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mirror-ralsei · 9 months

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THEORY: The Colorful Core

Someone once made a very sharp insight about the CORE. It's been years and I still can't find it, but I distinctly remember a YouTube commenter pointing out these colored tube sprites in the CORE. They said they were specifically the same colors as printer ink: cyan, magenta, and yellow.

Ignorant, I looked it up.

And, um.

Yeah we can start to guess why these were thrown in with the "darknesstotems," huh.

For anyone else that wasn't aware, CMYK color model acquires the color black ("K" or "Key") by subtracting light using pigments. The pigments in question? CMY - cyan, magenta, and yellow.

This might have some implications for Deltarune.

PART 1: Photon Readings Negative

As we all know, the creator of the CORE and our "SURVEY_PROGRAM" is none other than Gaster himself. (Unless there's anyone else out there using typer value 666.)

Gaster is heavily tied to the concept of "darkness" through his infamous Entry 17 experiment.

And between the "darknesstotem" sprites in the CORE, the mercenaries emerging from the shadows, and these apparent CMYK references, we might infer that the CORE has something to do with that too.

Specifically, the "PHOTON READINGS NEGATIVE" description seems... more or less the exact function of a subtractive model like CMYK. (As far as i can figure. Not an expert, here.) This seems to further support the idea that the CMYK model may either literally or metaphorically serve some role in the "darkness" concept that was teased in Undertale, and a focal point of Deltarune.

So what does this mean? Well, as it is depicted in Deltarune so far, "darkness" seems to symbolically represent "fiction," and more diagetically, it's the source of the Dark Worlds and all Darkners within it. That seems to be the black color's meaning more or less solved for. What's unclear is how this darkness, or "K," will be produced.

(One could say... how could we "Gen" this "Key"? A "KEYGEN," in other words?)

okay that's just a quick tangent but hey spamton very much does cycle through rainbow colors okay it's not totally unrelated--

In any case. We have K solved for, so the remaining elements that would "combine" to create it are CMY. While there's not any known themes or plot elements across UTDR that would relate to the colors cyan, yellow, and magenta, there certainly are some characters...

PART 2: The CMY Trio

Did those colors look familiar?

That's right: Kris, Susie, and Noelle each have the respective CMY colors attached to them!

While Kris does have blue skin, Susie pink skin, and Noelle yellow hair, it's their HP bars that are the biggest tells.

No matter how you colorpick it, that's a cyan-magenta-yellow.

And wouldn't you know it, these three characters happen to be the ones mentioned by Gaster, pursuer of darkness, to be "VERY, VERY WONDERFUL."

But aren't we forgetting someone?

PART 3: Not Easy Being Green

Ralsei is already a character with a lot going on, and i'm not going to get into that here. Needless to say, though, there's much about him that's slightly different from Kris and Susie, and sometimes even Noelle. The green-associated Ralsei not having as definitive a place in the CMYK model is just one more space he's an odd one out in.

The counterargument here would be that Ralsei himself is meant to represent "K." That's certainly possible. He is the (or a?) prince of darkness, and is associated with black roughly as much as green. So i'm not going to discount that as much as say: if Ralsei is meant to represent darkness in such a significant way that Gaster was summoning him up in Undertale, I almost think we'll have more questions than answers. So to keep things simple for now, i'm going to assume that Ralsei's associated color is, like the others, in his HP bar.

Under that assumption, i think there's a couple places Ralsei could fit.

It's possible he could still squeeze into CMYK, being the secondary-color intersection between cyan Kris and yellow Noelle.

But since Ralsei is so different from the others, it might stand to wonder if he's not part of another model entirely. Namely...

PART 4: The RGB Trio...?

...RGB. An additive model that acquires a given color by combining colors of light. The more colors that are added, the closer it gets to white.

In other words, more or less the inverse of the CMYK model.

The existence of the RGB model may mean that Ralsei does have a place in a trio - just maybe not the one we're led to believe.

If this theory holds true, and if this model also has an associated three characters, then there are two other members of Ralsei's trio that are unaccounted for: a red character and a blue character.

Now, i'm not the kind of theorist to run through every individual candidate with a... in this case somewhat literal color swatch. Especially when it's quite possible we haven't met these other two characters yet.

But for those who want to, i would just note that red and blue are the associated colors - Noelle isn't yellow, after all, and Light World Kris doesn't have a trace of cyan. We're lucky that all four of the main cast have HP bars that are definitively certain colors. So just keep that in mind if combing through the cast.

PART 5: Mixing It All Together

Now that we've established a possible CMY trio of Kris/Susie/Noelle and explored the idea of a RGB trio of two unknown characters and Ralsei, what might it all mean?

Well, we know that CMYK is used to produce black, or in Deltarune terms, something pertaining to "darkness," while RGB is used to make (any color up to) white, and could be used to achieve something "light" related.

So it would be a simple assumption that the CMY trio has something to do with darkness or the Dark Worlds, while the RGB trio has something to do with light or the Light World.

This is interesting because Kris, Noelle, and Susie are all Lightners, while Ralsei - and perhaps his other two comrades? - are Darkners. This flips the easy correlation of Lightners with the Light World and Darkners with the Dark Worlds on its head.

But haven't we seen this before? As far as we've seen, it's only possible for a Lightner to create a Dark Fountain. Could Darkners have some special kind of interaction with the Light World in the same way?

Moreover, do the trio of Kris, Noelle, and Susie have some sort of darkness-related power or knowledge available only to them? What makes the three of them so special? Even Gaster comments on it, though he may be biased toward the subject of his research, and even that, if true, is valuable information.

If we can't figure out what exactly is special about the CMY trio yet, i'm not going to hazard guesses about a purported RGB trio which we don't even know exists. But I would assume based on their inspirations that it would be basically the inverse of whatever the CMY three have going on.

Finally, there's one last property of these models that seems noteworthy. While CMYK and RGB seem like inversions of each other, a crucial difference is that CMYK is used for print media, while RGB is used for screens. There's nothing relevant about that I can think of at the time being, but it's something worth keeping in mind for future speculation on the topic.

CONCLUSION

So, there we are! While this is "theory" is more on the broad and speculative side, I hope that these ideas are useful going forward. We know very little about the role of the CORE, but a possible link between it and darkness and three of the main cast is valuable information. And perhaps we can learn some more about Ralsei and an unknown red and blue character at some point, too.

Thanks for reading!

Click here for Part 2

ETA: Oh Kenju in the artbook just outright confirms the CMYK tubes apparently.

Well done, Youtube commenter.

#deltarune theory #utdr theory #undertale theory #deltarune #undertale #if anyone can find that comment lmk i've been looking for over a couple of years #and sorry to anyone who actually knows what they're talking about with color models #feel free to add insight or make your own actually correct posts rip #also yes there are a duo of red and blue characters i'm sure everyone probably has in mind but im deliberately not opening that can of worm #(ETA ignore all the times i misspelled 'CYMK' [sic] before this. kenju did it too im not owned! im not owned! i sob)

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simpforboys · 1 year

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the gift of eywa

neteyam sully x fem!omatikaya!reader

summary: kiri gives you the best birthday gift

warnings: ATWOW SPOILERS!! flashbacks, mentions of nightmares/death/blood/gunshots, some angst, fluffy end, kiri is powerful af, depression

you and neteyam are 18-19.

this is based on a theory (or rather hope) that kiri is going to bring back neteyam for the 3rd movie and i need it to happen.

the dreams constantly got worse.

endless nights of tossing and turning, the horrible memory of what happened that night.

the night you lost your mate.

immense panic washed over you as jake helped you, lo’ak, and spider bring neteyam’s wounded body onto the rock-covered island.

“watch his head!” you shouted.

tears filled your eyes as you rested his head gently in your lap, his fading eyes looking up at you.

jake lifted his son to see the bullet went cleanly through the lung. you saw the way his face fell and knew eywa was coming to meet your mate.

“no… no! my neteyam, look into my eyes.” you stroked the boy’s hair in the way he absolutely loved.

his eyelids were fluttering as his chest went from rising and falling rapidly to almost a complete stop.

“until we meet again, my y/n…”

the constant pain of knowing your mate died in your arms was horrible.

that night happened two months ago. for two months you’ve received pitting looks from your people.

the most you’ve slept is probably twenty six hours throughout the sixty days, even though they started to blend together now.

you cannot remember the last time you smiled. genuinely smiled.

the remembrance of neteyam lived within the clan, as his energy went back to eywa with his funeral.

meeting neteyam when you were 15, the two of you immediately clicked. everyone in the clan knew you were going to be mates.

the day of your 18th birthday was when tsaheylu occurred. the night you officially became neteyam’s, and neteyam officially became your’s.

“are you sure?” neteyam looked over your glistening face, the white dots glowing perfectly under the tree of souls.

“positive.” you gave your soon-to-be mate a smile, grabbing your braid.

neteyam grabbed his, connecting your queue to his. the feeling was powerful, unlike anything you could imagine.

two souls had finally become one.

being mates of course came with the closeness of family. the sullys grew very fond of you, neytiri saw herself in you.

besides neteyam, you grew close to kiri. she became your good friend, someone you could go to when neteyam was being a skxawng.

and kiri noticed the way your face lost some of its color. you became numb, dull, and heartless.

it was very rare for mates to pass so young. and unfortunately, eywa has passed that fate upon you.

it made you bitter. people would bring you care baskets and you would shame yourself for getting pity.

but deep down, you knew neteyam would not want you to be sulking. he was such a bright soul, he would want you to live for him.

live. living; alive. it felt wrong to do without neteyam. the last time you felt alive was when you rode on neteyam’s ikran over the sea to the metkayina village.

the travel was rough, through storms and late nights. but neteyam made it special, he would let his ikran fly and would focus on you.

sometimes it felt as if his hands were still on you, holding you the way he used to.

you had become a little thinner from the lack of food you were ingesting. it was hard to do anything nowadays.

your ilu missed riding with you and would often swim up to the marui pod to check on you.

and kiri had enough.

her deep connection with eywa made kiri begin to research, to ask ronal questions.

and one day, kiri snuck out of the pod and went down to the spirit tree. she connected her queue and instantly, eywa heard her.

eywa had heard kiri’s prayers, neytiri’s sobs, and your broken heart.

the great mother had given one more chance.

kiri snapped her eyes open, seeing neteyam’s body in the center of the tree. she swam over, gently shaking her brother.

her heart almost stopped when neteyam’s eyes met hers.

➽─────────────────❥

your nineteenth birthday had finally arrived. the first birthday in years you would spend without neteyam.

the sullys had given you gifts, to which you sadly thanked them. tuk had crafted you special little piece, a heart with you and her oldest brother.

it brought you to immediate tears, to which neytiri just held you as you cried in her arms.

“i miss him.” you sobbed into her chest.

neytiri had quickly grown into the motherly figure in your life ever since you left the high camp.

“i know…” neytiri softly cried, petting the top of your head in a soothing way.

she gently sung a soft tune into your pointed ear. your rapid heartbeat began to soften.

unbeknownst to you, kiri was leading neteyam back to awa’atlu. the great mother had brought her brother back, and knew this would be the best birthday gift she could give.

the metkayinas erupted into shouting as they noticed the boy who once died, now alive and smiling.

he wanted to see you.

neytiri’s ears perked up from the shouting. jake peeked his head out of the pod, seeing his once deceased son riding on the back of an ilu.

“what the hell-“ jake quickly ran out of the pod.

curious, tuk followed.

“tuk!” neytiri called after the youngest, getting up from her position.

lo’ak came running into the pod, grabbing you from your slumped position.

“what do you want?” you groaned.

“you have to see this, y/n!”

you stood up, peeking out of the pod to see the metkayinas surrounding what appeared to be kiri.

you narrowed your eyes, carefully approaching the crowd. neytiri’s sobs were heard from hundreds of feet away. the omatikayas were hugging something, kiri’s smile wide.

as you got closer, it seemed as if all eyes were on you. when you finally focused your gaze on what everyone was crowded around, you met bright yellow eyes.

his bright yellow eyes.

“neteyam…” you gasped.

“my y/n.” your mate smiled at you, his tail high in excitement.

you approaching the boy you grew to love in a slow and cautious manner.

“h-how?” you stuttered, reaching your hands out to hold his face in your hands.

warm, soft, and blushing just like they always were when you touched him.

“the great mother has given me a second chance, thanks to kiri.”

you looked at kiri, a tear in her eye as she grinned at you. “happy birthday.”

the amount of tears that flowed out of you in that moment almost seemed impossible. you jumped onto your mate, crying in his arms.

the metkayinas cheered from eywa’s gift.

“happy birthday, my y/n.” neteyam whispered into your ear.

you began to fall to your knees in the sand, neteyam holding you tightly against him. “mawey, y/n. mawey. i am here.”

eywa had finally heard your prayers. and now that you finally had your mate in your arms, you were never going to let him go.

#simpforboys #avatar spoilers #avatar 2 #avatar #the way of water #neteyam fluff #neteyam x you #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam angst #neteyam #neteyam sully #bring neteyam back

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emithecharmer · 11 months

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Flower Theory

TW: Crying, slight angst, hurt/comfort, kinda short

"Jisungggg?" You called as you knocked softly on the studio door. You heard a soft voice inside that said to come in, so you did so.

"Hey, Ji." You smiled brightly at your boyfriend, who turned to you and gave you a sleepy smile.

"Hi, baby." He cooed before noting that one of your hands was behind your back.

"What's that?" He asked curiously as you closed the door behind you. You blushed slightly and walked over to him, keeping your hand behind you.

"Well..it's actually for you, I noticed that you seemed kinda down lately." He let a small frown break through and you noticed how his posture seemed to deflate a bit.

Jisung saw the beautifully assorted flowers, all bright in color, clustered together in a decently sized bouquet. He hesitated slightly before he reached his hand out to take them from you, he ran his fingers slowly over the petals and smelling them. You took the chance and went behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning over him, kissing the side of his neck.

"The purple rose signifies love at first sight, which sums up how I felt when I first met you, and the white means new beginnings, which started when we started our relationship. These flowers are called gladiolus flowers and they signify strength, which you show me everyday." You began explaining your flower theory, which you'd been super into recently.

"But um..if you don't like them, you don't have to accept them, they just reminded me of you." He tilted his head as you finally brought the surprise out from behind you.

"You made this bouquet?" You couldn't see his face, but his tone sounded iffy, making you worried.

"Yeah..it's okay if you don't like it-"

"Y/n.." He sniffled before completing breaking down and sobbing harshly, shaking with every heave.

"Jisung.." You gasped, moving to see his face and leaning down to hug him, making sure to move the flowers before doing so.

"What happened, bub?" You asked, running your fingers through his hair and kissing his wet cheek.

"I just- I'm so frustrated!" He exclaimed.

"I don't know why I'm so down and everyone says that they're worried- but they don't have to be I'm just being weird and- And now you're worried too-"

"Sungie.." You smiled, pulling away slightly and caressed the side of his face, wiping the tears that ran down his cheeks.

"You're not being weird, you don't have to explain yourself, you just focus on you, baby." He sniffled and nodded.

"And yeah, I'll admit, I was a bit worried when I didn't receive a mostly blurry video of you begging Hyunjin for a kiss.." He giggled as you mentioned his behind the scene rendezvous.

"I just want you to know that I'm here for you, I may not understand what you're going through, but that doesn't mean I can't help." He nodded, nuzzling into your collarbone and pulling you head into the crook of his own.

"I'm getting better..just felt..sick..if that makes sense."

"Mhm."

"But, can we stay like this for a little while?"

"As long as you want, Ji."

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aurora-starwars · 1 year

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Ooh I just saw a cute little AU prompt I wanna see if it can be used! So it’s the soulmate au where the reader shares eye color in one eye with their soulmate. I’d love it if you could do an angsty fluffy Anakin x reader would mate au with Anakin in his revenge of the sith era? Also, I was wondering if you write for Stargate or know any writer who does on here? There’s not enough Stargate love and it makes me sad 😞. Thanks lovely!

The Look of Terror In Your Eyes

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x fem!reader; Soulmate au!!!!

Summary: Reader is one of padmé’s handmaidens, and while joining her on Mustafar, she finds a familiar pair of eyes. Eyes that shouldn’t be as red as they are…

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: fire, sobbing, sith, evil anakin, star wars stuff, related violence (not really) Idk, you let me know…

A/n: Thank you so much for waiting and requesting! Took a while to get out but I was feeling the angst after ep 7 of The Last Of Us. 😭😭😭 Also, sorry, I don’t know any writers for stargate! i had to look it up 😭😭, but if anyone has any recommendations, comment them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, sorry for the long break y’all!!! <33333333

P.s: I love the soulmate au trope!!!!! <3

Masterlist

[Name] always loved the idea of a soulmate. The mere thought of a perfect person for her, a soul that perfect for hers sounded marvellous. Two hearts connected by the grace of the universe, or as the Jedi believe, the force. Many people debated the origin of this special connection between organisms; specifically humanoids. Some thought it was their planet’s deity that blessed–and in some cases, cursed– the living beings with companionship, others thought it wasn’t real, that it was all just some trick of a decease or parasite. But most have concluded and agreed that it was the work of the seemingly magic that holds the universe together; the force.

[Name] was a big fan of any theory or story she could hear about soulmates. Free time was spent asking the people around her about their second eye. She always wondered how other’s knew which eye was whose, and she was always met with, “You only know when you meet them, when you lock eyes.” [Name] often liked to imagine what her soulmate looked like. Which eye would be her soulmate’s and which would be her own? What would her soulmate look like with a body around her matching eyes? Would they be brunette? Blond? Would they be a man? Be a woman? What would it look like when they eventually locked eyes? Would their eyes fill with the amount of love [Name] knew that she would feel for them?

Thoughts of her special someone flooded her mind every moment she had time to think. And as much as she loved to think about it, she hardly had time too. [Name] was a busy girl as she was a handmaiden of Padmé and often was travelling, doing one of the other girls make up or switching places with Padmé in order to keep her safe. The senator was the girls main priority and honestly, she was their pride and joy.

This busy job didn’t keep [Name]’s thoughts from wandering at night and like a magnet, her mind would gravitate to her soulmate. She only began to think more about it after a trip to Naboo, where [Name] learned of two of Padmé’s previous handmaidens who were soulmates and had met each other through the former Queen’s protection program. While a wonderful story, [Name] couldn’t help but think about if she would meet her soulmate on the job, if ever. It was a large universe and more often than not, soulmates die before they are ever able to meet the soul destined for them.

Days in the senate were quiet and beyond mundane. And while every once and a while Padmé and her causes would get a win, those times were few and far in-between. Majority of days were spent in the rooms that were provided for the senators, pouring over documents and finding information on how to fix the wrongs of the galaxy, diplomatically.

But these issues are never resolved overnight, and after years of tireless hours of dedicated work within the senate, [Name] found herself less and less hopeful of the wonderful life she pictured outside of the senate. She dreamed of a life with her soulmate, back on Naboo, where she could be with her family and friends. Somewhere nice, somewhere where she could live out the rest of her life out in peace surrounded by everything she has ever loved.

Those dreams always seemed silly once she was sat in the senate, watching over Padmé time and time again, no hope that this life would cease. That the war would end and they could go back home once they finally had did all they could in repairing the senate. That [Name] could finally live out her happily ever after with the one she dreams of, but knows nothing of. Nothing but what one of their eye’s looks like.

Although soulmates could come as romantic or platonic, [Name] never cared. [Name] would be happy to not be lonely. To have someone by her side for the rest of her life. That was all [Name] dreamed of. Not being alone.

That was why she took the job after all. Of course, when the former Queen calls, it is hard to decline the honour of protecting the one and only Padmé Amidala. But that deal becomes a whole lot sweeter when there is a promise of a group of girls accompanying you. A promise that you will not be alone. That was very incising for [Name].

And while most of the senate meetings were snore inducing and late nights reading and rereading documents was beyond tedious, it was made incredibly better by the girls who had also agreed to lay their lives of the line for Padmé. They had become a sisterhood of sorts, a unbreakable friendship formed between them and there was an unspoken understanding that while they worked with Padmé, they were in for anything. That meant life or death, they stood together in order for Padmé to prosper.

That security meant everything to [Name]. In fact, that was everything to [Name]. Since she joined Padmé on her trip to Coruscant all of those years ago, [Name] has practically forgotten who she used to be, and was convinced that a part of her lied in this job. And that part would be ripped from her if she ever left the job, and she would be left alone.

Her dreams of meeting her soulmate never died though. In fact, that is what got her through every day. Every day that she spent with the people she loved so much, every day she dreaded them being taken from her. Thoughts and dreams of a perfect world, with her perfect person. No war, no slavery, no crime, just two souls meeting and living out the rest of their lives, just one day at a time.

But as she stood in front of the mirror of the fresher, all of those thoughts flew out the window. Traveling with Padmé as her escort, [Name] ended up on a J-type Naboo star skiff headed towards Mustafar. [Name] didn’t know why they were going to Mustafar or what would be waiting for them on the old mining planet, but she did know that she wasn’t ready.

It didn’t matter what met them on Mustafar, because all that really mattered to [Name] in the moment, was her reflection. Or more specifically, her right eye that had turned a gnarly, fresh blood red, with irises the colour of acid.

It only took a matter of moments before [Name] found tears running down her face. She pulled at the skin of her cheeks, moving in closer to look if what she had seen was right before closing her eyes. It was a vicious loop; pull, look, cover. She wasn’t sure how long this went on for, finding herself heaving on the floor what felt like a century later. What was she going to do?

She had heard of Sith eyes. Many had, especially if one had spent any time on Coruscant. The tales of Jedi going to the dark side were relatively popular in the upper-levels of Coruscant. The nasty evil that had become a cataclysmic emergency in galaxy had ruthlessly killed millions with no regard for life. That was of course until the Jedi Order vanquished them. The nasty plague that was the Sith had been thought to have been defeated, extinct, as of many, many years ago. But yet, her [Name] was, with her right eye as bright as the sun, glowing so bright, it was as if it was haunting her.

What does this mean?

Am I going to die?

Am I Sith?

Will I hurt innocent people?

Am I evil?

Thoughts infiltrated her mind without mercy and terror tore through her brain like a violent hurricane. Her mind was spinning.

Millions of lives have been lost at the hands of the Sith. Millions of innocent caught in the reign of terror the Sith brought where ever they went. How could [Name] be like them?

Then it hit her like a freighter.

Her soulmate.

Her soulmate, the one she had dreamed and fantasized about her whole life, a Sith. Pure evil, working for causes that only bring harm to the universe. Lying on the floor, [Name]’s sobs wracked through her body, the only rest she got is when she started to violently leave heave before more tears and loud sobs found their way from her lungs.

It made sense though, she was never a Jedi, never force sensitive. So why would her pair of eyes be the distinct aggressive colour of the force sensitive Sith?

The Sith wasn’t her, so that only left her soulmate. Her wonderful, beautiful soulmate of which she has never met. And as she curls deeper into herself, [Name] questions whether she would actually meet them.

And whether or not she wants too.

Just as [Name]’s sobs and shook started to subside, [Name] felt the familiar jolt of the ship landing. A cool chill shot up her back as she made her way to her feet. Looking into the mirror once more, she found that both the eyes were back to how she remembered them to be. What they had always been her entire life. Wiping her eyes, [Name] tried to clear all evidence of her tears and break down.

[Name] closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. The sound of the ships engine shutting off reminded her of where she was. Right, Mustafar; the place where Padmé was rushing to in order to help a friend. Letting out a breath, she made a promise to herself to help Padmé out with whatever.

[Name] stood next right next to Padmé as the hatch lowered and the red hazed glow of the lava coated planet overwhelmed her vision. As she was momentary blinded, Padmé ran down the ramp towards a cloaked figure. From the distance, [Name] couldn’t hear much but she could make out a faint conversation as she slowly approached.

“I saw your ship, what are you doing out here?” The brunette man spoke as he leaned into the hug Padmé was giving him, before pulling away and holding on to the sides of her arms.

“I was worried about you, Obi-wan told me terrible things,” Padmé looked up at him, and from her tone of voice, something [Name] knew very well, it was evident that Padmé was very upset.

“What things?” He questioned, not harshly, but certainly not in a tone of voice one should use with a senator.

“He said that you’ve turned to the dark side. That you…” Padmé began, before pausing, struggling to find the strength within her to whisper the words.

“Killed younglings,” She muttered in horror. Terror was set in her eyes, but there was not quiver of disbelief in her tone, no indicator to [Name] that this man wouldn’t do such a thing.

“Obi-wan is trying to turn you against me,” The man spoke after a moment, his voice deep with the familiar feel of unnerve that Padmé and her handmaidens have become so used to in the senate.

“He cares about you, Anakin,” Padmé argued, although it didn’t sound like an argument, more like a plea. “He wants to help you.”

Anakin’s eyebrows furrowed, “Nothing can save me, only my new powers can do that.”

Padmé took a step back and [Name] took two steps forward.

“At what cost?” Padmé looked into his eyes once again, and as [Name] could see, she was begging. “You’re a good person. Don’t do this.”

“I am becoming more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of,” Anakin's gaze was intense, his eyes narrowed on Padmé as if at any point she would stab him and run away.

“I am more powerful than the chancellor. I-I can over throw him,” Anakin began taking steps forward and quickly Padmé started taking steps back.

“And together you and I can rule the galaxy, make things the way we want them to be,” Anakin stops moving, watching Padmé eagerly in hopes that she will agree.

Taking another step back, Padmé shakes her head, “I don’t believe what I am hearing. Obi-wan was right. You’ve changed.”

Anakin scuffs, shaking his head before raising his finger, “I don’t wanna hear any more about Obi-wan. The Jedi turned against me, don’t you turn against me,” That sounded like a command.

“I don’t know you anymore. Anakin, you’re my best friend, you are like my brother,” Padmé plead, her voice broken and littered with heartbreak. It might not have sounded like it, but those few words meant everything to Padmé. Those words were like a code that only one of her handmaidens could crack. That [Name] could crack.

The words whispered of betrayal, of heart break and of a familiar love that she cannot part with. She truly loved Anakin, the sister in her seemed to shine through as she spoke with the man.

“You’re going down a path I can’t follow.”

“Because of Obi-wan?”

“Because of what you’ve done,” Padmé sobbed, her voice raising as she neared her breaking point. [Name] finally made her way behind Padmé as she spoke again, “Because of what you plan to do.”

And as [Name] laid her hand on Padmé’s shoulders, bring her back slightly, Anakin’s eyes were back on the ship. [Name] rubbed Padmé’s arms gently in attempts to comfort the distressed girl and as she did so, it was almost as if she could feel the rage from the man behind her. [Name] tried to pay no mind, busying herself with the sobbing girl before her. Padmé’s head raised, looking up from the spot she marked on the ground, and gasped as she made eye contact with you.

“Liar!” Anakin yelled, bring the attention back to him. And when [Name] eyes drifted over to the simmering man, she found herself looking into a very familiar set of eyes.

Her eyes.

The same pair of eyes that stare back at her in her reflection every day, mirrored.

A gasp left [Name]’s throat, bringing his attention to her. As his gaze connected with hers, his eyes faded from one red, and one of [Name]’s to just infectious red. A wave of comfort went through [Name]’s body as she stared into the eyes that she has been dying to meet.

But instead of relief, or joy, [Name] only felt gutted. The harsh heat from the surrounding lava did nothing to sooth the soaring stinging in her eyes as she watches the man before her look behind her again. She hardly even notices when another man, a Jedi, passes her. As angry words were exchanged and she found herself losing focus, standing by the side as she watches the Jedi and the Sith duel to the death.

Her world just flipped its axis, leaving her body to adjust. Emotionally, physically. The biological reaction to meeting one’s soulmate was to release serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin, all chemicals in one’s brain responsible for happiness. But in this moment, those hormones were only adding to the increasing feeling of emptiness growing in her heart.

She had just watched her supposed soulmate turn to the dark side before her eyes. Choosing to assist the death of others rather than assist the quality of living for others. Everything [Name] and Naboo has ever help to fix in the senate could be destroyed in a snap of her own soulmate’s fingers.

How was she going to live her life know what she was tied to? Would he come back to the light? Would he die? Would she?

Or would she give up everything she has ever known for the chance of a life partner? Someone who will never leave her.

[Name] drops to her knees, a suppressed sob managed its way to the surface, bringing sharp tears from her eyes.

The famous Anakin Skywalker, former Jedi knight, [Name]’s soulmate, leaving tears in her eyes. And as she watches the blurry two duel, she finds that not only is there tears in her eyes, but also terror.

A/n: I got a little carried away with this, and it might have gotten a little off topic, but I hoped you liked it. I haven’t edited it yet, but I will get to it! Thank you so much for reading and waiting!!! <333333 Let me know what you think! Love y’all to the stars!

Master-list

Taglist: @luvlykrispy

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serashalala · 11 months

Text

Generation Loss's Mind Manipulation; A theory by a tired college student

OK. GENERATION LOSS. That was a ride and it’s not even done!

Fuckin loved it, by the way. It was so good. I loved everyone's acting and Sneeg's realization part gave me literal fucking chills as well as Slime screaming and Austin freaking out while Ranboo n Sneeg were just chill.

FUCK that was cool. Thank you @ranboolivesaysstuff for sharing this with us.

Anyway, here’s a nerd dump on the entire mind control thing. I’m not exactly a genius but I’m studying neurosci as one of my college units and this is basically the gist of how I understand the mind control aspect that this is showing.

SO.

You recognize this? This is the device that we think is controlling Ranboo’s mind. It’s at the back part of the brain, and easily this leads to two possible structures that it can influence: the occipital lobe of the cerebrum and the cerebellum. However, we don’t really know HOW deep this device goes considering Ranboo’s lucious locks of hair covering the rest of the mask and the fact that we don’t know if this is the only thing penetrating the brain.

Anyway, let’s discuss what we know which is that it’s likely latched onto the back part and thus likely embedded onto the cerebral occipital lobe and/or the cerebellum

The occipital lobe is at the back part of the head, and as you see on the picture below, it’s the visual area (mostly).

To make me sound more professional and shit let me introduce to you the brodmann areas. Brodmann areas divide the cerebrum by its function.

Area 17, 18, and 19.

Area 17 is the primary visual area. This is where you see shit. If the device’s influence is only as deep as area 17 then Ranboo is either literally blinded by the device OR the device intercepts what his eyes are really seeing. Damage to this area will lead to literal blindness or difficulty to see.

Area 18 and 19 however are the secondary visual area, otherwise known as the visual association area. This is where you recognize the things that you see. Damage to this leads to dyschromatopsia (color blindness), and visual agnosia (inability to perceive visual stimuli.).

Basically to explain, as an example you see an apple. That’s the job of area 17. However, you don’t really know yet that it’s an apple. To know that an apple is an apple, you tap into area 18 and 19– the visual association area.

The device LIKELY reaches into this area because the entire time, Ranboo doesn’t recognize that he’s on a show set and he doesn’t see the people on the set like the directors and the staff. What he does see is a 4th wall.

Upon deactivation of the device, only then does he recognize that oh shit, that isn’t a wall.

twitch_clip

Does it stop there? Ok, why not go deeper?

Next to Area 19 is area 37. This is the Facial Recognition area. It's self explanatory if Ranboo's mind control device goes that deep.

How about Area 39 and 7? They're both Someasthetic areas. 39 and 40 specifically have a lot to do with memory, emotion, behavior, sex. rage, fear, and pain.

Area 7 integrates sensory inputs-- it draws upon stored memories of past sensory experiences. This area aint that deep tho ngl, it's basically the part that goes: yo, this fire thing burns you, maybe don't touch it. This can be as deep as you want to interpret it being.

Edit: I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THIS. Ranboo's stream confirms it SCREAMING RIGHT NOW. THEY SAID. "Change someone's perception of reality, and they will act how you want." SCREAMING CRYING WAILING SOBBING. I KNEW IT. The next parts of the theory will be further discussing the things that MAY still apply, alongside the things that Ranboo almost confirmed.

Next suspected area:

The cerebellum.

The cerebellum is mostly responsible for a lot of important things (as are the rest of the brain but let me get into it)

The cerebellum has 3 main functions: maintenance of posture and balance; maintenance of muscle tone; and coordination of voluntary motor activity.

You see where I’m going for here?

The cerebellum is a likely attachment site of the device because it is gunning for that motor activity and posture and balance. It controls the agonist and antagonist coordination of the muscles to make sure that there’s no jerky movements going on. As for posture and balance, it can affect your movements so that you don’t look robotic, and so that you don’t have to voluntarily maintain your posture. Maintenance of muscle tone has the same idea.

It is also the best bet because it has its lapses.

While it controls a lot of motor function, it isn’t the only site of motor control in the body. There’s other areas, like the Basal Nuclei, the motor area of the cerebrum (brodmann area 4 and 6) and the spinalcord (though this is more on reactionary shit).

It makes the device fallible where the fine motor movements (such as in the fingertips, where the cerebellum controls less of) is less prone to influence by the device, leading to this nifty clip right here:

twitch_clip

And this here too:

twitch_clip

They're able to do morse code with his hands, the fingers.

And, chances are, the reason they have a mask in the first place is because it’s significantly more difficult to reach the area that controls the facial expressions since that is a direct connection from the brain to the face via the Facial Nerve that stems anteriorly to from the brainstem. It’d be hard to reach from behind especially. (unless the device yanknow, snuck around the spine or something idk)

So if the connection is posterior, they’d have difficulty reaching that (to a safe extent, at least. We have no idea how deep it goes.

Then again, we don’t know the function of the rest of the mask.

Now for some close competitors of where the mind control device is attached/penetrating!

"But sera, what if it influences at a lower level than the occipital lobe or the cerebellum?"

Cervical spine C1 Level

Difficult to defend. That leaves the problem of Ranboo's speech control. The lower the level the less things it's able to influence. At C1 level, a person's speech, which is something Ranboo's clearly being influenced over, can't be damaged from this level.

"How are we so sure that it's at the back??"

Because it's the clearest shot we've got with that weird circle thing.

Frontal Lobe

This one is a good contender. The Frontal Lobe has the Decision and / or Judgement Center of the brain (area 10, more to be mentioned about this later), as well as the motor areas (areas 4 and 6), and twisting that could lead to being able to change what a person does when faced with a stimuli as well as a bigger portion of voluntary movement.

However, this one is difficult to visually justify.

While it's true that we can't see much behind the mask, we also can't see it penetrate towards the frontal lobe. Let's say it penetrates through the mouth somehow-- how is Ranboo's diction so clear?

But the reason why it's a very good contender is that it could possibly go through the nose. Did you know that the cribriform plate, the part of the skull where the olfactory nerve goes through, is the easiest to break? and thus it's also the easiest to penetrate?

Issue with that though is that Ranboo has a working sense of smell. The Olfactory nerve (smelling nerve) is easy to disturb.

Anything deeper? More anterior?

Any deeper structures are likely too unimportant-- the diencephalon, pons are all mostly on the hormonal / nonvoluntary actions (breathing, sweat, thirst, hunger, etc). Those aren't too fun to control especially when what you want is a puppet.

The most likely candidate is the basal nuclei, which has a lot to do with movement. However it's mostly useless when you target it because it's goal is to make sure that when you want to raise a glass, you don't yeet it to the sky. It makes sure that you have the right amount of output to the muscle without overcompensating.

So what does the device control?

Both.

Well, not both. All-- err, mostly. Ding ding ding! They're all winners.

Only at its best, though, which was during Episode 1 (when undisturbed)-- NOT episode 2.

At its best, the mask is able to take full function of the brain-- most strongly at where it's sourced, though, which is at the posterior regions. Weaker control is evident when you see the finger taps that Ranboo is still able to do. Think of it as some sort of energy gradient-- most concentrated at the back of the head, and weakest at the front.

At its blinking state, influenced by the outsider, Ranboo regains Control of most of the more anterior parts of the brain, but you'd notice it's still blinking-- it never really fully released Ranboo. Its still got a strong influence at the back portion of the brain.

It takes a lot to rip away its influence from Ranboo, as you can see from what the weird shadowy figure from the TV says in the end where he had to do something to disable it fully before Ranboo breaks the fourth wall.

How do we know that? Let's go back to the clip where Ranboo FULLY 'wakes up':

twitch_clip

It took some effort by the hacker to fully release Ranboo, but until that point Ranboo hadn't even seen the 4th wall despite being able to gain autonomy of most their function.

Then let's go back to the part where, when Ranboo's device was 'reset':

twitch_clip

You notice how the showbizz person isn't someone they interact with? They don't SEE these people. The device is still on, because it's intercepting with Ranboo's perception.

Let's go back to the announcements then.

We don't get to choose a lot this episode, instead we're subjected to puzzles that have more to do with everyone else BUT Ranboo.

I present to you, Brodmann Area 10

This is the largest area in the frontal lobe, and is incharge of decision making (among other things). We, the audience, can't make decisions as flexibly anymore because they needed a stricter control of the device.

The hacker is able to intercept that flexibility and thus the showfall media reduced the extent of which we're able to control ranboo, taking all that control for themselves. It isn't interactive anymore.

Literally being gatekeeped from the audience, smh.

Now what?

A summary of course.

I suspect that when the lights are on (in the mask), it has a stronger pulse and thus influences a larger chunk of his head, ABLE (but not necessarily) to reach the frontal lobe.

It blinks, then it indicates that its pulse is weaker, but still present (the cerebellum is slightly further to reach than the occipital lobe) which is why his sight might still be influenced.

And lights being gone? That's Ranboo's full autonomy baybee. They're back in business!

As for the others' mind manipulation system, I'm not quite sure yet. Probably could reduce it to having already been subjected to being conditioned, not like our 'fresh' protagonist. I'll probably add onto this when something clicks in the future.

This ended up a lot longer than intended...

Anyway, that’s just a theory, a tired-college-student-from-an-allied-health-course theory. Thanks for reading.

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jadeee · 2 months

Text

My Love All Mine

Waiting for Kento's return from Shibuya was becoming unbearable.

Word Count: 950 Warning: Angst @luneariaa not as sweet as the others but I hope you enjoy it all the same {if not more}.

The heat of a thousand suns.

That's what Kento grew to call his recurring nightmare. The back of his shirt slick with sweat, hair and face damp, limbs ghost-like. As if he were still in that place...

A sigh passed from his lips before he rolled over to meet your sleeping form. His fingertips reached for you then decided to rest in the space between instead. What were you dreaming about? Something better, he hoped.

The theories he worked up ceased when you started to wake. In an effort to avoid waking up fully, you readjusted yourself hoping to get comfortable again. Your hands instinctively reached for your main source of comfort then gripped tighter when you felt the dampness of his shirt.

"Kento?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not."

The silence of the night settled into the room except the ocassional rustle as he worked himself out of his shirt. Your brows knitted then relaxed as you sighed, accepting his choice. Your limbs enclosed around him like a koala hugging a tree. Without hesitation, he returned your embrace. The tension dissipated as you hummed.

"Why don't you sing out loud?"

"... do you want me to?"

He answered with a low hum of approval as he caressed your back.

Here before and after me, shining down on me. Moon tell me if I could send up my heart to you.

The lyrics softened his heart. It could've been the effect of your voice or the way your scent enveloped him. Your warmth ... his hand cradled the back of your head then pulled you in.

'Cause my love is mine, all mine. I love mine, mine, mine. Nothing in the world, belongs to me. But my love, mine, all mine, all mine.

You made yourself at home in his arms by resting in the crook of his neck. When the song was through, you reserved your voice to a hum. He continued to caress your skin, "What were you dreaming about earlier?"

"I don't remember the whole thing but we were old and gray. I think we had matching canes."

"You made that up."

"Okay, maybe I did."

Hearing your laugh always made him smile but this time he was still and set like stone. The heat of a thousand suns. The sound of your voice overpowered his thoughts.

"We can have the white picket fence, kids in the yard ... whatever you want."

"I just want you."

You tilted your head back to gaze at him. His chest ached at the sight of his only reason for living. A soft moan left his lips as your pressed your mouth against his.

"I'm not going anywhere."

His lips found yours again after hearing your promise and he only wished he could say the same for certain.

Your joints felt like they were being perpetually pinched. The pain grew with each slice you served onto the cutting board. Your eyes narrowed in on the celery you were cutting until the edges of your vision blurred. A sharp tingle filled your mouth as you bit down then sliced.

I'll miss you, those were Kento's last words before leaving for Shibuya. Not I love you, but I'll miss you.

The celery morphed into a green blob once tears invaded your vision. The muscles in your hand relaxed when you wiped your eyes. Looking at your phone only brought a dull ache to your chest because:

1. He wasn't responding. Although, he explained that being a possibility.

2. Your reflection made you look twice your age. Eyes droopy and tired. Mouth set in a subdued sadness until if he returned.

The metal from the knife clinked against the countertop as it fell from your hand. Your body joined the tiny dust bunny that manifested in the corner of your kitchen. Sobs absorbed by the cabinets you'd been thinking of changing. A tomato colored stain sat by your thighs. With each heave, your brows pinched into confusion. The place was usually clean so why...

You remembered Kento being the last person to clean the floor. The line of your mouth twisted along with your heart. Every breath grew ragged and worn with each sob that scratched its way out of your throat. The only sounds you could hear were your sobs echoing back to your ears. So when you looked up and saw Nanami kneeling down, you shrieked then instinctively clutched for him.

"I'm right here," his arms wrapped around you and held you tightly as you cried into his chest.

When you cupped his cheeks in your hands and looked at him — with your snotty nose, red eyes, and tear stained cheeks — tears rushed to his eyes. The line of his mouth forming a frown and smile simultaneously. Your thumbs still caressed his skin the same, even though he looked a bit different but the love was the same and that's all that mattered to him. He held your head against the crook of his neck then let the familiar scent wash over him. Its very essence wrapping its arms around him like the hug you both shared on the kitchen floor.

— Epilogue —

Kento's red rimmed eyes finally glanced up then noticed the assortment of sliced and diced produce on the counter.

"What is all this?" He wiped the last of his tears.

You followed his line of sight then let out a half-hearted chuckle as you wiped your nose with your sleeve. "I had to do something to keep my hands busy."

He glanced back at you with a small pout then held you tightly against his chest. "I'm here now, so let's not worry. Okay?"

You buried your head in his chest "Okay."

Amid the second torment of tears, he noticed the tomato stain on the tile. He held you tighter against him then let out everything he'd felt while away from you.

— Author's Note — As weird as it sounds, I love the thought of him crying. Let me clarify, this is more of a cleansing cry. The kind of I-made-it-it's-gonna-be-ok-you're-still-here-I-love-you-immensely cry. It's a release and relief for him because he was horrified at the thought of leaving you alone. All the unplanned trips, unfulfilled promises, half-done projects... he couldn't bare the thought of you in black mourning over him. That is worse than death.

#divider by plutism #madebyjade #kento nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento x reader #kento x reader #jjk kento #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento angst #jjk shibuya arc #jjk shibuya incident

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soapskneebrace · 1 year

Note

Hey!! You're now one of my favorite people who write about johnny ❤️ just here to ask if you have any theory how he got his chin scar? Was that in military or maybe some childhood accident?

Warnings: childhood trauma. Smutty talk. A n g s t.

Soap asks you at a pub one rainy evening, three shots in and showing no signs of slowing down—“Ever wanna know how I got m’scar, hen?”

You trace your finger around the rim of your glass, bourbon on the rocks, and half-smile at him. He’s been off, just a little, ever since he got home from his last deployment.

“I think you’re going to tell me even if I don’t,” you say.

He leans his elbows on the sticky bar, cranes his head in toward you. “Was me on my own ‘gainst three other men,” he stage-whispers. “All I had was my knife.”

You snort. “Sure, Johnny.”

His grin is sideways, and he medicates with a fourth shot of whiskey. “Might’ve been four men, now I think of it.”

“And were you in your knickers and none else, too?” you poke.

He leans in further. You’ve learned, as you’ve gotten to know him, that teasing him like this is practically an aphrodisiac, a siren call.

But when his fifth shot arrives, you recognize that perhaps he’s looking to your goading as another escape from whatever is eating at him. He doesn’t drink like this when he’s with you—not usually. For a man so open with his affection, so generous with his precious free time, Johnny is rather jealous to admit the things that bother him.

So you don’t press. You let him drink, and let him drape himself over you as you hobble him home, struggling to keep the umbrella over you both as he tongues your neck and groans about what he wants—and definitely cannot, in his state—to do to you.

“Wannae drown in that pussy, bonnie,” he mumbles. “Thought about it the whole time I was over there. Wake up, pussy. Go to sleep, pussy.”

You get him into your flat, and at last you’re able to push him onto your couch, which he flops across like a soaked rag. Well, you had barely controlled the umbrella.

“C’mere,” he says, hands on his thighs, palms up, fingers curling to beckon you.

You sit beside him instead, tucking your knees under you. His head lolls over to face you—a pretty red blush colors his face, sets the blue of his eyes alight.

“Johnny,” you say, quietly, gently.

He blinks a few times at you. Presses his pretty lips together.

“Was a dog,” he finally says. “When I was a kid. Got spittin’ mad at somethin’, and I was in the way of it.”

You reach up to touch his chin. Run the tip of your thumb along the scar, feel the divot it makes in his skin. Johnny wraps his big hand around your wrist, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses the center of it.

“Was a couple dogs over there this time,” he confesses into your hand. “Got loose, ran at me. Froze in my fuckin’ boots.”

You lay your hand along his jaw, still cuffed in his fingers, and trace the delicate corner of his eye with a feather-light touch. He heaves a sigh, and the shake at the tail end of it quakes him. Johnny squeezes his eyes shut, twists his mouth into a grimace.

You cup the back of his head and bring his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. Both of his arms come around you then, dragging you to him, binding you by the waist to his body. He shakes with an enormous sob.

“Like a fuckin’ child,” he snarls at himself. “Ghost had to shoot ‘em both. I just stood there like the stupidest cunt in the world.”

You don’t say anything—there’s nothing, you know, that will comfort this. Johnny will cry, and you’ll coax him to bed for the sleep he desperately needs. And you’ll wake up to find him wrapped around you like a second skin, hands wandering, needy to reclaim the dregs of his worth that he thinks have escaped with his tears.

You’ll let him. For a man so eager to share his joy, Johnny is too reticent to show his pain. It won’t be the escape he wants; he knows you too well now, to think you’ll let him act like this never happened. So you’ll hold him now, and you’ll love him later, and he’ll find his way back to himself in the meanwhile.

#soap x reader #answered #this one got away from me and I really didn’t know how to end it lol #also thank you 💕

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st7arlights-side · 15 days

Text

Theorizing Pt 1: repression

UP AHEAD: so much rambling about Orange. written very late at night and not the most coherent, sorry. (also, all uses of Thomas are referring to c!Thomas)

okay everyone talks about the dark sides being their opposites, opposing colors, colors on opposite ends of the wheel, but wanna know another term for it? complementary colors. I think the idea of "totally opposing, entirely contrasting, nothing alike" is not really accurate to the lore that we have been given? It's clear that it's important that all sides are accepted, and that there is no "solely good" or "solely bad" trait. Everything has complexities and different aspects to it, and the sides are no different.

I've never been particularly fond of the idea of wrath/anger/cruelty being orange because it seems like a scapegoat? I am more in favor of it representing regret (as most appearances of it are present in scenes or conversations with regret present) [forgot where i saw the theory first :sob:] and passion (impulsive acts based in emotions, a contrast to Logan's character while simultaneously rounding him out and forcing him and thomas to accept the parts that aren't all logical) [theory from @/dillydallydove] as these have more dimension and seem to fill out the gaps in the sides a bit more, especially considering the general theme going with remus, janus, and virgil. These are aspects that Thomas represses, and he knows them by names that aren't really accurate to their full purposes. He knows Janus as deceit, while he is more accurately described as self-preservation. He knows Remus as intrusive thoughts, when he is more accurately described as his repressed creativity. He knows Virgil as Anxiety (which is fairly accurate, though it still minimizes his functions) though he might be more accurately described as caution? fear? an aspect of self preservation? Regardless, perhaps orange could be known as wrath or anger because that's what he manifests as, but that doesn't mean that this is accurate to who he is as an aspect of Thomas. Remus is intrusive thoughts because that is the only way he can get recognized, the only way he breaks through the suppression. Janus is known as deceit because he has to manipulate the other sides to get them to prioritize Thomas's self-interest (as well as his personal responsibility to protect Thomas from what he can't handle at the moment; deceiving himself, sure, but at it's core, preserving his presently fragile mental state).

What emotion, what passion, does thomas repress the most? he's clearly open to expressing love and joy and, more recently, stress and anxiety, even some hints of sadness showing. but what has he been repressing the most? his anger! his frustration! his (and his sides') sense of inadequacy!! Orange is being seen in these contexts because that is what he isn't allowing himself (and the sides) to express as themselves.

Sanders Sides' whole thing is accepting the different parts of yourself, with underlying themes of c!thomas's upbringing causing him to repress, deny, or otherwise have an unhealthy relationship with "bad" aspects of himself (which, boy do i have some ideas for possible explorations of OCD in this, especially with the prevalence of intrusive thoughts- and the ways Thomas and the other sides change their language around Remus to prevent him from "getting ideas"-). Orange could be treated as a character foil to Logan, or Orange could be like Janus, but instead of protecting c!T from things he can't handle, Orange is the result of that suppression. Like how remus formed from thomas (patton) forbidding Roman from having "bad" ideas, orange could be formed from thomas (logan) pushing down "bad" feelings, feelings of passion that don't directly help other people.

Of course, this brings me to how Janus (a "gatekeeper" of sorts for Thomas) would interact with orange. this is reaching more into prediction territory. I suspect that Janus wants orange to emerge, as prolonged repression is harming Thomas (which i'm pretty sure he alluded to at least once, though i'm blanking on when). (also, an aside, is it not concerning that during the christmas special, Janus, c!T's self-preservation, was increasingly inebriated?? ooh and the occasional gags about Logan drinking wine too-) Notice how Janus has been watching Logan? this plus the general willingness to exclude Logan (further pushing his frustration and feelings of inadequacy) makes me suspect that he (as per usual) knows more than the rest.

I... don't really have a conclusion. I think Orange isn't an embodiment of aggression, moreso a result of repression? I guess? And I'm concerned about... yeah everyone involved, but especially Logan and Janus.

#sanders sides #tss #sasi #sanders sides theory #tss theory #sasi theory #orange side theory #logan sanders #janus sanders #implied alcohol abuse #maybe. briefly #oh also #ocd mention #theorizing

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multifandomqueen01 · 2 years

Text

I Just Wanna Feel Again

Vamp!Eddie×Fem!Reader

Summary: After watching your boyfriend die, you're surprised when he returns, but he's no longer the man that you once knew. Can you help him feel again or is it too late?

Warnings (There's two separate sex scenes so there's alot): Dark!Eddie. (but not all the way through, we do get our sweet boy back at the end) Death. Grief. Violence. Angst. Rough Sex. Blood. Pain. Biting. Crying. Cock Warming. Not knife play, but a knife is involved for a moment. Very fluffy and cheesy at the end.

A/N: I was planning on posting a softer/sweeter fix it fic before this, but I'm currently obsessed with the Kas theory and the idea of Vamp!Eddie. This is pretty dark compared to anything else I've written and could be triggering. Please excuse any mistakes you find as there was little to no proof reading done.

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

You rested your ear against Eddie's chest, as you had so many times before, only to be met with silence. The absence of his heart beat, sent reality crashing down on top of you. Eddie was dead. He had sacrificed himself and there was nothing you could do to save him.

"No! Wait! We can't leave him here!" , you screamed hysterically as the others lifted you to your feet and began dragging you away from Eddie's lifeless body. "Stop! Please!"

"I'm sorry. He's gone.", Steve apologized, refusing to loosen his hold on you, no matter how much you struggled. Eventually, you stop fighting, your mind going blank, as the love of your life disappeared from view.

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

The days that followed were a blur, one bleeding into the next. While Hawkins fell apart, you remained unphased, your capacity for giving a shit having died along with Eddie. The truth was that you welcomed the end of the world, if it meant that you'd be reunited.

The others would take turns checking on you, but the visits never lasted long and always ended in a fight. Dustin seemed to be the only one grieving, and who agreed that you should go back to retrieve Eddie's body, while everyone else insisted that it was too dangerous.

After having lost yet another argument with Steve, you stormed into your bedroom and slammed the door, falling down onto what had once been Eddie's side of the bed. The pillow still smelled of his shampoo, as you buried your face into the fabric, soaking it with your tears.

"Rough day, Sweetheart?", the sound of a familiar voice carried from the far side of the room, making your blood run cold. Cautiously, you lifted yourself up and turned your head to find a tall figure standing in the shadows.

"Oh my god! How is this possible? I watched you...die.", your words came out jumbled as Eddie stepped into the light, his brown eyes appearing almost black in color and his skin pale. "Are you really here?", you asked, attempting to stand, despite both your legs threatening to buckle.

"Mhm. No thanks to you.", he spit out, his cold and unforgiving tone catching you off guard.

"You're angry.", you realized, swallowing hard as he moved towards you, his eyes locked on yours. He had always towered over you, but somehow this was different. You suddenly felt small and insignificant, like he could swallow you whole.

"Angry? No, Y/N. I'm fucking dead!", Eddie snapped, causing you to fall back onto the bed. "Or undead? I'm not really sure how this whole resurrection thing works, all I know is I'm far from alive.", he added, coming to stand in front of you.

"Are you in any pain?", your gaze wandered over his body, noticing that he was no longer wearing the clothes that he had died in. His new outfit offered full coverage, making it impossible to see the extent of his wounds, or if they still existed for that matter.

"I can't feel a damn thing."

"I'm so sorry.", you sobbed, leaning into Eddie's touch as he wiped away your tears with his thumb.

"Why? Because you let me go up against those bats by myself, or because you left me in that hell hole to rot?", his entire demeanor shifted as he grabbed you by the face, his fingers digging into the hollows of your cheeks.

"I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice. For example, I could've kept rotting, but instead I let Henry bring me back and all I had to do was join him."

"Vecna? Eddie, you can't-", you refused to accept what he was saying.

"I already have, otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?", he scoffed, belittling you with a condescending laugh.

"And why are you here?"

"To pass on a message.", Eddie answered calmly, sitting next to you on the bed. "And to take something for myself while I'm at it.", he added, placing his hand on your upper thigh.

Your lips parted in protest, but he quickly placed his index finger against them. The menacing look on his face, warned you to keep quiet, and you gave a small nod of understanding. Without warning, he moved his finger aside and slammed his mouth into yours.

You and Eddie had shared hundreds of kisses before, but this was different. There was no sharing. No give or take. It was just him, taking what he wanted and leaving you with nothing. In an attempt to match his intensity, you pushed back against him, breathing heavily.

"Ow! What the hell?", you pulled away, following a sharp and sudden pain. "Did you just bite me?", you brought your hand up to your bottom lip, your eyes widening at the red on your finger tips.

Eddie remained unphased by what he had done, aside from the insatiable hunger in his eyes. His gaze wandered down to the side of your neck and he licked his lips in anticipation, the predatory nature of his behavior filling you with dread.

Your body went rigid as he grabbed you by the arms and began placing sloppy, wet kisses along your jaw, quickly moving downward. His mouth came to rest at your throat, a low growl rising from somewhere deep inside him.

A silent scream left your lips, as two sharp teeth punctured the skin. Your head titled back and you stared up at the ceiling in disbelief, feeling the warmth of your own blood running down your neck. Eddie was quick to lap it up, making sure that none of it went to waste.

"Eddie!", you screamed his name, struggling to break free from the hold that he had on you. Ignoring your pleas, he grabbed the front of your shirt with both hands and tore through the fabric with minimal effort. "You don't have to do this."

"I know.", Eddie whispered in your ear, before shoving you back onto the bed. "But maybe I want to.", he added, kissing and nibbling his way down your body.

His full lips left a trail of warm blood in their wake, moving along your collarbone, between your breasts, and onto your stomach. He snaked his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulled them down around your ankles, followed by your panties.

Eddie forced your legs apart and plunged his tongue in between your folds, flicking the small bundle of nerves until your back began to arch. All of the fear and pain faded away as he picked up the pace, prompting you to grab a fistful of his hair.

"Oh, Eddie.", you moaned, grinding against his face. "Don't stop!", you begged, reaching out for him as he began to pull away.

"Don't get me wrong, I've always loved the taste of your pussy, but I think I've found something I like even better.", he sneered, pining down one of your legs.

"Wait...no...no!",you panicked, bracing yourself for the inevitable. A blood curdling scream pierced the air as Eddie's razor sharp teeth ripped into the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. "Stop! Please!"

"I hate to break it to you, but this is who I am now. So either take it or leave it!", he snapped, hastily climbing to his feet, his mouth coated in fresh blood.

"I'll take it!", you cried, terrified of losing him again. Your vision blurred with tears, making it impossible to see, as you listened to the sound of his pants unzipping.

"Good choice.", Eddie sneered, drawing his partial erection out into the open. He stroked his cock a couple of times and crawled back onto the bed, positioning himself above you, with his hands pressed firmly against the mattress.

His gaze locked onto yours and he buried himself inside of you, coaxing a high pitched squeal from your lips as he slammed up against your cervix. Eddie's mouth dropped open and he furrowed his brow, overcome with a sense of familiarity that only you could give him.

Your warmth surrounded every inch of his cock, and he was reminded of how perfectly your bodies fit together. It was as if you had been made just for him, which is why he needed to come back. He couldn't stay dead, knowing that a long line of douche bags were waiting to have a turn with what was his.

"Is everything okay?", you inquired softly, noticing the subtle expression change.

Instead of answering your question, he withdrew slightly from inside you, before slamming back into your heat with as much force as he could muster. Despite your cries of pain, he continued to pound into you mercilessly, using your aching cunt to work out his frustrations.

"Aw, poor baby. Is this cock too much for you?", Eddie's condescending tone only made you cry harder. You squirmed as he dragged his tongue up the side of your face, licking away your tears. "Oh, fuck.", he cursed under his breath, his shaft twitching inside you.

"Oh? You like that don't you?", you whispered shakily, watching his face contort into a look of pleasure with a slight hint of alarm, as if he hadn't been expecting to feel anything.

"Shut up."

"Come on, Baby. I know that you feel something."

"I said, shut up!", Eddie growled, slapping his hand over your mouth as he slammed his hips down into your pelvic bone.

Your gentle, attentive boyfriend was nowhere to be seen as the creature inhabiting his body paid no regard to your needs and desires. His cock ripped its way through you. Filling you. Stretching you. The pain becoming almost unbearable, until a warmth began to pool in your lower abdomen.

Eddie removed his hand from your mouth, relishing in the sounds that you made. Small frightened whimpers, slowly drowned out by satisfied moans. Afraid of what he might do if you touched him, you placed your hands on either side of you, grabbing fistfuls of the comforter.

"You're so fucking tight.", Eddie huffed as your walls began to contract around him. He watched you bite down hard on your bottom lip as he pushed you over the edge. "Look at you. You're such a mess. What would you do without me?", his taunts went unnoticed as you rode out your high, quickly drawing him closer to his own. "Holy shit.", suddenly the patronizing tone was gone, replaced with one of surprise.

He began to pulse within you and you forced your eyes open, watching the expression on his face transform into one of pure, unbridled pleasure. Eddie's movements became sloppy as he shot his seed deep inside your pussy, grunting with each thrust, until he stilled, looking down at you, his face hovering inches above yours.

"Eddie?", you panted, caressing the side of his face as you caught a glimpse of the man you once knew. He squeezed his eyes shut, but not before a single tear could escape, and roll down his cheek. "Eddie, I love you-"

With a loud huff, he withdrew from inside you and leapt to his feet, facing the other direction as he did up his pants. Feeling exposed and vulnerable you pulled the blankets up around you, watching his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. He seemed angry, and you didn't know what you had done wrong.

"You're not leaving already, are you?", you cringed, hating how weak and desperate you sounded.

"I've gotten what I came here for, so I have no reason to stay.", Eddie's words stung, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of your tears. "I'm gonna need you to tell the others that Henry is done playing games, and it'll be better for everyone if you stay out of the way this time.",he warned, reaching for the doorknob. "Oh, and one more thing! Tell Henderson I say, hi.", he added with a smirk, flashing you his fangs before disapearing down the hall.

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

Several days had passed since the encounter with Eddie, and you found yourself standing in the empty kitchen, chopping up ingredients for a meal that you'd inevitably eat all alone. The sun was low in the sky, and you wondered if the undead version of your boyfriend was somewhere out there, prowling for a meal of his own.

Then right on cue, a sudden chill filled the room, despite all of the windows and doors being previously closed. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, as you felt a pair of eyes burning into you from behind. You immediately knew that it was Eddie by the smell of his cologne and the sound of his footsteps.

"What do you want now?", your voice was thick with annoyance as you continued with the task at hand, never once turning to look at him.

"Does your boyfriend need a reason to visit?", he inquired with a laugh.

"You aren't my boyfriend! My Eddie died in that place, and I don't know who or what you are, but you aren't him! Now cut the crap, and tell me why you're really here!", you demanded, spinning on your heel to hold the blade of the knife against his throat.

"Vecna sent me to kill you. He wants me to prove my loyalty.", he answered, hiding the pain that your words had caused. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the knife and turned it on you, pressing you back against the counter.

"Then what are you waiting for?", you croaked, daring him to continue.

"I don't want to hurt you.", he released his grip on the knife, allowing it to clatter to the floor.

"Oh, really? Then explain this!", you screamed, pulling aside the collar of your shirt to show him the bite mark on your neck. "Or this!", you pulled your pants down and kicked them aside, exposing the deep purple wound on your inner thigh.

Eddie averted his gaze, repulsed by what he had done. He could feel your gaze burning into him and his hands clenched into fists, his finger nails digging into his palms. As you demanded that he look at you, he slowly turned his head, his bottom lip quivering slightly.

"What's the matter? You can't stand the sight of your own handy work?", you hissed, refusing to show him an ounce of fear.

"I...I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry.", he stammered out an apology, the sincerity of his words pulling at your heartstrings. "The only way I can feel is when I'm with you, and I don't wanna lose that."

Perhaps it was the heartfelt confession or the pitiful look in his big brown, doe eyes, but you found yourself holding out your arms, inviting him into your embrace. After a moments hesitation he accepted your offer, his large frame melting into yours.

"Would you like me to help you feel something again?",you whispered, pulling back until his gaze met yours. Unsure of what you meant, he nodded slowly, hoping that you would elaborate. "You'll have to earn it-"

"I'll be good. I promise.", he whined, his sudden desperation causing a dull ache to form between your legs.

"I'd better not regret this. Take a seat.", you instructed, gesturing to one of the chairs tucked in underneath the kitchen table.

Without tearing his eyes away, Eddie walked over to grab the chair, dragging it into the middle of the floor and turning it towards you. He sat down, his legs spread wide open as you approached, positioning yourself between them. As you caressed the side of his face, he looked up at you through his lashes.

He let out an audible gulp as you lowered yourself down to straddle his lap, leaning in to place a gentle, forgiving kiss on his lips. You palmed him through the fabric of his jeans, feeling him grow hard beneath your hand, practically begging to be released from its confines.

Feeling generous you undid the button of his pants and reached inside his underwear, wrapping your hand around the shaft of his needy cock. You carefully pulled it out into the open, revealing the red and swollen tip, glistening with precum under the bright kitchen lights.

Giving Eddie what he craved, you lifted yourself up on your knees and pulled aside the fabric of your panties. He groaned as you lined him up with your enterance, sinking down on top of him. You winced at the sudden fullness, the inside of your pussy still sore from the beating it had taken several days prior.

"I'm sorry.", he apologized, knowing that he was to blame.

"You'll just have to make it up to me...", you trailed off, reaching for the bottom of his shirt.

"Don't!", he snapped, grabbing you firmly by the wrist, before you could lift it more than an inch. "You don't wanna see what's under there."

"I think I'll be the judge of that. Now let go of me.", your demands were quickly met as he released his hold on your wrist.

Eddie slowly raised his arms into the air, allowing you to pull his shirt up over his head. You tossed it aside and he averted his gaze, fearing your reaction to the fatal wounds covering the majority of his torso. He tensed up as you glided your hands over the purple scar tissue, tears welling in your eyes.

"You're perfect.", you whispered, your heart breaking as he shot you a strong look of skepticism.

"I don't need your goddamn pity and I definitely don't need your lies!", Eddie growled, his eyes growing dark. "There's no way that you're attracted to all of this-", he fell silent as you began to roll your hips, hoping that your actions would prove what words couldn't.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to give yourself leverage, allowing his length to slip in and out of you with ease. His head tilted slightly to the side as he watched you, the slow steadiness of your movements driving him mad. It took every ounce of self control to not take over and pound the hell out of you again.

"What's wrong, baby? You want me to go faster?", you cooed, receiving a small nod in response. "Then you'll have to earn it."

"Fuck sakes. And how the hell am I suppose to do that?", he huffed, becoming impatient.

"Tell me exactly how I make you feel."

"Well, you know, really good.", he shrugged, grabbing hold of your hips.

"You can do better than that.", you insisted stubbornly, threatening to come to a stop as you folded your arms over your chest.

"Fine! When I'm with you, it feels like it might be enough to bring me back to life, and I'm not sure that I deserve it.", he confessed abruptly, tears pooling in his eyes. "I mean, you said it yourself, right? Your Eddie died in that place, and I came back as something else."

"Maybe I was wrong! Maybe I was hurting, and I said things that I didn't mean!", you cried out, your breath hitching as he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you down into a deep kiss. "Eddie...",you moaned into his mouth, quickening the pace of your hips.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. That's the last thing I wanted- oh fuck. Sweetheart, you feel unreal.", he breathed, his hands wandering aimlessly along your body. "It's just ever since I woke up in that place, I find myself craving everything about you, and it's driving me crazy."

His eyes widened as you calmly brushed your hair aside and titled your head, putting the untouched side of your neck on display. He could see your pulse beating beneath the skin and he felt a indescribable thirst radiating from the back of his throat, one that only your blood would be able to quench.

"Stop.", he croaked, turning his face away, his hands gripping the edge of the chair until his knuckles turned white.

"Why? This is what you want, isn't it?", you whispered, taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger to turn him back towards you.

"You don't get it. It's not a want. It's a need. Like I'll die without it. And I'm trying so fucking hard.", he whined, licking his lips as the hunger took over.

"Then stop fighting it.", you insisted, dragging your finger nail along the side of your neck, causing the blood to rush to the surface. "It's okay, I trust you.", you assured him, leaning in closer.

He brought one hand up to support your head, while he softly kissed his way along the side of your neck. You froze for a moment as his teeth grazed the skin, puncturing it delicately, only going deep enough to draw blood. The sharp pain soon disapated and transformed into a warm tingling sensation.

Without disturbing Eddie, you began to move up and down on his cock, isolating all of your movement to below the waist. You couldn't remember if he had ever been as hard as he was in that moment, but it left you in awe, feeling every ridge and vein, rubbing against your inner walls.

His tip was swollen from the way you squeezed around him, making it sensitive to any kind of stimulation. As you began to move faster, he struggled to stay latched to your throat, breaking it to catch his breath. You looked down at him through heavy lids, feeling lightly buzzed.

"You okay?", Eddie checked in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Mhm...feels good...keep going.", you slurred your words, quickly approaching your high. Wanting to give you everything that you wanted, his mouth returned to the side of your neck, gently lapping at the wounds he had made.

"Oh, Baby! I'm so close!", you screamed, digging your nails into his shoulder as you began to bounce up and down on his cock, the wooden chair creaking loudly in protest.

"Me too, Sweetheart. Don't you dare fucking stop!", Eddie growled, grabbing onto your ass with both hands. "Good girl, come nice and hard for me.", the sound of his voice, combined with his hot breath against your neck, caused the knot inside you to snap.

"Eddie! I'm...oh!", you tried to speak, but the fire within you was all consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Fuck, just like that. Jesus Christ!", he exclaimed, as he thrusted upwards, filling you with thick ropes of cum. "Take it all, baby. It's yours...I'm yours. I love you so fucking much!" he rambled incoherently, drunk on your pussy and how it eagerly took everything that he had to offer.

Spent, you collapsed against Eddie, gasping for air, while he whimpered into the crook of your neck. Not wanting the moment to be over, you clung to eachother, allowing the rush of endorphins to work their way through your bodies. Eddie was the first to speak, his voice thick with emotion.

"Y/N, you need to get out of Hawkins."

"Are you crazy? I can't just leave the others to go up against Vecna alone-", you began to protest, only to be interrupted by an insistent Eddie.

"I'll deal with him! Just promise me that you'll go somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from here.", he pleaded, knowing that he couldn't force you to do anything that you didn't want to do.

"Only if you promise to come find me when it's all over.", you whispered, fighting back tears.

"Sweetheart, even death couldn't keep me from you. We'll be together again.", Eddie promised, cupping your face between his hands, his brown eyes locked on yours. Your heart fluttered wildly as he drew you in for a kiss, sealing the vow between you.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson vampire #vampire eddie x reader

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khaotic-neutrxl · 4 months

Text

Arcane Crow Theory (& More)

(I derail a little lmao)

Is it me, or does the crow in the scene "Score to Settle" kinda makes me think in that moment, for Jinx it was Vi (I know, a stretch, but please hear me out).

Jinx looks at the scores, most of the the ones up on the leaderboard being "Vi" "Vi" "Vi", and then this crow pops up. Which are said to have strong senses of community, protective behavior toward their young, loyalty, but also are symbols of death.

As Jinx said, she was created by Vi. Powder fell down a well, she died and was reborn as "Jinx". A whole identity based around her betrayal, and maybe even the person who betrayed her. The omen of her death.

(she copped that hairstyle too lol i'm actually sobbing)

It's important to note that crows are predators. And Powder, similar to Silco, didn't start off as a predator. They were the "weak" ones not naturally gifted with fighting force in them. Like prey.

And, in a way Jinx became the crow. In the image of Vi, her creator, the death that killed Powder and made her reborn as Jinx. Similar to how Silco became an image of fear and respect, similar to Vander who wasn't messed with by anyone, even Sevika at one point.

(idk what is it w their sharp bangs, but it looks kinda like the crow beak)

And the crow just looks right at her. In her eyes. Watching, maybe judging (which Vi always did, observing and making decisions of judgement to keep the team safe). And she has a fondness for Vi still of course, she smiles. But then kills it, like it killed her. Because in that scene she's there to settle a score. Her score with Vi, who is top of the leaderboard.

And in the end, she can't catch up. She isn't perfect and talented like Vi naturally was in her and many others' eyes. Always second place. Just like Vi deemed her, a Jinx. And it's frustrating. Working so hard to fall behind "perfection" again.

It's also coincidental how Jinx's chair at the end is written in a certain color. Violet. A combination of blue and pink when together.

I think in a sort of sense, because Silco and Jinx are so similar, they both became an reflection of their betrayal. Something to be feared, knowing how it was to be fearful, becoming something capable of coming out on top. Fighting fire with fire. Violence with violence.

So in a way, they both are mirrors of the crow. They became it, personified it, a protective and loyal predator---an omen of death. Vander and Vi, who made Silco who he is and Jinx. Who "killed" them, and allowed them to be reborn anew.

that concludes my theory/interpretation thingy ✌️ it's all purely an analysis, for fun! :)

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beanghostprincess · 4 months

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Not you dropping the soulmate idea into my head and thinking about how this all would apply to Pudding in a way. I can just imagine big mom doing some scooping and finding out what soulmate band Sanji has so she can just paint over / tattoo over her own child's mark like that because she big sucks and doesn’t care about / doesn’t let her child have negative feelings about this. It’s easier if Sanji thinks that he’s actually marrying his soulmate after all. Convenient

Of course this also would make it even worse for Usopp and Sanji because suddenly the "Maybe the colors are just really similar" theory, which they both slowly started to realize was bs, suddenly holds water again.

It also would be even worse for Sanji because the idea to be forced by his family to marry someone is horrid in itself but because she has the mark it suddenly feels like this is the universes way to tell him it’s justified, that he really shouldn’t complain because it works after all, in some weird way.

AGGHHHGVSHJGHASGDAHGSDGHASHGDHJWEGWEG I LOVE THIS SO MUCH ANON YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW.

I was thinking of ways to make this even angstier and you somehow made it. I love it. I absolutely love it. Poor Pudding, too, that would fuck her up so bad. Especially since she actually falls for Sanji and she isn't even his soulmate it's-- Ughhh. Painful. Horrid. Horrible. I love it. Pudding actually letting Sanji go and learning to be somebody for herself, ignoring even her original Soulmate mark because honestly??? Why would she even get married in the first place. She doesn't want to! Never has! She wants to keep cooking and make a name for herself outside of her family too! Sanji is so right for following his true love. She should do it too, and her love goes directly to chocolate and sweets.

Not to mention Sanji losing hope with the color tone things. It kills me. Sobbing. Crying. Curling up on the floor. He starts wondering if he should actually go against the universe because, even if Pudding is her true soulmate (she isn't. He just thinks she is for a brief moment) he still wants Usopp. And he goes back to his boyfriend's words about them not having to be together even if they're soulmates. And he just knows he can just tell the universe to fuck off, honestly. He finds out Pudding isn't his soulmate when he listens to her conversation with Reiju btw.

Also!!! Sanji saying something like "If I ever had to have another soulmate, It would've been you"

"No, I wouldn't have. But that's fine"

"Seriously. I- I am being serious. You're perfect for me. So much we could've been... Together. But you're not-"

"I'm not him. I know. I know, don't worry"

And it's so heartbreaking for both and ughhhhhhhh you know, sometimes my brain can't handle these things. Sometimes I need a moment to scream. I love you for this, anon. This is awesome.

#also fuck big mom #my mother would've done this too girl pudding i love you #making pudding a lesbian with comphet for this one guys bc she's just like me fr #unrequited sanpu making me go wild honestly idc #like she's a lesbian with comphet to me here but she thinks she loves sanji and it's unrequited and it breaks her heart etc etc etc #lesbian or aroace idc choose your fav why not aroaspec lesbian #like me like me #STOP PROJECTING BEAN #anyway i think about this au a lot thank you #one piece #black leg sanji #usopp #charlotte pudding #sanuso #sanuso soulmate au

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neofeliis · 5 months

Text

Death's Eyes

Pairing: F!DurgexAstarion

Summary: Death walked side by side with Astarion every day as a vampire spawn, it was only a matter of time before he met the child of murder. In the worlds both of them are confined to, it's not unlikely the two would find each other more than once in the underbelly of the city. What was unlikely, was just how far those coincidental meetings would go.

Note: I have NOT been able to get this out of my head. I love a good "We knew each other before and then SURPRISE amnesia" trope. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3 here

----

Blood covered every inch of the young tiefling the first time he saw her. The first fingers of dawn crawled across the damp cobbles of the city streets, placing an impenetrable line between him and the dizzying elixir that was like to go to waste. All the sense in the world told him it was past time to retreat back to the palace for the day, but harsh as the lower city could be it was not every day something this brutal made it to the light of day.

By all accounts, she looked like a child, standing stock still outside a house somehow quieter than death. With a sight like this, someone somewhere should have been fussing over whatever scene she had stepped out of. Most of all the youngling, who should have been screaming, sobbing. Afraid of whatever had dressed her in crimson.

But not a sound escaped the girl, and not a single tear fell from her wide, unfocused eyes. Shock, he mused, pushing his luck with every second he remained on the spot. That was the logical conclusion, yet something in the scene scratched at his mind. Something, other. Her hands did not shake, her tail did not writhe. Everything he knew of tieflings told him their tails were oversized mood rings, and hers hung limp on the stones behind her.

Astarion was perilously close to losing all darkness when her eyes flicked up, meeting his like she had known exactly where to look. The cold that twinged just beneath his skin and prickled his flesh rooted him to the spot a moment longer than he should dare. Hunger. Ravenous, greedy hunger festered there.

Those eyes, dark enough to not betray their color, would not soon leave the elf’s memories. Not an ounce of panic worked its way onto her features, and he wondered if she was looking right through him. Instead her mouth moved to speak into the fading dark, but the sound barely carried over the breeze that swept between them. What she had actually said would flit in and out of his memories in the weeks to come as he recalled the scent that assaulted him with that wind, but he was never quite sure if he heard her right.

“Father says I'm not allowed to like them..I liked them.”

The smell of bloodbath visited Astarion a few more times over the years, but he would not seek it out again as he had that one night. The pressure to bring back warm bodies for his master had only increased, and he’d had his share of stealing children. He needed living souls, and if he knew what was good for him he would steer clear of the stink of death.

Still, he kept an ear out for the rumors that followed. A string of sporadic murders uncharacteristically brutal in nature kept the underbelly of the city on edge. The more there were, the more color the rumors took on. A serial killer, a demon, a Bhaalist insurgence.

He did everything in his power to not roll his eyes listening to his latest target, a half elf woman, prattle on about her own theories. She was shifty, unable to hold his stare, and his charms along with the alcohol were not working as easily as they usually did. Whatever this is, is making my job a lot more difficult, he thought bitterly, trying to school his glare into something cool and indifferent.

“--but so many of them are families,” she continued, having barely stopped since he made the mistake of asking what she thought. “I heard from my brother, who heard from his friend Cyllo that many of them were people who were known to take in strays off the street. That this was what they got for bein’ bleedin’ hearts. But my brother says he bets it's some baby-faced halfling from the Bhaalist underground pretending to be a street urchin.”

Astarion could only stare, and she took his silence as an invitation to keep talking.

He went home empty handed that night, and took lashings in excess for it.

It would be some time before he saw the tiefling girl again. She was somewhere in her teens, by his best estimate, when he found those eyes once more in the dark. Prowling these alleys was second nature, and anyone with sense knew not to be caught alone in the way she was, sitting without a visible concern against the wall. Nearly everything about her had changed enough to make recognition near impossible for someone whose only job was to pile innumerable bodies in the palace foyer. But the eyes had it; that was all Astarion needed to see to remember the red child outside the quiet, dark home all those years ago.

Blood ran in swathes over her arms, like paint strokes he thought, coating her hands entirely. A few splashes kissed on her face, but the rest of her was notably cleaner than the first time. It seemed she had grown out of the wide-eyed shock that held her in her youth, and it had instead morphed into mirthless exhaustion, and something familiar he couldn't place. She looked as though sleep had not found her in weeks. Hunger? Maybe? Or was it mania?

This time, the moon hung high and bright in the night sky, and dawn was a long ways off. This time, he could take her, if he wanted. The shadows sat darker on nights like these, and the elf settled into the comfort of cover as his hungry stare found its way again to her fresh accessories. What design of misfortune is yours to be such close friends already with bloodshed, little one?

Again, her eyes found his with sharp precision. His muscles locked, only because he was certain he��d been hidden entirely. He glared, cursing his own carelessness, and considered again making her his target for the evening. For several long, twisting moments, hunger clouded his thoughts. The blood was right there, blood he could accidentally have for himself before bringing her home. An absentminded cleaning of his fingers after touching her hands. Master need not ever know, it could be something just for him.

Astarion took a single step forward, and without the tiefling moving a muscle, a deep sense of foreboding fell over him like ice water. In an instant the murderous hunger vacated his body and with a single curl of her lip seemed to wrap itself around her instead. Like a loyal pet. His mind shifted to acute, cold clarity and he blanched a step. When recalling why he went after different prey that night, he would remember the shadows around her shifting as though alive, and swearing he heard a goading voice speaking somewhere near her.

Forcing down the rats never seemed to get easier. Once, after a year of starvation, he was convinced they would taste divine, but the disappointment for that came and went quickly. The best he could manage were fresh caught on the streets when Cazador was merciful enough to rescind his “you only eat what I give you” rule for a night or two. When it came down to the carcasses that were provided, and the one he could catch himself, the difference was marginal. But all he had in life was what he could eke out in the margins.

Blood and viscera dripped from his chin, his body hunched like a feral creature over the drained animal in his hands, when the smell of death not of his making crept into the filthy alley. Death was no stranger, not on these streets, but this blend felt far more familiar than it should.

The hair on the back of Astarion’s neck prickled, and a snarl rumbled reflexively in his throat. Someone was coming, and by the sounds of it, keeping quiet was a natural skill. Not good enough to hide entirely from him, but better than the common folk.

Woe be upon anyone who interrupted him here when desperate hunger burned the back of his throat. It was never enough, they were never enough. Rats were sewer water, never filling, never curbing the burn, the ache. Nothing, nothing ever soothed the ache.

He waited for the steps to come just a bit closer before he whirled, spitting mad, with a dagger at the ready in his fist. If he sliced them violently enough, maybe he could cover his face, his lips…

The hooded figure did not blanch, and made no move to draw a weapon. Instead they paused at the crossing of the alleyways several feet away, clearly moving in their own direction before the snarling of a wild animal halted them. An inconvenience.

Long horns curved out through cut holes in their hood, and a lithe tail swished once as the hooded figure turned slowly. Astarion’s blood cooled as their eyes met his, and though he could see no other features of their face, the eyes of murder were indisputable. Thrice now, Astarion had found death in this unknown tiefling, even if tonight no blood stained her person; the stink of it still followed her. A constant companion, it seemed.

There was a moment where she stared at him, then slowly tilted her head in recognition. In the following seconds she moved faster than he could predict and in a blur of dark cloth she was upon him. The rogue found his bearings in the final split second, just as his back impacted the wall with a grunt. When stillness fell again, both had respective knives to their throats.

Astarion, here, found himself the closest he had yet been to the eyes of murder. He was more than familiar with the city’s worst, sitting under the thumb of one. There are those who adopt power, who learn to be cruel, how to take a life. But never in his life had he seen what looked like, felt like, innate nature.

With a hiss he tightened his grip on his dagger, and in perfect rhythm both pressed just a fraction more against flesh, just shy of drawing blood. He was certain he was the image of indignant frustration, but in her eyes there was the quickest flash of unrestrained glee. Then every second after that passed bloodlessly, he saw it. Hunger.

Astarion blinked as though staring into a mirror for the first time. Never enough, never ending, the constant ache of starvation. The burn, the need. Roiling in her stare like a wild beast that thinned the air between them. With a twitch of her lips, she pushed the tiniest bit closer into his unyielding grip, and a thin red line bloomed where it made contact with her flesh. A single, warm drip ran down her skin, settling and pooling into the hollow of her neck.

The panic rose faster than he could control it off of his face, and there was nothing that could be done about his traitorous eyes fixing on the forbidden sustenance. Too close, it’s too close, he thought, his mouth going painfully dry.

The tiefling’s face was not that of someone looking at their only natural predator. Instead, she looked expectant, waiting for him to take his chance. In that moment, he realized that she knew what he was. But as much as he wanted it, as close at it was, as easy as it would have been to do something about her idiotic bluff, his master’s command rang like a death bell though every fiber of his being, and he remained frozen.

The woman gave him one final dip of her chin, a final dare, with nothing in response. Then, it was gone, and a mask of cool disinterest settled onto her hood-darkened face.

“Disappointing,” she said casually, eyes fixated on the blade edge poised against his flesh. It was the first time Astarion had heard her voice clearly, and could barely see the angled lines of her adult face under the hood. “What a pretty corpse you’d be, were you not a slave to another,” she continued, a voice of smooth velvet, “Someday, when you become your own blood-artist, I will kill you. Fortunately for you I'm indebted to another tonight, so our dance will have to wait.”

Before he could retort, before he could move to defend himself, the shadows around her whirled, and she and her dagger were gone. When he fled the alley, he left behind his bloodied dagger, finding himself in need of a new one entirely.

Astarion would not see death in the form of the tiefling woman again in the streets of Baldur’s Gate, and the whispers of slaughter and murder-plots would grow ever quieter. He wondered now and again if she had met her own end, but something in his heart told him she was far from done with this world. That, and the scent of walking bloodshed that never quite seemed to stop following him.

A plan, he needed a plan. In an unknown land, beneath the warmth of the sun, with a splitting headache from the creature within. He needed to come up with something fast. But plans came easy to Astarion, and it seemed that for once in his life he was in a position to follow them through however he wanted. The rules had changed. The sun warmed his skin, his will felt like his own.

When footsteps and two talking figures began to make their way up the path, the plan quickly took shape. A quick lie, a turned back, and like breathing his knife found its way to the unsuspecting tiefling’s throat. The threats to their companion rolled off his tongue like the master he was, feeling fully in control of the situation. This was his path to information, to finding out just what had happened on that ship, and perhaps securing some gullible help towards whatever laid before him now. It was a seamless plan in what would be a long line of easy manipulations to get him where he needed to be.

Until he looked back at his squirming hostage–a female tiefling–and met their eyes.

Wide, bewildered, and unmistakably familiar. The smell of death wasn’t just the nautiloid, it was the woman in his grasp. Dulled, but there if he really focused.

She sensed his surprise, the falter in his grip, and took her chance to roll away from him to safety. In this moment, he let her.

Both jumped to their feet, poised in a standoff, and Astarion took this opportunity to study her face in new, vivid, sunlit detail. She had been just a few years younger when he saw her features last under the shadow of a heavy hood. The tone of her skin, the color of her hair, the curve of her horns, all of them pointed to the woman he had seen in the street, who had held a blade to his throat just like he'd done now.

The eyes. The color was the same, the way his heart seized when he saw them, the same. But the way she looked at him, the way they widened and studied him with careful assessment, that was markedly different. The darkness that had been festering there even as a child seemed to be all but gone. He recalled her final words to him the last time they crossed paths a few short years ago, but by the way she was looking at him she did not seem to remember them herself. After two brief meetings in passing, she had remembered him the night she threatened him, but here in the light of day not a shred of familiarity was there.

He wondered, initially, if it was a trick. But even when she was a child he felt that oppressive feeling of woe that surrounded her. Here, now it was quiet.

Which meant, she had no idea who he was, or that she meant to kill him.

As Astarion smiled sweetly and sketched a bow of introduction, he felt the thrill of the upper hand, of an even better plan unfolding.

The elf rarely took his eyes off of her, Tav, she had introduced herself as. Memory loss was always a convenient excuse, which she had said plainly enough when pushed in conversation. But it remained to be seen how true it was. Sooner or later, she was going to slip up. Her gaze would cast ice into his veins again and he would know on the spot that she was just as much a liar as he was.

But, he watched her be, kind. He watched her choose, actively, to help others, and then leave without so much as using their trust against them. He watched their companions, most of all the insufferably pathetic wizard, fall into reckless comfortability with her. Tav nurtured it at every turn, she held the line in battle, and came quickly to their aid. She opened their camp to an entire stranger, and an insufferable bard no less.

What game are you playing? he mused from his bedroll, watching her bed down for the night.

Astarion’s breath hitched when her eyes flicked to his, and deja vu wracked every part of his body. There you are, show it to me. Show me what a liar you are, he goaded, a small smirk curling on his lips.

But just as quickly as Tav had found his stare, she looked away, her hands fumbling with the rest of her bedding. He blinked, completely puzzled. The darkness wasn’t there, foreboding did not lie down to rest around his heart. She looked flustered, in the same way he was so very good at making his targets feel.

For a night, he fell asleep doubting that she was faking her convenient memory loss. He drifted out of consciousness with the sweet taste of I know something she doesn’t on his tongue, and how that would serve him.

And then they awoke to the corpse of the brutalized bard in the middle of their camp, and the waves of death stink rolling off of her were unmistakable. There you are, he thought with gleeful satisfaction. The body, the apprehensive party, and only Astarion knew with almost certainty who could have done it. He could have exposed her right there, outed her little game, but the temptation of watching her sweat through it was too great. Because what greater upper hand than a secret that could oust her from the only hope she had at ridding herself of her parasite?

He had to admit, he was impressed at how quickly Tav had cleaned herself when he had never known her to care before. He was even more impressed at how easily she talked herself into innocence. Good, so the secret remains ours then, he thought.

“It’s time to start talking,” he cooed at her when the others had left earshot. What good was blackmail if someone didn’t know you had it? And what was more satisfying than the look of someone who was caught in a snare? She’d gotten the upper hand on him once before, toyed with him when he was a lesser man and made sure he knew it. The look of frustration on her face that those tables had turned would be sweeter than anything he’d been afforded in recent decades.

But disappointment seemed loathe to take its claws out of Astarion. Because instead of baring her teeth like a trapped animal, genuine fear bloomed on her features. Sweat beaded on her brow and her entire posture slumped. He didn’t know if a tiefling her color could look green, but whatever shade she turned was about as close as she could get to it. Her words came out in a stammering, pathetic jumble of ‘I swear it wasn’t me,’ and ‘I don’t know what happened,’ and then finally a shred of something useful: ‘Please don’t tell the others.’

A slow, sinister grin spread on his face. It may not have been what he was hoping for, but this? This he could work with.

“Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a sympathetic tilt of his head, the charm coming like second nature. “Your secret is safe with me.”

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x dark urge #astarion x durge #durge #dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #fanfic

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generic-whumperz · 3 days

Text

The Aid: Chapter 9–Special Sauce (Part 1)

Full list of general conent warnings here.

No additonal chapter CWs for once! This is the lighter part in The Aid’s (Whumpee) POV. This is about as ‘nice’ Wyatt gets!

Aid’s abilities: EMPATHIC READING | ‘premonition/intuition’

Word count: 1,220

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Wyatt disappeared into The Aid’s adjoined walk-in closet—this door, too, was ripped off its hinges. Doors represented privacy and privacy alone, and that was a thing reserved only for free people.

But the lack of a physical barrier didn’t mean there wasn’t one at all—The Aid’s prison bars were invisible, his freedom nothing more than a taunting illusion.

A state-of-the-art satellite GPS device preinstalled with geofencing software was connected to The Aid’s RFID implants. Every square inch of the house and surrounding property was uploaded to the device’s database and accounted for, his every movement tracked and documented. The device pinged and lit up with an alert if he crossed a room’s perimeter without prior authorization. He couldn’t go to the bathroom or have a mental breakdown in the comfort of his closet—muffling his sobs in cashmere sweaters and Himalayan wool— without Wyatt knowing about it.

Wyatt shuffled around some hangers, stomped into the connected bedroom, and slammed around some drawers with the usual amount of curses and huffing, then reappeared with an armful of The Aid’s clothes.

“I ain’t putting ya’r fucking chonies on for ya. I don’t care how to beat to hell ya are.” Wyatt handed him a clean pair of boxers, sat the rest of the garments on the counter, and then rummaged through the first aid caddy. The Aid—more than happy to oblige—as quickly as his broken body would allow, slid on his underwear beneath the safety of the towel covering his lower body.

He was running out of gas, and quick. The long-awaited suppression of feelings warmed him in what little way it could. The Klonopin was behind schedule this morning, but it finally arrived at the station—all aboard the Numb Dumb Express, destination: Apathy.

He kept his head down, staring only at the plaid squares decorating his boxers while Wyatt started re-bandaging his wounds. He couldn’t risk another mirror encounter with his demonic parasite or bring himself to look at Wyatt’s dumb face any longer, hence his sudden fixation on such a worn pattern. His eyes ran the length of the geometric lines and he debated color theory—his way of fighting off the swarm of monotonous fears. ‘Why were men’s undergarments always so drab and boring? Did the fashion industry think shades of earth tones defined masculinity?’

The Aid’s wavering focus floated upright, he dared to break the silence with a question. “Sir, do you miss Madame Eleanor?”

Wyatt stopped mid-peel of the gauze pad wrapper and blew a harsh puff through his nose. His head swiveled to face his servant to exchange a long, unbroken stare. Wyatt’s lip twitched as his eyes swam with sorrowfully churned emotions. He turned back to the spread of medical supplies on the counter, plucking the gauze pad between the two strips of wrapper, and sighed.

“She was my mom, Pup,” he said quietly. Not a growl. Not a hiss. Not a grumble. Just a plain voice with a twinge of reminiscent sadness. The Aid didn’t often see Wyatt like this, vulnerable and showing him something other than his infamous brand of wrath or obscene mockery.

The Aid felt sadness, too, a deep, grieving sadness. He would never admit it out loud, and certainly never to Wyatt, but the empty void left in his heart from his Madame’s passing oftentimes surpassed the grief of losing his own flesh and blood. Maybe it was recency bias. Maybe it was the guilt gnawing at him and a need for redemption instead of plain grieving heartache eclipsing his mourning when it came to the fatal accident costing the lives of his Dad and older sister. Maybe—probably, it was a combination of both.

What was supposed only to be a thought slipped from his mouth, “You never talk about her...”

Wyatt side-eyed him. His eyebrows scrunched together as the unmistakable flush of irritation needled his features.

Time to course correct. “I miss her too—”

“Why?” Wyatt snapped. Distress marinated beneath the word, piping hot and steamy.

“I served her for five years—”

“If she died after a year of ya knowing her, would ya grieve her just the same as ya are now?” Wyatt interrupted, turning back around, cold eyes beaming onto his.

The Aid gulped, his face pinched with concern.

“Yes, Sir,” he said in a feigned confidence he hoped didn’t sound as disingenuous as it felt.

“Ya’ve served me for over a year at this point. Would ya grieve my death?” Wyatt’s voice sharpened to bitter resentment, knowing his servant hated him and preferred his dead mother over him—he had plenty of scars and bite marks to prove The Aid’s detestation towards him just as well.

Whoomp, there it is. And he walked right into it. Fuck.

“In my own way, Sir,” The Aid conjured up on the spot. Not a horrible save; hopefully Wyatt would accept it.

A few agonizing beats passed before his Master’s mouth slanted up into a smirk. Thanks to his winning reply, it looked like he got away Scot-free.

With that, Wyatt held out an open palm and threw a nod at The Aid’s mangled hand—a signal to quite literally hand himself over to him. The Aid complied, dutiful as ever, carefully placing his upturned wrist onto Wyatt’s expectant one. He couldn’t shake the tingles running up his spine accompanying the gesture. Every complaisant movement felt like another shred of agency was peeled off him and devoured by the man in front of him—like he was another step into a never-ending maze as Wyatt watched him fumble in the dark behind a double-sided mirror.

Wyatt surveyed The Aid’s wound stitching on the side of his wrist—much like The Aid did only an hour earlier—before the older man ran his index finger down the scar on The Aid’s palm. Wyatt knew this scar was different; this one meant something. It bound them together in some sick way. A mark illustrating Wyatt laying claim to what was rightfully his and his alone. A memory shared.

A wave of nausea rippled in The Aid’s stomach.

POSSESSION

A sickeningly warm sensation burrowed under his skin, the thing fevers and cold sweats are made of. His mind muddied around the edges, the vibrancy of his internal and external thoughts colored over in a greenish tint. He was too weak to throw up his mental guard rails or to cut the link between him and Wyatt’s emanating emotion. Imprints of emotions he never felt himself firsthand were the ones hardest to shake. Part of him became intrigued, drawn in to the foreignness of it. But most of him—the rational, seasoned parts of him—knew better than to lose himself in the prickly throes of it.

“Ya wouldn’t forget me, would ya?” Wyatt flashed a half-suppressed smile, a viper’s grin.

The Aid warred against the shiver fizzing under his skin from Wyatt’s gliding caress and the emotional baggage that stowed away with it, just as much as he fought to hold in a shuttering sigh.

“Never, Sir,” The Aid’s reply came breathless. It was the inescapable truth. He could never completely shut out the terrors swarming his mind or scratch out the face of the man who caused it all.

‘There’s a forecast of yuck moving in’

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