#at dark i become loathsome

[gneebee]

Yay Norman!

[joyful-enchantress]

Spring Heat (18+) | Loki x Fem!Reader

banner created by the amazing @springdandelixn

A/N: You help your husband through his yearly heat, which is part of the Jotun mating cycle. He's afraid he might hurt you, but you are determined to stay... I wrote this for @springdandelixn and her Double-Trouble Sleepover! Congratulations, Beanie, my love! I hope you enjoy this little fic that I put together for you 🖤

Genre/Warnings: Jotun mating cycle AU, smut (18+), rough sex, choking, dubcon? (everything is consensual but Loki is not entirely in control of himself), language, light angst, fluff too, filth with feeling, established relationship

Word Count: 3182

The sights and sounds of springtime were all around you as you strolled through the palace grounds —

The busy twittering of birds as they searched for food and fought over tree branches on which to build their nests.

The chattering of squirrels and rabbits and other small animals as they came out of hiding to begin a new season of life.

The rich shade of green returning to the grass in the meadow, speckled with pops of color where wildflowers were beginning to bloom.

Speaking of blooming flowers -- the palace gardens were thriving, and in the next couple of weeks were sure to become a spectacle of color, ranging from delicate pastel hues to bright, vibrant tones. Just in time for the Spring Festival that would be held at the end of the month.

Yes, spring was upon you. Your favorite season. It meant warmer temperatures and sunshine and new life.

But despite all the bright cheerfulness that spring brought with it, for your husband, Loki, it also brought with it a certain darkness.

His heat.

Loki was of Jotun blood; a Frost Giant. And with that heritage came certain Jotun traits, some more easily embraced than others. One such trait that your husband found more loathsome than the rest was the Jotun mating cycle.

Each year since his body matured, around the time of the Spring Equinox, Loki would find himself at the mercy of his primal instincts. Unable to control his animalistic urges to mate, he’d lock himself in his chambers until it would pass.

That is, until you had something to say about it.

When you learned of the agony he endured — both physically and emotionally — locked in his chambers for anywhere from one week to one month until his heat cycle passed, you couldn’t bear it. You had to do something to help, if you could.

You remembered the conversation you’d had with him well. It was shortly after your wedding…

————

“Loki, isn’t there anything that would make it easier to endure? Or at least make it come to an end more quickly? I can’t imagine a week of that, let alone a month.”

“Unfortunately, no, darling. There isn’t really anything that can be safely done to help it. The healers can give me an elixir that will suppress it, but I can’t take it every year, or it would lose its effectiveness. And besides, a heat the year after a suppressed heat is always more intense and agonizing.”

Your eyebrow cocked, looking at him with curiosity. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience…?”

He took a deep breath before answering, “Yes, I’ve taken suppressants occasionally in the past. The temptation of a year of reprieve was too great for me to resist at times. But I always found that the following year’s heat was far worse than what is typical. More desperation, more madness, more… pain.”

Your heart broke for him in that moment.

“Why does it last so long, Loki?”

He gave a mirthless chuckle. “It lasts as long as it takes for one of two things to happen. Either it quite literally burns its way out of my system, like a fever that takes weeks to break. Or…”

His voice trailed off, and he looked off into the distance, as if he was searching for his thought amongst the forests and rolling hills.

“Or…?” You gently encouraged him to continue.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh and quietly admitted, “Or… I mate. Breed. Fuck.”

Something about the way he enunciated the hard ‘k’, his Adam’s apple bobbing sinfully as the sound clicked in his throat, had your core throbbing with need and a wave of hot arousal unfolding over your body.

You blinked a few times as you contemplated what he said. “Well that seems easy enough,” you replied cooly, as if you were discussing the weather.

“What…?” He looked at you, perplexed.

“If having a good fuck will bring your agony to an end, then that seems like an easy solution to me. I can help you with that —”

“NO!” His rich baritone voice boomed as it cut you off, dripping with authority, anger, and — was that fear? “You don’t understand, my love. I am not myself when this happens. I lose myself, I lose control. I no longer am capable of keeping up the Asgardian façade; my Jotun form takes over and I am overcome with the primal desire to mate. I lose all regard for decency, I become… a monster. I am a monster.”

“Loki…” you reached a hand up to caress the side of his stupidly beautiful face, running your thumb soothingly along his sharp cheekbone and slotting your palm against his chiseled jaw, which was tightly clenched. A sign of his distress. “I love you, Loki. Let me help you through this.”

“I love you too, darling. More than my life itself. Which is exactly why I can’t let you do this.” He wrapped his large hand around the back of yours and turned his head to the side to tenderly kiss your palm. “It isn’t safe. I could hurt you. Badly.”

“I trust you, Loki. I trust you with my life, no matter what physical form you assume.” The next words you uttered came to you as easily as breathing, “I want to do this. Please. Use me. Use my body to sate your desires and end your own suffering.”

His emerald eyes widened at your words, most likely shocked at how brazen and self-assured they were. But swirling behind the shock was something else. Reverence. Trepidation. And lust.

He slowly swallowed, gathering himself together and collecting his thoughts after you scrambled them with your salacious plea.

“Alright then, darling.” He cautiously relented, his eyes boring into yours, searching for any sign that you were having second thoughts or hints of doubt. “Come springtime, when my next heat cycle is upon me, I’ll let you help me. I’ll let you be the balm that soothes my burning, searing ache.”

————

And now, spring was upon you. And any day now, it would be time to make good on your promise to him. For better or worse. You suddenly had a renewed appreciation for the words you spoke in your wedding vows to him, just 8 months ago.

Loki has been warning you for the past few days that his heat is imminent, and could take over at any time. He could feel it; all the warning signs were there. The restlessness. The irritability. The discomfort. Crawling under his skin like an itch he can't scratch. Until it makes him snap.

Each and every time, he asked if you were still sure. He reminded you that you could change your mind, that he didn't expect you to do this. That he'd never expect you to do this. It was entirely your choice.

And each and every time, you stood firm in your decision. You wanted to help him. You would do this.

The sun was beginning to set on your evening stroll, so you altered your route so that it would lead you back towards the private chambers that you shared with Loki. As you approached the hallway which led to your shared door, you could feel a distinct, unseasonal chill in the air.

Was this it? Was tonight the night?

Once you reached the ornate wooden door, you noticed a thin blanket of frost coating the edges of it, as if, behind the door, was the force of winter itself, its icy chill seeping through the gaps between the door and the frame.

You reflected for a moment on the irony that all this frost and chill was the result of something called a heat, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself.

But then you remembered that not just fire, but ice, too, can burn.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and the cold seeping through the doorframe wasn't entirely to blame.

You took a moment to gather your courage, reminding yourself that this was Loki. Your husband. Your one true love.

You could do this.

You softly knocked, each tap of your knuckles against the cold wood sending a jolt of bravery through you.

"Loki... can I come in?"

"Pet..." The voice that answered you was familiar, but more... ragged. It was deeper, if that was even possible, and assumed a huskiness that made your usually gentle husband sound nothing short of feral.

It sent a surge of hot, wet arousal through you, which pooled between your thighs.

"I'm here, Loki..." you whispered like a prayer. "Let me help you."

"This is your last chance, pet," he warned. "You can still change your mind. But the moment you open the door, I'm afraid there will be no going back."

Good thing you had no plans of going back.

You opened the door and stepped into your chambers; after ensuring the door was closed and locked, you took a deep breath. This was it.

As you turned around, you came face to face with your husband.

Except he wasn't quite the Loki you knew. For one thing, he was taller. Much taller. At least 8 feet tall. You briefly wondered how you'd be able to take him in this form. His usually porcelain skin was replaced with a brilliant cerulean, and across every bit of blue that your hungry eyes could find, were ridges that swept across his skin in bold strokes and delicate lines, forming intricate patterns that you longed to trace with your fingers. As your eyes settled on his face, you found some familiarity there. You recognized the bone structure and the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips; the luscious raven locks that framed his angular face were unchanged. But in place of the emerald orbs that you knew and loved were two glistening rubies, staring at you with an intensity that could only be described as ferocious.

He was beautiful. Flawless. You saw no monster before you. Only your husband. Showing you a side of himself that he has kept hidden from you. Until now.

You broke the silence first, and simply muttered, "I love you, and I am here. Use me."

And that was all the permission he needed.

He closed the distance between you impossibly fast, like a predator stalking its prey, and wrapped an icy hand around your throat, squeezing firmly, the coldness stinging like pins and needles against your skin.

His lips met yours with an urgency that you hadn't experienced before; any hint of gentleness was gone and in its place a brutal clash of tongues and teeth as he claimed your mouth, a throaty growl slipping past his lips as he basked in the taste of you on his tongue.

Fear crept up your spine for the first time since you entered, and you brought your small hands up to claw at his wrist, a desperate attempt to let him know that you needed a break; you needed to breathe.

Something within him seemed to get the message, because he peeled his mouth away from yours and released your throat, repurposing his hand to wrap around your midsection and toss you unceremoniously onto the large bed in the center of the room.

You had to admit that part of you enjoyed the way he was manhandling you.

He wasted no time freeing himself from his garments and strode towards the bed, where he situated himself over you, caging in your small frame like a hungry animal about to enjoy the spoils of its hunt.

You gulped at the sight of his enormous cock, as it bobbed angrily against his stomach, covered in the same ridges that decorated the rest of his body, the tip weeping with the evidence of his primal desire. For you.

"These pretty silks have got to go," he rasped against your ear, his breath somehow both hot and cold.

He roughly grabbed the fine fabric and you winced as you heard him rip it to shreds as easily as if your dress was made of flower petals from the garden.

Within seconds, you were bare before him, and his ravenous gaze lazily roamed over your body, savoring every dip and every curve like the sight of you alone could sate him.

Even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

When he decided that his eyes had had their fill, he brought two fingers up to prod against your lips, his gaze meeting yours, daring you to defy him.

But you didn't dare.

You submissively parted your lips and wrapped your mouth around his fingers, astonished at how much your mouth had to stretch just to accommodate them. A wicked smile tugged at his lips as your tongue danced over his digits, preparing them for exploration of another warm, wet hole.

A gasp escaped your lips as his fingers were abruptly pulled from your mouth and pushed inside your weeping cunt. They pumped and stretched you almost as much as his normal cock would, and you shuddered at the thought of what was to come.

The nerves melted away though, as his thumb found your clit and worked the sensitive nub in sweeping circles, pleasure taking over your senses and lulling you into a state of calm.

"Loki..." you whispered softly between your whimpers and pants.

He growled in response, withdrawing his fingers from your soaked pussy and wrapping his hand around your thigh, forcing your legs open as wide as they would go.

Before you had a chance to adjust to the new position, his huge cock was at your slick entrance and he thrust forward, forcing as much of himself inside you as he could, his girth stretching your walls and the tip pushing against your cervix. The sudden intrusion took your breath away, and the stinging pain you felt caused unshed tears to well in your eyes. The coldness of his skin only heightened the sensations, forcing your mouth open in a silent scream as he claimed you.

You loved him. You wanted this. You silently reminded yourself as a large blue hand found your throat once again and wrapped around tightly.

A feral moan left his lips as he began to rut into you roughly. Pushing himself in as far as your body would allow. Over and over. Chasing his own pleasure without regard for your own.

"So warm... So tight... You take me so well, pet." He grunted between thrusts. "You're mine."

You couldn't help the fresh pool of arousal that gushed between your legs in response to his words. Even as he wrecked your body and used it like a toy, you loved nothing more than being his.

His rhythm became sloppy and you knew he was close.

With a wild growl, he pulled out of you and violently flipped you over onto your stomach. You were thankful you were on the mattress and not on the floor in that moment.

His large hands dug into your hips, pulling them upwards and angling you so that he could sink himself once again into your tight cunt. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air between shameless moans as he pounded into you from behind like an animal.

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak; he let out a primal roar as he came, pumping you full of his seed. You felt it leaking out of you, dripping down your inner thighs as he continued to shallowly thrust into you while he rode out his high.

And that was the last thing you remembered before darkness blurred the edges of your vision and you succumbed to exhaustion, your body limp and spent.

--

Later, when you came to, you wiggled your fingers and toes first and slowly worked your way to moving each limb, assessing the soreness. There was an undeniable ache, but nothing you couldn't manage. You sat up in the bed and looked around the room, searching for Loki. Your eyes settled upon his familiar Asgardian form, huddled on the chair in the corner, as if he was putting as much distance as possible between the two of you without leaving you alone. His eyes were red, but not because of his Jotun blood. Because he had been crying.

"Loki, what's wrong?!" you frantically asked.

When he realized you were awake, he rushed to your side. "What's wrong? Love, look at what I've done to you!" He gestured to your body, to the bruises on your inner thighs, your hips, your wrists, your neck. He pointed to the mess between your thighs, to the bit of blood that was on the sheets between your legs. "I'm a monster. A vile, disgusting creature. I should have never let you do this!"

He looked away from you, ashamed.

You reached for his hand, in an effort to reassure him. "Loki, I wanted this. I wanted to help you. I insisted." Your thumb stroked the back of his hand in soothing circles, willing him to believe that you were okay. "And look! It worked. Your heat lasted only a few hours instead of weeks!"

"But at what cost?" He muttered, without meeting your gaze.

"I am your wife. We are a team, in everything. I vowed to be there for you and to love you no matter what, for better or for worse. A few bruises and some soreness are a small price to pay once a year if it means my husband isn't in agony for weeks at a time."

He sheepishly met your gaze then, peering up at you from under his eyelashes.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered softly.

"Yes you do. Because you are the most amazing person I know," you smiled easily as you said it. "Now, I did say we are a team, so if you're done sulking, I do believe it is your turn to do your part. Don't you have some magic healing powers that could soothe some of my aches, or am I misremembering?"

Now it was his turn to smile at you. He got to work straight away, a blanket of green seidr engulfing your body and buzzing through you, soothing away the worst of your residual pain. Then he spent the day spoiling you, running you a hot bath with your favorite rose scented bath oil, pampering you with a massage, and waiting on you hand and foot.

"Darling?"

"Yes, Loki?"

A wolfish grin crept across his lips. "When you've had a day or two to recover, I intend to make last night up to you, tenfold. To drown you in so much pleasure that the only word you'll remember is my name as it falls from your lips like a mantra."

You met his grin with your own cheeky smile. "And I intend to hold you to that, Laufeyson."

His lips met yours, then, in a passionate kiss; one that conveyed all the love and adoration he held for you. Your lover. Your husband. Your everything.

Spring was definitely your favorite season.

--

--

Tagging some lovely people who might be interested. No worries though if not, of course! @lokisgoodgirl @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @cheekyscamp @give-me-a-moose @sarahscribbles @gigglingtigger @ladyofthestayingpower @mischief2sarawr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsreacts @maple-seed @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @thomase1 @peachyjinx @superficialdomina @peaches1958 @evelyn-kingsley @simplyholl @tallseaweed @cake-writes @tripleyeeet @lokiandbuckysdoll @vbecker10 @lovelysizzlingbluebird

[littlefreya]

Neptune's Snare

Summary: She came to take revenge on the loathsome man who murdered her fiance, only to become his captive.

Read Chapter One

Pairing: AU!Pirate August Walker x Virgin OFC (for now 😏)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Sexual themes, dark themes mentioned, historical inaccuracies, kidnapping, captivity, graphic descriptions of sex, intimidation, slow burn, sexual tension, foul language.

A/N: I was unsure whether I should do part 2, but @deandoesthingstome (💖) motivated me to do it, so I truely hope you will like it. Many thanks to @agniavateira, for beta'ing. I am no longer using my old tag list, but I will tag those who specifically asked to be tagged for this story via my new Writing Update Blog @littlefreyaslibrary.

Thanks for reading, and please reblog with a comment 🖤

Chapter Two

Hours had passed since the Captain left—hours of futile attempts to escape the cruelty of the heavy iron binds. By now, the ship was deep into the ocean, miles away from any harbour or piece of land. The notion that she’d been abducted by the most ruthless murderer known to authorities had only just begun to sink. 

As hot tears stung at her cheeks, Lizette couldn’t help but chuckle at the stupidity that led her to this fate.

‘Did you really think that a foolish girl could succeed where great men had failed?’ 

If Lizette had dared be honest, she would admit she never thought that plan through, not that it mattered much anymore. Soon enough, she would be yet another shiny trinket in Blackbeard’s gaudy collection.

Exhausted from a fierce yet futile battle, she leaned her head back against the plush, gold-paneled wall. Her weary gaze drifted through the open window, where the dark skies and black seas merged into a desolate void. No light shone through tonight; the darkness has devoured the stars and the moon. Lizette felt as if she was drowning in it too, sinking into a thick, tar-like liquid. With each breath, the collar around her throat grew heavier, the iron pressing into her skin and dragging her deeper and deeper until everything faded to black.

When she blinked again, it was still night but the cabin was lit in deep shades of honey and amber. Her heart skipped—once for the iron still hanging from her neck and twice as her bleary eyes caught sight of a shadow by the edge of the big table.  

It appeared that her host had returned. 

Boots flung across the food-abundant table, the Captain sat back in his royal velvet chair. One hand cradled a silver chalice whilst the other toyed with the edge of his thick whiskers. Silver trays of food, wine, and books were splayed before him, surrounded by dozens of fat, wax-dripping candles. The flickering flame guttered upon his eyes, painting them bright red while he observed the girl intently. 

The curiosity was mutual, at least to some extent. As loathsome as the pirate was, Lizette could not help but scrutinise. Never in her life did she see a man so crude and yet so regal at the same time, He looked like a washed-out king, holding himself to a higher status amongst the scum aboard his ship. Surrounding himself with fine art, books and scientific obscurities, one would assume that this low-life man was educated, or at least aspired to be. His appearance, too, was of some sort of false elegance,  with his moustache carefully groomed and his hair neatly combed save for an errant curl that fell upon his tanned forehead. However, the white cotton shirt that hung partially unbuttoned and loose from his shoulders exposed him for what he truly was as it revealed a myriad of tattoos, scars, and coarse hair. 

‘Nothing but a filthy scoundrel.’

“At last, sleeping beauty is awake.” 

Lizette kept her tongue knotted. The blazes on her stare answered on her behalf. 

August scoffed at the silent response. ‘Precious little thing,’ Had only she known how much he enjoyed obstinate women. The only thing that was better than bending a spitfire to his will was getting a nun to kneel before his cock.

A slight twitch tugged at his cheek; his smirk widening at the fond memory.  

‘Ah, Mary… you sure pray hard.’

Letting go of his whiskers and the chalice in his grasp, the Captain reached for a loaf of bread and split it in half. Steam rose and coiled to the air.  The scrumptious scent of the freshly baked goods quickly filled the room and wafted over Lizette in a tempting invitation. Absentminded, she suckled her bottom lip, almost able to taste the sweetness on her tongue. 

The pirate held out one piece of the loaf, an unmistakably provoking grin lighting his face. “Would you dine with me, pet?”

Weakness unfurled through her, reminding Lizette that it must have been hours, if not an entire day, since she last ate. Her empty belly flipped and gurgled so loudly that the pirate could hear it even from where he sat. Joy immediately cascaded about his glance; the impish grin between his cheeks further stretched. 

To his delightful surprise, the girl was a lot more stubborn than she appeared. Instead of begging, she offered a spiteful glare and turned her face away. 

“I’d rather starve!” 

“Suit yourself.” The Captain shrugged and bit on one of the pieces. Hums and moans sputtered from his mouth, all exaggerated to taunt his brazen prisoner. As he finished chewing, he sucked on each of his inked fingers. 

“Got a name, pet?”

“What matter is that to you?” The girl spat.

August shrugged again and returned to the chalice, dragging it on the table's surface in circular motions. A deep-red whirlpool briefly formed in his drink. He stared at it indifferently as he retorted, “Matters not, pet. But since you’ll be spending some time here in my quarters, I will require a moniker to approach you by. Question is, would you rather I choose a name for you myself? It won’t be a nice one. I can promise you that.” 

Keeping her eyes averted, the girl folded her knees and hugged them, a deep sigh sinking from her. She couldn’t even bring herself to imagine the horrendous name he would choose.

“My name is Lizette.” 

A touch of dark delight kissed his face—as if he had heard the enchanting hymn of a siren. Thoughtful, he stopped stirring his drink to the sound of her name, licked his lips, lifted the chalice and pressed it to his lips. “Ah, yes, you are definitely a Lizzy.” 

“It’s Lizette!” she vehemently corrected.  

“Oh!” The pirate abruptly twirled his free hand in the air, his brows lifting in a sardonically submissive gesture. “Forgiveness! Mercy, milady!” That had earned him the attention he was hoping to receive, as finally, Lizette snapped to glare at him. 

The pure ire on her face did nothing but feed his amusement. 

With a slanted grin and his thumb brushing his whiskers, he eyed her back. It’s been a while since a girl piqued his fascination, and this one was indeed something else. Fear seeped from her like dewy nectar from a ripe fruit. The sheen of sweat clinging to her skin and the throbbing at the crook of her neck gave away her true emotions. Yet, she exuded the unyielding fury of a harpy, the shackles around her throat barely deterring her brazen spirit.. 

‘Bold little thing. As ferocious as the ship’s cat…’ August thought and then frowned, ‘Where is that ungodly creature, anyway? Haven’t seen it in a while.’ 

“Lady Lizette…” the correct moniker rolled smoothly on his tongue in an inherently sinister sweetness. “Are you always such a rude guest to your hosts?”

“Guest?!” Lizette seized the chain that held her collar to the wall and lifted it in front of him—a deep frown decorating her weary face.  

“I am not a guest! I am a prisoner!”

“Ah! Ah!” The pirate lifted his inked index finger in an unbearably pretentious manner. "It was you who came aboard my ship willingly, and let us not forget—uninvited.” 

Lizette felt a chill in her chest, the same chill she always sensed when getting an answer wrong in her Latin lessons. He was right, and there was more to it. Pirate or not, doesn't every man deserve respect in his own home? 

That notion made her cheeks hot. 

“And if I may…“ the pirate drawled huskily and shifted into his seat. Lizette’s eyes followed his movement with the wariness of a skittish cat. Initially bemused, she realised his hand had snaked below the table and was now fumbling with his waistband. 

A deep, pulsating pang bloomed in her core as the primordial anxiety every maiden is doomed to suffer from awoke within her. Alarmed, she shook her head and blurted hoarsely, “Wait!” 

The pirate paid her no mind; either he didn’t hear or didn’t care. Then, his hand sprang back sharply with a pistol in his grip—the same one he had confiscated from her merely a few hours before. 

“Did you not attempt to murder me in my own home?” 

With those words, he slammed the pistol on the table, the dull thud booming through the cabin wall and causing Lizette to jump with a start.

Sinking back to his red regal chair, August crossed his fingers together and pressed his lips together with the contempt of an authority figure. The many golden trinkets around his fingers chimed as they collided. 

“Answer me, Pet.” 

Lizette regarded the pistol carefully. The golden floral embellishments upon the handle sparked with the candle's light.  For a fleeting moment, she wondered how fast she needed to be to grab the pistol and shoot him dead in his rotten heart. Instead, she simply nodded, much as she could with the heavy collar around her neck. The spots where the sharp edges grazed her flesh burnt as sweat dripped over the bruised skin.

“Dumb as your plan was, I do appreciate the gesture, las. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to murder me, but it’s definitely the first time it was a beautiful young lady. Was all of this because of a boy?” He challenged, crooking one eyebrow. 

This time, Lizette did not hesitate to answer. 

“You robbed me of my future!” She corrected, and though she tried to maintain a fierce demeanour, the quiver in her voice gave away the rageful grief. 

Sympathy, sadly, was not in August’s books, especially not whilst being distracted by the way her breasts pressed against the confines of the corset with every fervorous breath. A small, almost inaudible groan left his lips. He wondered if she, indeed, was a virgin. Did he deny her of her wedding night? Were these lovely tits ever in the hands of a man before? 

Surely, he would find out. One way or another. 

With a glare still fixed on her cleavage, he grazed his dimpled chin and simply shrugged. 

“Pirate.” 

Lizette hissed in response. Defiant, she snapped her arms across her chest to hide her cleavage. 

‘Pig.’

“So I robbed you of your future,” August continued, mimicking quotation marks with his long, inked fingers. “And thus, you thought you should rob me of mine?” 

“And what future would that be? Murdering and whoring?” she muttered hatefully.  

The pirate swatted a hand over his chest, giving her a fake, exaggerated pout. “Now that pains me, love.” 

Lizette could sense the blood seeth beneath her skin. She was used to men belittling her, but never did she experience such sheer mockery and humiliation. Trembling, she yelled back, “Good! I wish you nothing but pain!”

“And so she continues to insult me in my own home.” August clicked his tongue and shook his head with sardonic disappointment. “You highborn ladies sure lack respect. ‘Funny thing is, no matter how uppity women like you act, they all want the same thing…” his voice slurred and deepened, coaxing a baffled look from the maiden who abruptly forgot her wrath and ate the bait. 

“And what would that be?” 

The pirate stood and calmly paced to the fore of the table, where he leaned against the edge to peer down at his prisoner. Lizette remained guarded. he was fairly far away yet close enough for his shadow to fall upon her face and for his manhood to be situated at the level of her mouth. She struggled to avoid staring at it directly, which only made that wretched smug smile light his face again.

“What you ladies truly want is to be violated by none other but us ‘lowlife scoundrels’,” August nibbled his bottom lip, a dry chuckle escaping him as more fond memories came to mind. “Truly, the lots of you are bored by the castrated virility of the poised gentlemen. All you fantasise about is to be fucked dirty like a whore by a brute who has no sense of propriety.” 

The pirate held his fist before him and mimicked a slow pumping motion. Although Lizette did not quite understand it, his words alone were enough to leave her gravely unsettled. 

“You are an animal,” she snarled, not realising that her nails were biting into her forearms as she clutched herself so protectively. 

But that merely fueled him.    

“Tell me, Pet, did your boy satisfy those dark desires before he left a delicious bonny lass like yourself all alone? Did he split open and plundered your sweet little cunt, ass, and mouth, or did he leave you wet and miserable?”

Heat crawled at Lizette’s cheeks, yet she wasn’t sure whether it was from outrage or shame. Never in her life had she even considered the possibilities he had suggested, and now those horrifying images poisoned her mind.  

Amused by her obvious mortification, the pirate tilted his head impishly. “No? Not even a finger or a tongue?”

“Stop it!” She implored, her voice cracking.

Ignoring her plea, he clicked his tongue. “Aw, sweet, tender flower. That’s the problem, isn’t it? He left you all alone and uncharted—that lonesome seal, begging to be invaded. Well, milady, you didn’t have to threaten me with a pistol in that case. All you had to do was ask.” 

The pirate reached for his bulge and squeezed it, much to Lizette’s dismay.

”Trust me, one night with me, and you’d forget you ever loved him.”

That was enough to send Lizette over the edge. Not thinking twice, she jerked to her feet, the chains around her rattling along a furious onslaught that sputtered from her mouth. 

“Love?! What do you know about love? You are a monster! All you do is kill and rape! You are incapable of love, and I’d be damned if anyone could ever love you!” 

All the candles in the cabin flickered with a sudden gust of wind as the pirate suddenly lunged forward. He moved so fast, too fast. Lizette hadn’t even had the chance to sway from his touch, and already he was upon her. Crude fingers dug deep into the hollows of her cheek, forcing her to face his terrorising stare. 

“You think this is a game? You think you know anything about me, little girl? About what I’ve done!?” 

It was not a question to be answered, and even so, Lizette couldn’t bring herself to speak; she was suffocating, drowning on the surface. All around her, the air stood dense with the scent of iron, wine, and musky sweat, whilst the weight of his body crushed as it clung to her. 

Closer, deeper. Layers upon layers of silk and wool separated their skin from one another, and still, she sensed the curve and firmness of his robust figure. The woven map of muscles that adorned his torso and the flex each muscle made as he tensed were evident 

But none of this came close to what she saw as he forced her to look into his eyesa wrathful maelstrom pregnant with sinister urges beyond her darkest fears. It felt as if it was trying to draw her into a deep sense of anger, and grief submerged her.

Dread began to spill into her veins. He was going to kill her.

Lizette sucked in a deep shuddering breath. She was not going to join her Edward. Not tonight.

“Let go of me!” She squealed and began to punch his shoulders repeatedly. It felt like hitting iron, every blow more painful than the other, yet she refused to stop. 

Indeed, she was just like that sea monster of a cat.

Stoic as an icy sea breeze, the pirate tilted his head at the girl. Despite her desperate efforts, her battle did nothing but vex him. Quirking one eyebrow, he released his grip from her jaw and swiftly reached for her hands. Lizette did her best to evade, squirming erratically, but to no avail. With a swift single hand, he seized her wrists and pinned them above her head with a booming thud.

The girl gasped out with surrender, strands of her hair blowing back and forth upon her face as she heaved and panted exhaustingly. With his hand around her wrists and his body slightly bent to meet her height, he stood  closer to her than any other man had before. So close that she could taste the wine and sea salt on his breath and study every freckle and every scar that marked his skin. He was nothing like her Edward, she thought; he was coarse and terrifying, and despite it all, she found him tragically beautiful. 

She hated him for that. 

“Listen to me now and listen carefully,” he finally spoke, tightening his grip around her wrists.

Liaette lifted her chin disdainfully; it took every ounce of self-restraint not to spit at his murderous, smug face. 

“You’ve mistook my hospitality and playfulness for kindness, but let’s get this straight; I am not a good man. Upset me, and I will pluck that little flower between your thighs without blinking and then throw you to my crew once I have my fill.” 

His words brought a stark shiver down her spine, yet it wasn’t just fear this time but something far more primordial. Between her trembling thighs, she sensed dewy wetness. A desperate gnawing need she had never known before. Trying to ease and brush it off, she squirmed and ground her thighs. 

August’s brow rose with realisation, an immediate knowing grin spilling upon his malicious face. He leaned closer, his lips and whiskers brushing against her ear as he spoke. 

“Seems like there won’t be much resistance from you, isn’t that so, pet? Soon, you’ll beg me to fuck y…”

His words were cut as warm saliva splattered on his cheek. 

He shut his eyes momentarily, releasing a deep, exasperated grunt and then moved an inch away to fish a silk handkerchief from his pocket. Lizette watched proudly as he wiped his face. 

The pirate, however, was not amused. Throwing away the handkerchief, he offered her a deadly frown. And then he leaned in, his mouth drawing voraciously closer to hers as if meaning to devour her.

“I warned you…”

“Captain.”

A low, sonorous call followed from the door, drawing both August and Lizette to turn their heads toward the uninvited guest. 

Lizette blinked twice. The man in question was almost the spitting image of August, though his hair was wild with earthy curls and his beard fully grown, pointy, and tended with wax. Indifferent to the scene before him, he drew a pipe from his pockets and lit it with the flame of a candle that stood on a shelf near the door.  

August regarded him with slight respect, yet not without annoyance:." What is it? I am busy.”

“I can see that,” the other pirate puffed out, grey lines of smoke following through his nostrils, “you are needed at the brig.”

“About?”

“Flint might finally speak.”

Eyes ablaze with sudden intrigue, August straightened to his fall height and drew a step back from the girl yet kept his grip around her wrists. 

“I assume your methods worked, brother?” He crooked one eyebrow at the other pirate curiously. 

‘Brother, of course,’ Lizette nearly chuckled. The men must have been twins, although she could tell the other sibling had far more grey in his untamed mane. 

“My methods always work.” He answered with dry arrogance. “Finish her off later. This is more important.”

August lingered, his fingers brushing over his moustache as he contemplated what to do with his sweet little prisoner. The possibilities were endless, yet the more interesting ones would take some time, and with the trouble she gave him, he definitely wanted to give her what she deserved. 

A deep, exasperated sigh left his lips. “A moment, Gus,” he requested, finally unhanding the girl. 

The man, now known as Gus, bowed his head and threw Lizette a quick glance before disappearing into the darkness behind the door.

“It seems like I have some business to attend to, love. Shall we continue our little fun later?” August teased, slight annoyance still lingering at the tone of his voice.

Lizette did not answer. Rubbing her aching wrists, she watched him cautiously while he searched within his pockets.  She wondered what new cruel method of torment he would inflict to her now. 

To her surprise, it was a small silver key.

He lifted it to her face and offered her a razor-sharp  stare." The water is close to freezing; sharks and eels are swimming within them, and every man upon my deck is probably plotting to use you as fuckhole since the moment you stepped onboard. I trust you won’t try anything stupid in my absence.”

“Like what?” Despite her physical and mental exhaustion, she dared to speak back, “Seduce one of your crew members to fornicate with me so he would betray and murder you?” 

Her weariness must have brought out the worst in her because she would have never thought of such an inappropriate, vile thing. Then she realised it was  him who, in less than a few hours, corrupted her soul. 

August paused and contemplated for a moment as if this was an actual possibility he did not consider. However, he brushed it off with a burst of taunting laughter while proceeding to unlock the collar around her neck. “I wouldn’t  recommend it, love. They all come with so many exotic afflictions on their cock s that no doctor has even heard of.” 

As the iron was removed from her little neck, the girl rested her hands around it, massaging the cuts and bruises that formed beneath. It ached even worse as the chill air of the night pecked at the raw flesh. 

The pirate waltzed toward the table, reclaiming the pistol in an obviously provoking manner. He sheathed it back at the front of his waistband and paced toward the door. 

“I won’t be long, love,” he promised, and with that, he left and locked the door behind him.

Lizette listened carefully to the sound of his footsteps, counting them one by one until she could no longer hear him. And then, she began to search around the cabin for anything, anything that can be used as a weapon. 

‘I will not be a pirate’s whore.’  She vowed to herself while absentmindedly grazing a palm over her cheeks where August had touched her. 

[yandere-wishes]

A thought for you, Diluc meeting his darling when they were knights together when they were younger but when his dad dies and he leaves but only comes back to see his darling is now a high ranking offical and he panics, what if she gets hurt? She isn’t cut out for this sort of thing. So now he is torn, he can’t let her get hurt but it’s not like he can just pull her out of the knights, can he?

He plays hero in the dark.

Maybe cause the dark obscures beauty and beauty is the last thing he needs right now.

Maybe he's a bit too scared to see too clearly.

Besides everything looks better in the dark.

Diluc doesn't thrive in order, he prefers solitude. The quiet of the estate away from town. The calm of the tavern during closing hours.

The solitude is safe.

Away from fickle lovers and family secrets.

He sees you in the dead of day. Standing outside the tavern with your brigade. Dressed in that loathsome armor with the sun's rays bouncing off the silver metal.

Gleaming.

Bright.

A beacon of hope in every way.

Diluc swallows his anger, his astound. There really shouldn't be room for surprise, it was to be expected. You had trained with him, fought alongside him. Captain is the lowest rank you should have by now

Still, you are not ready for such duty, such burdens.

You must taste experience, bite it, and let the crumbs mar the corners of your lips. You can not simply know by hearing tales of others' endeavors. They are as pointlessly purposeful as the stars. Distant lights you can never understand.

And Diluc refuses to see you as anything more than the little girl who'd drag him to the lake to hunt turtles.

Jejune in every way.

Diluc is not careless, he is not reckless.

The young boy who used to rush headfirst into everything be it battles or turtle hunts, died the same night his father did. The man born of his ashes, is scrupulous, vigilant. He calculates every mistake before attacking.

He lets you see him in the dark. Masked vigilante stalking the streets while you do your patrols. He leads you through the streets, weaving through the nooks and crannies of the cramped port city.

He wonders if this is how the turtles by the lake felt all so many years ago.

"Halt" You're voice holds authority now, no longer airy and melodic. It makes him discomfited.

He leaps past the high walls of the city, disappearing amongst the threes. He sees you cease at the threshold of the bridge. Defeat painted across your tender lips.

The game has ended.

At least for tonight.

He plays hero in the dark.

Dancing as he blocks your attacks.

Metal sings metal as sword and claymore clash.

The nostalgia seeps through no matter how hard he struggles, the familiar hyms of weapons clashing. Your taut frown of concentration. He's drowning in his crush again.

But is such a fickle thing really capable of throttling a man such as he?

Maybe this is truly love?

It's a sparse moment. He's too caught up in you, how tall you've gotten, how astute your stance has become. You've grown. But he still hears your sweet voice ringing across the north winds.

He doesn't notice the hilt of your sword until it's pounded against his skull. Since when have you learned such dirty tricks? His head buzzes on impact, the mask clashing violently on the ground.

The night is still.

But the beating of his heart is far too loud.

"Dily?

You're sword falls, face torn between shock and laughter. "You're the Darknight hero?"

He doesn't answer right away. He lets you laugh and ponder. Lets you come up with your own answers. He's about to interject. Throw some comment about being on opposite sides. But you beat him to the punchline. "Well, I guess I still got to take you in..."

"That's unfortunate, I can't say I'm particularly fond of being arrested by a Favonius knight."

"Captain" You correct and the pride flashing across your face makes him burn in anger. No, no you're not.

You approach him, carless and intrepid. Plucky steps as you reach for the cuffs on your belt. Diluc can't help but roll his eyes. Really? Has being made a captain taught you nothing?

Shouldn't you be more jaded? Wry of any potential threats.

Well, he guesses it must be hard to think of the boy who talks to his pet turtle as a threat.

The blaze from his vision washes over you, painting the night into a faux dawn. The fire melts through your body, peeling the flesh of your arm.

The Darknight hero stands tall amidst the inferno. Eyes aflame with the delicate sight of you.

Diluc licks the embers from his fingers as you cradle your burnt hand.

He didn't mean to do this, but he needs to stun you, he needs you to submit. Gingerly he picks you up, cradling your body close. He can't wait to get you home and burn away that dreaded armor. To dress you in soft silks and precious jewels.

"You're really not cut out for this knight thing. But it's fine I'll keep you safe"

He's only met with soft whimpers as he scales the back walls and dashes towards the winery.

Diluc plays hero in the dark.

And he still believes that.

Even as he opens the door to his mansion.

With you sobbing from pain in his arms.

He is a hero.

And heroes are meant to keep people safe.

Especially helpless little girls who try to play knight.

[forgetful-nerd]

I fully believe that if rottmnt came back (or, ya know, just continued as it should have), the mud dogs would’ve become the most inconvenient, pain-in-the-ass, reoccurring villains ever.

Mikey is out doing a simple grocery store run? Malicious Micky stole all the ingredients he needs from every store in town just to make the most atrocious meal known to man. And when Mikey tries to stop his unholy abomination of food—he somehow gets doped into diving headfirst into Mickey’s vile concoction, and it takes him weeks to get the smell off his shell.

April has an important test tomorrow? Dastardly Danny found a bazooka and made it her entire neighborhood’s problem. And when Donnie is pulled in for reinforcements, Danny ends up snatching some of his tech, and they go on a wild chase throughout the city as Donnie tries to pry his new inventions out of Danny’s hands, and Danny continuously evades him. By the end of the chase, Donnie does get his tech back, but Danny gives him the slip. And now he is stuck being blamed for millions of dollars worth of property damage and has to run for his life to evade the mob of angry New Yorkers.

Leo is attending a Jupiter Jim convention? Loathsome Leonard is there stealing every collector's item that Leo wants to purchase, and no matter how hard Leo tries to get someone…ANYONE to notice the blatant thieving…no one believes him as Leonard is slick and (surprisingly) charming. This leads to Leo getting lectured by security about making false accusations as Leonard smugly grins at him as he snatches another piece behind the security guard's back, with Leo having the biggest “are-you-fuckin’-kidding-me” face ever.

Raph wants to enjoy a quiet night to himself? Well, that’s too bad. Heinous Green just robbed a bank and, while making his escape, he threw one of the bags of money he was carrying at Raph, which makes Raph an unwilling decoy for the police. Raph spends the rest of the night trying to clear his name as he evades the police, and Heinous Green continues to commit crimes while framing Raph for them. And on top of all of that…..Heinous Green is a big shit-talker. So, whenever Raph is face-to-face with him, Heinous Green taunts him and gets under his skin, causing Raph to lose his cool, fall for his traps, and get framed for more crimes.

All of this culminates into the boys becoming so fed up with the mud dogs that any time they see them, it leads to a fight.

Until one day, while outside enjoying their day, they hear the mud dogs conversing in a dark alleyway. With each turtle having a personal vendetta against the gang, it doesn’t take much for them to agree to a sneak attack on the crew. With each turtle taking positions to block all exits from the alleyway, they spring into action. The rise! Brothers, thinking that they’ve finally gotten the jump on the mud dogs, throw themselves into their attack full-force.

Except, it wasn’t the mud dogs they were jumping. It was the 2012 TMNT boys. This is the start of their first inter-dimensional encounter with their counterparts.

And they are about to get off on the worst foot imaginable.

[nectardaddy]

monsters - yuuta okkotsu

cw: language, blood, death, human remains, killer + non curse au, dark themes/humor, graphic descriptions(!!)

notes: heavily inspired by the book butcher and blackbird by brynne weaver, I genuinely loved writing this and might do another, butcher and blackbird has a chokehold on me

Yuuta Okkotsu was a sick man, a morbid man, one who's dark eyes didn't flicker or hesitate at the sight of the macabre. A man who was, quite genuinely, damned. A damned man with even sicker, more twisted, thoughts than your own that rattled his brain. But no one was the wiser of a man with a sweet smile, a sickly sweetness that oozed and melted hearts. He was so sinister, but so- peculiarly normal. A normality he practiced and honed; sure, the oddities slipped through every now and then, but he was quick to brush it off with a gentle laugh. A laugh that was charming, a tender sound, until it wasn't.

It was never a question on if you could love the monster of a man, it was when you would.

"You killed that man-" you began, voice soft against the chirps of crickets amongst you. "For me?" The air was thick and hot, humidity sticking to your skin as your limbs were slicked with sweat. An iron twinge in the air made you grimace, and you eyes met with the man, who now, had blood coated clothes.

"You're surprised?" He asked, eyes forward as he hunched over the body of a man - if you could call it as much anymore. He was a formidable, wicked, man, one who found himself splayed on the ground. Eyes sunken and blood pooling around his head, never to see such beautiful light of the earth again.

"I said I had it," you countered, a snap to your tone that made dark eyes flicker towards you. Not dodging his question as eloquently as you had hoped, you suddenly felt all too small under his eye.

"You didn't." A tone to match your own, as he rose with a small sigh. Looking over himself, seemingly annoyed he had to get himself so gruesome and bloodied. "Obviously."

"You didn't let-" But his eyes locking with your own made your breath hitch, swallowing hard as you desperately searched to fill your lungs. You hated that the man before you had such a loathsome effect on you; face flushing and breath stolen as if he were a middle school crush. "I could've done it myself," you doubled down.

A hammer in his hand, drenched in gore, was dropped amongst the grass as he took a step towards you. But the moments flashed before your mind quickly: you had the hammer first, swinging with a force to be reckoned with, then suddenly you didn't. You didn't realize, before it was too late, the doomed man had opposed you. "You would've been bludgeoned to death," he quipped. "Dear," he tacked on as his pale lips pulled to a sickly smile.

This wasn't his first slaying, nor would it be his last. Wielding a hammer as if it were a sword, becoming a knight in shining armor as he spilled blood for you. He was a mad man, a delirious one who considered bashing a sport - he didn't consider it entertaining, he found it thrilling. Passionate and wistful - it made you weak at the knees. But you were just as demented as he, if not more in the erratic department. It was miles from normal, but was normality anyway?

"Ugh-," you began, rolling your eyes as you watched the man before you slip back into his façade. "Don't 'dear' me, Yuuta," you retorted. "The only man I'm scared of out here, is you. Not that fucker," motioning towards the corpse as your eyes met his again. "You got in my way, I would've been fine."

"That's a compliment coming from you," he mused, tilting his head in what seemed like amusement. "Is that why you haven't killed me yet?" He asked rhetorically, dodging the conversation effortlessly as you failed to do so earlier. "No," he answered himself. "You're not scared of snapping my neck like a twig, you're scared of something else."

His tone made you want to vomit, so eerily sweet and candy coated, until it went sour, it felt wrong - it was wrong. It was wrong to act so apathetic in front of the dead, even more so when it teetered on flirting. "Don't start," you warned, but your mind urged him to keep going.

"Start what?" He asked innocently, juxtaposing himself as his clothes were splattered with blood. Inwardly kicking yourself at the thought of damn he looks good in red. The man knew what he was doing with his words, and he knew all too well as he took another step closer to you.

"You know what," your tone never faltering even though it desperately wanted to crack. "Maybe I should kill you," you suggested. But you couldn't do that, you could never do that; how could you possibly want to? He was so intriguing, so pretty, so daringly risqué it bordered obscurity - and fuck, he looked so good in red. There was no reason a man of his nature should look charming at all, no more so covered in blood. Delicate spatters coating his jacket and creeping towards his face, speckles of the liquid dancing on his cheeks like freckles.

"Probably right," he shrugged, a bit too mellow. Yuuta was odd, a strange man with strange tastes, as he wholeheartedly agreed with you that maybe you should kill him. "But then, how would you to fall in love with me?" Good lord, did that really come out of his mouth? "Dear."

If you hadn't already fallen so deep, maybe you wouldn't have come out with him tonight. But he didn't need to know that, he wasn't on a need to know basis with the the inner workings of your mind. However fractured, grotesque, and possibly similar it was to his own, he didn't need to know. He probably didn't want to know. "This again?" You asked, "god- you've completely lost it, Yuuta." You countered, contradicting your own thoughts. It was strange how you had the confidence and nerve to kill, but not to admit one's own feelings. It was easier to take a life than give your own.

"Kill me then." He proposed, crossing strong, filthy arms over his chest, a syrupy smile hanging from his lips. He was all too chipper about the interaction, dark eyes telling you he knew entirely more than he let on. A small, dainty, hum left his lips from your lack of action. Too confused, outwardly a bit disturbed by his choice words, to act, you only stared. "There it is," he mused, a whimsy in his low voice that made you shudder. "You can't, can you?"

A bit too giddy, and a screw loose in his mind, he took another step towards you. "I knew you had a heart in there somewhere," now only a few feet away from you, you couldn't stop your mind from racing. Somehow, in your own twisted mind, you found the man utterly breathtaking. Handsome, adorned in another's blood, with dark, tired eyes piercing you like a knife, and an, oh so, saccharine smile. "I just killed a man for you," he quipped, watching as his thought process shifted directions with ease. "With a hammer," he added, "all because I thought he'd hurt you."

"How romantic," you breathed, voice laced with a twinge of sarcasm. "A crime of passion."

"Isn't it?" He reveled, taking another step. It was a closeness you expected from the man, as he so often toed the line of boundaries. Because what boundaries could exist within one capable of taking another life? Little to none. Another stride, one more and he would be completely on top of you. "It felt-" you watched him pause, hovering over words in his mind as his eyes refused to leave yours. "Nice."

You couldn't decide whether to feel horrified, or unceremoniously flattered. But as his blood coated hand reached out for your cheek, all thoughts ceased. The warmth of his hand, and the liquid that covered it made you tremble underneath it. Oh, you were in deep. "I would do it again, y'know?"

If you hadn't convinced yourself otherwise now, there was no hope left. You were doomed to fall for the murderous man before you - if you hadn't already.

[billie-black]

Thread of odd connections between Ikora, Elsie and Eris

I was scrolling through concept art when I noticed that, despite not being so in-game, The Stranger's rifle is Branded as a Cassoid weapon. This wouldn't mean much, bungie tends to use decals at random, except-

The curse of osiris variant, The Machina Dei 4, is also branded with a slightly altered version of the Cassoid logo, which I think proves that it has been upgraded with components from the foundry.

But let's put a pin on that and talk about another Cassoid weapon, The Invective shotgun, Ikora's signature weapon. The Invective has an ornament called Iconoclast, a word which here means "Destroyer of images used in religious worship." This nomenclature is very similar to-

The Vex Mythoclast, a weapon which, thanks to its sister weapon, The Worldline Zero (which coincidentally also has a prophecy variant), we know to be made by Elsie Bray. Canonically, we earn the Mythoclast as part of-

the "Not forged in light" quest, which ends with Elsie gifting us the No time to explain. A weapon which eventually ends back up in her hands and she gifts to us again earlier in the timeline as-

The stranger's rifle, which hangs around until it becomes the Machina Dei 4 (later Adhortative). And the prophecy attached to the Machina Dei 4 desribes Eris Morn and the events of Shadowkeep, when Eris discovers stasis and starts using the darkness.

A charnel but effulgent orb.

beacon in a loathsome dark.

Fêted, fetid corpses rise.

a too-long-absent gibbous spark.

Now, it's generally accepted that No time to explain (and all it's variants by proxy) was created at some future point in a distant timeline, this is incorrect. Ghost specifically points out that "parts" of it shouldn't exist, because the rifle itself is a common suros frame.

Going back to The Invective, you're probably more familiar with its legendary sister, The Comedian, and its D2 counterpart, Deadpan Delivery. The Comedian's flavor text reads "A. A ha. A ha ha ha. A ha ha ha ha ha ha ha" In D1 the joke wasn't really clear, but with the addition of a lore tab in D2, the joke has become the vanguard's falling victim to a hive god's deceit. Now, let's take a little trip to The dark future.

In The dark future, Beyond light never happened, Eramis was allowed to grow her armies and master stasis, which led to a massive attack on the city by Cabal remnants, Savathûn, and the glorious House Salvation, all masterminded by Eris Morn, who up to that point was believed to be an ally, but had been corrupted by stasis and the darkness.

Coming back to our timeline, let's look at differences between our case exotics and their variants. Elsie's rifle has undergone many more modifications than Invective. Matter of fact, Invective has barely undergone any changes from its default. It's painted red, AND It has tape wrapped the handle and the grip, just like No time to explain. (I know I'm talking about grip tape right now but please don't go, it gets better, I promise)

It's a weak link, many weapons have grip tape, but I think many of these small details add up and point to The Iconoclast being one of Elsie's gifts. Let's review the similarities between Iconoclast and other gifts from Elsie.

>It's sourced from one of the city foundries and later received Cassoid upgrades (Invective and it's variants are nadir products)

>It has grip tape where the original does not.

>Mythoclast and Iconoclast are very similar terms and could point to a connection.

>It has a perpetual ammo function, like No time to explain and The Mythoclast.

But we should also look at Iconoclast within it's own context. Invective being her weapon, what does it mean for Ikora? She's never been been known to combat or really oppose any sort of religion, at least that I can find. And let's make it clear, the gun is not the Iconoclast. Just like the Mythoclast is not The Mythoclast. The weapons, in this case, are named for the wielder. You kill Atheon and so you become the Mythoclast, the gun is more of symbol. So, what religious figure is Ikora supposed to kill in order to become the Iconoclast?

Well, just this season, the hive have come out with a brand spanking new god, one very close to Ikora. Now I don't think Ikora is going to kill Eris. Eris would need to do something completely heinous for her to even consider that. Like, idk, bombarding the last city with House Salvation and the shadow legion... i. e., what happens in the dark timeline.

Look, I really don't believe Eris is going to turn evil all the sudden, that would be character assasination of the highest magnitude. But from Ikora's point of view? She has a supposed time traveller yelling at her that she's letting everything go sideways.

So my theory is that Elsie took Ikora's Invective from some other failed timeline (possibly the one where they smooch) and gave it to Ikora as the Iconoclast, along with the idea that alternate Ikora ruined everything because she failed to act and put Eris down when she could.

And this is where Deadpan Delivery comes in. You see, Ikora doesn't use invective anymore, and she doesn't use the Comedian. She exclusively wields Deadpan Delivery. Now, I know this was probably just the animators being faithful to her character, seeing how she prefers shotguns-

But the retroactive additions to the Comedian's lore, outside my crazed theories, implies a statement from Ikora. The Comedian's joke is the vanguard falling victim to a hive god's deceit, and in the dark timeline that god, the Savathûn figure, is Eris morn. And so-

By maining Deadpan delivery Ikora is subtextually saying "It's not funny. I'm not laughing. I don't subscribe to the narrative put forward by the comedian or Elsie. I trust Eris". And by rejecting the Comedian she's additionally disavowing it's older sister, The Invective, which is a symbol of the gung ho attitude which defined her in her youth. And wether my Iconoclast theory is correct or not, we can definitively say: Ikora is against what it represents , she is a guardian, and she will make a new fate no matter what.

[altarrot]

BOUND TO RABIDITY.

ao3 issue.

synopsis: loved raw and confined in hostage, you're stuck in a situation beyond nightmares - but it's more dreamlike than anything. author's note: thank you guys for so much love on the first part??? i just had to give y'all another part

[ ♡ ] pairing: killer!simon "ghost" riley + fem!reader

[ ♡ ] genre: smut, dark content

[ ♡ ] warnings: (very tamed) stockholm syndrome-ish, slight emotional manipulation, mentions of pregnancy, hostage situation, touch-starved reader, age difference, mild comfort, unprotected sex, praise kink, pet-names, oral sex (male receiving), rough sex.

PART 2/2 | PART 1

You were on the brink of hysteria. A confined hysteria with complications of dream-like and strayed. It was complex; the whole situation easy to be taken advantage off and revolved in the right ways. Though, you were unsure on why you had let that man in the balaclava dispossess your virginity, and afterwards let him lift you in his arms, only for your eyes to give out on themselves and descend into a slumber of exhaustion — only to be restored to a whole, new surrounding that built-up around you.

Settled on bared mattress with a sting at your collar — and the larger, warmth of a body resting before your eyes, a frailness is received in your limbs once again. You were afraid of him, obviously, but couldn't help but sought solace in the man. Even in slumber, he still refuses to strip himself of the mask, the only discernible difference was the two closed slits of his eyes — blonde lashes based onto his pale skin of faint black. The only thing you were able to do is stare at his drowsing condition, remarking his features still caked of brown, dried blood while the stench of vague cigarette smoke and some iron flooded at your nose.

Tucking your arm under your laid head on the teared pillowcase, you shift yourself, now fully facing him with dozens of inquiries consuming at your head. Why would he make the conscious decision of taking you away, laying you like on his supposed bed like a lover rather than locking you in some rusting basement? (That's what you had always assumed what happened when a person was taken hostage.) But it was nothing of those imaginations, those violent and inhuman imaginations were more decent — lenient and civilized.

Examining him, there was some beauty found between his brutal nature. Blonde lashes, athletic physique, and a sight of tattoos that peered under his tactical jacket that were slightly bunched up to the forearm. It seemed almost insane to envision a serial killer like this, as if he were some sort of saint, some heroic figure to you, but it was almost impractical not to.

In the midst of observing him, his eyelids flicker open, ditches of dark-brown impaling into your stare. There's some guilt situated in those ditches, but a mass of it was just some tedious; monotone and somber. You both were only able to bring yourselves to stare at each other, liable and imprecise to how either brought themselves to this situation. (Even though a majority of it was at his fault.)

You rid of your parched throat. "Ghost, you know... I really do like you," you said, "...I think you're the sweetest guy in the whole world."

He stiffens. "But why me?"

"You've given me the affection a guy has never given me before."

"I'm a lowlife murderer, honey." he mutters, "Nothing special about me."

"I know that, but — I can't help but bring myself to love you."

With all honesty, your confession seems non-genuine; too much of a mock since you've only become acquainted with him since the hours of last night. But it comes out as pure, raw truth — that you really do love that man, you love a man with murderous intent on the run. He's drained in your presence, at a loss of words and unable to dispense you with a convenient response. Even in the former times in serving in the military as a lieutenant before he evolved into a loathsome cutthroat, remnant sensations of love were futile to him.

Nausea overburdens you out of the blue. Possibly from the aftereffects of your plain confession, leaving you to feel flustered at the fervent words.

He lifts a stiff arm up from his side and props it on your cheek, fingers fondling your face in tenderness. A low rasp of a sigh heaves from his clad face. Your eyes close, indulging in his comforting touch, familiar with his circular motions he presses your skin in with. You're disoriented off reality; closed-off and limited to only him, like he was your savior, only hope in a lifetime at this point.

It was thought to be a one-time thing. Latent emotions that preceded into intercourse, but never into a full-time-sort-of relationship resulting in finding sanctuary in a run-down home — his run-down home, or perhaps some kind of affordable one-night motel. Nonetheless, it wasn't as bad as expected, just perplexing and coming to you in overwhelming waves.

"You're just putting yourself in danger, love," he remarks, "You know that I love you too, but, it's a hazard to be involved with me."

Your doe eyes gaze down at him. "So be it, I don't care." you said, sitting up and leaning up the headboard, "I like being involved with you."

Ghost makes the decision to just give into you; your stubbornness and refusal to his objections not dissolving anytime soon. Even so, you were so obedient to him, so willing to comply with his bloodthirsty motives — so what would be so bad about having you as an advocate at his side, like a partner or a wife that acts in company with her psychotic husband.

"Fuck, okay, that's my girl," he said with a small doubt, "You going to stay by my side forever?"

"Anything for you, I'm yours forever."

He slopes upwards to give you a kiss. "I know you will, so good, huh?"

You nod, a smile tainting your lips.

"That's right," he fully sits up alongside you, but steps off the mattress onto two stable feet, "I'll be in the bathroom, just doll yourself up whenever, okay?"

And that's when he abandons you. Abandons you on the now-known singular motel bed, curtains crowding the panels of the window, bulbs of lamps at each side the only source of light given in the room. The sound of the bathroom's lock clicks, following the running water of the shower slamming against the floor. You sit in the atmosphere for a few minutes, aimlessly watching the box of a television run through some talk-show, arms linked around your legs that were bent and met with your chest.

The skin of your cheek presses to your knee, eyes lingering at the ceiling which was lined with bumps. You didn't entirely hate your new lifestyle with Ghost, even though you deserted your parents as a whole, leaving them worried to your whereabouts; you just needed a break off everything. Your parents, your regular life, the continual reminders of the serial killer situation. (Even though you were practically in love with the man behind it all, running away with him essentially.)

Unless you were naive and only stuck to him like a case of Stockholm Syndrome, then that would make more sense; but it really didn't feel like that was the case, there was a genuine, conscious love that you deepened in your heart for him. You thought of yourself as nothing to him, just some stress-reliever he comes across and fucks in the middle of the woods, predicting for him to brutally murder you afterwards and leave your rotting corpse right at the very stump he took you on.

But marking his own words of you being special, all those illusions and predictions were slipped from your mind. Knowing that you were special, his special girl, you couldn't help but tolerate yourself to fall for him. With the affection he gave you that night, whether a fraud or not, it's the most another person has ever given you; a deep consolation was discovered in him after that.

The lock of the bathroom sounds a noise to be opened, door swaying open as Ghost came out with only a towel at his waist — mask naked to your two eyes that readjusted to him. His hair was no different than the shade of his lashes, dirty blonde, and short while his two eyes were given structure; a moderately sharpened jaw with a few scars littering his skin, a light stubble coating at the edges of his face. His chest was sturdy with a prominent lines of bulging abs and a v-line lined with a trail of hair, biceps hefty with the left one nearly covered with ink.

Your pupils dilate at the sight, wandering over his displaying form, finding him as equally handsome with the balaclava on. He comes over to you and settles on the foot of the bed, sinewy back muscles facing you. You take the chance to crawl across the mattress; positioning yourself at his side as you rest your head at his shoulder with your arms clung around his torso. He smells of a masculine scent; some cologne and shampoo used to freshen up from the reek of cigarette smoke and metallic crimson.

He eases up at your touch, his own head tilting to rest against yours. For the first time, you feel in love. You worship him like a lover, supply him off the affection he once gave you, touch him with intentions of a good heart.

"How long do we stay here?" you ask, against his head, "Unless you only paid for a one night stay."

"I can pay off for a couple more days, rest here, we don't really have anywhere to go."

"Sounds good."

One of your arms unhinges itself from around him to trace at the muscles of his back, a spread palm smoothing over and a finger often prodding at the flesh.

You bite your lip. "Is there a first-aid kid in here?"

"Saw one near the sink, why? You hurt?"

"Well," you point a finger to the fresh wound at your collarbone, not that fresh, but still to the limit of being a red tint, "From last night, and I feel a little nauseous."

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry," he said, turning in place and lifting you in his arms, treading back to the bathroom where he sat you on the lid of the toilet, "Stay still."

Ghost searches through a cabinet, gathering the small box of white and a red cross, unlatching it. He searches for a bandage patch and antiseptic, placing the two items of the counter. Leaning down, still half-naked and draped in only a towel around his waist, he dabs at the wound he caused with a cotton ball — antiseptic stinging with the exposed tissue. Your jaw clenches and teeth gnash against each other until the cotton is drawn away from you."

"Sorry, honey, I know it hurts," he reassures, "I just need to wrap it."

"Okay." you said.

His slender, thick fingers are like touches of tranquility — calming yourself from the persistent sting established in the wound caused of his own blade. You peer at him while he assists you, a strain of focus on his face, handsome even with the faint scars painting his face; his teeth bites at his lower lip in a focus, eyes widened yet squinting from time-to-time.

The bandage patch sews up your wound and he draws himself away by a few inches. He cocks his head for a second before it straightens back up on the base of his neck.

"There, all better?"

"Much better. Thank you."

He chuckles, shaping his lips into yours for a brief kiss.

"Ghost." you mumble his name.

"What?"

"Can we do it again?"

At first, he's completely oblivious to what you're referring to, but figures it out within a few reruns of what you could mean.

"You want to have sex again?"

Your fingers clutch at the edges of the toilet lid with a tiny pressure. "Yes, I was just wondering... since you made my first time feel like heaven." you said, "But it's okay if you don't want to."

"Oh, angel," he shifts himself back in his leaning, standing in front of you, "How could I say no to such a pretty girl like you?"

Without another word, he has your lips shaping into his for much longer, with tongue and sloppy flows. You capture his face in both of your palms, pulling him closer into you, whines escaping and devouring into his mouth. His face feels so much better to hold without cloth separating you from it, fingertips swiping over most of the scars. Large hands rest at your waist and squeeze, brain already numb and foggy at only his mouth and hands.

You slide from the seat of the lid to the floor, upper-half resting at the wall of the bathtub as he's given more easy access to move up your body. His body sculpted like a marble statue situates between your thighs that automatically spread for him on command, the cold of the bathroom floor tiles making you shiver as it nudges at the backs of your bare legs.

Your hands cling to his chest and feel up his abs, his lips still devouring you.

"Ghost, wait."

He parts from you. "What's wrong?"

"Can we try something different?" you ask, "I want to give you pleasure this time."

"You want to suck me off?"

"Yes."

His eyes scrutinize you before he obliges, switching positions with you; him sat up at the wall of the bathtub while you sat on your heels between his muscular legs.

"Are you sure about this, sweetheart? You really don't have to." he said, hesitant.

You offer him only silence as you tear the towel at his waist off of him, inclining yourself down with an arched back, lips pursing around the blunt head of his cock. He grunts and drops his head back, teeth bared with a flat palm at the top of your head. You struggle to take his entire size and girth down your throat within the first few supports of your mouth, competent to only the first few inches, but you eventually reach the base of his cock — swallowing and taking in him whole.

For the first time of sucking someone off, you're pretty proficient at it, being able to satisfy him with his full cock down your throat — tip bulging a little at the back. His noises each time you slide your mouth down him are a type of nirvana; raspy groans right into your ear or a deep grunt originating from the depths of his chest. Tears edge at your waterlines in a suffocation.

"You're doing so good, sweetie," he breathes, "Taking me like the good slut you are."

A muffled moan around his size is earned from his praising words.

"You going to let me cum down your pretty, little throat?"

"Please, yes." you said, gagged around him.

With your tongue running up each protruding vein that collects at his cock and your movements growing increasingly faster, a knot in his stomach begins to form, a sensitivity at his cock heightening.

Your hands find purchase at his thighs, body arching impossibly farther upwards as you press your thighs together with a pulse starting up at your cunt. The cotton of your newly-put-on panties were moist, already stained much like last night when he had a knife threatened to your throat. Noises of gagging and more often grunts were deluging the bathroom, dragging down the thin walls and right back to you.

The hand in your hair is tight, his head fully thrown back with eyelids screwed shut, and his mouth is expanded out. His chest hauls with every heavy breath he takes, sweat sheeting over his skin; a gloss glistens off his skin, reflecting with the lights of the bathroom overhead.

Ghost curses aloud while his hips stutter, pausing to stay in the profound stance where his seed floods into your mouth and down your throat. His supporting hand serves as a way to keep you right where he wants you to be; cock wholly down your throat and forcing you to swallow the spurts of white — which you gratefully swallowed. You retreat back and rest your head on his one of his thighs, attempting to catch your breath, as his right hand rests at your head and pats your hair down.

"You did so good, doll," he pants out, head bowed down where you rested on his thigh, "And for your first time too."

A dazed smile is given to him across your lips, soiled with a few marks of his cum.

"Are you sure you still want to continue?" he asks, concerned about your exhaustion.

You nod slowly. "I want to feel you again, you make me feel so loved."

A short break is given from sucking him off, enabling more stamina to build up. He no longer scents of masculine cologne; but also sweat, sticky sweat that combined with your own, even through the dress you were still clothed in from the previous night. With enough rest taken, Ghost shifts positions back with you; you're back against the bathtub while he spreads your thighs for you, perching between them.

His fingers flow up your thighs; the callous skin tickling your softer flesh as he flips the skirt of your dress up, lifting it over your head. He then rips the fabric of your bra and panties off from your sticking skin, leaving you as bare as he was. A whine draws from you at the sudden frigid temperatures.

Immense hands rest around your legs, placing them at his shoulders. You're laid on the bathroom floor instead of against the bathtub, giving more flexibility and access to him. The head of his cock finds itself resting at your sopping entrance, a low whimper falling from your lips. A heat in your face rises; heartbeat through your chest and going to impossible speeds.

"You want this again, lambie?" he asks through his teeth, "You want to be fucked by a murderer? Have your needy pussy filled?"

"Please!" you said of desperation, "I need you so bad, love you inside of me."

Self-restraint was impractical, which is why he was unable to hold back, sheathing himself up inside of you. Your limbs bring themselves to twitch at the first thrust, an audible whimper brought from your throat. His hips initially snap slowly against yours; ultimately hastening once he accommodated to your usual tightness. The heat of his body warms your own, cold and naked in contact with the tiles of the floor.

Your extended legs at his shoulders lose balance, collapsing to his waist, instead enclosing on his waist. Fingers grope at any available portion of your delicate anatomy, skin fondled in and caressed. Through languorous visions, the man's head appears to tilt half-way, the bottom of his jaw visible in a clamped built, his sweat-radiance chest stuttering with non-consistent breaths. You writhe underneath him — your cunt progressing to a fragile condition, producing perceptible noises in addition to his cock ramming up your inner-walls.

Specifically like Ghost, your head is left to be thrown back; not against the ventilation air of the room, but at a hardened ceramic that bumps the back of your head each time. You're fucked-out, lightheaded within the very couple of aggressive thrusts he gives your cunt. The blunt head of his cock pounds at your cervix with some compounded vigor; torn moans and whimpers bleeding without shame from your mouth, benefitting him. Forging him as more carnal, rabid.

"Ghost," you sob, "Fuck me harder."

He dips his head to you. "You want me harder, baby?"

"Anything, please — harder, faster, anything..."

He uses his already-dipped head to kiss at your scalp, posture adjusting, spine rigid. His stance of composure results in more hostile rams into your cunt, pounding you with your back arched off the tiles of the ground. At this pace, you almost forget whose fucking you; causing you to go brain-dead, to give into so much bliss. You almost forget you're desiring for a serial killer to fuck you, painting him the picture of a perfect man — a man of innocence and instead uses his skill of vigilance picked up from his position in the military.

You're impossibly tight at his cock, compact and compressing that earns a low grunt from his breath. He's giving you a few more last thrusts of aggression, harmonies of whimpers and grunts, the atmosphere of sex fogging up the mirror above the sink, the porcelain of the tub and metals of the faucets. Nails dig into both his forearms, tugging at his tattoos and unadorned muscle.

The sense of thick liquid splatters at your walls, a sweltering heat generating a feeling to squirm in the arrangement which he held you in, brawny hips motionless at yours. Ghost slumps above you and remains in you, plugging him inside of you to sustain his seed. You bend upwards to where his face hung; lips pressing kisses of fondness to his nose, to his scarred cheeks, and to his lips. His breaths are felt at the flesh of your own face — hot, and scented of cigarette smoke and a minty taste.

You swallow. "I'll love you forever, Ghost," you said, arms looped at him in an embrace, "I mean it. I really do. My heart is yours."

"And I'll make sure you're mine forever," he whispers against your scalp, "Nothing will separate us."

Forwarding to the sedate dusk, mid-dusk where the sky brushed with shades of nights and sunlight, you were still bound to that familiar motel room. Ghost was on the foot of the mattress, caked with blood once again, combat boots rested at the carpet of the room. He was hunched over, silent, staring at the running late-afternoon television. You sat in a nightgown obtained from the motel's laundry room, stolen, and similar to the dress you wore with your first encounter with him — lace, white, and dangling to the limits of your thighs. Observing Ghost, he was no longer gentle.

His appearance of blood, black, and masked was returned what he really was; a murderer, a monster. It made you feel nauseous again. A hand trails over your clothed stomach of lace, lowering onto the aching region. You wanted to tell him, but didn't want to cause a riot, so you only manage to impose yourself to shove off the bed, steadying on two legs with your hand still over your stomach. He takes notice of the bed sinking, then un-sinking when you're seen to be standing near the bedside table.

"What's wrong with you?"

His voice is gruff, raspy — but attempting a soft and tender approach when gazing over at you.

"I feel sick," you said, "Headache and my stomach hurts."

"You need help?"

"Maybe," you bite your tongue,"Yes."

He throws the bloodied switchblade he toyed with between his hands on the mattress, standing up, and treading to over where you were; using his customary procedure of hoisting you into his arms and supporting you in a bridal pose. It's more comfortable this way anyways, with the pain in your stomach becoming moderate, using him as a prop to rest on.

You're sat on the edge of the tub, him on the toilet seat lid.

You breathe, preparing to respond with the one thing you wish is fabricated, false — but there is no denying that it could be the one thing that's making you feel this way.

"Do you think I'm pregnant?"

Ghost stares. "Pregnant?"

"Yeah, I mean, we had unprotected sex two times," you stutter on your breaths, "No condoms, no birth control."

"Fuck."

"It could be worse. Could've been some sexual-related disease. Herpes."

Whirling himself around in place, he rummages through the nearest cabinet, tossing a few hand-towels and sanitary items aside, sometime finding a rectangular box in design of a pregnancy test. He faces back to you, holding the box in a fist, eyes sincere and perturbing.

"You take one of these, I'll be right outside."

The box is fixed in your own fist as he stands, exiting the bathroom with the door shut behind him. It's apparent that he's only right outside the door; heavy breaths and frequent thumps of his body against the wall. You swipe your tongue across your lips before biting at your lower one. As a majority of everything was going along great with him, one of your worst fears was at a near-possibility of coming to a factual reality.

Taking a couple of minutes to understand the instructions, taking it out off the box, utilizing it as you struggle with the ache at the pit of your stomach. For the duration of wait-time, you sit with your lip bit, rocking back and forth on the edge as your eyes fixed on the plastic object.

Waiting time took minutes, almost felt like months, years; a nerve struck in you.

And when it concluded, you swear you felt your heart drop to your stomach, veins running of blood — a cold sweat escaping at your forehead.

A whine inside of your mouth imploded. A hand over your mouth, head spiraling in circles. Your hand free of the test is at your forehead, a palm splayed over. Tears stop dead at your lower lids, eyes only glossy and glistening under the light, droplets reflecting of the worst possibility that was held in your hand. You can only manage a distinct whimper of his name, turning your head towards the door, watching as it slowly opens; Ghost bursts himself inside and rushes on his two legs when he perceives the physical emotion of distress on your face.

His arms come to wrap at your head, swaddling you, dragging you to the floor with him. Breaths of hyperventilation are decorated into his chest while he holds you close to him — one hand into your hair, the other holding up at your back. His head is held to yours, feeling his masked chin rest at your forehead, hand in your hair stroking in comforting motions. You're laying at his chest.

"I don't... I don't know what to do." you said, voice trembled.

"Honey, look at me," he said, both his hands clinging to your face, forcing to look up at him, "Right here."

You stare him in his mask holes of eyes.

"What are we — I —going to do?"

"Well, there's two of us, right?"

"...Yeah."

"So, we can both work together for the child," he suggests, "Like how we work together right now. Partners in crime, you know?"

"But, I don't know if I want it..."

"Think of it as a reminder. A reminder to how much you love me, you want to stay with me forever, just like you said."

"I guess you're right." you muttered, comforted and easily swayed by his words.

"Of course I am," he said into your scalp, "I did say nothing would separate us, after all."

[ciphertology]

" [...] So this is why being introduced to ICP finally makes him snap: it represents a collision between this satirical avatar, the fictional embodiment of this complete joke of an idea, and the fourth wall—breaking exposure to the very content he was designed to mock. On some level Gamzee understands that he's been forced to confront the fact that his entire existence is a joke. He was designed to ridicule that which he reveres. So he just fucking loses it and is never really the same guy again. It's almost a kind of dark, clowny enlightenment, an achievement of chaotic self-awareness. He quite effectively harnesses this grudge by getting revenge on the very story that created him for such humiliating satirical purposes. His method of revenge is linked to Caliborn's modus operandi (whom he comes to revere as the true godhead of his religious beliefs), which is to degrade and defile the story he inhabits. Gamzee's influence appears to be arbitrary, always occuring at the exact right (wrong) moment, to do the exact thing that will fuck things up in a totally incomprehensible way. He becomes an agent of plot chaos, of narrative entropy, and achieves a certain zen in the loathsome, capricious role he plays in the story. These tendencies are linked to his aspect, and could be seen as a certain mastery of it."

bold/italics added by me. anyway this is literally what i am always saying about Gamzee--he is playing a role! he is lashing out against the story itself! he is not a character on the same level as the others are, and, ironically, despite being aware of the falsity of their reality from much earlier on he is the one character doomed to be stuck in the narrative while all the others get to jump ship.

and then:

"Make no mistake: Gamzee sucks. He is, on a conventional layer, a "bad character." His personality is unpleasant, his actions are repellant, and his presence is always an affront to good taste and judgment. Yet, in my view, it's hard to avoid another conclusion that seems to contradict these awful truths about him: there are some potent themes and ideas governing his existence as a character, his actions, and the reasoning behind his dark turn."

hussie admits this is an interesting idea while still dismissing gamzee entirely as an idiotic one dimensional clown. ultimately get the feeling that they believe they wasted the concepts on gamzee but realized they had wrote themself into a wall re: keeping him around. if they thought encouraging fandom to hate him would make them not notice this then well they were mostly right because gamzee is still extremely misunderstood by the majority

[physalian]

#Writer Problems

Meet the 15th character in this series with a name that starts with A! No one will notice hahaha

Going back and deleting the sighs to shake things up a bit because there’s 120 in the manuscript

*checks notes* whoops you died already, Side Character, my bad

*one paragraph* Perfect. Amazing. Poetic. Profound. *the next paragraph* what is words do?

Knocking out a 6k word chapter in an hour/Spending a week on a single transition

*slaps down a shiny new character with zero plan* You don’t know anything about them and neither do I, let’s discover them together

Realistically, there’s gotta be at least one casualty from this fantasy battle so…. *rolls dice* no not you. *rolls dice again* yep. That’ll do. Sorry, pal.

Is this badass or stupid?

Is this hot or cringey?

*checks notes* damn it, plot hole.

Upon this most recent round of edits, you, Cool Side Character, no longer made the cut. Mayhaps you’ll be recycled later.

*checks notes* damn it, I fixed that plot hole by opening another plot hole.

Jesus christ I wrote ‘just’ 308 times across 120k words?

That is definitely not how you spell that

*dreams about my characters in full HD technicolor* awwww yeah, where’s the popcorn? *cannot replicate how cool it was in actual words*

Unes- Unnecs- Unessis- Unnessessarily- Unnecessarily fuck

Do I go with the British grey or the American gray?

*cries* this epic was supposed to be a novella

Well these two were supposed to be having an argument here. But making out is fine. I’d like to see where this goes.

Oops I forgot the straights, here that nameless dude over there isn't confirmed gay, so you can headcanon that he's straight if you want

Oops I forgot that marriage exists uhhh yeah their other parents are all dead or deadbeats

Fuck love triangles here’s a double-helix dodecahedron.

One day my fandom will write so much smut about this guy and I am here for it cause I sure ain’t doing it myself

Oops I forgot people with green eyes exist but brown eyes? I got 20

*describing the writing process* It was the best of times, it was the worst of times it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

I. Hate. Chapter. Titles.

Is this profound or pretentious?

*crafts an absolutely banger metaphor* I hope someone notices this. I put a lot of work into it

I didn’t spend 6 months perfecting this masterpiece for you to sass that the curtains are just blue. I’ll write the goddamn essay myself about all the depth behind my color choices, sir.

Picture that Spongebob dehydrated in Sandy’s treehouse meme ‘cause that’s me on round 12 of edits

I gotta be up for work in 4 hours but this monologue is more important

*distills 30 pages of worldbuilding notes into 2 paragraphs of a fluff scene* somebody will appreciate this, won’t they?

*listening to my book playlist* one day when this is adapted I hope this artist is still alive to compose the main theme cause this shit fucks

*cries* this trilogy was supposed to be just one book

If I turn this plot hole into a character flaw, they become the problem while I remain god

*looting themes, monologues, character names, and archetypes off the corpses of my dead WIPs* You won’t miss them anyway.

While it also immortalizes this person’s dickish behavior, yes, I will, in fact, write a whole character’s backstory as a middle-finger to this one bitch from 10 years ago.

*steps back to gaze at all the suffering done unto my deuteragonist* but it was worth it, wasn’t it?

*staring down yet another loathsome action set piece* whyyyyy do I do this to myself?

Nobody’ll notice my author insert if I dice them up and divvy them out in bits to my entire cast, right? Right? It’s like a shell game of what’s author and what’s fiction

These two are going to be a problematic ship one day and I will burn that bridge when I get there

*2am and I am scouring the internet for that one piece of a fort’s defenses because not remembering is the current root of my insomnia*

*Nudging my favorite character who isn’t the protagonist out onto stage* golly I hope the readers like him

Waiting. For. Editors. Takes. So. Long.

Holy butts accidental motif and deep symbolism fucks. I am so pretending I did that on purpose.

To subtext or not to subtext? Nah, to subtext. *laughs maniacally*

Trying to ride that line between so obvious it’s painful but also juuust enough foreshadowing so you slap yourself for not seeing it sooner

TIL that I have been using that word completely wrong for years. How quaint.

No you’re derivative schlock. I’m crowd surfing the books that came before and loving every second of it.

Damn I wasted a really good name on this throwaway character

*checks notes* wait, who's taller? Where does your hair part? Are you left or right-handed?

*musing over a character slated for death* damn, I really like you. Since I am in fact god, you shall live another day. *rewerites the entire finale*

God I hope people like this story

[lririx]

Hi! If requests are still open, I have one that may interest you. Please take care of yourself, don't overwork yourself or anything. Get to my ask when you're available and happy <3 I don't mind waiting.

Okay, so for the idea.

A fem!reader with Norton. But S/O is royalty.

Y/N is a princess who ran off from her castle because she was being suppressed by her advisor (she has yet to be crowned due to said advisor pushing her coronation back continuously) and she ran to the manor to prove herself only for it to BACKFIRE SO VICIOUSLY because now she's trapped in a game and will probably die before ever being the one her people could call queen.

Norton wouldn't like her at first, because he is literally Norton Campbell, but she offers to pay him for protection (he is scary and looks tough so she is convinced he is the perfect guard) and he can never say no to money. Their relationship sort of forms slowly as they both learn from each other and etc.

I'm sorry if that was a lot. Just be sure to look after yourself!!!

Why your advisor keeps postponing your coronation you don't know.

“You're not ready yet.” Are his words everytime you ask.

You have tried everything in your power to prove yourself but all of the efforts were in vain.

One day after another failed attempt you were in your room thinking of new ways to try when a servant knocked on your door.

“You have a letter my lady.”

You took the letter from her and started to read it.

Is this a prank? Why would anyone send you this letter?

But what if it is real? Maybe this is your only chance to show that you are worthy of becoming the queen.

After days of thinking you decided that it was worth a shot.

You ran away from the castle at midnight and made your way to the Manor.

When you arrived you were greeted by many different faces.

There was one man who was particularly loathsome towards you when his eyes landed on you.

When you finally settled down and sat to talk to people is when you found out what you signed yourself up for.

Oh you were such an idiot.

Your first game was horrible. Are those hunters human? Long and lanky limbs with hollowed eyes that have a single yellow dot glowing in them.

The sound of her cats are still in your ear.

You did manage to escape with the help of others but now what? It is just going to continue on for you don't know how long. Maybe you're really not cut for being the queen. A queen can't be so cowardly.

But you have made up your mind. You came to this place and there is no turning back. You have to prove yourself. You have to be brave to rule your people.

You accepted the situation and started to become your normal self again.

Overall it wasn't so bad.

But there were some misfortunes.

There were some people who you didn't get along with but it wasnt a problem. Except for one man.

A bulky man with messy black hair and dark eyes. He had scars all over his body which made him look scary but attractive in a way.

His name is Norton Campbell. He didn't like you from the first day you stepped in the Manor.

You didn't know why and you tried to befriend him but he only spat curses at you everytime you talked to him.

After alot of attempts in getting to know him you found out why he's so mean towards you.

He hates the royalty. He hates how he has to work day and night to only be able to afford a piece of bread while they are sitting on their throne with money being thrown at them.

He kept mocking you everytime he saw you.

You tried to understand him. You did understand. You knew how rotten the aristocracy is. How much they take advantage of their power. You hated it as much as him.

You tried your hardest to help the commoners but there was only so much you could do.

That is why you wanted to become the queen so badly.

Though you never said anything to Norton. What could you have said?

After a while you stopped trying. There was no point.

Some time has passed but you were still new so you haven't gotten the hang of it yet so you messed up quite often.

You have gotten braver but you would be lying if you said you weren't scared. You weren't strong either which made you be the target of every single hunter.

You figured it would be nice to have someone to protect you during matches.

For some reason Norton was the first one that came to your mind.

You didn't want to but ended up asking him anyway. Ofcourse he wasn't going to say yes so you had to offer him something. He would only agree if you paid him.

And to your surprise it didn't take long for him to agree.

Months passed and your relationship wasn't as bad as it was before.

You weren't close but neither of you were mean to eachother.

A couple of times where you got picked on by other survivors after doing not so well in a match Norton would flip them off and make them run away.

Though ofcourse Norton was still didn't like you he helped you out during matches more than before because of the payment.

Or that's what you thought.

Sure it was all for the money at first but now? Why does he get nervous when he's around you? Why does want to hold you so badly? Why does he end up risking his life in every single game for you?

Norton has been restless for weeks. He wants to get you out of his mind but he can't.

Your eyes, your smile. The way your soft hands feel on his arms.

You were no different.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him. You admit. He is attractive. But still it didn't feel normal.

Your heart raced a little whenever he came to help you during matches.

You could feel your face turn red whenever he laughed.

One day during a match you kited Bane for three minutes before he gave up and went to chase Kurt.

You ran away from him to find a good spot to heal when you ran into Norton.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you into a corner and sat you down.

He started to patch you up.

It felt a bit awkward at first since he was so quiet but then you started to relax a bit.

It was a bit different though. He always gets the healing done as soon as possible to get back to decoding but he's taking his time today.

There were still two cipher machines left so you got up as soon as he was done but he grabbed your wrists and made you sit down infront of him again.

“What's wrong?” You asked him.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he opened his mouth and said “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything I said back then.”

His voice was low. He hasn't looked at you in the eyes since you ran to him.

To be honest you have already forgotten most of it. You have never held a grudge against him.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hug.

When you pull back you see his shocked face which makes you giggle.

“We'll talk about it later okay?”

Then you get up to decode another cipher machine.

You two's relationship was pretty good after that. Everyone was surprised because it happened so quickly but no one questioned it.

Day by day you felt the Butterflies in you stomach to flutter more.

Whenever your eyes met you would panick and act like nothing happened.

Norton wasn’t different. He was even more nervous than you.

Months passed like this until one day you found yourself in his arms melting away.

How your feelings for eachother started neither of you know.

Maybe it was the first time you single handedly kited the hunter for five ciphers.

Or maybe when Norton saved you while the hunter had detention.

All you know now is that you are eachothers everything.

[thrawns-backrest]

Krennic in Vader Annual 2

I'm sorry but how can I not love this man

he was in this book for a grand total of four pages but they wrote him so accurately I'm howling

first you've got Vader arriving on Geonosis and Krennic coming out to meet him

and of course his first job is to lay it on thick with his boss. he's also wearing the Krennic cape 2.0 Gucci edition, looking more fabulous than ever

then the rocks above them explode and we get this wonderful panel

LOOK AT HIM MY MAN IS SHOOK. I've never seen him so disheveled shfjhfghdjgf

then as the cherry on top Vader literally grabs him and drags him away by the scruff

if Ben Mendelsohn is reading this, I would like him to make that sound for me please

and the first thing he does when they're safe, the first thing he does, is this

which is hilarious because you just know this man blames Tarkin every time he comes close to dying. though to be fair he probably blames Tarkin every time he stubs his toe or spills caf on himself

(also I'm shook that this is my man's office, babe please, you have standards)

you sir are a little shit. and I love you for it

and if you still had any doubts as to whether this is top tier Krennic characterization, he goes on to smear Tarkin some more while trying to make himself look better

only for Vader to shut him down like it's nobody's business lmao

then we have this beauty of a panel

LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT THIS OLD MAN MAKING PUPPY EYES AT VADER

'You and me, Lord Vader, we're tangled up in this' I CAN'T WITH THIS MAN. GIVE HIM A LAP DANCE TOO WHY WON'T YOU

honestly though if Orson Krennic looked at me like that and begged me to find his assassin I might just fall to the dark side to do it, just saying

we next see Vader talking to some sort of loyalty officer and we get this beautiful description

a manipulative autocrat and a venal ego-driven narcissist? idk sounds like a married couple to me. maybe they can just, not kill each other and enjoy the power the Empire affords them together as evil husbands

just saying

fr though these lines are making me feral. Vader then gets the murder itch and she tells him to calm down while both praising and subtly roasting our loathsome duo

you're damn right my man is brilliant. good to know we're acknowledging that

all in all this has to be some of my favorite Krennic content out there. the only thing I didn't like about this issue is that they made Tarkin and Vader really hostile towards each other. Vader gets two very vivid fantasies of killing him and I suspect the artist just really wanted to draw that, which, fair enough

personally my preferred characterization for these two is that they are low key buddies (seriously read Tarkin, they totally become buddies there, Palpy sends them on a play date to get them to get along and all that)

but otherwise 10/10 would recommend, great issue

[son1c]

conclusion to the falling stars bonus chapter (yeehaw edition)

falling stars fic masterpost

Shadow glared at the cowboy ghost. It was difficult to keep his eyes on him while also keeping track of the possessed horse statues, but somehow, Shadow was managing. He saw them whinny and kick their feet out of the corner of his eye, their metal hooves scraping against the dirt.

“We’re no one’s dinner,” Shadow growled, his grip tightening around Sonic.

“Watch yourself, boy,” the ghost warned, his ferocious grin widening. “You ain’t the first folks to have made it this far. I’ll round you up like I’ve rounded up the rest, and you’ll be mine again before sundown.”

The horses reared their heads back in agreement. Shadow glared at them too.

“I saw through your ruse once,” Shadow said. “It won’t work on me a second time. You’re a fool if you think otherwise!”

That made the ghost laugh. “You’ve got the spirit of a stallion, hedgehog.” Leaning forward, the ghost then said, “But there’s one thing you ought'a know: even the toughest spirit can be broken.”

The sound of metal on metal suddenly tore through the air. The noise was loud, and horrible, but it wasn’t nearly as horrible as the sight of the horse statues charging at Sonic and Shadow. Their twisted steel bodies shuddered with every pump of their spindly legs, and their heads jerked this way and that as if they were puppets on tangled strings, their creepiness factor working on overdrive.

Shadow dodged the first horse by diving to the right, but the second horse adjusted course quickly, and was on top of him before he had a chance to get out of the way. When the metal monster stomped down on him, Shadow was forced to drop to the ground and block the attack with his foot, since he still had Sonic in his arms. The horse’s bestial strength was apparent from the gust of wind that blew through Sonic’s quills when its hoof connected with Shadow’s shoe.

With wide eyes, Sonic stared at the killer hoof. It was less than an inch from his nose, and still fighting to get closer.

Shadow set his jaw. He wasn’t willing to become roadkill. With a great heave, he pushed the metal horse back, and jumped to his feet. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, but he was far from beat. “I won’t break,” he snarled as he shot a loathsome glare at the cowboy ghost. “If you don’t back down, your pets will be the only ones left in pieces.”

The look in the ghost’s eyes was hungry. “Quit yappin’, and show me your fire!”

Sonic tugged on Shadow’s shoulder. “Stripes,” he said tensely, “you gotta put me down.”

Shadow didn’t break eye contact with the ghost. “No. You’re in no condition to fight.”

Sonic balled his hands into fists. “I can handle myself. ‘Sides, it’s no good if I’m slowin’ you down.”

The two hedgehogs were surrounded. Six metal horses stood in a circle around them, leaving no room to escape. The ghost town offered no spectators, but the fog created the illusion of figures if the sun hit it at the right angle. It felt like they were in the middle of a grand event, a showdown at the town square, except they weren’t fighting for the title of sheriff; they were fighting for their lives.

Shadow briefly turned his attention away from the ghost in favor of looking down at Sonic. When he spoke, he did so with annoyance in his tone. “This isn’t up for debate. You–”

The dark hedgehog was cut off by the sudden appearance of a third horse. Its huge steel head was plowing forward, ready to bash Shadow’s skull to bits. Sonic yanked Shadow backwards, and the two hedgehogs rolled under the horse’s attack, missing it by a hair.

Now on the ground, Sonic pushed himself out of Shadow’s grasp and said, “I got us into this mess, alright? The least I can do is stay outta your way while you clean it up.”

Shadow looked like he wanted to argue, but when the cowboy ghost sent another horse his way, he decided to prioritize the threat. Now that he had both hands free, he was able to grab the horse when it charged at him, and with that same unnatural strength as before, he flipped it over his head and slammed it down into the dirt. The horse shrieked in surprise, but because it was a haunted statue and not a real horse, it couldn’t really feel pain.

Shadow would need to completely destroy it in order to take it out of the fight.

Sonic, meanwhile, was thinking about what he could do to help. He didn’t want to be a dead weight–anymore than he already was. Surely, there must be something he could do to aid Shadow in the fight. His broken leg complicated things, but he’d sooner break another bone than just stand there and do nothing. So, he looked between all of the horses, at their tall metallic bodies that cut into the sky like cursed blades. And he noticed something.

The horse statue that the cowboy ghost was sitting on moved seamlessly, its motions almost indistinguishable from a living, breathing horse. The ones on the other side of the square, however, moved more erratically, their bodies twitching like they were running out of power.

Maybe, if…

“Stripes!” Sonic shouted, his eyes big from the realization. “You gotta throw it, man!”

Shadow, who had been trying and failing to punch the life out of the undead horse statue, shouted back, “What?!” He narrowly avoided the statue’s dagger-like teeth when it snapped at him.

“As far as you can,” Sonic answered. “Just do it!”

Grunting, Shadow figured he might as well give it a shot. He ducked under the horse’s hooves, whipped back around, and grabbed its spindly legs with both of his hands. Then, he spun it around, faster and faster, until finally he let it go, and the statue sailed through the air, crashing into a house two blocks down the street. It did not get back up.

Shadow’s eyes lit up. Five more to go.

Moving fast, Shadow managed to toss all but the last horse out of the fight. When it came to that last one, however, he had to stop, because it was the one the cowboy ghost had chosen as a steed. And the cowboy ghost now had Sonic clutched in his ghastly fist. The blue hedgehog was clawing angrily at the white hand wrapped around his middle, but if the ghost could feel it, he didn’t seem to care.

“I’ll cut you a deal,” the ghost purred, his swirling eyes glowing bright purple as they bored into Shadow. “Surrender, and I’ll let him go. Your Chaos Energy’s all I’m hankerin’ for, anyhow. Ain’t no need to be greedy!”

“No! Stripes, don’t–”

The ghost tightened his grip around Sonic, choking him. His freaky eyes never wavered from Shadow’s face. “Refuse, and I’ll kill him.” Grinning, the ghost said to Shadow, “The choice is yours.”

Shadow watched as Sonic’s face started to turn blue. His chest frothed with rage at the cowboy ghost, the feeling swirling inside of him like a snowstorm, prickling his skin and fur and threatening to burst out in a storm of icicle spears. He looked the ghost dead in the eye, his expression frigid. His voice was equally as cold when he replied, “I refuse.”

The ghost blinked in surprise. However, he quickly recovered, and his expression darkened. “Stubborn hog,” he sneered. “As if I’d let a good meal go to waste!”

Then, the ghost loosened his grip around Sonic, and Sonic gasped. But before the blue hedgehog could recover, the ghost pressed his big thumb against Sonic’s little forehead, and said evilly, “Do me a favor, won’t you, darlin’? Wrangle that friend a'yours for me.”

Sonic’s efforts to break free from the ghost’s grasp died down when his green eyes started to fill with purple. And when he looked down at Shadow from his place atop the horse statue’s head, it was with the same swirling gaze as the cowboy ghost.

Great. Now Shadow would have to–

Blinking, Shadow stared at the top of the horse statue’s head, but Sonic wasn’t there anymore. His ear twitched, and he snapped his head to the side just in time to see Sonic’s fist coming towards him way faster than he ever would have thought was possible. Shadow caught it, but only just barely, and his palm stung from the impact.

The two hedgehogs skidded across the dirt, the speed of Sonic’s attack carrying them forward even after it had been stopped.

It was the sweat lining Sonic’s brow that caused Shadow to look down. Under the leg brace, Shadow could see the bandages begin to turn red as fresh blood seeped through. He gritted his teeth. While Sonic’s speed certainly came as a surprise, it was being forced out of him, and if Shadow didn’t stop it soon, the consequences could be dire.

Sonic threw another punch, although this one seemed slower than the first. His fist still streaked through the air like a speeding bullet, however, and Shadow had to be quick to catch it. Then, the dark hedgehog’s chest squeezed with rage at the cowboy ghost when he heard Sonic’s breath hitch from the next step he took.

No more playing around.

Shadow dropped Sonic’s fists and ran towards the cowboy ghost and his steed at top speed, his icy anger igniting and turning into a burning flame inside his heart. He refused to let this spirit keep them trapped here any longer, and when he curled into a ball, all of his rage joined him, his body set alight with red hot Chaos Energy.

The ghost did not dodge. His hunger consumed him–when he saw Shadow’s overflow of Chaos Energy, he simply waited in anticipation.

Less than a second later, Shadow’s hit connected with the horse statue’s skull, and the haunted art piece burst into flames, overwhelmed by the power of Shadow’s attack. The cowboy ghost was next, as Shadow bounced off the statue’s head and slammed directly into the ghost’s face, still on fire with that crackling red energy.

It proved to be too much for the voracious ghost. He, too, burst into flames. His spirit burned away quickly, destroyed by the unrestrained power of Shadow’s Chaos Energy.

Shadow landed on his feet. He watched as the last of the cowboy ghost’s wispy form disappeared into the sky with a dark expression. Good riddance, he thought. Then, he rushed over to the other side of the square, where Sonic was standing, wobbling on his feet.

“Sh… Sheesh! What hit me?” Sonic laughed, though it was strained. “F-Feels like I just went through the spin cycle! Haha!”

Shadow inspected Sonic’s eyes, but could find no trace of the ghostly purple that had previously been infecting them. Did he not remember going fast?

“Let’s get out of here,” Shadow said tersely, casting a glance over his shoulder. The hospital building had disappeared, but that creepy fog remained hanging over everything. “Before anything else shows up.”

“Huh?” Sonic blinked, still a little dazed. “Oh, yeah. And let’s hunt down a cafeteria while we’re at it–one without an ectoplasm problem!”

Shadow suddenly felt a searing pain in his head. It burned him, like the Chaos Energy he had just unleashed onto the cowboy ghost. He squeezed his eyes shut to curb his spinning vision, but it did little to help the sudden nausea that was now gripping at his throat.

Sonic noticed the sudden change and immediately shook off the last of the funk clouding his brain. He reached out to Shadow, holding him steady by gripping the dark hedgehog’s upper arm. “You doin’ okay, bud?”

Grimacing, Shadow pried his eyes open. “It’s nothing. Just–”

Whatever he was about to say died in his throat, as his body completely shut down on him. Sonic, alarmed, caught him before he could become a pile in the dirt.

Thankfully, he could feel Shadow’s breath against his shoulder, so he knew he wasn’t dead, just asleep. Still, Sonic was concerned.

“Take it easy,” Sonic said, even though Shadow couldn’t hear him.

Sonic’s leg–which he had been pointedly ignoring up until this point–screamed at him to sit down, but there was no way he could stop and rest in this messed up ghost town. The buildings loomed at him through the fog, the specters of the horse statues lurking just out of sight.

Sonic slung Shadow’s arm over his shoulders. He didn’t have the leg strength necessary to carry him like a Disney princess, so hopefully the dark hedgehog wouldn’t mind being half-dragged through the mud while Sonic limped up the hill and out of town. He didn’t stop until the haunted town vanished behind the hills at his back, and when it did, he carefully laid Shadow down in a bed of flowers before flopping down next to him, exhausted.

Staring up at the stars, Sonic listened to the soft sound of the wind blowing through the grass. To no one in particular, he asked, “Has my life always been this exciting?”

[sorcerous-caress]

I know requests are closed but I just wanted to say that I found the Halsin x Durge!Reader delicious

Imagine if he did get mad though once he found out about her druid savagness and gets mad and decides breeding her would calm her down more bhaalspawn for her though

I mean, at least you're the only person who acknowledged the fact that my requests are closed while requesting. I gotta give you some points. Others just shoot the request one after another no matter if I say it's closed or not.

You're talking about this fic I assume?

I think he'd feel betrayed. Heartbroken yes but mostly betrayed and robbed, anger is a only a passing madness in Halsin's case that will drive him to march into your tent and drag you by the ankle to offer an explanation, beg for mercy or maybe both.

Have you seen this clip of him being angry? Actually angry? It's during the confrontation of when you murder the grove but let him live.

Imagine that intensity with the fact that it's also his own heart you "played" with. At least from his slightly toxic point of view, he thinks that he was owed you being heroic and innocent. So by being...yk durge, you completely robbed him of his fantasy and shattered that stained glass view he had of you.

It would take a lot to get him to that state, he'd try to argue with anyone who says otherwise that you aren't really responsible for your less than ideal actions, that it's Bhaal controlling you like a curse or something. That you can't possibly enjoy it let alone enthusiastically go along with these dark whims.

A front row seat to one of your gorey shows is all it takes to flip his world upside down.

You're not some fawn learning to balance or a rabbit hiding between his feet. He sees you clearly for the venomous snake that you were, that you are. Curling around him, sinking your body and teeth into him. It must be you why Silvannus hasn't been answering his prayers lately, why the animals in the forest flee from your lingering scent on his body.

Death is too kind of a revenge. You deserve something more cruel, redemption. Willing or unwilling Halsin will drag you to the brighter side, the nicer side, the morally right side. Part of his stubborn hope stems from the fact he grew too weak of a soft spot for you to even consider the idea of ending or harming you in any way. So either you make him worse or he breaks you into being a better person first.

Kick punch and claw at him, it will not phase him. He will hold you down whenever that gleam of sadistic glee shines in your seemingly innocent eyes at the curious squirrel sniffing your hand.

Drown your threats of violence and promises of a bloodbath of gore and viscera to passerbys with his tongue down your throat. Kissing you as if he may purge the evil from within if he got you to melt into his arms.

As a result he becomes harsher in bed, not that you're complaining. If anything it's him who's suffering the most from the way his once gentle grip on your thighs turned bruising and possessive. His once soft slow thrusts became feral and merciless. The way he used to coo praises and apologise against your neck became litters of insult in elvish at how much of a traitor and a snake you are, how you deserve each bite he leaves behind.

He loathes himself, like a poison sinking into his stomach and refusing to resurface. Droplet after droplet falling to weight down his body each time you force his hand into breeding you for an inch of your life so you may do no harm to others nor fulfill your dark destiny as a child of bhaal.

What has he become? How can he call himself a druid?

It feels like it's his job now to keep the evils at bay, to keep the hungery wolves fed with his own flesh, to take care of the monster he has created. You are his responsibility.

It seems like you're getting closer to breaking him by day, especially since he already does half the work himself for you by simply antagonising himself and every loathsome action you force him to take.

[gratuiciel]

"so long, my hero"

a tetta kisaki/takemichi hanagaki playlist

▶ listen here

track list and relevant lyrics under the cut

Epigone - Natsuko Nisshoku

if all it took to survive was enthusiasm, then anyone and everyone could be a hero

in order to protect, you'll have to take that leap

you won't reach for the sky just by stretching

THISKIDSNOTALRIGHT - AWOLNATION

i still don't know what i'm doing (fuck!)

Creep - Radiohead

you're so fucking special

i wish i was special

but i'm a creep, i'm a weirdo

what the hell am i doing here?

i don't belong here

Tigerlily - La Roux

i know you better than this

i could be here when you call

i'll make you top of the list

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid - The Offspring

there's something in your way and now someone is gonna pay

and if you can't get what you want, well it's all because of me

Domino Taoshi - Scop

it took a long time to set them up, didn't it?

but toppling them is the easiest thing, that's how human relationships are

Mr Brightside (Original Demo) - The Killers

jealousy, turning saints into the sea

swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis

Stalker's Tango - Autoheart

love me love me love me love me love me love me love me love me love me love me love me love me more

than you possibly can

Grace Kelly (Acoustic) - MIKA

i could be wholesome i could be loathsome

guess i'm a little bit shy

why don't you like me? why don't you like me without making me try?

Anybody Else - Dom Fera

she said with friends like these who needs anybody else?

(You're The) Devil In Disguise - Elvis Presley

i thought that i was in heaven

but i was sure surprised

heaven help me, i didn't see

the devil in your eyes

The Pretender - Foo Fighters

what if i say i'm not just another one of your plays?

you're the pretender

what if i say i will never surrender?

Carry On - The Score & AWOLNATION

when the madness all around us starts to take its toll (i carry on)

it's a long dark winding road we're on

oh, i carry on

Penguins & Polarbears - Millencolin

so you got me up against the wall

and i'm only waiting for your fall

i'll get back on top and be carefree

it's not the end for me, no, it's not the end for me

Fireproof - The National

you keep a lot of secrets and i keep none

wish i could go back and keep some

Dancing With The Devil - Set It Off

you take your aim to point the blame

it's time we let it go

so save your lies, behind those eyes you're a devil in a disguise

La Camisa Negra - Juanes

what awful luck i had

on the day that i met you

Kryptonite - 3 Doors Down

i watched the world float to the dark side of the moon

after all i knew it had to be something to do with you

Are You Satisfied? - MARINA

high achiever don't you see?

baby nothing comes for free

they say i'm a control freak driven by a greed to succeed

nobody can stop me

Calling All Skeletons - Alkaline Trio

where did you go when the lights went black?

look what's become of me

i've grown to love your disappearing acts, do one more pretty please

Circus - Britney Spears

i'm like the ring leader, i call the shots

Immortals - Fall Out Boy

i'm still comparing your past to my future

it might be your wound but they're my sutures

Meimu Jealousy - Scop & Tsugumi Nagahara

i don't need your pity

just give me love

Slim Pickens Does The Right Thing And Rides The Bomb To Hell - The Offspring

snake is in the grass while you're living in the past

say what you gonna do?

yeah what you gonna do?

Not Good Enough For Truth In Cliché - Escape The Fate

this blood on my hands is something i cannot forget

The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy

i'm gonna change you like a remix

then i'll raise you like a phoenix

Gladiator - Jann

is it everything and more than you were hoping for?

show us something we ain't never seen before

Rule #34 - Fish In A Birdcage

i have you strung

strung in my web

Sharks - Imagine Dragons

don't take it from me, i could be everything

Hatef--k - The Bravery

the only thing that i ask

love me mercilessly

Beggin' - Måneskin

i need you to understand

tried so hard to be your man

the kind of man you want in the end

only then can i begin to live again

Lay All Your Love On Me - ABBA

don't go sharing your devotion

lay all your love on me

The Sharpest Lives - My Chemical Romance

you're the one that i need

i'm the one that you loathe

RUNRUNRUN - Dutch Melrose

oh there she go, losing my head

say you'll love me to death

cause i will

Lonely Together - Avicii & Rita Ora

i might hate myself tomorrow

but i'm on my way tonight

Head Is Not My Home - MS MR

hard to believe

you could cause me harm

this could cause me harm

Numb - MARINA

i can't breathe and i can't smile

this better be worth my while

Karakuri Pierrot - 40mP & Asamakku

i am the pierrot you want me to be

pull my strings as you see fit

Admit Defeat - Bastille

you're the only voice in my head

i can hear you speaking louder than i'm thinking

I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE - Måneskin

because i'm the devil who's searching for redemption

Pseudo-Hope Syndrome - DECO*27

you can let it all out if you want

if that's what will make you feel better

let's dilute today with tears

how many times has it been so far?

Ce Que L'on S'aime - Tryo

and we were the first ones surprised to be reaping what we sow

(here "what we sow/ce que l'on sème" is a wordplay that can also be read as "how much we love each other")

Strawberry Blond - Mitski

i love everybody because i love you

Company Calls Epilogue - Death Cab For Cutie

i'm dressed up for free drinks and family greetings

on your wedding, your wedding, your wedding day

[gendertrickster]

What are your thoughts on dirk’s deal with his splinters, and how a similar concept (whether internalized or externalized) might present itself in other Heart classes?

i think the splinters are something very unique to the prince of heart, because to me a prince is very literal: a ruling class. a prince builds a kingdom out of their aspect; dirk, faced with this absolute isolation and having nobody who could quite relate to him (in both a gay and transmasculine sense, even), has to make his own company. he builds a robot in his own image, he makes chatbots that talk to each other for infinity and, most vitally, he creates the auto-responder. he has nothing to relate to so he just breaks himself into pieces and shapes those pieces upwards. what this results in, though, is dirk being surrounded in totality by all of his own personal traits, which makes his own flaws stand out far more to him, leading him down an inevitable path of self-loathing.

to me, a prince is also at odds (or perhaps even at war) with the aspect opposite theirs, so for dirk he is at odds with mind. he's constantly overthinking to the point of wrapping back around and making hugely uncritical decisions, he's so self-aware it hurts, he has trouble understanding the internal logics of others (autism), he feels as if he has to be the one making all the choices for everyone's sake, and most of all he's endlessly doubting himself on whether he's gonna turn out a bad person based on some trajectory he can't change. once the game begins to start, his kingdom starts collapsing once the AR 1) starts deliberately keeping him in the dark on what he's doing and 2) begins to obscure to his friends what dirk even is anymore, and this image of dirk that is defined by all that he's created in his image begins to shatter.

every splinter of dirk represents a trait of his own cranked to 11. brobot is his fighting prowess warped into this twisted bloodlust, brain ghost dirk is his masculinity as jake sees it which for jake, who hates being a man, becomes toxic, and hal is the leader of this rebellion in his own heart, representing every part of himself he wanted to leave behind. by the end, brobot is broken, jake doesn't want to talk to him anymore, and hal has merged with equius, becoming something entirely different.

what dirk has to do in this fallout is not lose himself to this endless self-criticism and start trying to appreciate any of his own traits, or his loathsome nature of self will take everyone down with him.