#the art is much more sinister than usual

[eddiesghxst]

a very big thank you to my bby @mmunson86 bc she listens and entertains all of my random ass bursts of inspo and helped me decipher the plot to these two babies (and many many others hehe), ilysm stinky 🤍

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: older!NASCAR driver!eddie munson x pop singer!reader

summary: Eddie's a famous former NASCAR driver who now does paint jobs for celebrities, and you just so happen to need a paint job

contains: oral (f receiving), banter, flirting, and eddie being head over heels for reader <3

word count: 2k

| nascar!eddie x pop singer!reader masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Thursday is Eddie’s favorite day.

One more day til the weekend, things are slow at the shop, and Bug, the detailer, usually pays for lunch. So, Eddie’s usually pretty fucking happy on Thursday— usually. However, it’s hard to be happy when you wake up to a music video of a famous pop singer crashing the car you’d just spent weeks working on.

Now, Eddie’s all for creativity and expressing art in different forms of destruction, but it’s hard to see the art in smashing a brand new McLaren, freshly painted and detailed by none other than Eddie Munson himself. Sure, you paid for it, so it’s basically a waste of your money, but it’s also a waste of Eddie’s time and work.

“Turn this song off, Bug,” Eddie grumbles from under his mask, focused on spraying fine lines of paint onto the car in front of him. It’s your song.  The song that you’d smashed Eddie’s car into smithereens for. That being said, even if Eddie is utterly and incredibly displeased with how you’d decided to treat Eddie’s hard work, his heart skips a beat when he hears the familiar tone of your voice, “You don’t like my music, Munson?”

Eddie pauses his task, blinking a few times to clear the possibility of the paint fumes finally getting to his head and making him hallucinate. And if Eddie’s hallucinating, then his brain is quite vivid because the click of your heels is drawing closer and closer with the smell of your sweet perfume.

Eddie puts the spray gun back on the cart next to him and stands up, facing you as you approach him. Eddie sighs, tipping his head to the side as he removes his gloves. This isn’t the first time he’s met you; no, he met you when he dropped the car off at your film set. You were kind and soft-spoken, with a pretty smile and voice that made Eddie’s chest erupt in butterflies he hadn’t felt in years. You were gorgeous then, and you’re gorgeous now, standing in front of him with that sinister little glint in your eyes.

You’re a pretty young thing, that much is obvious, but it doesn’t negate the fact that you crashed Eddie’s car.

“How can I help you, doll?”

You smile, tipping your head as you watch Eddie remove the mask from his face, tossing it onto the tool cart along with the disposable gloves. “Need a paint job for my new car. Wanted the best in town.” You sweetly say.

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “A paint job?”

You blink up at Eddie, pretty eyes and cute lashes batting up at him. God, you’re perfect. It's no wonder why the entire world is head over heels in love with you.

“You crashed my car, honey.” Eddie points out.

Your hopeful gaze falters then, lips dipping into a ghost of a frown, “It wasn’t my idea.” You respond. “You crashed my car. For a music video,” he drawls, “Do you know how much time I spent on that car?”

Bug seems to take that as his cue to leave because suddenly he’s tossing his tool in his toolbox and calling over his shoulder, “Goin’ to lunch, boss.” And there goes Eddie’s free lunch.

A flash of guilt passes through your eyes before you huff with a roll of your eyes, shifting to lean on one foot as you cross your arms over your chest, “It wasn’t your car.” 

“It’s got my work written all over it.”

“Again, it wasn’t my idea.”

Eddie tilts his head, lips pouting as he shrugs mockingly, in a way. “But you went with it.”

Eddie had been slowly walking you backward across the empty garage, pressing and pressing until you reached his parked car, your body coming to a sudden stop with a hitch in your breath. You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes for the second time, “Well, I was filming a music video. I just do what they tell me to and look pretty— it’s kind of my job, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s eyes fall to your lips for a split second.

You lick your lips, cocking your head to the side as you gaze up at him, “Obviously.”

Eddie’s lips twitch like he wants to smile, a smirk lingering in his tone as he mocks you, “Obviously.”

“You really don’t like my music?”

You feel like you’re losing your mind. Not only are you standing in the famous Munson’s Paint & Body garage, but you’re standing face to face with the Eddie Munson— famous former NASCAR driver and hot as fuck body man.

It’s like all those Sundays you spent back in high school watching him race as your dad bet money with his friends on who would win are flashing before your eyes. Okay, so you’re fangirling a little bit; who wouldn’t? It’s Eddie fucking Munson.

“Never said I didn’t like your music; I just don’t like the fact that you crashed my car.”

And well, you feel bad. You didn’t know the car would get hurled off a cliff in the middle of the California desert, but it was a little late to protest against that when it was flying through the wind at 90 miles per hour with literal flames decorating the wheels.

“I’m sorry,” you finally apologize. “I shouldn’t have let them destroy your car… which was technically my car for my music video.” You and Eddie share a playful gaze, but it’s soon overthrown with something lustful when Eddie reaches out, fingers toying with the waistband of your denim skirt. “You’re playing with fire, princess.” He lowly says.

You hum, tipping your head as he towers over you, bodies pressing against one another as you dance along the edge of the thick line of tension, “Wanna do something about it?” A sly smirk and glinting brown eyes have you weak in the knees, your body heating up like a fucking furnace as the man silently gazes at you. 

It’s like the spread of wildfire when he presses his lips against yours, a warm hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses you against the hood of his car. Your skirt is short, and it rides up when he maneuvers you further up the hood. You let out a shaky breath against his lips when the cool metal of the car meets the hot skin of your thighs.

You’d be lying if you hadn’t somewhat come here with the intention of getting your hands on the handsome older man— there’s no denying there was some kind of energy bouncing between the two of you when you briefly met him on the set of your music video. Eddie’s got a way of looking at you with daring yet respectful eyes that make you want to pounce— he had it then when you first met, and he has it now.

He’s pawing at you like he’s addicted, big hands grasping at your sides as he practically devours you. It’s sloppy and wet and so fucking addicting you wish you didn’t have to breathe so you could just keep kissing him.

He’s slinking his hands down to your thighs, hooking them into the crooks of your knees and pressing them up, spreading you wide for him as he kisses down your neck. He reaches one hand up, tugging down at your shirt to give him room to mark the swell of your breasts. Your breath hitches when your bare nipple meets the cool air, and he laves his tongue over it, “W-what about— fuck.” You whimper as Eddie hums, kissing further down your body and fully pushing up your denim skirt to mouth at your thighs. You press your thighs closer together, pressing up onto your elbows to gaze down at Eddie as he kneels between your legs.

“What about your employees?” You ask.

Eddie mouths at your thigh, kneading at the fat of your skin as he speaks, “Just me and Bug today. Open up, baby.” His brown eyes are like swirling hypnotic pools, and your body moves in accord with his directions, thighs parting to show him the damp material of your flimsy panties.

Eddie groans, leaning forward to drag his tongue up the damp spot before gently nipping at the material. He’s impatient, so he only hooks his thumb in the hem of the cotton and hooks it off to the side, keeping it pinned beneath his thumb so he has full access to your dripping cunt. He doesn’t waste time, laving his tongue from your opening up to your clit, teasingly running the tip of his tongue in circles over your sensitive bud just to hum at the pitiful whimpers and whines that escape your mouth. 

Your eyes roll when he closes his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking and teasing until you’re fully moaning, reaching down to thread your fingers into his curly locks, knuckles curling at the root to gently tug him deeper into your cunt.

“Yeah, yeah,” He breathes, “Fuck my face, princess, there we go.” It’s so wet, his voice, so wet and eager and mind-numbingly gorgeous.

He teases two thick fingers at your entrance before sinking them into you and curling them in a come hither motion. Your legs twitch to close around his head, “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Eddie, I’m so close.”

You’re teetering on the edge, heat brewing in your lower tummy as Eddie devours you like it’ll be his last fucking meal. The lights overhead are bright, and there’s heavy metal playing from the shop speakers. Still, all you can bring yourself to focus on is the sinful drag of Eddie’s tongue up and down the entirety of your cunt, sticky strings of arousal and spit smearing all over your thighs and his face, and your moans increase in volume when he slinks a hand up to squeeze at your chest.

His fingers are gentle yet overwhelming as they pet at your sensitive spot, and before you know it, you’re body is tensing, and you’re coming around his thick digits, soaking his chin as you fail to keep your thighs open and sounds to a minimum.

Eddie doesn’t mind, though, it seems, because he only moans and nuzzles his face deeper into your pussy, greedily licking into you like it’s his last chance— and hopefully it’s not.

You must have spaced out because, between the immense pleasure and the sinfully beautiful sight of Eddie between your thighs, you seem to only come back to earth once Eddie places your panties back over your pussy, pressing a gentle kiss to your covered and aching clit.

He snickers when you twitch in overstimulation, “You’re real cute when you cum, you know?” He says before pressing a kiss into your thigh. You huff out a laugh, leaning on your elbows to watch as he stands up to hover over you, pressing his palms into the hood of the car on either side of your blissed-out body. “Thank you?” You say. Eddie laughs, eyes twinkling with admiration as he gazes down at you.

“I’ll cut you a deal, alright?” He starts. Though your mind is still foggy with the lingering effects of your orgasm, your eyes narrow in suspicion as you tell Eddie to continue. Eddie sighs, leaning in further, “You let me take you on a date, and I’ll paint your car— I’ll also forget all about you crashing my car.”

Even if you want to point out that the car wasn’t Eddie’s, yet again, you can’t help the giggle that slips from your lips as you give in and nod, “Okay. One date.”

Eddie beams, raising an eyebrow as he responds, “Yeah?” You want to lean in and kiss him, but you think the heat of the moment from before had been fuel to the boldness that you’re now lacking.

You nod before holding up your index finger, “One,” you stress, “No promises for a second. I don’t have another car for you to paint.” You joke, but Eddie only shrugs with a smug look.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got enough cars for you to last a lifetime of dates.”

[minniethemoocherda]

Saying Something Stupid

I am loving all the Morph's First Pride art that I've been seeing! I am so glad that I am not the only one that has discovered a love for them and this pairing! I can't wait to see more of all you guys' amazing artworks! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"I know it was you."

Morph froze. Between trying to stay alive in that hellscape of a future, taming a feral Wolverine and having to defeat Sinister, again, they'd pushed that moment on Asteroid M to the back of their mind. A part of them had hoped they would never need to think about that moment again. But, as usual, life hadn't worked out in their favour.

"Listen, I'm sorry for eating all your breakfast muffins, but in my defence you were only eating raw meat for a while and they would have gone bad if I hadn't so-"

"Cut the shit Morph." Logan snapped. "We both know that ain't what I'm talking about."

Fuck. Morph was going to be sick. They could feel their stomach literally churning and Morph had never thrown up their own gloop before but they guessed they were about to find out and oh god why were they still making jokes even in their head and-

"Hey! Look at me!" Morph hadn't realised that they had begun glooping until Logan grabbed their arms and neatly squeezed through them. This close, Morph had no choice but to stare at Logan's face to see that the creases of his brow and the sharp squint of his eyes.

They were going to die. Logan was going to kill him. They wished he would.

"I-I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't have done it!" Morph cried. "But you were dying and I-I had to help!"

"That the only reason?" Logan asked and Morph usually prided themselves on the being able to read The Wolverine better than anyone, but for once they had no idea what the expression on his face meant.

Not that it mattered. Logan had been through so much shit since Asteroid M. The fact that he was still sane enough to ask was a miracle. After all that, the least he deserved was the truth.

Morph took a deep shuddering breath.

"No." They confessed, closing their eyes as soon as they did so that they wouldn't have to see the disgust on Logan's face. They had accepted a long time ago that Logan did not love them back. Which was fine. It would have to be. Because they were more than happy to be his friend, his best bud. Even though now, Logan probably never wanted to look at them again let alone be their friend or-

Someone was kissing them. Someone with a stubbled chin, bristled sideburns and slightly too sharp teeth.

Morph opened their eyes. It was Logan. Logan was kissing them. Which, it had to have been, it couldn't have been anyone else. Except at the same time it couldn't possibly be him. Because that didn't make any sense. Logan should hate them right now.

It had to have been a trick. Some cruel hallucination invented by Sinister to create the image of everything they'd ever wanted only to have it ripped away from them.

Then Logan pulled away and Morph was waiting for the big reveal except it never came and then seemingly unaware of their complete mental shutdown Logan started talking.

"I ain't good with words. And I'm still a bit fucked in the head and I've got my own shit to work through." Logan stated. "But, you're still the only one who can make me laugh. The only one who's always been there for me. Who's seen who I am and wants me anyway. So if you want, then I'm willin' to give this a try."

For once Morph was completely speechless. This was not happening. Even Sinister wouldn't be this cruel.

"If this is all some big joke I swear I-"

"Sydney." Logan breathed and Morph themselves forgot how to breath, as Logan moved his hands from their arms to cup their cheeks. "I would never hurt you."

"I can't believe this is happening." Morph admitted, their voice barely more than a whisper.

"What if I did this?" Logan then pulled them closer until once again his lips brushed against theirs. It was softer than the last kiss, which had been a frantic push of mouth and teeth, compared to the now gentle nudge of Logan's lips. This time, Morph allowed themselves to kiss back. Slowly they parted their lips and Logan didn't hesitate to open his in return. They tentatively traced their tongue along the lower length of Logan's teeth. The Wolverine gasped a growl that vibrated through Morph's body straight to their gut.

They needed to hear that sound again. They needed to make Logan make that sound again.

So they swirled their tongue along the tips of his canines which tasted of beer and breakfast and blood and it was beautiful. More than Morph could ever had imagined. Logan growled again, pulling them closer, hungrily deepening the kiss until he was practically devouring them.

Despite the pairs mutant powers, they both still needed to breath. So reluctantly they broke apart to gasp for air.

"Believe me now?" Logan panted through a smug smirk.

"I don't know." Morph teased, looping their arms around the back of his neck. "I think I might need some more convincing."

Logan didn't any other invitation before he pounced.

[lamemaster]

Loving the Maelstrom

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Perks of marrying a writer. Nelyafinwe pov.

AN: Istg I get the most random ideas while working out.

Curvo bounced the fussing Tyelpe in his arms, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Maitimo sighed for the what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He glanced across the room at you, your face lit by the flickering firelight. A vicious smirk was etched upon your lips, your eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity as you stared into some unseen distance. "She's writing a villainess," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

The murmur seemed to quench everyone's curiosity, at least momentarily. Except for Tyelkormo, who perked up at the revelation. "A villainess?" he echoed, his eyes wide with fascination. "Is that why Kano's been playing such… ominous tunes lately?" he asked, directing his question towards a very tired-looking Nelyafinwe.

Before Nelyafinwe could muster a reply, Moryo, ever the impatient one, interjected. "Makalaure, for the love of Illuvatar, can we please have a normal tune?" he pleaded, his voice laced with exasperation

Both you and Kano paused for a fleeting second. Your minds snapped into the present world before grinning widely and Kano launched into another melancholy somber tune. This time, accompanied by your booming evil laughter. 

Such perhaps was the fate of loving a writer. He had known it well as Kano’s brother. A songwriter and musician's angst was familiar to Maitimo. And yours was similar yet, so achingly different.

Where Kano’s music seldom bled into his life, your words lingered in a pervasive presence. The angst of separated lovers, fervor of a brewing war, or the grit of a dwindling hero, you were lost in your worlds even before Maitimo met you. 

And when he did meet you, he also met your worlds. Gay, morose, bleak, grand, your worlds were his now. Your character settled into his thoughts. And sometimes, they carried a part of him or his family. Small fragments of your life that bled into your worlds. 

He liked your never-ending ramblings about a crooked character or exceptionally hard-to-write down plot. And he witnessed your fall into the world who possessed your mind and heart. 

Despite the differences in art, you and Kano were inseparable in the creation of art. His tunes often rang out from your and Maitimo’s home as you scribbled away another tale. While Kano’s music was given a direction of melodies from the stories you wove into the tunes he tinkered around with. 

And this was the rare occasion where both you and his brother were taken by a story so bewitching that from the strums of Kano’s harp to the rouge of your lips- all was tainted with a lingering shade of sinister. 

It had been a week since your robes had been swapped for uncanny dark silken gowns, very much not your usual choice of color, your nails were painted a hue darker almost bloodlike. Even the decor of your study had shifted ambiance similar to that of the Maiar of Namo.

On several occasions, Maitimo had seen you stir your dinner with a smile so venomous that he sniffed his food twice before eating it. 

You donned a gait so seductive that he, almost was tempted to discard the weekly family dinner with his parents. Yet, despite the unease that gnawed at him, Maitimo couldn't deny the jolt of excitement that shot through him when your newly painted nails, tipped with a crimson that seemed to mock innocence, brushed against his arm.

“I just hope sister-in-law and Kano are not going down the Mairon route of life.” Curufin’s words brought Maitimo back to the present. 

The dinner had ended surprisingly well. Kano’s company had perhaps allowed you to shed the world that captivated you these days for a few moments. You were back to your normal self smiling by his side. Helping his mother and brothers set up the dinner table as twins climbed all over Maitimo.

It was only later in the night when his breath shuddered. He gasped as your lips ghosted over his ears. Filthy words spoken without a care of the oddly lonely alley on the way back to your home. Words so daringly sacrilegious that they would have sent a Vanya to the halls of Irmo. 

Maitimo however, was nothing if not immune to the intricacies of your play and definitely not a faint-hearted Vanya. Pulling you closer in his arms, he indulged your little world. Tracing the shape of your lips with his fingers, he kissed you with a wicked smile. 

Nelyafinwe loved every part of you. Even the fucking crazy ones. 

(This one definitely more than the angsty lovers)

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

Some books and stories that I think are worth reading in conversation with Yellowjackets

Shirley Jackson, all works but especially The Sundial, The Haunting of Hill House, and We Have Always Lived in the Castle. Jackson might or might not need any introduction in this fandom. The Sundial is her take on doomsday preppers, Hill House is of course her haunted house novel (one of the classics of that genre), and Castle has a female protagonist who makes Shauna look like a plaster saint.

Flannery O'Connor, The Violent Bear It Away. O'Connor's work has some of the most pervasive darkness and brutality of any major American writer (maybe Ambrose Bierce comes close), and the second of two novels that she completed before her death is no exception. (The first, Wise Blood, is also very good; the intended third, Why Do the Heathen Rage?, only exists as a fragmentary short story.) Francis Marion Tarwater is kidnapped and raised in the woods by his great-uncle, who is convinced that Francis is destined to be a prophet. The great-uncle's death commences a bizarre adventure involving auditory hallucinations, sinister truckers, an evil social worker, arson, developmental disabilities, and baptizing and drowning someone at the same time. Content warnings for all of the above plus rape. O'Connor is also a fairly racist author by today's standards--she was a white Southerner who died in 1964--so keep that in mind as well.

Ruth Ozeki, The Book of Form and Emptiness. Teenage protagonist is schizophrenic and also a channel for a genuinely supernatural force; well-intentioned but poorly-considered efforts to treat one of these issues make the other worse. Sound familiar? There are supporting characters who are affectionate parodies of Slavoj Zizek and Marie Kondo. A minor character is a middle-aged lesbian who cruises dating apps for hookups with much younger women. Some people find this book preachy and overwritten, but I really like it and would plug it even if I didn't because the author is someone whom I've met and who has been supportive of my own writing.

Yukio Mishima, The Decay of the Angel. Can be read in translation or in the original Japanese. This is the fourth and last book in a series called The Sea of Fertility but I wouldn't necessarily recommend the first three as particularly YJ-ish; Decay is because it deals at great length with issues of doubt and ambiguity about whether or not a genuinely held, but personally damaging, spiritual and religious belief is true. There's also more (as Randy Walsh would put it) lezzy stuff than is usual for Mishima, a gay man. Content warnings for elder abuse, sexual abuse of both children and vulnerable adults in previous books in the series, forced abortion in the first book if you decide to read the whole thing from the beginning, and the fact that in addition to being a great novelist the author was also a far-right political personality.

Howard Frank Mosher, Where the Rivers Flow North. An elderly Vermont lumberjack and his Native American common-law wife refuse to sell their land to a development company that wants to build a hydroelectric power plant. Tragedy ensues. I haven't read this one in a long time but some images from the movie stick in my mind as YJ-y. Lots of fire, water, and trees.

Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers. Yes, this is the same Leonard Cohen who later transitioned into songwriting and became a household name in that art form. Beautiful Losers is a very weird, very horny novel that he wrote as a young man; it deals with the submerged darkness and internal tension within Canadian and specifically Quebecois society. One of the main characters is Kateri Tekakwitha, a seventeenth-century Iroquois convert to Catholicism who was probably a lesbian in real life (although Cohen unfortunately seems unaware of this). This one actually shows up YJ directly; the song "God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot" that plays in the season 2 finale takes its lyrics from a particularly strange passage.

Monica Ojeda, Jawbone. Can be read in translation or in the original Spanish. Extremely-online teenage girls at a posh bilingual Catholic high school in Ecuador start their own cult based on such time-honored fodder as Herman Melville novels, internet creepypasta (no, this book does not look or feel anything like Otherside Picnic), and their repressed but increasingly obvious desire for one another. The last part in particular gets the attention of their English teacher, whose own obsessive internalized homophobia grows into one of the most horrifying monstrous versions of itself I've ever read. Content warning for just about everything that could possibly imply, but especially involuntary confinement, religious and medical abuse, and a final chapter that I don't even know how to describe. Many thanks to @maryblackwood for introducing me to this one.

Jorge Luis Borges, lots of his works but especially "The Aleph," "The Cult of the Phoenix," and "The South." Can be read in translation or in the original Spanish. The three works I list are all short stories. The first deals with mystical experiences and the comprehensibility (or lack thereof) of the universe, the second with coded and submerged references to sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular, the third with leaving your well-appointed city home for a ranch in the middle of nowhere and almost immediately dying in a knife fight, which is surely a very YJ series of things to do.

H.P. Lovecraft, "The Colour out of Space," "The Dunwich Horror," "The Dreams in the Witch House," and "The Thing on the Doorstep." Lovecraft in general needs no introduction--the creepiness, the moroseness, the New Englandness, the purple heliotrope prose, his intense racism (recanted late in life but not in time to make any difference in his reception history) and the way his work reflects his fear of the Other. These short stories are noteworthy for having settings that are more woodsy and less maritime than is usual for Lovecraft's New England, for overtones of the supernatural rather than merely the alien, for featuring some of his few interesting female characters, and for their relative lack of obvious racial nastiness. Caveat lector nevertheless.

Herman Melville, Moby-Dick. It's Moby-Dick. Once you realize that Captain Ahab is forming a cult around the whale and his obsession with it you can't unrealize it.

[goomyloid]

PLEASE explain your thoughts on kriselle in full detail

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS 100% UNPROMPTED ASK! I SHALL EXPLAIN

i hate toby fox. why did he do this to us. he really put it better than anyone else. not really romantic not really platonic but…. something else… some secret more sinister more heartfelt more absurd third thing

i wonder at what point should i clarify that i dont even really seek out kriselle in a romantic context… DONT GET ME WRONG i have zero issues with the ship whatsoever and all of the krisellers out there are living their best (most painful) lives and i SEE THE APPEAL. BUT when i rotate them in my brain i dont need them to kiss or anything like that i just need them to sit down and sadly hold hands and stay like that forever and ever. in case you couldnt gauge that from my art so far

tldr i dont think i ship them in the traditional sense at least …. the things that i usually fixate on for any romantic ship are not there with these two. there are no romantic feelings there In my mind. and all at the same time i start screaming and throwing up and killing myself (all positive) whenever i see them even in the same image together. hngh

ive tried explaining this to people before and they usually suggest something along the lines of a QPR and even that doesnt feel right to me. truly the best way i can put it is… that red string of fate man… which i almost hesitate on saying too because i dont actually know if noelle is Quite an important enough character to the story to warrant a connection like that. WHICH IS A CRAZY THING TO SAY. I KNOW. DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT GETTING ME WRONG i think dess and her connections to gaster and her usage as a stepping stone into the weird route are all VERY important… but in my brain its just not kris/knight/asriel/every other mysterious main focus of the story Important. i didnt mean to get into deltarune theorizing here i hope nobody’s blood is boiling rn

so yeah in the end. toby fox once again put it best. they are friends, but they are also something else.

back to the actual pairing though… sometimes i think im going overboard and overestimating how close kris and noelle were as children because noelle will go and say things like “i wonder if we were ever really friends at all.” which is kind of a fair statement considering the circumstances. sure they played together and all and tagged along with their siblings to do stuff together but when dess went missing… it all kind of stopped. kris is just a kid, they dont know what to do or even how to process it, much like noelle. asriel is probably dealing with his own feelings, he just lost his friend and likely old enough to understand the weight of what happened. while noelle and kris cant say much to each other at all.

im always back and forth on speaking headcanons for kris but the one that i always seem to come back to is selective mutism… to me kris had a lot of trouble communicating well as a child and could only grow comfortable around certain people, asriel and noelle being clear examples because they’re both so patient with them. maybe because of this noelle felt like they could understand each other without really needing words, and just physical interaction was enough to achieve some form of closeness… or maybe that was all just on her end, she thinks when kris goes to play the piano. but if that’s the case, why does it feel like a concert just for her…?

jesus dont even get me start on them as teenagers either. noelle has lost her sister, and now kris has lost their brother… but not in the same way. they look at each other and wonder if they’re the same now. or, maybe thats too cruel. maybe its not the same thing at all. asriel’s coming back soon, after all. it will all be over soon, kris won’t have to feel this way for much longer, right? so then, why does kris look so miserable, sitting in the corner over there? all noelle feels like she can do is sit next to them quietly. to be there, and to somehow, vaguely, messily help each other. the misfit kids that dont really know how to talk to each other and yet understand each other regardless

thats why the dark world feels like such a dream to her. these crazy city lights, fantastical creatures, susie’s there, and she actually might have the means to defend herself and stand her ground, whether it be verbally or… otherwise

and most of all, much like with kris offering an adventurous haven to susie in ch1, the same is extended to noelle. by kris’s side, no less. it feels like theyre doing things together again, and its fun, and nostalgic… she wants to bring dess. and i think its okay to assume kris wants to bring asriel, too. recreating the make-believe world they lost so long ago… is it really possible?

no… how can it really be possible, when this isnt kris? something is wrong. its almost perfect, except kris… it’s them, but it’s not. she sees their face, their expressions, their laughs, their worries. and yet the voice that comes from them… isnt them. and it scares her! even if nothing particularly bad happened as a result. and if something bad DID happen, well…

she just wants what they had before back. is it really so impossible? can they reconcile after all these years? does kris want to? is kris capable of doing so? maybe they just need to hug again. will it feel like a real hug? the person she thought she understood is acting in ways she doesnt understand. they’re telling her to do weird things. they cycle through actions as if they just want to know what happens. and they cant even play piano anymore.

[mac-lilly]

An awesome team (in the making)

Sneak peek at the "Life with Derek"-inspired AU

*****

The door of her locker got slammed shut, and Julie jumped like a startled cat. But she did not scream. Most certainly not.

“Nice voice, Molina.”

Okay, maybe she did scream. Just a little.

Julie huffed, frustrated. She recognized that voice. Of course, she did.

There was not a single student (or member of staff) at Los Feliz Performing Arts School who didn’t know Luke Patterson’s voice. Because Luke was a lot of things – but never, NEVER, silent.

Scowling, she turned around, and there he was: Luke Patterson with his ridiculously outdated haircut, washed-out band tee, and ripped jeans. Oh, and his stupid grin that was absolutely not adorable. Nope, absolutely not.

“What?!” she snapped at him.

“Whoa, hold your horses.” Luke raised his hands in mock surrender, but his grin turned into a smirk. It did not make Julie’s heart stutter! “I come in peace.”

Julie scoffed, though she wasn’t as upset by his ambush as she would have been under normal circumstances. Actually, she had meant to talk to him.

While they shared a handful of classes and used to be in the music program (before Julie had dropped out), their paths didn’t really cross. They moved in completely different circles. Before her mother’s death, she’d mostly hung out with Flynn, Carrie, and the other girls that formed Dirty Candi. These days, it was just Flynn. But still!

Luke, on the other hand, was in a rock band. And as far as Julie could judge, that was all he ever cared about. He most certainly did not care about school. Luke was chaotic and disruptive, and Julie wondered if he would stay until graduation. With his silly outfits and questionable antics, he was the walking cliché of a rebellious punk-rock teen straight from the early ‘90s.  

So, yeah, they did not mingle. Usually.

“What do you want?”

“Covington assigned partners for the group project.”

Julie frowned at him. “He never assigns pairs.”

“True,” Luke said, rocking on his heels, hands behind his back. Julie sighed. Luke was always like this. Too bouncy. Too fidgety. There was too much energy in him. But today, it seemed worse than usual. “But he did this time.”

Julie huffed. “Great.” That was just great. So much for the grandiose plan she and Flynn had been working on. “Well, thanks for letting me know—”

She cut herself off, caught off-guard by the look on Luke’s face. His smirk turned more sinister, and there was a manic glint in his eye. A horrible realization dawned on her. She gaped at Luke. “No!”

“Yup!” Luke beamed at her and even had the audacity to pump his fist into the air.

Julie didn’t buy it. Folding her arms, she eyed him suspiciously. “Mr Covington hates you.” He’d never team them up.

“He does,” Luke confirmed without a care in the world. His expression turned smug. “Meanwhile, you’re the apple of his eye.”

Julie paled first, then a hot flush blossomed on her face. “I’m not– He–”

Luke smirked triumphantly, and Julie groaned.

“Fine, whatever,” she snapped. “But you better don’t mess this up, Luke.”

Luke saluted. His smile never wavered. “Don’t worry, Boss. I’d never.” He winked at her. “We’re gonna make an awesome team, Julie.” And then he turned and bounded down the corridor to where his friends were waiting for him. There was a fucking spring to his step.

Julie let out another groan, annoyed. Luke wouldn't put in any effort into this project. He never did. She rolled her eyes as she turned to her locker again.

However, when she opened her locker again, she couldn’t help the smile that crept on her lips.

For once, the universe was working in her favor. 

[a-queer-seminarian]

Hey Avery, I love this blog and the binary-breakers blog. They’ve both been a great help to me as I reconstruct my faith. But I’m struggling with something: my fiancé and I are scheduled to light an advent candle during the Sunday morning service at his church. Initially I was really looking forward to it, but by chance I was curious about how old Mary was when she bore Jesus, and when I looked it up I learned she could have been anywhere from 13-16. Moreover, some traditions put Joseph as being much, much older. It’s just hard not to think in a very . . . sinister direction when considering that context, especially as far as God’s role in this is concerned. What did you learn about this topic in seminary, if anything? Is there any hope that my “problematic” interpretation is unnecessary/invalid?

Hi there! I think it's lovely y'all are going to light an advent candle tomorrow, and I hope it's a meaningful experience! I also totally get your dismay about Mary's age at Jesus's birth.

To start with the facts: yes, Mary was almost certainly a teenager when betrothed to Joseph. The Bible doesn't give any confirmation of her age, but in both ancient Jewish culture and Roman culture, girls were usually married off not too many years after they started menstruating.

When it comes to Joseph's age, I do have some slightly relieving news — he's unlikely to have been the old man he's often depicted as in medieval art. (I actually had a fascinating conversation on this topic with queer Catholic art historian Amy Neville on my podcast that you can read or listen to here!) He almost certainly would have been older than Mary, but it's uncertain how much older.

In ancient Jewish culture, the "ideal" marriage was actually one between a man and a woman who were both in their teens, with an expectation that a man marry by age 20. Being able to support a wife & kids was a key indicator of manhood, so men were expected to get married as young as they could. But in practice, it was more common for men to marry in their late 20s / by age 30, which does mean that their wives would often be a good ten or fifteen years younger than they were.

The Bible doesn't tell us what age Joseph was when he and Mary were betrothed, but it's unlikely he was older than 30, just as it's unlikely she was older than 18.

So maybe that's not quite as discomfiting as the image of a much older Joseph, but by our modern standards, it's still pedophilia. So what do we make of that? And what did God think of that??

__

I believe it is an act of faith to be troubled by elements of scripture that should be troubling, rather than shrugging them off as being "God's will" just because they're in the Bible. I highly recommend Rachel Held Evans' book Inspired on this topic, which has a whole chapter on grappling with difficult biblical texts (you can read a long passage from it here).

While exploring our emotions and giving them holy space, it is also important to accept that biblical cultures are two thousand or more years old — the ancient world had completely different understandings of morality from us. That doesn't mean we shrug off displays of sexism or xenophobia in scripture — bigotry is bigotry, whether an ancient iteration or what we have today — but learning about biblical cultures enriches our understanding of why certain things, like slavery or women having little say in whom they marry, are present in the Bible (and often completely taken for granted by its human authors). It can help us distinguish between what is truly God-ordained, versus what the humans writing down their experience of God presume is God-ordained.

I appreciate how womanist theologian Wil Gafney explores the complexity of appreciating the Bible as an ancient human text while looking for Divine truth "between the lines":

“There is liberation in the gospel even though it is sometimes obscured by the structures of power that benefit from holding people captive. There is also a story in and between the lines of and behind the text we hold so dear that points to a liberation that not even the authors and editors of scripture were able to see clearly or, see their way to record.

Jesus was a rabbi, he would have never wanted us to cling to the letters and syntax of these texts as though they were his very body and blood but rather, his spirit and the Spirit of God, blow through them, ruffling and disturbing them and permitting us to read new truths in and out of them and, not lose sight of the ancient stories that are also part of our shared heritage."

___

When it comes to Mary's young age when betrothed to Joseph and approached by Gabriel to request her "yes" to carrying God's child, your question of God's "role" in that is a vital one to ask.

In Mary's world, a woman without a kyrios, a man to be her protector, was in a very precarious position. Mary has to be betrothed to someone in her teens. We don't know whether God "approves" of this cultural practice, but we can see how God works within this custom to ensure Mary's security throughout her life:

when Joseph plans to divorce her after she becomes pregnant with Jesus, God sends an angel to persuade him to stick by her;

when Jesus is dying on the cross, he ensures that his beloved will protect Mary after he's gone.

Throughout scripture, God largely seems to operate within a people's cultural expectations (with key exceptions, like how God insists Their people treat foreigners the same as members of the group, or when God warns against giving the people a king just because that's what all the other nations have). That's what I see here. Mary must have a husband to be secure in her culture, and I imagine God ensuring that that husband will be one who will treat her well.

__

Then there's the question of God espousing Mary — of the Holy Spirit "overshadowing" her so that she conceives Jesus. What exactly is this "overshadowing" act? Why is God getting a teen girl pregnant?

Again, Rev. Wil Gafney provides words that wrestle out the good news with this complexity. When reading Luke 1, she urges us to sit with our distress at the image of a powerful "male" figure (Gabriel) approaching a teen girl to tell her what's going to happen to her body:

"Sit with me in this moment, this uncomfortable moment, before rushing to find proof of her consent, or argue that contemporary notions of consent do not apply to ancient texts, or God knew she’d say yes so it was prophetic, or contend that (human) gender does not apply to divine beings, Gabriel or God, and the Holy Spirit is feminine anyway. Hold those thoughts and just sit in the moment with this young woman."

Our distress is holy; it shows our connection to a fellow human being, our thirst for justice. Honor what you feel, don't discard your emotions, even while you join them to sociohistorical understanding.

I highly recommend you read Gafney's whole article, but here's a little more from it that balances ancient culture with modern ethics:

"Yet in a world which did not necessarily recognize her sole ownership of her body and did not understand our notions of consent and rape, this very young woman had the dignity, courage, and temerity to question a messenger of the Living God about what would happen to her body before giving her consent. That is important. That gets lost when we rush to her capitulation. Before Mary said, “yes,” she said, “wait a minute, explain this to me.” ... Did the Ever-Blessed Virgin Mary say, “me too?” Perhaps not. A close reading shows her presumably powerless in every way but sufficiently empowered to talk back to the emissary of God, determine for herself, and grant what consent she could no matter the power of the One asking. And yet in that moment after being told by someone else what would happen to her body, she became not just the Mother of God, but the holy sister to those of us who do say, “Me too.” "

Because Mary was a teen girl, an impoverished Palestinian Jew living under empire, she can extend solidarity to people across all time who experience similar oppression, whose bodily autonomy is equally precarious. Just as her son, God in human flesh, extends solidarity to all who have ever been arrested or executed under an unjust state through his crucifixion. Divine power is expressed in and through those whom the world denigrates and discards — that's why God chose Mary, and why Mary in turn chose God.

Sorry this got so long and has a lot of complex stuff to wrestle with. I honor your courage to ask the hard questions, and I hope you are able to take time throughout Advent to keep pondering! There are no easy answers, but wrestling can yield a blessing.

[quillpokebiology]

Whimsicott Facts

(Art by bluekomadori on Deviantart)

-The scientific name for Whimsicott is "Gossypium Mediocris." Gossypium refers to the genus name of the cotton plant, while Mediocris means fairy. The translation for it is "Cotton Fairy"

-Whimsicott wool is often used as a replacement for cotton in a lot of products, as it has more durability and lasts longer. It grows back quickly and easily, so it’s not much of an issue

-Whimsicott will usually lay their eggs in cotton fields. The first piece of recorded history of one was a Whimsicott caring for her eggs in Unova, which was discovered by a farmer

-Whimsicott most likely developed the appearance of cotton to blend in with the rise of agriculture, as ancient more primitive Whimsicott didn’t have their wool look much like cotton

-The Whimsicott line is related to the Eldegoss line. A lot of people think that they're related to the Jumpluff line for both being cotton, but that's not true at all. Junpluff cotton contains many spores that Whimsicott doesn't have. Whimsicott cotton is also a lot fluffier and softer than Jumpluff cotton

-Ancient Whimsicott seemed to be more sinister and aggressive, as a lot of old texts talk about how they would have to protect themselves from these “Evil Fairies.” This could explain why some people are still wary of them, despite modern Whimsicott being more friendly (while still enjoying to play small pranks on others). I theorize that they would hide in gardens to leap out at people when they walked by

-There’s a constellation of Whimsicott in the sky named Vellus. It is also part of the Unovan Zodiac

(Art by Oreskis)

-Whimmsicott are very social Pokemon and come in flocks in the wild. If you have one, it's best to get other pokemon along with them

-Whimmsicott are herbivores and eat seeds and grains they find, as well as photosynthesizing. A cool, lesser known fact about them, though, is that they work as weeds and will suck the nutrients from other plants for themselves. Combining the fact that they come in groups, all of this together can make them giant pests

-A group of Whimsicott is called a bale

-There's an old Galarian myth of an ancient fairy garden where the cotton flowers would grow into Whimsicott

-Wvumwicott are symbols of luck in both Galar and Unova. It's said that when their fluff falls off, you're supposed to make a wish

-Whimsicott wool never stops growing

[dingergum]

(Characters are from @canisalbus)

Something very different from what i usually draw and from my last Vaschete fanart. I love those guys so i really wanted to make more fanart, but i didn't know what to draw exactly.

Here, i tried to paint Machete, Vasco and Smollchete in the style of the character portraits in Disco Elysium. I don't think i quite achieved that effect, but i still liked the end results.

Smollchete is further away from the usual character portraits in DE, but it was on purpose because i wanted to emphasize how he's just a little guy. And the little guy gets smaller and smaller...

In retrospective (because i finished this art a few days ago) Disco Elysium's style of painting doesn't really seem to mix the colors, which i did a lot here, specially on Machete. Also not a lot of gradients like i did on Vasco. They also shade with much more wild and different colors.

I'm going to put all the rest of my madman ramblings below. It's long and your mileage may vary if you played Disco Elysium or not (no spoilers tho.)

---

Okay, so... As i had the idea of making these disco elysium style portraits but with the gay catholic dogs, i had just beaten Disco Elysium. And so, as i was doing my things in my day to day life, waiting for the opportunity to actually draw them, i kept thinking about skill interactions with the boys, like if your main character talked to them and had enough points in the skill.

Things like Half-light identifying Machete as a brutal and hardened survivor just by looking at his eyes, but Physical Instrument doesn't believe that because Machete looks like just a spindly noodle. And Half-light would be like no bro, trust me, this guy is hardcore.

Shivers or Spirit-de-Corps would tell you how Machete is treated among his fellow bishops and how he's either vilified or seen as a tool. And at that Inland Empire would pipe in saying “He is treasured. But not here.” because yeah we love him. Despite almost everyone in his world hating his guts

Also yeah Reaction Speed clocking Machete as super paranoid. Specially considering maybe in this universe you'd be investigating one of his assassination attempts or maybe even something sinister that Machete had done.

Reaction Speed: “His eyes dart across the room, checking if you have any backup. Then, a twitch of the ear, followed by a sideways glance." Logic: "He is making sure he isn't being flanked.” Inland Empire: “But he's all alone...”

I also feel like Rhetoric would have a field day with Machete. Like, finally, a worthy opponent.

Empathy would get the feeling that despite his reputation, that there is someone else behind Machete's bug eyes, someone other than Machete, the pale eminence. If you have enough points in a skill, it would try to pipe in saying who they think it is, judging Machete (e.g: Authority: "A man superior to you."; Pain Threshold: "It's just sweet pain all the way to the bone."; Half-Light: "A survivor."; Encyclopedia: "The inside lining of the eye is covered by special light-sensing cells that are collectively called the retina. It converts light into electrical impulses. Behind the eye, your optic nerve carries these impulses to the brain. The macula is a small extra-sensitive area in the retina that gives you central vision.") concluding with Drama: "No one he'd want you to know, sire."

That would trigger a dialogue option for an Empathy white check to try and see who's actually behind Machete's eyes and see beyond his reputation and demeanor. I'd imagine you would get a +2 if you talked to Vasco before. And if you pass the check, the screen would go white and Machete's model and portrait would change to Smollchete and you'd be able talk to him for a moment, the little guy, and learn a little bit more about his backstory, stuff that he hides behind the Machete persona. That's why i painted Smollchete too. I don't think Empathy has this same kind of metaphysical effect like others skill in-game, but i thought it would be cool.

Talking to Vasco for the first time would just straight up heal you 1 morale. No skill check necessary. Here, have some free morale.

Your Encyclopedia would recognize his coat of arms and maybe deduce that Vasco is a diplomat or a politician. Then your Composure would tell you straighten your posture and put up your serious face, Suggestion would tell you to flatter him while adressing him strictly formally, but the two of them would be thrown off-kilter as Vasco starts acting very casual and down-to-earth. Maybe Authority would judge his attitude to be unfitting of someone in such position. Idk. This is all random ramblings that were bouncing in my head that i needed to let out.

Hope this isn't too weird, i just had a lot of time between having the idea to draw this and actually sitting down to draw it, so these ideas were just popping up in my head. I wish i could've just put those in the tags, but it waaaay exceeds the tag limit.

[triangle-strategy-notes]

Anna’s reference materials!

A transcript of the longer passages + translation notes under the cut:

Anna was the best from the very beginning ^_^. The clasp was originally intended to be Wolffort's hawk motif, but for narrative reasons, I decided to change it to "a memento from my parents." The silver hair was used to depict the parent-child relationship between her and Benedict. (To eliminate exposition as much as possible . . . ) (Yasuaki Arai)

I initially received the prompt from Mr. Arai, referring to the set of Anna and Milo (from page 50), "Let's have an intense female spy showdown!" So I thought, "In that case, I'll make them opposites, each with their own type of charm to show off!" I aimed for "super stoic vs. super glamorous" and got the OK on my first try. During the design phase, I thought, "I haven't had a chance to draw her, so I'd like to do the drawing when we get to that point!" But my coworker Urushihara liked Anna's design so much that I asked him to finish it. He really put a lot of care into getting the atmosphere of the art just right; when I saw it, I thought, "I'm so glad I asked!" Stoic women who fight are so cool! (Naoki Ikushima)

I finished this based on Mr. Ikushima's rough sketch. At first glance the gender of the character seems ambiguous, but I felt that this gave depth to Anna, who lives in a harsh world where gender isn't a priority. (Tatsuaki Urushihara) 

Translation notes:

“Agent” is a word that’s literally translated as something like “subordinate hand”. In most dictionaries the direct word association is “minion,” “henchman,” or “underling,” but the connotations seemed a little too cartoonishly evil for the general tone that’s usually used in these titles, so “agent” felt like a better fit. It was probably meant to sound more sinister than just “agent,” though, so it was a tradeoff.

The word for “intense” in “Let’s have an intense female showdown” was this one, which can also be translated as “hot,” “ardent,” or “passionate.” The sentence as a whole likely meant to read more like “It would be hot to have a female spy showdown!” but since I wasn’t certain which they meant, I erred on the side of the more mild term.

[nocapesdahling]

Under the Cover of Darkness

Helmut Zemo x GN! Reader

My Masterlist

Summary: Baron Zemo has amassed quite an art collection over the years and it’s enough to draw your attention. After much surveillance, you don’t know which work you’re going to steal, but know you’ll have plenty of options to choose from. Little do you know that he’s been watching you too.

Rating: M (18+, Minors DNI please)

Warnings/Tags: Soft! Dark Zemo; Degradation; Art Collector! Zemo; Thief! Reader; Dirty talk; Power imbalance; Referenced masturbation; Arrogant! Zemo; Referenced voyeurism; Implied future dubious consent; Brief mention of cockwarming; Hints of Dom! Zemo; Possessive behavior

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I originally had a very different fic planned, and this ended up going in an unexpected direction. I know this is a bit outside the realm of my usual fics, so I’d love to hear what you think. 

You’d been casing his place for way too long. Baron Zemo, who was one of the wealthiest people in Sokovia and rumored to be one of the most prolific art collectors in the world, hadn’t been the easiest man to find. The scope of his collection had only been a rumor to you, one you’d heard in passing and paid no mind to. Until you’d heard it again from one of your closest friends and fellow thief in Madripoor, who’d been at an auction to see who was buying what for future reference and saw a man, who everyone knew was Zemo’s representative, buy a Raphael like it was nothing. Based on that, your friend thought there might actually be credence to the rumors and that was enough for you to check it out.

From your research and surveillance, you’d learned that Zemo lived mostly alone with only Oeznik, his butler and also his representative at auctions, for company. Well, he also had the company of his art collection. And that was no small thing. You’d been able to discover after almost a month that his collection was everything they said it was and more. You’d caught a glimpse of a Rembrandt, a Monet, the aforementioned Raphael, a Van Gogh, and a Basquiat with who knows what else displayed in other parts of the house. 

After searching for what felt like ages, you’d finally found what looked to be a small hole in his security. A place where the cameras had a blindspot, where the hallway was dark, and where the window could be jimmied. That meant that you were done casing and it was time to do what you did best, stealing. Tonight was the night. Finally.

You got the window open without the telltale sound of breaking glass and pulled yourself through, landing lightly on the balls of your feet. At a crouch you moved forward, towards the Monet you’d glimpsed during your surveillance. Up close it looked like “Meules'' from 1890, a painting that had been held in private collections almost since its creation. You shined your flashlight on it and were mesmerized by the brushstrokes, even in the dark — so much so that you forgot where you were for more than a moment. That was until a lamp turned on in the corner of the room, startling you into dropping your flashlight. No one was supposed to be in here. Oeznik’s room was on the other end of the house and Zemo kept the same bedtime every night. You’d watched his robed form lounge on his bed before he turned the lights out exactly at 10 pm each night enough to know.

Speak of the aristocrat and he shall appear. You turned, eyes wide, to behold Baron Helmut Zemo lounging in one of the leather chairs with a glass of scotch in his hand. The lamp cast his face half in shadow and he looked sinister for a moment. His lips were twisted into a cruel smirk you’d never seen on his face before during your scrutiny of him and his eyes looked triumphant before his face smoothed and became still again – as inscrutable as the depths of the ocean. It was so quick that you may have imagined it.

“It was nice of you to join me, my rogue. I thought that I’d be waiting forever for the pleasure of your company.”

You knew what that meant. He’d known you were coming. How had he known? You’d been so careful.

“Ah, I see it in your face. That moment of realization. You were careful, little thief. But not careful enough. For while you’ve been watching me, I’ve also been watching you.” He paused for a moment in contemplation and tapped his thumb against his lips. “And I have liked what I have seen.”

This had never happened to you before. You chose a mark, you cased their house, and you stole what you planned to steal. Each time was a success, allowing you to make something of a fortune and to even keep your favorite pieces for your own collection. You were a damn good thief if you did say so yourself. No one had ever made you. Not like this.

“You are speechless. That’s fine. I often have that effect. Let me ask you. You saw me swimming in my pool. Didn’t you, my thief? Nod if you can’t summon the words.”

You bit your lip, thoughts meandering back to that day. His surprising muscles with the water dripping off of them and the way his bathing suit had flattered his assets – yes, you’d like what you’d seen even knowing that those muscles were remnants of his recent time in EKO Scorpion. Even so, you were tempted to shake your head no. He had the upper hand here already and you wanted to gain something of your own back.

“Before you respond, I will know if you’re lying. And you will not like the consequences.”

You shivered slightly at his tone and how his voice had deepened before hesitantly nodding yes.  

“I knew you did. I knew you were watching that day you see and wanted to put on a little bit of a show. I knew my collection already had your attention, but I wanted it for myself.”

You cleared your throat, summoning words for the first time in his presence. “And you had it.”

He leaned forward, his scrutiny of your face intensifying. “I know I did.” He sipped his scotch, his mien assured as though he already knew the answer to his next question. “Tell me, my rogue, did you touch yourself afterwards to thoughts of me? If you don’t want to admit it, that’s fine but I will tell you that I did. I imagined what you would look like — below me, riding me, in my sheets, against the wall, and covered in paint in my studio with my cock inside you as I worked. I can detail all the ways I’ve imagined you if you’d like. It’s rather a long list.”

You looked away, unable to hold eye contact. You had in fact got yourself off to thoughts of him as soon as you’d found a secluded place and had a few times since then, but you were never going to admit that to him. Before they’d been harmless fantasies of a mark, which once you liberated one of his paintings, you’d never see again. But now faced with Baron Zemo watching you from the shadows, his eyes intense and burning, they felt anything but harmless — they felt dangerous, like you were about to jump into an abyss without knowing its depth, and it made you shift in discomfort. It was too bad you’d always liked danger more than you should. You shook your head no and began moving towards the window as subtly as you could, which in your current agitated and aroused state was nowhere near subtle.

“Oh, you didn’t? See my thief, I don’t believe that. I think you made it to my hedge maze and no further before bringing yourself pleasure. I think you got lucky that the cameras there were off that day otherwise I would have had that memory preserved forever. But don’t worry, we’ll make new ones.”

You’d almost made it to the window, which with its age had unfortunately slid closed. You only needed to get it open and you would be free. You wouldn’t be around to “make new memories” with him, and hoped to never see Zemo again.

He was still serenely watching you and sipping his scotch as you went for the window.  

“It looks like I’ll be leaving now, Baron. I’ll leave you be. I promise your collection is safe from me, and you can forget you ever saw me.” Your voice sounded as nervous as you felt.

“Leave me be?” He stood, placing his scotch on the table, and prowled closer like a predator approaching its prey. “Now, when did I give you the impression that I wanted that? You see, my rogue, the window won’t open. I closed it and locked it while you were entranced by the Monet. You do have good taste, though I thought thieves of your caliber were supposed to have better senses.”

At this point you’d backed up into the wall next to the window, dropping the tools of your trade to the ground. Zemo’s face was fully illuminated in the moonlight as he loomed over you and he was just as handsome as ever, even more so now that you knew he was a worthier opponent than you’d ever expected.

His voice when he spoke again seemed to linger over the words as he smirked at you. “Oh no, my little thief in the night.” He tsked, “You will not be leaving for a very long time. This is your home now. Isn’t that wonderful?”

You shook your head and a tear escaped from your eye. He wouldn’t be able to keep you here. Your friends would look for you. Your buyers would miss you.

“Look on the bright side, you will be well taken care of here and my art collection will be within your reach at all times. You’ve seen how well I treat my art, yes? I take good care of what’s mine.”

You continued to shake your head. “What about me? What about my life?”

Zemo reached out and caressed your cheek, his thumb catching a tear and his hands shocking in their warmth. “Ah, yes. An important question. As for you – well, you will be within my reach at all times. Mine to do with as I please. Doesn’t that sound lovely?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “I think we’ll be very happy together, don’t you? You’ll be the crown jewel of my collection.”

Reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!

A/N: I will confess that I rather like the last line. Hope you all liked this, and please let me know if you did! 

I do have a Halloween fic in the works for Zemo and a fluffy Laszlo Kreizler drabble I can’t wait to post. I have quite a few fics for Zemo on my masterlist too if you’d like to check them out!

My Masterlist

[deathbydarkelves]

why has no one asked about Ylrith yet??? please tell us more about Ylrith

:3c

In all fairness, I don’t post about her that much. Mostly because I’m not currently working on any stories that directly involve her so she’s not in my brain as much. I LOVE her, I’m just more focused on the characters I work with more often lol

But basically: poly lesbian mob boss with a snake obsession

She’s the head honcho of a centuries-old crime syndicate called The Gray Order. Ylrith (il-rith) herself usually goes by “The Gray Matron”, but her enemies have given her a plethora of other, similarly sinister names. By now, the Order has connections all across Azeroth, in most any faction worth a damn. The opening up of Kalimdor to the rest of the world was one of the best things to happen to her.

The Order specializes in smuggling drugs, weapons, and other illicit items, but Ylrith will ferry war refugees to safer lands too, and other such things. All she wants is money and more people under her thumb — if you have the money, or are willing to do a favor for her, she’ll help you do what it is you want done. Her trademark phrase isn’t “A favor for a favor, darling” for nothing. Of course, she’s a master of wordcraft, and often gets people to promise more than they think. She’s also got informants everywhere — brothels in the big cities, innkeepers, compromised city guards, and so on — and thus is master of blackmail. You go to her to discuss a deal, you say something she doesn’t like, and she’ll drop a detail about your life you thought no one else knew.

She also has an EXTENSIVE snake collection of species from all over Azeroth and even beyond. If we’re being realistic a lot of the money she makes goes into caring for them lmao she just really loves snakes <3 In fact I was leaning so hard into the snake thing I decided to just say she’s (the elf equivalent of) autistic because no neurotypical person could possibly be that into snakes KSBXBJD Which makes her my second autistic night elf, the first being Cathala 💜 Yet another win for lesbians.

The third key thing about her is the upper crust of the Order are all in a sapphic polycule. They use their powers of polyamory for evil (affectionate). Ylrith is also kind of(?) a “lesbian femme fatale type”. One of her favorite activities is fucking with the royalty of patriarchal cultures like humans by seducing the wives of powerful men and then helping them kill their husbands, the end result being Ylrith now has control over that piece of land at best, and that rich woman’s loyalty at worst. It’s enrichment for her.

Now for more art. This first one is her and her spymaster/favorite assassin/girlfriend Delphine Kaltel, a.k.a. The Serpent’s Fang. Originally Delphine had actually been hired to kill Ylrith but it was an enemies-to-lovers thing <3

This one’s her and her blue dragon girlfriend Tyalagosa, who’s sort of her “court” mage, I suppose:

(She has more gfs/people in the Order’s upper crust, those are just the only two I’ve named, designed, and drawn. One I have yet to draw is Evelyn Torvannas, another Nightborne. She’s the head of a fairly powerful merchant family in Suramar.]

One showing off her other tattoo:

And her voice claim :) (Morrigan from Dragon Age: Inquisition)

Plus this dumb meme that sums her up perfectly imo:

I also like to imagine she has the stupidest most cartoonish rivalry with Shaw lmao. She doesn’t see him as a threat whatsoever and loves toying with the funny little human man, while he fucking HATES her because she’s got her tendrils all up in the Alliance but always worms her way out of repercussions. WLW and MLM hostility.

[thecreaturecodex]

Protean, Cthilpuk

"Naga Rei" © Fur Affinity user TrinityLight, accessed at their gallery here

[Posting this has been a fucking chore, believe me. The hidden character limit for tumblr counts HTML tags, whether you put them in yourself or copy them over from another document. And although it used to be able to break up the text into different blocks internally for its coding purposes, it no longer can with the new draft saving program. Which means that the formatting is going to be slightly different from now on, with more spaces within each stat block. I'm still going on hiatus; I'm traveling this week. But normal service should resume next week, rather than me having to find a new hosting service. Fingers crossed.

So the monster in question. The mesmerist is one of my favorite classes in PF1e, because it's so versatile. You can use it for everything from a sinister manipulator to a wacky stage magician, a faith healer to The Shadow. I wanted the cthilpuk to be similarly versatile. I intend these to be able to be allies to some parties, enemies to others, and even change allegiance over the course of the game.

A few miscellaneous notes. The anagrams I'm using for protean names are getting weirder and more obscure; I'm going to post a list of all of them when this project is over. The art itself is not NSFW, but the gallery page is in its description of this character; be prepared. And there's a teaser of one of the other proteans I have yet to stat up but have planned.]

Protean, Cthilpuk CR 14 CN Outsider (extraplanar) This blue-scaled serpentine creature has a humanoid torso with four clawed arms. Its head has a cobra-like hood, and both its hood and its eyes swirl with mesmerizing colors.

Cthilpuks are proteans that represent one of the most changeable of things; the emotions of sapient creatures. A cthilpuk can be a counselor, a rabble-rouser or a terrorist, depending on its mood. They are comfortable in urban spaces, and often live in mortal or planar cities in disguise for months or years. Undercover, they are often very friendly, going out of their way to talk to people and then using the information they gather to adjust the person’s moods and behavior. Cthilpuks are strong believers in self-actualization for chaotic individuals, but enjoy driving lawful people into spirals of doubt and despair.

A cthilpuk would usually prefer to avoid combat, instead using its hypnotic stare and psychic magic to influence a creature’s mood, and then talk them into doing something that the protean wants them to do. Still, sometimes violence is the appropriate solution to their problems. The bite of a cthilpuk locks the mind into an emotional pattern, typically a self-destructive one. In a fight, most cthilpuks try to bite as many creatures as possible with different decoctions of emotional venom, cast a spell or two into the fray, and then sit back to watch the chaos. In their natural form, they can even split their hypnotic gaze, working their will through the stare of both their real eyes and the eyespots in their hood.

Although a cthilpuk will gladly toy with the emotions of everyday people, they do most of their work in places of high tension and chaotic potential, always to instigate further changes rather than to uphold the status quo. They are often beloved of revolutionaries and despised by governments, although they do not particularly care about the moral status of either revolutionaries or governments they interfere with. In this role, they often work as underlings for heputwisa proteans. They are patient in their work of manipulating emotions; they appreciate a sudden shock as much as any protean, but know that the most useful minds are ones that have convinced themselves of their course of action, rather than having it forced on them from outside.

Cthilpuk CR 14 XP 38,400 CN Large outsider (chaos, extraplanar, protean) Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., detect chaos, detect law, Perception +22, thoughtsense 60 ft.

Defense AC 29, touch 13, flat-footed 25 (-1 size, +4 Dex, +16 natural); +2 vs. lawful targets hp 195 (17d10+102) Fort +11, Ref +14, Will +16; +2 vs. lawful targets DR 15/lawful; Immune acid, emotion effects; Resist electricity 10, sonic 10; SR 25 Defensive Abilities amorphous anatomy, freedom of movement

Offense Speed 30 ft., fly 60 ft. (perfect) Melee bite +22 (2d6+6 plus emotional venom), 4 claws +22 (1d4+6), tail slap +17 (2d8+3 plus grab) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Psychic Magic CL 14th, concentration +20 (+24 casting defensively) 30 PE—calm emotions (2 PE, DC 18), crushing despair (4 PE, DC 20), emotive block (3 PE, DC 19), euphoric tranquility (6 PE, DC 22), fear (4 PE, DC 22), good hope (3 PE), overwhelming grief (4 PE, DC 20), rage (3 PE, DC 19), reckless infatuation (3 PE, DC 19), smug narcissism (5 PE, DC 21), serenity (6 PE, DC 22) unadulterated loathing (3 PE, DC 19), unshakeable zeal (6 PE, DC 22) Special Attacks bold stare (allure, sapped magic, susceptibility, timidity), hypnotic stare (-3), split stare Spell-like Abilities CL 14th, concentration +20 (+24 casting defensively) Constant—detect chaos, detect law, protection from law (DC 17) 3/day—empowered chaos hammer (DC 20), confusion (DC 20), greater dispel magic 1/day—greater teleport, word of chaos (DC 22)

Statistics Str 23, Dex 19, Con 23, Int 18, Wis 22, Cha 22 Base Atk +17; CMB +24 (+26 disarm, +28 grappling); CMD 38 (40 vs. disarm) Feats Combat Casting, Combat Expertise, Combat Reflexes, Empower SLA (chaos hammer), Improved Disarm, Intimidating Glance, Psychic Virtuoso, Quicken Spell, Self-Sufficient Skills Appraise +16, Bluff +21, Diplomacy +21, Fly +22, Heal +25, Intimidate +21, Knowledge (arcana, history) +16, Knowledge (local, planes) +19, Perception +22, Sense Motive +22, Spellcraft +16, Survival +22 Languages Abyssal, Common, Protean, Undercommon, telepathy 100 ft. SQ change shape (greater polymorph), undersized weapons

Ecology Environment any land or urban (Maelstrom) Organization solitary, pair or council (3-6) Treasure standard

Special Abilities Emotional Venom (Su) The bite of a cthilpuk injects emotions, not traditional venom. A creature bitten by a cthilpuk must succeed a DC 24 Will save or be affected by one of the following emotional states. This lasts for 1 minute. A creature so affected can attempt to control its emotions by making another DC 24 Will save as a move action; if it succeeds, it dispels this effect, and gains a +4 bonus on all future saves against that cthilpuk’s emotional venom for the next 24 hours. A creature may only suffer the effects of one type of emotional venom at a time Anger: A creature under the effects of anger emotional venom must make an attack of opportunity against its allies whenever its allies take actions that would provoke an attack of opportunity from that creature. These attacks count against the affected creature’s attacks of opportunity in a round. Dedication: A creature under the effects of dedication emotional venom cannot move away from an adjacent opponent unless it succeeds a DC 24 Will save. Success on this save allows the creature to move, but does not end the effect. Despair: A creature under the effects of despair emotional venom suffers a -4 morale penalty on attack rolls and damage rolls. Fear: A creature under the effects of fear emotional venom is shaken. Hatred: A creature under the effects of hatred emotional venom takes a -4 penalty to AC, but gains a +1 morale bonus to attack and damage rolls. Jealousy: A creature under the effects of jealousy emotional venom must attempt to make saving throws against all spells, including harmless and beneficial spells. Zeal: A creature under the effects of zeal emotional venom must succeed a DC 24 Will save each round or be compelled to take the same action as it took last turn. If unable to do so (such as casting a spell that has been expended), it must mimic those actions as closely as possible (i.e. cast another spell on the same target). Succeeding this Will save allows the creature to choose a new action, but does not break the effect of the venom. This is a mind-influencing emotion effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. Hypnotic Stare (Su) A cthilpuk has the hypnotic stare and bold stare class abilities of a mesmerist with a class level equal to its racial HD. Mesmerist levels stack with cthilpuk Hit Dice for the purposes of the stare class feature, but not other class features, such as spellcasting or mesmerist tricks. Split Stare (Su) A cthilpuk may use its hypnotic stare on two opponents at once. When it does so, it inflicts a -2 penalty to one target, and a -1 penalty to the other. Using its split stare is mentally taxing—a cthilpuk suffers a -4 penalty to Concentration checks while using this ability. A cthilpuk can only use this ability in its natural form.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forbidden Lessons XXIII

Masterlist

Dun dun dunnnnnnn.

Warnings: noncon, age gap, abuse of power, coercion, mentions of suicide, depression. Y'all know I do it dark and spicy. You have warnings, use them

Thots, comments, screaming, and feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you!

Your mother stays in town through the weekend, not that she spends any time with you. You only know because her incessant insta updates. She's now over the grief stage and well into recovery over her pathetic offspring.

Monday comes, the only day you have two classes, and you slog through it as the snow begins to recede.

You ignore your phone aside from the brief reassurance that you're alive to Bucky. He tries to keep up a conversation but you won't. Even if you knew what to say, you can't.

Tuesday, an early morning. Made harder by the prospect of Laufeyson's lecture. You won't give up, not again, not because of him. Hopefully he and your mother destroy each other. At least, you can dream.

You sit near the back, slumping down as you chew the end of your pen. You could sleep right there. Lately, you've been so tired, more than ever. It must be the ever gray sky.

You're dismissed with his usual reminders of pending assignments. The only one you've still not touched among your classes. You rise with the rest of the students and exit through the back.

You remember this hallway. Where you cried, where Barnes stumbled upon you. You press on and descend the south staircase, intent on a London Fog latte from the cafe attached to the engineering centre.

The line isn't very long as it's barely noon. You claim your drink and wander out onto the icy campus. You wander a bit out of the way, admiring the statues and art installations you never noticed before. It's aimlessness without reason. You should just go back to your dorm.

You toss your empty cup in a bin as the wintry breeze wisks over you. Clouds shifting overhead, footsteps cracking the ice on the ground.

You follow the path down the tunnel beneath the library, the steps edged with ice and snow, treacherous and vacant. You sense a shadow, that looming sense of pursuit that crept closer and closer the longer you drifted around.

Your phone shakes before you think of it. You slip it from your pocket and read Bucky's name as it pulses. Should you answer? Why would he be calling?

You hit the green dot and drag your thumb. Before you can lift the speaker to your ear, a voice fills the tunnel, like a villain in his lair.

"Your mother isn't what I expected. She does speak overly much. Unlike you," you keep the phone at your side and turn cautiously. Laufeyson stands at the bottom of the steps, "I wouldn't have guessed who she was if she hadn't gone on about her pathetic daughter. Poor thing threw herself from a bridge."

"Leave me alone," you murmur as he strides closer.

"I would've sent her away with all her chatter but… couldn't resist knowing of her unfortunate relation."

"I said, go."

"You didn't exagerrate," you hear noise from your phone but he can't for his monologue, "she could drive me to a similar precipice."

He snickers as he stops in front of you, his hand trailing up your zipper. You wince and he latches on to keep you from retreating. He yanks you close.

"She’s a lot livelier than you," he taunts, "not as tight though."

"Shut up, leave me–" you grab his wrist and try to pull him off, "please–"

You drop your phone as he jolts you again. You grasp his arm in terror, boots slipping on the ice.

"It's been so long, pet, I hardly think I can accurately compare–"

"Shut up!" You shout, your holler bouncing around the tunnel, "get off!"

You struggle with him, stomping on his toe clawing at his chest and arms.

"Oh, do calm down," he lets you go so fall on your ass and bite your tongue, "too much trouble for a thing like you."

You get to your knees, puffing in a panic, nerves pinging wildly. You don't think, just run. You twist and stumble, pumping your legs in arm as his sinister laughter follows. It's so surreal it feels like a movie, a scene in some softcover rag.

There's honking and screeching of tires as you sprint across the road. You don't stop until you see the river. You pant and stare at the ice floes floating on the surface.

Of course it wasn't a coincidence. Professor Laufeyson it rotten to the core.

💚

It's not until you sit in your dorm, examining the cold scrapes and scratches on your fingers, feeling the bruised impact at the base of your spine that you think of the phone. You left it on the ground. If Laufeyson didn't notice and take it, it was surely cracked on its descent.

As you mull over what to do about the phone, ignoring the nagging and much bigger issues, a knock comes at the door. You hesitate. It could be your mother though you wonder how she got past the front door. Well, the freshman are always lax with letting in strangers.

You cross the room and brace yourself. You're not ready to face her, to think about him and her together. You've been avoiding it diligently.

You open the door, almost unable to react in your shock. It's Professor Barnes. He looks unhappy, as irritated as you've ever seen him.

"I… I lost my phone, I'm sorry if you text–"

"I heard it all," he lifts his hand, your phone in his tight grip, a spiderweb crack at the corner. "I went and got it myself from that jackass."

"What?" You gape and bring your hands to your throat as it constricts, "you–"

"I heard everything. How could you not tell me it was him? How could you– let him hurt you?" He's barely able to get the words out in his fury.

"What did you do to him?" You squeak.

"What he deserves," he snarls and holds out the phone.

"I'm sorry, I tried to stay away but…"

"You're apologising? Don't. He owes you one but–" he inhales through flaring nostrils.

You reach slowly for the cell and his eyes fall to your hand. He clings to the phone as he stares at your chafed hands. You gulp as he reluctantly lets go.

"How did you get in?" You ask at last.

He looks you in the eye, "nothing would stop me from getting to you, understand?"

You don't.

What happened to the chill and charming professor? The self-assured man with his easy humour? This person in front of you is vicious and paranoid. For the first time, he scares you.

You nod as you can't lie out loud. You swallow and glance over the phone.

"We'll get it fixed… or a new one," he promises.

"Thanks, but…" you don't know how to ask him to leave. Can you? You lift your chin and tamp down your fear, "do you want some tea?"

[averseunhinged]

thanks to @garglyswoof, @purplesigebert, and @galvanizedfriend for tagging me! the game is first ten songs with my most played/on repeat on shuffle.

i feel like i should say something about at least one of them. so, if you're into folk noir/dark americana, the new son of the velvet rat album, ghost ranch, is very good.

(eta vague descriptions for everything, because i forget people might actually want to read my long rambles.)

vera sola - the colony (i usually describe her as nancy sinatra if she studied poetry at harvard. this song is from her older, more bizarre album. i like it as much the new one, but it might be slightly less accessible than the newer one. it's still weird, but it has more of that classic nashville sound.)

queens of the stone age - made to parade (i didn't get around to this album until recently and was surprised by how much i loved it. i'm a fan of qotsa, but lost track of them a little. mark lanegan's death made me revisit them more and they still have it. they are old and josh homme is a kind of a wreck physically, but the album is still stoner rock's more punishing cousin, and they still go hard live.)

caroline polachek - ocean of tears (not one of polachek's most popular tracks, but it's my favorite. it's so pretty and catchy and well written. art pop at its best.)

son of the velvet rat - bewildering black & white moments captured on trail cams (see above. also jolie holland's on a handful of songs on the album and she's always good.)

.grouptherapy - ...i changed my mind (a new song off the deluxe version of their 2023 album, which was one of my favorite albums of last year. they're young and talented and trying a lot of things out. it's been fun following their releases and hearing the big and little ways they alter things as the develop.)

vera sola - bad idea (obsessed. i am obsessed with this song and this album and this entire artist.)

emma ruth rundle - darkhorse (my user name is actually from this song. she's my forever favorite. she's one of the progenitors of doom folk, which is basically the denver sound when it's not at home, and sounds like emmy lou harris if she was really into metal.)

skryptonite - Притон (my favorite song by my favorite russian language rapper-producer. he's fucking huge in the cis, but not at all in north america. it's always so wild watching these huge, packed stadium, unhinged shows by performers who might book a small club in the states. the world is both very small and very big.)

shovels & rope - gotta get out of here (shovels & rope do the best covers. this one isn't super far off from the original, but it has a more sinister vibe than kevin kinney's plaintive recording.)

nick cave & the bad seeds - wild god (new bad seeds single! as typically good as nick cave usually is. i think his voice is sounding older and rougher these days, but that never detracts for me. the way singers' voices change as they age is fascinating. there's something so compelling about an artist's later in life albums, when their voice carries the weight of their age.)

because of ingrained weirdness about tagging people, this is a free for all. if you see this, i'm tagging you.

[roy-dcm2]

Headcanon - Majora's Origin

I love Majora's Mask. It is nice to the game get the recognition after spending so much time in the shadow of Ocarina of Time.

However, since the beginning, fans have had an obsession about the origin of Majora's Mask. The oldest / most popular theory that often get repeated is - Majora is a DARK GOD rejecting the Goddesses and planning the destruction of everything!

It's a fine enough theory, but I never hear people really expand on the normal origin explain in the game. They never seem to grasp what "Majora's Mask" is - the Mask is very simply a Demon.

A unique demon, but a demon none the less.

First of all, let's take the time to acknowledge that the world of Legend of Zelda is full of demons. Nearly every side game features some kind of powerful demon terrorizing the local population.

[Nightmare art by JMatchhead on DeviantArt]

Anyway, Majora is a Tsukumogami, a type of "spirit" born from an item. (Never forget the Zelda franchise's Japanese influences.) In Shinto, it is believed that items can come alive after a long period of time (usually more than 100 years.) Items that are regularly used and maintained, birth helpful spirits. Items that have been neglected, birth angry spirits.

When you think of it that way, the origin told in the game makes a lot more sense. Majora's Mask is a mask used by an ancient tribe to cast curses. The Mask might have absorbed some of the dark magic that they used, so it was already brimming with dark energy when it was sealed away. Then it remained sealed away for a long time, growing resentful of those that had sealed it away.

(I mean, it might be a hexing mask, but items are happy to fulfill their purpose. If it's been neglected, it's because either no longer good enough to do it's job, or they are ashamed of the job it did before.)

By the time the Happy Mask Salesman found it, it was probably already alive waiting for someone to pick it up.

[Sidebar - the HMS is not a God either. He's just a Mask collector. In a land of powerful masks, that means something, but it's not necessarily sinister. He probably buys and sells regular masks, but keeps rare masks for his personal collection. And his drive for collecting masks did push him to raid an ancient temple for Majora's Mask. But, he was also smart enough on how to transport it. He knew it would be trouble for anyone else. He might have planned a ritual to banish the spirit inside the Mask, if he could get the mask back. However, Link destroyed the demon the old fashioned way.]

When the Skull Kid put it on, it secretly wielded him like a puppet. Fascinatingly, being a hexing mask, the Skull Kid took great delight in cursing people, but hardly ever actually killed anyone. (I struggle to think of anyone the Skull Kid killed directly.) It enjoyed bringing misery to all, likely drawing power from people's despair.

It turned the swamp waters into poison. A terrible blizzard hit Snowpeak. Storms were making Great Bay unpleasant for the Zora, and all Ikana Canyon was cursed to relive a war that no one remembers what they were fighting for. On top of more personal curses like turning Kafei into a kid. And causing great despair from pulling the moon out of the sky.

Finally, it was this increased energy of despair that allowed "the spirit of the mask" to manifest a true form for itself, that you fight as "Majora's Wrath."

And in the end, Link is able to destroy this demon, the Mask becomes an ordinary item once again, and the people of Termina are freed from depair as they greet a new dawn, after that third day.

(btw, some people think "Majora's Mask" created all of Termina, and that this is some kind of pocket dimension. If so, why doesn't it disappear when the evil spirit dies? Because Termina is a real place. It's just another country. There are other countries in LoZ. Just that NIntendo doesn't want to explain things.)

And that's it. I feel it's more concise. Instead of speculating on a cosmic pantheon we will never know, the story is much simpler. The land of Termina was cursed, suffering in despair, so the Gods (Or Goddess) sent the Hero to save them.