harmonycricket

[harmonycricket]

sorry but i couldn’t help but notice that ghost was wearing that outfit during the oil rig mission. the jeans and all that other shit. it was rainy, they were sweating and it was probably disgusting. the next mission is alone and obviously he’s going to be wearing the same outfit, he had no time to change. in alone, he probably had to also sweat while being drenched in rainwater and it was probably even more horrifically disgusting. im not going to fault him for not changing, he was literally betrayed by graves. but then in prison break mission directly after that he’s in that same outfit. the alone mission happened around midnight and the prison break mission happened at 4am. considering the drive from alejandro’s safe house to the prison, their preparation and everything, i doubt ghost would have time to shower, wash and dry his clothes. and so, in conclusion, ghost was stinky for dark water, alone and prison break. it wasn’t his knife skills or marksmanship that killed the shadows, it was his foul odour.

[harmonycricket]

I fuck with his kicked puppy vibes and sad brown eyes on a cosmic level.

[harmonycricket]

A teaser for @dilucsbeloved’s birthday gift illustration

(๑´• .̫ •ू`๑)♡ AWEALUC FOREVER ! <3

CW mild description of gore

wc: 1.6k

Been thinking about Bloodborne Diluc AU again. You know the drill. Hunter vampluc repulsed by his Vileblood lineage. And you, more than willing to offer your blood.

But he would never put you through that—not for a monster like him. Not from something as sweet as you.

But one night, when the hunt is especially wretched and the moon bleeds red, Diluc finds himself leaning against your door, blood seeping through the fingers pressed to his abdomen.

He has two options. Go through the agony of slowly bleeding out and, hopefully, be reborn through the dream while risking the beasts finding you without his protection...or, bang on your door and beg for a favour he knows he will forever regret asking of you.

There is little time. He can already hear the clacking of claws on the cobblestone bridge.

Against his better judgement, he raps on your door, making a mess of your threshold in the process. The beasts are bound to follow his bloodied scent. Surely that would be a quicker end, at this point. He almost hopes you won't answer.

But you do, and, gods, you are a finer sight than he even remembers. He gazes at you as you take in his heaving and bloodied form using the door frame as support. His mouth parts to say something, but a ghostly howl rings out and he whips his head to look behind him.

Too close for comfort.

He thinks you hoarsely breathe his name—shock and horror in your voice. He wonders, as he looks back at your wide eyes and parted mouth if it's the beast roaming around the corner, or the beast at your door that frightens you.

But your safety will always be his first priority. He ushers you back through the door, grunting at the burning pain that strikes through his wounds from the movement.

And just like that, he is a vampire freely inviting himself into your home, locking the door behind him. He swears that if the sight of him scares you, he will gladly see himself out and use the last of his life essence slaying the beast that dares wander to your door.

But you don't cower from him. Instead, when he looks back down at you, you're cradling his face, desperately wiping the blood from him, eyes beading with tears. He grasps the mantelpiece, steadying his weakening legs.

"Diluc, you're hurt," you cry, trembling hands slipping from his face to hover over the bloody mess of his abdomen. Too much blood. Is that all his? Gods, it looks deep—and is that a rib peeking out?

His large, gloved hands swiftly grab your own, steadying them. "Don't look," he murmurs, voice hoarse and pained. "I need—," he stops himself and takes a few halting breaths, unable to meet your eyes.

"You need my blood," you say for him, and Diluc closes his eyes. A low guttural noise comes from his throat and he seems to lean away from you.

"Please, Diluc, please take it," you say as you slip your hands from his to pull down the collar of your dress. Your hands fumble with the buttons and you bare your neck to the side.

“Here. Take as much as you need.” You hold your collar unfastened. When he opens his eyes again, they’re half lidded. Tired, hungry, and something more…

You pull him in toward you, placing a hand behind his head to have him rest it in the crook of your neck.

"Awea," he moans lowly and guttural. His voice against your skin sends shivers down your spine. To offer one's blood to a hunter is an intimate enough act. But to willingly offer one's blood to a Vileblood?

That is binding. More than anything.

You’ve tried to have him drink from you before, but ever the gentleman, he’s always adamantly refused. He’d say something about being scared to hurt you, or that he doesn’t need to drink—that the hunt sates his hunger. But you both know that’s not true. He wants to drink from you. Gods, does he ever. But to pierce his beastly fangs into something as delicate and pure and innocent as you? He would sooner sell himself out to the Executioners.

“You’re dying—please, plea-,” you nearly sob out, pulling at his shoulder.

He knows he’s torturing you both. Why bother knock on your door if he can’t overcome his guilt in his dying minutes? He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to your collarbone.

“Not here,” he whispers. “Let me have you somewhere I can be gentle with you.”

If he weren’t actively bleeding out, you would have paid more attention to the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach from his words.

That’s all the confirmation you need to usher him to the stairs, your chambers on the second floor. He grasps the railing and his other arm wraps around his abdomen. You hold his elbow, going at his own pace as you sniffle.

It’s hard to see him like this. Always so strong and composed, he seemed untouchable. Until now, that is.

He stumbles on a step, and through the crimson moonlight coloured even deeper from the stained glass windows, you see beads of sweat dripping down his temple. His chest labours with not enough air and his pallor is alarming. You both know his time on this plane limited. And if he is to be reborn through the dream, there is no telling how long it will take for him to return.

“No,” you protest. “Here is good enough.” You look up at him from a step below. “It will be okay. I will be okay,” you reassure, offering a half-hearted smile.

He looks down at you, quiet for a moment. You really should be scared of him. He towers over you, his form hulking and powerful even in his weakened state. And yet, even covered in blood and gored within an inch of his life, your wide doe eyes still are able to gaze up at him like that.

His eyes search yours, looking for something, and he seems to break. He takes a step towards you and he leans down. The back of his large hand gently swipes the hair from your neck, pushing it to your back, and you see his eyes track the pulse in your neck.

Your heartbeat flutters faster, like a little hummingbird trying to escape. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tickling your cheek.

His other hand comes to cradle the back of your neck in a protective gesture. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much? If I’m hurting you?” he asks in a murmur, brows furrowed in concern.

“I will,” you assure. You won’t. Because he needs this far more than he’s letting on. But you’re sure he will stop himself on his own accord if he notices anything. He’s always been so perceptive.

He looks imploringly down at you and it’s almost enough for you to look away. But you don’t. He looks ethereal. His red hair illuminated by the bleeding moonlight, he bends down. With one hand at your lower back and the other cradling your head, you let your body go lax and open your neck to him.

He licks the tender area between your collarbone and neck, making for an easier puncture. After a moment, his fangs graze your skin and you shudder, gripping onto him. He pauses and tenderly kisses the spot. “I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs into your neck. His thumb rubs reassuringly on your lower back, and then he bites.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a gasp and you cling to him through the burning sting. He clutches you closer, pressing you tight to him and starts to suck.

You are like honey on his tongue. The putrid beasts will never compare ever again. Every suck he takes of your life force binds you two closer, like loose stitching being tightened in cloth.

His saliva bleeds into your puncture wound and everything starts to grow a little hazy—a little too bright and blurred. Your head lolls to the side, supported by his palm, and you get a view of Yharnam outside. The chaos; the moon weeping red; the burning pyres of beasts tied upside down; the madness—not even that could take you away from this feeling, like you could just float away in his arms. The pressure at your neck only grows stronger as his strength returns.

Just as your toes start to curl in your boots and your nails dig into his back, he relents. He pulls off and you gasp, chest heaving. He peers down at you, your blood smeared on his lips.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and his eyes track back down to a droplet of blood pearling at your neck. He stoops back down to lap at the blood. You’re thankful he hasn’t stopped clutching you to him. Your legs feel no better than a newborn fawn’s.

“Mhm,” you manage to breathe out, not trusting your voice wholly. “Are you?” you ask back, voice shaky. You palm his chest where you know his heart would beat if he had one and you look down to see his abdomen meshing into tender, pink scars.

“I am,” he responds, and his voice sounds so much stronger and sure that you believe him.

Your eyes overflow with tears of relief. They collect on your dark lashes and then fall. Despite this, you smile, the line of your lips wobbly. Diluc thinks you're the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “I’m glad,” you sniffle, bringing a finger to stroke along the side of his jaw.

By Yharnam herself, Diluc thinks he’s in love with you.

[harmonycricket]

alright you guys hate same-y? i'll give you something to think of.

i want to see one of your blorbos get confronted with the idea that being in the military isn't actually all that great.

of course, they all know that. they all know that being in the military is bad for their mental health. they're killing people they never get a chance to meet. of course it's bad.

but have they ever thought outside of themselves?

they all went into the military to help people, right? that's the lie they've been told, that's the lie that convinced them to join, and that's the lie they keep repeating to themselves whenever they're faced with doubt.

we know this. as consumers of call of duty (notorious propaganda machine for the united states military), we know this. or at least, we should all know this as consumers of call of duty.

so have ghost--a man who used the military as a way of keeping structure in his life--meet someone who challenges all those lies he keeps telling himself.

have soap--a scottish man for fucks sake--confront the fact that he betrayed his ancestors by joining the british military.

have gaz--a black man--be haunted by the realization that he hurt his own people by invading countries in africa to extract their resources.

have price bear the brunt of the consequences--his soldiers are all coming to him telling him they quit because the lies they were told were too much to handle. they figured out the truth. and there's nothing he can do to keep his soldiers because they're tired of upholding a corrupt system.

do it. i dare you.

i mean, you'll have to confront your own ideals of what it means to be anti-military. but hey, it's not a same-y fic!

[harmonycricket]

[harmonycricket]

you have to outlive donald trump

[harmonycricket]

gen z has to reckon with its radicalization problem. you are not a morally pure and superior generation of youth come to save the world, your men and boys are radicalized at an unprecedented level and you ignore it because it’s too hard to address but you have to. these boys are in your classes, they date your friends, you know them and you cannot continue to pretend this is an “old white guy” problem

[harmonycricket]

[harmonycricket]

If I have to see one more “we survived him before we can do it again” post I’m going to scream.

So many people didn’t. So many more people are going to die. Women are going to bleed out in parking lots because doctors are scared to give them the abortion they need. Migrates are going to die in detention centers. Kids are going to have their parents ripped away in mass deportations. Potentially millions of people are going to lose their healthcare.

Yes, we keep fighting, but don’t say we survived before. A lot of people didn’t.

[harmonycricket]

FUCK THIS COUNTRY

[harmonycricket]

RECOUNT AND REVOTE!

For those in the US, there is a petition demanding a recount and revote as well as an investigation about the sudden change in support. Your voice matters and I encourage you to sign!

[harmonycricket]

Rape allegations and charges do not ruin mens' lives because a rapist can run for president and win. An aggressively racist man can still have the support of numerous people of color, can run for president and win. A chauvinist that wants to enforce laws an restrictions on women's bodies and coined the term "grab 'em by the pussy" still has the support of women. A xenophobic man who wanted to build a wall to keep foreigners out of the country still has the support of immigrants. People still support and voted for a convicted felon, racist, rapist and scum of the earth. Despite it all, people still support and voted for Donald Trump.

[harmonycricket]

[harmonycricket]

[harmonycricket]

Love without Sex

I’m doing a Philosophy paper on Asexuality. Please reblog if you think Love without Sex is possible! I really need the data. Like if you think love has to have sex.

[harmonycricket]

Vote Harris.

[harmonycricket]

Are you trapped on tumblr right now?

Is there something you planned to do before you got trapped in the endless tumblr scroll?

Are you yelling at yourself to get up and do the thing, but you can’t, because you’re trapped in the endless tumblr scroll?

Consider this your save point.

Put tumblr down, stand up, stretch, and go do the thing you planned to do. Future you will be incredibly grateful.