thinking about gorgug thistlespring, a barbarian half-orc raised by tinkerer gnomes, who tried to teach him that his anger was not a bad thing, that he was not a burden, that he should channel those negative emotions into something good and positive, like singing or making things, and so he did. he made friends, he learned the drums, he fought, he protected, he saved the world and met multiple who liked him for who he is.
thinking about gorgug thistlespring, a teenage boy with his first girlfriend, who was so devoted to protecting his friends that he made a mistake, he didn’t consider her feelings, so he fought so hard to make it right, he felt so guilty and so angry at himself so he built something just to be able to talk to her again. his parents taught him to channel his emotions and he realised he was just as good at creating as he was at raging. and even when the nightmare king’s forest threw his fears and insecurities in his face, he carried on, for his friends, because “its gorgug, keep going.”
thinking about gorgug thistlespring, an artificer-barbarian who figured out who he is, what he wanted, what he’s good at, who knows how to channel his anger into protecting and creating, to save the world and his friends, only to be told that he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t do what he wanted, his anger was for destruction, not for creating, not for putting his life on the line for his friends, that all the things his parents had taught him, all the things that he had learned while saving the world were wrong.
thinking about gorgug thistlespring.
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“You’ve never had sex before, have you?” you spit the question out before you can help it. Choso’s eyes go wide at that, his eyebrow twitching ever so slightly, before he tries to quickly school his expression to one of indifference. you don’t believe him for a moment though, especially with the way his hands start to tap at the bedsheets beneath him.
“What makes you say that?” he asks you, his voice rough and low. this close, you can see the uncertainty laying there. his hair is still in his signature buns, his fringe covers dark plum eyes that can’t find a single place on your face to settle. they dart from your own gaze to your lips, to your chin where your lipgloss has smeared from kissing him. he squeezes your waist tightly before he places his hands back against the bed, seemingly unsure of what he should do with himself.
“Your mannerisms,” you mutter, head tilted to the side as you start running your finger down the column of his neck. “How unsteady and unsure you are about everything; my body, where your hands should go, how long you should suck on my tongue when you kiss me. You’re so in your head, I figured you’re either nervous because it’s me or because you’ve never done this before.”
“Both.” He answers in a rush of breath, palms finding your waist once more, his eyes a little wider than usual. “My father never taught me anything about sex, and I was too busy taking care of my brothers to really think about it. So this is all,” his voice slowly disappears with every inch of skin you reveal to him, a sly smirk spreading across your face.
“New?” You finish for him, shirt suddenly tossed across the room. He nods with a thick swallow, an obvious struggle to keep looking at your face, scared that he might objectify you and make you uncomfortable, but his look does everything but. “Do you want to fuck me, Choso?”
he groans so loud, you fear he’s cum in his pants already. it sure does feel like it, with how his cock twitches, thick where you rest on top of his pelvis, a wet spot suddenly growing between your legs. you can’t help but rock your hips ever so gently against him, grinning when his eyes fly shut and squeeze, his hands gripping you so tightly that you can’t tell whether or not he wants to stop you or encourage you.
“Do you?” you ask him again when he doesn’t answer, his lip bitten tightly between his teeth. “Do you wanna know what it feels like to be inside me? Feel me cum on your cock? Don’t you wanna fill me up with your cum?”
he seizes you before you can register his speed, his hands quick and fast and tight and pulling everything he can. you can’t help but laugh against his mouth and let him mold himself to your body in every way that he sees fit.
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Friday is marked on Ice's secretary's calendar as "date night" since the moment she started working for him. And it means his husband is going to stroll in their part of the building at 4.30, leave her favourite coffee on the table before closing the door behind him. It takes between fifteen to thirty minutes before she sees both men strolling out, Admiral Kazansky's hair a little messed up and his husband's sporting the biggest and brightest grin she has seen on a person before. She never takes appointments on Friday after four, and when Admiral Cain laments that she can't just decide not to schedule a meeting because Admiral Kazansky has something better to do, she laughs and writes a long ass email to tell him, in very polite words, sorry, no can do. Fuck you.
The next Friday, Maverick leaves a muffin with her favourite coffee and pats her back before closing the door behind his back. They are out of the office in ten minutes, laughing and holding hands in front of her, for the first time.
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People saying they'll be an Imogen apologist bro I'm about to become an Orym apologist this man fucking earned wanting to bathe on the blood of his enemies. Let him be angry. Let him call what he wants to do revenge straight up. Let him snap. Let him go apeshit and stop being nice. Let him want Otohan Thull to fear him. Hell I don't care he doesn't have the stats let him go barbarian if necessary.
Let the halfling make the wolrd burn cause others have made his world burn too many times.
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since it’s annual dishonored brainrot period
you know Corvo either being mute from birth OR losing his tongue due to his torture period makes much more sense when Burrows confesses everything to Corvo
It becomes less stupid in way of ‘you’re gonna be executed tomorrow anyway it’s not like you’ll escape’ and more in a way of ‘you aren’t able to talk anyway, who you will tell?’
That way it starts to look like even more of a mockery from Burrows, spilling everything to a man who won’t be able to tell anyway not because he’ll be dead next morning, but because he literally can’t tell anyone
Like yes I know second game straight up denies such possibility with Corvo now being officially voiced, but before second game was even announced it was a solid (and still is honestly) head canon for me when I play Dishonored
There’s also something absolutely terrifying at meeting this masked man and he literally doesn’t answer anything you tell him
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