#I want this man to suffer a fate worse than death and I have wanted it since the goblin camp in act 1

[bg3-brainwormed]

Fun fact, I have only ever used 1 Wyvern toxin (goblin camp’s booze) and 3 basic poisons in this particular BG3 run so far. I am about a 1/3 of the way through Act 3. Not even the fancy arrows. No scrolls. Not a single soul coin has been used. Why? Simple. I want to use fucking everything on the one and only Cazador Szarr. I want to bring him to the bring of death, heal him, and then kill him again. This is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

Having held Daylight spells in reserve since the start of Act 2 is not at all an overreaction. Giving Karlach 10 soul coins at once is not at all a terrible idea. Specifically giving Astarion proficiency in maces/dual wielding so he can use Lathandar’s Blood + Sussur Knife is a totally sensible decision. Everything is fine.

[sea-lanterns]

SAW

synopsis: (slasher! AU) as a devoted follower, you would do anything to please your master.

featuring: arlecchino (columbina mentioned at the end)

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, mentions of death, death traps, brief mentions of child traffi.cking, sadism, master x follower dynamic, praise, pet names (she calls you doll, babydoll, etc.) mockery, lap se.x, thigh riding, strap on, biting, hickies, rough se.x, spa.nking, manhandling, mentions of th.ree.some, implied th.ree.some at the end.

art credits: junji ito's "house of marionettes"

Fastening on the metal bear trap onto an unconscious victim’s head, you hummed an eerie tune to yourself knowing your beloved master was watching you from above. It didn’t matter that you were currently sitting in a padlocked room with a man about to die right in front of you, you just wanted to please your master by any means necessary. Even if it meant killing all these people by sending them into death traps.

You tightened a certain screw on the trap before smiling to yourself and leaning back. The man in front of you was no innocent man, he was a criminal, a monster, and he deserved this fate whether he liked it or not, causing you to smile in sadistic pleasure for the upcoming end of his life.

“Tight as a button.” You hum to yourself, looking up at the security camera located in the far right corner of the room. You knew your beloved master was watching, and you couldn’t help but give it a little wave to show that you had completed the task she assigned you. “I did it…” You exclaim softly, smiling at the flashing red light on the camera. “I’m gonna head up now, okay?”

You stood up and paid no mind to the unconscious man you just doomed to suffer a fate worse than death. Humming all too nonchalantly before leaving the room and locking it shut, ensnaring the man to leave him dead before making your way down the hall with a skip in your step. Various screams of terror and pain rang out from the other death traps as you made your way over to a secret door. The sounds of torture like a song to your ears while you pushed the passcode buttons to unlock a passage to a room.

“What an awful melody…” you murmured to yourself, glancing back at the trap rooms to listen to one more scream of terror. “It’s beautiful.”

The door to the secret passageway popped open and you moved inside with ease, your body slipping through as you maneuvered through the narrow hallways of the abandoned building. “Abandoned” as it appeared to the public, people unaware of the multiple deaths coinciding within its walls for the police have failed to track down the mastermind behind these deaths. 

The mastermind to which you served and dedicated your entire life to.

Navigating your way towards another hidden door, you pushed it open to see a tall woman sitting idly in front of a bunch of security cameras, her lean figure illuminated by the many monitors and making her seem like a god of some sort. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine when you see her, and you immediately take a bow and keep your head down low.

“Master, the player in room 14 is ready to begin his game.” You say with grace, glancing up at the taller woman in hopes of pleasing her. The woman doesn’t move for a moment, but her chair creaks slightly as she slowly turns around to face you. There she was. Your savior, your master, your goddess. The one behind the torture games, the mastermind behind all the killings…

Arlecchino, the Jigsaw killer. 

“Come, sit.” She says calmly, staring at you with those X-shaped pupils of hers that had you pressing your thighs together. “On my lap, come on sweet girl…”

She points down at her legs and you immediately walk over to plant yourself on her lap. Arlecchino wrapped her clawed hands around your waist before leaning forward to take a deep inhale of the scent in your hair. “Did my doll tighten the trap like I asked…?” She whispers into your ear, exhaling with a small groan as she squeezed your hips tighter with her hands. 

“I did. I followed everything you taught me to, master,” you say obediently, looking up at her with the brightest of smiles. “Did I do good? Are you proud of me?” If you had a tail it would for sure be wagging…

Arlecchino chuckled huskily before leaning down to kiss your neck. “You did wonderful, pet…” she says in a dark tone, running one of her nails over the bare expanse of your neck. “The drug should be wearing off soon. Would you like to watch his game with me?” She asks in a polite tone, almost mocking with the way she smiled at you so tenderly.

“Am I allowed to?” You ask softly, staring up at her with wide, doe-like eyes. Arlecchino groaned at the sight and had to keep herself from just shoving you onto her desk and fucking you raw right there, but she had enough restraint and took a deep breath. 

“Do you have to be cute, my doll?” Arlecchino husks, staring up at you with those crimson eyes of hers. “You make it impossible not to devour you…”

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment and you couldn’t help but glance away shyly. “Sorry, master…” you say softly, causing Arlecchino to scoff before smiling. “Don’t apologize, I was merely teasing…”

She pinches your cheek with her fingers before tilting your chin over to look at the monitor in front of you. “Let’s watch his prolonged suffering together, my pet. It looks like he’s starting to awaken…”

Adjusting comfortably on Arlecchino’s lap, she kept a firm hold on your waist before watching the man in the room start to awaken. He looked dazed, clearly confused why he woke up in a green-tiled room with a metal contraption stuck to his neck. He had no idea that he was about to die if he didn’t meet the requirements for Arlecchino’s game, and the thought slightly amused you as you watched him groggily stumble around the room in delusion.

The metal contraption attached to the man’s neck was Arlecchino’s infamous “bear trap.” A simple, yet deadly death trap designed to enclose multiple spikes into a person’s head if they did not complete the challenge on time. It was one of Arlecchino’s favorite traps, as it was a trap designed to kill instantly, yet instill tremendous amounts of fear into the person, as the idea of being Iron Maiden-ed in the face was too scary not to think about…

“Ah…perhaps it’s time we give him a call,” Arlecchino hums, giving your cheek a sensual kiss. “Don’t forget your mask, my pet. The adorable marionette one that makes you look simply stunning…”

You nod obediently and grab the porcelain mask on the table, Arlecchino grabbing her own rubber mask that mimicked a slack-jaw puppet. It was so kind of your master to make you a mask of your own, one that was the perfect complementary pair to match hers so that it looked like you were a couple.

You were, but it was hidden under the facade of a master and follower cover.

“Let’s give him a wake up call, shall we?” Arlecchino grins, turning on the camera and setting up the voice distorter. When the man looks up at the TV in the room, he sees two masked people, you and Arlecchino staring back at him with the creepy and unsettling puppet masks that sent shivers down his spine. It was unsettling with the way you two presented yourselves, and he immediately began shouting at the screen for answers.

“Quiet down, will you?” Arlecchino’s voice ran through the mic, gripping your waist tighter before covering your ears. “You are disturbing my precious doll with your foul words…”

The man refuses to shut up, causing Arlecchino to glare at him through the holes of her mask. She pushes a certain button and the wires of the bear trap suddenly inch closer to the man’s face, causing him to scream. 

“That’s better.” She smiles sadistically, removing her hands from your ears so you could hear. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me with your incompetence…”

She begins explaining the rules of the “game” giving the man a chance to escape before the inevitable closure of his death. 

“You were put in this room for becoming involved in a child trafficking ring. To escape, you must find the key to the exit behind one of the tiles in this room. You have ten minutes to complete this task, failure to finish it before the intended time limit will result in the bear trap around your neck closing.”

The man’s eyes widened and you had to keep yourself from chuckling out loud. 

“Your time begins now.”

Arlecchino then clicked off the camera and pulled off her mask, watching as the man began scrambling to search for all the tiles. There had to be at least a thousand tiles in that room, as every square inch of the walls and floor were covered in small, marble tiles. Ten minutes was being generous, but even within that extended time limit, you knew it was almost impossible to find the key as each tile was carefully adjusted to look normal and not out of place.

“So, what should we do while we wait for his ten minutes to be up?” Arlecchino hums, pushing her nose against your neck. She seemed to be implying she wants something intimate with you, but being the obedient follower that you are, you looked up innocently and tilted your head.

“What does master want to do?” You ask in a gentle tone, Arlecchino smirking with the most intimidating gaze. 

“I want to do something sinful, my dear…” she says in a gravelly tone, practically growling into your ear before tugging at your pants. “Indulge in your master, will you?”

Another scream rips through the monitor and you couldn’t help but grow a little wet at the way Arlecchino was keen on fucking you in the middle of a game. She slowly moved her hand up your thigh and you could feel just how sharp and strong her fingers were as they squeezed the ball of flesh above your jeans. The way she could so easily kill you had you on a rush, and Arlecchino groaned at the way you started to warm up against her lap with how wet you were.

“Doll, you’re just begging for me to touch you, hmm?” She chuckles into your ear. “Need my cock in you that bad, huh? You’re lucky I decided to wear it today…”

Her hand moves down to unzip her trousers, revealing a thick strap on that you knew you could take easily with some prep. “You…You were wearing that the whole time?” You exclaim with surprise, a surge of heat pulsing through your core. “I was sitting on it the whole time…?”

She throws her head back to laugh at your stupidity. It was so endearing with how innocent you were when it came to these sorts of things. “I’m surprised you didn’t feel it,” she chuckles through her amusement. “It’s a girthy thing, almost too big if I do say so myself.”

“It’s not big…!” You quickly retort back, pouting at your master before holding onto her shoulders. “I can take it. I can take it all.”

“I don’t doubt it one bit, sweet girl,” Arlecchino grins amusedly. “However, you do need quite a bit of prep work to take such a stretch. Fortunately, you’re already semi-wet, but…” She gives you a wolfish grin before toying with the belt loop of your jeans. “I’ll need that cunt of yours dripping more if you’re gonna take me now…”

You let out a small groan before unzipping your jeans to begin kicking them off, the eagerness of getting her strap inside you too obvious not to notice, as Arlecchino found it difficult to keep a straight face. “Easy there, dollface…” Arlecchino purrs lightly, squeezing your cheeks together with her hand so your lips form a small pout. “I’m in no rush, and neither should you.”

You let out a small noise of complaint at this, before obeying her words and going at a much more leisurely pace. Once your pants and underwear were off, you sat back down on Arlecchino’s lap and whimpered at the feeling of her rough trousers against your aching hole.

“Mmm…quite a delicious sight already…” Arlecchino husks, wrapping her arms around your waist once more. “But not quite wet enough. I think it’s best if you grind against my thigh for a bit, hm?” 

She stares up at you with that incredibly intimidating —yet sexy— look, rows of sharpened teeth glimmering at you under the lamplight air of the room. You had no idea how such a hot woman would be the face behind the infamous Jigsaw killer, but you weren’t complaining. She was yours and you were hers. 

“Yes, master.” You respond in a soft tone, beginning to shift your hips so that you could start grinding against her pants, panting slightly from how stimulated you already were from her dirty talk. 

Arlecchino chuckles and leans back, relaxing in her chair as she watches you grind and ride her thighs with resolve. The sight of you trying so desperately to appease her was such a turn on, and for a moment she forgot that she was currently overseeing a man’s death just rooms away from where you two were sitting. “That’s my good girl…” Arlecchino murmurs, unable to contain her groans as she fixes the shaft of her strap so it sits upright. “Just a little more and you can ride me silly.”

At her encouragement, you only grind harder, whimpering at the pleasurable feeling of her trousers providing friction to your already sensitive clit. There was a pulsing sensation that you could not deny, and as you kept grinding your hips on her leg, you felt yourself growing more wet.

“Goodness…you soaked a spot right on me,” your master smirks almost predatorily, “I think you’re ready to take me, sweet girl…”

As an extra precaution, Arlecchino grabs a bottle of lube from the corner of the table and squeezes a helping of it onto the impressive girth of her cock. The clear liquid drips down her shaft slowly, and Arlecchino gives the length a few shallow pumps before angling it so you could move. 

“Come on, just like we practiced.”  Arlecchino hums, thumbing the tip of the shaft before watching you hover over the head with a bit of hesitance. “I’ll go slow, don’t worry…”

You grip the edge of her shoulders before slowly sinking down onto the head of her cock, the wide tip slowly spearing you open before you whimper and start to feel resistance. 

“Ugh…fuck…” Arlecchino grit her teeth and had to resist the primal urge to slam you down and start thrusting into you. She knew she promised you to be gentle and wanted to keep her promise no matter how tempting it may be to break. 

“Easy there, easy…” she grunts and slowly eases her hips to help you adjust, watching as you slowly inch down bit by bit. “Master…” you whimper out softly, biting your lip before taking a deep breath. “I think I need more lube…”

“No, you’re fine. This is enough.” Arlecchino groans, shifting your hips with her hands before kissing your neck reassuringly. “Just need to find the right…angle…”

You let out a yelp when you suddenly sink down all the way, your hips meeting hers as all of her shaft had somehow fit into you with one swift motion. 

God you severely underestimated the size. It didn’t look that long, and it wasn’t. But oh lord was it thick. The girth of it enough to stretch you wide open and have you squirming in her lap to adjust, letting out pathetic whimpers as you’ve never felt so stretched open before. 

“M-Master…” you gasp, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you feel Arlecchino’s teeth graze your neck. “Too big…”

“What?” Arlecchino practically laughs sadistically in your face, X-shaped pupils almost glowing with amusement. “Didn’t you say you could take it all? That it wasn’t too big?” 

You whimpered when you were reminded of your confident words. 

“It’s not too big, babydoll. You said it yourself.” A sudden shift in her tone had you fearful for a moment as you suddenly felt a sharp thrust pulsate against your inner walls.

“Ah—!” You start to let out breathless pants and gasps when Arlecchino begins to thrust madly. 

“You were so confident earlier, what happened to wanting to take it all immediately?” She mocks, grinning with pleasure as you writhe in her grip. If there was one thing you learned while working under Arlecchino, it was that the woman was a lot stronger than she looked under that lean muscle. Practically pinning you down until you couldn’t move, before making you bounce up and down her lap till the tip of her cock was all you could feel.

“Don’t tell me my doll is defying orders now.” Arlecchino growls, slamming you back down until your pussy practically wraps itself around her length, gripping it for all that it was worth, while you lolled your head back in absolute bliss. “N-Nngh…master…” you moaned out pathetically, the stretch burning you wonderfully while you cling to Arlecchino for sanity. “Slower…please…”

Arlecchino scoffs at that and gives your rear a tiny spank, laughing at the way you recoiled in surprise. 

“Slower? You want me to go slower?” She was mocking you again, the sadism evident in her voice. “Babydoll, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She spanks your read once more and bites your neck rather aggressively, a dark hickey beginning to form at the base while she continues ramming her girth into your cunt. The way you were holding onto her so tightly —and pathetically— gave Arlecchino a power strike of ecstasy, the woman animalistic with her ruts as she digs her claws even further against your ass.

“You’re dripping so much, my sweet girl,” she groans into your throat, “Such a mess, I’ll need you to clean everything up for me later, right?”

She sneers at the way you whine at her words before shaking your head in obedience.

“Yes, master!”

“Good fucking girl.”

She suddenly lifts you up and places you on her desk, the bright blue monitors illuminating your body like a heavenly light while Arlecchino thrusts more brutally into your flesh. Rough hands prying your legs further apart as she pushes you down to deliver a passionate kiss. With one final push, you feel your body twitch before a squeal leaves your lips and cum drips down your thighs, your climax reaching a beautiful finale, as the monitor above you plays the sound of the man screaming to death in his room. The trap had closed around his head and ensnared his head in a casket of spikes, leaving him to bleed out in the tiled room of door 14.

“Hah…hah…looks like he didn’t make it.” Arlecchino pants, grinning all too wildly before kissing your neck affectionately. “Good girl. I knew I could count on you…”

As she nuzzles your neck with her face, you hear the door behind her suddenly creak open before gentle humming fills the room. Arlecchino turns back to see who had entered, before smiling at the sight of the other person.

“My, my, I see you’ve had your fun with her already.” Came a familiar, feminine voice. You looked up to see a shorter woman wearing a pig mask shutting the door, lithe hands reaching up to pull off the atrocious mask, and revealing a petite, yet beautiful woman you recognized as Columbina. One of Arlecchino’s most dutiful proxies. 

“Goodness, she’s certainly soaked your pants, Arlecchino.” Columbina tuts with faux astonishment. “I can’t believe you two started without me.” 

“You were taking too long,” Arlecchino chuckles back, caressing your cheek with a clawed nail. “You should’ve been faster.”

“Ah, I was too busy setting up the victims for the next few games,” the pigheaded woman sighs, strutting over to pinch your cheek playfully. “Looks like this little one will have to make it up to me now…”

You instinctively melted under Columbina’s touch, nuzzling your face into the soft, sweet palm of her hand. She cooes affectionately at the sight, before giving your head a little puppy-like pat. “Good girl…”

“She is, isn’t she?” Arlecchino grins, picking you up once more to sit on her lap while she rests on her chair. “I think this sweet thing can spare us one more round. For Columbina’s sake, right?” She lifts your chin with a finger, staring at you as if almost daring you to say no. 

“Of course, master…” you say obediently, arousal starting to drip down your thighs once more at the possibility of a threesome. 

“Atta girl…” Columbina giggles, pressing up behind you and kissing the back of your ear. “Just the perfect doll for us to share…”

You only bucked back your hips at that, ready to give whatever these two women wanted from you.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I wanna write fluff for this traumatised fandom but all that comes to my head is pain.

In another life you wouldn’t have to be forced to say goodbye to Viktor, only good nights before you both drifted off to sleep side by side, or good mornings as you greet each other with a kiss to the cheek while making breakfast.

In another life you were happy, Viktor was happy, everyone you knew and love was happy that both Piltover and Zaun were thriving. There was nothing but peace and prosperity for as far as you could see. No war, no fighting, nothing for you were all living how many could only wish would be a reality one day.

In another life you got to hold Viktor however long you wanted, his skin was still that of warm flesh and bone beneath your touch and the kisses you planted along his shoulders.

In another life Viktor was well rested, well fed and even smiled and joked more then he ever had before. His amber eyes were alive and observing everything as he talked you through how some of the inventions worked in vivid detail, all with a excited smile upon his face as his hands before more animated with his every word. You loved whenever he got like that.

In another life you got what you wanted and what you wanted was him, was Viktor as you cuddled into him while he read, his hand moving to rub your back as though it was muscle memory at this point and kissing your temple now and then before continuing his reading. He’d playfully claim that you were a distraction but of the best kind and your heart never felt fuller.

In another life you didn’t have to worry about Viktor leaving you, you didn’t have to fear a possibility of him becoming lost in his ideals for a glorious evolution and forgoing his humanity, shed his human skin for a form of cold, biting pliable metal. Lost to the hexcore of which did not exist within this other life.

However you didn’t live in this other life, did you?

You lived in a life where tensions between Zaun and Piltover was at an all time high.

You lived in a life where hextech was high in demand to be used against those who threaten people’s ways of life.

You lived in a life where you saw more death and destruction then you ever did anything else, almost as if a tranquil life was prohibited and everyone was born to suffer, Zaunites more so then those residing in Piltover, unable to mourn nor bury the dead as survival of the fittest was a way of life rather than just a motto.

You lived in a life where you had to say goodbye to Viktor, multiple times, each one being more painful and heartbreaking than the last.

You lived in a life where proclamations of love did nothing to stop him from leaving the academy as he looked at you with the eyes of a stranger.

You lived in a life where the possibility of a happy ending was few and far between. Not many were blessed to have it no matter how much good they’ve done in their lives, fate was often cruel to those least deserving of such treatment.

You lived in a life where you wished you could’ve done more for viktor as the arcane consumed him, leaving you alone with nothing but his cane.

You lived in a life where you wished the pain would end, you couldn’t take it and didn’t want to say goodbye to anyone anymore. It hurt far too much as you left with the memories Viktor left behind with you, as though that was going to heal your broken heart but did anything but made the pain worse.

You lived in a life where your dream life with Viktor was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream you’ll never reach.

You lived in a life where nothing was fair, everything was taken from you and nothing was given back in exchange for your suffering. You lost Viktor, you’d never get to live the life you wanted with him.

You lived in a life where you were never meant to.

Viktor knew this too, for he had those same dreams of a perfect reality himself, but then he remembered he was a man of science and ignored it no matter how much he wanted it to come true. He knew it wasn’t plausible.

Viktor knew he could dream, but he wished he didn’t.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Revolutionaries regretting the death of their opponents compilation

I could not convince myself that among all those who, since May 31, had retained great popularity, there was not one who did not still retain a little humanity, and I went to Danton. He was ill, it only took me two minutes to see that his illness was above all a deep pain and a great dismay at everything that was coming. ”I won't be able to save them (the girondins)”, were the first words out of his mouth, and, as he uttered them, all the strength of this man, who has been compared to an athlete, was defeated, big tears strolled down his face, whose shapes could have been used to represent that of Tartarus. […] When the fate reserved for the twenty-two [girondins] seemed inevitable, Danton already heard, so to speak, his death sentence in theirs. All the strength of this triumphant athlete of democracy succumbed under the feeling of the crimes of democracy and its disorders. He could only talk about the countryside, he was suffocating, he needed to escape from men in order to be able to breathe. Memoirs of the revolution; or, an apology for my conduct, in the public employments which I have held (1795) by Dominique-Joseph Garat, p. 233-234, 241.

I observed that I was sitting, with Camille Desmoulins, on the bench placed in front of the jury table. When these returned from deliberation, Camille comes forward to speak to Antonelle, who was one of the last to return. Surprised by the change in his face, he said to him, quite loudly: ”ah my god, I pity you, these are very terrible functions.” Then, hearing the juror's declaration, he suddenly threw himself into my arms, agitated, tormenting himself: ”ah my god, my god, it's me who kills them: my Brissot dévoilé [sic], ah my god, it’s that which kills them.” As the accused returned to hear their judgment, eyes turned towards them. The deepest silence reigned throughout the room, the public prosecutor announced the death penalty, the unfortunate Camille, defeated, losing the use of his senses, let out these words: ”I'm leaving, I'm leaving, I want to leave.” He couldn't exit. […] The late hour of the night, the torches were lit, the judges and the public were tired from a long session, it was midnight, everything gave this scene a dark, imposing and terrible character, nature was suffering in all its ailments. Camille Desmoulins felt worse. Les mysterès de la mère de Dieu dévoilès (1794) by Joachim Vilate, p. 51-52.

Danton was in Arcis in the month of November 1793. One day, when he was walking in his garden with M. Doulet, a third person came towards them, walking with great steps and holding a paper in his hand (it was a journal). As soon as he could make himself heard he cried out: ”Good news! Good news!” and approached them.  ”What news?” said Danton.  ”Here, read! The girondins have been condemned and executed,” responded the person that had just arrived.  ”And you call this good news, you wretch?” cried Danton in his turn, Danton whose eyes immediately got filled with tears. ”The death of the girondins good news? Wretch!” ”Without a doubt,” responded his interlocuteur, ”weren’t they factious?   ”Factious,” said Danton. Aren’t we factious? We all deserve death just as much as the girondins, we will all suffer, one after the other, the same fate as them.” Mémoire écrit en 1846 par les deux fils de Danton le conventionnel, pour détruire les accusations de vénalité portées contre leur père, cited in Danton, mémoire sur sa vie privée(1865) by Jean François Eugène Robinet, p. 277-278. Danton’s sons claimed to have obtained this anecdote from the son of the M. Doulet mentioned in it.

I have just read what has been allowed to happen in Danton's trial, and I found myself regretting his death. What people are those of Paris! Such lightness, such inconstancy! How despicable it is! The others were no less charged with crimes than Danton, but they were not among the accused. Note written by Buzot in 1794, cited in Mémoires de Buzot député à la Convention nationale(1822), p. 195. Shoutout to @sillyletterscomposingsillywords for discovering this.

Billaud's conversation was rich in clear and precise memories; his ideas were original, often bizarre, and sometimes great and right. His feelings and political opinions had not wavered either on men or on things, except on a few points only. For example, he had changed his opinion on the 9th of Thermidor, which he called his deplorable fault, and he added: We made a big mistake that day! After this day, we began again with all the chapters of the English reaction; we were inflicted, as happened on the death of Cromwel, with a system which, under the guise of moderation, has designated us as types of monsters, like wolves with human faces, fit at most to slit throats. This system led us, through terrible and implacable vengeance, even more cowardly palinodies, to famine, bankruptcy, vile bankruptcy and the events of the 1st Prairial, to torrents of patriotic and pure blood! Yes, it was on 14 Germinal, the date of Danton's conviction, and on 9 Thermidor, that the patriots made the two mistakes that lost everything. […] I repeat, the Puritan Revolution was lost on Thermidor 9; since then, how many times have I deplored having acted out of anger. Why don't we leave these untimely passions and all the vulgar anxieties at the gates of power? I saw the reaction which gave rise to the 9th Thermidor, it was terrible; slander came from everywhere. This disgusts many revolutions. […] The last political opinions of Billaud corrected the old ones only on purely individual points. Thus, the death of Danton was then in his eyes a crime, because of the immense services he had rendered.  "Alas!" he would often say, ”I was too directly involved in it and with a terrible hatred. The misfortune of revolutions is that you have to act too quickly; you have no time to examine: you act only in full and burning fever, in fear, I understand, of seeing your ideas aborted. Danton and his friends were clever people, invincible patriots at the tribune or in public action, and we massacred them! Unlike us, they did not, except for the brave Westermann, the Murat of the Republic, have their hands free from trafficking and plunder; they loved luxury too much but they had a noble and revolutionary heart; you will know their services one day, when the sincere history of our time is written. That of M. Lacretelle is only a work without facts, a work made up of a rhetorician. I remain with the intimate conviction that 18 Brumaire would not have been possible, if Danton, Robespierre and Camille Desmoulins had remained united at the foot of the tribune.”  Billaud Varennes — mémoires inédits et correspondance (1893) page 232-237. Statements made in 1817-1819.

In 1832, during Barère's stay in Paris after returning from his proscription, M. David went to see him and found him ill. Severe asthma forced him to stay in bed, which he called living a horizontal life. They talked about Robespierre. “He was a disinterested man, a republican at heart,” says Barère; his misfortune comes from having aspired to dictatorship. He believed that this was the only way to suppress the overflow of bad passions. He often spoke about it to us who were busy with the armies. We did not hide from ourselves that Saint-Just, modeled after a more dictatorial boss, would have ended up overthrowing him to put himself in his place; we also knew that we, who were contrary to his plans, would get guillotined by him; so we overthrew him. Since then I have reflected on this man; I have seen that his dominant idea was the establishment of republican government, that he was in fact pursuing men whose opposition hindered the workings of this government. Would to heaven that there was now someone in the Chamber of Deputies who would point out those who conspire against liberty! we were then on a battlefield; we did not understand this man. He was nervous, bilious; he had a contraction in his mouth; he had the temperament of great men, and posterity will grant him this title.” […] M. David having spoken of the project of making in sculpture the portraits of the most illustrious men of the Revolution, and having mentioned the name of Danton, Barère sat up quickly and exclaimed, making an imperative gesture: “Don't forget Robespierre! he was a pure, honest man, a true republican. What ruined him was his vanity, his irascible susceptibility and his unjust distrust of his colleagues. It was a great misfortune!” Then his head fell back on his chest and he remained buried in his thoughts for a long time. Notice historique sur Barère: député à l'Assemblée constituante, à la Convention nationale, et à la Chambre des représentants (1842) by Hippolyte Carnot, p. 118-119.

Certainly, if Vadier reread his speech [of 9 thermidor], he must have blushed at having joined with so little talent, let's say it, in such a ridiculous way, the enemies of Robespierre. Moreover, later a feeling nobler than self-esteem inspired him with deep repentance for his participation in the 9th of Thermidor. About to leave for exile in 1815, he called one of his friends to him and said: “L… forgive me for the 9th of Thermidor.” Refugee in Brussels, he only spoke about Robespierre with deep respect, and often repeated with regret full of bitterness: “Robespierre! We misunderstood him... We murdered him!...” (P. L) L'Univers. France, annales historiques (1840-1843), volume 2, p. 357, by Philippe Le Bas.

…When the misfortunes caused by the imperial regime befell France, [Pache] was deeply affected. He laments all the more at having failed in the attempt to bring together the Dantonists and the Paris Commune which he had tried to do before Thermidor, that, if he had succeeded in bringing about this reconciliation, the course of the Revolution being modified, the catastrophes into which the homeland threatened to sink would perhaps have been avoided. Mémoires sur Pache, ministre de la Guerre en 1792 et maire de Paris sous la Terreur… (1900) p. 163. Tysm! for sharing @nesiacha !!

[tune-on-in-folks]

Day 19! I think this one is a little sweet. A bit short and fast, but sweet. Human Alastor for the win!

Tags/Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, discussion of murder, murderous intent, murderous ideation, fem!reader, abuse mention, reader's husband is abusive. Word Count: 1,735

When Alastor first met you it wasn't by accident, nor coincidence. Instead it was due to his meticulous planning. You were married to a very affluent man. A man who used his wealth for anything but good. His reputation had preceded him, and Alastor was certain that anything and anyone that man associated himself with, was also tainted. Which is what he had thought of you and was precisely the reason he had orchestrated your ‘fateful’ meeting at Mimzy's establishment.

Initially he had approached you in an attempt to get closer to your husband, and if he had to kill you too, what was the harm? But one conversation with you had turned into several, and months later he found himself no closer to killing your husband.

Alastor had been correct in his assumption that by association, you were tainted by your husband. But for all the reasons he hadn't expected. The first time he noticed the bruises he nearly flew into a blind rage. And you had the audacity to laugh it off, as though the abuse you were enduring at his hands, was not worth any fuss. As though your well-being was nothing more than an afterthought, something to be swept aside for everyone else's. It was on that day Alastor became increasingly impatient to kill your husband. He had it all planned out; from the time, to what he would do to make your husband suffer a fate worse than death for hours on end, before extinguishing his pathetic existence.

But you were a distraction.

That's what Alastor ultimately decided you were. A beautiful, wonderful, annoying distraction. You with your beautiful smile, your captivating laugh. Your wondrous eyes, your…he could go on. Get lost in everything that was intrinsically you. And for the past several months he had. He had allowed himself to grow fond of you. He held a deep seated affection for you. He craved you in ways he had never craved another soul before. What he felt for you was raw and vast. It left him feeling split open, as though your very presence had taken an axe to his chest, carving a home there. A place for you alone. It was only natural that the budding relationship between you both blossomed into something more, something deeper. Something sinful. 

It had started with a stolen kiss one night outside of Mimzy's establishment. Upon seeing the time you had pulled him down, pressed a kiss against his lips, and called out a goodbye as you rushed away. He had been left stunned, his fingers brushing against his lips as he watched you run. How he wished he could have given chase. That kiss had spawned the first instances of longing for you. He wanted more, craved it. From that night it spiralled. Soft smiles and lingering touches, small kisses. You were driving him insane, he was certain of it. Until one night he cornered you and took you right up against the wall in an alley. He had been consumed by lust and desire, wanting nothing more than to have you. All of you. You were a thrill unlike any other. Being intimate with you gave him a high better than he had ever known. Not even watching the life drain from someone's eyes compared to how it felt to be with you. To kiss you, to hold you, to fuck you. You were intoxicating.

You were a damned distraction.

Distracting him from what he truly wanted. And that was for your husband to be dead, killed by his hand.

The ringing of his phone snaps Alastor out of his thoughts, his hands tighten around the book he's holding. With a sigh he picks the phone up from the receiver, setting his book aside.

“Hartfelt residence.” He answers smoothly, smiling with false brightness.

“Hello, my love.” You greet him softly, “are you alone?”

His smile softens and he leans back in his chair. “Hello, my dear… What are you doing calling me at this hour? I thought you and your…darling husband had a party.”

You chuckle at the contempt in his voice. “Yeah, well my ‘darling husband' as you put it, is currently fucking his mistress.”

Alastor's hand tightens around the phone in anger, but you continue on, not letting him get a word in.

“So while he's off having fun, I thought I might as well have some too.”

He can hear the amusement in your voice. As though your husband actively cheating on you wasn't such an insult. How you remained so bright despite that man, he'd never know. 

“Some fun?” He asks, wanting nothing more than to snuff out the life of your blasted husband.

“With you, Alastor. Over the phone.”

He laughs softly, “my dear, what fun could we possibly get up to over the phone?”

Your sigh filters over the phone, and he can hear the pout in your voice. “Well I can’t have you in person right now, so can’t I just pleasure myself while listening to your voice?”

He laughs again, caught off guard by your candidness. “And are you, my dear? Pleasuring yourself, that is.”

You flush, “Well I haven’t started! I was…asking. I wanted to make sure it was okay with you, if we did that, if we do that.”

He leans further back in his chair, his voice tinged with amusement. “It’s perfectly fine, my dear... Do you often sneak away to finger yourself?”

You snort, smiling, “Only when I know I can moan your name.”

He can feel his cock twitch in his pants, a sensation that he had slowly grown accustomed to when it came to you. You made his body respond in ways he once found a nuisance, now he welcomed it.

“I think it’s only fair, little doe, if I get to touch myself too.” He decides, hearing your breath hitch.

He can imagine you in a room someplace, your skirts bunched around your hips as your hand creeps towards your centre. He hears a small whimper from you and he wonders how exactly you’re touching yourself.

“Please.” You breathe out, your voice shaky. “I want to hear you too, Al. I want to know that you’re getting as much pleasure out of this as I am.”

He reaches for the clasp of his pants, working it undone. In a moment he’s freed his rapidly hardening cock. He closes his hand around it, pulling a groan from the back of his throat.

“Oh..” He moans, letting his head fall back as he slowly pumps his length. “The sinful things you make me do, my dear.”

You giggle, working your fingers faster, “Ah, but you do them for me.”

He chuckles, the sound deep within his chest, sending shivers down your spine. Your walls clench at the sound. You adored his laugh and the things it made you feel.

“Hah, I do them because I adore you.” He breathes out, his hand moving faster.

He can hear the muffled sounds of you pleasuring yourself, your whimpers and moans growing louder. His own breathing is laboured, the sound of him fisting his cock carrying back over the phone to you.

“I wish..” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep quiet, “that I was married to you, Alastor. I hate him.”

His hand tightens around the phone again at your words, an ache settling in his chest. You occasionally said things like that. Things that made it feel as though you’d taken one of his knives and stabbed him right in the heart.

“Sweetheart…” He murmurs, clenching his jaw in anger at the thought of your husband. “Think of me, not him.”

You whimper, so close to your edge already. “I always think of you..oh fuck, I’m so close. Fuck, Alastor!”

He tightens his hand around his cock, his pace quickening as you moan his name. He hates how low and quiet your moans are. He knows that you’re attempting to stay quiet, keeping your voice down to stop your husband from finding out. It angers him. He wishes he was there, fucking you into your martial bed, drawing out all the sounds he loved to hear from you. He wishes he was there, forcing you to be louder and louder, as he took you hard and fast.

“Keep going,” He urges over the phone, “I want to hear you cum for me.”

“Fuck..” You breathe out, focusing on your pleasure, focusing on Alastor’s soft grunts over the phone.

He wished he could kill your husband tonight. Lure him out with a false sense of trust only to shatter it. Oh, he’d take great pleasure in drawing out the man’s death. Of ensuring that he felt all the pain he had caused you and more. Alastor’s breath hitches as he imagines how your husband would scream, how he’d try to get away, only to find that he couldn’t escape. Alastor imagined that fear in your husband’s eyes, imagined watching the life dim from them. He groans, his release growing nearer

“Ah, fffuck, Al-lastor!” You cry out, a bit too loudly for your own liking, as you cum around your fingers, your body shaking with the effort of your release.

He’s drawn out of his fantasy by your voice, a shiver running through his body as you moan his name.

“There we go.” He praises. “So good for me, sweetheart… Fuck-”

His cock twitches as his orgasm washes over him with surprising force. Hot ropes of cum splatter his hand and slacks, but he can’t find himself to care about the mess at the moment.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, wiping his hand with a handkerchief. “Are you still there, my doe?”

“Still here.” You say softly, having let your skirts fall back into place. “Still missing you.”

He smiles, glad you hadn’t disappeared on him just yet. “What would you say, if I told you I could get your husband to leave? Permanently.”

He can hear the smile in your voice as you reply without missing a beat. “I’d say I’d marry you.”

He chuckles softly, his smile widening. That was all the permission he needed. He was going to kill your husband, make sure he never touched you ever again. No more waiting. No more rushed calls, or stolen kisses, no more longing. It would just be you and him.

He couldn’t wait.

@pumppkinlynn I promised to tag you in this one! So here it is.

[trashcatsnark]

Work is slow so I'm being annoyed to the void

Forever bothered by the sharp difference in how Aveline losing Wesley is treated compared to Anders losing Karl

Because conceptually, it should be very similar.

Shortly after meeting Hawke, the person they love is subjugated to a fate they deem in some way to be worse than death or nothing more than a slower version of it. Their loved one pleads with them to end their suffering, to die at the hands of the person they know would not wish to seem them languish. And they make the choice to put the blade to their partner out of love and mercy.

They should in some way be seen as mirrors, even interestingly enough happening to polar opposite couples. A Templar and a knight. A circle mage and apostate. Like not that I think it's completely fair because mages are systematically opressrd but like- if there was any like point of comparison for a more pro-templar character and pro-mage character to have a *oh we're not so different, you and i~* moment that'd kind of be the thing to narrow in on

But somehow the writer don't seem to recognize the way these losses mirror one another and treat them differently in a way that makes my teeth itch

Hawke has the option to tell Aveline whether or not she wants to kill Wesley is her choice. You the player are allowed expressly to prioritize her freedom/autonomy in the narrative. This is then reinforced twice as the "right" choice, initially in gaining friendship with her for using it. Then again when Aveline tells the story of her father's death and reinforces how much being allowed the space to make her own choices, especially in connection with grief matters to her. How much having someone hold her hand and say "you're choice" matters to her.

There is no "your choice" option with Anders and Karl. The player can only either encourage him to kill Karl or encourage him not to. For the mages, who have had far less autonomy and freedom on their lives- one of which has just been forcibly lobotomized, the player doesn't get to prioritize their autonomy and instead can only assert their opinion. This is also the case despite, arguably the choice to kill Karl being an even grayer area morally. Wesley on all levels was doomed to die, it was just a matter of a quick pain free or a longer drawn out affair. Being made tranquil is a death of the self, your personhood, but not your actual physical life. But instead of allowing a softer choice that let's Anders choose, you can only assert one side or the other.

Additionally, just like Aveline- Anders narrative has... kind of a lot to do with freedom and autonomy, so it also would have made sense for this option to reinforce that value in him- but no.

Then, Aveline's loss of Wesley is reflected on fairly often and is treated with a lot of kindness through out most the narrative. A lot of Hawke's initial dialogue options are then checking in on how she's coping with her grief a full year later.

Immediately following Karl's death and I do mean immediately- you can talk to Anders about Justice. You can flirt with Anders. And sometimes if you click on him, he mentions Karl didn't deserve to be lobotomized.

All meaningful dialogue regarding his loss of Karl is not just romance locked. But in vanilla game, gender locked as well. You literally cannot "check in" with him about having to kill someone he at the very least clearly cared about- unless you wait at least 3 years and are a man who has sex with him.

And also also almost immediately following that being how Anders joins your gang of freaks- everyone is complaining about how he's too whiny, angry, and a bummer while mages are being actively oppressed and also he JUST HAD TO KILL SOMEONE HE LOVES BECAUSE OF IT

And to be clear on this piss on the poor website, I fucking love Aveline. This is a not "she didn't deserve this care narratively" post, this is I wish he'd have gotten a fraction of the same treatment post.

Hawke doesn't get the slightest option of "Hey, we can talk about the glowing in a bit- are you okay? I'm so sorry that happened, are you okay? Do you need a minute?"

Like I get that bioware hates the dude but christ almighty, can I get a hug anders button in this fucking game

[sophieinwonderland]

I need to ramble about my favorite moment in Slay the Princess!

Huge Spoilers Ahead! Do not read if haven't played the game and ever plan to in the future!

(Spoilers specifically for the Happily Ever After and the end of the game.)

In Slay the Princess, you begin in the woods with someone in your head known only as The Narrator. The Narrator informs you that there's a princess locked in the basement of a cabin and you need to slay her.

In every path you go down, the narrator is constantly trying to convince you to slay the Princess. But you don't have to do it. There are other options. Other paths that you can take that lead to different results.

Through the game, it's revealed that each version of the Princess you encounter is part of a being called The Shifting Mound, which represents change and destruction. The narrator is an echo of a mortal man who wanted to make a world without death. He was so committed to this ideology, to making a world where no one would ever die again, that he gave his own life for the cause. The narrators you interact with in each run are just imitations following out his dying wish... making sure that you Slay the Princess.

Once she's gone, everyone will get to exist exactly as they are. No more fear, no more howling chaos. Just life. Forever.

If you could successfully kill the Princess without dying, you're given the "good ending". You are "rewarded" with the Narrator's idea of perfection. You get to stay in the cabin. Forever. In a world unchanging, unending. Where you need not eat or sleep. A life endlessly prolonged.

While the narrator tells you that this is great, it's obviously not and the game encourages you to take your own life to continue, with one of the voices in your head sensing that it wouldn't be the end for you.

This brings me to the Happily Ever After scenario!

This happens down a route where you fall in love with a version of the Princess called The Damsel. After unshackling her, you can convince her to stay with you in the Cabin.

The Cabin is transformed into a palace fit for a Princess.

But there's a problem. Neither of you are actually happy with your happily ever after. All the meals you share together gradually get worse. You grow bored of all the games you play.

It's miserable. She's miserable trying to make things work and pretend like everything is okay when what she really wants is to finally be free.

She asks to dance with you under the stars, and even the narrator seems to accept it.

When asked about why he's okay with it after he claimed her leaving the cabin would end the world, he replies with this line:

I've seen my fairy-tale ending, and I think there might be worse things than the end of the world.

The significance of this line may not be apparent on the first playthrough of the game, but what he's saying is actually pretty incredible character development.

This is an echo of a man who gave up his life to end death. If he failed at his goal, his sacrifice would be meaningless.

When he encourages them to leave, I don't think it's just because he was moved for the player and Princess's sake. I think this was a breakthrough moment and he realized that this fate was what he would have everyone in the universe suffer were he to succeed and change was successfully eliminated from the world.

This was his dream. This was what he fought for. What he died for.

And it was horrible.

So he did the thing that he would have had everyone stop doing. He changed. He changed his mind and rejected the very ideology that he died for.

The Narrator isn't given a backstory. We don't know his name. We don't know what his life was like when he was alive. We only know his goals and the extremes he would go for to reach them. And yet, in this one time, in this one reality, he changed and realized the error of his ways.

And I think that this is really cool. It shows a dimensionality to the Narrator that isn't visible through the other timelines. They didn't need to write the Narrator this way here, they could have just had him stay as the voice in your head constantly trying to convince you to take the Princess's life, but I find it so important that they did write him this way in this chapter. Because it demonstrates the values that are so core to the game's narrative and themes, that change is possible for anyone. That it's a necessary part of life. And what better way to demonstrate that than by showing that even the person who sacrificed everything to stop the world from changing could change, himself?

And that's why, despite being such a simple line on the surface, this is one of my favorite moments in the game.

[anjels001]

(I am incredibly grateful for the support and love on the first post of the AU! I'm so happy you liked it, and I hope this second part resonates with you just as much. If there are 20 reposts of this, maybe I'll bring the third part and post it on Ao3! Thank you from the bottom of my heart, and feel free to share your thoughts! 💖) ---- The God and the Monster

Poseidon felt the weight of guilt on his shoulders. The sacred oath of the Big Three had been broken once again, and he knew there would be consequences. There always were. But the truth, plain and simple, was that he did not regret it.

Sally Jackson was an extraordinary woman. Strong, determined, full of life in a way that had been erased from most mortals over the centuries. It had been a long time since Poseidon had met someone like her—and he couldn’t force himself to regret loving her. Nor for getting her pregnant.

What tormented him wasn’t the act itself, but fate. What would happen to the child he had fathered? A hero’s life was never easy. And, as much as Poseidon was a god, an emperor, an immortal and indestructible being, he was still a father. And he feared for the future of his youngest.

So, he remained alert. Vigilant. Silent in his own anxiety, trying to keep calm, hiding any trace of having committed this transgression. He didn’t want anyone to notice. He didn’t want the gods to turn against his son.

But then he felt it.

It was as if the ocean shattered within him. A deep impact, impossible to ignore, reverberating through the very core of his being. Poseidon had felt this before, in ancient times, when a great spirit was about to be reborn in the mortal world. But this time… this time it was different.

For a moment, he didn’t understand. There was confusion—an echo, broken between past and present, as if a dark whirlwind spun through his soul, pulling old memories to the surface. The sea inside him roared, impatient, feeling the dissonance in the thread of his son’s life.

He sought to recognize the soul of his heir, expecting to find a new spirit, free from past marks. But all he found was an abyss of old memories, of battles and betrayals, of a name buried in time.

And then, he realized.

The revelation hit him like a destructive wave. His son—his youngest, his little prince of the sea—was not just a new life. He was an ancient shadow. A reincarnation.

And worse than that.

He was him.

The monster.

The one who had defied the gods, who spat on the mercy of Olympus and returned from death covered in blood and lies. The man Poseidon had personally cursed, the one he swore to make suffer, the one who should never have come back.

OdYsSEus.

Poseidon's chest tightened. Chaos spread within him, a whirlwind of emotions impossible to contain. Anger. Horror. Despair. How dare they? How dare the Fates have the audacity to bring this soul back through him? How could Styx condemn him in this way?

His body reacted before his mind even could. The invisible sea currents around him stirred, the salty mist swirling in a violent dance. The sea inside him screamed, a storm trying to break through his mortal form. His primal instinct screamed to end the threat before it was too late.

Destroy him.

Eradicate him.

But then, an image appeared in his mind.

Sally.

She had no idea. She didn’t know the history her son carried. She didn’t know that the baby she held in her arms had cursed the gods in another life. That he had been a king, that he had been a soldier, that he had been a strategist so cunning that even Olympus couldn’t stop him.

She saw only her son. Her little Perseus.

What if he was wrong? What if, in trying to prevent the monster from being reborn, he tore away from Sally not just her son but her soul? Poseidon knew: destroying that child wouldn’t just punish Odysseus — it would break the heart of the woman he loved. And that thought hurt more than any curse from Olympus.

Poseidon closed his eyes, feeling the sea inside him still roaring. But now, it wasn’t just anger — it was fear. A deep, crushing fear, because he knew what this meant. That boy would grow up. One day, he would remember. And Odysseus always found a way. The ocean outside, once an untamable force, now lay still, reflecting the father — wild, but, for a rare moment, at peace. Each wave seemed to echo the silenced storm within him, a reflection of what he had become.

A distant thunder rumbled in his mind, a reflection of the war waged within him.

For a moment, he almost gave in to the darkest impulse — to end the threat before it could blossom. But then, something fiercely protective grew within him, a wave that swept away his hesitation.

Because that child was his too.

His son.

Not just the shadow of a monster, but the blood of Poseidon, an heir of the sea.

And no one — not even the ghost of Odysseus — would dare take that from him.

When Poseidon opened his eyes, it wasn’t just fury. There was a raw possession, a wild and violent love, like a crushing tide.

Mine.

If Odysseus wanted to exist again, he would have to do it under the waves of his father.

And this time, the sea would not let him escape.

Poseidon didn’t wait a week. Not even three days. The torment inside him wouldn’t allow it.

Time felt like poison coursing through his veins, a salty pulse driving him forward. Each hour spent away from that child was a rising tide in his chest, a current that threatened to drag him to the depths of his own chaos. He needed to see. He needed confirmation. He needed to act.

When he finally appeared, there was no sound. Just salty mist and a damp breeze that filled the small mortal apartment. The moonlight spilled through the window, bathing the crib in silver clarity. The air was too dry, the space too small, and everything smelled of humanity and solid ground — an insult to what he was.

But there, right there, lay his answer.

The baby slept. Curled up, breathing softly, oblivious to the god who now watched him. Poseidon stood still, every muscle rigid, his gaze fixed on that tiny, helpless form. And inside him, something ancient and fierce roared.

He knew what he should do.

If it were true — if that tainted soul had returned — he would end it. Right there. Now. He would kill the child and give Sally another. It wouldn’t be the first time a god had shaped such a destiny. It wouldn’t be the last.

Or at least, that’s what he tried to convince himself.

But the sea… the sea is not made to kill its children.

Poseidon felt the conflict scrape at his insides like a whirlpool. His feral instincts were at war — the primal urge to destroy a threat collided with something even older: the wild, possessive instinct to protect his offspring.

Because the children of the sea were rare.

The ocean, by its nature, was not kind. Infant mortality among the sea peoples was cruelly high. The waters claimed their young with the same ease with which they created monsters. And so, those who survived were precious. Touched by the sea, shaped by it, they were part of the ocean’s soul. And any mother or father who dared to harm a child… well, the ocean itself would crush them.

And Poseidon was the sea.

His fists clenched, and he growled low, a guttural, hoarse sound like a wave breaking in the distance. The idea of destroying something of his… something that carried his essence… wounded his very nature. But what if that thing was him? What if the man he hated — Odysseus, the shadow who had cursed him for so long — was there, reborn in his blood?

A soft breath.

Poseidon stopped.

A delicate sound, almost a sigh. He looked at the cradle.

Two eyes were staring at him.

The world seemed to tilt.

The irises were the color of the sea — his color. But the shape… the shape was hers. Sally. They were gentle, wide, innocent.

Poseidon held his breath.

The baby laughed.

It was a small, pure sound. A carefree giggle that exploded like foam on the waves, and Poseidon felt something inside him crack. The storm within him stalled for a brief moment, like a raging sea suddenly becoming smooth under a gentle breeze.

He stepped forward — a shaky step, then another. Powerful hands, capable of destroying cities with a gesture, now hovered over the cradle, uncertain. Then, with a hesitant movement, he took the child into his arms.

Small.

Light.

So… fragile.

Poseidon trembled. He could smell the sea air that surrounded the boy, undeniable proof of his lineage. But there were no fangs. No claws. No scales or gills. Just soft skin, dark hair, and eyes that stared at him as though he were the only being in the universe.

His long fingers traced the baby’s body, instinctively counting and checking.

Two eyes. Check.

Two arms. Right.

Two legs. Right.

Ten fingers on hands and feet, all in place.

No monsters.

No threats.

No curses.

Poseidon let out a ragged sigh, something between a sob and a hoarse laugh.

His son was perfect.

“I’m sorry, my pearl…” his voice was just a whisper, almost inaudible, as he held the baby more firmly. “None of what happened was your fault. None of what will happen will be your fault.”

Little Percy smiled at him, babbling something incomprehensible, and Poseidon felt a violent wave of possessiveness rise within him.

Mine.

That thought hit him like thunder.

mY SØŊ.

Not a punishment.

Not a threat.

Not a reborn enemy.

Just…MINE.

“You are not a punishment for me.” Poseidon murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You are a punishment for him.”

There was a dark flash in his eyes — the cruel irony of it all. Odysseus, the man who had most challenged him, now reborn as the heir of the one he despised most. What more poetic punishment could there be?

Poseidon laughed softly — a bitter sound, but laden with something new. Something dangerous. A wild, raw love, as vast as the ocean.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he whispered to the child. “Perfection born of the greatest offense. The most monstrous man reborn… as my son.”

Percy just yawned, his eyelids beginning to droop, snuggling deeper into the god’s chest.

Poseidon closed his eyes, feeling that tide of emotions drown everything that had once driven him. The unbalanced hunter fell silent. The king-god stayed behind.

Only the father remained.

With the utmost care, he placed Percy back in the cradle, adjusting the blanket around him. His fingers brushed through the soft strands of the baby's hair.

"Nothing will ever be your fault. And I will always be proud of you." His voice was a promise, sealed by the ocean itself.

A final kiss on the forehead.

And when Poseidon left that night, the sea became calm.

In the following months, the weather remained perfect.

1 part Au Post prompt

[physalian]

“Why doesn’t the villain just kill the heroes?”

Ah, plot armor. If you want to be a real go-getter and think up a more creative way for the heroes to always narrowly escape death out of sheer dumb luck, the villain being too slow on the draw, or the villain simply not thinking of it in the moment, you have to come up with a reason for why the villain doesn’t just kill the hero.

Four examples today.

1. Zhao & Aang

In “The Blue Spirit,” Aang is captured by Zhao, a man normally not above anything to further his agenda, including murder. The Avatar is the largest obstacle in his way, second to the Earth Kingdom, and all he has to do to take Aang off the gameboard is to kill a twelve-year-old. He’s got Aang in chains, not quite powerless but harmless enough, and could do it quickly.

So why doesn’t he? Per Zhao himself, if he kills Aang, the Avatar cycle will continue, born into some random water bender that may take them years to track down. Sure, they’ll be harmless for a few years and the Fire Nation might get lucky and find them easily, perhaps even sway the new one to their side, but what if the waterbending Avatar is born into the Foggy Swamp? Or they end up having to kill them, too, and then have to track down an earthbending Avtar across the entire Earth Kingdom? Does Zhao really want to take that chance when he can just keep Aang alive? Just barely?

Of course not.

Killing the hero in this case might stop the immediate threat, but it will just delay the inevitable, thus it’s in the villain’s best interest to exploit a loophole while likely committing war crimes in the process. He gets to secure a Fire Nation victory and make Aang suffer for the rest of his life.

Ozai doesn't kill Aang until the first chance he gets, which just so happens to be the series finale. And we all know why Aang has a no-kill policy.

2. Sam, Dean & The Angels and Demons

Hahaha it’s the show known for its refusal to kill its heroes. We’re gonna ignore everything past season 5. There’s obviously meta reasons—kill the main characters and you have zero supporting cast that could realistically take over the show.

But in season 4, despite multiple deaths already for both of them, so begins the “if you die we’ll just bring you back” threat, because they’re angels and angels can do that. Similar to Aang, Sam and Dean risk a fate far worse than death if they don’t cooperate with Zachariah’s plans. He happily gives them both a slew of diseases and illnesses to get his way whenever he gets the chance and reminds them both that if they just kill themselves to escape the Apocalypse, he’ll happily revive them. The Demons won't kill Sam and Dean because they're necessary to further their own plans by breaking certain seals on Lucifer's cage, though they're not above breaking bones and killing bystanders.

Fate worse than death is a popular threat, but usually the heroes offing themselves is still a viable, if deeply unpopular, option. Supernatural removes it entirely and for such a simple little detail, it does a lot to make their survivability believable.

3. Batman & Joker

Ahh the age old furious rant by people who don’t understand Batman: If Batman killed his villains they’d stop busting out of Arkham and murdering innocent civilians, Batman has so much blood on his hands—

Babe. Babe, he’s a comic book character. By his very nature, he can’t kill his villains otherwise he’d have no rogues gallery. Comic books are like a giant board of Monopoly, going around in circles and occasionally having a timeout in jail.

But the in universe reason there’s no killing has been essayed about extensively and so has why Joker doesn’t try harder to kill him, but I couldn’t not include these two. Batman does not kill because he is not judge, jury, and executioner of his villains, most of whom have mental health issues and while they certainly know better and their crimes aren’t justified, his villains need actual therapy and help and medication, not death. Even those who he might agree must be stopped and there’s no other way except murder, Batman himself will not be the one to pull the trigger. He must remain a hero, so that no matter who he comes across in the dark alleyways of Gotham, they know he’s not here to kill them, be it criminal or victim.

Joker doesn’t kill Batman for a much simpler reason, and Heath Ledger literally says it: “I won’t kill you because you’re too much fun.” He does not need a more convoluted reason, he enjoys the game, the chase, the tug of war (most versions of him, at least) and to kill Batman would be to end his greatest form of entertainment, and the only person probably in the whole world who is neither afraid of Joker nor dismissive of him as simply a freak.

4. Optimus and Megatron

Optimus Prime and Megatron are very similar to Batman and Joker but with literal eons of history between them. In most serialized Transformers media, as opposed to movies where the plot is more urgent, Megatron both wants to win Optimus over and just can't quite let himself finally win. Who is he without his rival, after all this time?

Optimus is in the same boat, refusing to kill him because he's still holding out hope for Megatron's redemption, that there's a peaceful way to end this war (no matter how much collateral both leaders end up causing). Shit gets real whenever Optimus breaks the unspoken rules of their no-kill rivalry and Megatron gets incredibly pissy about it because he's in love.

—

Suggestions to workshop this plot hole in your own narrative:

The hero staying alive is absolutely paramount to the villain’s plan (in which case, you have to have rock solid reasons for why they keep narrowly escaping capture)

The villain is so confident in their plan that they don’t even consider the hero a proper threat

The villain doesn't really have a bodycount, but if they kill the hero, suddenly all the other powers that be will take them seriously and they'll have a huge mess on their hands

The villain is so full of themselves or so in love with their rival that it’d break their heart to have to kill them just to win

The villain is simply not capable of murder either physically or morally (perhaps because the hero is a child)

Killing the hero would make them a martyr and the villain would end up with a far bigger mess on their hands when the lone hero is replaced with an avenging army

The villain is too proud to simply kill the hero and wants to win fairly in a proper fight on the battlefield and not take the cheap and easy shot

The villain does not have a phyiscal form or real presence in the plot, acting through their minions, and their minions are incompetent

It’s simply not fun if the hero dies/the hero is the only one who understands them and they’d lose far more than they’d gain by killing them

The villain still wants to try and win the hero over and is so dedicated to this path that they regularly sabotage their own plans desperate to change the hero’s mind

The villain firmly believes in a fate worse than death and while the hero’s survival isn’t crucial to the main plan, they want the hero to watch their own failure/become the villain’s minion/ prisoner/ partner by the end

There’s a million examples out there to pull from and I could keep listing them all night. So long as whatever it is doesn’t come out of nowhere or open a plot hole of “why didn’t they just do that earlier?” you can get quite creative.

One last example that’s a personal favorite of mine to implement: In Eternal Night of the Northern Sky there aren’t too many opportunities to ask this question, but when it does arise, Villain A has Hero B as a meat shield, and while Hero B’s love interest, Hero C, is more than happy to shoot through them to incapacitate Villain A, the person they take orders from isn’t so reckless, which later leads to Drama and Issues.

[spiritseeeker]

This singular frame was all it took to undo my very extreme hatred of Adam, Vivienne Medrano how dare you make me feel sympathy for this man-

Like, Adam before this scene? A blatant misogynist and a hypocrite who unabashedly revels in sinners' suffering. A guy who has no regard for anyone else, and who pisses pretty much every viewer off with patronizing jabs like "sorry sweetie" and "try to chillax, babe." Ugh, disgusting.

As the first man, it seems like he got an easy pass into Heaven. Maybe the angels were just saving face, given that their core pair of humans both took the fruit of knowledge of good and evil willingly, ordaining Adam on the technicality that "Eve did it first." But I think we can all agree that it was not on the merit of Adam's virtue.

And then Charlie draws blood during their fight in Episode 8, and, for the first time, Adam genuinely realizes he can be hurt. Like, for the first time in the duration of the show, in his entire fucking existence, someone shows him that he is not, in fact, an all-powerful symbol of power and superiority. He's just a guy with privilege who is just as vulnerable, just as flawed, just as human as the rest of them.

But once the mask is shattered, revealing the rather unexceptional man underneath, does Adam back down? Of course not—he doubles down. There's nothing worse than a narcissist who is virtually incapable of seeing the error of their ways, even when they're clearly backed into a corner. Bruised and bloody, he bellows that he's THE man; everybody should worship him.

For me, that pretty much hit the nail in the coffin. There was no redeeming a character like Adam (ironic, since he's one of the few characters in the show not in need of redemption).

So isn't it fitting, then, that his death didn't happen in some grand display requiring all of Lucifer or Charlie's might? Isn't it fitting that Adam falls to Niffty—not Lucifer, not an overlord, but a common sinner, who sees him as nothing more than a foot soldier that needs to be eliminated, a pest as easily squashed as a roach? For someone as self-aggrandizing as Adam, this has to be one of the most humiliating ways to die. The perfect end for an insufferable antagonist.

But nooo, Vivziepop didn't end it there.

Because INSTEAD, we hear Lute's heart-wrenching screams as she realizes that Adam has just been defeated; we see the look on her tear-streaked face when it registers just how badly he's been injured. The fear in her eyes at the prospect of living in a world without the angel she idolizes, the man she serves.

She's not concerned that she's just lost her arm, or that Vaggie is standing right there. In that moment, the only person in Hell is Adam, and all she wants is for him to stay with her.

Adam could have easily dismissed her feelings entirely. He could have spent his last breath hurling one last insult at Lucifer, getting the satisfaction of having the last word before his death. He could have thrown himself a pity party and cursed his fate.

Instead, this greedy, selfish, murderous fiend has the audacity to see Lute in his field of vision and flash her one last, tender smile.

We don't know for sure what Adam was thinking in this shot, but personally, I think it was something along the lines of I lost. Proud of you, Lute. I'll miss you. Goodbye.

Whatever his final thoughts are, we can surmise from his expression alone that he's accepted his fate, and that he's grateful his last seconds alive are locking eyes with someone who's important to him. Someone he cares about.

And THAT—that was enough to crack through that thick shell of hatred I'd developed for Adam and shatter it like the mask he wore for seven and a half episodes of the show. THAT 8-second moment was enough to make me reconsider my stance on Adam as an irredeemable villain.

(CURSE YOU, VIVIENNE!!!)

Does this scene cancel out all the heinous things Adam does throughout Season 1? All the lives he destroys, all the pain he causes to thousands upon thousands of souls? Absolutely not. But it does change my perception of Adam from "obnoxious egomaniac with no self-awareness" to "obnoxious egomaniac with no self-awareness that is a product of the flawed system he perpetuates."

And, I gotta wonder, what would Adam have been like if Heaven had been different?

[ilonii]

Make a warrior x Eren fic there’s zero fanfics with that trope, and yes please make it heart shattering for both sides if you could 🤭

Tempting Fate E.Y

✧ s.m - Try as you may and try as you might, but you cannot escape the future fate has in sight. As a warrior candidate sent to gather information and bring the Island of Paradise to its knees, you lose site of the real goal ahead, allowing yourself to fall mercy to the greater enemy at large.

w.c. - 2.8k

warning. fem reader, ANGST, bit of fluff, slight nsfw., illusions to sex, character death, no mercy eren.

a.n - thank you for being my first request. I tried to make it as heartbreaking as possible while also keeping it decently short. please forgive me if some details are out of array, I haven't watched aot in a while. other than that, please enjoy.

From the time you were born, right up until your first expedition, you were taught to hate everyone who inhabited the island of paradise.

Hate was the only real emotion you’d ever known. It ran hot through your veins like electricity surging through wires. It drove you; it inspired you, and in the end, it’d be the thing that’d kill you.

While your hatred was the one thing you’ve managed to hold onto in the last nine years, while you weren’t looking, it turned into a monster. Something much worse, much more deadly.

The greatest enemy of them all.

Love.

(Insert Border)

845 – Attack On Wall Maria

It was a massacre.

Bodies littered the streets; blood splatter and decay decorated every corner. It was like something out of a horror film.

You had been trained for this, but still, seeing it up close made you sick on your stomach. While you hadn’t actively participated in the attack, the guilt was all the same.

Your mission was to stay close to the ground, keep an eye on things down below while Reiner and Bertholdt wreaked havoc up above. You knew it was coming but nothing could have prepared for what lay before you.  

Men, women and children.

Dead all the same.

Ravished like lamb to the slaughter.

It made you want to vomit.

But this is the fate they were doomed to suffer. The consequences of their own actions. Who were you to deprive them of the bad karma they indebted to the universe.

Stumbling through the streets of Shiganshina, you had encountered many scenes like the one before. Family members begging, pleading for the lives of their loved ones. Trying to save them from the inevitable death of titan jaws.

But it all ended the same.

There wasn’t really much you can do to fight against the grasp of the great beast.

Most ran.

Others accepted their fate and waited alongside their doomed lovers.

This one, however, was different.

Two children. A brown-haired boy and dark-eyed girl.

One older man, tall, blonde and skinny.

And a middle-aged woman, pretty as a picture, knocking on deaths door.

The boy with the brown hair was persistent in his pursuit to save the older women. In that moment he felt he was capable of lifting the house clean off her back, with his very own hands.

It was almost inspiring.

So much so that he had begun to convince the older man and young girl to help him in his pursuit.

You yourself had been so captivated by the scene, you hadn’t noticed the way your feet guided you across the surface and planted you right ahead of them, and before you knew it, you were in crouch position attempting to repair the damage you had consequently caused. But much like fate would have it, time wasn’t in your favor.

In the next passing minutes, you’d find yourself running through the streets of the twelfth district, dodging titans left in right, in an attempt to escape the same fate of the tragedy marked women, who only a few short seconds ago, had been devoured by a titan of awful familiarity.

In the following hours you’d find yourself mixed in with the horde of survivors seeking solitude within the confines of wall rose. After the incident you stuck close to the brown-haired boy. Eventually coming to know him as Eren. The dark eyed girl as Mikasa, and a blonde boy you met within the borders of Wall Rose as Armin.

From that point forward. Your fate was sealed.

Year 850 – 57th Exterior Scouting Mission

He had to be completely out of his mind.

What was he saying?

Revealing his identity for the sake of a “what if”?

He was jeopardizing the entire mission for something you knew Eren wouldn’t agree to? It was complete and utter insanity, and you would suffer for it.

“Reiner what are you saying, I know a lot has happened, but you shouldn’t make up things like that? You don’t know how this will end”

That look.

The look plastered across that only you and Reiner could identify, stopped from disclosing your identity with his next few breaths, instead opting to re-direct his attention back Eren.

“I’m sorry, but I need you to understand that we are the enemy. I am one of the titans that destroyed your home. And I’m not the only one-”  

“Reiner what are you saying, I know a lot has happened, but you shouldn’t make up things like that? You don’t know how this will end”

You had to interject. He was about to tear down everything you spent the last five years trying to build

“Y/n-”

That look.

The look that briefly flashed across your face was that Reiner had never seen before. It was unshakeable, a look of pure hatred, one that he knew if he didn’t abide by, would end poorly for him and everyone involved.

He chose his next words carefully.

“I’m not the only one..”

Was this it?

“Bertholdt is the Colossal Titan”

And with that, he didn’t spare you another glance.

“Reiner” you mumbled almost instinctively, not that it mattered anyways. There wasn’t much left to say aside for a silent thank you that passed between eyes, acknowledged with a nearly undetectable head nod.

The events that followed were ones you wished you could unsee. The battle for victory between a dear friend, and boy you’d come to…love? No. A devil. A battle between a dear friend and an Island devil, was one you wish you could unsee.

You and Eren have always had a bit of an odd relationship, teetering just between the line of friendship and something more.

At times you got along like two peas in a pod, like the best of friends.

But at others, things were different. Feelings bubbling under the surface and lines were crossed, but it was just the relationship you had.

You and Eren now sat in silence.

Quite some time had passed since the initial contact with the Armored and Colossal Titans. Everyone was bothered by the revelation, but no one was taking it harder than Eren. The normally chatty boy didn’t have much to say. His eyes were constantly glossed over.

The once vibrant green was now a dull shade emerald, with golden flecks that no longer shined as bright as they used to.

“Eren” Silence.

“Eren please talk to me. I won’t asl you about how you’re feeling. I just want you to talk to me”

“And say what” This is a start.

“Anything, I wanna hear anything you have to tell me”

“What, you wanna hear about how I’ll make sure Reiner pays for what he’s done. That I’ll make him and everyone else who was involved suffer the same way I did all those years ago? You wanna hear that no matter what it takes, or who it cost me, I will end this war between us and titans, starting with him.”

“If that’s all you have to say, then yes”

He chuckled.

“You sad your boyfriends a lying traitor”

Here he goes.

Eren was convinced you and Reiner had something going on. The nights you two would spend conspiring against the nation, Eren assumed you were sharing kisses and giving yourselves to one another.

So much so that for the first two weeks following the attack, Eren barley spoke to you. With how close the two of you were, he couldn’t be sure he could even trust you anymore. That issue, however, was quickly resolved after he stumbled his way to your barracks in the middle of the night, complaining that he couldn’t sleep another wink not knowing if he could still call you a friend.

“Not funny Eren”

“No? That didn’t make you laugh?” He was getting back his sense of humor.

“No, not at all actually” You offered with a kind smile.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence before he spoke again

“I don’t know”

“You don’t know what”

“Who to trust”

The silence was deafening. Your mouth was dry and there was a slight ringing in your ears.

It struck you. Knowing that in the end he’d chose to trust you anyways only for you to inevitably have to stab him in the back.

He continued.

“Reiner and I weren’t the best of friends, but we were close enough. We shared laughs, we shared food, we shared friends. We fought for our lives against a common enemy and in the end, it meant absolutely nothing. How do you look someone in the eye and lie to them for so long. Tell them that you want the same things they do and while plotting against them the entire time”

His tone as getting harsher.

“He looked me in my eyes, shacked my hand, walked beside all while plotting how to kill me.”

He was right.

“You were there, the day Wall Maria fell. How he and Bertholdt destroyed our home, killed my mother. It makes me sick. He’ll pay for everything he’s done, one way or another.”

Our home. It was almost ironic. Unknowingly crucifying someone for the same atrocities you’d undoubtedly commit. For the same attack you played a role in.

Some part of you wanted to confess, to fall to your knees and beg for his forgiveness. To promise that you’d do anything to right these wrongs, that you’d make sure he ends up on top.

But you couldn’t, you wouldn’t. You had a duty to fulfill.

A family to return home to.

A country to make proud.

 You have to remember that despite the connections you’ve made, these people are devils all the same.

 Monsters.

They’re the reason your people suffer day in and day out, the reason no Eldian on Marley will never know true undoubted peace.

They are the root of all evil, and you cannot forget.

“I know. And I believe you’ll make absolute sure of it”

You stared at one another.

Something was lurking just beneath the surface. You could almost taste it.

His breath was hot against your face. His eyes flashing back and forth between your E/c orbs and lips. It was very clear what he wanted from you, he just had to take it.

By now he was closer than he’d ever been, within seconds his lips were brushing against yours and it was like lightning had struck. It ignited something within you. You were filled with an indescribable passion.

Every brush of your lips more intense than the last, tongues fighting for dominance not sure whether to overpower, or submit to the others will.  

That night you and Eren shared something.

Something Sacred.

Something you couldn’t take back.

Each other.

You and Eren had become closer than ever.

It was obvious to everyone that a shift had occurred. Whatever feelings you did have for one another had bubbled over into something much more intense, something you could no longer deny.

The events of the following night became somewhat of a regular occurrence.

It was rare that you spent night the night alone.

At the end of every day, at the end of every mission, you and Eren always ended up in the same place. Pressed closely together sharing the few moments of solitude you’d have before waking up and doing it all over again.

“How do you feel about me?” Oh?

“I don’t know what you mean Eren? What are you talking about”

“Y/n, how do you feel about me. What do you feel for me.”

“I care about you, of course you know that”

“Do you love me?” You didn’t know what to say.

Did you love him?

How could you?

He was a devil, you were warrior, it didn’t make sense. You could lie and say you did but that’d only make things worse when it’d all come crashing down in the end.

“Eren, where is all of this coming from” You avoided answering the question best you could.  

“Do. You. Love. Me. Answer the question” He was persistent.

“Eren I- I- I don’t- I don’t know I don’t understand what’s-”

“Its alright. Nevermind”

And with that, he pressed his lips against yours in a way you’ve never felt before. One that felt more sincere than it’d ever had. One, that would have consequences.

When you awoke in the morning, Eren was nowhere to be found. In a few short hours you and everyone else would come to realize where he ended up.

Year 854 – Attack On Liberio

You were a coward.

The time had come for you to finally pick and side and couldn’t do it.

You watched as the scouts and Eren ravished through the city you once cold a home. Trampling its citizens and many of its allies similar to the way you did many years ago.

It was almost cinematic. The Irony of it all.

All those years ago you sat and watched as Erens how was ripped apart by five-, ten-, and fifteen-meter beast.

9 years later you sit and watch as he does the exact same thing to yours.

The right thing to do would be to get up and fight for your country. To do what you had been trained to do all those years ago.

But you couldn’t. This place was no longer your home. As time passed you blurred the lines between warrior and soldier.

Where you were once a weapon of mass destruction, you were now the hollow shell of a scared little girl who didn’t know where to begin.

It all happened so fast, one minute you were waiting for orders, and the next, you were right in the middle of all the chaos.

It was now or never.

Would you be true to your roots, or would you abandon your training for the life you’ve created.

You hadn’t been in this form for a very long time.

It was almost foreign.

Your main body concealed in titan crystal underground, but your conscious running through the mind of body of the War Hammer Titan.

You felt sick.

But it wasn’t the unusual skin you were in.

But instead, the enemy you were fighting.

Face to face with a man you’d known for a very long time.

One you had grown with.

One you had watched morph into the beast he is today right before your eyes.

Eren Yeager stood five feet away from you, with a look you couldn’t describe.

Hatred.

Love.

Disgust.

All emotions that flashed through his eyes watching you transform into the monster that would then try and take his life.

The decision had been made, the only thing left for you to do was seal it.

You threw the first punch.

You knew if you didn’t the know of you would stand there and stare at each other all day.

He needed you to attack him first.

To finalize your stance.

To tell him once for all, you don’t choose him.

And you did.

Just like he hoped you wouldn’t.

Your fate was sealed from that point forward.

Only a few short minutes into the match you knew this wasn’t a fight you could win.

He was strong, stronger than you. At one point, you could’ve easily won. Having trained for this moment your entire life.

However, after almost a decade of no transformations, and little hand to hand combat, you were no match for the skilled fighter Eren Yeager had become.

He would kill you.

And you couldn’t think of a better way to die.

For him to hurt you, just like you hurt him.

To bring your world crashing down, just like you had done his, now and back then.

He would end you.

And that’d be okay.

You’d be at peace with your death as long as it was by his hands.

Your pain was only physical, but this death would leave him with scars he’d never heal from.

He had you in the jaws of a once dear friend.

With one final look, the semblance of what you can only assume to be a tear, Eren forced the canines of the Jaw Titan through the crystal and deep into your flesh.

And with your last few breaths, you most you could muster was a silent “I love you” that would never meet his ears.

But it didn’t matter.

Could it even had been true?

If you loved him then why didn’t you choose him?

Would you have rather died than to stay with him a little longer?

Than to fight with him, fight for him?

So many questions that neither one of you will ever know the answers too.

With Erens consumption of the War Hammer Titan, he not only swallowed a dear friend, lover and comrade, but with it, his last shred of hope in humanity.

[sunderingstars]

ging can say “he wasn’t trying to sacrifice himself for you” all he wants, but i still find it such a reductive view of kite’s decision. everyone seems to have their own ideas following what happened: morel attributes it to a hunter’s self-serving curiosity, ging attributes it to crazy slots’ special setting, gon attributes it to a nebulous reason that’s always his own fault. others look at a dead man from the outside in, but where is kite’s account? where is kite’s agency? buried with his bones, lost in some half-forgotten purgatory?

but it isn’t. it was there when he saw pitou coming, when he stayed behind to buy the kids more time, when he chose to spend those precious few seconds warning gon & killua to run instead of trying to protect himself.

ging can talk about sacrifice all he wants, but he wasn’t there when kite lost an arm. he wasn’t there when his student was stripped of more than his head or his body but his mind, then suffered a fate arguably worse than death. if ging was right and crazy slots did possess some sort of reincarnation ability, kite sacrificed more than his life. he sacrificed his will. his control. his agency.

and for ging, notorious absent parent, to pretend he knows the true nature of kite’s mind in that moment is incredibly presumptuous. he may be good at reading people, but he’s so divorced from the idea of caring for his son that he can’t imagine someone else possibly, possibly doing it in his stead. it shows. and i simply do not believe kite is the self-serving stereotype ging makes him out to be. if actions speak louder than words, then kite had been screaming. he had always been screaming.

[sugar-grigri]

Hey! Have you noticed the visual parallels between the gun fiend and Chainsaw man in this latest (152th) chapter?

The parallel between Aki and Denji in the last chapter

No, I hadn't noticed, and I like that others have because I might have an explanation for this parallel.

Fujimoto likes parallels, but this time he does it the other way round. Let me explain: for me, and according to my interpretation, he had already made an explicit reference to chapters 78/79 in this chapter:

Chapter 142 exploited Denji's relationship with others, but also with being a CSM, just as Fumiko's speech only reinforces the fact that even when she places herself as a victim, she reinforces Denji's position as a martyr.

Even when Fumiko argues that she saw CSM as a child, the chapter proves her wrong, whether through her unsuccessful manipulation techniques, her many contradictions, but above all her behaviour is typical, allowing Denji to deny the pain he suffered by killing his brother.

I won't go into it again ((if you want to know more, the link is above)) the only thing you need to remember here is that Fujimoto still intends to exploit Aki's death, albeit in a subtle, poetic way in part 2.

In chapter 152, Denji suffers because he has decided to; his suffering is his own, he demands it and even sees it as a means of experiencing pleasure. What's more, this chapter follows on from chapters 150/151 in Denji's claim to his own identity: I WANT to be CSM, and no one is going to stop me. The negative consequences are mine because I've decided to.

Whereas during his confrontation with Aki, Denji's identity was stolen by his "fans" (a theme dealt with in chapter 142), who positioned themselves as the only suffering parties (ignoring Denji's), and it was the frightened, bruised men and women who decided that CSM had to save them, had to act and kill.

So chapter 152 is more than an awakening, it's Denji who takes back the right to suffer if he has decided to do so. Before, it was always the others who decided, but instead of taking the plunge and saying: I'll never let myself suffer again, this time the martyr doesn't want his suffering to be taken away from him.

Because if we take away Denji's suffering, he won't turn into a CSM anymore

If that's taken away, his memories of Power and Aki are fragmented

These last two sentences are actually linked, because Denji has learnt to love just as much as he has learnt to suffer through Aki and Power. Aki's curse is to have been possessed by his sworn enemy, the Gun Devil, who reclaims his rights over the man who tried to resist him: to be there to make Aki's family suffer, always, even the second time around.

As the curse repeats itself, Aki's mind is stuck in his childhood, when it hadn't yet been broken, so he's blindly enjoying himself. Because, paradoxical though it may sound, it was when Aki realised the cruelty of this world, the loss of loved ones, that he tried to protect his family - the greatest act of love. Suffering is an awareness.

Aki had gambled on his suffering before, wasting his years of life with almost no ties. And when he began to change his perception of wanting to do something for his family, those wasted years didn't leave him enough time to protect his second family.

While he was escaping the suffering of his first family, he didn't even realise that he was causing the second to suffer. Fate was simply amused.

It is just as much for Power, a bestial being by nature who has already learnt about the suffering of losing loved ones with Meowy's kidnapping, Aki's anguish possessed at the door, bringing a birthday cake to Denji as an act of kindness, before realising that she would rather die than let Denji die. Suffering is also what brings destinies together and intertwines them.

Power and Aki are symbols of the same thing: when suffering began to be reflected in others, materialising in the fear of losing a loved one, fate turned against them.

So what Denji is doing is a narrative attempt to free himself from his fate, if he starts to fear more for Nayuta than for himself, if he stops being CSM for her, then the passage of suffering turned against oneself, there will always be someone to catch the ball. So Denji ends the cycle.

Denji will see no-one but his pain, Pochita, he will ignore even the flames that tore him away from his animal family, he will push back to Nayuta. It's a retreat into his own identity in the final chapter, a futile attempt to escape from a pain even worse than the pain of being cut in two, the pain of seeing another part of himself ripped away: a loved one.

Now we've pretty much understood the parallel. But don't forget the beginning of this post, Denji is doing exactly what Aki is doing.

Chapter 152 is the hero's attempt to regain control of his destiny, as if suddenly aware of the suffering inherent in the work, wanting to reverse it, to turn it into pleasure.

But he will not escape his fate. Denji may laugh, but only fate will have the last laugh.

[wanderingmind867]

Rick Riordan so desperately wants to make me like Hades. He's writing scenes with Hades being a good parent to Nico, trying to make me like him. And it's not working. Because a good father he may be, but a terrible man is far more true. He runs a segregated underworld, an underworld I can only describe as torturous and sickening. It's so sick that it reminds me why I hate the Bible and it's afterlife system, since they're virtually one and the same.

Let's be honest: nobody is good enough to get into heaven/elysium except the saintliest of souls. And nobody is bad enough to get into hell/the fields of punishment. We'd all have to be rapists or serial killers for that one. So most of us are gonna end up in purgatory/asphodel, forgetting all our experiences, wandering the bland wheat fields, crying and mourning things we can't remember. It's sick, and it's all Hades's fault.

As king of the underworld, he could save us from such a fate. But does he? Does he!? No! Forget Zeus; Hades is the real evil one here! The underworld needs a massive overhaul, because it's currently being run by a man who's fine with all of us suffering a fate worse than more death and pain. The Greco-Roman Underworld is disgusting, and Hades needs to be knocked off his high horse. He's not a good god. He's not even a mediocre one. He's a horrible god, and we need to stop worshipping him. Literally, Osiris or Hel is like a million times better than Hades ever will be.

[writingseaslugs]

Savanaclaw: When They're Sick

This one was fun to write, even if I was brain dead while writing the last half of Ruggie and all of Jack’s. I should be going to bed since I’m doing this after work, but the want to write is strong today.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!

Request Information | Masterlist | Au Information

Savanaclaw: When They’re Sick

Something that Beastmen didn’t talk about was their cold season. Illnesses affected the different races…well differently. For beastmen it meant they were significantly weaker; you’d think they were on death’s door. Even getting out of bed to take care of their needs was taxing. It was like the man flu but made ten times worse. Any prideful beastman refuses to acknowledge this shortcoming of their race, but it was undeniable. The moment one beastman got sick, the others stayed far away so they didn’t suffer the same fate.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is both the easiest and hardest person to take care of while sick. The good news is he goes by the theory that he can just sleep it all off and will take that route. Still, he needs medicine and food, and when he’s too weak to leave the bed, he’s calling on Ruggie to help him out. Bad news is Ruggie is also sick and can barely get out of bed, so he was planning on just suffering for a few days until he could venture out and get what he needed.

That was when Leona had a wonderful idea and contacted you. In his mind, you still owed him big time for that time he let you stay in his room, and you were about to repay a part of that debt today. So don’t be surprised when you’re called to his room and he’s treating you like one of the servants. Put the sick lion in his place and inform him that you’re not a servant and, although you’ll take care of him, if he continues to treat you like one you’re dropping food and medicine by his bed and leaving. He gets the memo and is feeling far too crummy to even argue with you.

Now Leona hates medicine with a burning passion. The artificial sweetness in cough syrups and the herbal qualities of everything else was gag inducing. You’re going to have to figure out a game plan to force it into his mouth so he’ll get better, because he downright refuses to let it get close to him. Sneaking it into his food is also a no-go since he can smell it. So have fun wrestling a lion to get him to take his meds. Thankfully he’s weaker than normal so it’s a lot easier than you’d think.

Leona is picky when it comes to what he’s eating while sick. He’s going to be wanting something with a lot of meat in it in order to get some of his energy back. A good meat stew is your best bet, and you’ll have to cut the vegetables to be so fine he can’t pick them out. He needs them, he knows this, but they’re still gross and he hates that you’d serve him a dish with it in there.

The moment Leona is better he’s shooing you away. He no longer needs you and therefore you can get out of his dorm. Wait…you want him to thank you? Please, you were simply repaying a debt that you owed him. He’ll thank you if that’s what it takes for you to get out of his fur. He might even lean his head on yours while he says it before ushering you towards the door so he can be left alone and sulk about how weak he was in front of someone. His ego is gonna be needing some recovery after the Ramshackle prefect won a wrestling match and forced him to take medicine.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie is another person who normally will just suffer in silence when he’s sick. Everyone in the dorm realizes that he’s ill and stays far away so they don’t catch it, so it’s easier than you’d think. He just isolates himself as he gets better, occasionally managing to drag himself out of bed in order to grab a drink or use the restroom. Making food was out of the question though, so he just accepts the fact that his stomach is going to be growling until he’s better.

Literally the moment you hear that Ruggie is sick, you should be going to help. The poor boy is probably in the fetal position on his bed, hating life right now. His fever will be so high he doesn’t even know what’s going on around him since he’s absolute dog shit at taking care of himself. He’s normally the one who takes care of others so when he’s sick he just hopes for the best. Thankfully there won’t be much arguing when you begin helping him. Again, his fever is so high he might think you’re a hallucination.

Ruggie will take medication no problem for the most part, mainly because he’s not even going to know what you’re handing him until it’s already in his mouth. He is going to be complaining about the foul taste and asking for some water afterwards, but at least he didn’t spit it right out. He might comment that you betrayed his trust by giving him something gross, but he’ll forget about it in ten minutes if the fever has anything to say about it.

He is going to devour anything you bring him. Honestly he probably hasn’t eaten anything all day, or since he got sick, so he’s starving. He probably won’t be tasting anything either, just happy to have something in his stomach. He might get a bit teary eyed as he thanks you for the food. It doesn’t matter if you made it or bought something at Sam’s to microwave, food is food and he’s been wanting some for a while now.

Ruggie will be suspicious for a while after he’s better, wondering what the ulterior motive for helping him out was. He’s not used to people just taking care of him because they care. Clearly you’re after something…right? He’s broke, so you can’t have his money. Reassuring him that he doesn’t owe you anything won’t help the situation; even if he adores you he simply doesn’t believe you’d put yourself through that for no reason. Just tell him he can help you next time you’re sick and you can call it even.

Jack Howl

Jack honestly doesn’t get sick all too often; he takes care of himself and works out, so his immune system is something to be admired. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t get sick, and when it does it hits him harder than most. He normally self-isolates so he can get better. He’ll drag himself out to get food and take care of himself since he knows it’s important, but he’s going to be pushing his limits by doing these simple tasks.

Originally he’s going to try and push you away the moment you offer, worried that he might end up getting you sick. Once you reassure him that you’ll be fine, he gives in. He’s too weak to put up much of an argument anyway, so might as well just roll with the punches. He’s going to try and make things as easy as possible for you and not ask for much; he’ll mainly be asleep for most of it.

Thankfully Jack has no issues with taking medication. In fact, he doesn’t even see them as being disgusting. He’s taken green shots pre-workout before and those are nasty. He’ll down any medication you give him and you’ll have his full trust to not poison him. The main thing is the smell, if it’s too artificial smelling he’s going to be hating the scent of it.

He’s not picky when sick, in fact he can barely taste anything you bring him. As long as it’s healthy he’ll be satisfied. He’ll be asking if you want to sit down and eat with him, feeling awkward if you just stare at him. Meals shared together taste better anyway, so might as well do it. Besides, if you see his tail wagging behind him when you accept the suggestion, you’ll know he’s well on his way to getting better.

He’ll be following you around like a lost puppy once he’s all better. He’s thankful for what you did and feels bad for the trouble he’s caused, so he’s going to make sure nothing troubles you for a while. Expect him to open doors for you and carry your books. Just let him do it, it’s his own way of thanking you for spending those few days while he felt dead.

[inubaki]

The Sea Queen

Chapter 5

————

story commissioned by the amazing @libby-for-life! Based off one of the first pics @sir-tater-of-the-tot made that got me hooked on this fandom to began with. I blame them entirely.

——-

19 years layer

Adam stood proudly amongst his crew, the salty sea breeze whipping through his hair as they reveled in the aftermath of their latest conquest. The massive corpse of the Kraken lay sprawled across the deck of his ship, its tentacles still twitching in a feeble last gesture. This creature had proved to be as cunning as legends foretold, squirming and thrashing as it tried to evade capture. But with quick thinking and expert aim, his first mate, Lute, had plunged her harpoon into its flesh, sealing its fate with a triumphant cry that echoed over the waves.

Now, under the glow of the golden sun, the crew gathered around, their laughter ringing out like music over the gentle lapping of the ocean. They passed around tankards of rich, aged mead, its sweet aroma mingling with the briny scent of the sea. Each sip of their drink celebrated not only their victory but also the bond they shared—one forged through countless battles and nights spent under the stars, anchored far from the safety of land.

Adam surveyed the scene before him, his heart swelling with pride. Each member of his crew had their scars and stories, etched upon their skin and in their eyes—tales of bravery and hardship that had only made them stronger. He couldn’t have asked for a better team; they were fierce, loyal, and relentless, ready to face whatever menace the ocean threw at them.

"Come on, Sir!" Elara called out, her voice cutting through the salty sea air as she waved energetically from the deck. Adam couldn't help but smirk at her enthusiasm; she had a knack for making even the most mundane tasks feel exhilarating. With a few confident strides, he joined his all-female crew, each member displaying a mix of grit and camaraderie that always inspired him. 

Most captains would scoff at the idea of having a woman aboard their vessel, let alone an entirely female crew, but Adam was far from your average captain. He had handpicked these women not just for their formidable skills, but for their indomitable spirits. This was a crew forged in the fires of adversity—steeped in the kind of relentless discipline and bravado that would put even the most seasoned pirates to shame.

The crew had a reputation that preceded them. They were a fierce and ruthless bunch, capable of dispatching anyone who dared to underestimate their capabilities. Each had their own story, some even worse than Adam's. He knew that Lute was once a high-class lady whose family fell on hard times and in a desperate attempt to keep what little money her parents had left, sold their only child to prostitution. Adam had found her when she had burnt the man keeping her to death.

Elara had been a slave. Lucy had been an orphan, like Adam except there wasn't anyone to take pity on her like the islanders of Adam's former home did. Cicely was a thief who was wrongfully accused of murder and was going to be executed as a scapegoat. The list went on, some more gruesome than others, but they all found a family in each other.

Adam had navigated a winding path to justice, one that he had dedicated himself to for years. He had become a beacon of hope for those who had struggled to find their own footing in a world that often turned a blind eye to their suffering. His all-female crew, a tightly-knit group forged through shared struggles and victories, held a deep respect for him. They admired not only his courage and determination but also his unwavering commitment to helping them confront their personal battles.

As they sat together, recounting their past achievements, a common desire began to blossom among the crew members: they wanted to aid Adam in realizing his long-held dream. They knew the pain that lingered in his heart, stemming from the sea monsters that had ravaged his home and torn his life apart. Driven by loyalty, they decided to unite their skills and fierce spirits to support him in his quest to hunt down these behemoths of the deep, vowing to confront the nightmares of his past, together. This journey would not only seek vengeance but also healing, as they set sail toward a future determined by their shared resolve.

And now, they had hunted their 74th Kraken. They had slayed the beast and they reveled in the blood that soaked the deck. Adam had noticed that when the beasts were near, his bites would sting. He used that as his compass. This one wasn't the Kraken that had befriended a young and naive child so long ago. The pale monster continued to remain unseen. But, Adam wouldn't rest until the monster that had a hand in killing his people and destroying his home was dead.

Adam lifted his gaze to the horizon as a brisk wind whipped against his face, carrying with it a sense of impending change. As a seasoned pirate, he had spent years navigating the unpredictable temperament of the sea, and this current shift in the air was a familiar harbinger of trouble. He could taste the salt of the ocean mixed with something more ominous on his lips. It clung to his skin like an unwelcome warning.

Furrowing his brow, he scanned the azure sky above, seemingly uninterrupted by any clouds. The sun glimmered brightly, casting warm rays that danced across the waves. Yet, despite the deceptively tranquil appearance, a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. The gentle lapping of the water against the ship's hull sounded almost mocking in the face of his instincts. After all, the ocean had a way of disguising its fury, and Adam knew all too well that storms often brewed silently, waiting for the right moment to unleash their wrath.

"Ladies, I believe we have a storm coming."

———

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