#Unhealthy relationships mentioned

[noperopesaredope]

I recently watched a video talking about what your favorite Mouthwashing ship says about you (spoilers: most of them are bad), and one thing I explained in the comments that I think is important to explain to certain people (in general with a lot of fandoms, tbh) is that a lot of shippers in the fandom understand that these relationships would not be good and are in fact deeply unhealthy, but perhaps that's the point.

Like, most of the Jambone x Curly shippers I've seen don't like the ship because it's cute or good, but because it's narratively interesting and would be extremely compelling to see. I honestly get it even if I'm not super interested in it. Jildo and Curly already have an extremely interesting and unhealthy relationship dynamic. It is heavily implied that JarJar acts very emotionally abusive towards Curly, belittling and manipulating him frequently and likely damaging his confidence and ability to stand up to people. But he is also obsessed with Curly in a very fascinating way.

Meanwhile, Curly has not only been friends with Jimbo for a long time, but has a fatal flaw of being too loyal and passive for his own good. As many have said, Curly is like a golden retriever in both a good and bad way.

Curly is Jackass' victim and enabler at the same time, which is why he is one of my favorite characters in the game. You both feel bad for him but also understand that he really fucked up and a lot of stuff is his fault. His most endearing traits are also some of his worst traits. Again, the golden retriever comparison is very accurate. He is friendly and loyal and believes the best in everyone (and very cute), but that loyalty and belief in everyone are also his fatal flaws.

He enables Jello because he thinks that there is good in him, and like a dog, he sees no wrong with most people no matter what they do (until it's far too late). I can't remember the fic I saw this in, but one good line I saw once was something along the lines of: "You believe in people and see nothing wrong with them no matter what until they abandon you at the park in the middle of the night." Curly sees no wrong in his friend because that's the type of person he is, and while it can be cute, it's also dangerous.

It can also often be detrimental to himself, as we see Juice be cruel to him as well, yet Curly excuses it as just Jizz being Jizz. He doesn't see anything wrong with the way he is treated, making him become desensitized to Jive's behavior and seeing it as not a big deal.

I think Curly's status as both victim and enabler would be interesting under the context of an abusive romantic relationship. There is an even greater power imbalance present, and Jojo may do a lot worse things as a result and be a lot more controlling and manipulative. He could be more physically and verbally abusive, make more threats, and even be sexually abusive (since he is canonically a rapist already, and hates Curly more than he hates Anya, thus he would probably put more aggressive hate into it). The whole relationship would be horrible and disturbing, but also interesting to see.

I love fics exploring their unhealthy friendship, so seeing it as an unhealthy romantic relationship could be even crazier to see.

~~~~~~

There's also the nuances of Anya x Curly. Most people ship it specifically in the context of AUs where Curly actually stands up for Anya and helps her out. Their dynamic as characters could be really cute, especially if he puts in the work to protect her.

I personally find the potential of post-crash Anya x Curly to be interesting as hell. I generally find their non-romantic dynamic post-crash to be interesting enough on its own, but I also think it could be absolutely crazy if they developed romantic feelings because those feelings would develop from some really unhealthy places for the most part.

I see Anya as someone who still holds some resentment towards Curly, but also sees herself in him and feels he doesn't deserve what happened to him. Maybe at one point seeing him go through something similar to what she went through might feel a little cathartic, but anything after that is too much to her. She is also his primary caretaker and a nurse, so she feels responsible for his wellbeing and wants to take care of him. She also seems to read and talk to him a lot, which probably feels nice because she can have some company while also being safe because Curly is not in a position to be able to hurt her. Anya doesn't exactly develop proper feelings for him per say, but she still uses him as a bit of an emotional crutch of sorts and becomes very attached to him because of it.

Meanwhile, Curly feels deeply guilty for not helping Anya and feels she deserves better. He believes she has no reason to care for him, but chooses to anyway, and thus he is extremely grateful towards her, possibly idolizing her to a certain degree. He slowly develops his own weird feelings, seeing himself as unworthy of her kindness and wanting the best for her, while also being dependent on her, even if it's in a more direct way.

They never get together or even realize that they themselves have feelings for each other since those feelings are #messy, but do form a weird codependent relationship of sorts. I've seen some cool fanart of Anya hugging/holding onto post-crash Curly, and it made me think about the potential this whole dynamic has and how unhealthy it could be, both for Anya and Curly. I believe they would not work out or be healthy (though probably better than Jazzy x Curly), but could be interesting narratively.

~~~~~~

Basically, what I'm trying to explain is that a lot of people don't ship certain Mouthwashing ships because they think it's good or want to romanticize it, but because it is narratively compelling and can explore complex dynamics more.

[canisalbus]

as a 16th century clergyman what does machete think of the printing press

I think by the time he was born the printing press had been around for almost a century and a half, so I'd reckon the society as a whole was largely past it's initial novelty and controversy. Machete himself is bookish and nerdy, he's very invested in gathering knowledge about various topics and trying to piece together a good picture of how the world works. Getting access to reading material would be a lot harder if every book was still copied individually by hand. His standards are pretty high though, there's a lot of poorly translated, shoddily printed and flimsily bound books around and he's prone to scrunching his nose at them.

[antiendosystemterms]

Reparative alter

A term for alters who think or wish they could fix relationships with people who have harmed or abused the system in the past. They may believe they are the only ones who can fix it and may even attempt to do so

((this term is made by us. The flag is made by us.))

[shorlinesorrows]

okay, a couple things on alien stage/ivantill that I think some folks maybe need to consider and internalize.

Till does not "need" to return Ivan's feelings in the slightest if he doesn't feel that way. It's heart wrenching to see Ivan love him and have those feelings unreturned, but please remember that no one is required to return romantic feelings for someone else. You can't make yourself love someone, and you shouldn't. Especially out of guilt or obligation. That's Unhealthy 101, and would only set a relationship up for failure. (I do think Till cared about Ivan, and that he's going to have a Guilt Complex based on the fact that he didn't fully notice Ivan's feelings/care toward him until the guy died, but I've seen a couple of people tear into Till for not noticing/reciprocating Ivan's feelings??? Don't do that??? their situation is shitty, the fact that they didn't get to talk is shitty, but please don't blame Till for things he Can't Control.)

The kiss was not consensual. It wasn't meant to be portrayed as such. It wasn't even really romantic, it was a desperate, selfish act that Ivan used to get Till's attention (in more ways than one) and to give himself some sense of closure before he died. It was him saying everything that he felt at once, with no chance for Till to reciprocate or deny the affection. In a perfect world, they could have talked instead of this, maybe kissed knowing both wanted it, or given Till a chance to refuse. But they're both in the middle of an essential death tournament and one of them is going to be murdered sometime in the next few minutes. Neither of them really wants to live, but Ivan feels he has unfinished business before his sacrifice, so he finishes it. Their situation sucks. That doesn't mean the kiss was consensual. (especially considering the theory/implication that Till was/is being sexually assaulted by aliens, I wouldn't be surprised if this affects him badly in the future, for multiple reasons. Everyone should always get the chance to say "no" and have that fully respected. This also extends to the fact that Ivan died for Till without giving him a chance to stop it, which is probably going to mess with Till's head a lot. Then again, Ivan likely didn't think it would affect Till much because as far as he/we know, the feelings aren't reciprocated in this moment in canon, or are extremely repressed. Ivan might believe that Till simply hates him, or the kiss/subsequent "choking" may have been a way of trying to make Till hate him so that his death wouldn't hurt as much. Of course that thinking is flawed, because it would hurt Till no matter what, but still, it makes me sad)

Ivan... is kinda messed up. I adore him, but we've got to acknowledge that he has little to no emotional and relationship maturity due to the fact that he was quite literally raised as a pet and learned at a young age to do whatever his masters said to keep himself safe and pain-free. His fascination with Till appears to largely stem from Till's sense of rebellion. Ivan's examples of relationship dynamics and what constitutes as "love" is dangerously unbalanced, and he does not know how to build a healthy relationship. (Neither of them do.) This is also built onto the fact that the person he became dependent on only paid attention to him when they were fighting or Ivan was annoying him. Ivan cares about Till desperately, but he is also dangerously reliant on him to the point of self-detriment. Again, in an ideal world, they would be able to get out of this situation and gradually make a healthy relationship/friendship (depending on Till's feelings) over time while starting to undo the dangerous relationship patterns that they fell into when they didn't have any way to know better. But they're in a terrible situation, and Ivan really just doesn't get the chance to grow as a person and realize that his sense of possessiveness and reliance on Till's attention isn't healthy.

Basically, their situation makes me want to sob and its heart wrenching. Their circumstances have set them up for failure. Both of them are in the midst of attempting to survive an abusive situation and massive amounts of dehumanization. I beg, please try not to sanitize their complicated relationship or blame either of them for the pain the other is going through. I've seen some of that going around, and it's making me sad :(

[sculptorofcrimson]

Snowfields

Synopsis: A cold walk atop the mountain with Valdor.

Relations: Valdor x female Emperor shard

Warnings: Suicide attempt

This is relatively tame for what I write, and I wrote it in one sitting when I had roughly 20 minutes to spare. Ty for your time!

“Do you remember Ararat, my liege?”

No. No, she didn’t remember Ararat. She has never heard the name before. But she will. By the gods, she will. 

The air was cold. It rattled through her lungs when she tried to breathe. The white seemed to stretch forever, like malignant bones, the wind laid bare and rattling its screams. It would rise like a frosty howl around the two of them, wailing like a soldier who had lost a limb, weeping its cries for eternity. The cold bit at her, tore at her, the snow would have frozen mortal blood solid in mortal veins. Thunder grumbles in the distance. A crack of lightning splits the sky in half, purplish white against the ghoulish grey. 

His cloak was warm when he wrapped it around her. But his touch, without doubt, without even question, was unfathomably cold. Without even thinking of it, she had shrunk away.

Valdor’s grip had only tightened then. He fastened the clasp of the too-large cloak, the stench of incense and parchment wafting from the silk. A small smile, the emotionless movement perfected by a mind that could not actually smile, flashed briefly across his visage as he took her wrist, trapped it so effortlessly between his fingers and kissed the soft skin there.

“There was a Primarch once. A magnificent man. One that even I respected, in some regards.” Valdor led her, slowly and patiently, holding her up when she stumbled through the knee-high snow. The mountaintop seemed to rage against her. Well, too damn bad. She hated mountains, and she hated snow, and she was about to teach him a lesson out of spite. It was pure pettiness, but it was hers, it was one last plan she held to herself, one last wish she was certain was hers and not his, and if she was going to die, drowned limb by limb into the unseeing gold, she wished to at least pain him with it. 

How had it gone so wrong? How had angels of such glorious aurite turned into nightmares wrapped in gold and crimson? 

She yanked her arm away. Valdor let her go without struggle, simply rising back with a singular, elegant motion, as if he were a dancer performing a long-awaited waltz. When she stumbles over another snow-covered rock mere moments later, he was there, as if he had never left, one arm gently wrapped around her waist as he hauls her upright. This time, when she tries to pull away, his grip only tightens, as if he was defying the very storm itself.

“The snow reminds me of him. The Cataegis Primarch of the IVth legion. You watched us duel atop a mountain not so unlike this one, my liege, when the storm ended. It felt like the top of the world. We were in a deadlock when you appeared, your attention straying just for a moment to our fight. I snapped his wrist with a twisting motion, and slammed him into the ground hard enough to snap part of his spine. Your attention had departed by then, but it was enough. You still remember the frost, do you not?”

No. No. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Valdor’s hand, so gentle, so damnably gentle, placed itself under her chin. It stroked her hair, his gauntlets’ touch heavy yet tender, the jewels flashing dully through strands of hair that were quickly becoming darker, swallowed first by brown and then by black. He had not forbidden her to cut it. Out of spite, she had ordered him to cut it for her. 

It didn’t matter.

The strands had grown back, with an unrelenting zeal, glossy and luxurious and flowing like ink over water. She was innocent once, she was mortal, she lived among men and walked amongst mortals, and she will never be again. She will never live again, and that truth was simply so jagged, so broken, so horrifyingly caught between her chest and her throat that it was as if something broke a little further every time she took a breath. Valdor had only quietly polished, brushed and glossed over her hair, his movements methodical and calculated, even when silent tears rolled their way down her cheeks, her vision blurred by the salt and the water but just visible enough to see the flakes of gold swirling in her pupils. Still clear enough to see herself die.

She had felt Valdor’s fingers through her hair then, braiding it carefully in an intricate style she had never seen before, but one that tugged at familiar roots she had never felt before. 

Her hair. Some mewling, broken part of her(was it her dream or His? Was there a difference anymore?) instinctively felt like it should be darker. Longer. Wreathed with gold, and weighed down by a crown. But it was her hair. It was her hair, once upon a time, and she had lost it strand by strand, inch by inch, as the gold swam up through her vision and blocked out her eyes.

A rock clattered over the side of the mountain, followed by dull, distant thunder. It jolted her back to her mind, to her body, to the world that she did not rule over and should have never ruled. 

Numbly, she felt herself shake her head. Valdor only raised an eyebrow, and adjusted the clasp.

“I remember the rock, my master.” Valdor was saying. His voice rose and fell like a litany, carefully retracing steps the Emperor had once guided him through, when He was a king and gods walked the earth. She felt so small against him, so tired, so far from the invincible god-warrior he had once served, but that was alright, He had returned to him, and he would shepherd Him, guide Him, protect Him, through this life and through this death till the last. “Even the rocks felt cold. It was black, and it glistened like oil whenever the sun shone. There were storms every day of that campaign, as if the heavens themselves were against us, as if the gods had conspired to strike you down, but yet you gave us the order to march. And the wind. You told me that you heard it screaming. Malcador jokingly asked that if you should live again, you would choose to enact Ararat during the summer instead, if only out of sheer annoyance from the wind.” Valdor’s smile was nothing more than a reflex. There was no humor in it, nor human emotion. “Do you remember it then, my master?”

The wind. Had it screamed then, as it screams now? Had it screamed, beneath the weight of the betrayal, wailing with the sheer horror of what it had taken? Did it scream, singing a threnody with the thunder, as the skies growl and hail shudders from overcast clouds ahead? She shivers underneath her layers. The finest climate suits had been prepared, coupled with the Custodian cloak over her shoulders, but she felt cold, so unspeakably cold that it was nearly painful. 

Oh Throne. She was cold, so cold. 

“Constantin?” she rasps. Her voice was not her own. It was rusty from disuse, and cracked, and weak, but yet some part of it resonated, it echoed like the tongue of a god, speaking through the plaintive shell of a mortal, just enough to hiss like a shadowy undertone. It should have been more sonorous, it should have been softer, it should have been the voice of a conqueror, it should have been the voice of a girl snatched away from her home by an angel and transformed into a god. It should have been hers, but it was His instead. She licks her lips and tries again. “Constantin.”

“Yes, my lord?” he was at her side(was he always so close?), the memory jarringly left unfinished. The hand once gently guiding her and became more insistent as he knelt down until they were eye to eye. 

“I don’t remember the mountain.” she replied flatly. Her voice was weaker than a whisper. She didn’t care. She knew he’d hear it anyway. And if he didn’t, she no longer cared enough to ensure he did. She no longer believed she had the strength to stomach that voice any longer. 

The cliff looked dizzyingly as she peered over the edge. She wondered if even a Custodian could survive a fall at such a height. 

“I don’t remember the snow, Constantin.”

“That is alright, my liege.” He was so sweet, so sickeningly sweet, so unerringly gentle. It made her want to claw at him, to crack him, to see what could finally burrow under that invincible flesh and make him howl. It made her wonder how the Emperor broke him to make him the man he had become, how deeply He must have laid His tongs in the forge of flesh and fire. 

She wondered what his screams would sound like, if he could scream at all.

“Do not trouble yourself, my liege. Your form is still young.” Of course, he could afford to wait. He had waited for ten thousand years, and he would gladly wait for ten thousand more. In that broken, delusional mind of his, it was only just, after all. He’d speak litanies of loyalty, roaring them over the screams of her brethren, he’d speak praises so numerous that they’d drown out the sobs of her family. “Your memories will return, when given due time. I can tell you about them. The preliminaries, the campaigns, the plans you undertook.”

Of course. They’d have to return. They must return. They will return, and He will live again, born out of this mortal shell under Valdor’s guidance. Valdor simply could not be, must not be, could not accept, could not live in a world where his liege has fallen forever. 

The snow was no longer biting her. It seemed to have been cowed, laid low beneath the vengeful eye of its rightful master. Even the storm seems to have settled, briefly, at least for now. For the eye of the King, the Emperor, the god-sorceror. 

It was so cruel, the revelation, the realization that welled up in her when she gazed dully back at him with listless eyes. The revelation that came for her, and not for him, for he would be nothing if not for his delusion. How quickly she understood the truth beneath why she had called him here, why she had suddenly finally accepted his offer to visit the mountain, when she had been delaying it, dreading it, putting it off for weeks upon months. 

The edge. 

The end. (And not the death).

She wondered if even a Custodes could survive a fall from this height. She wondered if it mattered anymore. 

The plan had been formulating itself for weeks now, brewing like boiled flesh in a cyst, nursing itself, grieving its wounds, growing stronger, gaining weight. First she had refused to eat, then to bathe, then to move at all, all the dreary, listless days crushed into the same monotony as brass as she had sat still upon a throne she did not want and stared off into oblivion, as he occasionally knelt by her and asked for her commands while she numbly stared off in the distance, her eyes a thousand yards away. Her gaze had been lost in a time beyond time, beyond memory itself, and not even dreams could steal her away. 

First it had only been how she stopped even trying to hide from him. She simply let him follow her, on her aimless, little walks aboard the massive ship that had become her only location. Then it had been how her tongue had stalled and she no longer even greeted the serfs that occasionally came by to deliver her food she did not eat, water she did not want, utensils she did not use, how she simply stared ahead, as reactive as a corpse, about as conscious to the world as the dead. Valdor had cared after her then, when even her memory had failed her, when she lay still and sullen like ash, the weight of the world upon broken shoulders, silent, painful tears trickling a cheerless trail from her eyes to her duvet. How he had lifted her up and cradled her to him, asking which stories she wished to hear, which glories she wished him to recount. Which memories that were not hers but soon will be, tales he regaled her of His conquests, of His victories and His lessons, His mantras drilled into her bones as they have been drilled into his.

She had left the world, bit by bit, husk by husk, until she felt as if she weighed no more than one of His eagles’ feathers did, frailly clinging onto the world with a whisper and a dream. It was as if she was sinking into some calm, clear, colorless water and feeling the waves close in above her, but there was no sensation of drowning, no voiceless cry in the deep. Simply the noiseless struggle in her own dreams, as she prepared herself for the final breath before oblivion. 

(Did she have the strength? Did it matter any longer, when he could overpower her no matter the answer?)

It was so beautiful, up here, at the edge of the sky. She could hear the storm breathing in the clouds. It was close enough that she could close her eyes, and dream of Ararat, listening to Valdor’s words. An end. An end, just like the Thunder Warriors He(and she?) slaughtered so long ago. The final unraveling. She didn’t want to die, but was she truly living? An immortality without life, without passion, without even joy itself, was that truly living when she was little more than a corpse, kept alive through obsession?

If the Emperor had loved them, He would have never created them at all. What merciful god would create such grotesque angels? 

If the Four were merciful, they would have sought Valdor, as they sought the Primarchs. They would have whisked him away, upon winds of change, tainted him with their mark, made sure He would never accept him as a servant again. They would have saved him, corrupted him, broken him, taught him what it felt like to dream, before the golden light shone again, and His dream took over his. 

But he was a servant, not a master. He was not a leader. He knelt, instead of ruling, and the Emperor had sunk in His claws so deep even the Four could not pry it out. And so he was His, forevermore.

He died ten thousand years ago. And somewhere, inside that twisted, broken Palace that was a mind, His dog was still waiting loyally at the door, waiting for Him to return. 

He was kneeling beside her now. She had never even heard him move. With infinite reverence, he cups her features, admiring the black strands falling over his gauntlets, the golden eyes - so broken, so gorgeous, so His - staring back at him.

“It was the end of the Unification Wars, my liege. And the start of your rule. The Imperium was born that day, your coronation happened atop that bloodstained snowfield, when Malcador held up that laurel, and crowned you King. How could you forget how I, the first of your Custodes, knelt first and rose last, when the ceremony ended?” 

So careful. So gentle as not to hurt her.

“Tell me about them.” a small, cruel smile had found its way onto her face. She was no longer looking at him, instead smiling serenely, blankly staring out upon the sky. The mountain truly was beautiful. It was such a shame this was where she would die. She should have felt something then. A sense of guilt, perhaps. A moment of horror for what she had become, for taking advantage of something so deeply broken into him that it was written into his very bones. Obedience was carved into his blood, seared into his marrow. He would know no other way but to obey. 

“The Unification Wars?” Valdor asks, the question poised so effortlessly, head tilted like a loyal dog, perfectly prepared to obey his master’s every word. 

It would be almost easier, she thought, if he had been a crueller man. Easier to break him, easier to hate him, easier to gaze upon that perfect, immaculate features and wonder what if he had lost those duels. If he had been taught to be mortal, what his screams would’ve sounded like, what sounds of pain he might wheeze out when his perfect, immaculate dancer’s grace falters and he learns, he learns the price for immortality. 

He was never meant to love. 

Not for the first time, she wonders if he can feel pain. If she’ll even care, if it’ll even matter. For a creature who loved no one but his master, would it even be a sin?A sin, to teach him what it meant to fear? To taste the copper tang of terror, to twist the knife in him as he had twisted the knife in her. And to die, exalted, knowing she would have hurt him, knowing she brought down a demigod. 

You can’t reason with a mad dog. You can’t plead with someone who knows they’re right. You can’t gaze into the eyes of Constantin Valdor and expect to see reason back, when his master was right in front of him and alive, so sickeningly alive he would rather kill than forget Him again.

Would he even mourn this time? Did he even know what mourning felt like? She had an inkling that he did, however twisted it may be. Because, for him, the tale isn't over yet, the tale must not be over. His Emperor is not dead, it cannot be, he cannot be, in a world without the Emperor, it simply is not possible. Without Valdor, the Emperor could not lead His Custodes, but without Him, the Custodes could not live. 

“No.” she replies. “The mountain. Tell me of them.” The smile that stretched across her face felt nothing like her. It did not belong to this life. It was too old, too heavy, too sad and too cruel for a face that was once joyous and wide with mischief. She had an inkling of the words Valdor was about to say, the bitter, treacherous words she would weep to hear, and regret ever having forced him to speak. 

“The Thunder Warriors.” she murmured. She had closed her eyes again by then. The plan was formulating, inking itself together with the same mindlessness of crawling, squirming things beneath the earth. And she didn’t want to see what the ground would look like when she fell. She didn’t want to see what it felt like to die a second time. This was only a distraction, a charade, a pitiful illusion built by a mind almost broken. There was no one here but a madman, a broken girl, and the ghosts of the storm calling out its mournful rage overhead. 

“Tell me what became of them. Of that Primarch you spoke so highly of. And no lies.” she sighs, and the voice that whistles out of her is too old, too broken. She brushes his hand away. This time, he doesn’t even insist on remaining. “Tell me what happened on Ararat. I want to hear the truth from your lips.” 

If there had been anything left of her heart, she might have mourned for him. For what he had become, living not for himself but for another. Living His life for Him. And when He died, what could become of him? What could become of him except to endure? When he had slaughtered brothers, lovers, children upon the snowfields, betrayed loyalists and watched life fade from their eyes, all in the name of Him, what could be left of him if not to serve?

He served, and loyalty was its own reward. Loyalty, unyielding, unbreaking, even in death his duty would not end.

Valdor tilts his head like a confused dog. “What good will it do now?” 

She utters a dry, raspy laugh. It had no inflection within it, no actual human emotion. 

“I command you, Valdor.” she spoke. There was nothing behind it, nothing even when the command hurt him. It stirred nothing but a deep, dull ache and the brief knife of guilt, which was quickly surpassed by the lasting numbness that did not seem to leave her bones. “I command you to speak of them. On Ararat. What happened on Ararat?”

She turns from him, walking slowly, and without care. She needed to be on a ledge. Distantly, thunder shrieks, and the storm crashes down. Lightning briefly illuminates her features, skin half-tanned, black hair flowing and golden eyes peering through the brume, and in that radiant flare of lightning she looked positively divine, a half-god caught on earth, if not for the weary, haunted gaze of a hunted animal. Her shoulders were hunched, her movements withered, as if her bones could no longer support her weight. She walked without a singular care in the world, and Valdor trailed immediately afterwards. She knew to jump was no longer an option. Even the stormclouds seemed to mock her. It was foolish, so foolish, she knew. He could not let her die. He would move faster than she could even think, he could catch her, snatch her around her waist and carry her to a safe distance before she could even advance an inch towards the edge. 

She could not die here. He would not allow her to die.

And they both knew that.

Voicelessly, soundlessly, she gazes up upon the stormladen sky. Its grey dances across her golden irises, the stormwind playing with her hair. Thunder crashes, and she feels herself scream back, wordlessly, soundlessly, without even conscious thought. Dully, she knew she was raging, screaming, that her mind was seizing at the clouds and tearing at them, begging them to save her, but physically she made not even a single move. Her body was frozen, the snow pelting her shoulders, Valdor’s cloak swirling from the wind. She felt frozen, too. Her mind was no longer wreathed with such self-pity it once had, it was churning, clawing, raging like a caught rabbit in a trap, desperately wishing the ground would open up and swallow it whole, not as a kind of freedom, but as a final form of spite to the hunter.

Thunder crashes around the two of them. Neither of them move. The edge was close, so dizzyingly close that she could feel the wind gusting around her. Valdor was watching her closely, the same way a starved wolf may watch a weakened deer.

When Valdor finally speaks, unable to resist the bluntness of her command, his eyes were still distantly focused on the memories of Ararat. And his voice was passionlessly dull, carefully kept neutral and utterly without pity. 

“I slit his throat.” he confesses dully, flatly, without even a hint of inflection. “The Primarch. I slit his throat on Ararat, from ear to ear, then from ear to clavicle. I only stopped when I felt bone scraping against the edge of my knife.”

Surprisingly she laughed, and the sound was garbled, as grim and as dry as bones. “I suppose you killed him then?” she asked. One more step. One more step and she would be at the edge. He would not let her. He would move faster than the earth could drag her down anyways. But it did not matter. Slowly, incredulously, she could feel herself smiling. It was going to be alright. She could feel it in her bones, the static, the storm. Even the snow seemed to be on her side. For a moment, she felt like a god, standing at the top of the world, the conquered earth groveling beneath Him, knowing that even the elements would fall beneath His gaze. 

She could taste the ichor then, sweet and lifeless and pouring from the sky along with the snow, the charge in the sky and the thunder. The vengeance it held. The sheer rage, an echo of her own. She would rule them. She did not want to rule. She would rule, for one singular moment in her wretched life, she would rule, and she would hurt him, as he had hurt her. For the serfs he terrorized, for the Sisters he slaughtered, for the martyrs he first betrayed and then hung out to die. All in her name. All for her wishes. She no longer wished to wish. She no longer wished to reign. 

Let her abdicate the throne of skulls. Just once. Just once, she prayed. 

“No.” Valdor shook his head. He was already moving, one hand reaching out to grasp her arm and drag her back before she could approach the edge. “It would have been a kinder fate if he had died then. It would have been a kinder fate if-”

“-if you had granted him an honorable death.” she finished for him. She spoke softly, plaintively, as if this was a comfort. She had turned her face a little, just enough to see him, just enough to see his elegant features illuminated by the storm. To gaze upon him, one last time. The way he held himself, like a dancer, his lean features accentuated by the lightning as the thunderbolt carved the sky open and struck the ledge beside her. The way his auramite had shuddered from the lightning as he had, for the first time in her memory, stumbled, his gait not utterly perfect before the divine rage. The first word she had heard him say that was not perfectly calculated.

The lightning snaps the ledge like bone.

The surprised intake of breath she had uttered, a squeal that was nearly a gasp as the rock beneath her feet had caved in, and then crumbled as she had desperately hoped, the weathered stone no longer capable of supporting its own weight bending and breaking and shattering as the lightning arced through it, the smite separating the ledge like the same way Valdor had carved through that serf. That poor, poor serf who had slipped her a kiss upon her request. It was little more than a peck, that poor thing. And he hadn’t even been able to scream when Valdor separated his bones like paper. 

In a silent vow to him, in a wordless vow to them all, the corpses he laid so she could climb atop her throne, she promised she wouldn’t scream as she fell.

Grimly, lips drawn in a tight line, she only felt the distant thunder as she descended like a one-winged eagle, her face utterly expressionless, lightning briefly dancing sparks against her hair as if in reverence. 

Valdor’s cloak, still wrapped around her, its silk as crimson as spilled blood, unfurled around her as she fell.

Distantly, from somewhere beyond the mountaintop, thunder roared. 

~~~~

It was warm, when she finally awoke. She muttered something, tried to turn, and decided to burrow deeper against the warmth instead. There was a rumble, a purr-like sound, and the slow, drifting scent of incense as one titanic hand came up to rest against her hair. 

With careful reverence, it adjusted the master’s laurel. 

“Welcome back, by lord.” the voice purred. “You expressed quite the interest in the Cataegis Primarch.”

She groaned. Golden irises flickered back and forth, as if in distress, beneath her lids. Valdor’s other hand reached up to stroke through her hair, careful not to upset the laurel.  

“I had thought you would have recognized him, my lord. It was, after all, his grave that I showed you that night upon the mountain.”

He makes a long, slow chuckle, almost like amusement, if he had been capable of it. “I had expected you’ve greeted him already, my master. You were standing atop his bones.” 

Somewhere, distantly, thunder growled. And without even being conscious of it, she shivered, and tried to burrow closer to his warmth.  

Pinglist(checks notes, holy fuck!): @nonus-secundus @badbobdooley @bleedingichorhearts @starfrost740 @katie-faye1 @sigtamds @troylovesdoomguy @the-pure-angel @metronix36-blog @krynnmeridia @distantmoonbeam @futuristicchaospoetry @liar-anubiass-blog @subtle-like-a-brick-to-the-face @squishyowl @slaanesh @absent-still @sharenadraculea @idonotknowhowtochoosenames

[cxtangerina]

k2 is such a funny ship to me, like it's just plausible enough to be kinda sorta realistic if you squint and pray and look at it sideways, not quite a crackship but not able to get off the ground as more than a particularly popular rarepair either. they had, like, one big episode together back in season 3, a handful of major moments over the years that people hold onto with an iron grip, and basically nothing else outside of a plethora of fantastic fancontent and dreams.

i think i like it for the exact opposite reasons that i like kyman, actually, they sorta stand as complementary ships in my mind. where k2 barely has any actual basis in canon & comes heavily from fanworks and speculation about how well the characters would match each other, kyman is practically canonical, at least when it comes to cartman's feelings, and is at least regularly joked about and referenced in-show. personally, i also tend to see k2 as a ship that is kinda miraculously requited, whereas kyman is usually stuck in unrequited hell, which...

...well, this gets into more specific character analysis, but a big part of this is that i tend to see cartman as having very fucked up views of both romance & sexuality that have especially interesting implications when you consider him to have a crush on kyle, specifically.

on the one hand, i think his cupid self is evidence enough that he has a very fairytale, idealized view of romance, based more out of the hollywood movie image of what love is supposed to be rather than anything in reality. south park adults being utter fucking idiots 99% of the time means that most, if not all, of the kids don't have a lot of good role models to base their actions off of. i'm not gonna talk out of my ass about childhood development more than i understand it, but i don't think it's too controversial (?) of a take to claim that kids understand & learn about the world through watching it just as much as interacting with it, particularly when it comes to their own parents.

cartman is a piece of shit, and while a lot of that comes from him and his own bigotry, he's still ultimately a kid in show and you can trace where some of his worst traits originate from in the people around him, even if he makes the personal decision to push it as much as humanly possible. i think the trend in recent seasons for many adults to try and at least appear more pc only makes this more obvious, actually (coughcoughrandy), though talking about that is maybe biting off a little more south park politics than i'm willing to chew for this particular post.

point is, cartman as a character in particular does not have a lot, if anything, to base his idea of what a healthy, happy romantic relationship looks like, which isn't only because liane is single though that may be a major contributing factor. love isn't work to cartman, it isn't about the maintenance of a relationship or communication or all the more realistic and slightly less pleasant parts of loving someone that hollywood doesn't find dramatic or interesting enough to show. rather it's a fantasy, something that happens to people that they have no real control over. i wouldn't be surprised if he believes in soulmates or love at first sight, even if the likelihood of him admitting that out loud isn't especially high.

on the other hand, i think his view of sexuality is greatly influenced by not just liane's sex work, but the way she is slut-shamed and treated like garbage by the rest of the town for it. i tend to view cartman as having a very transactional, cynical view of sex and sexuality, where sex is only used for personal gain (whether that be money or power, likely at the expense of someone else/the submissive party), and sexuality is an inherent character flaw, a weakness that must be overcome unless you are able to twist it and use it for your own (material?) benefit- see the streaming wars & cartman wanting his mom to seduce a rich man for money as a recent example of this.

it's a running gag in TFBW that cartman uses douchebag catching their dad fucking their mom as a tragic backstory, and doesn't seem to understand how reproduction actually works even when kyle basically says it straight to his fucking face. even as a joke, there's still a lot of underlying truth behind why he would believe this. cartman is aware of his mom's sex work, even if he may not want to fully admit/believe it, largely because of situations where he's specifically getting shit for it. he knows he has a father, and that he is (in)directly responsible for said father's horrible death & consumption, but he only really cares about that insofar as it means he's half ginger. sex has only ever been presented through its most vicious power dynamics to him- why would he see it as a good thing, as something that could ever be loving, especially when contrasted against such an idealized, purified view of romance?

(you could also extrapolate from this how cartman associates sexuality & romance with femininity & his brand of sexism to get some particularly delectable transfem cartman ideas, but i digress.)

ANYWAYS. this is all to say that cartman having a crush on kyle (or anyone, really, but kyle is obviously the most emotionally volatile example) instantly pits those two conflicting views against one another, like he wants something that he doesn't even think could ever exist: a happy, healthy romantic relationship, where sex is just a normal thing that they can choose to do or not. this is where a lot of kyman angst comes from for me, with cartman either trying to stuff that round desire back into the square hole of how he views the world, or having his ideals fall ever further apart when the feelings are unrequited. and, on top of that, none of this being actually said out loud because communication is impossible.

this is why i always see kyman as making each other worse, especially if they actually manage to make it into a romantic relationship. i simply Do Not see kyle being a patient enough person to help cartman work through the intricacies of all of his expectations and idealized fantasies and internalized fears surrounding such mutually screwed views of romance & sexuality- on the rare occasions that kyle does show some interest in romantic relationships it's usually pretty centered around himself, and to be frank i only see his interest in romance going down as he gets older.

i've heard some people talk about kyle before like he's the "moral compass" of south park or whatever and while that may be true by the end of the episode, one of the things i like most about him is the fact that he struggles so much to get to the best conclusions. this is kind of getting back into the k2 side of this analysis, but where kenny manages a much more effortless selflessness, even pushing it to the point of being both a strength and a flaw when kenny stops caring about himself for the sake of others, kyle is a lot more self-centered than he cares to admit and it influences a lot of his attempts at being a good person.

this is both my favorite aspect of kyle, that he really has to put in the work to be the good person that he wants to be, and also the primary bad trait that i think cartman brings out of kyle. by being such a notoriously horrible shithead, he gives kyle the perfect target to unleash his annoyance on, getting him so caught up in arguing and proving himself to be the better person that kyle forgets to actually listen to the people that he's supposed to be standing up for. cartman is a fantastic troll and, at least in show, kyle definitely has not learned to stop feeding him argument fodder yet.

sidenote: about kyman entering a romantic relationship... wasn't sure where to add this, but it's for this exact reason that i also see kyman (or this version of kyman where cartman gets worse with age, rather than better) only actually happening in the universes where kyle has lost all other meaningful connections, to the point that feeding a troll to get off on an argument is the best possible option, even if he's old enough to know better. especially if he's old enough to know better.

again, k2 is the opposite of this for me in that i see kyle & kenny as having a lot of potential to bring out the best in each other.

if kyle's worst trait is that he gets too caught up in his own feelings & desires to truly be the good, selfless, thoughtful person that he wants to be to actually do genuine good for the sake of others, kenny's problem is that he skews too far in the opposite direction. i kinda already said this, but to state it outright: kenny's biggest strength and his biggest flaw are the exact same, that he is selfless to a fault, to the point of consistently putting other people's safety and happiness above his own when he thinks it would be of help the majority/the people he loves. this was the key kenny trait that was established by the end of BL&U, and it has only gotten more prominent in the years since with his mysterion persona.

it is in this way that kenny both stands as someone that kyle can look up to & admire for how effortlessly he dedicates himself to the people he cares about the most, but also, simultaneously, as someone that kyle can take care of himself and offer the same help back to. and i don't even think kenny needs to say very much out loud to push kyle towards a lot of these conclusions, he kinda just has to exist and be noticed and kyle has the intelligence to figure it out himself, to recognize the shit that kenny puts himself through and his (usually) quite noble reasons for doing so, and want to offer him the same love and care and dedication that kenny never allows himself to have.

really, the difficult part of this is being noticed at all in the first place. again, i said earlier that k2 is kinda "miraculously requited," in my mind, specifically because the aspect that's missing in the show and almost always must be provided by fan content for k2 is that spark/push forward that gets them close enough to start talking and for kyle to notice kenny in the first place. it's just lucky that's one of my favorite things to figure out and write for those two, hehehe.

[pixelatedtaken]

StaticMoth Abuse

Featuring mentions of Angel Dust's relationship with Val

TW: ABUSE, SA

SPOILERS AHEAD ↓

Here's a fact. Vox is not being abused by Valentino.

This fandom is so deep in fanon content that it heavily intertwines with canon. But let's try to understand where Val abusing Vox came from, why it's not true and how it correlates to Angel Dust's relationship with Val.

Let's begin:

In the, now archived, posts on Instagram (or voxtagram), it was revealed that Vox and Val were in a situation-ship, and canon officially confirmed it.

Now, Val as a character is heavily hated and for good reasons while Vox is not. Many people adore Vox and for that, his relationship with Val can be conflicting, adding a bit of difficulty in justifying their like for him.

Here's where Valentino's relationship with Angel Dust comes in.

Val has been shown to be abusive and to SA Angel Dust. First example of that being the Addict music video.

This has created the need for people to give a reason behind Vox's relationship with Val and make excuses for him so they can validate their favoritism.

"Val is so awful! He must be abusing Vox! Breaking his screen and whatnot!"

What people don't take into consideration is the difference in their power imbalance or lack thereof.

One of the core factors in Angel Dust's relationship with Val is the power difference between them.

Val is an overlord while Angel is a sinner.

A sinner that signed a contract with Val and gave his soul. That alone makes their dynamic vastly different. Val feels it's within his right to abuse Angel, to test his limits until he breaks. And up until episode 4, Angel believed he deserved it because whatever Val did to have him sign the contract must have been his fault. Although that's not true, Angel felt so. Heck, he wanted to break himself so that Val would let him go.

Vox and Val, on the other hand, don't have that. Both of them are overlords.

They are on equal footing. There is no power imbalance. In fact, the Vees could have not existed and both Vox and Val, including Velvette, would be completely fine without each other and continue to have their respective overlord status.

The reason it exists is exploitation.

All three can and do use each other so they can have a more powerful front. A mutual alliance of exploitation. Within this, they have created their own fucked up bond. As a result of that, Val and Vox have an on-again, off-again relationship. It's far from healthy, but it's not an abusive one.

Vox knows of Valentino's behavior but as long as it's not effecting their shared partnership, he will not interfere nor will he care about it.

Or maybe the next seasons will give me the middle finger and I'm completely wrong. Who knows? I just read a fic and saw posts about Vox being abused by Val and wanted to give my two cents on the topic.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Incubation

Author’s note: Hello. The Typhus Botflies have never left. Here’s another chapter. Please, please mind the tags and ask me to tag something if it bothers you First. Previous. Next.

Tagged: @ms--lobotomy @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan 

Warnings: forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, body horror, manipulation, forced geneseed pregnancy, smut, poison, stinging insect mention

Summary: You wakeup in Typhus’ bed, on his flagship. You are miserable and he is happy to have his Little Isha by his side.

You awaken, once again, in a fetid, stinking, dimly lit room with a large pair of arms wrapped possessively around your body. Cold armored hands resting lightly against your distended belly. The deep, rumbling purr of your captor, his head resting on top of yours as he sleeps. 

Yet again, the dream that once was your life of freedom and power as a rogue trader fades from your mind. Bitterness and longing vie for dominance in your heart as you slowly wriggle your way out of Typhus’ grasp, as you urgently need to use the bathroom. The stench in here is far worse, and it takes all of your will not to throw up as you quickly do your business.

You catch sight of yourself in the grimy, filth-covered mirror and wince. Your skin is several shades paler, the bags under your eyes are deep, and there is a miserable and defeated look on your face that you hate. The geneseed that Typhus had implanted inside of you weeks ago has swollen in size, making it very difficult for you to walk.

Not for the first time, you are tempted to use your psyker abilities to rid yourself of the foul things growing within your womb… But your captor was frustratingly attuned to any miniscule warp-use that you attempted and would be at your side within moments, cooing a mixture of threats and flirtations in your ear as he loomed large over you, holding you close. You heave a sigh, rubbing your eyes as you open the door, unsurprised to find Typhus awake and less than an inch from the bathroom door.

At first his habit of doing this had startled you terribly. But you'd grown used to his many strange and unsettling habits. “Hello Typhus. I'm going back to sleep.” You grumble at him, starting to move around him.

He scooped you up, grinning down at him with the half of his face he had left, some of the destroyer bees crawling out of his empty eye socket and into the hole in one of his cheeks. They buzzed and hummed along with him as he spoke “Aww, but the day has begun, my little wife, and you are already up.”

You bite back a scathing comment, not wanting to rouse his anger this early in the morning. “But… I am tired. I did not sleep well last night. The -” abominations “Geneseeds have grown to the point where I need to pee every hour and finding a spot to sleep where I'm not in pain, or have difficulty breathing or both is hard. When am I going to be free of these bowling balls inside of me?” 

Typhus listened to your ranting, an indulgent smile on his face as he did so. Once you finished, huffing and scowling up at him he leaned down and kissed you on the lips, tasting of overripe fruit and silly sweet honey. “The geneseeds will incubate for another week at most. I am curious as to how they will be, given that both of us are powerful psykers. Grandfather has asked me to bring another Imperial World into his loving embrace, which is where we are headed.” He brings you up and kisses you on the lips again, walking back to the bed.

“I hope you don't expect me to help if I’ve got Geneseed inside me at the time. I can barely waddle my way over to the bathroom and back before needing to take a break, much less fight.” You grumble. Though… if Typhus does, you are sure you can arrange to be in an unfortunate spot at the wrong time and get killed. You’re pretty sure that would kill the geneseeds inside of you, although you don't know for sure.

Especially since Typhus, the herald of a dead of rot and stagnant decay had shoved them inside of you.

“I would not risk you in such an encounter, my Isha.” Typhus rumbles, pressing nipping kisses down one side of your neck and along your shoulder. One of his large hands comes up to cup one of your breasts - which had swelled somewhat during this… pseudo company, becoming much more sensitive. 

You shudder and try to suppress a moan, though you can't help but lean into your touch. Your libido has been ridiculously high since you started intubating the geneseed. Something that Typhus had been more than happy to take advantage of, the hands, thorny bastard. “Hey… I'm hungry… and not for cock… Right now.” You grouse, leaning away a little from his touch.

Typhus grinned down at you, gently squeezing your breasts again, using his thumbs to rub teasing circles into your highly sensitive nipples. “Are you sure, my flower? Your body responds quite eagerly, and I can smell your sweet nectar.” 

You squeeze your legs together, a blush warming your face. He wasn't wrong, as the bastard's teasing had gotten you wet, your cunt starting to ache a little. You open your mouth to respond when your stomach gurgles loudly, the sounds echoing out of your mouth. You close your mouth again, wordless as you hide your face in his grimy armored skin, flustered.

“Mm, you are hungry, my love.” Typhus teased, a laugh shaking his shoulders and lilting his voice. “What would you like to eat?”

Many things. Few to none of which Typhus would ever give you. You sigh and grumble “Rations that aren't at least half-rotted or taste of cardboard. They upset my stomach.”

The herald of Nurgle hummed, a small grin appearing on his face. He closed his eye, several of his destroyer bees flying off. “I have something for you, something that I think you'll like.”

Oh no. What was he plotting now? You knew that any gift he gave you came with strings attached. “Oh?” You answer, trying for casually curious.

Two nurglings came scampering into Typhus's quarters, following the destroyer bees that he had sent off. Both of them were carrying tarnished silver plates, covered by equally tarnished silver clothes. “Here you are, big brother!” One of the nurglings chirps happily, setting the plate down on the bed next to you.

The other stares at you for several uncomfortably long seconds before setting down the plate in its hand and scurrying off. 

Typhus pulled off the clothes with a flourish “For you, my beloved. Enjoy~”

On the first plate, nearly arranged by color, were several different kinds of dried fruit, arranged into the shape of a flower, surrounding a shallow and small bowl of honey. A very familiar kind of honey, from its smell and color. The second plate had a selection of dried meats (hopefully none of them came from sentient beings) and mushrooms. 

You sighed internally and reached for the plate of fruit first, nibbling on a vibrant orange fruit warily. It had a bright and tangy flavor… You could feel Typhus staring at you, so you dipped the piece of fruit in his honey before taking another bite.

… the thick, sickly sweet flavor of his destroyer honey did make the fruit taste better, throne damn it. You swiftly devoured the rest of the first plate, a warm flush spreading across your nude body. You took a cautious bite of one of the pieces of meat and shook your head. The flavors were too intense for you and you offered them up to Typhus, pressing it to his half-dessicated lips “The meat is not to my taste, but perhaps it will be to yours, my lord?”

Typhus smiles indulgently down at you, and eats from your hand. “I had hoped these would be mild enough for your stomach. I still think a sip or two of one of the Soups would help with your nausea…”

You shake your head back and forth “No the… Flavors would be too complex for me right now. Even smelling the stews turns my stomach.” You also did not want to know what would happen if you drank one of those foul concoctions made to venerate Typhus’ dread Patron.

Typhus hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek, pulling you up into his lap "Very well. I wouldn't want to upset your delicate stomach, my beautiful flower." One of his hands came to rest on your distended belly, squeezing gently for a couple of moments before sliding lower, squeezing your upper thigh.

The light blush on your face deepens a little, and you go back to eating, trying to ignore the rising desire that Typhus' damn honey provokes inside of you.

Not that your lack of outward reaction stops the Herald of Nurgle as his fingers slowly slide up your inner thighs, gently teasing your lower lips before one of his fingers slowly slides inside of you. "I find myself hungry for something else, my flower. If you would indulge me~?"

"Ah… hah… Maybe… Hng! Maybe after I finish bre--breakfast?" You manage out as his evil, awful finger plunges deep inside of you, curling a little before sliding out, leaving you achingly empty for several seconds too long before plunging deep inside of you again.

"Are you certain? Your nectar coats my fingers thickly, and the way you clench up around me says otherwise, my love." He purrs, grinning down at you, increasing the pace at which his fingers tease your wet and aching cunt.

"Only… Only because of your.. Ngh… Honey! I'd be… hah… Fine otherwise!" You protest, pouting up at him, in the hopes he doesn't take offense at the slip of your tongue.

Blessedly, Typhus only chuckles and kisses you again, nipping on your lower lip before answering "My honey may have helped you along a little, my lovely flower. But you've woken me up more than once this week with those gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock as deep as you can take me without gagging, or you straddling me and bouncing up and down on my cock, seeking pleasure. Not that I mind in the least~!"

You try to growl, managing out a pathetically needy mewl instead as a third finger slides inside of you "I… Hah… Can't help it! Fucking… Geneseed drives me nuts!" That and his stupid evil bees sting you hard whenever you tried to get yourself off as he slept beside you. They either couldn't or wouldn't kill you while you carried the tainted geneseed of the Death Guard, but their poison hurt like little else could come close and left you weak-limbed and trembling, gasping for breath as awful nightmares swum in and out of your consciousness.

You can hear the devious smirk on Typhus' face as he purrs down at you "So you say, my lovely wife. I suspect that you merely haven't been satisfied with whoever your past partner or partners may have been and can't get enough of me fucking and filling you over and over again in all the ways you like most."

Indignant, impotent fury battles for the heady lust pulsing through your body at the tempo of the rat-bastard's fingers pumping in and out of you, making it near impossible for you to think of something to say that isn't really fucking stupid, or would make him even more smug.

Before you could come up with something, there was a quick and loud knock on the door to Typhus' quarters, and you jumped a little in his arms.

Typhus frowned a little, his grip on you tightening a little as he called out "Yes, Maleficus, what is it? I told you that I was not to be disturbed this morning until I left my quarters unless something urgent came up."

"And something has, sir. Several of the Thousand Sons' ships have surrounded ours, and Ahriman himself is demanding to speak to you about something. He says that he will take our ship by force and drag you out of your quarters by your ankles if he has to." Maleficus reported, his rusted armor creaking a little.

A low, frustrated growl rumbled from deep within Typhus' chest. He bit your shoulder, hard enough to bleed, sucking a dark hickey around the spot before lapping up the blood. He rumbled to you quietly "Wait for me, my flower. I will see what the idiot sorcerer wants and will return to pollinate you, my precious." He slid his fingers out of your pussy, licking them clean of your juices before sliding you off of his lap and getting up. He spoke louder and said "Tell Ahriman I will be on the bridge in five minutes."

"Your will be done, Herald!" The younger Death Guard responds, before turning and clanking off.

"Mm, duty calls, my precious. but I will be back soon enough. In the mean time… One final taste before I deal with a fool who obliterated most of his own brothers on a fools' errand." Typhus rumbled, pulling your legs apart easily and kneeling down. He licked at your pussy and clit, thrusting his tongue in and out of your cunt several times, enough to get you moaning and writhing in pleasure at his teasing before abruptly legging go of your legs and turning away. "That is all the time I have for you at the moment. Rest assured that I will be back to finish what I started." With that he left his quarters, leaving you alone to try and recover from his cheeky teasing.

You cover your face with a hand and groan, flopping back against his grimy, fetid sheet covers. You're briefly tempted to psychically contact this Ahriman - who is a potent psyker from the way his presence burns in the warp. But he is also very Tzeenchian, and… Well. You'd rather not have to deal with the constant back-stabbing and machinations of Tzeenchian followers. The slow, inexorable rot of Nurgle wasn't pleasant, but it was, at least, predictable. You sigh, and try to fall asleep, your cunt aching from his teasing ministrations as the honey slowly worked its' way out of your system.

[dont-hug-me-im-hyperfixating]

going insane

I love this poor traumatized man. He just wants to see his bfs but instead he's all trapped <3

This is the Eclipse design for my au where he was exploring dimensions and found a dimension where a servant sun snapped and killed his Eclispe, and the wither storm ended up killing the rest of the world so he's the only one left. And he traps Eclipse because he's lonley. Its kind of a really dark au- I've like purposely not thought too hard about it because the kind of vibe I have for this au makes me sick <3

Eventually tho he does get to go home and his bfs (nexus and solar) help him heal

Also!! The crack in his ray was an accident from Nexus, and he refuses to let Sun fix it because he wants that memory of Nexus. Even if it kind of hurts to touch and aches a lot

[yourbuerokrat2]

AU, where the Continuums law does not include Capital Punishment (making one of their own a mortal) so instead of turning Q into a human he is sentenced with even for a Q, a very long time of solitary confinement. The first person he goes to once he gets out of his prison is the one he has thought about and missed the most in it: HIs capitaine Jean-Luc Picard.

Said 'capitaine' is now faced with a Q who he has seen about a year ago but who clearly has not seen him for ages on end and who also has become more mad than usual. And who now suffers from separation anxiety.

This is not exactly the result the Continuum had wanted, but it certainly is a result that makes Q less of nuisance and a danger to them so they don't really care.

[loopdile]

transcription under the cut!

The worst ship chart ever.

Ship name: Loopdile

[insert very tiny math] Ages: 43 and 31? Age difference: 8?

Portrait of Odile with an eyebrow raised saying "I'm not telling." Name: Odile. Gender: trans woman (maybe nb but idrc rn). Sexuality: Aro lesbian.

Portrait of Loop with a finger raised saying "I'm not telling~" Name: Loop. Gender: Nonbinary (??? what is identity). Sexuality: Ace bi

General sliders. "Relationship starts quickly vs the slowest burn you can possibly imagine" is marked fairly close to slowly and trails off towards slow burn. "They'll be together forever vs They'll break up after 2 months tops" has two marks, one at 2 months and one really close to forever. "Cute couple vs dear god they're ugly" is marked a quarter slider away from cute. "Reasonably healthy and normal relationship vs They're dying and getting killed and hurt man" has a wide mark all the way from the halfway point to a quarter away from healthy. "Extremely popular ship vs literally no one ships this but me" is marked fairly close to no one.

Specific sliders. "Giddy and happy to be in love vs they just killed themselves 40 times in their head at the idea of being in love" has loop at died and odile fairly close to died. "The madoka vs the homura" has loop at homura and odile a third of the slider away. "Telling anyone who will listen about their partner vs rarely brings up that they're in a relationship" has loop a quarter away from telling anyone and odile fairly close to rarely. "eats and/or encourages a healthy diet vs eats dry instant noodles only" has loop at noodles and odile a third away from healthy. "crazy ass vs truck freak" has loop at crazy ass and odile fairly close to truck freak.

Tell me why your ship is interesting... go!

What draws them together? Odile is the only motherfucker that can handle them; Loop is weird and intriguing.

What stands in the way? Poor communication skills; Loop is clingy but Odile often needs space; Loop lashes out and self-isolates.

What are their good traits? They're both hilarious and dedicated to the bit; they're both devoted to their loved ones.

What makes them hopeless at romance? Odile is aro-spec and uninterested in romance; Loop both hates/fears and craves romance; Luckily they can just be something stranger!

Describe them with one trope: found family, deadpan x emotional, secret third thing, I'll protect you from yourself.

[chemdisaster]

i've seen people complain about the toxification of desert duo, and while valid, a lot of you need to learn what abuse actually is and stop slapping that label on every single relationship that isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

abuse is repeated and constant, it's a power imbalance, it's suffocating and will drive a person's self-worth and will to live to the ground. let me say that again - repeated and constant. one instance of mistreatment is not abuse. a few select situations where one person hurts the other are not abuse. i will even dare say this - sometimes there will be a period where one person hurts the other more than they get hurt themselves, and it still won't be abuse, because there's more to abuse than just "person does bad thing to another person". abuse causes a very specific type of damage, it's about a total lack of respect and it's about control. miscommunication and difficult periods may make a relationship complicated, but they will not make it abusive.

while i haven't read every desert duo fic, i scoured the entirety of the scar tag up to around early june. by far most of the fics portrayed them as simply having a complicated relationship. and once again, complicated relationships are not abuse. to claim every difficult relationship you see is abuse is to downplay the very real and very harmful effects of actual abuse. additionally, what will end up happening is that you will start screaming "abuse!!" at every single little thing that happens to you, and it will poison your life because you will see an enemy in everyone and cut people off like strings and end up miserable and alone as a result.

so yeah. next time you go screaming about those nasty authors who don't tag their desert duo fics with abuse, take a step back and consider if the relationship is actually abusive, or if you just can't handle reading about any interaction between two people that is less than perfect.

[eastgaysian]

Sorry this is a dumb question but can you explain why tomshiv is not abusive? Shiv seems to hit a lot of textbook behaviours of emotional abusers

thank you for your follow up clarifying this was in good faith bc i checked my inbox yesterday right after getting high and was like man come on. don't do this to me. but yeah i can talk about it, it's obviously something i have a fair amount of thoughts on

on a fundamental level, i take issue with the assertion that there are 'textbook behaviors of emotional abusers' in the first place. distilling abuse down to a set of behaviors is, imo, effectively meaningless and totally unproductive. it's not the behavior of an individual that defines abuse, it's a specific and intentionally cultivated imbalance of power and control within a relationship. victims of abuse can and do resort to survival mechanisms that could be considered in isolation as 'abusive behavior', the point is that you can't consider them in isolation. there's a gulf of difference between the same actions when they're coming from a person in a position of significant financial or physical or social power over someone else, or when they're coming from the person at a disadvantage.

i think viewing abuse as a set of behaviors also encourages you to treat interpersonal abuse as if it's discontinuous with systemic abuse, which is inaccurate and unproductive. a key part of succession's premise is that, because the family is literally the business, the familial abuse within the roy family is inextricable from the broader systems of capitalism, patriarchy, and the sexual violence and abuse endemic to them. with regards to how the show satirizes and critiques these systems, i think it's very telling that all of the characters are to some degree complicit and/or participants in abuse, but logan is the only one i'd say is unambiguously and intentionally presented as 'an abuser' (whose abuse is not an isolated product of him as a person, but integrated into/inseparable from the capitalist system which persists after his death). still, logan isn't reduced to a one-dimensional angry, abusive dad, he's given depth and complexity. his continued insistence that he loves his children isn't treated as something that's untrue, but that doesn't make it inherently good, and it certainly isn't incompatible with him abusing them.

circling back to tom and shiv. their relationship is unhealthy, it's not good for either of them to be married, shiv does fucking awful things to tom and tom does awful things right back, i'm not questioning any of that. but at my most cynical and bitchy, what it comes down to is quite simply: shiv doesn't have enough power over tom to be abusive, systemically or personally.

the thing is sometimes you see people say 'wow, if the genders were reversed people would say tom and shiv's relationship is unambiguously abusive!' which... hrm, but really the issue is that. the genders are the way they are, that's for a reason, and yes, that does make a significant difference in how we perceive their relationship and power dynamics. tom holds very real and present power over shiv as a man and as her husband, proposing to her when she was vulnerable in a way that placed huge pressure on her to accept and then trying to get her to have his baby so he can become patriarch. shiv's the heiress with the legitimacy of her family name and generational wealth but she is continuously, unavoidably subjected to gendered discrimination and violence. she's never allowed direct access to real power - she has to rely on the men around her, her husband or her brothers, and if they don't feel like humoring her she's shit out of luck.

this doesn't cancel out like a math equation, but it definitely makes things much more complicated than shiv being an Evil Bitch Wife to her Poor Pitiful Husband. when shiv finally does push tom too far, he immediately, successfully, goes over her head to her abusive father to fuck her over. maybe shiv wants to be her father in her relationships and exert the same kind of control he does. but she doesn't and she can't! she does not have that power! she cannot stop tom from kicking back and his hits are significant. as much as she might like to pretend otherwise, tom not only has always had the power to leave in a way shiv doesn't, he had and has the power to fuck her up badly, and he's used that power. that is simply not the power dynamic between abuser and victim to me.

i also have to say that abuse is not always going to be definitive black and white. in real life there are plenty of unambiguous situations but there are also plenty of complicated situations, and applying judgments to fiction is not always straightforward. i can't exactly call someone 'wrong' for personally being uncomfortable with tom and shiv's relationship or believing shiv is abusive, but i'm very skeptical of the viewpoint and the motivations or assumptions that are often contained within. if shiv is abusive, she definitely isn't uniquely so among the cast, so you had better be applying that label and any associated moral judgments equally across the board.

[sculptorofcrimson]

My Angel

@kit-williams I take FULL responsibility. Behold, more scary golden boys!

~~~~~

“Je prie les anges et les anges m'ont pris”

Translation from French: I prayed to the angels, and the angels took me. 

~~~~

It's not a pretty feeling, is it, when you are denied even the right to die?

The Aquilan Shields. The desire of any, the saviors of countless. The gilded heroes in gold and crimson, thundering from the skies. 

But they are not heroes.

They are not saviors. They are not angels, they are seraphims bathed in fire and brimstone and choking smoke. They do not chase off death, but rather prolong it, until you can die by their command. 

It is a tradition, they say, a practice that carried over from the First Custodian and into their Order. The First to seal what belonged to him in gold and crimson, the first lifebringer who preserved life in a dead man walking. The outcast dead, preserved beyond an end, beyond life, beyond even adoration itself, until love curdled into obsession.

He was the First of the Custodes, the First to adore so vehemently it was beyond even death itself. 

It is a tradition for them not to love, but to protect, to adore and nurture, to keep. It should be an honor. It should be adoration. Many want to be loved. No one wants to know. Many yearn for that pretty delusion, the warmth of the fire without fearing its heat. You cannot love a heartless man. 

It was hard to imagine Leinth had once wished for the stress of their regard. 

“You seem melancholy today.” He observed. His voice filters through perfect vox lines, yet she could detect no waver beneath it, no human imperfection. It was as if he had been mastered as a machine, without deviation, and without error. 

Leinth offered a wan smile, the girl kicking her thin shins out over the rooftop’s edge. He had found her with ease, as he always had, regardless if she was in the Palace’s grand gardens or had paid a civilian to carry her to the outskirts of Terra. He would always find her, after all. 

Sekhmet Andas of the Aquilan Shield made no noise as he shifted to a resting position besides her, making eerily little sound for one as large as he. For a moment they were silent, watching the setting sun bathe the slums of Terra to red, then crimson.

“I had thought Terra would be beautiful.” she spoke, after a long while. Sekhmet inclined his head. 

“What makes you think it is not?” 

“These.” Leinth gestures with one hand. Her fingers, still unused to the exercises she had been subject to, awkwardly form crude signs in thoughtmark. + These. The ones you never show. + Her voice had yet to be taken away from her in her ascension to a full Sister, but her freedom to roam certainly was. 

“You cannot drape wraiths in raiments and call them beautiful, Leinth. You cannot show the shadow of the sun.” Sekhmet, with surprising tenderness, gently nudges her index finger to the proper form. "Longer, Ley. Thoughtmark is not an unelegant language."

"But are they too not loved?" she bats his hand away. "These wraiths." Leinth couldn’t help but feel irate at the simple use of her endearment. It had once belonged to her brother once. 

"I cannot speak for them." he replied. "Only that they were not graced by His light."

"Like I wasn't?" Leinth chuckles softly, bitterly. "Like I wasn't blessed, for the first decade and half of my life? Worthless, until my gift was seen?" 

“No. You were…exceptional.” Sekhmet’s tone was as level as always, even in the face of Leinth’s capricious wrath. The thin girl was shivering, but seemed unnoticing of the setting sun’s cold. Sekhmet reached out, and wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. Leinth never looked up. 

“Oh, you.” Leinth’s giggle sounded far too jaded, far too cruel for a girl of her age, all of twenty-three and as bitter as a veteran. “You’ve spent so long in the gold, you’ve forgotten how to speak of the bronze.”

Sekhmet did not respond to that. He simply wrapped the cloak around her, and tried to fasten the clasp. Once more, Leinth shakes his hand away. Sekhmet contends with draping the fabric around her. 

When she next spoke, her words were laden with vitriol. “I had a brother once. Down here. We were together.” There was an old rancor here, an ancient ache. Her eyes had become unfocused, her legs swinging out into the void as she gazed upon Terra’s slums from the shelter of the rooftop. 

She sounded almost wistful. 

“We were together when Father died. You wouldn’t know. Of course you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t care how Liaser fed me, clothed me, fought off a gang and ended up losing a third of his index finger from a knifethrust that was meant for me. You never saw the bodies left in the streets to rot, the trashheaps we buried ourselves in to hide from the gangs, how he took in a pariah at the age of twelve and refused to abandon her. You never knew what it felt like to starve, not knowing if you’d live long enough to scavenge from the streets. But he refused. Not even when my gift suffocated him, not even if he hated my soul, but loved me enough even when I drew “visitors”. When my aura drew…others here. Visitors that beat him. Visitors that tortured him. Visitors that hated me, hated my mind. Visitors wanted me.” her eyes had become unfocused, bitterly embroiled in the past. Sekhmet placed a titanic hand on her shoulder. He could feel the Pariah’s pulse from here, beating fast and hard like a dying rabbit’s, her shaven head bobbing from side to side with seemingly no consciousness. She was shaking. His other hand, still clad in gold auramite, rubbed soothing circles next to her spine. 

She regained her voice after a few moments, still trembling. “One of them tried to skin him alive unless I showed myself, were you there to protect me from then?” 

“Ley, you know that-”

“Were you there?” She half screamed. “Were you there when they broke three of his ribs and I robbed a clinic with my gift, when I walked in and the doctor called me a soulless monster and ran? When I left that dingy, rundown place with credits in my bag, knowing they feared me, knowing they looked at me and saw nothing but loathing? Knowing how it felt like not to be unnoticed, but to be utterly hated?”

“The golden do not know hate, dear Ley.” His hand wrapped around her, tightening and dragging her close when she tried to move away. Leinth snorted in derision and annoyance. He continued on. “And they will never step foot nor hide, so long as you’re beneath my gaze, little Sister. Where love is made impossible for you, Pariah, then contend yourself with fear.” With more tenderness than thought possible for a creature so cold, he reached out and gently turned her head towards him, tilting her face up until they were eye to eye. Leinth saw nothing, not even the cold spark of life, behind those eyes. It was like gazing into the eyes of a corpse, a corpse that would hold her, love her, suffocate her, for eternity.

“Contend yourself with fear, little Pariah. Where they cannot love you, they will learn to fear.” 

Leinth pulled away from his grasp. “But I do not want to be feared.” 

She did not ask to become a Sister, she did not want to be plucked from her brother’s arms and paraded like a trophy before golden eyes. She did not ask to be in that alleyway when they came, her thin arms over her head as the blows rained down one by one, still hearing her brother screaming at her to run. Sobbing for her life, pleading to be spared, praying for the angels to come and save her. And she prayed, and the angels came to save her. 

“I do not want to be feared.” she repeated. 

“But you will be.” His grip was like iron. He did not allow her to turn away. Instead, he dragged her close, cold auramite upon her shoulders and her neck. “You will be feared, not loved. Because, after all, who else would love you except for I, little Pariah?”

Who else would love you, when the world itself has turned away in fear and horror? Who else could love her, when even the Emperor’s light could not warm her?

Who else would love her if not for him? 

Leinth tried to move away, but his auramite grip was unbreakable. He dragged her against him, and this time she didn’t even struggle. Unshed tears had dripped steadily from her lashes, her sobs too proud to be spoken yet too painful to be restrained. Her small frame was shaking, but her voice was bitter, and filled with more vehemence than either of them had known. 

“I prayed that night you saved me, you know. I prayed for you, Sekhmet. I prayed that you would find him and bring him back. But you never even tried, did you?”

The silence was his answer. 

“You never even tried to find him. You left him there. And you took me.”

[ike-bana]

Fragments (Dabi x reader)

Pairing : Dabi x fem! reader

words: 1.9K

Genre: Angst

Content warning : Toxic relationships/unhealthy relationships, arguments, alcohol use, smoking,angst,mentions of abuse, swearing, mentions of violence,pregnancy,mature/adult themes,no clear spoliers except you squint really hard,manupilation(if you squint). Minors DNI

Summary: All that's left of your relationship were tiny fragments, tiny little fragments you were trying to put back together yet even you were reaching your limit.

Songs to set the mood: Been like this by Doja cat / I hate everything about you by three days grace. If you have your own playlist,it's fine as well!

A/N: I was in a angsty mood and this came up so suffer or enjoy whichever. I also used the British past tense of burn cause that's what I use. I view the reader as female but I don't think gender was stated here so do with that what you wish

You sat there on the cold tiled floor as your back was leaning on the kitchen wall. You covered your face with your trembling tear stained hands. Your eyes were red and puffy and your head was throbbing. Your body was worn and weary from all the crying that you could no longer let out a proper sob. You let out a shaky sigh as you were terribly exhausted. This wasn't new to you, you were used to situations like this, often times you'd lock yourself in the bathroom hugging yourself and sobbing uncontrollably until he calmed down. It wasn't like it was an uncommon occurrence .All couples fought at some point in their relationships,it was always bound to happen

but damn, this was the fifth time this week.

You folded your legs under your thighs in a cross-legged fashion kicking a ceramic shard in the process. That was your brand new plate you got for 20% off at the store

or at least what was left of it.

You scanned the kitchen carefully, taking in the blatant state of complete disarray. Broken plates and cups flooded the room ,chairs toppled over and one of the table's legs had come off, knocking it off balance. you had to replace the good as damaged piece of furniture the next time you went shopping. As saddened as you were,a small part of you was grateful he didn't burn the place down with his quirk.You knew very well what he was capable of and you wouldn't stand a chance with your subpar quirk. You could turn small items into powder. It couldn't be used against people or animals and it wouldn't work on anything larger than small notepad.You wouldn't want to call it useless as it has helped you quit the number of times but you knew it couldn't hold a candle to your boyfriend's flame quirk.

You grimaced as you heard a blunt being lit in the next room followed by the clanging of bottles from the cabinet. His usual routine after a fight like this, you could count the number of times you had told him to stop but he'd always snap at you so you gave up trying. It helped him keep calm since he couldn't burn the place down. He had never raised his hand against you,something you were once again grateful for but he almost burnt you with his quirk.Almost. It was just that one time and he apologized. That was what you kept telling yourself. Dabi did indeed apologize and he went above and beyond to make it up to you both physically and emotionally,in more ways than one.

"Y/N"

your train of thought was disrupted as you heard him call your name,you were so deep in thought that you didn't even notice him come in. You stood up from the kitchen floor abruptly and dusted your skirt. He stood there towering over you with a cigarette between his middle and pointer finger and a rocks glass on the same hand.

"Y-yes" you stuttered trying so hard to fix your composure but failing woefully.

"Get out" He said plainly and clearly

"what?"

You stared on in disbelief ,your lips parting slightly gripping the hem of your shirt tightly , tears long and forgotten threatened to repeat their cycle.

"Don't make me repeat myself"

"B- But Dabi I live here,I paid for this place "

He had moved in with you a couple of months ago after you insisted. Although he wasn't always around due to his work in the league,he did stop by and sleep over. He deemed it unnecessary seeing as he already stayed a couple of nights and slept in your bed. You said you just wanted to feel closer to him so you urged him to move all his belongings here

"Fine , guess I'll leave" He stormed out of the small building, slamming the door in the process.

The sobs came out naturally and the salty tears like the gushing waters of Niagara falls. where did it all go wrong?.Oh you wanted to fix this so badly but what more could you do?.

You used to be so happy together,so,so normal. But now everything was all in shambles. All you had done was call him out on his secrecy and urged him to be more open and honest with you. you knew he was hiding something about himself. Instead of being calm and understanding he snapped at you and this led to a full on world war 2 in your kitchen

You leaned your back against the wall and slid down to the floor. You let yourself cry once more but now with less restraint. You sobbed,sniffiled and whimpered until nothing came out. You don't know how long you sat there but you were sure hours had past. You couldn't properly tell as it had already been dark out long ago. You couldn't do this anymore,you loved Dabi with all your heart as strange as it was. You don't know what exactly attracted you to the raven haired villain.Whether it was his bad boy persona or the undeniable urge you had to "fix" him, you could never tell. But love works in strange ways. That's why it was hard for you to do this but you had to end this. For your sake and theirs

Gathering the last ounces of strength, you had left in you,you stood up from the floor,stumbling slightly. You walked into your shared bedroom and pulled out a black duffel bag from the closet drawer by the door. You took every item of clothing he owned and hurriedly folded them into the bag. Knowing him,he probably wouldn't be back till the next day or week,it was impossible to predict. But either way it gave you enough time to prepare yourself. You didn't know how he was going to take this but you had to stand your ground,you weren't going to take this lying down.

And just like that as if fate was trying to play some cruel sick joke on you,the door flung open and Dabi came sauntering into the bedroom.

"Listen Y/N I-"

You stopped in your tracks and turned around to face him looking like a deer caught in headlights , clinging desperately to the black t-shirt you held in your hands. He looked you over,carefully processing what was going on. He narrowed his sapphire eyes and clenched his fists tightly

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked surprisingly calm

"Dabi,I'm tired. I can't do this anymore. I'm done" you managed to let out

Just as that was said,he let out a warped hysterical laugh. A look of fear in accordance with pure confusion was evident on your face.You always knew your boyfriend was off his rocker but you weren't expecting him to react this way. Your lips were quivering and a chill ran up your spine.He calmed down and wiped the non-existent tears from his stapled eyes.

"You know what's funny? I came back all the way here to apologize and this is how you repay me"

"Dabi,I'm serious,we can't do this with you anymore" You finally found your voice once more although it didn't come out as assertive as you wanted it to.

" Wait,we? The fuck are ya talking about"

"I-" you paused.

You had managed to hide this for a span of two weeks now. He'd been going in and out lately so it made it a lot less tasking to conceal it. But now it seemed futile to keep this up any longer especially since he was putting you on the spot like this

" Dabi I" you exhaled

"Dabi I'm pregnant"

His face visibly softened when you told him that. He stared blankly at you as if you had grown a second head. You glanced at him when he hadn't said anything,his silence made you apprehensive. It wasn't something that was planned so it wouldn't surprise you if he was upset. You could have sworn you had used protection but alas these things do fail.

"Wait,are you serious?" He asked,forehead creased

"Yes,I am" you avoided his questioning gaze

What he had done next after had shocked you. He pulled you into a warm embrace. His charred hands combed through your strands of hair.

"I'm so happy,this is good news" His voice was muffled as he had buried his face on your shoulder

"Wait,what?"

"I said I'm happy Y/n,this is good news"

"No,I heard what you said,I'm just surprised that you're not upset"

"Why would I be upset?,you're carrying my kid in you"

You broke out of his embrace and stared at him with your eyebrows furrowed. You were confused as to who this man was and what he had done to your rather abrasive boyfriend

"Hey earth to Y/n" he waved his hand in front of your face

You gave him a hard look before glancing around the room like a patient with amnesia. Your eyes caught the half-open duffel bag that lay long forgotten on the floor. It was then that you recalled what had brought you to the bedroom in the first place .If he thinks you'd sweep that under the carpet then he had another thing coming.

"Babe,are you OK?. You look tense" he spoke up when you hadn't said anything casting you a worried look.

"Dabi,I'm glad that you're happy about this whole pregnancy and all but that doesn't erase what's going on. Having a baby doesn't make this situation suddenly resolved,we still need to end this"

The look he had given you was one you had never seen before. It was a perfect blend of remorse,anxiety,sadness and you could could have sworn you saw fear in the mix.Nothing like the scowls he had given you that night

"I know I haven't been the best boyfriend lately and I know I've done nothing but fuck things up but please give me a chance" he had reached out a hand to you and placed it on your shoulder but you shrugged it off

" Dabi,shit isn't that easy,I've given you more chances then I could conceivably count. You've gotten even more aggressive than usual lately and it's concerning. I can't keep placing myself in this kind of toxic environment,it's not healthy for me or the baby"

Your back was turned away from him now.If he kept staring at you like that, you might change your mind. His broken expression made you want to run into his warm embrace and break down right there but you knew better than that.

"Y/N, come-come on let me fix this"

"No Dabi,you've done more than enough" You said bitterly looking down in regret

" OK Y/N,i know this is probably a joke and you got me good,I won't lie. Now stop playing around,I get it"

His forced chuckle made you grimace,he was being persistent and this was making it harder for you.

"Dabi,look if you don't leave then I'm afraid I have to"

You made your way over to the closed closet to pick out your clothes, passing over the discarded duffle bag on the floor. Before,you could fling the closet doors open,you felt a tight hug on your waist from behind. You wanted to protest,to shove him away from you but you knew he was stronger than you,so you just stood there. Dabi was never the clingy type so his actions made you perplexed but not as perplexed as the words that left his mouth not long after

"Please don't leave me,Don't take everything away from me,just like-just like they did"

what exactly did he mean by that?. His words made you further realize how little you truly knew about your villain boyfriend. He had never spoken of anything like this .But then again,he never spoke about himself or his past. That was part of the various reasons why you were even in this situation in the first place.This was definitely out of character for him so you wanted to press further

"Dabi, who is they? what are you talking about?"

"They took it all away from me,my life,my childhood. It was "his"fault,he did it to me. Please don't treat me like he did. Please you're all I have,you're the only person who could ever love me" He kept pleading keeping whoever he was talking about in question anonymous.

You had never seen him like this,it broke you to say the least. And just as if a fragile cord had snapped inside your brain,you let tears flow out once more that night,returning the villain's embrace. He sounded so distressed and you couldn't take this any longer. You weren't sure whether it was the hormones or a genuine sympathetic response that made you lose your resilience,but all you knew was you wanted to hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright.

"No Dabi I won't" *sniff*" I won't leave you" what were you thinking?,he needed you,you couldn't just leave him.

"Really?" He broke apart and gave you a crestfallen look.

"Yes Dabi.Really. We can work something out this time" you stroked his cheeks, devoid of skin and replaced by open flesh and staples.

His little rants had deeply concerned you but you knew you would have to pry about it some other time.

He dove back into your arms and squeezed you tightly,not enough to hurt you but it was still a tight grip. You returned his embrace and leftover tears fell from your eyes as you smiled.

" I promise you,you won't regret it" The staples near his cheeks rose as his lips formed a malevolent smirk

" You won't regret it at all"

[ravenzeppeli]

Trapped |Yandere Johnny x Reader Angst|

Warning: strong language, physical abuse, verbal abuse, threats, stalking, uncomfortable scenes discussed, yandere relationship. MA

     "I told you not to talk to the likes of Diego Brando!" Snapped your boyfriend, Johnny Joestar, his turquoise eyes glaring daggers at you. "Remember when I told you to avoid him and every man that isn't Gyro or I?! Do you remember Y/N?!" The glare that he shot towards you was one filled with hate, no love resting behind his eyes.

Continung to berate you, he raised his voice, "Get the fuck over here now! Don't use me not being able to walk as an excuse to stay away from me!" His patience was running thin, entire body stiff to the core as you stared at him, terrified to move. "Are you fucking deaf!?"

      You always stayed far away from him when he was angry, back pressed against the harshly cold hotel wall, body visibly shaking. His loud voice filled the small hotel room, causing fear to bubble up inside of you. You couldn't stand being yelled at by him.. why was he so jealous? Never would you dare to cheat on him. The conversation with Diego was nothing more than you asking him questions about his past. What was so terrible about that? A simple, harmless conversation?

You shook your head once, keeping your eyes on him as you kept your back firmly against the wall. Your legs were too scared to move; no, they wouldn't move because they knew that he was going to hurt you. Fuck Gyro, you know that he was the reason that Johnny knew about your little conversation. Your hunch was correct - when Johnny wasn't stalking you and watching your every move Gyro was, not giving you even a single second of privacy. If you knew that your freedom and privacy were going to be taken away then you would have stayed single.

Not even in the bathroom did you get privacy, forced to keep the door open as you do your private business. Closing doors were forbidden, Johnny felt as if he should be able to see all parts of you, including your most private parts. You despised him so much for that, always watching, wearing a little smirk on his face at your discomfort and humiliation.

"I am going to beat the shit out of you if you don't bring your fucking ass over here and stand in front of me! Get over here now!" He screamed, snatching his blue hat off of his head, revealing messy chestnut blonde hair. "We've been together five goddamn months, you know what does and doesn't get you beat!"

       If Gyro were here, he would have already dragged you over to him, leaving once Johnny had his hands securely wrapped around your wrist, light beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he waited for Gyro to leave, only being able to hit and scream at you when he had you alone. He hid the truth, hitting you in places that were hidden beneath your clothes, giving you harsh glances when no one was looking to indicate that when he had you alone you were going to regret displeasing him. This relationship was pure hell, pure hell that you were forced to endure because you couldn't leave him. You've tried, him or Gyro always seemed to find you within hours.

    You forced yourself to find the strength to move, slowly stalking over to him with no anticipation in your step. You saw the light beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his hands resting on his lap, balling into fists so tight that you could see the white of his knuckles. You stood directly in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he stared you down. The silence made you nervous, goose flesh forming on your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

True fear wasn't a monster hiding in your closet with plans of scaring you, fear was a crazed man being so obsessed with you that he controlled and stalked every little part of your life, more then ready to attack when you stepped out of the perfect little line that he created for you to stay behind. Why wouldn't he just allow you to be yourself? You wanted to go out and feel the sun on your skin. You wanted to make friends and laugh with others. Ever since meeting Johnny, you're only allowed to do things while he is present, and he would rather have you locked away and hidden from the world. So badly, did you want to leave. You wanted to be free.

        "If you're so scared of me, then why don't you listen to me?! Talking to Diego was unacceptable, and you know that! You are beautiful, Y/N, so beautiful that guys will want to steal you away from me!" He raised his hand behind you, placing two sharp smacks on your bottom, leaving a dark red handprint and a harsh string behind. You flinched but stayed in front of him, hands hanging limply by your side.

"You're stupid for what you've done, so stupid! You know better!" His contiuned, palm smacking away at your upper thighs, three harsh smacks going on each thigh. "Don't you know better?! Or do I have to bear your ass and beat you with a riding crop!?"

       Tears filled your eyes, your body flinching at each painful smack, your clothes providing some protection, but you still felt every harsh blow. "I do know better, I'm sorry, Johnny! I promise that I won't do it again, I'll just stay by you at all times!" You begged him, knowing exactly what he wanted from you. So, in order to spare yourself a beating, you would beg. "Please don't use the riding crop on me, I'll be good! Please give me one more chance!" You resisted the urge to rub your stinging bottom and thighs, knowing that would only anger him.

       "If you ever do this again, I promise that I'll put you in the hospital! Don't you ever fucking test me again, I am not a man that will tolerate you walking all over me! You are my girlfriend, my property and you will listen to me!" He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. "You almost got fucking killed, you know that? Do you want to be my wife or do you want to be buried six feet underground? Those are your only two choices."

      "I want to be your wife. Nothing more and nothing else, I was put on this earth to be your wife," you told him, feeling as if you were reading lines off of a script. You made your tone sound believable, knowing that even though you didn't want him, you knew that you had to still be with him. You could learn to love him.. that's what you tell yourself so you can fall asleep at night, the thought of being with a crazy man that could snap and kill you at any time for any possible reason still on your mind, ticking away at your sanity.

       "That's what I thought.. only I can love you. Only I can make you happy and give you what you need," Johnny said, raising his hand to caress your cheek, his face instantly softening once you said the words that he wanted to hear. "Now that we are happy again, come lay on the bed. I am tired, it's time we go to bed."