#ruthless renegade

[lonesurvivorao3]

Eris Shepard in a nutshell.

[corpocyborg]

[rinzdets]

i miss femshep :((( my fav war criminal pookie babygirl :(((

[corallapis]

also forced regeneration in the hopes you just won't be mentally ill anymore as a thing in gallifreyan healthcare + the master burning thru 12 lives by the time the doctor's on his 3rd

[weirdbabs]

i am once again thinking about how fucked it is that sacrificing like half to three fourths of the ships/crews to save 3 people is considered a paragon option but sacrificing about 75% of your unit to defeat the enemy is renegade. why would sacrificing thousands of people to save 3 be considered “compassionate” or “heroic” while sacrificing 75% of your unit (which is 7-14 people apparently, so like 5-11 people) to ensure you won is considered “ruthless” or “apathetic”

(i know why. its bc the first mass effect game doesnt really seem to have a grip on what it wants its morality to be much more than blue= nice, good and red= bad, mean)

[soryualeksi]

Random extremely funny (to me) brainworm of mine, but somehow I think Botta has a reputation in fandom to be more, hm, "noble", or maybe just more dignified than Yuan. Or maybe as just having a few less screw loose than him. I guess it comes from his Heroic Sacrifice and probably also his way of speaking in the English dub.

But.

When it comes down to it, isn't he just as much - if not more! - of an Unhinged Garbage Man as his boss??

The very first scene we meet him, he's stabbing a bunch of old, defenseless priests. Then he goes after an old lady walking on a stick. THEN, without missing a beat, he turns around and makes a honest attempt at MURDERING A BUNCH OF SCHOOL KIDS.

"Grandma's my hostage now. What are you gonna do about it, call the cops on me?"

There is not a SINGULAR second where he appears to have even the most remote shadow of moral qualms about this, either.

It's only when Kratos shows up and stabs a bunch of his own that Botta goes "oh come on that's unfair" and fucks off.

He has zero issue taking on the same bunch of school kids like a week later and he's greatly amused by the irony - and the family drama!!! - of Kratos Aurion travelling with his own kid, who he thought he caused the death of as a toddler for 14 years, and said kid having NO CLUE. Again, the only thing that stopping him is Kratos making it VERY clear he'll lop off the top of his skull if he EVER catches him looking at his kid funny again - at which points he just goes, "meh whatever I'll kill these kids later".

Yuan and Botta don't trap-encircle the party just once but actually TWICE (Rheaird hangar battle and then before suggesting they team up at the Palmacosta Human Ranch), so that? Is not a spur of the moment decision, but how they NORMALLY do this kind of thing. Fighting dirty and underhanded is part of the mutually agreed-upon strategy.

You'd ask him how he sleeps at night and he doesn't understand the question.

(Also: Can't waste electricity by putting shit on standby here, gotta electrocute the doombas by hand every. single. time. you wanna open the entrance door.)

Unhinged. Garbage Man.

Probably takes a page out of Gnome's book, too, and throws literal actual dirt into his enemies' eyes in battle only to go "Heyyyyyyyy that's dirty!!! Dx" all offended if they don't perfectly stick to rules of "fairness", either.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[doumadono]

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Natsuo, fem!reader, smut (short & not graphic), viking themes, Shoto is a spoiled brat

Summary: in a Viking world of power, secrets and warriors, a young woman captured during a raid finds herself entangled in the life of Dabi, the enigmatic eldest son of the ruthless earl. As secrets, scars, and desires collide, their unconventional connection unfolds in a tale of love, danger, and destiny

Word count: circa 5.9k

A/N: for a few years, I've held a fascination with Viking themes and their historical era. Recently, I had the idea to place Dabi in such a setting and see where the story would take me. I sat down to write and found myself falling in love with this new narrative instantly. While it might seem trivial to some, it's already become a precious gem to me. I plan to unravel the story over six chapters. I hope you enjoy the first one, and I'm open to all opinions. If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST NEXT CHAPTER KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

ACT I - UNMASKING THE SCARS

As the longship glided silently through the dark waters, the moon cast a pale, ethereal glow on the rugged Viking coastline. The scent of salt and adventure filled the night air, and the crew of fierce warriors, led by Dabi, the renegade son of the brutal, ruthless Viking earl, Endeavor, prepared to make landfall.

Dabi, at thirty years of age, bore the marks of a troubled past. Dabi's once-pale skin was now marred by those burns, darkened like a charred log in the heart of a raging fire. His body bore the scars of a fire that had ravaged him in his youth, a cruel gift from his own father, who had attempted to kill him. But it was these very scars that had forged his determination and honed his indomitable spirit. His hair was the color of snow, and his eyes were as blue as the frost-covered sea. He had a reputation as a fierce warrior, known for his ruthless tactics and the way he fought with the fury of a tempest.

The village he came from was a place of cold stone and rough-hewn timbers, where the Viking way of life reigned supreme. The women of the village shied away from Dabi, for his scars marked him as an outcast. He lived a life of solitude, seeking solace in the wild, untamed lands that surrounded their settlement.

Their destination was a small Christian village, nestled among the rolling hills. It had been raided by Dabi's people before, but tonight was different. Tonight, Dabi's heart was restless, and he was inexplicably drawn to the village's fate.

As the Vikings stormed the village, chaos erupted. Houses were set ablaze, and the cries of the villagers filled the night.

The raucous cries of his men filled the air as the village burned and the spoils of their raid were gathered. Dabi stood at the heart of the chaos, an enigmatic figure in the midst of destruction. A faint, unsettling smile tugged at the corners of his lips, hidden beneath the eerie wolf's jaw mask.

He watched with satisfaction as his warriors, his loyal comrades in arms, looted and plundered. The riches of the Christian village flowed into their grasp, their spoils of war. It was a successful trip by Viking standards, a brutal triumph in the unforgiving world they inhabited.

Amidst the smoldering ruins of the Christian village, the Vikings had unleashed their wrath. Blood had been spilled, and the lives of some villagers had been brutally cut short.

But not all of the villagers had met a swift and merciless end. The Vikings, with a calculated eye, had chosen to capture several women and a few men, sparing them from the fate that had befallen their companions. These survivors would serve a different purpose, as slaves in the service of their Viking captors. Among them a young woman. Her hair was the Y/H/C, and her eyes held the innocence of a world untouched by the brutality of the North.

As the raiders dragged the captives away from the charred remains of their homes, the air was heavy with the weight of despair and uncertainty. These men and women, once free, were now prisoners of a world far removed from the peaceful existence they had known. Their lives had taken a harrowing turn, marked by servitude and the harsh reality of Viking conquest.

For Dabi, this decision was not only about power but also about securing the resources and labor needed to sustain their existence in these harsh northern lands. The villagers had been caught in the merciless currents of fate, and their futures were now inexorably tied to the whims of the Viking warriors who had chosen to spare them for their own purposes.

As Dabi inspected the captured men, his gaze swept over the somber group, each face marked by fear and resignation. But then, as if guided by a force beyond his control, his eyes fell upon a young woman. The sight of her took his breath away, and for a moment, he couldn't lie to himself – she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon.

Despite the dirt, blood, and tears that marred her face, her beauty shone through like a radiant star in the night sky. Her cheeks bore the scars of anguish, her eyes, streaked with despair, created rivulets in the dust and grime that clung to her skin. Her once-neat clothes, now tattered and dirtied, bore witness to the cruel turn of fate she had endured.

Dabi's heart, which had been hardened by the harshness of Viking life, thudded in his chest with a new and unfamiliar emotion. She was a vision amidst the chaos, and in that moment, he realized that there was something more to her than just her physical beauty. There was a strength in her, a resilience that had allowed her to endure even in the face of such brutality.

As Dabi's eyes locked onto her, a strange and unsettling sensation coursed through him. It was a feeling he couldn't quite comprehend, a magnetic pull that defied all reason. In the midst of the chaos and destruction, this woman, captured from the village, appeared before him like an enigma.

Her hair, now messy, and those defiant eyes held a fierce determination that had not been extinguished by the horrors of the raid. She was a picture of vulnerability and strength intertwined, a paradox that captivated his very soul.

Dabi, who had always been driven by the uncompromising resolve of a Viking warrior, found himself unnerved by the intensity of this attraction. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions, but her presence stirred something deep within him, a longing he could not explain. He questioned the very nature of his emotions, grappling with the unfamiliar warmth that her presence kindled within him, even though they hadn't spoken.

He couldn't tear his gaze away from her. Every time their eyes met, it felt as if the fates themselves had intervened, weaving their destinies together in a tapestry of fire and ice.

Their initial meeting was far from the romantic tales sung by skalds. She was bound and helpless, standing amidst the ash and ruin of her once-peaceful village. Dabi, cloaked in darkened furs, surveyed the captives with an air of detached authority. His icy gaze met hers, a meeting of two souls from opposite worlds. "You," he spoke, his voice as cold as the northern winds, "What's your name?"

The woman's voice trembled as she replied, avoiding looking at him, "It doesn't matter anymore."

Dabi's frustration simmered just beneath the surface as her initial reply didn't satisfy his curiosity. He huffed in annoyance, the cold air from his breath mingling with the tension in the atmosphere. His desire to understand her and the strange attraction he felt only intensified.

Closing the distance between them, he moved with a predatory grace, catching her by the shoulders and forcing her to turn to face him. His grip, firm but not unkind, held a subtle hint of authority. Their eyes locked, his piercing gaze penetrating her soul. "I asked you for your name, woman," Dabi demanded, his voice tinged with impatience. It was a command that brooked no disobedience, his intensity pushing past the boundaries of the tumultuous situation they found themselves in. His own desire to know her name and the unexplainable connection he felt had turned into an obsession, and he needed answers, regardless of the circumstances.

As Dabi's demand hung in the air, she met his unwavering gaze. Her eyes, a mixture of fear and defiance, looked up into his, a silent struggle raging within her. But shortly after, her gaze faltered, shifting to the mask he wore, crafted from the jagged jaw of a wolf. The sight sent a shiver down her spine, a symbol of the fierce, untamed nature of the man who stood before her.

The man, with the mask that lent him an imposing visage, was tall and imposing, easily towering over her. His presence alone was enough to instill a sense of vulnerability in her.

Trembling, she finally surrendered to his demand, her voice quivering as she spoke, "I am Y/N." Her name, offered with a tremor in her voice, was a fragile gift, a shard of her identity laid bare in the face of the formidable Viking who had claimed her as his captive.

For the next two days, the Viking raiders worked tirelessly to pack the spoils of their conquest onto their longships.

Dabi, ever the watchful leader, stood guard over the entire process, ensuring that the riches plundered from the Christian village were securely stowed away. The village's treasures, from precious metals to food supplies, were meticulously organized and divided amongst the victorious Vikings.

The night of their conquest, the Vikings celebrated their successful raid with an infernal party. Driven by the spoils they had claimed, they emptied the Christians' pantries of beer, meat, and mead. The sound of merriment echoed through the night, a stark contrast to the sorrow that had befallen the captured villagers.

However, amidst the revelry, there were dark moments that marred the festivities. Some of the Viking warriors, fueled by intoxication and the ruthless nature of their world, committed terrible acts upon the captive Christian women without their consent. It was a grim reminder of the brutality that often accompanied such raids, where power and desire clashed with the innocence of the conquered.

Dabi, torn between his leadership role and the strange attraction he felt for one of the captives, observed the chaos with a heavy heart. The celebration, for him, was a juxtaposition of the jubilant and the sinister, a reflection of the duality that defined their lives as Vikings.

After days of tireless packing, the Viking raiders were finally ready to set sail for their homeland. The longships, laden with the spoils of their conquest, were now prepared to embark on the journey back to the rugged shores they called home.

Dabi took his place at the bow of his longship, a position of command and observation. His keen, turquise eyes surveyed the captivated people who had survived the ruthless acts of the past nights. They were a motley group, marked by both the physical and emotional scars of the raid. Some carried the burden of their violated dignity, while others were haunted by the loss of their loved ones and the destruction of their once-peaceful village.

The longship that Dabi commanded was the largest among the six that had come to the shore. It loomed like a dark behemoth against the horizon, its figurehead carving through the waves, a symbol of the Viking's ruthless power. Dabi watched as the captives, those who would serve as slaves in their new life, reluctantly boarded the vessel. It was a moment that carried with it a sense of foreboding, a step into the unknown, as they embarked on a perilous journey to a life that was bound by the harsh code of the Viking world.

Dabi's keen eyes never left the captivating young woman named Y/N as she hesitantly approached the longship. She was one of the last to board, and her trembling form didn't escape his notice. She might have tried to mask her fears with a poker face, but the vulnerability that emanated from her was unmistakable.

A faint, almost smug smirk played at the corners of Dabi's lips. He knew that Y/N was not going to be easily sold in any market or to another earl. The strange attraction he felt for her had ignited something within him, a desire to protect and possess her. He understood that she was unique, an enigma amidst the other captives, and he was prepared to put pressure on his father to ensure she remained with their family in their Great Hall.

The journey back home was arduous and relentless, the Viking longships battling through raging storms and colossal waves that crashed against their sides. The tempestuous sea was a cruel reminder of nature's might, a fierce adversary they had to contend with on their voyage.

For days on end, they sailed through the tumultuous waters, each day bringing new challenges and peril. The crew worked tirelessly to navigate the treacherous waves, their lives intertwined with the unpredictable whims of the sea. The longships, laden with their ill-gotten gains, were tossed like leaves in a tempest, and the thunderous roars of the ocean were their constant companion.

Dabi, despite his role as a leader, occasionally took walks along the longship to check on his comrades. It was an excuse, he told himself, but the truth was that he sought to steal moments to take a closer look at the captivating young woman named Y/N. She was bound to a mast, her body curled in a defensive posture, a vulnerable figure amidst the chaos.

One night, as they braved the wrath of the sea, Dabi stood close to the place where Y/N was tied. He leaned against the side of the boat, his arms crossed, gazing into the darkness that enveloped them. The crashing waves and the howling winds created an eerie symphony, but his focus remained on the woman who had become a focal point of his thoughts.

"I was curious how," Dabi's voice suddenly pierced the silence.

Startled, Y/N was pulled out from a shallow slumber she had allowed to envelop her. She blinked, momentarily disoriented. "What?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and apprehension.

Dabi, who had been standing nearby, turned his gaze toward her. "How do you know our language?" he inquired, his words delivered with a curious, almost neutral tone. It was a question that had been gnawing at him, the mystery of her familiarity with their Viking tongue.

Y/N hesitated, her thoughts racing as she grappled with how to respond. The truth was a delicate matter, a secret that she had guarded with her life. "My father was a Northman," Y/N replied, her voice carrying a note of bitterness, "and as long as he was around, he was teaching me some things."

Dabi's response was not immediate, and in the dim light, his smirk was concealed by the wolf's jaw mask he wore. The revelation intrigued him, and the knowledge that she had learned their language from her Northman father added another layer of complexity to the enigma of Y/N. It was a connection he hadn't anticipated, a bridge between their two worlds that he had yet to fully explore.

"What are you going to do to us?" Y/N asked suddenly, the uncertainty in her eyes betraying her anxiety.

Dabi sighed heavily and walked closer to her, resting his hip against the mast to which she was tied. "You'll work for us," he replied simply, his tone carrying a hint of slyness.

Y/N's expression darkened as she processed his words. "So, we're going to be your slaves," she said with a tinge of bitterness, "a beautiful perspective."

Dabi chuckled softly, the sound muffled by his mask. "Well, we Vikings have a different way of looking at things, you see. You'll find our 'perspective' quite interesting, I assure you."

"Why us?" Y/N asked, curiosity mingling with her apprehension.

Dabi's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Your village was raided before, and you happen to possess a huge amount of goods we needed," he replied, the slyness in his voice becoming more apparent. "You could say it's just a matter of unfortunate circumstances."

"You're a monster. You all are. You killed innocent people!" Y/N ground the accusation from the depths of her mind.

Dabi chuckled darkly, his head tilting back slightly. "We? Oh no, sunshine, we're not monsters," he retorted, his voice dripping with a chilling nonchalance. Dabi leaned in closer to Y/N, his voice low and filled with an air of mystery. "You see," he began, a hint of smugness in his tone. "We are Vikings, warriors of the North. Our ways are brutal, but they're also fiercely proud. We live by the sword and sail by the stars. Our world is one of conquest and survival, where strength and cunning are the ultimate currencies." Dabi paused for a moment, as if considering whether to reveal more. "And you, Y/N, have found yourself caught in the wake of our world. Your journey is now intertwined with ours, and how it unfolds, well, that remains to be seen."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the unknown.

Dabi's sharp ears caught the sound of Y/N's quiet sobs, and he turned his gaze toward her.

Her words, filled with pain and anger, washed over him. "I wanna rather die than be a slave," she lamented, "you're animals, killing and robbing for fun. I'll never forgive you for killing my friends."

He let out a low, almost amused chuckle, a sound that resonated with a kind of sly arrogance. "Animals, you say?" he responded, his voice carrying a note of mockery. "Perhaps, but in our world, it's the fittest that survive. We aren't much for sentiment, and the reality is, we did what we had to do to ensure our own survival." Dabi's gaze remained fixed on her, and his tone took on a more cryptic edge. "As for forgiveness, sunshine, that's not something I'm particularly concerned about. We live by the code of the North, and it's a world where the line between predator and prey is often blurred. It's a harsh existence, but it's ours."

As the Viking longships sailed southward through the tempestuous sea, they finally reached their home village, known as Skjaldvargr nestled on the southern shores of Norway.

The arrival of Dabi and his crew was met with a raucous reception. The people of Skjaldvargr, mostly guards and shieldmaidens, had been eagerly awaiting their return. The shieldmaidens, with their fierce eyes and battle-worn armor, stood proudly alongside their male counterparts, a testament to the equality that defined Viking society.

The village came to life with the clanging of shields and the joyful cries of reunion as the raiders disembarked, their ill-gotten treasures in tow. It was a homecoming marked by the spoils of their conquest and the triumphant return of their warriors, a scene that underscored the unyielding spirit of the people of Skjaldvargr.

The longships were expertly unloaded, and the captivated men and women were carefully escorted off the vessels. They were bound together, forming a dispirited line, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and resignation. The captives from the Christian village now stood on the wooden pier, their lives forever changed by the Viking raid.

Dabi was the last to disembark. As he stepped onto the pier, the people of Skjaldvargr erupted into cheers. His name carried weight in the village; he was known not only as a fierce Viking warrior but also as one of the heirs to Endeavor, their ruthless earl. His presence was a symbol of power and authority, and the villagers greeted him with a mixture of reverence and admiration.

The triumphant return of Dabi and his crew marked a momentous occasion in the life of Skjaldvargr, where the spoils of their conquest and the legend of their daring deeds would echo through the halls of their Great Hall. The fate of the captives, bound and silent, hung in the balance, as the world of the Northmen unfurled before them.

Among the men and women on the shore, there was a tall, white-haired male with a thick, long fur draped around his shoulders, a figure that stood out amidst the assembled Vikings.

Dabi approached the man and wrapped him in a warm hug. "Natsuo, brother," he greeted him with a grin that couldn't be seen behind his mask.

Natsuo, the younger of the two, returned the hug, placing his hands on Dabi's shoulders. "Looking good and returning successful again. Wonderful," he replied with a hint of admiration in his voice. He stepped back, taking a moment to study his brother. "But what's all this fuss about a Christian village?" he inquired, his curiosity evident. "You've got everyone talking."

Dabi's smirk only widened as he regarded his brother. "Oh, Natsuo, it's a long story. Let's catch up over a drink at the Great Hall. I have quite the tale to tell."

The brothers shared a knowing glance, the unspoken understanding between them evident in their eyes.

Dabi wasted no time in issuing his orders to one of his men. "Make sure the Y/H/C woman is not sent to the market but is brought straight to the Great Hall," he commanded, his tone devoid of any room for discussion.

His bondsman, ever dutiful, nodded in acknowledgment of the directive.

Natsuo, wearing a mischievous grin, couldn't resist teasing his older brother about the mysterious woman. "Dabi, she must be quite the catch if you're keeping her for yourself," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "Hope you're going to share a little!"

Dabi scoffed, playfully shoving his brother's shoulder. "Don't be absurd, Natsuo. She's just a captive from the Christian village. I've got more important matters to attend to," he replied, his tone gruff but carrying a hint of a secret smile. "Now, off to the Great Hall. Father is likely impatient for the reports."

The banter between the two brothers continued as they made their way to the heart of Skjaldvargr, leaving behind the captivated woman who had captured Dabi's attention and a tale that had yet to fully unfold.

His hips moved with swift and forceful determination, and the woman beneath him found herself panting and moaning his name in response. With a final series of intense grunts and thrusts, the young man with distinctive two-coloured hair reached his climax, giving one last deep thrust into the girl, spilling his seed in her.

She gently placed her palm against his cheek, her touch brushing over a scarred, reddened area under his left eye. However, her hand was met with a swift and firm push as he growled, withdrawing from her and hurriedly adjusting his pants.

"No," he snarled, pushing her off his bed with ease. "Get the fuck out now," he demanded, his tone filled with a brusque and dismissive edge.

"But you told me you liked me and that we'd have more time together," the young thrall whispered softly as she gathered her clothes from the wooden floor.

The young man's chuckle was cold and devoid of genuine emotion. "Are you that naive?" he sneered, "I only wanted your pussy, nothing else. Get out of my bed before my father or older brother catch you. You don't want to find yourself in trouble, do you?"

The thrall, disheartened and regretful, quickly dressed and left the room. She entered the main chamber of the Great Hall just as Natsuo and Dabi stepped through the massive doors.

Their father, Endeavor, the fearsome earl of Skjaldvargr, was seated at the throne at the end of the chamber, grinding his axe. His stern gaze bore into his eldest son as they approached, a silent expectation for a report on their latest raid.

"The raid on the Christian village was a resounding success. We looted their coffers, took their goods, and brought back valuable supplies that will sustain our village for the winter. The riches we've acquired are beyond our expectations."

Endeavor nodded, acknowledging the information. "Any captives?" he inquired, his eyes scrutinizing his son.

Dabi continued, "We have several men and women who will serve as thralls. We've also secured a Y/H/C woman who is very unique, father. She possesses knowledge of our language, and I've made the decision to keep her within our Great Hall rather than sending her to the market."

He listened to Dabi's report with a stern demeanor, his eyes narrowing as his son spoke about the captive Y/H/C woman. When Dabi finished, the earl's voice held a note of warning. "You know that you shouldn't be making such decisions without my consent," he admonished, his tone heavy with authority. "But this time, I will let it slide."

Inside, Dabi couldn't help but heave a silent sigh of relief. Endeavor's leniency meant that he would have the opportunity to interact with Y/N more freely, a chance to explore the mystery and attraction that had drawn him to her during the journey home. The knowledge that he wouldn't face immediate consequences for his impulsive decision filled him with a sense of gratitude, even as he maintained his outward composure.

Natsuo, on the other hand, took a seat at the long table, where freshly cooked meat was being served by their thralls. He joined the warriors who had gathered to eat, listening to the tale of their successful raid with a satisfied grin. The sounds of feasting and celebration filled the Great Hall, a stark contrast to the darkness and secrets that had transpired on the longship during the journey home.

As Dabi stood in front of his father, a sudden presence caught his attention. A young man with two-colored hair, neatly groomed but slightly untidy now, had joined them. It was Shoto, Dabi's youngest brother, who had recently celebrated his eighteenth spring. His appearance and demeanor appeared deceivingly innocent, but Dabi knew that his younger sibling was not to be underestimated.

"So, you've returned, brother," Shoto said, his tone dripping with feigned sweetness. He offered Dabi a smile that was almost too saccharine, given the complexities of their family dynamics.

Dabi acknowledged Shoto with a nod, a sense of unease brewing beneath the surface.

Shoto turned his attention to their father, Endeavor, his voice carrying a subtle air of request. "Father, this winter, I want to visit Earl Gizzor's settlement, as we discussed. It's crucial that we maintain good relationships between our settlements."

Dabi furrowed his brow, disbelief tinging his words. "What? How do you intend to do that? We've declared war on them."

Shoto maintained his sweet smile as he responded, "While you were away, brother, father and I reached an agreement. We've decided that it's no longer necessary to wage war with Earl Gizzor. Instead, we've buried the hatchet."

Dabi was taken aback, struggling to process what he was hearing. Earl Gizzor was known to be a man of dubious trustworthiness, and the sudden reconciliation with him left a bitter taste in Dabi's mouth. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, and the unexpected alliance between his younger brother and their father raised more questions than it provided answers.

Endeavor nodded in agreement with Shoto's proposal, adding his voice to the conversation. "Shoto is right, Dabi. Maintaining alliances and peace with neighboring earls is essential. We can't be at war on all fronts."

Dabi, with a simple nod of acknowledgment, turned to leave the throne area of the chamber. However, before he walked away, he caught Shoto's shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. "You have a fucking sperm on your pants, you little bastard," he grumbled, his voice low and filled with a blend of irritation and brotherly mockery. "Which poor thrall have you managed to lure into your charms this time?"

Shoto, not one to be easily cowed, replied in a wry and cocky whisper, ensuring their father couldn't hear, "You're always looking so closely, brother. Some of us don't need a mask to be charming. If you looked look like a real man, you wouldn't need to be envious of my romantic pursuits," he quipped, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he took a not-so-subtle dig at Dabi, looking him hardly in the eyes.

Their exchange, hidden beneath the veneer of family respect and decorum, hinted at a deeper sibling rivalry and a history of conflicting personalities. The tension between Dabi and Shoto was a thread woven into the very fabric of their family.

Dabi's patience worn thin by the exchange with Shoto. He scoffed and let go of his younger brother's arm. He turned and made his way straight to his chamber, his footsteps heavy.

Natsuo, who had been a silent witness to the situation between his two brothers, watched with a heavy heart. He loved them both and couldn't bring himself to pick sides, but the tension in the air was palpable, and he worried about the growing rift between Dabi and Shoto.

In his own chamber, Dabi wasted no time. He shed his outer layers, discarding the fur, the mask, woolen shirt, and pants until he stood naked in the room. He flopped onto his bed, which was covered with furs, and stared at the ceiling. His mind was filled with thoughts about everything that had transpired during the days, and he couldn't help but wonder about Shoto's intentions and the potential consequences of their father's newfound alliance.

After some contemplation, he decided to take a bath to clear his mind. Dabi wrapped a towel around his hips and called for one of the thralls to prepare a hot bath for him.

As the thrall prepared the bath, the steam filled the room, creating a cozy and relaxing atmosphere. Dabi wasted no time and immersed himself in the hot water of the wooden tub. The soothing warmth seeped into his muscles, and he leaned back comfortably against the edge, closing his eyes.

The scent of the bath's herbs and oils mixed with the steam, creating a fragrant haven that allowed Dabi to momentarily escape the complexities of his world. With each passing moment, the tensions seemed to melt away, leaving him in blissful solitude and the serene embrace of the soothing bathwater.

As you were brought to the Great Hall, everything appeared new and unfamiliar. Fear coursed through your veins as you found yourself surrounded by strangers, most of them men whose eyes bore into you with an unsettling hunger. The air was thick with whispered, lewd comments, but you did your best to avoid drawing attention, keeping your gaze lowered and your composure intact.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, an older woman, a thrall who had been through similar experiences, extended a hand to guide you away from the prying eyes. She offered a reassuring smile as she took your hand and spoke in a soothing tone. "Come with me, child. I'll explain your new duties and help you settle in," she said, her voice filled with empathy. "You'll find your place here, and in time, it will become more familiar."

Her words provided a glimmer of hope in the midst of your fear, as you followed the thrall to begin your new life in the Great Hall, embarking on a journey that held both uncertainty and the possibility of finding your own strength in a world of unfamiliar faces and customs.

The thrall, as she handed you a plain, thick, greyish dress, began to speak about the members of the earl's family. Her voice was gentle and informative, and you listened attentively, eager to learn more about the people you would be serving. In the end, it was your new life.

She explained, "The earl is Endeavor, a formidable leader and the head of this settlement. He's known for his strength and authority, but also for his ruthlessness."

You nodded, taking in the information, and she continued, "Touya, the eldest son, is a fierce warrior, and he's known for his prowess in raids. His younger brother, Natsuo, is more diplomatic, often seeking peaceful resolutions. The youngest of Endeavor's sons is Shoto," the thrall continued, her voice carrying a more cautious tone as she spoke of him. "He can be the most problematic one, especially when it comes to his affairs." Her words were filled with a hint of warning. "Shoto is known for his charisma and charm, but don't be fooled. He's a smooth talker and has a way of getting what he wants." She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as she emphasized, "Be careful around him, dear. He may seem charming, but his intentions can be far from virtuous."

Overwhelmed by the realization that you had been reduced to nothing but a slave, a feeling of hopelessness and anger welled up within you. You turned to the elder woman and, with a hint of defiance, you declared, "I don't want to work. I won't be a slave."

The thrall, her expression heavy with the weight of harsh reality, looked at you with a stern gaze. She leaned in closer, her voice low and foreboding as she whispered, "You don't have a choice in this matter, my child, so hadn't I. If you refuse to work, you won't survive for long. This is the way of our world, and it's a harsh one. I arrived here several years ago, after being taken from the settlement of another earl who was killed in a battle with Endeavor, and ever since, I've been toiling for the earl's family. The tasks are far from rewarding, but such is the way of life," she explained, her voice tinged with resignation.

As you inquired about the tall man who cnquered your village, the thrall's eyes held a certain intensity, and she clarified, "It was Dabi. Dabi is his chosen warrior name. His given name is Touya."

You had obediently completed your first task of cleaning the Great Hall, even though it felt like a menial chore that reflected your new life as a thrall. However, when another thrall instructed you to go to another room to help with the bath, you complied without question. With a heavy sigh, you followed the directions and pushed open the door.

As you stepped into the room, a rush of steam enveloped you, carrying a fragrance of herbs that filled the air. Your brow furrowed in surprise, but before you could react further, the steam dissipated. What lay before you was a scene that caught you off guard: a large bed and clothes, and a mask that you recognized from when Dabi had worn it.

Then, your eyes fell upon the figure in the bath, and a gasp escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't control. You took an involuntary step back as the sight unfolded before you. The man in the bath was Dabi, his body covered with a patchwork of purple, dark, scarred skin. These gnarled, wrinkled, and disfigured patches marred much of his lower face and neck, extending past his collarbone, and continued down his arms and legs. Your whimper of shock hung in the air, and you couldn't help but take another step back, horror etched on your face. It was the first time you saw him without a mask.

Dabi's turquoise eyes opened slowly, and he gazed at you with a haunting intensity. "That's you," he whispered, a quiet acknowledgment of your presence, his voice tinged with a hint of mystery and a deep well of secrets.

As the realization of Dabi's disfigured appearance settled in, the room seemed to grow heavy with tension. Your initial shock gave way to a mix of empathy and curiosity, wondering about the circumstances that had led to such extensive scarring.

The room, suffused with the aroma of herbs, steam and the eerie sight of his scars, seemed to cradle you both in its embrace, marking a pivotal moment that was only beginning to unfold.

heathen wolves: @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog

[shadowsofthegun-if]

The Wild West. Daunting. Unforgiving. Untamed.

You know better than anyone the tragedies that have plagued these lands, the injustices that have been committed, and the lives that have been lost. You've seen it all. Seen good people fall victim to the ruthlessness and corruption, seen entire towns burn to the ground, and watched families be torn apart by violence and greed.

For as long as you can remember, you've been a renegade, living on the edge of society. You've never known stability or security, always moving from town to town never settling down. You've been forced to leave nothing but a trail of pain and destruction in your wake. Never been able to stop long enough to think about the consequences.

But is that all you are? Given the chance to change, would you take it? To give instead of take. To help instead of hurt. To build instead of destroy. Or do you want to continue down the same path? To forever be the child without a home, without purpose, without hope.

Will you make sure the West remains untamed or will you too look for a new beginning?

DEMO | Playlist | Pinterest

Customize who you are in the Wild West: appearance, sex, gender, and sexuality

Be an angry little gremlin who's trying to find the place they want in the world

Make life harder for your make shift family or just for yourself

Risk making friends and falling in love. Will you be able to let them go when it's time to run again?

Be an absolute disaster of an outlaw

Rated 18+ due to Child Abuse/Neglect, Death/Child Death, Gore/Violence, Drugs, Alcohol, Potential Sexual Content

'Blessing' Cain / The Renegade

That's you. The young outlaw causing havoc across the West alongside the infamous duo Jesse Alden and Harrison Boyd. I would say that this wasn't always your life but, that would be a lie. Your parents looked at the West and, like every other person, saw a new beginning. They, however, felt that the land out West wasn't for everyone, only for those chosen by the Lord himself. Out they went claiming their land and dealing with anyone who tried to stop them. They hurt people, a lot of people, but the one they hurt the most was you. When they felt it was time to return to the Lord they planned to take their entire family with them. You fought and managed to survive. Now it's up to you to decide if that fight was worth it.

Jesse Alden / The Older Brother

The reason you're here and alive. Jesse is about as close as you can get to an older brother without actually being blood-related. Since the moment he met you, he has always made taking care of you his top priority. Sure, he's annoying at times and doesn't listen to you, but that's what older brothers are supposed to do right? No matter how much you bicker, you know that he'll always have your back. At least you believe he will, he would never hurt his little Blessing right?

Harrison Boyd / The Old Bastard

You and Harrison don't exactly get along real well. If Jesse could be considered your brother, Harrison would be your very distant and always unhappy father. He doesn't hate you, you would know if he did, but he doesn't exactly like you either. Harrison may be a grumpy old bastard, but you can trust him to protect you and Jesse till his dying breath. Try not to annoy him too much, or he might ignore you the rest of the week.

Aster Vega / The Star-Eyed Outlaw / Gender Selectable (RO)

Aster Vega is your first and oldest friend. You first met when you were twelve and they attempted to steal your satchel. After you chased them down and, very aggressively I may add, took it back, they looked at you like you had hung the stars. They still have that look every time you end up running into them again along the road. You have no idea what you did to be looked at like that, but you think it might have something to do with Asters none stop prattling about fate and how "One day we'll ride together. It's written in the stars I know it". Maybe your fates truly are interlinked like they seem to believe.

Romance Route: Love at First sight, Forbidden Lovers, Impossible Love

Roman/a Escuella / The Savior / Gender Selectable (RO)

You met Ro at one of your darkest times ,yet in just a matter of weeks they bring back the light to your life that you had been searching for. They're kind, caring, gentle, and everything that you're not. They love and care for you without hesitation, bringing you into their life and sharing everything they have with you. Allowing you to experience everything you had dreamed of. The real question is, how badly are you going to burn them for their naivety?

Romance Route: First/Young love, Soulmates, Friends to Lovers to Enemies😏

Andrew & Elizabeth Cain / The Devout

You're parents who dragged you and your siblings along on their quest. They're actually insane, and dead. They may be gone, but their actions are hard to forget.

Adrian Blake / The Leader(RO)

He leads the gang that Aster is a part of. From what Aster has said he has a bit of a temper, but as long as you stay on his good side you'll be fine. He's after someone though, but Aster hasn't been told who. Just make sure to avoid him for now, it's for the best.

[sol-consort]

Do you see Wrex and shepard together? Because I low-key think they have like sexual chemistry

OH BOY DO I!

It starts as enemies to firends to lovers, but then quickly spirals into forbidden love territory once he acquires the throne.

Remember that first meeting scene in ME1?

When the Citadel C-sec were too intimidated by Wrex to even dare and hold him down? The krogan assumes all humans tend to cower in front of someone his size.

How Shepard literally marches in there, calls him by his first name, then offers to shake his hand so casually? Full of confidence and poise? Not afraid to meet his eyes.

Yeah, that scene? Every single pixel is flooded with sexual and romantic tension.

Both Paragon and Renegade Shepard have the best chemistry with Wrex full stop.

The scene after it where Wrex deliberately disobeys Paragon Shep command to spare this guy's life, shooting him in the head because "he had a contract" Testing the limit to what this human allows him to get away with, pushing boundaries.

How Shep immediately snaps at him, addressing him down as a commander still despite him disrespecting your authority.

Showing him that this isn't the way things work around here, you won't tolerate this act from him a second time. He already used his one chance, and he better be on his best behaviour going forward.

Genuinely catching Wrex off-guard, he never expected the humans to have barks, let alone the power to follow it with bite. A part of him is even a little ashamed of his action, but he'd rather die than apologise to a human he just met, so he just gives a vague promise not to do it again.

Which might seem small, but to a contractual killer krogan who never trusted a single soul ever since he left his planet young, it's so much more.

The first building blocks to the long bridge of trust being established between them was set by Wrex.

And if you finish his target alone without bringing him along, what does Wrex do? He pays you. He hands you what he views as your rightful share for aiding with his job.

It's established early on that Wrex has honour, he has pride and more self-awareness that anyone would ever expect of him. He keeps his temper in control, is more cunning and logical than people expect of a "krogan"

How he doesn't hesitate to leave a situation when something feels off, his intuition and gut feeling had saved his life countless times.

-

You keep trying to have small talks with him whenever you come down to the dock of your ship, and he just doesn't understand why.

What are your intentions? Is it just curiosity from him being the first Korgan you see? Or are you just digging for information out of mistrust, doubting his abilities as a capable mercenary.

He always hated the employers who kept peering over his shoulders, poking their nose into things that do not concer them.

The job you assigned him will get done, stop bothering him.

In fact, that's why he shares the story about his previous employers. The various times he was ruthless just to get a job done, even when he had to face a friend in combat. Painting himself as a hardened soul.

...so why are you looking at him like that?

See? He has no heart, in fact, despite the three pumping in his chest. So are you convinced yet?

Yes, he is the epitome of the big, strong scary Korgan. The same one all the other species warned you so much about.

Instead of being impressed, intimidated, or both. You look at him with concern, as if he's a bird with broken wings that fell into your palm.

You inquire about his homeplanet.

The usual bitterness that threaten to come out in a pile upwards his throat each time he retells this story...is less severe this time around. It's easier to get out, to go more into details around you.

You never interrupt him, you let him talk. Thoughtfully listening, only speaking when it's your turn.

He doesn't know what to say.

By the end, you...apologise.

For someone to finally acknowledge the wrongs that have been done against his own kind, the injustice the krogans continue to suffer to this day.

A salarian would've gone into a long tangent about why it was a necessary evil, an asari would've offered faux pity before reminding him of the shiny statue in the citadel as if that makes up for the billions of krogan stillborns every year. A turian would've acted as this was a righteous punishment, that krogans should never be trusted until they prove they're capable of civility.

But you, human...Shepard, apologised.

Next time you stop by, he doesn't know why he even brings up the family crest. The rotten armour has been buzzing at the back of his mind like an annoying fly.

Wrex just blurted it out, his tongue loose around you for some reason, something he noticed but was still in denial about–either way, you make a promise to retrieve it.

He snorts.

Okay, he'll believe it when he sees it, Shep.

...

..

.

Standing there in front of the platinum wall locker, Wrex claws tremble as he opens the door. The urge to dislodge the thing from its hinges gnaws at the back of his mind, but he resists it. He knows better than to risk damaging the container of what's supposed to be a centuries old piece of armour.

He can't fucking believe his eyes.

It's there, in his hand. As ugly and vile smelling as he imagined.

And you by his side, you pawny little human who invaded this base like a storm, what a deadly force you are.

For the first time in decades, Wrex is hopeful again. Shepard reignited the flame of determination that always were inside him, the same snuffed out so cruelly by his father that forsaken day.

-

He followed you to Virmire, fully ready to risk his life for your cause. Not out of some obligation or contractual work, but because he believed in it, he believed in you, commander.

So why can't you extend him the same courtesy? Why must you oppose him when a cure is practically at the tip of his fingers?

It pains him as he raises the gun, the same sting he felt the day he drove the knife into his father's chest, the same despair wrangling his heart the day he put a bullet through his only friend's skull.

You expressed your sympathy for the tragedy of his people, didn't you? Or was it just a game of pretend to gain his trust?

So why can't you understand!

You of all people! He thought you would understand better than anyone.

But he doesn't pull the trigger.

You raise your gun, both of you know it won't do shit against him. A krogan shell can endure many bullets before any real damage is done, your squishy skin however? Yeah, not so much so.

No. The gun was akin to a flare instead. Gives a good reason for your crew to come running to your aid, for the salarian special unit to herald a shower of bullets upon him under the guise of "defending the human soldiers"

It will spell his doom in a much more painful way than the simple bullet he planned to plant directly into your heart ever could've.

The singular delicate human heart, how small it must be inside your chest. Yet this one fragile organ infected his three sturdy hearts with its determination.

How you risked your one heart for him that day you helped him retrieve his family crest.

Wrex...

is tried.

Beyond anything, he is so tried and sick of constantly fighting all the time.

He lowers his gun.

Yet the soldiers around you don't lower theirs until you do.

He tries not to let it get under his skin.

He fails.

Swallowing his pride, Wrex recollects the remains of his dignity. He must be in control of his emotions, never show too much fury, otherwise the world will weaponise it against him, claiming this is exactly why krogans don't deserve to join the rest of the galaxy yet.

They can choke on his dick.

-

There are just so many other scenes! I can go on forever.

The biggest one of them all, Grunt and how his whole mission could be interpreted as the best romance subplot between Wrex and Shepard.

Shep finds a Krogan teen who's going through puberty and what's your next course of action? Take him to his homeplanet and visit your ex the Krogan you may or may not have had a situationship with, the one you inspired to change his entire life, to go make a difference in the world.

Shep is Wrex's biggest muse, a nymph from the woods that flipped his world upside down. More deadly and dangerous than all the other warriors he has ever seen, as determined and inspiring as the greatest leaders. The krogan equivalent of a warrior angel.

And what does he do when this Valkyrie whom he thought had died walks back into his life so casually?

He is absolutely rejoiced. Couldn't give less of a shit about Cerberus or anything. Shepard is still Shepard, and you're here, alive, well, in front of him. As gorgeous as the day he lost you.

Not only that, but you came with a child. And you're asking him for guidance and help on raising him? Shepard, you shouldn't toy with a man's heart this much. Otherwise, he'll get the wrong impression.

Wrex practically treats Grunt as his own son and adopts him by the end of the mission. Not only that, but there is a big chance the "mating request" sent in for Shepard afterwards was actually Wrex's.

You get to play family for a day. Your son is just as powerful as you are. Wrex gets a glimpse of what it would've been like to raise him by your side, the life he could've had with Shepard.

But he cannot, he has obligations, ones he actually likes this time around. The krogans need a leader, the planet needs restoration. It's time to take responsibility for the state of his homeworld and not just chalk it up to "how krogans always were" Because that's simply not true.

The women remember it, their art, history, and beautiful complex culture. The men have gone senile with the war, Wrex needs to beat some sense into them. He'll drag all the clans with him to a better life whether they like it or not

And part of him...well. He knows you're the one he wants most, but is he the one you really want? Everyone in your crew is already drooling over you, Wrex is more dignified than to be just another obnoxious suiter chasing after you.

Not to mention, it's part of his job to get married to a krogan so the clans get another leader. You're a human, it will never work out. You have your own life, your own obligations and mission to save the galaxy.

It makes his dream to restore his planet pale in comparison, but Wrex isn't so fragile in his security that he'd get intimidated by that. If anything, it makes him yearn for you even more, admire you whole, impressed by your every achievements that outweigh his, rather than trying to dampen your blinding brightness.

Maybe, in the–hopefully near–future, your children and his can play together on this very same land. But instead of rubble, it will be grassy fields, you and Wrex taking a stroll in the gardens nearby while watching over both of your kids.

And for a moment, Wrex can close his eyes and pretend the ring pressing gainst his skin as he holds your hand, is a one that he gave you.

Would it be Wrex Shepard or would you prefer the Urdnot lastname?

Don't tell him.

He'd rather dream.

He earned it, after all that he sacrificed and everything gave in order to restore the glory to his people, he earned the right to dream.

[cross-my-heartt]

Three antagonists, three distinct attitudes, all representative of what the Empire stands for as a whole

I wanted to take a moment to appreciate what a good job TBB has been doing with its antagonists so far, especially our three imperial officers here. A good antagonist is so important to a good story and I love how each of these characters has a distinct feel about them even though they’re all meant to represent the Empire’s worst qualities. (Yes, Hemlock isn’t included here. That guy's a whole new category of yikes.)

Tarkin: ruthless authoritarianism

Tarkin is the perfect representation of unfeeling single-minded power. He's willing to go however far it takes to accomplish the Empire's goals, eradicating all that stand in its way or dare to oppose it. He hated the jedi for their reluctance to go against their moral code and their unwillingness to bend to the Republic’s will and he hates the clones for much the same reason.

Tarkin believes that nothing should stand in the way of victory. He is the face of a regime that tolerates no opposition, no hesitation and no failure and shows no inhibitions when enforcing those rules.

Morals and human lives are meaningless when the interests of the Empire are at stake.

In a way that simplicity is what makes him so intimidating – his is a straightforward but absolute point of view. That’s scary as hell when it belongs to someone with so much power.

Rampart: calculating ambition

Unlike Tarkin, Rampart represents those that see power as an end rather than a means to one. He’s the rank climber. The smarmy bootlicker. The ambitious overachiever who’s willing to make concessions in the name of success.

We learn that the implementation of chain codes was his initiative. That he’s the one behind project War Mantle. We see how animated and obsequious he is when talking to Tarkin only for him to show his true (dismissive and arrogant) colors to those he considers his subordinates later.

He readily uses and manipulates those he can use for the sake of his own personal gain. This could be the renegade batch or Crosshair to whom he's open about his doubt in regards to his loyalty and that’s where he and Tarkin differ.

He’s dangerous because he is cunning and his cunning allows him to exploit the opportunities the Empire has to offer. He may or may not care for the system itself, but he certainly cares about what it can do for him, which is why he works to further its cause.

It's the kind of self interest that has little regard for morality. Rampart isn’t tolerant of anything that threatens his reputation and by extension his chances of success and he will dispose of anyone who isn’t convenient to him.

Which makes it all the more ironic that he himself was disposed of when he became inconvenient to the Empire.

Nolan: bigoted loyalty

If Rampart was the calculating opportunist, Nolan is his (even more) despicable counterpart. He’s the small insecure man who nonetheless profits from his political alignment, not because he’s competent but because he’s a good little imperial henchman and it gives him a sense of importance.

All in all, he’s the precursor to all the bumbling imperial officers we see in later star wars media, who stand not on merit but on selling themselves to a regime.

A man who cowers at a little turbulence

and has no experience under his belt and yet touts his rank and considers himself better than the clones.

He’s the typical bigot who tramples over others – resorting to derogatory labels (such as 'used equipment') and treating them as less than human – just because he can and because it gives him a power high.

If Rampart saw the clones as a resource that could be used to the very end, Nolan sees sparing medical supplies for one as a ‘waste of resources’. Which is bullshit of course. But prejudice is pretty bad at pretending it’s logical. And the show does a good job of showing us the various little pathetic excuses it tries to hide behind.

(I thought I couldn't hate this guy more and yet I somehow managed it after writing this lol.)

[lonesurvivorao3]

Share A Snippet

It wasn’t until he followed her into the quarantine zone that he fully comprehended her situation.

Recovering her balance, Eris faltered and turned into the avalanche; sparks flew from the shearing metal and glass barrelling down at her as the machine collapsed. Some slow minutes later, Thane choked when he reached her and saw what remained of her arm reach out: no flesh, no subcutaneous tissue. All torn from wrist to bicep, nothing left but the bone - a complete degloving by the extreme axial force of the materials burying her.

He knew, intimately, the biology of every species he hunted. No human could endure that. Inching closer, he bore witness to the fine silver mesh wrapped around her bones, and the barest threads of red, rebuilding her from the inside out as she lay prone, with an all too familiar rattle emanating from deep in her throat.

When death finished snapping at her heels again, she said. “Why the disquiet? I’m fairly certain I can’t die now, which, for someone like me, is a special form of torture.”

[corpocyborg]

[captainsvscaptains]

Round 1 Part 3 Poll 6

Propaganda

Captain Harlock is a renegade pirate who fights the totalion government controlling dystopian Earth. He is the most infamous criminal in the world he resides in, not only as a physical threat (the Arcadia has a lot of fire power and the crew has won many battles using superior tactics), but also as a charismatic leader who brings others to his cause.

He is an avid believer of existentialism, the philosophy that each individual has the freedom to make their own choices, regardless of what the world would consider right-or-wrong.

He was wildly popular to audiences during the anime space opera scene. His personality (stoic, quiet, sincere, terrifying ruthless badass) was very influential as a character archtype in following media.

No propaganda for Amina yet

[escapedaudios]

Long ass post incoming: I'm fascinated by the idea of a victorious villain's narrative. It's an exceedingly rare thing. Ostensibly villainous narratives usually either dilute the evil by twisting themselves into knots to make the villain protagonist justified or empathetic. I never liked the idea that stories are meant to have morals. Ever since I was a child, I always thought the theme was enough. I found fascination in the idea that the wicked have their own untold stories that people are too afraid to write. There's so little material detailing the victory of evil characters that there is no template. There's no inverted monomyth, no long-standing pattern of The Villain's Journey, and that fascinates me. It's wide open for creative exploration. What would it look like?

A good villain must be formidable against the hero. The dark lord in his tower. But what was the climb to the top of that tower like? Why did they do it? What did they feel? Was there pride? Ambition? Fear, and the courage to overcome it? I think there are blind spots in telling this kind of story, because writers erroneously try to justify the motives of a character unconcerned with justice. They don't have to bother with that. Liberated from this, you can tell something much more raw and unconstrained.

Morality is much more malleable than most people are comfortable admitting. What is considered righteous is usually bound to a changing (and often politically influenced) service to whatever social order keeps people feeling safe. The lines we draw are more arbitrary than we want to think. Shifting perspective can move the line between a cruel invader and a brave explorer, a selfish usurper and a righteous rebel, a dangerous outcast and a fascinating renegade, a ruthless savage and an admirable survivor.

I think a good villain story doesn't come from trying to blur or move that line, but to just look away from it. To not care, to not worry if the audience is going to hate or romanticize the character and instead just tell the story and let it be what it is.

I feel like I intended a stronger point, I might revisit this later. Anyway I've been cooking up a villain story for a while. I want to write a character that openly hates, who regrets their acts of kindness and generosity, who stops caring about good and only sees their goal. Their antagonist will not be another, worse villain. Their antagonist will be a righteous person from the point of view of everyone except our evil protagonist. There won't be a downfall where they are punished, only a dark tower and the steep climb into its throne.

[sequenceshift-blog]

SequenceShift Starlo

It's been a while since I've put out anything for SequenceShift. So, I decided to start rambling about my depictions of Undertale Yellow characters in my AU. I decided to go with Starlo, mainly due to @profounddefendorcrusade-blog and their posts about him.

So, what's the deal with Starlo in SequenceShift?

Sorry for a lack of pictures btw.

Well, like UTY Starlo, he was childhood friends with Ceroba and the Sheriff of the Wild East. For a time, he was pretty much almost entirely identical to how he is in vanilla UTY.

Until the massacre of the Wild East.

Basically, a Renegade human (NOT one of the six souls) made their way underground, falling into the Barrens, and started laying waste to the Wild East. Almost half of its inhabitants were killed and Starlo was just barely able to take down the invader.

This basically mentally broke him. He had believed in Western culture without any of its actual drawbacks, only to have to come to terms with the harsh realities of lawbringing. Now many of his friends were gone and the community he worked so hard to build was shattered. However, he eventually started to take this as a learning experience into becoming an actually responsible and competent lawbringer. He swore himself into Ceroba's service, trained to become a deadly combatant, and was eventually made Chief of the newly formed Royal Rangers. Rather than just pretending to be badass, he genuinely became badass with the goal of making sure nothing like the Wild East Massacre happens ever again.

Unfortunately, this came with its own flaws.

He and the Feisty Four started to grow distant from one another, despite them being core members of the Rangers. This was a mix of trauma and their new jobs. Eventually they started seeing each other less as friends and more as coworkers, with only Moray and Mooch truly sticking together. This didn't really help Starlo, who devoted himself even more to Ceroba.

At his core, he's still the same kind-hearted, dorky farmboy who's looking out for his friends and community, which ties into his main motivation. He wants to make Ceroba, his best friend, happy again. However, he is willing to go to drastic measures to accomplish that, even if he knows it's wrong.

On a Pacifist/Light Neutral run, he still shows off that cowboy persona of his. He still wears his poncho and sheriff's badge over his Ranger uniform and holds a lot of the same demeanor, even if it's not as prominent. It's used as a coping mechanism (with him still yearning for that escapist Western fantasy he was living out) and to help cheer up those around him. He keeps up this persona, hoping to be able to willingly bring Clover to Ceroba. He only drops it at the end of the Barrens, where he (reluctantly) attacks Clover after they show that they aren't going to just go with him.

However, cracks start to show in his persona the more monsters Clover kills. He starts simply being passive aggressive, but the more ruthless a neutral run is, the more hostile he becomes, showing more of that darker anti-hero side. Should go without saying, but it becomes especially apparent if Clover kills any of the Feisty Four. This reaches its lowest point in the Vengeance/No Mercy route, where straight up ditches the poncho and badge, instead wearing his Ranger uniform on full display, showing that he's fully embraced his role as a ruthless lawbringer.

However, on a Pacifist run, he can be convinced to see the error of his ways. His version of Undyne's Friendship interactions has Clover and Dina bringing the Feisty Five back together, which definitely improves Starlo's morale and mental state. This eventually leads him to take a stand against Ceroba, not because he's disillusioned with her. Rather it's because he still cares for her as a friend (no matter how much wrong she's done) and knows that by continuing to collect human souls for Project Integrity, she's only digging herself into a bigger hole.

Tl;dr: Starlo in SequenceShift has the same cowboy persona, but hides a more ruthless antihero side beneath that. However, even that's a mask for the same kind-hearted, dorky farmer who just wants to make his best friend happy.

Thanks for indulging in my ramblings. It's good to be talking about my AU again. If you wanna hear more about any of the other characters (or if I missed something about Starlo), feel free to hit me up!

[shsl-heck]

Worm fans are really bad at making the connection between "Cauldron is really ruthless" and "Cauldron regards all parahumans as numbers on a spreadsheet at best, livestock at worst". The mentality is that Cauldron is only ruthless when they choose the Renegade option in a specific situation. The idea that their ruthlessness is systemic doesn't register

I guess that explanation makes some sense, but also, its so central to the story's themes that Cauldron isn't just mean or something, but in fact systematic and unrelentingly ruthless in their pursuit of any chance to save humanity. The way Cauldron mirrors how the entities operate, the fact that they control the PRT/Protectorate, Doc Mom genuinely not remembering who Sveta is, etc. There's a lot there, and it all impacts the narrative!

I could even kind of see how someone would miss that if they were caught up in the personal tragedy of Doc Mom and Contessa... except Worm fans are also really bad at realizing that Cauldron is run by two or three people who gave up their entire lives at very young ages and are now desperately throwing things at the wall hoping just one of them will stick so that this won't all have been for nothing.

They're somehow simultaneously overestimating and underestimating the inhumanity of cauldron, and I think it has a lot to do with the whole "one death is a tragedy, a million is a statistic", and "banality of evil" thing. Seeing Contessa curbstomp the found family that is Faultline's crew feels horrific because of how visceral and small scale it is. Meanwhile, even if we intellectually know that Cauldron is treating human lives as abstract numbers like currency, it doesn't stick in some people's brains the same way. Or at least that's my best guess.

The real take away of this though is that Worm fans are bad at book.