#i guess this is my writing tag

[ananinidraws]

Shelly de Killer is a character in Ace Attorney. And the DeKillers are an assassin family. So there's a chance a Jeff de Killer exists in the Ace Attorney universe, and in this essay i will

[panthermouthh]

And I said, “Hello, Satan

I believe it’s time to go.”

[apotheotic-cravings]

I just started Harrow the ninth and the shift in tone… was both jarring and kind of hilarious.

[delizbin]

Effie’s first year as an escort was… interesting! Life threatens aside (and some death here and there), the parties and dresses were nice :)

[robinfollies]

KEEP THE DANGER OUT // KEEP THE DANGER IN

[tgirl-mechanicock]

Theseus Syndrome

100% synchronicity is, as far as science is concerned, impossible. A human mind cannot fully interface with an exosuit, at least not in the way that autonomous drones or combat dolls can. Even combat dolls take mental strain due to their semi-organic nature, hovering at a synchronicity of around 97-98%. But a human mind already has the tax of inhabiting their own body at all times, as well as the extra mental strain of piloting an entire exosuit on top of that, augmented by the billions of microscopic nanofilaments that bind the pilot’s jack socket to the suit.

But there are stories. Whispers on the wind that haunt the fronts of those who have gone full-sync. It’s become a term for insane or reckless, “full-sync”. That kind of intense information overload can short circuit machines designed for war, what in the hell could it do to a human being?

If the stories are to believed, it starts in the connection. A human exosuit pilot’s jack socket is designed with two primary goals in mind: to facilitate the link between the mind and the machine, and to automatically inject necessary medications to keep the body – and specifically the brain – going for as long as possible for the exosuit to do its job. This is a very efficient means of keeping the soldier going; as long as you’re in your suit, protected by fourteen inches of solid steel, you’ll be protected and healed, over and over.

But the kind of strain a link can put on a brain is not strictly internal. It isn’t a simple overload of the synapses, like some sort of barbaric AR virus designed to incapacitate. The jack socket connects your mind literally to the exosuit. Physically. The link is direct, and the electronic impulses from one to the other are a physical relay between the two. And when those impulses push back, damage can be sustained. Physical, tangible damage to the human brain.

Historically, the first exosuit pilot was a man named Charles Phillip Desere. Pictures of the aftermath are often passed around anti-Imperium circles as propaganda, and amongst those seeking to become exosuit pilots so that they understand what kind of life they’re choosing to lead. It’s too gruesome to describe in detail.

 Modern links prevent that level of carnage, but the damage can still be critical to a human body. Limiters are in place to keep that damage from becoming lethal, but what if it isn’t sustained? What if you only peak out at 100% synchronicity sometimes, teasing that level of connection and pulling back in an attempt to undo the damage? Edging your mind to the point of complete collapse before breaching the surface for air?

As far as science is concerned, the practice is, in fact, lethal. You do die during the process. The thing that comes out the other side, however, has been described in pilot ghost stories as “Theseus Syndrome”. The thing on the other side looks like you. It acts like you, sometimes, too. Occasionally over comms, pilots have reported hearing the voices of long deceased pilots, calling their lovers names in anguish or singing their favorite songs.

The jack socket, you see, repairs the damage. No matter the depth. So long as the brain is intact – even some of it – it will repair. A busy little computer, with no real discretion of where you end and where the repairs begin, a process of chemicals and drugs… and nanobots. Nanobots within the filament are occasionally required for the extensive damage, and once more than 50% of your body is made up that synthetic, nanobot flesh… well, that’s You now, isn’t it? The jack socket sees the organic parts of you and sees only a pulsing wound made of aberrant flesh. A tumor to be removed, replaced with perfect machines.

Cell by cell, it breaks you down, rebuilding you in the shape of a perfect pilot. The same as you were, rebuilt. Some say you wouldn’t even notice until your brain begins to go, and your thoughts are strange and different, escaping you like sand between your fingers, the only things remaining being orders from command. To fight. To kill. You watch your own brain being rebuilt and can’t do anything about it. Your last thoughts are of how your thoughts will soon be gone.

And then, the thing on the other side takes over.

Only one person has ever allegedly been recovered after undergoing Theseus Syndrome, and even then documents are classified, redacted to hell, and repeated by the same people who have incredibly unbelievable conspiracy theories, the “Puppet Empress” crowd. She was barely recovered at all, the nanobots within the filament having long since run out, the self-proliferating machines having lost the ability to create more. When her exosuit was taken down, and the cockpit pried open, she was more machine than woman. A smoking carcass with an exposed skull, oil dripping from open wounds and organs made from half-ossified parts salvaged from others.

And she was still fighting. Lashing out with teeth and claws and screaming and snarling and gnashing. Some say she begged them to kill her, others say that she spoke of the incredible pain she was under, some that she whispered that she was afraid.

 Some, however, go a step further. Her body was recovered but she wasn’t burned. A single nanobot from an Imperial recovery agent managed to reach her body, restarting the process and rebuilding her body. They say that she reconstituted before their eyes, killing them all in a bloody haze, and got back into her exosuit to stalk back out onto the battlefield.

They say she’s still down there, on Vespera-4. The ghost in the machine. They say that on quiet nights, if a pilot tunes into the right comm channel and points it in the right direction, they can hear her humming softly to herself, whispering about how beautiful she is and how wonderful it was to be reborn.

They also say if you stay tuned in for long enough, she can hear you too.

[coquelicoq]

what i like especially about the pronouns in the goblin emperor is that this language doesn't just have the T-V distinction (aka informal vs. formal second-person pronouns, in this case 'thou' vs. 'you'), it also has informal and formal first-person pronouns. having BOTH of these distinctions in the same language lets you fine-tune your tone by mixing and matching. with only one axis of formality, when you use informal pronouns, are you being familiar in an intimate way, or in an insolent or dismissive way? when you use formal pronouns, are you being polite or standoffish? you can't tell just from the pronouns; there's ambiguity. but a language where you can use a formal first-person pronoun in the same sentence as an informal second-person pronoun allows you to distance yourself (via the formal first) while also being familiar (via the informal second), thereby achieving the conversational tenor known to linguists as Fuck Thee Specifically.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 3 ]

{☆} characters neuvillette, wriothesley, furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Wriothesley was not a man of superstition. He did not kneel at the altars until his knees bled, he did not pray until his voice gave out– he did not, contrary to popular belief, suffer divine punishment for his apparent lack of respect.

After all, what Divine would look so deep beneath the waves just for a glimpse of the sinners that inhabit it?

Not them, evidently.

He hadn't slept in the past four days, though. There was a heavy air of something where ever he walked– it followed him like a thick fog, lingering and choking him until it dragged him to his knees like a chain. His thoughts inevitably linger on the striking, extravagant letter so conveniently adorning his desk at the fortress– the broken wax seal, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He'd recognize the seal of the Iudex any day. Wasn't often he spoke to him– but the shaky, distorted words hastily etched into the paper made him pause. Neuvillette always had a steady hand– elegant, flowing script that him of flowing water.

It had kept him up for days.

The implications were..haunting. He'd poured over the letter for hours, illuminated only by faint light of his desk lamp. Yet no matter how many times he tries to see what must be hidden beneath the ink, the paper itself even, he finds nothing but the shaky script of a request that sends a bolt of pure frost through his veins.

He noticed, of course, the odd goings on of Fontaine. He'd heard vague whispers of the Divine's hunt for the imposter– he'd heard, too, of the ceaseless rain pelting Fontaine until even he wondered if the nation would finally sink beneath the waves.

It didn't, though. And that only made it all the more odd. Days of constant rain, just for it to stop suddenly..he tugged his coat tighter around him, throwing up the hood of the cloak clasped even tighter over it with a grunt as he leaned around the corner of the alleyway.

He didn't believe in superstition, but this was too hard to ignore as a simple weather anomaly.

Maybe that was why he ignored his gut– he knew that this was probably a trap, at the very least it was suspicious. But damn it, he couldn't ignore the instinct to follow the only lead he had.

His boots clicked against the rain stricken streets as he stalked through the shadows, mindful of the clinking of machine patrols just a few streets away. Yet every step felt heavier then the last as he took a long, good look at the Palais Mermonia. He almost considered bringing out his gauntlets, but he thought better of it– if it came down to it, he needed information. And he would need whoever was waiting for him alive for that– the dead don't speak and all that.

The letter's directions led him in a..rather roundabout entrance to a secluded room, evidently, as he lifted his hand and quietly knocked against the door. Two rapid knocks, pause, another knock, pause, four knocks. It doesn't take long until he hears the latch of the door unlock.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists, adjusting his stance. He's ready for a fight, if he must, but as the door quietly slides open he feel the weight on his shoulders relax slightly– the familiar, sharp features of Neuvillette meets him. He almost reflexively smiles at the way his pupils turn into thin slits, a momentary surprise that he quickly hides well behind a cough and the creak of the door as he pulls it open fully.

"Wriothesley. I see my letter has found you well. Please, come in." Polite as ever, Neuvillette steps aside to let him in, but he can see the exhaustion lining his features– the bags under his eyes aren't as well hidden as he thinks, at least to him. "Bit odd to be inviting me all the way out here in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

His tone is smooth as he steps into the room, brushing down his hood and glancing at Neuvillette over his shoulder, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"I apologize for the..less then ideal circumstances, but I'm certain you will understand when you see for yourself." He wants to retort, but the Iudex beats him to it, vaguely motioning to the room behind him. An invitation– but he wonders if it's worth taking.

His gut says no, but he's feeling a little risky today, he supposes.

He turns back slowly, barely able to make out the two figures he'd missed on the first glance on the other side of the room– though it's hard to mistake the flourish of the Hydro Archon, even in the dark. It's the other figure that makes the breath hitch in his throat, though.

Or maybe, more accurately, it freezes. So does his blood, his whole body even, locked in stasis for a long, tense moment– he can't see them clearly, but his instincts are going haywire. He can feel his vision almost rattle where it rests against his left shoulder, cold leaking through the layers of clothes and into his skin until he has to fight to suppress a shiver.

He'd always fancied himself the hunter– he was the one who dealt with unsavory folks, in the end. But he felt like a rabbit pinned beneath the crosshairs of a gun this time. He could almost feel the teeth of the bear trap snapping shut around him, crushing bone and flesh beneath cold metal.

For a long moment he thinks he feels fear.

And with a sharp click and a burst of light, it's gone and he takes a raspy, choked breath as he blinks away the blurriness in his vision, taking in the room illuminated by the lamp.

He's not sure what he sees is better, though.

Because his body knows that their Divinity is as real as the blood running through his veins.

So why do they remind him so much of himself? Why does he see the look of the boy who died in a pool of blood not his own in them?

It is a sick, cruel kind of familiar.

Wriothesley didn't believe in superstition– but that was born of the unknown. He knew, now. He could reach out and touch the truth with his own two hands.

The throne of the world was a lie.

The thing sitting on it bled red. And if it bled, it could die.

He clenched his fists tighter– and released, letting his shoulders slump with a huff and a half hearted chuckle. "I wasn't expecting you to be in possession of a wanted criminal when you sent me that letter." He could see the gears whirring in their heads, the subtle dampness in the air reminding him just how delicate a situation it truly was.

He wasn't particularly inclined to getting blasted by a jet of water today.

"Relax, I'm not going to spill to anyone else. Seriously– don't get my jacket wet. It's expensive and a nightmare to dry." His lips quirk into a half smile, but it twists into something almost genuine at the laugh covered up by a cough he hears from the Divine. Bingo.

"It's fine, Neuvillette. Let him go." Their voice is like honey dripping from their lips, and he has to close his jaw with his hand before they can see the way it dropped in his surprise. "Of course, most Divine. My apologies." He relaxes at the sharp click of his heels as he joins them on the bed, his posture far more relaxed then he's ever seen. The Hydro Archon, much to his confusion and amusement, is far too invested in playing with their hair to pay much attention to him now that things have calmed, evidently.

Huh.

They seemed pretty cozy about it, he noted. He guesses they three of them had some time to get acquainted.

"So..who's going to explain what the hell is going on?" He probed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three carefully– they all looked tired, but even through the exhaustion neither seemed inclined to stray too far from the Divine. "And what exactly your plan is? You can't keep hiding them here forever. Someone will sniff them out sooner or later."

"We are aware," Neuvillette interjects, lips pursed into a thin line and his thin brows furrowed. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, the hunt for the..forgive me, most Divine, but the hunt for the alleged imposter is still at it's peak."

He grumbles in acknowledgment, hanging up his cloak by the door and sliding out of his heavy coat, resting it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hm. Suppose that's why the patrols are so common now a days."

"I'm afraid so. As you can imagine, we cannot simply ask them to..stop the search. It would draw unwanted attention and suspicion. The Divine would be found immediately if we tried to bring them out of the city at the moment." Neuvillette added, looking proper and elegant, despite the circumstances– even in the face of the Divine and the Archon turning on him and tugging his hair into intricate braids. "So I hope you understand that it was a great risk to send you that letter."

He rubs his chin, huffing in amusement– a solid plan, maybe, but his power didn't extend too far out of the Fortress. He had his connections, sure, but what use were they when he had to get the, uh, "imposter" out of Fontaine? Smuggling them out wouldn't be easy, and then there's the point of where to take them they'd have to contend with.

"Yeah, yeah– I get it. But it's not like I can just smuggle them out or keep them in the fortress. Even if we got them out of the city, we'd have to find somewhere to bunker down, and if someone spots any of us lingering there.." Archons, what a mess he'd gotten himself into. He was really looking forward to the next time he could kick his feet up with a cup of tea.

"I understand. I have already made plans, in fact." Neuvillette hesitates, and he can feel the temperature drops a few degrees. "I..cannot share them in full at the moment, but it is not for a lack of trust." Neuvillette reasoned, hands folded neatly in his lap– not that it hid the way they shook slightly. He wanted to ask, but he thought better of it.

"Eh, I don't hold it against you. The walls have ears, even up here." He deflected, running a hand through his hair. He really hoped Sigewinne wouldn't ask too much when he gets back. "I trust your judgment." He hesitates for a long moment, pulling out a simple, neatly folded letter of his own.

"Memorize the code words, then burn it. I'll be waiting for your next letter." He murmurs, plucking his coat and cloak and tugging them back on one after another, shuffling back over to the latched door. He hesitates again, his hand lingering on the door.

"I just hope your plan is worth the risk, Neuvillette."

He leaves before he can respond, the harsh click of the door ringing in his ears even as he steps back into the shadows of the night.

[can-of-slorgs]

*japanese funky nightcore cover music in the background*

[mering]

do you like minecraft roleplay? do you hate minecraft roleplay? do you not understand minecraft roleplay? do you think that you do understand minecraft roleplay? have you ever argued about it on the internet? i have the perfect long, niche, extremely passionate blog post just for you. right here. right now

[kelocitta]

In honor of the @rw-ship-showdown I wanted to write about Artihunter as someone who jokingly slapped them together pre-downpour and still thinks they are actually very compelling. Just not in the super soft love wins kinda way (Although I get why people like that more) And the only way I know how to do that is talking too much so heres a far too long slug essay-

Obviously the slugcats don't offer a ton of characterization but theres not nothing to work with. Their stories, whether by their roles in it or the overarching themes do provide a backbone to work with. Even gameplay itself can provide a bit. (for some more than others) Hunter, to me, is ultimately a story about selflessness. The goal is to revive Moon, which is very much an act of kindness from both Hunter and NSH. But the weight of that action is much more significant for Hunter- Hunter is deeply sick. They're on the clock, and for all their skill in combat none of that will ultimately help them to survive longer than their body can hold out. Moon is a close friend of NSH but that means little Hunter- Hunter really gets next to nothing out of helping them, and ultimately pays quiet a bit spending their limited time alive fighting to deliver that neuron so that someone else can live.

To spend ones limited days on helping another, in a game that very much stresses the unwavering cruelty of the world and nature- is pretty notable. (And you could even say that Hunter being the Hardmode of Rain World adds another layer to this)

And then we have Artificer. A storyline that very much stands out to people as more… villainous (so to speak) than the other slugcats. Artificer's story covers a lot of things. Trauma, violence, revenge, etc. Revenge is a bit of a selfish desire- That need to see someone hurt as they have hurt you. A punishment that ultimately does not fix whatever harm was done- but feels good to see because you were hurt and now those responsible share that pain.

Artificer's actions are founded in that need for revenge, their pups killed for overstepping boundaries they didn't know existed. Is it not fair for them to be angry at that, to punish the scavengers for their violence with their own? Why should the scavengers ever be forgiven when they and their pups were not? And that's how you get that loop- Harm for harm over and over.

The original action has been lost in a spiral of violence for violence. And here stands Artificer- their very spirit scarred. Not just because they sought revenge, but because they never ceased trying to scratch that itch for violence as an answer. Artificer only has two paths for their story- killing the scavenger king (Someone who, really, has little to do with the original 'crime' of the scavengers, but represents an important individual to them- as did the slugpups to Artificer), locking themselves as karma one for good and spending the rest of their life chasing creatures that no longer even fight back in a warped sense of closure- or to dissolve themselves in the acids of the void sea because they're too far gone to find any real peace.

They can't meaningfully recover from that state, not alone, twisting in on themselves. Even if they halt their actions, they've been using violence as a feeble defense against their own pain- violence that no longer has any real direction or basis. Artificer gets no real closure from killing the scavenger king. All they can do is continue the cycle, or try to scrub it away. No real peace in a prison of their own making. So you have a creature, who even with a strict timer on their life- a body that will crumble to disease, spends its last bit of time on saving another. And another who was so caught up in the pain of loss that were eaten alive by their own anger, poisoned their own soul on such a deep level even self-proclaimed gods have no solution for them. What peace can they offer each other? For Hunter, its only a fleeting moment of happiness- of selfish love, before their own body fails them. A bit of indulgence in something for themself. For Artificer, its a single, comforting thread to ground them again, something tangible to protect and care about again. But thats a thread that will ultimately be snapped under the cruel indifference of the world. Hunters timer will tick down regardless of if it takes another with it. Its a tragedy- its doomed to end badly. Whatever good it offers to either of them to find each other will only provide the fleeting comfort of a band-aid that will be ripped away too early. But all that can be worth indulging in anyway, if only for the moment. It doesn't change the ending, but the ending was never going to be happy. Its can so yuri

[skrunksthatwunk]

non-comprehensive haruhi autism creature comp

i mean just look at him she's literally

[welcomingdisaster]

couples activities you can do WITHOUT getting elf married

holding hands chastely under the stars

singing and songwriting

intense eye contact

the crossing of swords (literal)

the crossing of swords (metaphorical, in this case to referring to a meeting of wits -- a flirtation so intense and all-consuming there is something to it of a battle)

mutual daydreaming

unrequited daydreaming

blowjobs (drunk)

the exchanging of flowers

the exchanging of jewels

the exchanging of finely-cut swords

the exchanging of words about flowers, or jewels, or swords, which after a certain point cease to concern the aforementioned jewels, or flowers, or swords and which indeed dip by implication but never direct mention into obscenity

uncertain and possibly disastrous alliances for the good of the people

nonsexual bondage

fingering and heavy petting

chess

invoking the name of eru while fully clothed in different corners of the room

embarking on a quest (with all hopes of good fortune)

embarking on a quest (certainly doomed)

dressmaking; beyond that, even embroidery and perhaps crochet

regicide

whatever it is lesbians do

debates re: the philosophical nature of love and marriage

debates re: the fates of elves and men, paths destined forevermore to part

most instances of blood donation

intercrural sex, so long as all due caution is employed

eye contact, brief, wavering

impotent and entirely futile declarations of everlasting love

holding hands, no longer so chaste -- feeling as though every sensation in your body is reduced to the single point where your hands brush together, that your soul is anchored to the core of the earth only by your interwoven fingers

the crossing of swords (the swords are dicks)

farewells, with earnest promises to meet again

farewells, without

[crystalflygeo]

The dragon and the sacrificial lamb ft. eroded!Morax + gn!reader

cw/tags: angst, no joke I cried writing this, bittersweet ending, rough sex, feral/eroded zhongli, restraints (courtesy of improper use of geo as usual ehe) fingering, dubcon at first maybe??

notes: Alright this is a special one get ready. There's two "version" of this story bc I couldn't decide which path I liked more. This one is the bittersweet ending. Both stories are exactly the same at the start, changing a few word here and there but then reach a point where they divert completely in reactions/emotions and the underlying feeling of the stories are very different. They can be read independently ofc so by all means feel free to choose which tags you vibe with more or enjoy picking up the differences between both!

Dark/Bad ending version here!!

Once upon a time…

A long, long time ago…

The people of Liyue revered their beloved Archon Rex Lapis. Just and kind, he led his nation for millennia, upholding order and contracts, defeating countless enemies,a nd defending their safe harbor.

It is said the Lord of Geo took a human as partner, and fell in love deep and pure.

And his partner loved him just as much.

Willing to do anything for his sake.

It is said the God understood that even he himself was not immune to erosion, and it would one day be his downfall. So, he made sure his people were ready to live on without him. That his adepti were strong enough to subdue him if the day ever came.

As for his lover… well…

-----

Your bare feet crunch along the soft grass as you run and run, panting, gasping for air, almost tripping and letting out a yelp but quickly regaining balance and scurrying faster, past the falling golden ginkgo leaves, past the soft sound of rushing waters.

The golden sunset is gorgeous, dying the sky pink and orange with pastel hues but you simply ignore it, having grown tired of it, sick even. It is fake, an illusion. Just as everything else in this adeptal abode.

Everything except, of course, you and the beast you are currently fleeing from.

It is useless to try to escape, this you know, and your heart clenches painfully as tears prickle at your eyes. You’ve done this before, played this game many many times. But at least for one moment… just one moment…

A roar turns your blood to ice and against all common sense you look over your shoulder to see a massive long dragon twisting in the air and diving straight towards you.

Your legs tremble and fail you as you fall down, the grass is soft but your body aches, tired, burning. You scramble around frantically to stare at the beast again and your eyes widen in panic as it lands right on top of you, majestic and terrifying, caging you with its serpentine body. The golden claws alone are as long as your forearms, digging on the ground at either side of you.

You whimper.

The dragon lowers his head, growling at you, fangs mere inches apart and you squeeze your eyes shut, tears running down your face.

“Why do you run away from me?”

“Please… I just want some time to myself.”

“Are you not happy with me? My mate?”

At the words you only sob harder.

Mate.

Oh, how much joy did that word bring you once. And now you can only feel your heart shatter.

You feel a shift in the wind, in the energy, in the light around you, and when you open your eyes, the massive dragon has faded to a more human appearance. He changes back to the form you’re most used to.

Long strands of dark hair tipped amber, striking golden eyes with stunning red lines that highlight their sharpness, a handsome face and a muscular body with arms died black, and lines of gold… lines that run along his cheek and down his neck. Cracks, like a broken glass, like scars, under his eyes and around his chest, ruining the pristine skin and unable to disappear despite his ability to change forms.

The undeniable marks of erosion.

You snap back to attention when he dips down and starts nosing at your neck, his hands pulling at the robe you’re wearing, the only article of clothing you picked up before scurrying away from the mansion. It parts open easily, revealing your naked body to his eyes, littered in past bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Claims from the dragon.

"W-wait. Stop-!" You try to push him back, desperately pressing your palms against his broad shoulders, but of course he's unmovable as stone.

You kick and trash until he gets irritated and suddenly your arms are immobilized, held above your head and pressed onto the very ground by heavy geo cuffs.

“Submit.” He growls.

You squirm a little more until your body sags into the ground, exhausted, panting. There is no use. Instead, you shudder as his hands explore your body, rough and callous but still gentle despite his displays of power.

He spreads your legs and slots between them as your breath catches. His thumb softly brushes at a spot on your navel lovingly, a glittering geo symbol engraved on your skin there, glowing subtly like his horns. You let out a moan.

Then his touch goes lower and teases at your entrance, circling the hole and dipping in just barely.

“Z-Zhongli-!”

Another growl comes out of his throat, deep and guttural. “You dare speak another man’s name in my presence? In my realm? When you belong to me?”

You gulp, knot in your throat, mind dizzy, heart and body aching.

And then you smile. Softly. Pained.

“Morax, my love… n-not so rough, please…” You whisper.

The eroded God leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moans when his fingers tease, rub and pull at your hole, spreading you a little, preparing you. His long serpentine tongue invades your mouth as his free hand teases a nipple before sliding to settle at your hip. Your body relaxes and melts down onto the grass, pliant for him.

When you break apart, you see pure love and adoration in his golden eyes, but they no longer carry that wisdom, that solemn and dignified depth. Only a primal desire to keep you, claim you, breed you.

It’s alright…

This was your choice.

Blinking back tears, you moan and struggle a little against the restraints on your wrists, two of Morax’s fingers already pressing deep and curling inside you. You see stars when he quickly finds that spot that shoots pleasure up your spine, having already memorized it. Your sex leaking fluids and spurring him on.

Then, Morax pulls out and you feel the tip of his cock press against you, you gasp, back arching as he slowly presses forward inside your warm heat with a pleased groan.

“S-so big… ah!” You whimper, bucking your hips on reflex.

“My mate. So pretty. I will fill you up.” He mumbles, eyes half-lidded as he rolls his hips, inch after inch sinking into you languidly until he sheathes to the hilt, your legs spread around him. Morax slides his large hands around your hips, lifting them to pull closer and deeper, the new angle making his cockhead press deep against your sweet spot. He wastes no time thrusting in and out, gradually picking up the pace.

It's almost tender.

Soft keening sounds escape your lips as you lock your legs around his lower back, your feet resting atop the base of his tail which whips around wildly as he starts fucking faster. You feel the world blur around you, all that exists is you two and the mounting pleasure, the wet sounds and the slapping of skin against skin.

“Morax… Morax… ah! I’m… I’m c-close…”

He grunts and redoubles his efforts, hands pressing bruising spots at your hips, your insides clenching around him. “Mine.” He growls possessively, and you nod and chant his name over and over. Everything feels hot, dizzy, so much- too much-

You come with a filthy cry tumbling out of your lips, slick juices rolling down your skin. He continues through your overstimulated state, chasing his own pleasure as his thrust become erratic until finally, he stills deep inside and moans long and low, painting your insides white.

The two of you ride out your orgasms in tandem, then he drapes over you, kissing your skin softly and making you sigh.

“My love, please, release me?” You try, struggling against the cuffs once again. “I want to touch you.”

“No.” He snarls. “You’ll only try to escape again.”

“I-I won’t… hng… I promise. I’m yours.” You reply breathless, full of emotion.

Morax eyes you with a stern expression, contemplating for a moment before letting out a soft huff. You feel the geo cuffs dissipate into golden dust, your aching limbs free, though sore, but you ignore it as your hand weakly cups his cheek, thumb rubbing at the golden scars there. Morax leans into the soft touch, nuzzling your palm.

“Love you.” The eroded dragon mutters, and you imagine it’s your lover telling you, despite his decaying fractured mind.

“I… I love you too.” You reply softly, bittersweet tears rolling down your face.

Forever and always.

-----

…It is said that his lover made the ultimate sacrifice.

Willingly locked with the eroded god in a sealed realm, to keep him ensnared, enchanted and bound to them.

Until they both turn to dust.

[ailithnight]

A fic based on this prompt by @chaoswarfare that I had originally put in the reblogs, but decided to move to its own post since I've got some ideas to continue it. No promises on this ever being a completed fic, but I'll try.

A King in Arkham

Listless eyes trace the cracks in the ceiling; their owner blinking slowly from his place, lying nearly motionless on a thin mattress supported by a metal shelf held to the wall by thick black chains. His face is blank, not sad nor angry nor despairing like so many others in this cold and lonesome place. No, his expression is empty, as though there is simply nothing to feel.

Bruises and scratches and even a couple very deep cuts litter a small body. Were anyone watching, they'd see a new one appear as if by magic across a gaunt cheek. Even as blood begins weeping from the slash, not a single emotion flits across the face. Not even a flinch.

Tomorrow, doctors will assume the patient cut himself. They will search his cell, again, and find no weapon. They will search his body and find not so much as a fingernail capable of creating the mark. They will check the security feed and find, as always, that the moment of injury glitches; one second no cut, the next fresh blood. They will try to force the patient to admit self harm, but he will remain silent.

When the door to his cell swings open with a buzz and a clang, echoed by every other cell in the building, the blank faced boy with dull eyes doesn't move. It's the 6th time this month, and the 13th since arriving 3 months ago.

When the sounds of screams and rioting grate on sensitive ears, he merely sighs, the first hint of feeling flashing across his face in the form of a minute second of frustration before blankness returns. When a pair of escaping patients rush past, one stopping to ask if he's coming, he remains unresponsive.

"Leave him! Kid never tries to escape. He's to far gone."

The kid in question feels his eyebrow twitch. He's not 'gone' anywhere, thank you very much. There's just no point. Nowhere to go. No one to help him; to understand that he's not crazy, just haunted. At least, no one who won't turn him into a monster. A horrible, world destroying, viscious monster.

Besides, Arkham's not too bad. At least it isn't a GIW lab. And his rogues have even started showing up less and less since he was sent here! Though maybe that has less to do with Arkham or Gotham and more to do with the kid's utter refusal to even defend himself.

"Now come on before Bats start showing up and put this place on lockdown."

A black form with a red head drops from above, just barely within the kid's peripheral vision. A brief moment of recognition and even something adjacent to interest flickers in blue eyes.

"Bats like me, perchance?"

.

Red Hood was assisting containment with an Arkham breakout. There had been a lot of them in the last few months and Batman was getting grey hairs trying to figure out why. No one in particular was even trying to break out. No one could be pinned for the inciting incident. Just randomly, at any point in the day, the automatic locks would spazz out and everyone would be released.

So the big bad Bat had called all hands on deck, requesting at least one vigilante be at or near Arkham at all times, hoping to at least keep most of the big fish in their cages while they tried to figure out what the hell was going on. And Jason had graciously agreed to help. So here he was, at 3am on a Saturday morning; assisting guards in keep inmates corralled; keeping any eye out for any maximum security escapees.

With none spotted so far, and the people below him literally admitting that they're giving up hope when the Bats arrive, Jason figured he might as well see if a bit of scare tactic will convince them to go back to bed willingly.

"Bats like me, perchance?" The would be escapees in front of him startle and whip around.

"Red Hood?"

"The one and only." Jason shifts to not so subtlely place a hand on his weapons. "Now why don't you 2 just go on back to your rooms and we can forget this little infraction. I won't even tell the guards to write up a discipline slip." The two inmates eye him, then his guns, then each other warily. Finally, they both raise their hands in surrender and begin walking back to their cells.

Jason permits himself a quiet chuckle, much to low to be picked up by the modulator. As he turns back to grapple up to his bird's eye view in the rafters, his eyes catch sight of the inmate who apparently doesn't try to escape. For just a moment, green swamps his vision as Red Hood registers the sight in front of him.

He almost steps in to the cell before a harsh buzz sounds and cell doors clang shut again. An intercom crackles to life announcing the effective lockdown, instructing guards to begin escorting patients back to their cells, cataloging each attempted escapee for future disciplinary measures.

Batman's voice sounds out over comms.

Not a single inmate made it past the main gate. Good job Hood.

Jason seethes for moment longer in front of the cell before biting out his question on the main channel.

What the hell is a kid doing in Arkham!?

A strangled sound makes it through the feed and Nightwing responds, strained.

What?

A KID! Can't be older than 15. In cell... 26B. Looking rather roughed up, I might add. Since why does Arkham even accept minors?

Oracle responds.

Pulling records right now.

Jason eyes the kid, who seems to be entirely unfazed by Red Hood discussing his imprisonment 8 feet away from him. Actually, unfazed is the wrong word. Apathetic is better. Entirely emotionless. Green threatens Jason's vision again as he ponders the potential reasons for the look of resigned desolation on a face so young.

Looks like he was transferred over from a psych ward in Illinois 3 months ago. Ward of the State. File says self-destructive behavior. Apparently he picks up unexplainable injuries and claims ghosts gave them to him.

That still doesn't explain why they sent him to Arkham!

Batman's voice filters back in.

Hood, pull out.

Jason has to force himself to keep his voice down.

WHAT!? I'M NOT LEAVING A KID HERE!

It's almost 4am. Red Robin is on route to relieve you.

I AM NOT LEAVING A 15 YEAR OLD IN ARKHAM!

We will be investigating this further.

15! YOU KNOW, THE SAME AGE I WAS WHEN YOU LET ME DIE IN THAT FUCKING WAREHOUSE.

Jason almost regrets the statement as he here's Dick's stuttered breath. But it seems the kid might have heard him and something about the statement seems to catch his attention.

He actually turns his head to look quizzically at Jason. The expression only lasts a couple seconds before slipping back into blank neutrality as he turns back to the ceiling.

Batman's voice grinds in his ears, an edge in his tone telling Jason that if he doesn't listen, the Bat himself will come pull Jason out.

Hood, his transfer coincides with the start of these break outs. He may be involved. We will be investigating this further, very thoroughly. If he's clean, we will be getting him out of there. But for now I need you to pull out. File your report.

The tone softens.

And get some rest.

[johnbleepingzoidberg]

WELL.

evil weegee.

idea where luigi becomes evil one way or another (i’m into the idea of it being a wish-turned-curse-situation) and mario and bowser have to team up to figure out wtf happened and to stop luigi from causing mass destruction.

bowuigi bonus: relationship is pre-established meaning luigi is ruling koopa kingdom alongside bowser. perhaps luigi is self-conscious and feels like he isn’t seen as a leader, leading luigi to make a well-intentioned wish to be taken more seriously. the wish is warped and turns into a curse, turning him into a wicked ruler that takes over koopa kingdom, and his subordinates follow him out of fear rather than respect, when deep down respect is really all he wanted. it starts internally by luigi kinda turning against bowser (confusing the hell out of the poor guy) and just gets worse from there. bowser’s dismayed because both his husband and his kingdom have been yoinked away from him, so he begrudgingly has to team up with mario and peach and whoever else to get everything back.🤠

i kinda wanna write a whole fic now but i honestly am not as well-versed in mario lore as i used to be and haven’t played any of the games in years 😭😭 but ngl drawing evil luigi was fun. low key been in love with luigi since i was 8 years old so it was quite cathartic for me

EDIT: guys i know Mr L exists 😩 i knew of him when i drew this but not exactly who he was/what he did. but i still wanna try to make my own thing here/try to differentiate them LOL. there can be multiple flavors of evil right

flats under the cut because i’m not entirely happy with how the lighting turned out 😩