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lizzylucky · 2 months

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Draxum hadn't accounted for the fact that when he gave four hatchling turtles the DNA of a human being in order to give them greater intelligence, he would effectively be making himself a surrogate father to actual children, with wildly different needs.

When he sent his gargoyles to obtain a sample of DNA from Big Mama's prized warrior, the intention was to create his own. They were to be the prototypes for an army of simple creatures with just enough heightened intelligence to learn combat and follow commands, that he might defend Yokai kind with.

Instead, he quickly discovered the integration of human DNA had been a little over successful in allowing his test subjects to learn and think and feel in a civilized manner, going so far as to override some of their natural instincts as turtles that would otherwise allow them to learn to care for themselves. He had to feed them, by hand, with bottles.

Like infants.

They were easily distraught by unfamiliar things, and quickly became dependent on Draxum in every sense of the word. They babbled, they cried, they explored things with their hands, their tails, their mouths.

It was an unplanned adjustment needed to be made, but no matter. If anything, learning to understand the new hybrid emotions of these turtles would allow Draxum greater advantages when they grew enough to safely learn combat. Preferences, likes and dislikes, needs, diet, and so on, all became more complex areas of study.

Even a couple years in, he found himself continually surprised. Brain scans had shown that the turtles were more intelligent, still, than anticipated. They, truly, seemed more human in mind and function than anything else, with only some base instincts and behaviors left to influence their personalities. They retained many reptilian traits, but overall had the bipedal anatomy and function of humans and some Yokai. It had been an infuriating discovery at first, but Draxum had to admit that over time he became fond of it.

Each turtle had developed his own personality. The eldest, for example, had a love of plush toys, and showed a fierce protective instinct over the others. The youngest, Draxum had learned, was contrastedly reckless and excitable, not nearly so reserved or gentle as the first. Additionally, he was, decidedly, to be kept away from any and every writing utensil unless under strict supervision (unfortunately, this was learned a little too late, as was evidenced by the clear markings left in several work benches). Then, of course, were the slider and the softshell, who had the most bizarre relationship. They were constantly fighting with each other, but utterly inseparable, and each showed an incredible and unique curiosity, constantly exploring and watching and studying, with concentration filling their eyes in ways Draxum had never seen in other children so young.

Embarrassingly, it took another couple years before Draxum realized he couldn't simply refer to them by their species' names. It certainly was effective, but they were not the mild, simple creatures he had once expected them to be, and he knew that they never would.

Now, they were vocal, playful, inquisitive... energetic. By the gods, were they energetic. They never stopped moving, never stopped talking, never stopped eating, never stopped wanting or needing.

...This is why Draxum never had children of his own. It took all the time and energy he had to spare, and then some. Although it would be a lie to say he wished they were any other way.

They had so much capacity to learn, and with their emotional propensity could one day come to understand exactly why Draxum was doing this, which he knew would be an edge in their combative styles.

As he introduced them, slowly, to more of the world's culture and knowledge, he felt, in a new way, that their very existences were revolutionary. A perfect, synergistic unity between two entirely different families of genetic material, with numerous enhanced abilities. And they were children. They maintained all the properties of regular children, but had so much more in store! Such grand destinies! They would be, inarguably, the greatest warriors of their time when they were grown. They would be the compassionate, skillful heroes of all Yokai, the first of a new generation of super mutants, and the key to overcoming the evils of the humans who had overtaken the surface and posed such threat to all who lived below.

It was with great reluctance that he allowed himself to accept, however, that not all of mankind was evil. There were many forms of art, beautiful in different ways, there were some rare people filled with kindness, inventions that utilized resources in ways Yokai kind had never thought to. Perhaps he had been a little stubborn in his ways, a bias cementing over time that blinded him to some of the beauty that did yet exist in such a species.

Make no mistake, humans were a threat. Innocent families lived in fear, in hiding, of the governments and ruthless sciences designed to invade, to blaspheme the name of knowledge, with no regard for the safety of this people.

Draxum could live with being an outlaw to the Yokai if his experiments would lead to their salvation. He may be their villain in today's papers, but in history books he would be a hero.

Still, he wished to amend some of his practices. Even if only to his turtles, he would be known for his ability to change and understand. He would be fair, and he would be truthful.

And so it was that he told the turtles the nature of their existence. Perhaps he muted some of the details, to protect their minds until they had more understanding, but he would not lie to them about their DNA. He told them of Lou Jitsu, and their human genetics, and he begrudgingly allowed them access to the culture of the humans. He would let them choose their interests unbiased.

In the process, he came to know of some of the revolutionaries of human history. Though he wasn't particularly inclined to believe there were no evils involved, he was intrigued by the strange moral code that the humans boasted from their different time periods. The turtles, as well, were fascinated by the stories of war heroes and generals, seamstresses and inventors, artists and royalty.

Initially, when it came time to redesignate his turtles, Draxum had been inclined toward the names of those whose legacies persisted in the humans' culture even today- perhaps a president for the slider, a scientist for the softshell, a great general for the snapper, and an artist for the young box turtle. It seemed, somehow, clandestinely right; carefully considered to exemplify each of their personalities.

And although he had begun to get used to the possibility of names like "Monroe" and "Edison", his indecision on the matter seemed to be working against him. He was taking too long, and the boys were growing smarter.

It was a day in August, later that year, that he found his two youngest arguing over a Renaissance book, oddly enough. The elder two took to a game of knocking "secret patterns" on each other's carapaces, which he dismissed before he could allow himself the confusion that came with wondering why a five year old would want to knock on a spiked shell for fun.

After breaking up the fight and confiscating the book (which, as it turned out, the youngest only wanted because it had pictures in it, much to the chagrin of the other, who insisted that reading it was much better than just looking at the pictures), Draxum found himself idly flipping through pages of rustic images and rudimentary ideas, developed by people with strange names.

Maybe he was simply too tired to consider it properly, but, feeling defeated in his endeavor, he chose four names at random and assigned them to the young turtles, deciding it had been long enough.

It took a while to get used to, but soon "Raphael", "Leonardo", "Donatello", and "Michaelangelo" truly fit.

Over time, the boys grew... ravenous. They devoured everything- food, information, technique. They were learning quickly everything Draxum taught them. They practiced with Huginn and Muninn, leapt up, around, over, and through everything in the lab, and took special interest in action-filled films.

And Draxum grew fonder. He wasn't entirely surprised, of course; it's natural to develop some sense of sentimentality when caring for anything this long. Even if they had been the simple minded turtles he expected, he knew this was inevitable, to a degree.

What startled him was the sudden sense of fear that came with watching them train. The alarm that made his heart beat harder when one of them fell from somewhere high or any time they ran simple drills with weapons not blunted and made from wood.

He subtly began to intensify their defensive strategies, taught them where they were most vulnerable so they could protect those spots, insisted on perfecting their abilities to parry, block, and dodge before anything else.

And, over time, he found himself training them less often than before, thinking, "I must preserve their innocence and prolong their childhood experiences". After all, it was an essential part of development, was it not? If it were tarnished too much, they might become unwise or unjust as warriors. And, really, Raphael was only 8 years old, and he was the eldest; they were much too young to be exposed to the harshness of what their combative training was really for.

He told himself that, time and time again. He told them that, making certain they understood that their training was not a game. It wasn't untrue, certainly.

Really, he just wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to admit to what extent he cared about them, because it was too much. It was more than he could ever have been prepared for. It was more than that passion to protect Yokai kind ever was, and if he ever realized that, he might become the compromise to his own purposes, to the very reason these turtles exist this way to begin with, and then what? What was he to tell them, why was he to train them, who did they exist for if not the inhabitants of the Hidden City?

No. He couldn't do that. He simply would not allow it, not when so much was at stake.

And yet...

More and more often he desired simply to watch them. He was growing weary with worry, and with that tight feeling that arose in his chest each time one of his boys so much as frowned.

Raphael loved to carry his brothers on his shoulders. And he prided himself on being the big brother, in every way. He liked repeating instructions Draxum gave to the others, and tended to play caretaker anytime someone was sad, or had a bruised knee. He often played the "bad guy" in their made up games so the younger ones could "win", he was the mediator in big decisions, like what book they should read before bed, and he seemed always ready with an armful of stuffed animals when he wanted to express affection. So strong, incredibly strong, but soft spoken and sweet.

Leonardo adored Raphael. Just as Raphael did Draxum, Leonardo liked to imitate and repeat instructions. He tended to take charge in many of their childish endeavors, and had a propensity for dramatics and heroism, often pretending to rescue his brothers. This seemed to irritate Donatello to no end, unless he was also playing the hero, and often times he was. The two were usually glued to the hip, though Leonardo liked to make a point to tell all his brothers about everything that went on, and would take a movie night with the three of them over a one on one outing with Draxum any day. He was exuberant and joyous, and very driven by the concept of justice.

Donatello, similarly, seemed to care very dearly about maintaining a bond with all three of his brothers, but he was peculiar, often more reserved and enjoying his alone time. That child read and read like he might never get a chance to again, and he absorbed what he read like a sponge. Quite a few times Draxum found him pulling apart whatever he could get his hands on, and though an effort was made, there was no hiding place the boy couldn't discover in his quest for Draxum's tools. In spite of his quizzical, sometimes stoic nature, Donatello was sensitive, and very thoughtful. He would spend hours talking about his books and his ideas- some of which were very clever- and he was expressive in secondary ways- sitting nearer his brothers even without interacting, crafting things out of paper as gifts. Even the little heart-shaped mark on the back of his soft shell seemed a fitting part of him- he wore his heart on his sleeve, so to speak, and didn't even realize it.

And Michaelangelo. There was an innocence and joy and goodness about the smallest turtle that had struck Draxum. Even when he was younger he always wore a smile and liked to see the good side of things. And he idolized his brothers. With him had grown his creative inclinations, filling every colouring book, drawing on every wall, and absolutely plastering the other turtles with stickers. They were a pain to wash off, but Draxum couldn't bring himself to mind it, especially given the elder three always loved their baths. Ironically, it seemed Michealangelo did not, enjoying it only under specific circumstances. Heat, bubble bath, and bath toys had quickly become a necessity. So too did bath crayons, the need to express himself coming through even when bathing. Everything about the ornate box turtle was bright and colourful.

Draxum... loved them. Dearly. Every facet of their personalities and growth. Every unique trait and behavior.

It was terrifying. He couldn't afford to love them. He couldn't afford to see any more goodness in the humanity they showed. He couldn't afford to change his goals right now.

So he continued disregarding the feeling, trying to reason that everything he did for them was to nurture their instincts as warriors, as science experiments, as specimen.

But a pained scream one day, different from any of the ones he heard when they were frightened as infants, when one of them tripped and fell, when a spat led to hitting, sent his heart into his throat and had him racing through doorways with more urgency than he had felt for anything before.

He had demanded an explanation, panic translating to perceived anger, and three of his boys looked up with teary eyes. Three, but Donatello remained curled up on the ground, wailing his little heart out without ever looking up, and it was one of the most heart wrenching, painful sounds Draxum'd ever heard.

Raphael sat not far from the smaller boy, looking over his shoulder seemingly at nothing, at Donatello, then up at Draxum and back again. Both Leonardo and Michaelangelo burst into frantic, panicked explanations, none of their words coherent enough to understand through their tears.

When Raphael stood, exposing red-tipped spikes on his shell and pointing frantically to Donatello's, it didn't take long to figure out well enough what had happened.

It became quickly a very long day. All four turtles were distraught, and though Draxum had more than enough first aid knowledge to address the situation, bile had threatened to rise the very moment he pulled out the suture kit.

The cuts were deep, and jagged. And poor Donatello cried the entire time, even after a numbing agent had been applied.

Draxum had never thought that in depth about Donatello's soft shell. Not like that. He chose a softshell for the experiment because it would provide greater flexibility, greater agility. It gave an advantage that the hard-shelled turtles did not have.

Now, here... The soft carapace, spongy and leathery and bloody...

It was an accident. Of course it was, Draxum never doubted that. He had to assure that none of his boys were in trouble, no one was in trouble, no one had done anything wrong.

But for the first time he had to be honest with himself. For the first time he couldn't deny how much he cared about the turtles. His turtles. His boys.

He wouldn't, either. If this was what it was, if this was something that could happen again because he insisted on making them into warriors, into fighters- if this could happen on purpose, if this could happen worse, if this could happen with malice and hatred in mind...

Draxum wasn't unused to physical affection, by now. All four boys adored hugs, although Donatello was usually more reserved about them. Now, Donatello clung like his life depended on it, sniffling and whimpering, having cried so long he had no more tears. Draxum clung back, idly smoothing over the edges of the bandages, holding the frightened, exhausted turtle to his chest, cradling.

He did so until well after Donatello fell asleep. He couldn't bring himself to put him down. He accompanied the others to bed, assuring them once more that things were alright, and then simply stood in the walkway, holding his boy tightly.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't go through with it. They were children, every bit as innocent and deserving as the Yokai he wished to avenge and protect. He could train them, prepare them to protect themselves, but he could never send them into battle, ask them to put their lives on the line, much less demand it.

How could he?

It took months of processing, of agonizing his way through the healing process with Donatello, of watching the other boys proving their humanity, their curiosity, and their innocence time and time and time again. His mind was constantly at war with itself, his heart constantly in turmoil and distress, worsened by the turtles' confusion at his sudden change in behavior.

What was even worse was that they would.

They would absolutely sacrifice everything they had for his approval, and for what they understood as "right". He could see them, easily, being willing to submit their very lives to a greater cause if he asked it.

But was he "right"? Even if this experiment had gone exactly as planned, was he right for ever considering putting these turtles into the station of a warrior? Even if they had remained turtles in mind, if they never expressed complex emotion, if they could not speak, if they did not have distinct and colourful personalities, would it have been right?

Was what he saw in them now what they would have been at heart, regardless of circumstance?

Or was it the humanity, that he stole from Lou Jitsu?

Perhaps... perhaps it was time to learn. To consider the root of his motivations.

He couldn't do this to them.

How could he?

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise donnie #rise leo #rise raph #rise mikey #baron draxum #rise draxum #rottmnt fanfiction #whump #blood mention #rise lou jitsu #lou jitsu #(only mentioned)#to be honest with you I wrote this on a whim and i don't even really know why I felt inclined to #but I really like it #maybe i just needed to get some thoughts and feelings out #and I think this'd make a REALLY cool AU idea #would anyone want to see more?#if there were interest I think this'd be a lot of fun #lou jitsu stayed with big mama in her Battle Nexus and never met Draxum face to face #Draxum kept the turtles and He's A Good Dad Actually By Accident #he slowly learns to love the turtles like a real father and even to appreciate a bit of humanity through them #and when he finally realizes that he starts questioning his beliefs and morivations #he decides not to make the turtles his warriors because they're his KIDS #and the idea moving forward is that he would find Lou Jitsu and learn about humanity #Lou in turn would have developed a hatred for yokai because of his Bad Times as an unwilling warrior #and we get a whole mess of changed roles and bizarre moral conflicts #threw in the Raph Accidentally Hurt Donnie's Soft Shell When They Were Kids trope #that's a good one hehe

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appri-dot · 6 months

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I like to draw nutcracker yaoi for character reasons trust fencer(hurt fella) belongs to @ballcrusher74

#this is dumb yaoi angst but i need to get them out my system #also a wip #i wont post the final product probably because the cringe will catch up but for now i WILL gush abt how silly their contrast could be #metal body damaged wooden body worn #woody just way more emotionally driven because fencer is literally the only nutcracker he can connect with #the silly tendrils bristling as a defensive display but involuntary because hes so scared #woody talks in more broken sentences to fencer because he infers that he can understand him as is a lot better then his human crew #fencer very nonchalant because its not the first time his shits been rocked on the job #i worry this is ooc for fencer so idk how far i will finish it #but ugh i need to stop using these 2 as nutcracker behaviour dolls #SORRY BUT DAMAGE TO A METAL SHELL BEING MORE SIGNIFICANT BECAUSE THE VIOLENT VIBRATIONS #THUSLY WHY NUTCRACKERS IMMEDIATE BECOME EXTRA AGGRESSIVE WHEN HIT WITH SHOVELS #im normal im normal....#woody mimics a human in body heat because the wood better insulates the interior of his body #tw blood #tw body horror #tw gore #lethal company

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darlingpeasant · 3 months

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“Get the yearning man look”

#he’s their representative #king of yearning #king of breaking down to a hollow shell of a human after realising he’s in love #oh I love him #polin #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #luke newton #colin ‘my wife’ bridgerton

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whomeidontknowthem · 2 months

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Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 1.

Masterpost. Next part.

Content warning: slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, implied future torture, characters express fantasy racism (slave owners are surprisingly not good people).

The slave auction was a grand building, standing tall and proud of its purpose and the wealth of those coming there. It was a place of privilege – on one side of the grand stage, at least. Or on one side of the iron bars, if you were afforded the honor of seeing the stock before the official bidding began – a rare, sparingly given to the most esteemed of patrons opportunity.

Lord Edarwis Teelo greatly enjoyed being one of them. He passed by the row of cells with the dignity that fit his status he had to fight to present – getting to choose before anyone else laid their hands on the collection was exciting. It'd taken many years of work and effort. He couldn't wait to have it all pay off.

Most were boring offerings. People from all over the kingdoms, a few criminals but mostly those sold to slavery to pay off debts. A servant went on about each of them before Lord Teelo threw him a quick glance. The boy was clever enough to close his mouth, letting the lord enjoy the walk in silence, rarely interrupted by any of the scared prisoners. They watched his every move, of course, at least most of them – eyes wide and scared or shut tight or cast away. All pretty faces (the auction only sold the best), skin ranging from deep browns of the Ashai coast to pale pinks from the northern border.

One of them caught the lord's eyes and he paused, studying the boy closer. Young, barely of age, either shaven cleanly or still unable to grow a beard, with such cute little curls on his head and wide hazel eyes. He was a candy for the eyes, shivering in the corner of the sell, twisting his naked body to preserve some sense of modesty.

"He's from Deruveer," the servant chimed in. "From the province. His family needed money after the draught and he was the youngest son. He's rather timid, a great choice if you want someone to do the chores and not bother you much."

Lord Teelo hummed. The boy was pretty, and convenience didn't always mean boredom. He decided to let him be for now, continuing on his way.

The next thing that got his attention was a dull distant clanging, like metal meeting stone with force. "What's that?" the lord wondered.

The servant answered readily, "Ah, it's from our special collection. They're not trained very well yet – you see, my lord, they are from the Northern Steppes."

"A barbarian?" Lord Teelo drawled out, impressed.

"Not just. They were a chieftain of some tribe there, – one of the bigger ones, I've been told. Our army hunted them for a while, until the chief decided to finally surrender. I don't think they expected this kind of a future, though. They are rather unruly."

"Show me," the lord demanded.

It didn't take long for them to reach the special section, and the clanging became all the louder as they came closer. "They want attention," the servant explained with a vaguely apologetic tone. "Their rations have been cut since they bit the handler, and it hasn't improved their temper, yet. It will eventually though. They are sturdy, but nobody is unbreakable."

The lord hummed, turning the corner and finally being able to take in the person they'd been discussing. He expected – something impressive, matching the tales of unruly northern barbarians, dressed in furs and carrying strange weapons, their skin white as silk or even the snow they saw every year there and covered in nasty scars from constant skirmishes against each other. They were all tall as giants and muscular as lions, – all but the one Lord Teelo saw before him, it seemed.

The barbarian sat in the corner of their cell, naked as all slaves were, even though they didn't seem to even try covering anything. Their skin was pale but in a disappointedly human-like way, adorned with iron cuffs and chains going to the wall and a muzzle fitting tightly around their face and leaving only blue eyes and greasy hair out. They caught Lord Teelo's gaze with determination and moved their arm out as far as they could before jerking it back towards the wall. The chain clung against the stone.

"I expected them to be taller," Lord Teelo expressed their disappointment.

"Yes, yes, I also found their look underwhelming when I first saw them," the servant agreed quickly. "But even though they're rather skinny – they can put up quite a fight! If you decide to buy them, my lord, it is advised you keep them in chains and with guards by your side, at least at first. They're a piece of work for sure."

The lord hummed. "Who else do you keep in this special collection of yours."

"Ah! You're gonna like her," the servant brightened. "A real royalty in our modest house! Follow me, my lord."

The cell he led the lord to was bigger than the rest, and less bare. There was a table, a chair, an honest to gods rug, even, and a whole tea set a woman was enjoying in silence. She wasn't dressed as a queen, Lord Teelo noted, her clothes were rather revealing and obviously made to showcase her beauty more than cover her modesty. But she was dressed – more than most people here could say for themselves.

"Royalty?" Lord Teelo mused. The woman turned her head, deeming him worthy of a long look – and it did feel like she was obliging him. The lord gave his best unimpressed stare back.

"She's the princess of former Terzita."

"Ah. The Night of Storms?" the lord guessed as the princess looked away. He watched her, noting the faint bruises running over the tense shoulders.

"The poor thing watched half of her family murdered before her eyes," the servant agreed. "Such terrible fate. It doesn't make her for a more obedient slave, of course – she's still thinking she should be treated with special dignity. We humor her here – but you are not obliged to do the same, my lord."

He didn't, did he. It would be so fun to put her in her place. Oh, yes, he could enjoy a royal maid. And if she didn't feel like playing the role – he would enjoy teaching her what would come of disobedience.

"You have anything more impressive?" Lord Teelo wondered, not taking his eyes away from the woman.

The servant didn't think for long. "We do," he smiled brightly. "Very special. This might be the most special slave of them all, one you can only see once in a lifetime."

"Oh?"

"It's not a human," the servant declared proudly. Lord Teelo perked up with interest. "Nor is it from the archipelago."

"Ah," Lord Teelo responded and the boy smiled at him, seeing right to his excitement. He showed the way without needing to be prompted.

The thing – the creature, – was huddled in the corner, lying on the ground as the two men approached. Its ears – long, obviously inhuman – perked up at the footsteps, but it didn't move from its place. The lord studied its back, the weird patterns streaming down in swirls of color against the unnatural, obsidian black of its skin – furless, at least, and slightly more human in this. Its spine ended up a tail, curling by its legs. A tail!

"Hey!" the servant called out and rattled a key against the iron bars. The creature moved abruptly to face the sound. Lord Teelo was mesmerized by the yellow of its iris and the black of the rest of its eyes. The pupils retracted into slits when they caught the light.

"Is this a fey?" the lord let out a astounded gasp. Even bringing up the fairytales felt childish, but what else could it be?

"We don't know for sure," the servant replied in a whisper respectful of the marvelous situation. "It doesn't speak Tragesh – or any language, for this matter. It doesn't seem incapable of learning – oi! You, want some food?"

"'uud?" the creature mimicked, flashing fangs in its attempt. Its face made some movement Lord Teelo couldn't read. "Yuu hath no 'uud."

"Astounding," Lord Teelo shook his head. Even if he didn't end up owning the creature, just seeing it was a miracle! "Can it do magic?"

"We keep it in a Shiel's collar," the servant explained. "It hasn't shown any, but – we like to be cautious in this case. It is included with the purchase, of course."

"I see," Lord Teelo tore his gaze away with some difficulty. "Anything else?"

"I'm afraid not, my lord," the servant smiled apologetically. "Was something from our collection to your liking?"

Lord Teelo nodded and then thought about it. Money wasn't a problem, but he was only allowed to buy one slave before the auction – which one would it be?

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is)

@isikedmyself878

Tell me to be tagged in new parts!

#choose the creature. ill have a blast thinking about their language and biology. let my inner nerd have fun. who knows what theyre hiding!#choose the chief. let us all have fun with a defiant whumpee. let us learn of their culture and test their resilience.#choose the princess. let us see how long shell be able to cling to her pride! enjoy someone who could be a match to mc in another life #choose the boy. a perfect unscarred thing that cant imagine just how much pain and fear can exist. or will he grow to love mc instead?#choose anyone. and i swear were going to have fun!#whump #whump writing #whump community #whump blog #interactive whump #interactive story #interactive writing #writing #whumpblr #whumpee #defiant whumpee #non human whumpee #royal whumpee #male whumpee #female whumpee #nonbinary whumpee #whump slavery #pet whumpee #series: eyes on me

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jazzy-a · 3 months

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Angel Dust, tied up: Sorry, first time being kidnapped. Kinda nervous. So, like, why did you pick me?

Angel Dust, grinning: D'you think I'm cute?

Alastor, visibly holding a bloody knife: I'm gonna kill you

Angel Dust: *tongue click* Okay, Daddy vibes. We love a bad boy king, and I wanna die

Alastor, smiling uncomfortably: ...There's something wrong with your generation

#Hazbin hotel #Radiodust #Kind of?#Alastor #Angel Dust #This is them in a nut shell absolutely #I can't tell if this is funnier with them as demons or them meeting as humans #Alastor either ends up k!lling him immediately or just lets Angel go to get rid of him #Alastor: nope-no- this isn't worth it- just go- get out of here #Alastor lamenting on the new generation and how he's steadily becoming unable to understand their language #one day he's going to wake up and need a translator #Drinking his whiskey at the bar like “I remember when people used to just scream in terror and beg for mercy when I tried to m8rder them.”#“I miss those days...”#Source is that one video meme- idk who the og creator is tho

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wlwaerith · 1 year

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i’m aware i’m 100% alone in this, but i genuinely adore ascended astarion (especially when romanced) because of how—frankly—horrific it is. it’s simultaneously so cathartic in its brutality but so unsatisfying personally while managing to be narratively satisfying (just as his other outcome is, of course).

#ophelia.txt #bg3 spoilers #the way he still has the shell of his old feelings for tav mirrored in his possessiveness of them. that alone does suggest that he’d #probably not subject them to the same overt cruelty that he suffered which makes it all far more dangerous and insidious. because what #humanity—in as much as it can be called thus—remained to him is gone. what made him HIM is gone and all that remains is an incredibly #powerful being who (if you got his scene after moonrise) hates them for letting him go through with it. he has no love left in him now.#only want and resentment and possessiveness. if he loves tav it’s the possessive and selfish love a child has for a toy. but he doesn’t #even respect them. he’s too paranoid now. too drunk on the power he has from his failure to break the cycle (which he. again. resents tav #for allowing). he said right out the gates that true vampires are never created. there’s only ever a sire and a spawn. and he views tav #letting him bite them as them degrading themselves. placing themselves as lesser than him and it’s the new baseline for how he’s going to #treat them because the man they loved is effectively gone. it makes me feel so unwell. i love ascended astarion like okay king of not #breaking the cycle 🙌🙌🙌

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sudsyv2 · 2 years

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Ghost, ever since he and soap made their relationship known to their friends, has been very touchy with soap.

Now physical touch isn’t his preferred type of love language, but he does like touching soap so it could be a close second.

Anyhow, skinship! Ghost initiates it every time soap is near him.

Ghost never misses the opportunity too either, always seeking out the smaller man. It was a little different when they hid their relationship, it was ghost waiting for soap to find him. But ever since they revealed their relationship, it’s been ghost actively searching for the scot. It was like he had a radar or something.

And when soap walks in the room, or ghost can hear that laugh of his, ghost perks up immediately. Getting up from his spot to follow the sound of his lover. No matter what he was doing at the time, putting everything down was only natural when you’re in love. And when ghost finally sees soap? He’s all over his lover. The need to feel soaps skin under his hands is overwhelming.

Simple touches and hand holding lights up that possessive fire in ghost. He wants to pull soap into his arms, keep him there, and order anyone else near to back the fuck up.

And soap is always encouraging it.

Enjoying the feeling of being held by ghost, feeling ghosts hands run over his body.

It’s even worse when ghost is drinking!

Ghost won’t let soap out of his reach and sight. If soaps needs to go do something, ghost is going to come along as well. What if there’s something soap can’t reach? Or too heavy for him? That’s why ghost is next to him, ready to offer help for his lover! (Yes these are all half assed excuses drunk ghost has used when people ask why he’s always following soap)

It would be kinda cute if ghost didn’t have a reputation of being terrifying!

And when ghost finally gets a hold of soap? He is not letting go.

(“Si. Dear. Love of my life. Let me go change!” Soap begged, shifting around in ghosts hold. Nose scrunching up at the aroma of alcohol coming off of his lover. Soap has known for some time how ghost gets drunk, but he’d really like to change out of his sweaty clothes please. “…nah” Ghost mumbled, burying his head deeper into the side of soaps neck. He didn’t mind the smell, they’re men in the military. Sweat is natural. So, despite soaps pleads, Ghost tightens his hug. Holding soap even closer now. Ghost smiled with a smug grin hearing soap sigh in defeat. And if soap really wanted to ghost to let go, he’d obviously fight back. )

Alcohol is called liquid courage for a reason! So there’s a lack of shame in ghost when he pulls soap into his lap. Hands mindlessly roaming under soaps shirt every damn time. If ghosts hands aren’t under soaps shirt it’s on his ass. Groping and squeezing at the round flesh like it’s a fucking stress toy. But if ghost can’t be near soap, he’d give the other his jacket. Forcing the other to wear it so when ghost gets back, soap smells like him. And no one else. (Ghost almost cried when he got back to soap and soap smelled like someone else. Ghost says he doesn’t remember this but soap does. He has pictures!)

Anyways, ghost is touchy. And will be. Gift giving is his main love language but who said there can’t be two? No one!

Soap knows this. It’s what he signed up for in their relationship so 😙

#ghostsoap #ghoap #ghost x soap #soap cod #ghost cod #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish #drunk ghost is just a big baby #soap is an enabler lol #ghost isn’t badass he isn’t even baby girl he’s just a pathetically drunk man in love #been some time since I wrote a longer post #I’ve been doing one sentence shit posts 😭#there are two types of ways to write ghost #edgy dangerous and with a dark past who’s slowly coming out of his shell and learning to be human #and just him being silly #sudsyv2

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