#they're there to elicit discomfort

[shallowseeker]

The death of Jack, the rise of the Evil Shadow-Child:

Jack dies.

On the battlefield, TFW is overwhelmed, and Cas more easily takes on the role of acting commander. This makes good sense to me, as angels are codified by open war, and hunters are more associated with guerilla tactics. The way the spirits hit look like bombs, further underlining the battlefield motif.

Cas calls for them to follow and cover him as they try to get Jack to "safety," as if they're still moving on heroic muscle memory.

As if things will be fine.

Cas takes Jack in a "fireman's carry." This emphasizes his strength and protector status.

Even though Sam and Dean clear the way ahead, at some point Dean drops back to run with Cas, covering his peripheral.

///

Inside, they're reeling. Not processing:

Cas looks away. Dean will do the same shortly, hiding his grief.

Dean's chest starts to heave after he looks down.

Meanwhile, Sam...bargains. Hopes Cas can fix it. (This recalls when Cas died, and Sam asked Dean: "What about Cas...is he really dead?")

Here, he looks to Cas to make things better:

Sam's chest breathes heavily in disbelief, like it's hitting him for the first time what's actually happened.

///

Meanwhile, Dean looks for someone to blame, trying to find a common enemy as a rallying point. He's also in fact trying to re-establish a connection with Cas for support and comfort. (But there is no comfort to be had here.)

His distress comes spilling out as anger. To me, it reads as irrational, panicked spousal anger. Cas is the one who makes it okay. "What do we do Cas?"

We get my favorite Dean-Cas sniping at each other. When one doesn't know what to do, there is appealing to one another + frustration.

["I don't know / I don't know what's going on here / I didn't know this would involve ingesting some magic sphere and disappearing, Dean!" Etc. (Cas has been doing this since at least season 6, and vice versa). TFW appeals to each other in general when they're lost, but the Dean-Cas appealing is typically a very emotional appeal.]

///

And here is the glimpse of aborted grief.

...followed by rationalizing and denying culpability: "Chuck. Man, I knew it." (It's like the script says: He didn't. He was wrong. He trusted the wrong person. It's like Metatron. Like Gadreel. Rinse, repeat.)

Jack's death hurts.

And it also hurts to be wrong.

Placing and displacing blame on Chuck allows grief to be sidestepped. Since Dean cannot face the weight of that grief, he turns to revenge. (Like how John could never look directly at Mary's death. Revenge is a shield against reality, delaying grief and intense emotions.)

So, Sam. Sam hops into solve-it mode:

Sensing a potential escape, they work to move the stones. Of note, they struggle with the stones. This is building towards the Evil Child motif, because like the fireman's carry, it serves to highlight Castiel's protector and strength imagery. Cas's difference in strength is usually hidden away by narrative mechanism, but here it's allowed to be more obvious.

Sam and Dean having to work together to drag the stone away from the wall, but when a zombie tunnels through, Cas just--

Cass nods-- welcome. Dean rises--

///

Side note: If Dean is playing the blame game in response to Jack's death, and Sam is in problem-solving mode, Cas grief gets channeled into stoic violence. We'll see this again when he absolutely obliterates Belphegor and "brutally" stabs the djinn. Like with Lucifer, his power is actually accented by anger. He is simmering, unable to do the peaceful things (healing, control, discipline). However, when he's angry? HIs powers almost work too well.

Instinctually, I think Cas pulls his powers back when he gets strong emotions, lest he become like Lucifer or soulless!Jack, powering it into a, to quote the 15x03 script, "rage kill."

Being gentle towards his loved ones, dutiful, and reserved is his emotions is something he seems to pride himself on. He doesn't want to lose that, so he steps away--distances.

///

And finally, we get Belphegor, the ultimate grief delaying tactic. His appearance functions to delay the reality of Jack's passing further:

CAS: That's not Jack. That's a demon.

And yet...it looks like him. It's almost like Jack's still alive--

But Belphegor is a false notion.

He's a shadow anxiety. Not "real," in a sense. It's authorial interference, superimposing discomfort on an already terrible trauma. Jack has been recently soulless, he's killed Mary, and Bel is a natural outcropping of every toxic anxiety you can think of.

///

The first thing Belphegor does is dons sunglasses.

He puts on the sunglasses to hide the reminder of his death, of course, but in doing so he also becoming a dark reflection. Jack reversed. Evil child. Changeling. The dark reflection of Jack contains all the shadow-family-unit anxieties--

--and most of those are focused on Dean and Cas, not Sam.

(Why? You know why.)

[Symbolically, sunglasses give you self-confidence and freedom to act against your personas. They hide our insecurities and our pain.]

Belpheghor will directly embody the narrative's trite cliche of "dark family" -> Freudian pop-psy shadow:

(a) The protector-father Cas "is muscle." But ultimately, he's a rival to be barraged with hostility and supplanted. That's why Bel's motif directly parallels Godstiel's past actions.

(b) The [other father] Dean is an object of desire to be admired and possessed: "You're gorgeous." Ultimately, he wants to drive the protector-parent away so he can suck up all the attention from the parent he admires.

There is no scientific basic for this particular pop-psy, and I find it something of a cliche/overused/overemphasized in media (to say nothing of what the flawed case studies usually reveal about the analysts themselves), but I do think Bel taps into this narrative anxiety as the "Evil Child / Supplanter."

It's a trope. If Bel were to become a recurring characters, he would narratively resolve by identifying with the object of hostility and subsequently abandoning the desire of false fixation. (Like how in Amara's case, healthily identifying with her hated brother and understanding his actions allowed her to abandon her Civil War-type aggression and see through the falsely constructed love object, Dean.)

But in Bel's case, he's not a recurring character. He's a falsity, a doppleganger. This false image is simply killed, and the Enchantment of Delayed Grief breaks. Jack's death has no root in this false construction of "secret psy-pop drama." Instead, it's a tragedy.

Nevertheless, AS a trope, it's a flashing neon sign that Bel pretty much...doesn't pay Sam a lick of attention, lol. This motif underlines that while Sam is a mentor type of parent, he's more of an older brother who shares in the village caretaking, not the root material for a pop drama the way that Dean and Cas are.

///

Anyway, OVERALL, Bel is just a symbol of anxiety in the viewer.

For the characters, he's simply a delaying and denial of reality . When Bel dies, Jack's death becomes real, and the grief is all the worse for the delay.

#belphagor #on grieving #aborted grief #incest mention #just to be safe #even though it isn't #that's not how shadow anxieties function #they're there to elicit discomfort #mcd death #jack kline #jack's death #belphegor as shadow jack

[undiscovered-horizon]

Who am I to complain? - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[emotional and verbal abuse, unhealthy parent-child relationships]

SUMMARY: When your parents come to visit, Nikolai finally understands why you've never been keen to talk about them. Being the King and your husband, he isn't afraid to defy them.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.5k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

"Have you listened to anything I've just said?"

Nikolai shakes you awake from being lost in thought. You look away from the insanely interesting skirting board you had been staring at for the past ten minutes. He’s watching you with raised eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"I…” you hang your voice. At first, you wanted to just apologize and ask him to repeat himself but then a sense of dread sprouts in your abdomen - one you can’t quite put a finger on but it takes over your entire mind. “I'm sorry, Kolya. Please, don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry,” you plead, gradually speaking faster.

“I’m not angry,” he states firmly. “But I am growing concerned for you, love. What’s going on?”

“I just keep thinking about my parents' visit,” you confess while rubbing your forehead. “Ever since the letter arrived, I can hardly think about anything else."

"Yes, I've noticed you have been a bit absent for the past few days. I assumed you were going to talk to me when you're ready. Are you?"

"They're not bad people," you begin in a strange tone that makes Nikolai doubt your words right away, "and they've only done their best to give me a good life. Despite that, they have a tendency to bring out the parts of me I've grown to dislike." 

“Isn’t that what every family does?” he jokes in hopes of easing your visible discomfort. But his good humour is gone the moment you look away with a sombre expression stuck to your features.

Nikolai always considered himself exceptional at self-control but something about your sadness makes him gradually abandon reason. As you forlornly stare into the darkness of your shared bedroom, he’s ready to stick feathers to his clothes and pretend to be a peacock just to make you laugh.

“Love,” he calls out softly. His hand rests between your shoulder blades. “You’re the queen. If you want, we can call their visit off right away.”

“That would be a little rude, no?” you ask in a meek voice.

“It’s a lot more crude to make you cry.”

“I will be alright, really,” you reassure him. That miserable look on your face is slowly creeping away. “It’s just three days. Maybe they’ve changed or they’re a lot better than I remember. I’ll be okay.”

Nikolai is unsure whether you’re trying to convince yourself or him but he doesn’t push. Despite not believing your clumsy words of reassurance, he trusts you - he’ll step in only when things really get out of hand.

Nervousness and excitement often feel the same and one might even fool themselves into believing that the mortifying tension in their muscles is actually an impatient thrill. Today, however, you don’t even try playing a little trick on yourself. The more you think about your feelings, the more you’re convinced that it’s not even nervousness but fear. Still, you don’t quite understand why exactly your parents’ visit elicits such awful emotions from you.

The door to the throne room opens and a man in a white and gold livery steps inside. He quickly walks halfway to the dais with the throne. 

The servant bows as deep as he can and clears his throat before loudly announcing: “Presenting her most royal Highness’s, the Queen’s, mother and father.”

Only then do your parents emerge from the hall, walking hesitantly through the spacious throne room. Two guards are following them and your father spares them a confused glance every few steps. But the armed men only usher him to keep walking and not turn his back to the king until allowed to do so.

Feeling fear exploding in your chest, you grip Nikolai’s shoulder even tighter. Sitting on the throne, he has to look up to meet your eyes.

“Calm down, it’s going to be alright,” he says quietly. A reassuring smile curves his lips. “You said it yourself.”

As though he is a Heartrender himself, his words make you relax. You take a deep breath and let go of his shoulder. At that moment, Nikolai stands up to greet your parents as their son-in-law first and only then the king of Ravka.

Right then, your mother quickly runs up the few steps leading to the dais. Her face is red and a deep crease now separates her eyebrows.

“I have to wait to be announced to see my own daughter?” She’s barely containing her outrage. “Nonsense!”

“I’m royalty now, mother,” you explain calmly. Your voice almost doesn’t shake.

“And I’m still your mother, the one that gave birth to you. Do I not get any benefits from that?”

Maybe some people don’t actually change.

“I’m afraid you don’t.”

“Is this gold?!” your father exclaims in shock as his hand reaches for your heavy necklace. “So because of you most of Ravka is starving?”

Too occupied with the jewellery, your parents don’t notice the palace guards stepping forward to arrest them for such an accusation aimed at the queen. Nikolai spares them a meaningful look, waving them off. In his heart, he agrees with them.

“Actually, this is a gift from a businessman in Kerch,” you say quietly. Suddenly, you remember why you’ve never visited them since your wedding.

“Still, don’t you think this is a little distasteful?”

Your mother places her hand on your father’s shoulder. “She’s always been vain, darling,” she reminds him.

You’re not a queen anymore - at least you don’t feel like it. All of the gold, silk and jewels are gone and you’re back to being a scared, little girl with hay stuck in her hair. Tears sting your eyes.

Whatever you do is wrong. All of your efforts are underwhelming. Maybe they’d be happier if you weren’t there.

"You're crying?” your father asks with a hint of disgust in his voice. “Oh, don't be so sensitive, you know we’re only joking!” He’s still holding your necklace in his fingers, admiring the glistening crystals. Standing so close to you, he lowers his voice significantly to appear inconspicuous but Nikolai manages to pick up his calloused words. “Pull yourself together, this is embarrassing.”

As she usually does, your mother brings the attention back to herself. “She can be a bit much at times, so I hope you’re a patient one!”

The guards exchange questioning looks, silently asking one another if they should intervene this time. Most of the time they follow Tolya and Tamar’s steps but they’re left to their own devices on this day as Nikolai ordered the twins to take a day off. Perhaps it’s for the best - they’d surely escalate this already uncomfortable situation but it’s only because they care.

“I’d say it’s quite the opposite,” Nikolai answers, unaffected. Despite his speaking to your mother, he’s looking into your eyes. “I can never get enough of her.”

“For most of her life, I thought she’d never get married!” your mother continues. She’s gripping your arm with much more strength than her appearance suggests. “Men don’t like them independent, stubborn and opinionated.”

Nikolai’s polite smile doesn’t falter. “Three qualities of an excellent Queen.”

Your mother laughs obnoxiously. “Just wait a few years, dear.” She pats his shoulder. The guards look between themselves again. “You’ll be quick to send her off just like we were!”

Both of your parents laugh wholeheartedly while you and Nikolai exchange knowing looks. Now he understands why you have been so uneasy lately. This is going to be the longest three days of his life.

The perplexity continues as your mother suddenly places her hands around your waist, examining your torso in great detail. A sour expression forms on her face.

“Oh, honey, you’ve let yourself go,” she says in a worried tone. Her eyes trail the curve of your physique up until she looks at your face. With a serious glint in her eye, she advises you under her breath: “You can’t get fat and slobby if you want to keep the king.” 

The man who announced your parents appears again but this time he walks all the way to the stairs leading up to the throne, although doesn’t dare climb them. His facial expression borders on emotionless and serious as though he’s more of a marble statue rather than a servant.

“Your most royal Highness.” The man bows deeply. “The room is prepared.”

“Excellent.” Nikolai uses the opportunity to cut the awkward conversation short in a diplomatic way. “Escort our guests to their chamber.” 

“Right away, мой царь.”

When the butler disappears around the corner with your parents apprehensively following him, Nikolai looks at you with a grim expression. 

“Are they usually like this?” he asks, disapproval hiding between his words.

“They’re worse at home,” you answer with a shrug. A lot of terrible feelings and thoughts you were convinced you had left behind are coming back and you’re unsure how to handle that.

“You’ve put up with this kind of disrespect for your whole life?”

“It’s not disrespect, just…” you hang your voice looking for the right expression, “tough love. They don’t mean any harm.”

“Don’t mean any harm?” he repeats in disbelief. “They’ve been here for fifteen minutes and they are yet to say something nice to you. Neither of them even asked whether you’re doing alright.”

A short, troubled sigh leaves your lips. Your fingers trail the golden embroidery decorating his kaftan. “I’m married to a dashing, handsome king and live in a palace. I think they know I’m doing well.”

His hand gently grabs yours, keeping it against his chest. “As much I like flattery, especially coming from you, you can’t pull wool over my eyes, love. It’s not a matter of knowing but principle. Remember our wedding? The guests kept asking how you’re doing so much, you kept saying you’re perfectly fine before they even got a chance to ask.”

The memory elicits a chuckle from you. Yes, everyone seemed to be preoccupied with making sure you were happy and satisfied. It came to such a point, you yelled at Nikolai’s cousin ‘Yes, I’m fine!’ before she gave you a weird look and asked if you wanted some vodka mixed with your champagne. Truly, the only royal thing about Marina is her ungodly fortune but maybe that’s why you’ve grown to like her a lot - she’s down to earth and easy-going.

Nikolai squeezes your hand in a gentle, reassuring manner. “Just say the word and I will personally throw them out.”

“Kolya!” You gasp at his offer but it quickly turns into laughter. “They’re my parents and your in-laws!”

“They also refuse to show care and respect towards my beloved Queen.”

That mellow, loving look in his eyes nullifies any annoyance you might feel at his stubbornness. You pull your hand out of his grasp and place it on the side of his face. Consciously or not, he slightly leans into your touch. “I appreciate your concern.” Not minding the guards in the room, you’ve grown used to their constant presence, you peck his lips shortly. “But they have just arrived. You’ll warm up to them.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer at first. He only reconnects your lips, kissing you deeper, more desperately. When you feel his hands coming up to your waist, you lean away from him. For a moment, you swear you can see a grimace of dissatisfaction on his face.

“Be decent,” you reprimand him but the wide smile you wear so well rids your words of all seriousness.

“You started this.”

“And I will finish if you play nice.”

Nikolai takes a rather long step back, away from you,  just to make a point. He’s standing with his hands behind his back, an excited grin on his face. “You make an exquisite diplomat, you know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

The time for dinner came faster than you wanted it to. Anxiety bubbled inside your chest again. Still, you continued trying to soap up your eyes with thoughts that maybe when they sit across the table from a king, they’re going to withdraw their little jabs at you. As they say: Hope is the mother of all fools. And you’re about to learn that.

Nikolai raises his cup with wine. “A toast to our beloved Queen,” he announces in an official tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he spares you an adoring look. “Without her, I’d be a lonely, perplexed king. May we not know the world without her.”

To your horror, your father decides to join him. “May she get a grip and come to her senses.”

The dry wine tastes even more bitter as you take what’s supposed to be a celebratory sip. What if he’s right about you? It’s only the beginning of the evening and you already wish you can miraculously vanish or, worst case scenario, just run away. 

You’re about to take a bite of the roasted pheasant on your plate when your mother looks at you with raised eyebrows. She points her fork between you and the plate. “Should you really be eating all of this?” 

You don’t answer her. Whatever you say will only egg her on. Get a grip, you scold yourself and clench your fist to push fingernails into the sensitive skin of your palm. The pain is distracting, grounding.

 "You know, sweetheart, you're not getting any younger,” your mother continues. She always does that - throwing poignancies one after another and seeing what sticks. Now, when she’s literally the mother of the queen, she’s even bolder than before.

“Mother-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She points her knife at you. “All I’m saying is as a wife, especially the queen, you have only one duty and you shouldn’t wait with it. Things will only get more difficult as you age.”

Nikolai gives your mother a bright smile. “Have no worries,” he cuts in. “We’re not waiting.”

You almost drop your fork. Flustering people is definitely one of his strategies but must he really involve your sex life in his word games? Although mortified at his bluntness, you must admit it works - your mother’s face is about the same shade as the roasted tomatoes on her plate. She casts her eyes downwards, poking at the food in front of her.

The air is filled with awkward tension but Nikolai doesn’t seem to mind in. In fact, he looks quite proud of himself. You, on the other hand, aren’t as good at putting up a believable front.

“So,” you begin in hopes of easing the atmosphere”, how are things back in…” You hang your voice. You were about to say ‘home’, only to realize that it would be an honest lie. The little town where you grew up hasn’t been home in years. “...Tamboyevka?”

“Oh, you know,” your mother says as she makes a dismissive wave with her hand. “Same old, same old. Cattle and field, nothing interesting to someone of your sort, I presume! There’s never been much use of you anyway.”

Listening to your mother’s condescending words, you push your fingernails further into the skin of your hand to distract yourself from the feeling of shame that continues to grow inside your stomach and pull you down with it. Maybe the marble floor will swallow you whole in the next few minutes and all of this will be over.

Then you feel Nikolai’s warm hand sneak between your palms, breaking up your painful distraction. He leans towards you ever so slightly and whispers:

“I’d much rather you pinch and scratch my hand than hurt yourself.”

You look at his concerned face. Words of reassurance, ‘Don’t worry, I’m alright’, nearly push past your lips when your father chimes in, continuing the conversation.

“But your brother, he bought some land down south,” he announces with excitement.

“More land?” you ask. “Ha barely manages with what he already has.”

The memory of your brother’s tired, grey face flashes before your eyes. Every time you see him, he looks even sicker than before as though he never sleeps or eats, only works in the field. He even collapsed on one July day and your parents kept saying that this is a sign of an honest, hard-working man but you weren’t as quick to call a man throwing up everything he eats ‘healthy’.

“You know how he is, always helping others.” Your mother is beaming with pride as if she’s the one doing the farming. “His crops feed two villages and it’s not nearly enough for him! Said he wanted tomatoes and citruses.”

Then it hits you. It’s not a revelation in any way but rather something you don’t think about too often - most of Ravka doesn’t get fruits in winter, especially the ones growing in warmer climates near the Shu Han border. And you not only can easily get it even when snow covers the grassy fields but you’re essentially fed it. Like that one time, you shared a tangerine with Nikolai while sitting in front of a fire, talking about unimportant things.

Despite your mother sitting right in front of you, her voice echoed in your head as though she’s a phantom haunting your thoughts and not a real person: Selfish. Spoiled. Entitled. Ungrateful. People starve because of you.

You focus on Nikolai’s warm, rough hand that’s still holding your own. The pleasant sensation is gradually grounding you, pulling you out of your head and into the present moment.

“What for?” you ask as casually as you can, not giving in to the spiralling thoughts. It still feels like you’re underwater, desperately gasping for air as your lungs burn. Squeezing Nikolai’s hand, you break the surface of the vicious tides trying to drown you in panic and shame.

Your mother, on the other hand, appears completely oblivious to your plight. “Some child told him they’d like oranges and he couldn’t say no. He’s wonderful, truly. A living Saint! What a blessing to call him my son. You should take a serious cue from him, young lady.” She waves the tip of her knife in your direction again. “But enough about your brother. What do you do when you’re not wasting time? Lay around and smell nice?”

“Well,” you swallow nervously, already knowing that she won’t be satisfied with your answer, “I meet a lot of people, take correspondence, travel across the country or read if I find the time.”

Nikolai must notice the telling crease of disappointment between your mother’s eyebrows. He joins the conversation under a skilful facade of a proud, boasting husband. “Don’t sell yourself short, love. Our Queen,” he puts strange stress on the title, “has started a scholarship for disadvantaged children, takes the time to teach young girls sewing, foreign languages and arithmetic.”

“That’s quite useless, isn’t it?” your mother looks between you and your father, not acknowledging Nikolai’s presence. She keeps stabbing the roasted pheasant on her plate with a fork as though there’s still life inside the poor poultry. “Shouldn’t you try harder?” she hisses at you. “If you continue being this lazy, the whole kingdom will fall apart! What will our neighbours say then?”

Nikolai suddenly gets up. He’s still holding your hand but you can’t be sure whether he’s doing that on purpose or if it’s just an unconscious reflex. The candlelight from the crystal chandelier cascades off his face, pronouncing the clenched muscles of his jaw - he’s angry and barely holding it in.

“Our meeting at this table is adjourned,” he announces in a firm voice. “This is beyond unacceptable. I have overlooked your transgressions simply because of your affinity to my wife. Still, I am disheartened and disappointed with the way you address your queen in her own home. The guards will escort you back to your chambers.”

You hear your mother and father trying to argue and protest, saying something about you being ‘too proud’ and ‘forgetting your place’ but you’re so dumbfounded you can’t make out the details. The guards lead them out of the dining room through one of the tall pairs of doors. When they close behind them, everything goes silent - the brick walls muffle any turmoil your parents might be causing.

Suddenly, your throat constricts. It’s hard to take a breath. Has it always been so hot in here? The tips of your fingers tingle, blood never reaching them.

He threw them out and you didn’t say anything. If they didn’t hate you before, they surely do now. You’re a disappointment, not their child. They haven’t done anything wrong, after all. You’re no good, useless, ungrateful, dramatic.

Suffocating with panic, you run out of the room through a different pair of doors, across the dining hall from the ones behind which your parents had recently disappeared. You hear Nikolai’s footsteps behind you but they are muffled by the noise of bloodflow ringing in your ears.

“Hey, talk to me,” he calls out in a soft voice. You turn around to look at him. His hand is almost at the height of your shoulder but it momentarily drops as though he just backed out from touching you. “What’s going on?”

For a man as smart as him, that’s a really stupid question.

“Why did you do that, Nikolai?” you snap at him.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. A gasp of disbelief brushes past his lips - he clearly thought the two of you were on the same page. “They were insulting you over and over again. I couldn’t just sit and listen to that.”

Truly, you should have expected that. He’s been adamant about standing up to your parents from the very beginning. Still, you’re angry that he just had to be stubborn and do the one thing you explicitly asked him not to do.

“What happened to laugh at insults? Isn’t that your own advice?”

“It is.” Nikolai finally finds it in himself to place his hands on your shoulders. “But I found myself unable to remain collected when the bitter words were aimed at you.” His palms brush against your dress and the skin of your neck until they’re cradling your face.

“I can,” you state firmly. “You should have let me handle this, I’m used to this.”

You escape his loving grasp and he lets you. Walking forward away from him, you’re not quite sure where exactly you’re heading. ‘Away’ would be a lovely direction but quite impossible when you’re confined to those four walls of marble and gold.

“You shouldn’t be,” Nikolai calls out after you.

Suddenly, you halt. You look at him around your shoulder. “What?”

“You shouldn’t be used to being treated like this,” he says in a defeated tone while walking towards you again. “They just keep putting you down, humiliating you. You’re not even slightly upset about that?”

“Of course, I am but…” you hang your voice, finally questioning your own feelings towards your parents. “It’s unfair for me to be angry with them. Ungrateful. I never went hungry or cold. They gave me medication when I was sick and made sure I went to school. Every year they’d give me something for my birthday. Neither of them has ever raised their hand against me. They’ve done all they could to give me a good life. Who am I to complain?”

“You’re the Queen,” he drones the word. His hand holds the side of your face again, thumb lovingly brushing your cheek. “People say your name in the same breath as the names of all the Saints. When I don’t know what to do or what decision to make, I always ask myself what you would do. And I’ve never once regretted that. There are important people who have agreed to my invitation only after hearing that you’ll be there too. You change everything. So you get to be angry when someone refuses to see that. I know you can take a few mean words but I don’t want you to.”

For a moment, the two of you stand in comfortable, intimate silence. Your absent gaze is stuck to the floor as you’re pondering his words. Whenever you’re about to accept that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing something good and important, the voice of your mother echoes inside your head: ‘Vain’. But Nikolai wouldn’t lie to you, would he? At least not in those circumstances.

“Can you keep a secret?” he speaks up quietly, bringing your attention back to him.

“Don’t tell me you put a wild racoon in my parent’s bedroom,” you joke, surprising yourself at your newly-found humour.

He scrunches his nose. “Alright, can you keep two secrets?” The echo of the empty halls carries your bright laughter. “To be honest, I wanted to marry you the moment you argued with me about stealing that merchant frigate in Kerch.”

“I could tell,” you answer with a slow nod. “You had a really stupid look on your face, all dazed and absent. In fact, you wore the same one on our wedding day.”

Nikolai’s lips turn into a playful smile and he’s about to say something definitely smart and smooth but a servant interrupts him:

“Your most royal highness,” she says nervously as she curtsies, “your mother wishes to see you. She seems thoroughly upset, if I may say so.” Judging by her fearful, wide-open eyes, she must have gotten a taste of your parents' hurt ego.

Anxiety once again floods your mind. Maybe you should go, apologize and pray they won’t go on a tirade about ‘raising you differently’. But then you hear Nikolai inconspicuously but meaningfully clear his throat.

‘You’re the queen’, his voice echoes in your head. A queen doesn’t cower and bow her head, does she?

“Tell her I don’t take visitations tonight,” you order the servant.

“Right away, моя царица.” She can’t hide the waver in her voice. Judging by her already fearful demeanour, she can guess quite well what will happen the moment she relays the information.

Yes, you will have to warn your parents that they actually can’t hurl insults at your servants. It’s going to be challenging, yes, but this newfound confidence is a ferocious beast, driving you to own up to the title of the queen - not in the way your mother and father want you to but in a way that you need to.

“Oh, one more thing.” The girl immediately stops and turns around at the sound of your voice. “Make sure they don’t leave their wing until either of us says so. I don’t want them wandering around my home.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

The servant bows again and leaves the two of you in a rushed step. Nikolai waits until she disappears around the corner to let his hand drop to the small of your back. He leans in close, indecently so. “I love it when you get all commanding,” he whispers against your neck.

An airy laugh leaves your lips as he pecks the soft skin behind your ear.

____

мой царь [mo-ee tzar] -> my tsar/king

моя царица [mo-ya tsa-ree-tsa] -> my tsaritsa/queen

#nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bones x you

[icedragonlizard]

I might get torn apart for posting this, but imo it must be said.

To make it crystal clear, I don't excuse Susie's actions in Planet Robobot. But I don't excuse Taranza's actions in Triple Deluxe either.

I think people in the Kirby fandom infantilize Taranza way too much.

I am not joking when I say that I've seen people go as far as to say that he was "never a villain in the first place". That he's "innocent".

I'm sorry, but that's just flat out wrong. He was objectively the villain during Triple Deluxe. "He was just following orders!" is not proof of innocence when he was following the orders of a dictator. Taranza was a dictator-enabler. A dictator's right-hand man. That's not innocent. He lowkey kidnapped people in the name of this dictator.

Who knows what he could've done off-screen during the game while dragging Dedede around with him... probably could've tormented a lot of unshown Floralians while Kirby was trying to stop the takeover.

I also believe that Taranza loved playing the villain. He looks incredibly smug while dragging Dedede around and provoking bosses into fighting Kirby. Not to mention the very things that he says in his monologue right before he uses Dedede like a puppet to fight Kirby.

.... So much for the claims of "never a villain in the first place".

I very much believe he's reformed (Susie too, tbh) but I wish people would stop totally erasing his actions and pretending he did no bad.

This is not meant to demonize Taranza in any way. It's just... I absolutely hate that people treat him like a poor little innocent baby while simultaneously treating Susie like an irredeemable, unforgivable monster. They committed very similar crimes, but somehow get treated like they're opposite ends of the spectrum morality-wise.

Now, when comparing them, Susie is indeed the worse of the two overall, because her actions were done on multiple planets vs. one country. But that doesn't change the fact that it's still hypocritical to treat one of them like they're innocent while demonizing the other.

Regardless of the different scales of their crimes, they're both ultimately just second-in-commands to corrupt higher-ups that then helped give Kirby something to fight the final boss when it mattered.

I like to think that Taranza and Susie are both rather morally grey people with good and bad qualities. To me, they're friends with Kirby now, but they still have flaws despite not being as bad as they were before. I'd put Magolor on the same boat alongside with them too.

Taranza can both have grief and still have flaws. And I think Susie 100% has had grief for her dad too, even if she's less open about it.

One of the reasons why Susie discourse is so aggravating is because people simultaneously downplay and infantilize other villains, especially Taranza. People are hypocrites. I bet people wouldn't give a crap if Taranza or Magolor were to turn Meta Knight into a robot.

I get why the colonization and capitalism themes for both Susie and Planet Robobot as a whole can strike a nerve to some people and elicit discomfort, but I don't really think that warrants a massive and unfair discrepancy to how she gets treated compared to the others.

While I can get why those themes can make some people not like her as much as others, I don't think it makes it fair to treat her like an unforgivable demon because her villainy happens to be more real.

Just because the others are less real doesn't mean they're innocent.

The double standards suck.

#kirby #taranza #taranza kirby #susie haltmann #susie kirby #susanna patrya haltmann #magolor #kirby triple deluxe #kirby planet robobot #kirby star allies #queen sectonia #max profitt haltmann

[doumadono]

(Sinful Sunday)

Karaku with lactation Kink. Y/n has just recently given birth to his baby and complain about sore chest so Karaku offers to help her by sucking them. Obviously not in front of the baby who happily sleeping

SINFUL SUNDAY

You and Karaku have embarked on a journey of exploration together — venturing into desires mutually shared and fantasies that each of you yearned to try before your paths converged fully. Now, you've discovered a comfort in exploring these facets with each other.

For Karaku, a particular desire lingered in his mind — he harbored a keen interest in tasting breast milk directly from the source. Despite the challenges you faced in conceiving, the two of you found pleasure in dry nursing. The sensations brought forth by his skillful mouth and tongue were almost orgasmic for you, and your moans, in turn, stirred a powerful response from him, making his cock hard within seconds. This intense connection often led to a swift conclusion of the nursing session, yet neither of you voiced any complaints.

Your deep care for him extended into various aspects of your time together, but the act of breastfeeding remained elusive. The moments you shared never seemed enough to satisfy the yearning for the regular, daily suckling that both of you craved.

Then, as if a miracle unfolded, you discovered you were pregnant with Karaku's child. As your pregnancy progressed, a tangible transformation occurred — your breasts grew rounder and more substantial. Karaku, captivated by this change, couldn't divert his gaze from the captivating sight before him.

Following the successful delivery of your child, a process marked by the intricacies of labor that relied solely on the benevolence of Karaku's counterparts, considering you resided with demons outside any human village, your recovery spanned several days.

Upon commencing the nursing of your newborn, a welcome revelation unfolded — luckily, you encountered no impediments with lactation. Your breasts swelled with milk, providing a nourishing source of sustenance for your unique offspring, a blend of demon and human heritage.

One evening, after Karaku gently placed the baby into a meticulously crafted wooden crib, a creation Sekido graciously assisted him in preparing for the child, he found you nestled on a futon, tears streaming down your face. Concern laced his voice as he inquired, "What's troubling you, my love?"

"My chest… I mean, my breasts, they're incredibly swollen, and it's painful," you expressed, revealing the physical discomfort you were grappling with.

In that moment, Karaku swiftly discerned a method to alleviate your discomfort while simultaneously satisfying his deep-seated desire for the nourishing milk. "I can suck them for you, if you don't mind?" he proposed.

Responding with a wry smile, you remarked, "Somehow I knew you'd suggest that; I'm not even surprised. Okay, let's give it a shot."

You gradually unveiled the nightgown that adorned your form — a thoughtful gift from Aizetsu — exposing your breasts to the gaze of your beloved.

Karaku observed them intently before delicately cupping them in his rough, clawed hands, applying a gentle squeeze that evolved into a soothing massage.

Your response was evident — a moan, a blend of pleasure tinged with a hint of pain, escaped your parted lips.

Karaku grinned, continuing his skillful manipulation, while leaning down to trace the tip of his tongue around your aureolas. Each area received the precise amount of attention, heightening the sensations coursing through you.

With your hands finding their way into his hair, you engaged in a gentle massage of his scalp, deepening the connection between you and Karaku.

Karaku shifted his focus to your left nipple, encircling the bud with his lips, creating a subtle suction while simultaneously applying a gentle squeeze to your breast. The sweet, fluid essence spilled over his tongue, eliciting a reaction from him as a low growl of anticipation escaped his lips, and a noticeable twitch in his hakama pants revealed the impact of the intimate encounter.

Karaku continued to suckle, varying the pressure and squeezes on your tender breast, immersing himself in the act as if he were an infant seeking nourishment. The audible pop that followed marked the release of your bud from his mouth. "Damn, baby, your milk is exquisite. Every part of you is delectable, from toe to head!" he exclaimed.

Amused, you giggled and playfully urged him to indulge in your other breast, a request he readily fulfilled. His lips enveloped the bud, initiating another round of sucking. Simultaneously, his hand ventured down into his hakama pants, and you bit your lower lip witnessing him palm his dick within the confines of his clothing. Occasional grunts punctuated the air, and he would intermittently nibble on your nipple, each bite gentle enough not to cause any discomfort.

"Just like that," you encouraged, your fingers gently stroking his nape. "Holy shit, it feels so good, Karaku…"

He persisted until no more milk flowed into his mouth. With a final, fervent suck, a groan escaped him, and with blush covering your cheeks, you observed the formation of a damp stain in the center of his pants — an unmistakable testament to his climax.

A moan escaped your lips as you drew him into a passionate kiss. "You've really eased my discomfort, my love," you whispered, gazing up at him with a grateful smile. "Thank you. My breasts feel so much better now."

Karaku grinned, gently pinning you down onto the futon. "Well then, let me continue having some more fun with you, my sexy mommy."

#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥 #sinful sunday #anime smut #smutty blurb #divider by cafekitsune #kny smut #karaku x reader #karaku smut #karaku x you #karaku x y/n #demon slayer smut #hantengu clones #karaku demon slayer #karaku kny

[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night Azriel found out her secret

azriel x rhysand's sister (oc)

warnings: angst, mention of injuries and slight abuse

summary: Azriel is concerned over Val's strange behavior and when he sees she is hurt, he demands to know who hurt her only to find an answer he had never thought to expect.

A/N: this is an imagine among my collection of imagines that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. while I'm still working on them, you can find the masterlist for it here. this takes place months after the Solstice imagine. I'm excited bc now that they're all older, we can get into the more romance/angsty bits :)

**

Azriel sat in a cozy armchair in the living room of the house. He tried to immerse himself into the words in the book but could not focus. Lady Yvaine was with her husband, Rhysand was with Andrina and Cassian was with Tanwyn. But Valeria was nowhere in sight and the lateness of the hour only heightened his concern.

Over the past few weeks, a newfound worry had taken root within Azriel, gnawing at his thoughts and leaving him restless.  Valeria, usually vibrant and full of energy, now seemed burdened, her spirit dimmed. Azriel had noticed the change, the fatigue etched on her face, and the wince in her walk some days. He once confronted her about a bruise that marred her skin the other day only for her to laugh and brush it off. He knew something was wrong, and had sent his shadows after her but even they couldn't discern the secret she so closely  guarded.

As he closed his book, readying himself to go search for her, his shadows whirled around him, a silent alarm rippling through them. His senses sharpened, attuned to the faint sounds of a soft, uneven gait approaching. 

A moment later, Valeria emerged into the room, her face contorted in pain, failing to conceal her discomfort. As she lifted her gaze, her steps paused and her violet eyes widened.

 It was evident she hadn't anticipated finding Azriel awake at this late hour. She took a moment to catch her breath, her gaze shifting from the Shadowsinger and then to her injured ankle. "Azriel," she stammered, "I didn't expect anyone to be awake."

Azriel immediately closed his book and set it aside, his attention fully on her. Concern etched his features as he rushed to her. "What happened?" 

“I was skating and fell.” Valeria replied, wincing as she leaned against the armrest of the couch, her ankle clearly in pain.

“At this hour?” Azriel’s voice was a mix of worry and reproach. Valeria never skated alone and he was certain that Mallory was not allowed to be out this late in the camp.

"Yeah." Valeria replied, attempting to brush his concern off the same way she had the other day when he saw her bruise but the pain in her eyes betrayed her stoicism. 

Azriel knelt beside her, his touch gentle as he examined her ankle. His shadows were also concerned. Some of them left his side and rushed to her, inspecting her for other injuries. They shuddered when they sensed more bruises on her arm.

Rage surged within him as he realized her ankle was broken, further fueled by the information from his shadows. He did not believe her story one bit. The gentleness that had initially marked his expression was replaced by a fierce determination as he looked up at her, his fingers loosening their grip on her ankle.

“Tell me who did this.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking.” 

“No one.” Valeria replied.

Azriel’s patience wore thin, a storm brewing in his eyes. Anger flashed, not directed at Valeria, but at the person who came to mind. “It was Damien, wasn’t it?”

The two had grown close in the past four weeks and three days. Azriel was acutely aware of the time as each day had been miserable for him. He despised Damien for the way he made her smile, the way he elicited her laughter. It was a fierce envy– an ache that gnawed at Azriel. He yearned to be the one to bring such joy to Valeria. He had always had a bad feeling about Damien, an unsettling intuition that prickled at his senses. If Damien so much as touched her…

“No!” Valeria's quick response cut through the air.

Azriel took her denial with a bitter twist in his heart, turning away with heavy steps as he made his way to the door. His thoughts were a tempest, a raging storm barely contained, fueled by the mere notion of someone daring to harm Valeria.

“Wait!” Valeria lunged forward, her fingers reaching for Azriel’s hand. She winced as it caused her further pain, steps faltering.

Azriel caught her with his ease, his hands at her sides. Her violet eyes were desperate, glistening with tears as she looked up at him. “I’ll tell you the truth but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even my mother or Rhys.”

She found herself hesitating for a moment, her gaze dropping to the ground. She knew she couldn't hide it any longer from Azriel. She knew that despite his distance the past couple of weeks, he still cared for her well-being. 

He reached out for her face, forcing her to look back at him. His hazel eyes pleaded with her. “Tell me. Please.” His fingertips brushed her cheek, a tender touch laden with an unspoken yearning.

"I've been sneaking off to train with someone," Valeria confessed, her words rushed, the weight of the secret suddenly pouring out. "I met Tanwyn and she introduced me to some of her friends. The valkyries have been teaching me how to fight, to defend myself.”

Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise and concern, realization dawning on him. “Does Cassian know?”

“Not at first.” Valeria admitted. “I sought out the valkyries on my own. I had been training with them for three months when he caught me. I made him promise not to tell anyone.”

“Months?” Azriel echoed.

“It’s been a whole year now.” Valeria replied sheepishly.

Azriel did not know which of the two was more surprising: Valeria sneaking off to train with the valkyries for a year or Cassian keeping her secret well for months. He wanted to express his disapproval. It was not a good idea for her to be sneaking out, especially not in Windhaven, but he knew Valeria had made her choice.

"At first, the training exercises were simple and focused on maintaining balance and building endurance," Valeria said, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and frustration. "But Zeila, Tanwyn’s instructor, said I was ready to start sparring, so I did, and I was doing so well--" her eyes conveyed her joy, and Az couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride swell in his heart. There was also a sense of relief that her injuries were not a result of malice "--but today, I underestimated my sparring partner’s strength and lost my footing, and well, now my ankle is broken."

Azriel’s gaze softened. “Why keep this from Rhys?”

"Rhys worries about me," Valeria explained, her eyes reflecting her inner turmoil. "He wouldn’t want me to get involved in dangerous activities. He would try to stop me. Besides, if I get caught by my father and he finds out that Rhys knew…”

Azriel sighed, torn between his loyalty to Rhysand and his desire to protect Valeria.

 "I'll keep your secret.” He finally decided. 

Valeria beamed up at him and she threw her arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Azriel’s lips curved into a smile as he returned her embrace, his shadows doing somersaults at the closeness. “Just please promise me to be careful. You can’t afford to get hurt like this.”

“Of course.”

Azriel pulled back to look at her again, his hand reaching to brush a loose hair away from her face and then resting on her cheek. He felt the warmth of her skin. His shadows danced around, echoing his fondness and protectiveness. “Now, let’s get you healed. I’m afraid I’m going to have to snap your ankle back into place for it to heal properly.”

"Okay," Valeria smiled back at him, her trust in him evident in her eyes as she allowed him to guide her to the couch.

As he attended to her, he was aware of the warmth of their closeness and the soft smiles they exchanged stirred a longing within Azriel. It was a longing he had buried deep, afraid of what it meant, but now it was impossible to deny. His shadows whispered that it was more than friendship, and his heart dared to agree.

Little did he know that Valeria mirrored his feelings. 

She watched him intently, his gentle touch sending both comfort and thrills through her. The play of emotions on his face was a symphony she yearned to decode.

She had to bite her lip to keep from screaming when he set her ankle back into place. The pain was sharp and sudden, making her gasp for breath. Azriel's eyes locked onto hers in that moment, his concern palpable. Valeria didn’t know if it was the pain searing through her leg or the look he was giving her, but she felt dizzy. His gaze held a depth that stirred something deep within her, a connection she'd never felt so strongly before. It was a look that left her both vulnerable and hopeful with a longing she couldn’t put into words. The pain subsided, leaving behind a lingering ache, not just in her ankle, but also in her heart.

**

tag list: @justrepostandlove @kemillyfreitas

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #rhysand's sister #rhysand imagine #acotar imagine #acosm #azriel imagine

[wolken-himmel]

In which Jade and Floyd try to make (Y/n) fall in love with Azul — with the help of a very convincing PowerPoint presentation!

Request by anon.

[This is Part (2/2); Part (1/2) can be found here.]

"Shrimpy, it's so nice of you to join us today!"

The drawn down shutters veiled the Mostro Lounge in an ominous darkness that left you queasy and disoriented, especially when you noticed the ropes that bound your hands behind the chair you sat on. Your heart skipped a beat when a light beam was swung right onto you, almost blinding you entirely. But, just in time, two tall figures stepped in front of you to shield you: Jade and Floyd.

Was this an interrogation?

A growl escaped your lips upon spotting them. "I hate to break it to you, but I never was given the option whether to join you or not. You basically threw me over your shoulder and dragged me here..." you cried out and tried to wiggle your way out of the bounds.

Jade shrugged. "Fair point," he said, his passive attitude eliciting a sigh of relief from you. However, your newfound comfort was soon washed away when he stepped away, an eerie grin on his lips. "But instead of useless apologies, we shall start with today's event: a presentation on how wonderful, amazing, and kind our dorm leader Azul Ashengrotto is."

It was only then that you noticed how the bright light wasn't the produce of a lamp, but instead a beamer trained at the wall across from you. When Floyd pressed a little button on his remote, the pure whiteness shifted into the introduction transparency, the title being 'The Greatness and Generosity of Azul Ashengrotto' in a fancy font.

"Look! That's two alliterations in a row, Shrimpy!"

The sheer absurdity of the situation made you furrow your eyebrows as you stuttered out, "Why—"

"We heard you talking about our boss the other day," Floyd cut in, an amused grin on his lips while he watched you squirm in discomfort. "Shrimpy and the baby seal always think they're so stealthy— but they're not!"

"So... you heard me ramble about Azul to Grim."

"Precisely," Jade said. "And we did not like your conclusion — which, if you do not recall, said that you would give up your crush on Azul due to his exaggerated reputation as a manipulator."

You froze in your struggles to narrow your eyes at them coldly. "You guys are stalkers."

Floyd rolled his eyes, unaffected. "Hush, it's in the name of love—" His serious demeanour broke down into cackles as he added, "And less night shifts for me!"

"If you do not object, we shall begin, prefect."

"I do object—" you wailed out.

"Without further ado, let us begin," Jade announced, all the while ignoring your shouts of protest. It was only when he turned away from you that you ceased your attempts of rebellion. A satisfied smile on the eel's lips, he took a deep breath. "Azul Ashengrotto is at the top of his class, always revered as one of the most reliant and supportive students on campus."

"Supportive?" you cried out. "He manipulated students into signing shady contracts."

"Do you not see that he has changed his ways? The new system that has replaced the contracts is overtly generous," Jade explained smoothly.

At your argument being countered so easily, you shrank into yourself and, for a moment, deeply reconsidered your views. The only thing that the two Octavinelle students witnessed from you was a quiet, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Floyd clapped his hands in utter delight at you accepting your temporary defeat. "Oi, Shrimpy! I was wondering why you always avoided our boss!" he suddenly commented, and you jumped in fear. "A few days ago, you were laughing at one of my jokes when Azul slinked over— that's when you ran for the hills with your short legs..." A Cheshire cat grin appeared on Floyd's face.

Your cheeks heating up, you stuttered out an embarrassed, "B-Because I get nervous around him! He has that sophisticated air around him. And he's also really pretty..."

Floyd clicked his tongue mockingly. "Eh, poor Shrimpy... is just as socially awkward as Azul."

"Hey, I'm not! I'm only like that when he is around."

"That's a good sign for us, actually," Jade mumbled to himself, reconsidering his approach to the whole operation. Within a split second, he had made up his mind and turned to you, smiling kindly. "But (Y/n), we understand what your greatest fear is— what stops you from accepting your feelings."

"You would never..." you scoffed angrily.

"You fear that he will manipulate you and your feelings, to get whatever he wants before he drops you without a warning. You fear that his feelings for you will be without genuineness."

The vice dormleader's monologue left you speechless. Yet, your pride didn't allow you to completely show your awe, so you merely muttered a dejected, "Alright... maybe you do understand me a little bit." Your gaze downcast, you began prodding one feet against the other to busy your mind.

"Ugh, let me tell you, Shrimpy..." Floyd exclaimed vigorously and slung an arm around you. "Our boss likes you, too. And he's really serious about it! He's been nagging my ears off ever since he's overheard your little talk."

"Yes, Azul is quite determined and genuine in his pursuit for your heart," Jade added softly.

Your eyes wandered between the two of them, the expression on your face always flickering between uncertainty and suspicion. They had you caged in; there was nowhere else to look but their expectant faces — and the pressure was building up. And it was only when you couldn't take it anymore that you exhaled and whispered, "You sound so convincing, and yet my mind screams at me not to trust you slippery eels." Your head hurt from all the thinking.

Floyd gasped. "Slippery? How offensive!" he cried out dramatically. "We're moist, if I may correct."

Jade waved his brother off. "Anyway, what Floyd wanted to say is that you should try and get closer to Azul."

"And how would I do that?" you asked shyly, though there was a spark of determination in your voice now. "With what reason would I approach him?"

Floyd broke out into uncontrollable laughter. "Definitely not with the reason that we kidnapped you and forced you through an hour long presentation."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst x you #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #reader insert #y/n #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul ashengrotto #twst azul #twst azul x reader #twisted wonderland azul #jade leech #floyd leech #gender neutral reader

[thefinalthresh0ld]

hellsing fic wip

working on an andercard thing split into four ficlets, each (some more loosely) themed around the four "mortises" (pallor, algor, rigor, livor) aka the stages of death. I plan to publish it as a oneshot when they're all done but here's "algor mortis" if you're interested, because that's the one I wrote first

2. ALGOR MORTIS: post-mortem cooling of the body.

Alucard had very mixed feelings about the cold. At times, it made him ache. Even from within the bowels of Hellsing Manor, he could feel the cruel blanket of winter as a newfound stiffness in his body, and it was like death descending upon him once again. The damp stone walls of his basement were no longer a cool, refreshing relief, but an inhospitable barrier. His blood bags were always cold. There was no appeal to cold blood. Once, in desperation, he had drank from a body he found left in the woods—the staleness reminded him of day-old coffee. Even the light was cold, refracting tenfold on the white snow, yet only managing to assault his eyes and make him itch all over, never enough to warm him. 

But when he fought, when he hunted and killed and there was fresh blood and adrenaline to thaw his icy veins, it was worth it. Like the first rain after a long drought, England’s harsh winters only served to thrill his senses with violent contrast. 

Winter was the best time to fight Anderson. 

Before he saw the priest, he knew he was there. His human blood practically screamed out to Alucard—the vampire had been blessed with an almost infrared-like sense for flesh upon his turning, and Anderson ran hot. When Alucard had him up close, and he could feel the heat emanating from Anderson’s skin, from his blood, in waves from his wounds as he regenerated, the explosive division of his every cell fueling the fire they both fanned… there was no better cure for a cold winter’s night. A house fire couldn’t hold a candle to Anderson.

Alucard peered out into the town, hiding from the sun under the eaves of an abandoned cottage. From across the town’s open plaza came the crunch of Anderson’s heavy footfalls upon the snow, still falling around them. Illustrating the path behind him were two twin bayonets, drawing parallel lines that disappeared into the forest. His gaze was hidden by his glasses, which reflected bright white circles like miniature suns. 

“Hello, Father,” he grinned.

“Vampire.” 

“On a vacation to the countryside? I’d have thought Italy much nicer, this time of year.”

Anderson huffed, and perhaps Alucard only imagined the smell of his blood on the white clouds of breath that disappeared in the air. The snowflakes that fell on Anderson succumbed immediately to his body heat, curling quickly in on themselves and expiring into nothing. 

“To serve God is my only purpose, vampire.” The threat was sufficiently implied. I am the keeper of God’s kingdom, it said, and I will not allow your plague upon it. 

The first bayonet came to his shoulder, and Alucard allowed it. Piercing brittle, dead bone, the silver blade seared into the disorganized flesh of his physical form and elicited a cauterizing hiss. He delighted in the burning sensation that clouded his mind.

“I’d been missing you, Judas Priest.”

“Amen,” he said, and Alucard knew he felt the same.

Anderson drew the second bayonet up over his head and drove it directly through Alucard’s throat, who in the same instant shot Anderson through the middle and pulled him by the lapel into a headbutt that resulted in a sickening crack that even Anderson’s engineered human instincts couldn’t ignore the visceral discomfort of. As the priest regained his footing, Alucard gripped both bayonets by the blade and pulled them free, feeling the familiar friction, the painful pull of flesh shifting against itself, simultaneously reforming to fill in the gaps. He moved to toss the blades aside, but Anderson interrupted, grabbing both handles and pulling, slicing through Alucard’s palms and taking his left index and middle finger off at the second knuckle. 

Anderson lunged at him and Alucard deftly slipped away. Anderson narrowly avoided a collision with the cottage’s brick wall, catching himself with a gloved hand, smearing a bloody handprint that pooled in the lines of mortar.

They continued their dance across the plaza: step, step, shoot, step, step, stab. The tango left a blossoming trail, like a scatter of rose petals on the white sheets of a lover’s bed, latent with alluring promise—follow me to pleasure, follow me to pain, someone waits for you here, they want to take you. Alucard noticed along their path that, while his blood sat prettily on the surface of the snow, a falling drop of Anderson’s blood would create a wispy line of steam and bore a hole through the few inches of snow straight down to frozen earth—like his blood was drained of plasma, leaving only molten iron. Perfect.

Another bayonet came at Alucard’s heart; Casull’s titanium barrel redirected the silver blade in a shower of sparks. It lodged instead in the unguarded expanse of his stomach, where Anderson did not slice but tore a line down to his hip, pulling not parallel to the blade but perpendicular along one face in perhaps the most compelling testament to Anderson’s strength thus far. They both wore unsettling, punch-drunk grins. The flesh hanging from the vampire’s torso was in tatters, his monstrous imitation of human intestine spilling from the wound, tinged with the black fog that made up his more incomprehensible forms. 

He didn’t have to do this. The gory details—the bones, the sinew, the viscera—Alucard was fully capable of maintaining his physical form as a mere shell, leaving the insides a heterogenous mass of blood and tissue. He didn’t have to leave the spatters of blood on the ground or on Anderson’s coat, he could pull such small amounts of himself back inside almost as soon as they were lost. This gratuitous display of vulnerability, albeit ostentatious, was a show reserved only for the priest. Alucard willingly laid himself nearly bare for the only person (barring his master) who deserved to see it.

Their faces were hardly an inch apart. Anderson’s glasses were shattered in one lens; Alucard had abandoned his sunglasses entirely. He could feel the priest’s breath condensate on his cheeks in a warm sheen. A flush of exertion colored Anderson’s tanned skin with a sweet pink hue, exacerbated by the cold and the red reflection of Alucard’s vivid coat, and his short, bristly hair stuck out in odd spikes, wet with sweat and melted snow. A warmth gripped his shoulder with a bruising grip as Anderson braced himself against Alucard before wrenching the bayonet from his body with a sharp twist, the movement of the silver sending an exhilarated shiver up his spine. Anderson made a grumbling noise deep in his chest as he stumbled back, and Alucard could see the vibration in the priest’s clerical collar as he loomed a few inches over Hellsing’s nosferatu. His breath was ragged, and visible in the tatters of his shirt were an array of slashes and gaping gunshot wounds, filling themselves from the inside out with unfurling webs of muscle fibers.

So Alucard added another. In a swift movement he brought Jackal from beneath his coat and shot point-blank, blasting the right side of his face clean off. Anderson fell to the ground. His large body sunk into the snow and his blood melted into uneven, ruddy depressions, forming a perverse snow-angel. Alucard began pulling his blood back into his body from where it was strewn across the village’s entire length. 

In a few minutes he had returned to his original state, and he walked back to where Anderson remained in the snow. He stood over him, shadow shielding the priest from the sun. A drop of melted snow fell from Alucard’s hair and landed on Anderson’s face (now only missing an ear, but still smeared with soot), where it ran down his nose to his cheek before quickly drying. He grabbed Alucard’s ankle with a white-knuckle grip, but made no other move to continue the fight.

“Are we done for the day, Father Anderson? I fear Seras may be in need of me.” 

He scoffed. “A fine young girl you’ve ruined.” She’s better off this way would be the natural, combative reply, but they both knew she wasn’t.

“Well, she’s my responsibility either way. Go home to your children, Anderson.”

Anderson released Alucard’s ankle, and the warmth was swiftly replaced with a swirling draft around the cuff of his pant leg. He pushed himself to his feet, soaked cossack clinging to his frame. Alucard turned his back on Anderson first in an infuriating act of pride and courtesy. 

“Next time, vampire.”

“Don’t keep me–”

“I won’t.”

#hellsing #posting fics makes me feel so vulnerable like I feel naked #andercard

[comshipbracket]

Antis DNI - Block the tag "comship" if this causes discomfort.

Remember, you are voting for the ship you prefer, not the ship you find more problematic

Propaganda for both ships under the cut.

Disclaimer: All ships (other than NozoCoco) on this bracket are FOLLOWER-SUBMITTED ships, the Mods do not always hold necessary knowledge to be aware of any errors or fanonizing what should be canon material that may arise.

Amporacest Propaganda (Incest, Age-Gap, MinorxAdult)

"They're CANON. The image attached below is a screenshot of the ministrife where Cronus asks out Eridan on a DATE. Eridan also sees Cronus in a more messed up context because he's an alternate version of Eridan's ancestor who Eridan roleplayed as, and on Alternia, the planet they're from, ancestors are considered important, giving Cronus a power gap over Eridan even though in his universe that didn't really matter."

Lucifadam Propaganda (Harmful Dynamic)

"Lucifer is a fallen angel while Adam is still an angel, leading an army of exorcists that slaughters Lucifer's people annually. He's constantly killing demons, and Lucifer has basically given up trying to prevent this after several attempts. However, he has that protective fire reignited in him when Adam decides to go after Lucifer's daughter - and Lucifer makes a comment that many take in a more suggestive fashion than Lucifer intended. They're SO unhealthy for each other, but that one comment eliciting that kind of reaction sparked fun ideas for their ship in my head, so I wanted to submit these two together."

#comshipbracket #antis dni #antis do not interact #comship #comship safe #proship safe #comship bracket #comshipbracket3 #comshipbracket 3 #comship bracket 3 #comshipbracket3 round 1 #comshipbracket 3 round 1 #comship bracket 3 round 1 #Amporacest #Eridan Ampora #Cronus Ampora #Homestuck #Lucifadam #Lucifer Morningstar #Adam Hazbin Hotel #Lucifer Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel

[thetypingpup]

Ellie, I agree with the jealousy trope things, like I've found myself clicking off when it comes to those fics unless they're written a certain way, like if it's written like partner A gets jealous, they both have a productive conversation and then maybe there's smut, that's okay.

But other than that, it's like if you're upset or want something to happen a little more vigorously in the relationship, please just say that. No need to damage your partner's trust in you or trigger an insecurity that they feel they have to compensate for when you could just talk it out yk? And of course, this is no shade to people that like the trope, it's just not for me.

yea like if it's obvious it's a thing for both of you, like you're both into that and that's how you work (*cough* yanderes like off script *cough*) then that's one thing. but half the time, again, it's giving very much emotional manipulation bc you're not speaking up for what you actually want, so you go out of your way to do antics to make your partner upset or angry to get that response. there's a fine line between eliciting a scintillating response on purpose, and then just flat out emotional unhealthiness, and a lot of the times it dips into the latter and takes me out. and then if it's a situation of said partner "taking out their feelings" on you, especially when the reader doesn't seem to have much agency and doesn't say much and just kinda takes it, then that's a double ick for me. i have stuff to say about passive reader inserts in general but that boils down to its own set of personal preferences and everyone's got their own boundaries when it comes to that. some people find comfort in not having to speak up and endure the shame or discomfort of talking about something potentially awkward to them, so in these fantasies the partner is lowkey reading their mind and giving them what they want without them having to be embarrassed by it. i just happen to read situations like that very differently, which explains why i write the way i do.

[hollyhomburg]

"Don’t we make sure to love others the way that they need in part so that they’ll love us the way we need too?" Yeah, that's how I think of the "manipulation" part. It's nice that mc knows how she could act to be considered cute and appeal to the alphas' instincts. (she mainly learned to act this way because of ex and then Moonbyul probably...ew. But now the pack and her are mutually in genuine and sweet love imo) I think it's a good thing and not a bad thing. Both sides are happy when she acts cute because the love each other. I think your question is the right answer. I think that mc didn't try to actively manipulate them with bad intentions at first, later, or even now. She didn't want Yoongi's help to get away from her ex because she cared about Yoongi and his pack people omg. I think there's been other times where mc is "manipulative"? (Again, I am not saying it's a bad thing. does this part even count? I feel like it can idk...) One of the ones I remember rn is Jungkook saying this in ch 44: “They’ll baby you- Namjoon especially, if you complain about it they’ll be all over you.” You giggle, happy to have a tutor in Jungkook. If he can teach you how to extract every inch of babying from the pack you’ll gladly listen and learn." And then mc does this in ch 45. "you press your face into Jin’s chest. But it’s all for show, you feel no discomfort through it all. It’s all to elicit more of those cooing and shushing noises that have you feeling soft and floaty." Also mc is a precious lil bean who can do no wrong in my eyes lol. I feel so protective over her because of her past and she's so cute. I can't believe people think her being "manipulative" is a bad thing :/

YES- idk how this ask got lost in my inbox but YES YES YES. this is exactly what i mean about /manipulation/ and how if the m/c is manipulative at all- it's mostly like this. absolutely harmless. and like you said- the times that she's offered the option to be manipulative to benifit her own safety- the second the stakes get a little higher- she's resistant to it.

god i forgot how cute jk and the m/c are like- fuck they're both such sweet subs who just want to squeeze every bit of babbying off of jin and namjoon but 👀 i'm so into it...i really want to touch on a hole check in the next chapter but the way it's structured right now is just- the m/c and yoongi being lovey doey and idk if i wanna change that <3

[reembodied]

There's a phrase I've been using for a while to explain my pre-transition sex life which, every time I mention it to other trans women, elicits a full groan of fuckor, so I feel I should share it with y'all.

Before I transitioned, when I was an ostensibly straight guy, I was always in such intense awe of my partners, always filled with this sense of 'you deserve every last drop of pleasure I can give you", and always with this baseline presumption of 'my discomfort doesn't matter, my arm fingers tongue can get however achey and sore they're capable of, I'm gonna keep going, because your pleasure simply matters more--i can just ignore the pain-- and I could never give you enough'. There was also often an undercurrent of "I've got to push to fully exhaust you so that you can't try to turn the focus back on me and my body or pleasure." I often called partners goddesses, Aphrodite incarnate, a stunning manifestation of the embodied divine, the pinnacle of the human form; I waxed poetic with praise, I was always overflowing with wonderment at their curves or pleasure, the softness of their skin, thinking I was just *really* into women, never picking up on the undercurrent of my yearning.

I call it "dysphoric egg service top energy".

#trans

[ruki--mukami]

(Nsfw) Eve walks up to you saying her breasts really hurt

⚠️ NSFW BELOW: 18+ ⚠️

"Don't worry, Eve. I promise you the pleasure from my fangs will assuage the pain in no time... Just sit still and don't move an inch. Your master will put you out of your misery with each bite. Ah... They're just aching to carve into your flesh and spill your blood. The sensation overflowing from rupturing your veins and nearing your heart itself will supersede that of the discomfort you feel right now."

One by one, each button of her shirt quickly came undone to reveal the swell of her breasts to him neatly tucked behind any undergarments which soon followed suit, unclasped and discarded. Peppering kisses from the base of her throat, along her collarbones, and down to the soft mounds of flesh, Ruki fondled the right side as he sank his sharp ivories with the utmost alacrity and urgency into the left, thunderclaps of her excited heartbeat pulsating into his eardrums as he buries his fangs deeper and deeper to elicit a profuse eruption of blood. A guttural moan escaped him, exulting in the rich and coppery taste of life essence, pinching and pulling at the sensitive nodule until their pleased sounds mixed together.

"Haah... How beautiful, like a crimson flower blooming on your chest."

Crimson coated both hypnotic peaks as streams of blood burned down her skin, hot and metallic in contrast to his chill and agile tongue. Flickering the wet muscle along the pillowy mounds, Ruki wasted no time in cleaning the mess he made, each puncture soon treated with the cathartic properties of his saliva and his enthralling touch. Open-mouthed kisses full of a dizzying suction with every caress encapsulated her breast as though plucking the petals of red from the pistil, sending titillating waves of electricity through her.

"Tell me what other places of yours hurt at once."

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #ask #react #diabolik lovers rp #dungeon

[tothedarkdarkseas]

I'm curious about your thoughts on the new album, musically?

I've been trying to come up with lengthier, loftier things to say, as I can imagine it elicits sighs and eyerolls and invite a deeper divide for me to give an ungracious answer, but as of right now, this is the plainest response I can give: I've listened to the album three times, and though I wouldn't go so far as saying "I disliked the experience," it was something I felt that... I was making an effort to do. That is undoubtedly influenced by the phase at large and the highs & lows I've had through it, and unfortunately that's not giving it the strongest springboard for me. That's probably not enough time to form a forever-opinion, and music is something that breathes and rests differently with you the more time you spend with it.

After seeing it live, Cracker Island the song grew on me more, and I think I'd feel comfortable saying I enjoy it a good bit. Silent Running and New Gold are very decent tunes but haven't made an unforgettable impression on me yet, likely as I haven't given anything of this cycle the committed replay slot that tracks from every previous album have had. In a similar vein, musically Skinny Ape sounds good, maybe even among the best melodies, but lyrically I feel incredibly discomforted and distant from it; I struggle putting it to words, especially against such an opposing view in the fandom, and feel I'd only attract more ire for trying to dig at that hole and make it a crater. I'm sorry. Maybe I'll feel differently about it one day. I actually don't mind Oil as much as some critiques I've seen and find it to be one of the more relistenable songs, but I'd agree it's not the best use of Stevie Nicks by far, and Damon's revelation that it wasn't written for a Stevie feature makes sense. Possession Island is alright with me as well, and I can admit it'd be unfair to compare it against Valley of the Pagans as they're clearly aiming for two different atmospheres, but I think the overlap in the setting/subject and obviously the feature makes it difficult not to begin comparing the two, and then it's an impulsive and unwanted slip toward comparing the entire album against others. I think I may like Tarantula, but it's not an overwhelming sort of like. Those are the only tracks I have much of an ear for yet. I'd say The Tired Influencer and Baby Queen are skips for me at the moment, and I feel stupid for putting Tormenta in that pile too, but honestly, they all sort of inhabit slightly different levels of "neutral." More than anything, I'm left with the last lines of our introductory song repeating in my head: Nothing more to say.

I love that Gorillaz is experimental. I love that the sound is ever-changing, and that Damon is free to explore his whims. It hasn't always suited everyone and hasn't always suited me, but that's never felt like a barrier, either. "A feature, not a bug." That's still how I feel about Gorillaz moving forward. There's a predominant sound over this album that isn't so much to my personal taste, and that isn't a statement of objective quality, but it's a statement of-- of music not being an objective thing. Of music almost never being an objective thing. And if that's the beauty of it, the weight and validity it gives to those gut feelings, then it must also be why it's fair to feel out of sync with it. There's a connecting train between us that I've missed, for now. Maybe I'll catch it another time. I haven't given it a fair chance, I think, and I'm not unbiased, I know. Part of me really does want to say that's alright, though. I still have hopes moving forward, in some ways. Maybe not expectations, but... hope shaped by dreaming if not believing.

#i have heard the bonus tracks but in a google media upload and i'm like. stupid. so i have to ask: #the site says the deluxe is available to stream but... is that excluding spotify streaming? #the songs are fun and i appreciate them but not being able to stream them with the album is making it harder to envision it all together #captain chicken is great though. i love superfast jellyfish so this scratches a very similar itch

[spurgie-cousin]

I want to start therapy but I’m scared it’ll reveal some things that I don’t want to encounter. My parents have a dysfunctional separated relationship and my mom would accuse him of random stuff that I know for a fact isn’t true (like him poisoning her water when both of us were in the car) there’s a fundamental lack of trust between him and her, because she said he cheated on her when I was 5 with a man. I don’t know I love both of them even though my mom really upsets them and I don’t want the therapist to demonize one of them. But I know my moms behavior is hurtful and she doesn’t apologize sometimes even though she is loving

All of these things sound like very good reasons to start therapy, imo.

A good therapist is not going to 'demonize' anyone. They are there to provide a 3rd party, neutral perspective on your situation bc that can be hard for the people within the situation to do themselves.

I know it can be hard to accept that people you love have hurt you, especially when you believe it was unintentional, but acknowledging that doesn't mean you have to stop loving them. Intentional or not, the hurt needs to be dealt with, and addressing it might even improve your relationships down the road.

Therapy is hard. It's not easy or fun to lay out the most sensitive parts of your life for a stranger, it hurts and can elicit strong emotions but that's all part of healing. Drawing blood or surgery or getting stitches isn't fun, but sometimes it's necessary to heal a physical wound and that's how I think about therapy also. A little discomfort now in exchange for more peace and understanding of yourself in the long run.

As someone who's done therapy, I can't recommend it enough. They're not there to judge you or make you hate people in your life. They might tell you some hard truths about them if they think it's important to your healing, but they also will give you tools on how to deal w/ those hard relationships in the future.

#queue #not fundie related #advice #mental health

[sskk-ao3feed]

spirit willing greed consumed

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/MPVrteN by auroraheart “I suppose you’re right,” Akutagawa states quietly. “I cannot resist you, after all.” “Deplorable,” Atsushi scoffs, reaching back to run his hands through the raven hair, gripping tighter than previous and eliciting a small whine of discomfort from the other. “Now show me, Ryuunosuke.” or: returning from canon!world, beast!sskk fuck out their feelings Words: 1999, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 3 of twin flames Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Relationships: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - BEAST Light Novel (Bungou Stray Dogs), Jealousy, they're... jealous of themselves..., Explicit Sexual Content, Worship, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke is Down Bad (Bungou Stray Dogs), i'll invent that tag and die on this hill, Light Dom/sub, Praise Kink, borderline pet play i wouldn't say it's crazy but; pup aku?, Blow Jobs, Bottom Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Top Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), weretiger stamina the re-up: akutagawa just takes it edition, Anal Plug, Hair-pulling, there's a fucking lot of it, Begging read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/MPVrteN

#ao3feed sskk #akuatsu #fic rec

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

(〇o〇；): What is their body language like when they are stressed? Do they try and hide the fact that they are stressed? How do they recover from said stress?

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

(〇o〇；): What is their body language like when they are stressed? Do they try and hide the fact that they are stressed? How do they recover from said stress?

━━ I have detailed Robin's nervous behavior here but I think its important to recognize that this is how I'm differing the two feelings of nervousness and stress because they are closely related but they're not the same.

Stress is a continued feeling of mental/emotional discomfort as a result of some mishap or anticipated event which triggers the emotion. This generally comes with long term consequences, mental and physical, that can become permanent. Stress alters neural dynamics and precipitates disorders that shape personality traits involving negative affectivity. Nervousness is the state of mind arising out of anxiety and stress which elicit negative behavior patterns; it is one of many reactions that can come from these feelings and is usually fleeting without permanent consequences.

Now that we have that out of the way Robin has a few different ways in which stress affects him; and it is (mostly) all able to be hidden away. Due to growing up in Zaun Robin has had to train himself since childhood to be able to separate the trigger from the emotion afterward; he doesn't directly react to anything and however he does react in that situation is a decision. He can read people like a book and knows exactly what expressions to make and words to say - so he keeps all of his feelings hidden. He doesn't want to shoot himself in the foot by showing any indication of personal weakness, the less the person knows about him, the more he has the upper hand. He's rarely interested in people, at least in the long haul, and this really helps him play with them. Vulnerability is weird, it's basically like giving your enemies ammo to shoot you with - but again when at any point in his life he's personally been "vulnerable" with someone, it's typically pre-planned to workout in his favor and get their trust.

Is this entire thing a huge stress response from his childhood? Oh yeah.

And because of this I don't think Robin will ever be able to "recover" from that stress - it's part of him and has been part of him since the moment he breathed Zaun's rancid air in. His mind has been changed and forced into this survival tactic to cope with the reality of his environment and eventually he doubled down on it once his family was lost. Clinically he's chronically stressed but will never be able to recognize it and will get annoyed with anyone who points it out - all except Abel. Shockingly Abel is the one "person" in the entire world that Robin can just ... emote around without repercussions due to the Faustian bargain between both of them.

Granted now even that safe place it gone.

Robin has a few physical indications that he does utilize when indicating that he's deep in thought though, since he doesn't show any direct stress reactions, so if your muse notices this congratulations they've managed to intrigue him (even if its only for a short while). He stims in quite a few ways, he is often seen twirling parts of his hair, particularly this piece, its the same across every universe he is in:

Another thing he does is tut or lick the cut in his lip, its become a very bad habit for him but he can't seem to stop doing it. He pulls his gloves tight, fiddles with his earring, and readjusts his cuffs too - he likes to keep his hands busy.

#ℝ𝕆𝔹𝕀ℕ 𝔸. 𝔹𝔸𝕌𝔻𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕀ℝ𝔼 ... 【 ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ-ᴇʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 】 #physical detail meme #heredis sanguinis #mun speaks #i could talk about robin all day fr