#psiisign

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Psii in my mind is... Heavily damaged, extremely traumatized, and rather unpredictable. Not evil by any means, but he acts as a wounded prey animal most of the time.

Severe separation anxiety, if signy is gone he will have a panic attack(even if the girls are there). He also sees signy as a surrogate master, and has(quietly) sworn himself to service.

Cries a lot, sometimes for no reason. Usually the reason is that he is catastrophising in his mind. But also... He is plagued with voices and visions. So like i get it dude.

Signy is a big big enabler, like, he unintentionally reinforces psiis anxiety and unintentionally conditions psii into needing him, rather than teaching/allowing psii to cope on his own(or even with help from dis or rosa). Signy will comfort psii in any situation, and almost always takes his side(seeing psii as someonewho needs to be saved and coddled), and this really irritates dis(bc she is, surprisingly, a lot more mature than signy), and sometimes she feels like signy plays favorites(its ambiguous as to whether or not he does)

Beforus is cooler than most planets, the purple moon lighting the night sky and making the landscape nearly glow.

Kankri Vantas sighs as he settles against the sturdy trunk behind him, closing his book on a long finger as he looks up at the stars. He had been reading, steady and peaceful, when something shook him from his reverie.

He glances at his phone, wondering if perhaps the sudden nagging suspicion in the back of his head was a missed conversation. Everything seemed to be in order: meenah had been ragging on him without a proper comeback from him, porrim was fussing, Mituna was still trying to trick him into downloading a virus, and Cronus....

The tips of Kankri's ears turn red, and he tucks his phone away again. No new messages, so perhaps it was just Aranea trying to subtly influence his mind into reading the wall of text she had sent him two days ago. One day he'll let her know the trick didn't really work on mutants; then again, for as much as highbloods listened to him he may as well stay silent.

He really wonders how he got such an array of terrible friends.

His caretaker is calling him, but he ignores it. He's not in the mood for a new outfit or another picture or whatever else they've come up with this time. Kankri scowls, rubbing his neck where the thin collar used to reside; he had finally torn enough off in irritation for his caretaker to throw her hands up in exasperation and stop buying them.

He supposes it could be worse; Damara's caretaker often times didn't bring her food for solar cycles. She relied on her lowblood neighbors to bring her food, especially Rufioh to fly in food and drink.

Rufioh's caretaker had tried to cut off his wings when he pupated, fearful of what it might mean. Rufioh had hidden in Cronus's hive for days before the empress caught wind and reassigned him.

Some would say it was lucky for the lowbloods to have so many highblood friends, especially a Tyrian and a violet blood: the two highest on the spectrum ready to protect and keep them in comfort.

Kankri can't help but wonder, however, what it would be like to actually be able to live his life on his terms. To have people listen to what he wanted instead of deciding for him.

He glances at his phone again and opens up a chat, scrolling past the virus laden links to find the last message Mituna had sent when they were actually chatting. A file to download, a game which Mituna promised would change their lives forever.

Kankri hesitates, his finger hovering over the file. Could change really be that simple? The world was stacked to view him as a pet; a game couldn't change that could he?

Would his friends go in without him if he said no?

Kankri presses the his finger to the file, starting the download.

"Mituna, you'd better be right."

----

"Who's Mituna?"

Targus blinks once, twice, and the firelight swims back into focus. The twin alternian moons cast the landscape in a sickly light: the purple and green mixing to create an uneasy landscape.

The preacher's head is pillowed on his friend's chest, and the hand that had been lazily tracing patterns into his arm had stilled.

Psiimon is looking at him, a slight frown on his face and brow furrowed. Then again, that seemed to be his default expression since his moods ranged from grumpy and enraged.

"What?" Targus says, starting to play with the thick fabric of psiimons clothes again. He dressed like some kind of ridiculous mage, but Targus only found it endearing. He really was in to deep with this, but he had precious few joys on a world that wanted him dead from birth.

"You said, 'you'd better be right about this Mituna'." Psiimons brows furrow even more, his hand moving to bury in Targus's choppy hair. "Who's Mituna?"

Targus hums, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Don't worry about it. It's a long story." He tucks himself further against his chest, closing his eyes again.

Psiimon snorts, playing with an errant lock of hair that curves upward stubbornly. "You look weird as hell when you're having your visions. I think you're having a stroke every time you go glassy eyed."

Targus smirks, leaning up to press his lips against the yellow blood's. "You always know exactly how to sweet talk me." He says dryly, laughing as the other flicks his forked tongue against his cheek.

They fall back into a comfortable silence, Psiimon stroking up and down his spine and making him purr softly. Targus wants to be lulled back into a peaceful doze, to be content to rest in his matesprit's arms, but the vision is still dancing in his head.

To be friends with highbloods.... a Tyrian no less. Anyone with blood higher than Jade wanted his guts to decorate the most royal halls of the empress, at best. Not to mention having a flush crush for a seadweller? The audacity of it would make a blue blood blush. Even with the babying it was still a better cage than the one he was in now.

He wonders what it's like, to be so free that you could blatantly show your mutant blood and only be treated as something to be desired.

"Sometimes I wish I didn't have them." He suddenly murmurs, curling his fingers against his chest. "I wish I didn't know."

Psiimon is quiet, his breathing slow and steady, but Targus knows he's listening. Knows he won't judge.

".... I wish I didn't know this wasn't the only way I could live." He says, and suddenly he's so, so tired, the weight of his life resting hard on his shoulders. "I wish I didn't know how things could be."

Psiionic holds him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I know." He says softly, cupping the back of his head, "I know. And I'm sorry, I'd take them from you if I could."

They're quiet for a moment, simply holding each other as the wildlife of Alternia chirps and screeches around them.

".... although." Targus says after a moment, resting his chin against his chest. "I suppose if I never had these visions I never would've met you."

Psiimon smiles, kissing him again, slow and sweet. "That was corny as hell Targus." He says with a smirk, giving him a squeeze as he laughs.

".... in that other world." Psiimon speaks up again when they've gone quiet, Targus content for now. "The one you can see. Are we... are we still friends?"

Targus hums, playing with a button. "Yeah, we are. But I'm flushed for Orphaner Dualscar."

Psiimon starts, but rolls his eyes after a moment. "Figures your shit taste would transcend worlds."

look at these ancestor nerds

CAN

CAN I 

CAN I TAKE THIS AS CANONICAL PROOF THAT PSIIONIIC IS RED FOR SIGNLESS AND IS NOT SURE HOW TO HANDLE IT

CAN I DO THAT

CAN AT LEAST ONE OF MY OTPS BE HALF CANON

IM CRYING