, how could it not? He doesn’t even need to touch you to make you burn. 

You start to strip out of your wet clothes, grateful that you won’t have to be stuck in them for any longer.

“No, stop!” Steve exclaims before you can even get your shirt off. “If the band aids get wet I’ll have to change them again. Let me.”

He reaches out, pulls your shirt over your head gently before helping you out of your shorts. Your cheeks ignite again, heat spreading to your ears and down your neck, into your chest. Steve has seen you bare a hundred times over, tasted every inch of you, and yet this feels different. It’s almost embarrassing how tender he is, how fond as he takes you in for just a moment before helping you into his clothes, how gentle. 

“I love you,” you say, unable to stop yourself, not that you would even if you could. He deserves to hear it. He brings his palms up to your cheeks, cradling you completely, thumbs sweeping light circles across the delicate skin beneath your eyes. 

“I know,” Steve says, “I love you too. So much.”     

Maybe you’re crying again, it’s difficult to tell anymore. You don’t think you’d mind if you are, not this time.  

Steve’s half undressed by the time you get your wits about you again. His shirt drops to the floor in a wet heap, hitting the tiles with a loud splat. He smiles at you when he catches your gaze, the two of you laughing at the silliness of the sound. You ignore the way your own laugh holds a certain wetness to it—definitely crying. Your heart still hurts, bruised from just one too many small things gone wrong, but it’s not as bad now that you’re bandaged, warm, and with Steve.  

“C’mere,” he says, stepping over the growing pile of wet clothing and pulling you towards him into the curl of his arms. The skin of his chest is cool and damp beneath your cheek, but he will warm up again. After all, you have no intention of letting go of him anytime soon.  

a/n: when I have a particularly low day, I find the company of others to be the best thing to keep me from sinking too far

[just-a-carrot]

Re: the line about other side stuff you want to do in the future. Honestly that's so fair and I relate sijdiasdji, I'm always personally conflicted about how much more I should do because if I could I would make an infinite number of side games asaisdsad BUT OBVIOUSLY I can't I am but one Creature. I will be waving my little flags of support for you, the potato, and the possible Many Other Carrots™️, because whatever direction you decide to take your work in I'm sure will be-- and is-- worth it. Your skills keep on growing and while telling all stories one may wish to tell is impossible, the ones you're able to tell will be worth it. OW let me feel seen in a way that no other media has. It's up there as one of my top favorite VNs, and for good reason. MANY good reasons. Anyyyyywaaays that's all to say ✨you're doing great✨ and keep on keeping on. Whatever comes of it will be amazing.

OH I MOSTLY JUST MEANT DIFFERENT TYPES OF OW SIDE GAMES THAT AREN'T RELATED TO OFW. like, i feel like i don't think i'll ever actually make another OFW side game because it's kind of self-contained and though i love thinking about it, i don't know if i'd have enough ideas to make another complete game. however, i'd still love to make other OW side games in general dkjfadsf unsure at this moment what they would be... but i have various Idea Kernels bumping and bopping about in the noggin. i also plan to do some sort of remaster of OW once it's complete -- there are CGs in the early arcs i want to go back and redo because they Pain Me now. also even some sprites kind of grate on me... guhh... at the very least, i want to make sure char designs and stuff are just made more consistent, as you can see where some of the early designs look a bit different to how i draw them now (mostly small details, though it's more apparent on some chars than others lkdjfads). coupled with that i'd love to do things like add some livelier scripting to some of the earlier arcs, as well as maybe even draw a few more CGs here and there. who can say. i also did that poll a while back about potentially adding optional iggy side images. i'm still thinking about that.

i think if i did return to OFW it would end up being something similar -- maybe a remaster type thing where i go back in and add some of the CGs that i didn't have time to do in the time restrictions but that i would have loved to add. then giving it the feature treatment like with OW by adding a gallery and other stuff. if i did that, maybe i would add some other little extra, like some extra scenes or hidden scenes. that could be a way to do a little bit more with the story without committing to a whole new game lakdjfad COMPLETELY UNSURE THO AND NO ACTUAL PLANS RIGHT NOW. i still need to finish the main game before any of this can happen LOL

as far as stuff completely unrelated to OW / future different games, i do have one idea i've been cultivating for a long time i'd love to potentially make into a game eventually. but i think it needs a bit more stewing time in the brain first. and i still have a lot i want to do with the OW world beforehand

HHHHHHH THANK YOU THO. FOR ALL THESE LOVELY WORDS AND THOUGHTS. i am really happy and touched if people can enjoy these characters and world... 🥺💕

[zuckarr]

happy birthday, Yoichi ♡ 早乙女与一生誕祭2022

Back in November 2015, when season 2 of the anime Seraph of the End was airing, I wasn't well. I was desperate, going through deeply confusing and painful emotions and my whole life was devoid of purpose. I didn't know who I was anymore. I had no strength to deal with my continuously toxic family. I had no friends, just one special person who unfortunately, maybe even unknowingly scarred me. All I know is that I chose to watch that anime and when this character, Yoichi Saotome, showed up I felt something. After a few episodes, he said a few words that resonated with everything I've been through - "I am still under that bed". I realized I related to that mental image. It was extremely real to me because I was indeed hidden for the longest time, just like him, and I was hurt and guilty and horrified by life. Just like he was.

From that moment on, I felt some sort of unique, heart-warming, inspiring connection with him. To me, he became more than just a character in a story. My devastated mind saw nothing but light whenever I thought of him. Yoichi showed me who I wanted to be, and showed me how to be that person by simply existing in an anime series. To this day, I still wouldn't know what to call him - my guide? My angel? My alter ego? My friend? There's one thing I do know, though: I feel loved thanks to him.

I, who used to wallow in self-hatred, am now writing love letters to my future self every now and then. That's what the picture above shows: it is a screenshot from one of my edits with Yoichi, in which I included one of the hand-written love letters I wrote to myself in my native language.

I don't think I could express in words how absolutely messed up I was before discovering Yoichi, and to what extent he healed my very soul. I hope it is at least clear that it's... a lot. Yoichi means a lot to me.

The story that this character comes from says that Yoichi was born in 2004. His birthday is on November 23rd, so he turns 18 today. I couldn't really make something noteworthy for him - I usually post a drawing or an edit - but that's okay. I am writing this little letter, after all. In one way or another, he will always, unquestionably help me.

Happy birthday, my love, my guiding star, my sweetie. Thank you for everything.

---

Special thanks to the people I met along the way who I shared this fragment of heart with. Shout-out to @telesticmajesty who is infinitely precious and essential to me, @shadsie who drew my wonderful tumblr icon and other amazing Yoichi drawings, @bardbaric who gifted me a lovely Yoichi drawing and has always been kind to me, @grimbunny who takes great care of my love for Yoichi and even brought me a Yoichi keychain from Japan, @hyakuyaaaaaas who appreciates me endlessly and always lets me know she supports me and gifted me fantastic Yoichi drawings, @amarevia and @houdadraws and @mysillystuff and @ammerynth for the unforgettable commissioned artworks, @fauxvvalor for being my personal favourite Yoichi centric blog, @rivaillicious and @solarshadow and @redsnowelora for being perfect friends who I shared my love for Yoichi with, and the list could go on but I'll stop now...

You guys are all special to me. Maybe it doesn't sound like a big deal, but you all meant something good for me which I'll keep close to me for as long as I live. I hope that on one lonely day, this gets to be a reason to smile. Thank you!

-Dan

[nyoxt-was-here]

I posted 6,055 times in 2022

That's 6,055 more posts than 2021!

16 posts created (0%)

6,039 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@violet-amet

@skullchicken

@raemanzu

@queen-tabris

@antiqueanimals

I tagged 861 of my posts in 2022

#dragon age - 278 posts

#shadowrun - 87 posts

#star wars - 39 posts

#the owl house - 24 posts

#fallout 4 - 24 posts

#body horror - 22 posts

#pathologic - 20 posts

#shadowrun hong kong - 19 posts

#oc ask game - 17 posts

#video - 13 posts

Longest Tag: 97 characters

#maybe i should just start something and sit through it no matter how low quality it will come out

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sorry I'm bad at drawing but your Ram headcannons are too sad. He has now been adopted and the hugs will continue until morale improves.

AWWWW that is super sweet, thanks! Morale-improved ! Also HA hug back! >:]

7 notes - Posted September 18, 2022

#4

Emoji ask for Ram the Man! If you like of course, not obligated to. I want to read the juicy detes! 😨 FEARFUL,🍰 CAKE SLICE, 🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL, 🔫 PISTOL. Feel free to answer these however you like! And pick and choose whatever you prefer to answer the best! Thanks for the many asks before, it's so much fun to share oc stuff with others! Have fun~!

Yeeeee, thx a lot for the ask! :3

😨 FEARFUL - when scared, do they go into "flight" or "fight"? When he was a kid he used to run away and hide from things that scared him. Or completely freeze if escape was impossible. In adult life he's hard to scare and prone to "fight" response. But some situations still can cause him to freeze or become unresponsive.

🍰 CAKE SLICE - favorite cake flavor? are they specific about types of cakes? Every cake flavor! He is probably oblivious to the fact that cakes have "types" and just enjoy whatever is offered or sparks his interest.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people? Ram is literally terrified of showing others(and himself tbh) his anger. And he's got a loooot of it pent up. Duncan is an exception though, because Ram knows that Duncan is not afraid of him and won't think of him less for a bunch of harsh words or a heated argument. In the same manner Ram is afraid to show others his violent side. That's partly the reason he build Beartrap- to try and relocate his violent impulses into the machine. (but since I love the trope of "local sunshine is enraged, deranged and covered in blood" too much, you can be sure that situations where he lost it and teared someone into shreds- happened >:]

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum? He's been backstabbed a number of times! Most painful betrayal was by his parents, and the most impactful one was by a friend who got him into some corporate mess and ended with him in prison. So yeah ✨trust issues✨ And since Ram is perfect at hiding his true feelings- he usually pretends to trust someone completely but internally he's prepared for the worst outcomes. But once his trust is genuinely earned- he is infinitely loyal and it is almost impossible to convince him to betray that person.

7 notes - Posted September 13, 2022

#3

☄️ COMET & ❇️ SPARKLE for the oc emoji ask for Ram? :]

Heeeeeyyyyyy thanks for the ask! :D

☄️ COMET - what do people assume about them? are they right?

Ram knows how to keep himself to appear as non threatening as possible, so most of the time people assume that he is a chill easy going and social dude. Which is true except sociability . On the sadder side- people usually think that he is having everything under control and handling pain and stress very well, but in reality he is just very good at hiding his negative emotions.

People with biases or enemies usually assume that he is stupid, lazy or weak- which is as wrong as it could get buuuut he prefers to be underestimated

Also people tend to assume, that he is very huggable and it is absolutely correct this man is a perfect hug-giver XD

❇️ SPARKLE - what is their most prized possession? what do they value?

On the moment of the plot- it's the Cat-thing!

That's a little custom drone he feverishly constructed right after he was let out of prison. It is objectively not good, made of cheap parts, runs on pirated software for a house companion drone (guess which animal XD ), breaks easily and can be quite annoying sometimes. Ram often remarks that he should take it apart for spare parts or throw it in the junk "where stupid thing belongs", but he fix it every time, looks worried if it's not around and absent-mindlessly pets it even though it can't feel touch

It is like accidental emotional support animal. And Ram refuse to acknowledge that he value Cat-thing despite the obvious

8 notes - Posted September 10, 2022

#2

so, what was Ram like as a kid? ^^

Aw, thanks a lot for the ask :3

Izak's (since he didn't get his neat street name yet) childhood was unhappy to say it lightly- he came from a town, where the population of goblinized people was minimal, so he got unfair share of bullying from other kids and adults alike. Also his (human) parents wasn't happy to suddenly get a troll baby, and treated him as a "trial from God" or a "curse". He tried desperately to be The Perfect Child to get some droplets of positive attention, but to no avail. Sooo he was smol, lonely, traumatized, terrified of almost everybody, avoiding conflicts at all costs and had no self-esteem whatsoever And for the appearance- I got some sketches, which I apparently, never posted before : purple boy in times of smallness :]

See the full post

14 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

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17 notes - Posted August 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[gale4winds]

“Birds, what wonderful creatures. Elegant, agile…and free” I thought to myself while my eyes traced a canary flying overhead. My focus slowly shifted from the bird to the coral hues that dusk had to offer. Looking down I remembered that I had been sitting on the castle wall, its cracked cobblestone cold beneath me. In my lap lay my journal, filled with numerous drawings of the birds I had seen over the years, while in my right hand I held a piece of charcoal that I had been using to sketch. I stood up dusting myself off taking in my surroundings.

To my left stood the kingdom of Eden.The kingdom itself isn’t all that big containing a castle and a village further south of it. The castle was constructed from white marble detailed with silver accents that caused the building to become almost blinding in the sun’s shimmering beams. It stood higher than any god looking over the entire realm including the village further south, this is where most of the people typically lived, doing their everyday routines. The village was never silent; you could consistently hear the faint chatter as well gossip amongst everyone, the clanking of iron clashing iron undoubtedly coming from the blacksmith shop complemented by the sweet aroma of delectable strawberry pastries, from the bakers stand, put out to cool down in the autumn breeze which wafted its way over to me.

While to the right of me was a lush pine forest cloaked in mystery. It’s dark green brush hid its wonders from me, well all except one. A giant maple tree stood high enough to penetrate the forest canopy. Its dark brown bark was more of a roar and its leaves mimicked the shades of a sunset. This tree was where most if not all winged beasts declared their home.

Lastly, I looked directly in front of me to find an endless castle wall decorated with vines that have coiled the dull stone from top to bottom. Holding up rotting gargoyle statues which wait for the day they crumble and be relieved from duty. This infinite wall carefully divides the two worlds, one of eternity the other of change never letting one spill into the other, only allowing the azure sky to be generously shared between them.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. “How close I was to the edge again I don’t remember” I thought to myself. I take one step forward. “Just how many more steps would lead me to freedom, one maybe two” I take another step. “How much farther before I fall?” I lifted my leg and began moving it forward. I then lowered my foot, part of me wanting to touch the solid stone again while the other wanted, well hoped that I would have reached the edge. I kept going closer and closer just a little bit furth-“GALE” a familiar voice boomed.

Startled, I opened my eyes to see my foot dangling dangerously off the edge. I fumble backwards on to the frigid cobblestone. A shaky breath escapes my lips. “I was so close” I mumbled. “Get down here now” the same voice spoke only this time it was cold and angry. I stood up once more looking back to the forest hoping to see the maple tree before I made my descent, but due to the sun setting visibility was limited and I couldn’t make out anything. I slowly turned myself back to Eden where my father, the king, stood waiting. I began climbing down a vine which hung from the wall. I hesitantly approached my father, feeling myself begin to tremble the closer I got, stopping only a foot or two in front of him. I waited in suspense till he spoke.

“Gale I just want to protect you, you know that right?” he said those words as if he actually worried for me, but I could tell not an ounce of emotion backed them up. I stayed silent staring at the ground while fiddling with some dirt. I was then greeted with a pricking pain as he swatted his hand across my face. This caused my head to jerk to the left, forcing me to look at something red in a tree nearby. It was a northern cardinal, “my favorite” I thought. “GALE” my father growled, grabbing my face causing the winged creature to fly away in a panic. This brings me back to reality. “ Did you hear me?” he asked in a hushed tone, forcing me to stare into his cold brown eyes. My vision began to blur as tears formed. “You look just like your mother right now you know that” he taunted. “You’re just like her crying for no reason.” His voice grew louder. “You have everything you could ask for yet here you are weeping like a lost dog” his voice erupted. “If you so badly want to cry I’ll give you something to cry about!”he yelled.

A firm fist struck my cheek, sending me to the ground causing the rough gravel to scrape my elbows. I yelp as I feel sharp jabs and kicks along my body leaving behind bruises in their wake. His golden rings begin embedding themselves into my soft flesh, opening old wounds as well as leaving behind new gashes for my skin to bare. I lay there motionless, only comforted by the warmth of my blood leaking from my body. At this point I go numb as I wait for what feels like an eternity for my father’s bludgeoning onslaught to cease. Soon he tires, breathing heavily as he fixes the gold on his fingers. He is about to go back inside but not before giving me one last kick to the stomach causing me to regurgitate “you’ll be sleeping out here tonight” he said in a calm voice. “Being totally honest, a part of me likes his calm tone. I wish I could hear it more often without being disciplined,”I thought.

A sigh escapes my lips as I lay there in my filth, with no energy left to move my mind begins to wander to the cardinal I saw earlier “Why” I muttered “Why couldn’t have you taken me with you”. I looked up to see the sun that had just set and in its place was a pale moon shining down on me with pity. “one day i’ll be up there with you” I choked out before finally letting the sweet release of sleep engulf my body.

* * *

My eyes fluttered open feeling the illumination from the now rising sun, while the moon I had only just seen moments before my slumber had started to wave its final goodbye for tomorrow night would be a new moon. I sat up taking in my environment realizing it had rained. “How did I not feel the rain?” I thought. As I became more awake I noticed my clothes were completely soaked. I guess the pain in my body blocked out any other sensations. Shifting my head to the left I see a puddle. I gazed into it, seeing my reflection. What I saw was so much different from the young boy I used to be. I see my tired eyes wanting to be put to rest, I see my body decorated with unhidable scars and last I saw my face had been stained by blood. I slowly ran my hand along my cheek wincing at the soreness. “I used to be able to smile. I don’t remember exactly when, but I remember that I used to do it so often and now the only thing my face can do is frown.”I thought.

I stood up shakily trying not to lose my balance, eventually hobbling my way over the vine I used yesterday. I leaned carefully against the wall feeling the cool sensation against my shoulder which helped soothe my fiery skin. I held the vine in my hand for the moment feeling its soft mossy texture compared to my cut hands. Gripping the vine tightly, I tried sporadically to climb up onto the stone rampart, burning and tenseing just to make it to the top. Somehow I manage to swing my leg around and onto the wall allowing me to hoist myself up and roll onto my back feeling the icy cement on my freshly formed wounds.

Catching my breath I steadily sat up noticing that I had left my journal up here yesterday, luckily the leather cover prevented any serious damage from the rain. I slowly opened it, feeling the scent of charcoal hit my nose. The pages inside were damp. They felt fragile if I tugged too hard I feared I might rip them. I flip through my numerous drawings stopping for a brief moment at the northern cardinal. I ran my hand along the page feeling the edenments from when I pressed too hard on the paper. While staring at the drawing some movement in the corner of my peripheral vision caught my attention. Sitting only a couple inches from me was a northern cardinal. Only this one was yellow.

“Strange,” I whispered. Its illusive black eyes stared back at me like it knew what I was thinking. I carefully reach my hand out not making any erratic movements for I fear the feathery beast would take flight, never to return. Keeping my hand still as possible I reached further, steadily closing the gap between us. Even with the feathery thing being only a few inches from me I felt as though I was reaching across a canyon to get to it. Finally I had the feathered creature practically in my grasp. I could feel the warmth radiating from its golden feathers, how clean they were unfit for my scarred hands. Right when I was about to gently close my fingers around its delicate little body the silence was shattered abruptly by my winged friend being snacthed causing it to emit a shreak that pierced the air while also my heart.

I looked up to see my fathers twisted ugly face glaring back at me. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? ‘’ he spat. I Stayed silent, shifting my gaze slightly to see the yellow cardinal in his hand flapping hopelessly trying to escape his iron grip. “This situation felt…familiar where have I seen this before” I thought. The bird struggled for a bit but eventually my fathers clutch became too tight as its fluttering wings flapped less and less finally coming to a halt. Its once lively eyes filled with light soon faded into a dull lifeless husk. My fathers clasp became so tight you could hear the bones of the poor thing bending, snapping, and distorting with a fine crunch. You could see a crimson liquid spilling out of its mouth onto the speckled concrete creating a copper stench in the air. “I know I’ve seen this before… but where?” I asked myself. I snap out of my daze when my father drops the yellow carcass, its limb body hitting the edge of the wall before bouncing off into the land below leaving behind another blood splatter in its place.

My father then charges at me grabbing me by my throat letting my body hang like a rag doll. I began to struggle against his grip flailing wildly to break free. My vision became spotted, my father slowly morphed into a big black blob until I couldn’t make him out.he then spoke “I feed you, cloth you, provide anything you need yet you still want to leave” he paused ‘Why”. This cause me to stop for a moment “This situation it had happened before” I thought “Only this happened…to her. I remember vividly the sounds of her bone breaking, the sight of her blood dripping, the odor of copper filling my senses. History was repeating itself. For a moment I felt that there was no escape so I stopped. “Promise me you’ll stay with me” he growled “Promise me”. “I-i p-promise” I squeaked out. My vision began to return as his clasp loosened. He threw me onto the freezing gray bricks. I sat there choking for air waiting for him to drag me away. I looked out towards the maple tree knowing this was probably the last time I would see its grand appearance. I looked over the edge. I had a choice, either stay and suffer an eternity or go and be free but only for a moment. I rose slowly onto my feet.

“Let’s go,’’ he commanded. I didn’t budge. My father turned back only this time his face had an expression of genuine confusion. He began“Didn’t you hear-”. “No,” I interrupted. His face went blank for a second. “What did you say?” he questioned. “No” I spoke this time more firmly. “Do I need to drag you by your-” He tried to talk but I cut him off once more. “What happened to you…dad? What happened to the man who was once filled with love, the man who cared for his wife and child, the man who had potential to be a king?” I asked with tears flowing down my face “And how did Hades himself manage replace him going as so far to murder his own Persephone hmm?” I could feel my throat tense as I awaited his answer. “HOW DARE YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST TALK TO ME LIKE THAT YOU UNGRATEFUL-” I take a step back this caused him freeze “What are doing” He said “She- mom had a choice you took that away from her and for what just to have a piece of metal laid upon your head, How do feel my king?” I mocked. “Don’t you dare ever bring up your mother” he hesitated “It was complicated, you’re too young to understand, now get away from the edge please” he begged. I let out a sigh “Alright, but only if you can answer one question “Was it worth it?” I asked. “What?” He looked confused once again.. “Did the end justify the means?” I roared. His face contorted and shifted, unable to find words he looked around as if the answer could actually be found. Finally his face decided upon a wicked smile “Yes” he answered. I paused for a brief second feeling the slightly hurt, part wanted so badly for him to say no but I wasn’t surprised. I stared directly in his eyes, not breaking away and said, “Well I’m geuniley for you. I hope you spend the rest of your life as an all-powerful king in almighty castle with everything at your fingertips…alone, thinking about how you not only killed your wife…but your son as well.

“What no?” He cried. I turned towards the edge….. held my arms out,…… looked at my father one last time……. And jumped. I heard my father scream something but it became drowned out by wind rushing past my ears. The ground racing towards me looked like it was made of emerald shining from the morning dew, the smells of mint mixed honeysuckle took over my nose making me grin. The wind made my body feel cold yet at peace. “Is this what it feels like to be free” i thought. I looked ahead to see the robins, sparrows, and northern cardinals around the maple tree so elegant as they flew. I then close my eyes. Took my final breath. My grin now a smile. Thinking to myself at least I got to see birds one final time.

Copyright 2020-2022 C.J. Flores

This is a short story I wrote junior year for a project i revised it a tad, but i suck with grammer so if you see any errors feel free to correct me. I hope you guys enjoy it.

[shadowpantherpup]

Shadow's Lore

Shadow was created around 2,000 years ago. Give or take a century. She and her sister were created by an ancient race of beings known as the Arangarh. 

The Arangarh are God-like beings with omnipotent powers. Capable of creating and destroying worlds with a mere thought. They have existed since the beginning of time as we know it. The Arangarh created Shadow and her sister Shimmer as guardians. One of light/purity (Shimmer), and one of dark/shadow (Shadow).

Shadow and Shimmer were bound by powerful magic to serve the Arangarh. They were Slaves to their creators for over a millennium and a half. Forced to inflict horrors and pain on innocent species across many worlds.

What the Arangarh were not aware of was how powerful they made Shadow and Shimmer. The two were able to break their shackles by sheer will and some very powerful magical abilities. Though they still have them. Those shackles became a part of their being. They serve as a reminder of the horrors they had to endure. 

After breaking their shackles. Shadow and shimmer have been hunted by the Arangarh. The Arangarh are afraid that Shadow and Shimmer may be strong enough to rise up and destroy them for what they did.

Now the sisters are out to get justice and make the Arangarh pay for their crimes. They are gathering a group of some of the most powerful beings in the multiverse. They know it won’t be easy. But, with good friends and a whole lot of courage. They have a fighting chance to emerge victorious. 

Shadow Pantherpup: 

*She guards and draws her power from a universe of nearly pure darkness known as the void.

*You can see her universe in the star on her eye, and on her arms and legs.

*The blue band around her wrists and ankles are what’s left of her shackles.

*The moons on her shoulders are what gives her elemental control.

*She has knowledge of basic elemental magic. 

*She also is unmatched in dark/shadow magics. 

*She can become a literal part of any shadow. Not just blend in. 

*Completely immune to physical attacks and dark magic.

*Not immune to magical attacks.

*Being a guardian, she can bind to or essentially imprint on anyone she chooses. This has its upsides and downsides. The biggest being, once she’s bound, it’s forever. This guardianship means she will give her life to save the ones she’s bound to. Whether she wants to or not. So, she only imprints on the ones she holds dearest to her heart.

Shimmer Pantherpup:

*She guards and draws her powers from a universe of light.

*Like her sister, she can control the basic elements through the moons on her shoulders.

*She has similar markings that allow one to peer into her universe.

*She has an unmatched control over light/purity magics.

*Can radiate light of any of nearly infinite intensity.

*She’s Immune to basic (earth, air, fire, water) elemental and light/purity magics.

*Not immune to physical attacks.

*She is a guardian like shadow. Reference Shadow for full details.

(I would love to write a book on my OC. If I was a better writer that is. With time I'll be adding more to this. Maybe someday I'll have enough to write one. Who knows. 🤷‍♀️)