#Vapor!Reaper

[nomairuins]

i wish there was a way for me to likeee. semi change this one thingin this one mod. but 1 im not a modder 2 i feel like thats disrespectful. i just want sort of an inbetween between the game and this mod but that is not a thing that exist... sigh

[pallysuune]

Summery: Most of the villagers were afraid of Mortarion, but you, one of the people he had saved from his father's grasp, couldn't help but be drawn to him. You grow closer to him, and, after a celebration in town one night, he's curious about a few things he observed, and you're more than happy to indulge him.

Pairing: Mortarion/Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, people treating Morty badly, smut, first times

A/N: I just really love Mortarion, okay? A good part of the beginning is referenced from The Buried Dagger, because why not? XD

Word count: 4314

They shunned him. Maybe too many of them remembered when he had stood alongside the monsters the Overlords sent. Or maybe it was just because he looked different. You could still remember the first moment you saw him, and that made it hard to fear him. 

You'd been foolish, out too far from the town, in a field trying to finish before the night set in. You were gathering ears of corn, and you really didn't want to have to return tomorrow, so you were working later than you should have. Still, you had thought you were safe - until the horse attached to the cart laden down with your harvest started stomping and snorting and making a sound you'd never heard from it before. You hadn't stopped to think, you'd turned to run. But it was already too late. An undead stench washed over you. Claws grabbed you, and you were pulled away. 

You and other captives were put inside some sort of machine, a crawler that inched its way up the mountain, carrying you all to the Overlords for whatever reason. You recognized a few faces among those around you. Elias Wrinn from the farm down the way. Lanie Kren from the bakery. Calas Typhon from the town. People were avoiding the last. Everyone knew him, and everyone knew he was wrong somehow. 

Yet, where everyone else seemed to be despairing, only Calas was looking around with bright, alert eyes. He was thinking, and he was not yet defeated. 

You'd shifted a little closer to him. “Do you have a plan?” You whispered. 

His eyes had darted to you, but he didn't speak. 

But he did have a plan. One that hinged around an old breathing mask, a rusty piece of metal, and Necare’s own attack dog. Mortarion. The reaper. 

It was probably best he hadn't told you his plan. You would have thought he was insane. 

It wasn't long later that he whispered, “Cover your head,” to you. You glanced at him and then did so, tucking your head between your knees and wrapping your arms over it. 

A few heartbeats later, an explosion ripped through the crawler. You were choked by smoke that smelled of gunpowder and sulfur. You covered your face with your hands, coughing, when a breathing mask was shoved into them. You looked up, squinting through the burning smoke, to see Calas, with a mask of his own, shoving on the hatch at the top of the crawler. He slammed it with his shoulder once, twice, three times. It buckled and swung open, clanging. Calas was the first one up and out, and soon enough, everyone else was scrambling out, too. 

As you climbed up and out, you saw a fortress of slick gray stone, and attop the battlements, you saw him. A tall, gaunt young man standing there, staring in shock at you and the other humans. His long black hair clung to his face in the moist vapor of the upper ranges. Calas was already running toward him, shouting. 

You didn't have long to watch Calas, though, as the monsters of the Overlord bore down on you and the other humans. You screamed, dropping your breathing mask. Acidic, poisonous air assaulted your lungs, and you dropped to your knees, coughing and scrambling for the mask in the mist. You found it and pressed it to your face, dragging in hard breaths. 

Everything was a nightmare of screaming and blood and unliving limbs. People died around you. Claws shredded the back of your shirt, but, mercifully, missed your skin. Amid the chaos, there was a gunshot. You looked past the press of bodies and found him, Mortarion, Necare's son, had jumped down into the boggy ground in front of his keep. He was… 

He was killing the golems. 

He was helping you and the other humans. 

The monsters turned toward him, sensing that he was the bigger threat at the moment. You could only stare, your heart pounding in your chest as he and Calas were swamped by the monsters, and yet kept fighting. Mortarion had a chain with a hook on the end that he swung with lethal precision, gutting and ripping and crushing. Beside him, Calas fought with a piece of rusty metal, and a kind of power that only the Overlords used. You could understand now why the others had avoided him for so long, but at the moment, you couldn't help but be thankful for that power. 

Mortarion decimated the monsters, and the few left broken ranks and ran for the denser fog higher up. Sirens howled from the mist and when you looked, you could see the orange bobbing of lantern lights. 

The Overlord was coming. 

“Hey!” Someone called out your name, and your head snapped around. Elias Wrinn was the one hollering for you. He and a few of the humans who had survived were scrambling onto the platform of an intact transport crawler. He was motioning you to follow. You staggered to your feet and hurried over, as the old farmer reached down to help pull you up. 

No sooner were you aboard than the vehicle began to slide back down the mountain side. 

“Wait, what about them?” You asked, twisting to look at the woman at the machine's controls. Calas and Mortarion were both still standing in the bloody field, looking up toward the coming army. 

The woman only set her mouth in a grin line. 

You threw yourself against the side of the crawler, leaning out as far as you dared, even as Elias grabbed at you to keep you in. “Calas!” You cried. 

His head snapped around, followed a moment later by Mortarion's. Both of them just looked at the crawler and you humans, making no efforts to follow. You saw Calas turn to speak to Mortarion, but you were too far to hear what was being said. You tried to cry out again, but neither of them seemed to pay any attention. Soon enough, the crawler had descended a ridge and you couldn't see them anymore. 

You sat back heavily, your heart leaden in your chest. They had saved you, and you all had just left them there. 

But you didn't ask the other survivors to go back, either. You were ashamed, but you wanted to live. Enough to turn your back on them. 

You remembered that feeling hours later when Mortarion and Calas had stumbled into town.

The townspeople had always been a little wary of Calas, and that did not change now. To make it worse, they all knew who Mortarion was. The townspeople argued. Many were afraid that Necare would come and kill all of you now, for rebelling against him. Others wanted Calas and Mortarion out to death. You and the other survivors spoke up on their behalf, though, arguing how they had saved you, how you would all be dead and without them. But most folks still didn't want them in town. In the end, Elias suggested letting them both stay in a rundown stable at the edge of the township, with some firewood and food. 

For days, the whole settlement waited for retribution from the Overlords. You watched day in and day out as Mortarion stood just outside that stable, looking to the mountain, unmoving as a statue. A sentinel of some kind. Waiting like all the rest of you. But nothing happened, and eventually things returned to normal. 

But for you, the memory of running and leaving them behind never left. The guilt pulled at you. There was what drove you to make your way out to the stable with a small basket of bread. You stopped outside the closed door and raised a hand to knock, but before you had the chance, it was already being pulled open. You started and looked up into eyes the pale yellow of the sky at dawn. Mortarion looked down at you, his long hair hanging in front of his face. He was thin and gaunt, and yet there was something about him that was attractive anyway. 

You took a step back, lowering your eyes from his, and held up the basket in your hands. “Um… I brought bread.”

He looked down at the basket in your hands, and then took a step back, letting you step into the stable. 

Calas was sitting next to a fire pit. He looked up at you as he stepped in, a brow arched. He had a distinctly unimpressed look on his face as you stepped closer. “What’s this then?”

“Look, I���m sorry,” you said, your voice soft. You set the basket down, and glanced toward Mortarion as he moved over to the fire again. He peered down into the basket, but didn’t reach for it. “You both saved us. And we repaid you with this.” You glanced around at the stables. 

Calas snorted. “It’s not surprising.”

“No, but it’s still wrong,” you said firmly. 

He opened his mouth to argue with you when Mortarion cut in, “Thank you.”

Calas snorted and reached for a piece of bread. You lingered there awkwardly, unsure what to do. Mortarion sat down at the fire, and they both looked up at you. Calas’ expression turned exasperated. “Well? Sit down, then,” he huffed. 

You hurriedly sat down. Mortarion handed you a bowl of watery stew. 

And that was how you found yourself eating dinner with them. It wasn't the last time, either. More and more, you found yourself venturing out to the stable after your work to eat with them, or just to talk. You realized very quickly that Mortarion, for how dangerous and incredibly intelligent he was, had no idea how to be a person.  He spent a lot of time just watching the townspeople, like he was trying to figure them out. One day, he simply walked out of the stable and began to help in the fields, pulling a huge curved blade from a broken threshing machine to use as a scythe. He didn't ask permission, and no one tried to stop him. He worked so much faster than anyone else, soon enough you, and many of the other workers, were just following behind him, gathering up the wheat he cut down. 

That night, the townspeople celebrated having such a good harvest. The community hall was filled with laughter and music for the first time in so very, very long. Even you joined in, letting yourself relax for a night, safe among the other people, in the firelight that kept the mist and monsters away. You ate and drank, and sang loudly with everyone else. And when the night grew late, and people were paying less attention, you snuck some food that you could take to Mortarion and Calas in the morning. 

You slipped out the back with your stolen treasures, determined to make sure that Mortarion was thanked, as he was the one to make this all possible. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you realized you weren't the only person behind the community building. But the sounds of breathy moans soon reassured you that they weren't paying you any kind. Flushing a little, you hurried back home. 

You were busy the next day, and didn't make it out to the stable until late afternoon. The food you had snuck was still good, so you packed it all up and headed out. You found Mortarion just returning from the field, his hair braided loosely, and a scarf around his lower face and neck. He pulled it down casually as he watched you approach. 

“I brought you some things,” you chirped with a smile up at him, swinging your basket. 

His expression was as guarded as always, but he nodded, stepping inside and holding the door for you. As you came inside, you realized he was alone. 

“Where's Calas?”

“He went to the blacksmith. Some of the tools needed sharpening,” Mortarion answered. His voice was deep and rumbling, and incredibly pleasant to your ears. 

“Well, he can have some when he gets back, then,” you declared. 

You saw Mortarion's expression soften just a fraction as you smiled at him before beginning to unpack what you'd brought. Smoked meats, bread, cheese, and, as a special treat, a loaf of cakey bread with dried fruits in it. 

You and Mortarion sat and ate. After a few moments, he spoke up. “I saw your people celebrating last night.”

“Yeah. We've never had so much of the harvest in so early. It gives us a chance to process it for storage better. It's a huge help to us, and we owe it all to you,” you smiled. 

You thought you caught a pleased look in his eyes before he glanced away. “ I heard something rhythmic and lilting from the hall.”

Pausing, you considered the comment. Lilting? “Do you mean singing? We were singing pretty loudly last night, I guess.”

“Singing,” he repeated the word slowly. 

It struck you like a punch to the jaw, and you found yourself just staring at him. “Do you… do you not know what singing is? What music is?”

He didn't answer. You were aware that he didn't like admitting he didn't know something, but the answer was obvious. He didn't. Singing was one of the few light things you and the other people there had. One of the few things that brought some joy and happiness during long hours in the field. You couldn't imagine living a life without knowing what singing was. It broke your heart to think he had lived such a barren life. 

“Do you… would you like me to sing for you?” You asked softly. Normally you wouldn't, but things were different with him. Your desire to share this part of humanity with him was stronger than your fear of being judged.

He looked over and met your eyes, and nodded. 

It took a second for you to think of a good song. You set down the piece of fruit studded bread, took a breath, and began to sing an old lullaby for him. Mortarion turned his whole attention to you, his eyes focused and bright, as if he was in wonder at what he was hearing. The attention brought more heat to your cheeks. 

When you finished, the two of you sat in silence for a moment. Just long enough for you to begin to get awkward. You were starting to wonder if you should leave when Mortarion cleared his throat and turned to you. 

“There is something I wanted to try, if you don't mind,” he said. 

You offered him a smile. “Of course.” Maybe he has seen the dancing the night before? The thought sent a flutter of warmth through you, bubbling and buzzing. 

But it wasn't a dance he asked for. Instead, he shifted closer to you and, before you could really register what was going on, leaned in and smacked his lips against yours. It was awkward and a little aggressive, as if he was treating it like an attack of some sort.

You were too stunned to respond before he pulled back, a frown pulling at his chapped lips. “That was not as pleasant as it looked,” he said, more to himself than to you. 

A huff of a breath left you roughly as you looked at him incredulously. “O-of course it wasn't! You're not supposed to do it like that!”

His eyes narrowed, and for a second, you remembered why everyone was still so scared of him, even if you pushed aside the question quickly.

“Here, let me…” you trailed off and scooted a little closer to him. 

Gently, you cupped his cheek and leaned in slowly. He tensed slightly, but did not move away. Your lips brushed his, before you pressed them together again, softer this time. Your lips slotted with his, coaxing them into kissing you in return. It took a moment before he finally began to relax, his arms curling around you to draw you close to him. Leaning into his chest, the hand on his cheek slid back to comb your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head. 

You had to admit, he was a quick learner. 

It didn't take him long to catch on, adjusting how he kissed you to what you seemed to like most. Though, when your tongue brushed his bottom lip, he did jump slightly, adorably. He mimicked the little lick, and you opened your mouth, letting his tongue slip inside. He gave a low, surprised moan, pressing closer to you. 

He took his time exploring your mouth, and slowly his hands moved over your body, until you were trembling in his lap. His fingers brushed your lower stomach and lingered there. By now, you had a good idea what it was that he'd seen - the same moaning couple you had hurried away from. You had been embarrassed hearing it then, but now you were practically vibrating, waiting to see what he would do.

“There is more,” he breathed against your lips. His fingertips dug into your stomach ever so slightly. 

You nodded breathlessly, your lips ghosting against his with the movement. Your whole body felt hot, a buzzing desire settling in your core. “Go on.”

You pressed forward into another kiss. Mortarion sighed. His fingers slid lower, beneath the waist of your pants and into your underwear. A thick finger brushed over your outer lips slowly, tracing them. A groan left him in a gusty sigh as he felt how wet you were. 

His finger brushed your clit, sending a spark of pleasure through you. You gasped, your hips bucking up against his hand. He pulled back from the kiss, staring at your face in awe as he repeated the motion. You whimpered, your whole expression crumpling with pleasure. He rolled his finger over the bud a third time. Your hand flew down to grab his before he could continue and it got to be too much. He froze the second you touched him, his eyes darting up to yours. 

“Like this,” you murmured, even as your face burned hot, embarrassed and horribly turned on, both. Still, the last thing on your mind was stopping, so you shifted a little closer to him, turning to put your back against his chest, so his arm curled around you. You slid your hand down to cover his,  wiggling your pants down a little lower around your knees to give more room for you both as you spread your legs a little bit. You couldn’t see him with how you were sitting now, but you could still practically feel his eyes on you. 

Your hand pressed gently over his, guiding one of his fingers past your wet folds, sinking into you. He followed your movements diligently, as you  pushed both your finger and his into your pussy, working them in and out of you. You moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as you melted back against his chest. He began to take over, controlling the rhythm as you just kept your hand pressed over his, following his every move. 

“Mortarion,” you sighed breathlessly. 

You could literally feel him shiver behind you. 

He leaned down, his cheek pressed to the side of your head, his eyes focused unerringly on where your fingers disappeared into your heat. He began to move faster, and you followed his lead as he pressed a second finger into you, stretching you even more around him with the most delicious sort of pleasure. You couldn’t keep yourself quiet any longer, moans spilling from your lips as he fucked you quickly with his fingers, the palm of his hand pressing against your clit. Your hips bucked, grinding against it, desperate for more friction as you squirmed and trembled in his arms. It felt so good, every thought driven from your mind except the feeling of him around you and inside you. 

Your moans raised to a high whine, desperate, close already to your peak. Mortarion tilted his head slightly, practically nuzzling at your hair. He pressed the heel of his hand against your clit, plunging his fingers deep into your pussy. It all just became too much. You keened as you came around his fingers, shaking in his arms, your sex spasming tight around both your fingers and his, still buried  in you, soaking you both with your release. He kept fingering you through it, drawing it out until you were pulling at his hand, throwing your head from side to side as it began to become too much. 

He slipped his fingers out of you as you slumped in his arms, panting, shivering with the aftermath of your pleasure. He lifted his hand to his lips, licking them curiously, tentatively, before giving a hum and beginning to suck them clean. You tilted your head to watch him, heat coiling through your blood at the sight of how eagerly he sucked your juices from his fingers. Still leaning back against him, you could feel how hard he was, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants and pressing against your ass. 

A shiver ran through you as you registered the feeling. Oh, you wanted him. Badly. 

Managing to marshal your somewhat shaky body, you sat up and turned toward him. His eyes snapped immediately to you, intent and sharp. Not wary, like they usually were, but still very focused. You wet your lips and reached for his pants, untying the laces with trembling fingers. He didn’t stop you, but you heard his breathing pick up as you pulled his pants open. You reached in, your fingers grazing his length. He groaned. His eyes sliding shut. You curled your fingers around him to pull him free. You stroked him, looking down to watch a bead of precum ooze from the tip. You swiped your thumb through it, drawing a shiver from him again. 

Wetting your lips, you used your free hand to pull off your own pants and then climbed onto his lap, guiding his cock to your entrance. He groaned, his hands going to your hips and gripping hard. You rubbed him against your pussy, soaking him in your slick wetness before pressing his cockhead against your entrance and slowly beginning to sink down onto him. 

“Oh fuck,” you breathed, at the same moment he moaned lowly. 

His arms wound around you, pulling you flush against his chest, holding you there. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin as he panted softly and pulled you slowly down onto him. He was thick, stretching you, filling you impossibly full. His hips rocked up, again and again, in short little thrusts until he was finally balls deep in you. You could swear you felt him all the way in your throat. You were breathless, like his cock didn’t leave any room in your for air. You closed your own eyes, soaking in the intimacy of the position, and the feeling of his body. Your arms wound around his neck, threading through his hair. He lifted you and then thrust up into you again. He shuddered, swore, and then his frayed patience finally broke. 

His arms tightened around you as he surged up, thrusting hard into you, fucking you quickly and roughly. You squealed, scrabbling at his back, clinging to him desperately. It was all you could do as he fucked you. 

Took you. Claimed you. 

Already, you knew nothing would ever match up to this. No one would ever match up to him after everything. 

You threw your head back, keening, bucking your hips back as best you could against his. He breathed your name, curling into you, his lips pressing to your neck. It became a chant, a mantra, the closest thing to a prayer he would ever say as he whispered your name again and again, interspersed with soft pleas and encouraging coos. You were barely able to register the words. The pleasure was too much, your mind driven blank by the feeling of his cock inside you. 

You came around him suddenly, keening, your nails digging into his shoulder. He gave a shuddering groan as he slammed up into you, and then ground deep, savoring the way your pussy squeezed and fluttered around him, letting it drag him over the edge too. Heat flooded you as he came, pumping his seed deep into your. 

Slowly, you both came down from the high of your releases, panting softly. You were trembling in his arms, exhausted, but floating in the lingering pleasure. Mortarion’s breath slowed, but he was not at all inclined to release you, cradling him close to his chest. “Stay here tonight?” he murmured. 

You nodded, snuggling deeper against him. 

It took a few moments before you finally slipped off his lap, prompting twin groans from both of you. You cleaned up as best you could, got dressed again, and settled in his lap once more. 

By the time Calas returned, night had set in, and you were asleep in Mortarion’s lap. He paused in the doorway, looking at the two of you with his brows arched. Mortarion looked up at him, as if challenging him to say anything about it. With a snort, Calas looked away, his eyes landing on the basket of food you’d brought with you earlier. He moved over, nudging it with his toe. “Did you at least leave me some?”

Mortarion’s expression softened slightly, and he shifted you in his lap, curling you close to him as he moved over a little himself, making room at the fire for his friend. “A little.”

There was another snort as he sat down, pulling the basket in front of him and beginning to look through it, as a comfortable, companionable silence fell over the stable. 

[planesawesome]

U.S. Navy Grumman F-14D Tomcat Reg.: 163897 / AD-161 (cn 607/D-12) VF-101 Grim Reaper creating some vapor as it breaks right. 2004 NAS Oceana Air Show, Virginia Beach - Oceana NAS / Apollo Soucek Field Virginia, September 26, 2004. Photo Credits: Unknown

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Lute: “Wait- your new name Vesper isn’t in DEFIANCE of your Morningstar hell family, but a MIRROR of it???”

Vesper Bill: (cocking the gun full of heavenly bullets that their uncle Pentious made for them)

Vesper Bill: “Always was.”

Vesper Bill: (shoots Lute’s halo off her head instead of killing her) (like mother like child)

XD this is so dumb i love

behold my version of the chaggie spear baby's full character profile!

NAME: (redacted)bil(redacted)s Morningstar -> Vesper Bill, one word, not ‘Vesper’ or ‘Bill, always ‘Vesper Bill’.

NATURE: Weapon-born demonic Exorcist angel. Mortal. Slow aging.

OCCUPATION: Overlord, supplier for Rosie’s Emporium and Carmilla Carmine’s weapons business, Exorcist slayer and rehabilitator, cowboy grim reaper cosplayer, garden weeder.     

TERRITORY: Hell’s first community garden.

THEIR “THING”: Soul savings accounts and debt forgiveness programs. Killing murderous Exorcists.   - Entrust your soul to them so you can’t be tempted / pressured into selling it to anyone else. They’ll give it back if you ask, but you do have to ask first, and they’re usually good at figuring out some other way of getting what you want.  - Checks in with other overlords to see which sinners owe stuff and pays the debt / kills / scares off the overlord if they can. Then gives an accidentally terrifying visit to the former indebted sinner so they can say their favorite line of: “I’m Vesper Bill, and yours is due…. Never. It’s been paid off. Congrats.” (hands over a flyer about their moms' Hazbin Hotel)   - Their less favorite line is when they only say the first part of the above, right before killing an Exorcist. All resulting bodies are sold to Rosie, the weapons to Carmilla, and the funds go towards the community garden.

RELATIONS: Their moms run a struggling hotel business, all the live-guests of which are their uncles/aunts/grandpa.

ENEMIES: Most of heaven and a good part of hell. Their full birth name. Flower pollen. Mint.

STRUGGLES: - “It’s not a phase, moms.” (about their goth cowboy theme) – (tips hat at a lady) (walks into car bc they weren’t watching where they were going) – (coughing and sneezing and voice often sounds rough and terrifying bc they have allergies but won’t stop weeding in the garden) - Having tiny stubby demon horns that won’t grow bigger (covers with hat) (hat was a gift and orinially came from Earth) – keeping their demon tail under control (hides it under their coat).

LOVES: - Their moms, the princess of hell and her former Exorcist angel girlfriend. - The hazbin hotel family crew. - Gardening. - Cowboy stuff. - Being annoying to heaven. - Women who could vaporize them physically or emotionally with a smile or a knife either way.

PROUDEST MOMENT: Successfully infiltrating heaven, tricking Lute with a pretend hatred of their moms, wrecking shit, getting a weapon’s upgrade from their uncle, and leading a handful of now former Exorcists back down to hell with them on the way out.

POWERS: - Angelic resilience. - Demonic strength. - Summoning or banishing anyone who’s soul they have in trust, from or to the place of their choice (within the Pride Ring) (mostly used as taxi service). - Skilled at cutting weeds and brush with a scythe. - Good dancer. - Responsible gun owner and operator. - Kids love them.    

Trivia: Got into their cowboy phase after a brief one-time visit to Earth where they played guardian angel for an actual cowgirl for a day. Thinks about her a lot. Ready to go be a nuisance to Heaven again if she ends up there and wants company- is also trying to grow her favorite flowers down here in Hell, just in case. (also puts on red cheek spots makeup everyday, bc they are Charlie's kid too and PROUD of it)

and that's it, that's my take on the chaggie spear baby idea thing, all grown up!

it's ridiculous. i had so much FUN with it

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “  fight for you ” : 

﹙ mercenary grim reaper x gn reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 9948e yìzé x gn reader !!🍒 : ﹙ mercenary ˖ grim reaper character ﹚

a large fight breaks out in the society of shades. yize notices that you are at the centre of it 

﹙ cws ﹚: angst ˖ some violence | wc : .3.3k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: been awhile since we've had a yìzé piece. Song used: ares, by winter's island !

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Well, I wrote you a song.

The white light slices across a door, cutting it in half as heavy footsteps rush across a barren rooftop.

With no time in hand, a reaper jumps out from the ledge of it and skids down the building. Wind tugs wild at the darkbrown wolfcut. Each and every individual strand of hair following behind the cold bodied mercenary.

The beautiful sound of glass breaking clatters out into the air as force hits the windows. Yìzé lunges himself off of the building.

At this very moment. This minute and second, this is what he lives for. Adrenaline cast out into all of his veins, pumping away at a slow beating heart. Time feels as though it has stopped as shards of glass glisten in the lights of the society of shades. Falling with him.

but you say you want a symphony

Like a million butterflies fluttering their wings in tandem, lungs draw in a big gulp of air. and at the exhale, cold fingers reach for the staff of a scythe as they had prior.

He nears his target. A bolt of smoke, billowing from his back and legs. Body shifting into vapor darker than the night, with just the slightest tints of blue to it. Shooting towards the abomination beneath, in hopes of putting it back blow, way down under.

Just as the first time he had picked up his scythe. Fingers cannot help but drum across the expanse of it, feeling the wooden handle. As excitement surges through his heart. The soul within the scythe coming alive.

The first defence, the first spin, and then—

His very first swing.

A laughter from his childhood rings throughout his ears as the first hit lands upon the large creature.

I will take the light through the time

and the blades that break my soul

Withstanding the loud roar, while sliding down the back of the being with a blade now ripping through its back. The second youngest son of the zhào family stands full of pride. Jumping off of the abomination, while running in circles around it.

A distraction.

For what is to come? Flame and the sound of a catchy rhythm, something to dance to indeed. A blue streak rushes across a building. Jumping from the next to the other. Barely anything for the oppontment to catch onto.

But then sodicity aside.

Raging, spewing, hot fire. Now that is something that quickly catches any attention around. A fire elemental showing itself in all of its true glory. Burning the veils that previously covered the furious beauty of it.

“Zhào, 9 o’clock.” His boss calls out in rage, gravitating towards the right while expectantly awaiting for the younger to take the left.

It takes no hesitance nor time for the reaper to follow command. Focused on the plan that had been immediately discussed at their arrival.

The elemental swoops any and all civilians out of the collapsing surroundings, yelling at them to run.

and i’m not without you next to me

With his heavy egyptian accent, the elemental, without so much as turning to look to wherever the blue streak is skating across, he yells out: “Agresta! Get the civilians out safe!”

Not even the blink of an eye could catch the speed of which Lorenzo swept the field empty. The monster only seemed to chase after the screaming crowds. Of course. Fear is something that most of them feed on.

But alas, the world continues to breathe. And as the leader of the veil syndicate commands the rest of the mercenaries around whilst rushing to the monster’s sides with the Yìzé. The reaper looks up at the points his gaze towards the centre of the being.

Would there be any signs of a vulnerable spots? He would have to look a bit longer, he just needed to buy time.

I will take the front to the line

One slipped footstep and it is over. It is always about being ready for the worst, even when everything is going well and seems as though you have the winning side.

Be confident, not a brave fool.

A long slide across the breaking, crackling and rumbling ground brings the reaper to his stop, reading his scythe as command stands in queue. Maroon meets crackling fire.

And bring back the night before

The boss and the worker keep their gaze on one another until the moment is right, and when the time is right. When the monster has been confused enough by electric blue, the bright light of fire and the darkness of the night. They strike.

Red and blue tinted flames lick across the field, spreading in circles around the oil paths that the dj had spilled down unto the ground as he skated across the grounds.

Light the fire

Dark vapor follows after the fire. Almost like a dance, the two meet in the middle of the field —

The world flashes yet again,

Yìzé stands before his brother, the two of the swirling scythes around while attacking incoming dummies around the training halls of the zhào estate.

Hàoyu takes waiting position, counting down the seconds until Yìzé reaches him and the second they cross paths. Back to back, they make a twirl. Like petals swirling throughout the ripples of waterways, robes swirling like waves across his eyes as they defeat the last dummies.

And with that same motion, he and his boss pelt straight into the core of the creature. Tearing apart the large body of accumulations. Melting away rough limbs.

Let it burn on top of you

Scattering, exploded across the expanse. Miniature versions of the large being rampage through the streets. Faster, more difficult to catch onto. Even more fun for the fire to chase.

Some dissolve and die out from catching onto the invisible fire that burns the oil away.

Persistent pests rush towards the reaper as he lets go of the elemental. Who was not prepared to feel the sudden shift in weight on himself, calling out to the boy like a distressed father who knows only the worst of fate from what he has seen.

Taking a hit and dodging the rest, a sharp scythe cuts through each body that meets the proximity of its wielder. Breathing in the flames and exhaling them out with a smile. One that knows safety the second pink hair brushes against his cheek, followed by a large amount of tails that curl below his chin.

Assurance.

That was all he needed. His lovely kitsune boyfriend did quite the work on the opposing side, and gave him a nod to rush after Rasui.

Breathe again beneath the flames

Takara takes over the back, while he rushes to the front. Watching as Lorenzo gets down on the ground and allows his mouth to open up for an almost siren like but cutting scream. That, in the form as soundwaves, slam across the enemies that come around 10 o’clock. Headed straight for some of the civilians.

Unwanted, wild animals. Salivating like dogs at the thought of flesh to be eaten.

For the first time in this battle of 7th sector, he pulls out his gun and shoots bullets across the field. Making sure he hits no innocents in the process.

Each feral creature that managed to escape the loud scream surely evaporates the second a bullet strikes their core.

Joined together and gathering civilians to run away, the fire elemental, the dj, the reaper and the kitsune all take their positions and work their way swiftly. Casting quick glances whenever one falls, watching them rise. Continue.

I’m a man that cannot be saved

Oh, the battle rages on like a ballad of the ages. He could almost hear his late older brother’s poetry recited in his ears. Indeed, this will be another part of history. Whether he dies with it or lives with it to tell more, he will only know when all is done.

The fight only progresses to downtown sector 7, nearing the 8th sector. They had not realised that the large abomination would have another ‘birth’ in the process of it’s death. But they watched the creatures attempt to gather.

To grow.

Slicing across the field and collecting any souls that may have tragically passed in these events. May they rest in the most beautiful places of the afterlife. Yìzé sends them their way before they could be devoured.

“Ready?” He whispers to his scythe softly, looking down at it with calculating eyes. He was going to throw it. Fling it hard enough for it to spin across the field and take out as many of these miasmatic beings as possible.

It was either going to work, or it wasn’t.

Well maybe I was wrong.

Quietest of whispers ever heard emit from the bright shine of the scythe, an affirmation. An ‘I am ready,’ spoken to only the reaper.

Whistling for his teammates to disperse. Footsteps scatter across the concrete ground once more and he starts rushing away from the crowded streets of evil.

Flinging himself up onto a pole, before allowing himself to fall. Just like Haitao had taught him. Pole, fall, swing, and throw.

It is just as loud as a whine, the sound of the scythe spinning acros the street and ripping open being to being. Whilst a smoke remains right behind it.

A vaporised, pale hand gripping onto the handle once more to swing out a large cut through as many as he missed as possible.

Truly, with his excellent timing together with his scythe. He manages to take out majority of the miasmic creatures.

And perhaps you needed more from me

Then, he sees you— Rushing across the field to help an older enigma stand back up after taking a fall from running so fast.

Everything feels like it stops. He doesn’t know you, nor what it is you were thinking of doing. His teammates had properly already seen the elderly. What matters is that the situation of potential death is avoided.

A fresh soul like yours? You almost amuse him. It is nowhere near it’s due on the pocketwatch schedule.

Cussing at the sudden act of ‘heroism’ you have performed. To which he could only call pure idiocy. He makes his way into the smoke that covers the land like a duvet.

The entire world rushing around him. travelling with quick sucession two shillouettes trying to lift the other up from the ground.

I can’t stand to fight all time But i can’t seem to take the fall

Close enough at last. Pale, Spread fingers graze the fabric of a woolen shirt, only to form a fist gripping onto it and throwing the beautiful soul the dorns it across the field together with the eldery wise one it holds.

You yelp as you feel the surge of adrenaline pour into your stomach, the rush of flying freely throughout the air across the battlefield could never compare to anything you have ever felt. You hold on to the older, smaller grandparent. Who tiredly panics.

The pests were closing in, and suddenly, actions were more limited than they ever had been. Slipping past him like the sands of time.

A yell from Rasui—

Electricity aside

“REFORMED, SCATTER.” Maroon eyes constrict and crackle almost like that of the elemental’s fire blazing straight into the air like the bonfires that stand high during the midsummer dance celebrations.

They scan across the field to catch the ghastly image of the abomination coming back to life. Ripping itself across the concrete ground and screeching. Like the most terrifying newborn the world will ever have witnessed.

What mortifies him the most, is the very fact that you rush with the crowd and it aims to hit you. Lifting a heavy, club-like arm. Making it quite clear to all of the mercenaries around that it is going for a direct hit on the panicking crowd.

This is more than just a life for me

Arrival has always had a good and bad time of coming around, in the cases of limited time. It usually is not good when a previously clear sight flashes white and everything around you rings, deafening screams and cries

“—” He could’ve sworn he heard his brother call for him, an encouragement. Almost feel the hand Jìngyí would reassuringly put on his shoulder when he just couldn’t seem to get his strategies right.

Sharp inhales draw through his lungs, and then comes the crash of reality once again. Mixed with the whispering voice of the past.

“You have to keep trying. What of learning, if you never try?”

I can put our time on the line And bring back the night before

Such a natural movement, that is all it takes. The dash of a foot and the lunge with all possible upperbody strength. A flash of pink aids him in the sudden move, guiding him across the field. Eyes sharing such determination, that has never burned more passionately than now.

Loud laughter following after the large swing of a scythe moving across the monstrosity’s body echoes off of the field and away flies the arm that had moved to hit the crowd.

Vapor and the sweet smell of orchids roam your senses, as you feel a pair of strong arms keep you in their safety with the enigma. Yìzé flings himself to the rest of the crowd, extending his vapor with the intent of getting everyone out of the area safely.

“Zhào!” Rasui calls, only to receive a scythe his direction. Of which he grabs onto and casts towards Takara, who now carves her way happily through the monster.

Precise slices performed, despite the vigor of her swings.

Light the fire

“I’ll evacuate the remaining!” The young reaper roars to his boss and co-workers. Suddenly blinded by a blue streak interrupting his fog. Of course he was coming to help as well.

Familiar is the deadpan voice that counters him: “You won’t do much all alone.” To which he can only huff at in slight offense, along with the fondness of at least having his best friend helping out.

The two rush out of the situation, until they find the spot best for civilians to hide until the doom and destruction is over.

Let it burn on top of you

“Stay here,” you are told. Half-lidded, but cold and stoic maroon eyes point into yours in a gaze that demands you listen. “Don’t start trying to save more people. We’ve got it in control, the some people have a schedule.”

It makes you huff. Yet, for the safety of people and yourself, listening and doing is all you can really do. Most people keep you in their grasp as well. As the reaper takes away the music, rushing back into the battle.

You’ve never seen him before. And yet, he has left something for you, in your heart. An odd sensation— a tug. Of what? Maybe hatred. You certainly didn’t like his attitude.

Breathe again beneath the flames

Rhythmic tunes and vapor, alerting a team of people of their arrival. All split in battle and make space for them as both Yìzé and Lorenzo fling themselves towards Rasui. Aiming to create a soundwave loud enough to transfer fire through vaporised darkness and sizzle away at the creature once more.

It takes no guessing from the leader what they are trying to do. Flaring into the highest volumes of fire, he runs towards them.

A star, coming to life. Truly, that is what it can only be described to look like. The wonder and the beauty of the bolt itself, shot straight to the core again.

I’m a man that can’t be saved

Takara, who had roamed in the distance gave the scythe they held a kiss goodbye, until next time. Before throwing it towards it’s true wielder, who catches it just as the leader of the tempest syndicate arrives at the scene.

From the flames, one man

Blowing a large gust of wind from towards him, knowing exactly what the man has planned. Yìzé flies through the atmosphere and slams his blade into the core to add impact on the shot.

You fall, you watch me rising

Shooting through the air with extra force, as if it was going to create a rift, the flaming star hits the being and all goes quiet as everything that has gathered it dies. Flaming butterflies and animals rushing around in the air and towards the sky.

I know, I know

Just like the gardens of the Zhào estate. . . All of the beautiful wildlife. It all flashes through his sight as victory comes rumbling deep within his soul. The fall and the rise, the final moment of peace before the applause. It feels just like a theatrical performance

It never mattered how bloodied and bruised he ended up. Yìzé loved this feeling.

The thrill of the battle, the aftermath of the victory.

To be the man That walks beyond the fires

What he lives for? This is what he lives for. If he has no name at home, he will make it here in the world. In the history of it.

One swift drag of a matchstick and the sound of a cigeratte lighting, he leans his head back and puffs out smoke. Grinning at the sky. And you watch from a distance with a face full of wonder at every picture your mind had mentally snapped.

Ares, Ares

Your vision blurs as your body finally gives out after all the adrenaline, falling unconcious, as your body receives the rest it has screamed for you to give it.

And just out of your vision before you go, a hand catches you. Gently putting you down on the ground so that you do not hit it too hard.

“Don’t go for too long huh, we got stuff to talk about.” The reaper murmurs, joined by the rest of the syndicate. Looking down at the demonic amulet that you had worn earlier this day.

Tear me down. See the man that I am now And from the flames, Ares.

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[j3sterth1ngz]

Finally reworking/redrawing my very first AU ever made! My WoF/UTMV crossover AU, Dragonverse! :)

First starting off with the DoD!

The group bigwings, Classic Sans!

The resident nightwing, Cross

The one rescued by chance, Fresh

The lost princess prince, Geno!

The ray of sunshine, Dream

and the one who shouldn't have been, Ink

Rambles about tribe choices/design aspects below:

Classic: Mudwing just fits him so well imo. Giant cuddly teddy bear dragon. I decided to make Classic the hybrid instead of Sunny/Dream, and choose rainwing as it fits him very well personality wise. Classic is still fire resistant like Clay, however he is soft-scaled! As such, he gets colder faster than the average hard-scaled dragon, and wears a coat almost full time to combat this. The coat is held up by a metal wire that loops through a hole in his wings and connects on his back. Making is easy to unclip and remove if needed.

Cross: Idk what it is about Cross, but he just screams nightwing. I choose purple specifically because that's the OG's blush color. His is one of two DV protags that has a metal tail implant due to the OG's sword being a major part of his character! [The second being Reaper and his scythe]. Cross's eyesight is lil worse than average and I made his pupils dark grey instead of black to try and reflect this.

Fresh: Fresh was a weird one for sure. Given Ink was already a rainwing, I decided to make Fresh the only other colorful tribe, a silkwing. However halfway through the design process I decided to make Fresh albino. A decision decided based off the wingless white dragon in Burn's oddity collection that I theorized was a albino/leucistic silkwing dragonet. Fresh takes the place of that poor dragonet, but instead of being found by Burn's soldiers, he is found by the guardians who reluctantly take him in.

Geno: This was an interesting choice on my part. I feel like Geno fits a sky/mud a lil more however a needed a seawing and I felt that Tsunami's personality fit Geno's decently well for what I needed with a lil tweaks! I love the trope of seawings having words on their tail so I added his name in his glowscales :) Also because of OG Geno only have one eye I decided to have DV!Geno be blind in their right eye, as shown by the milky pupil.

Dream: Sunny and OG Dream are so similar it just felt right for him to be a sandwing. Dream originally didn't have brown splotches and that was added when I was redesigning him to make him a lil more unique design wise and because of his father being a brown sandwing. Dream has brown-blue heterochromia, a last minute thing because of Nightmare also having blue eyes.

Ink: Him being a rainwing is so obvious tbh. Colorful rainbow dragon that can change color just screams Ink. However instead of bright, colorful, cheerful, and obnoxious, I went with dull, battle-scarred, stern, and cynical. Glory was emotionally and possibly even physically abused in book, and by extension so is Ink, so I wanted to reflect this in his design and personality! [Maybe I'm wrong but I don't recall Glory's trauma being explored or even resolved at all? If anything she just gets better off page and this is something I want to change with Ink]

Sans by Toby Fox Cross by Jakei Fresh and Geno by LoverofPiggies Dream by Jokublog Ink by Comyet Dragonverse/Designs by Me :)

Geno's design and Fresh's body paint design were made by vapor-on-the-sunset and troztolkrii on DA, respectively

[cherrsnut]

Hostage - Prologue

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for. 

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 1.4k

// Next

Prologue

The waves brushed the seashore, singing that beautiful melody only the sea could voice out, a blessing from mermaids, Edna always told you. To keep you safe from the sea monsters whilst you were away in the treacherous ocean. It was an old tell-tale the older folks liked to conspire, while you weren’t sure if you believed it, you weren’t totally against it either. Many accidents occurred deep in the sea, and you had seen firsthand the gravity of those injuries. From scratches to open lacerations with immediate need of stitching. But for you, the worst ones by far were the infections, which naturally happened from a bite injury from a contaminated fish, often leading to amputations, and in some instances, you had to dismember a whole limb off a fisherman.

You looked up again at the scenery before you,  the ball of flame just waking from its slumber was reflecting each ripple in the sea, echoing its color towards you. Edna often told you a mermaid’s voice was the most beautiful sound any human could come across, so much so she was convinced we weren’t prepared to listen to their songs. But at that moment, if what Edna was even half true, you were sure you’d be hypnotized to believe the sun rays had created a hallway for you to walk, to travel down that shiny path further from the horizon to the end of the world even. 

The sky’s creativity brushed their colorful clouds given by the warm colors of the sun. With the pale blue of the sky´s natural form as a canvas, the clouds had been painted into shades of oranges and pinks. A truly ethereal sight, but for you, it only took you a second to take in before your attention was back on opening up the building, already too used to the sight of the waking hours of the sky. 

As if you weren’t cold enough from the night breeze, the building welcomed you with its silent frost air inside. With the signal of the cold shudder creeping up your back. You let a sigh escape, the vapor making itself known, to test if it was simply cold or icy. The visible physical reaction was enough to answer your question, so you got ready to warm up the frozen iglu you were standing. Opening the wooden back door, you frond yourself upon wooden shelves with the same pattern and color as the rest of the store, as the same wood had been used to construct the whole building, the tree of the artist being rustic pine.

Containers upon containers of unopened herbalism knowledge, each one of them sealed and numbered by none other than yourself. Nature itself had been manifested in there, some plants had been slowly growing for you to collect their fruits and eventually put them away here, to be used shortly after.  Others had been cut and placed with a bow and tag wrapped around it. Many types of plants and flowers existed within the store, some intact within the vase, otherwise, others had been churned and sliced or made liquid for your clientele, from medicinal or aromatic to poisonous antidotes. So it was natural when the herbal shop had the attraction of those who were in need of some sort of healing, whether it be physical or spiritual, the herbal store was open for those in need.

In reality, the owner of the shop had been Edna from the beginning, all before she passed a year ago. And since it seemed you were the next person who could almost mimic Edna’s miracles, or so the city named it,  it seemed you were the best fit to further her legacy. Of course, adding the fact that you were the closest person to Edna. 

You found the dry wood, and you were pleasantly surprised to find some logs to be completely dried off, you stacked them up onto the basket. Edna was especially adamant about using pine woods because their value came from its easy way to burn right off the bat. Of course, that meant that pine wood was more prone to burn faster, and that’s when oak wood made its shining appearance. Its harsh, hard, and thick texture made them burn for longer hours without constant checking up, and while Edna often complained about their prize difference, she still seemed to have some sort of dependency on the fiery warm calmness the chimney gave. Just a nice safe haven from the cold weather outside.

You often had Edna in the back of your mind throughout each passing day, especially the constant reminder of her stubborn and disciplined nature. So much so, many things, which you’d get abused over, were as simple as things, whether be it moving a flowerpot barely an inch to the right because “it just looked wrong before” or cutting rosemary “the proper way” and to “never disrespect the ways of herbalism again”, which quite frankly exhausted you to no end, earning her the name of Old Hag, only spoken when she wasn’t present of course, because, the thought of her finding out about her secret nickname was more terrifying than straight-up kicking a peacemaker in the ass.

Firing up the hungry insides of the chimney, you left the pine inside as its first dish, a quick little snack. With that thought in mind, you couldn’t help but murmur a joke to the chimney to be patient for the main dish because “good things take time”. 

Still, with a jacket covering your frame, you leaned against the window facing the perfect view of the port just a few feet away from you. Fishermen, with their young disciples, already untying their boats to take them to a new adventure, which most times led them to Edna’s shop.

You tended to think of those memories as a pleasantry, sure it had become ordinary and almost a monotone routine that you expected to face on a daily basis. Still, as you saw their dark silhouettes, and came to face with the much smaller silhouettes, you couldn’t help but frown with the slight pitching of your heatrings painfully.

 It was hard to forget tomorrow was the Annual Reaping. Unconsciously you gritted your teeth, it was something about their loud laughs while leaving the seashore, their shouts which were provoking the sea to give them tough challenges during the day, and just how they were signing joyful tunes, ignorant of what laid the very next day made you immensely uncomfortable. You gulped down hard, and as per usual you recited a little blessing for their safe return.

You blinked away from their overly optimistic sight, something you somehow found you couldn’t handle, the taste of bitterness present all the way to your heart. It left you with bubbled thoughts that popped into your mind. Pessimism and dejection were writing desolate letters in your brain, words too melancholic you regretted you could never send to anyone.

The little cling from the bell resonated, signaling the announcement of an early client. You had no choice but to brush aside your powerless thoughts and assist the woman who had just come in. Brown short curly locks bounced until they hit her shoulders. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Ashwood! Strange for you to be an early bird!” you trailed to a very much familiar face. You forced your learned charm out on display. Mrs. Ashwood took a second to look over your features, her sad eyes roamed over your figure, to take in all your shape. You could only suspect the reason behind it being much darker, she probably wanted to take one last look at you in case they were to take you away.

She tilted her head uncertain about the upbeat mood you were in. Then it dawned on you, that the fish children were doing the very same thing as you. It wasn’t necessarily ignorance or lack of knowledge of what was going to transpire, but rather trying to grasp any sharp shard of normalcy they had left before it would be too late. Before they’d be far away from home, fending for themselves in the arena, and before their untimely and cruel fate. So before the surface of the water rises atop your head and drowns you, you’d rather play along the unawareness card for a little while more. At least just until the Reaping hour tomorrow. 

Next

Hey guys!! this is my first fic here on Tumblr. If you like just how the story goes lmk and I'll put you in the Taglist. Anyways, love you guys MUAH <3

[n7cloacadestroyer]

Mass Effect's overall plot is a lot of fun, but any fan will tell you straight up that it isn't the tightest run ship. Major sections of the trilogy's overall plot are moved forward by contrivance, and established lore has a reputation for being tossed out the airlock because the dev team thought of something cool. That said, one (1) of the things that irks me the most is something I don't often see talked about--the Citadel Relay.

So here's the reaper's plan, in paraphrase:

Leave one (1) guy behind and fuck off to dark space to get that good sleep.

Oneguy turns on power saver mode and keeps an eye on the meatbags.

Fleshies find mass relays and citadel; use them.

Open murder hole to let the squad through.

Make meatbag soup

Return to step one

Now if something were to go wrong with step four, you'd have quite the pain in the ass in your future if you're a reaper.

Thought experiment: You're leaving your house for the day. You don't want anyone to just wander in, but you obviously need to get back inside later. Do you… A. Lock the door and take the key with you? B. Have someone house sit? C. Leave one of the back windows unlocked and hope no one notices? D. Train your cat to unlock the door when it hears you whistle?

Admittedly that last option would be cool, albeit contrived and prone to failure. For some reason though, the reapers went with that one. And surprisingly enough, someone eventually broke in and retrained their cats. The reapers don't have a single dialogue exchange in the entire series that doesn't include a small diatribe about their intellectual superiority, yet they have no contingency in place for this.

So it's already pretty silly at this point, but it actually gets a little sillier when you realize what the game takes care to avoid explicitly stating--the reapers obviously have a mass relay with them in dark space. One that links to the hub of the relay network but is for some reason isolated from it. They don't even have a backup that just like… links to the Serpent Nebula relay.

I know what some of you are probably thinking. That the closed circuit with the Citadel relay is meant to ensure that the reapers aren't stumbled upon while they're schleepin™. As Vigil states, "In this state, they are vulnerable." So turn it off. We've already established that relays can be deactivated, and that a capital ship like Sovereign can manually open them as it attempted to do with the Citadel. Link that bad boy to the whole network, turn it on when you get the signal, killallhumans.exe ggnore.

Now we turn our attention to Mass Effect 2, which establishes that there is an active relay beyond from which no one has ever returned. So the galactic community put their heads together and came up with a plan--stick some warning signs near it and let the problem take care of itself. Literally just throw hands up and move on. So if the reapers just killed everyone who came through their super secret clubhouse relay? Maybe put some of those weird Collector Laser Probes to take out the stragglers? They'd probably be fine.

Eventually we learn that the relay leads into the galactic core, and that it checks for a reaper IFF system to engage more accurate protocols to avoid throwing friendly vessels into a supermassive black hole or the hundreds of stars it's throwing around at nearly light speed. So now we've established that at least one relay has an Identify Friend Foe system. Mass Effect 3 further establishes that the IFF system is only usable by the Normandy because of EDI, who explains that the IFF is more of a thinking intelligence than a simple program. So if you aren't an AI, or don't have the help of one, you're kind of screwed.

Shame they couldn't use that technology for anything else. Barring access to certain relays, for example.

Recall the Arrival DLC. Commander Shepard vaporizes ~300,000 colonists because the Viper Nebula/Alpha relay is, and I quote, "their shortcut to the rest of the galaxy." If the reapers had even a single one of these contingencies in place, humanity would've likely arrived to an empty Citadel in a new cycle. They would've had their shortcut already, and there wouldn't be anything to be done about it.

Given that their plan is actually quite flawed, there are only a few explanations that I can think of:

The reapers are actually kind of stupid.

The Catalyst intentionally designed the "reaper solution" to be imperfect. To give the meatbags a chance, I guess?

The biomechanical nature of reaper construction has caused them to inherit more traits from the organics that facilitated their construction than any of them seem to freely admit. Namely arrogance, in this case. You'll notice that Harbinger does talk with the same aloof superiority that the Leviathan use when talking to Shepard in ME3, whereas Sovereign's dialogue reads as something more akin to disgust or hatred.

Development was rushed and somewhat troubled for every Mass Effect game to date, and many of the gaps we see are a result of content being cut to get the game out the door on time.

In all honesty, it's most likely some combination of 3 and 4, but it's kind of frustrating. It's not surprising that so many people write no reaper AUs and/or headcanon a Destroy ending that doesn't kill the geth and EDI simply to fit the framing as the Renegade option. Mass Effect, in the minds of most fans, is a character driven narrative. The reapers aren't really characters. There are only two of them that have names, and only three who actually speak. They're mostly just an excuse to make the plot happen.

If the intention was to imply that the reapers are literal mechanical mass graves haunted by the metaphorical ghosts of the civilizations harvested in their creation? I'm on board. The problem is that we're never told that, and we aren't given enough interaction with different reapers to come to that conclusion definitively ourselves. May as well just call 'em Harby and the Boys, cause it's clear from the outset that Harbinger is the only one that the narrative intends to give even the tiniest amount of weight after Sovereign is destroyed.

The reapers are a constant presence during the trilogy, and yet we only meaningfully interact with four, and that's if you're counting Sovereign's half brother Sluggard.

[fisherrprince]

Alphinaud goes down first. 

It’s a case of divided focus, something he prides himself on being able to do, being why he volunteered for it, but… it is too much. 

He tries to cast teleport. Multiple times, he tries, he has Ch’ari and Alisaie’s tethers, if he manages to cast it he can get the three of them out of here (out of plain sight, the middle of a disgusting field of churned earth and smoke and bodies in all directions, warmachina and the smell of burnt aether almost choking in their intensity, they weren’t even meant to be here it’s just there’s nowhere to go anymore and the teleport is straight to Doma where he knows the fighting hasn’t catastrophized yet and maybe Hien or Yugiri is still alive) — and yet when he pulls together enough mana for the spell between casts of ruin and shields and directing his carbuncle to and fro, it’s not like it doesn’t work. It’s more like it reaches out and never reaches past… here, the aethernet slowed to a halt, the cast stuck in an eternal loading screen. It tries, like a dying man tries to breathe. Alphinaud grips the pages of his grimoire with the realization that they aren’t escaping the ruins of Vylbrand. There is not enough aether to pull together the connection from here to Doma. 

A magitek reaper crushes his carbuncle under one foot, the poor creature disappearing with a yelp, and Alphinaud feels his heart skip a beat and his footing falter for a second as the magic between them is snapped, and without a shield the opportunity is taken before it can be snatched away and a lance buries itself between his ribs and throws him to the dirt. 

It knocks everything out of him. His grimoire skids just out of reach of his fingers. His vision hits the floor after his body does and keeps going, smearing colors like wet ink, and he doesn’t feel pain as quickly as he feels the odd sliding sensation of things moving that should not be. The lancer — dragoon, how ironic and unfairly cruel to die to — yanks the lance back out (a strained cry is forced out of him as it does) and hastily starts forwards, weapon raised as if they were feeling lucky after the success, and is thrust violently to the side as Alisaie buries her rapier through their stomach with a snarl. She kicks the corpse off her sword and makes as if to rush to her brother, eyes wild and pulled wide like a cat’s, but her focus is yanked away from her as another unlucky figure takes a powerful verthunder and vaporizes with a scream. 

The shield is gone — that was Alphinaud‘a job. Carbuncle. Alisaie skids to her knees at his side, panting harshly with her hair tangled in her face and begins casting vercure, only to grip her focus tightly and fling a spell backwards that explodes in a wall of fire. 

“Can you heal yourself?” She barks. Oh, she’s yelling like she’s upset. That’s not a helpful thought, because it’s quite obvious, but it strikes Alphinaud that he doesn’t want that to be happening. The sticky tear through his chest is starting to feel like ice when he breathes. 

“Carbuncle,” he wheezes, instead. 

Alisaie grabs his hand with hers and slaps it down on the grimoire, the requisite magic from their combined casts rushing into the spell as if from an unclogged drain pipe, reluctantly and then all at once. Moonstone — bless his moonstone carbuncle, he crafted it to be intelligent and it far exceeded his expectations, it pops into existence and immediately creates a shield big enough to shelter the three of them and zips off to attack any stragglers. Alisaie, checking her surroundings again, fumbles with Alphinaud’s soaked through cloak and returns to healing magic. 

Tries to return. There’s so much spent mana in the air it’s almost like shining a flashlight into a summer day, the way vercure stutters and hums weakly. Alisaie growls and pushes more mana into the spell, and it pulses as it slowly pulls aetheric particulates into itself to work.

“You okay?!” shouts a hoarse voice from some fulms away, right on the edge of the shield. 

Right — Ch’ari, not looking at them, locked in battle. Past the giddiness that pervades his attitude in a fight, strained into desperate focus. The only reason they’re not already dead, and she has no trouble admitting it. Ch’ari stands in a perpetual crackling, crystalline magic circle, Hydealyn trying to preserve Her champion, firing off spell after spell that explode between combatants in fierce, blinding reams of energy. Between casts, he flips his staff around and launches through warmachina, the azure dragoon in full sorcerer’s gear, more effective in close combat. In the little circle that surrounds them and the shield, Ch’ari fends off the army trying to kill them, growing more and more exhausted the more he doesn’t have help. 

“We need more time!” Alisaie yells. 

“Anything but that, Ali, I can give you anything else!”

“Then we need to leave, Ari, I can’t cast! We can’t stay!”

“How’s the—“ he turns, to look at them finally, his ears flat as his eyes widen in shock. “Hells,” Ch’ari hisses, and turns and slams his stave into the ground, the magic circle glowing and then brightening substantially as the ground surrounding the carbuncle’s shield cracks and explodes upwards with light, rending and throwing metal and flesh and forcing Alisaie to squint. 

When she can see again, Ch’ari has backed up to be close and enclose them between him and the mutilated rock Alphinaud fell against, trying again to cast teleport. The circle is gone — and this time, the cast barely even starts. Buying them time, using the ley lines to channel magic into the earth, used up any significant amount of aether left in the atmosphere, and she can almost taste the absence of life on the dry air. It tastes like the Burn. Like blood — though it’s tasted like blood for hours. 

Ch’ari brings his hands to his face, in concentration if not prayer, weak magic spiraling about his feet, when his ears flick up and he drops the spell and manages to cast manaward as—

KKRAKKOOM!

Just to pin the final nail on the coffin. A mangled, half-finished and tendon-bare imitation of Ultima drops from the sky and buries itself four feet into the ground, and it screams, cracking the carbuncle’s shield and causing the creature to let out a defiant shriek. 

Ultima reels, confident as a puppet yanked into position by dogs, and a sharp note rings out through the air as it aims and fires a beam of pure ceruleum energy into the shields. 

Ch’ari skids backwards and stays standing, both hands braced against his staff, stumbling backwards and nearly over the twins. Manaward isn’t strong, the blessing of Light the only thing keeping it up, but the drain on the star itself leaves it shimmering and wavering, almost obscuring what approaches from the wrecked wasteland behind. 

It’s almost like tendrils of nothingness. Shadowy hisses and steam-trails of pure black, bereft of magic entirely. They creep from nowhere and slip into the cracks, pushing at the edges like a meal awaits inside the eggshell. Almost alive, but so spread and so lifeless as to be an inevitability. 

Ultima shatters the carbuncle’s shield, and Alphinaud cries out, flinching as the tether breaks again. Ch’ari grunts with the effort of just keeping the shield up, no sign of the attack actually stopping — and Alisaie, unable to leave the shield area or she dies or her brother dies or anything, doesn’t cast a spell and just tries to channel aether into the Warrior of Light. 

The black fog seeps through the cracks made by the weapon, tugging them wider, longer. Drier. More and more blank, nothing. 

Ch’ari drops his staff drops the cast and turns and skids to his knees, grabbing both twins and pulling them close to him as manaward shatters. Ultima howls in triumph, bracing itself to fire again, but it hardly needs to, not to ensure the end of this story. The smoke rushes in, and blurs the world into unrecognizable nothing. 

Everything slows, and… stops. 

and. 

reverses. 

Alisaie feels it first. Underneath the stinging sensation of unhealed wounds the gentle tug as time begins to pull backwards, the way the particles in the air almost like stars begin to blur and streak. Ultima never fires again, immobile like a glittering metal statue, and from where her head is pressed into Ch’ari’s shoulder, she looks up and sees faint, astral spell lines.

She almost laughs. She does, in confused disbelief. Ch’ari’s grip loosens ever so slightly, ears swiveling to pick up the quiet shimmer of something far beyond him reaching out and pulling. 

You… only you…

Alisaie can’t help it, her hoarse laugh turns into giggles, and Ch’ari picks his head up entirely, still holding his twins but hearing that voice and hearing something else within it. Alphinaud’s fingers curl into Ch’ari’s coat, even through the haze of near-fever. The air cools, softens, and glows with blue smears and swirls of time. The edge of Ch’ari’s lips twitch, unsure but surrounded by familiar senses as the swirls speed up, faster and faster until the world blurs out of view entirely, replaced by streaks and starlight. 

Let expanse contract, eon become instant!

History must be changed!

And Thancred collapses to the floor, unconscious. 

[oldxenomorph]

unmask, night

pairing: nyx/the reaper emperor warnings: gore, sexual content (tentacles, voyeurism, nyx being a soft dom, nyx feeding the emperor gore). 18+ summary: successor to devourment / for @bodysnatch3r

“It will be a very long night for you, Extinction.”

--

Another cycle has come to pass.

(The doors in the Dark Tower are closed. The Oceanview Motel has locked the door with the crimson eye and the door with the upright black triangle.)

Nyx watches as the Emperor closes the distance between her and the wretched man. This room deep within the Ziggurat, ankle-high redness, thick and partially liquid, partially coagulated. A veil separates the goddess from the rest of the room as she lounges on a klinai, its frame made from the black metal of the Old Machines. The thrum of the building amplifies in her space, the sound of the Emperor’s hunger, her stomach opening up to readily welcome the thing that was grown just for her.

The room is humid. The mixture of the dark, heavy air and the Emperor’s presence creates an oppressive atmosphere, it makes the room airless. Extinction towers over the wretched thing, her red eyes and red scars searing through the haze, nuclear fusion burning hydrogen, stars rotting, aging, bloating; she vivisects him, she has already begun to eat him from the inside out, the red light slides inside him. Tentacles emerge from the gore, creating curtains of viscera and sheets of dark red; his variations of drowned flesh and parts pulsate in time with the building’s thrum, weeping fluid into the great pool of red. Nyx’s starlight eyes, the gold color of main sequence stars, pierce through the vapor of innards and parts from countless cycles.

Wet and red coated tentacles curl around the man’s middle, dragging him towards her, gravity trapping him in her presence. Eager to break him open, to slide into his chest cavity, deep into the soft, cramped space between his organs. Inevitable and inescapable.

The Emperor opens her mouth, her black teeth wet with annihilation.

“She eats him because he my gift to her.” The Crawling Chaos says, his voicing coming from the darkness behind the goddess. He leans down, his sharp smile hear her ear. He does not wear one of his many forms, he comes to her in the shape given to him by his parent. “That does not mean you simply have to sit here and watch, O Night.”

Bones crack, the man’s ribcage broken open by the Emperor’s tentacles. Steam rises from the wounds she creates, his insides made hot by their internal heat, organs neatly cradled in the primordial warmth of tissue and fat and muscle. The black tar that leaks and drips from her mouth eats away at him like acid before her teeth sink into the tender meat of his neck. The thing laughs, sick with madness and hatred; wretched and red teeth hissing and refracting from the exposure to the Ziggurat. (The building hates him, it keeps him trapped in here, in this dark, wet, suffocating room.)

The Emperor’s fingers form a fist in his hair, holding him still, pulling him to wherever she needs him so she can eat him the way she wants. The red within him bursts when she sinks her teeth into new areas, when her tentacles push deeper into his writhing guts. She pulls him closer as his ruined voice chants UNMASK, UNMASK, UNMASK as his hands grip her arms, as his nails chip and shatter against her biomechanical exterior.

The man turns his half-eaten face towards the veiled section of the room, looking directly at the pinpoints of starlight. His brown and grey hair dipping into the blood as Extinction pulls him apart. (He taunts the Night, goads her, smiles impossibly wide with soaked red teeth and wild eyes.) Tar grows inside her mouth to match the hunger in her stomach, it oozes, it coats everything within her, prepares her for more. Tentacles wrap around him, holding him tightly as she leans over him, her hands and long talons reaching into his solar plexus, deep into his gut, fingers tightening around his liver, his intestines. She forces him to look at her.

“I wear no mask,” the Emperor says, her voice crushingly deep, cold and all-consuming. The thing’s insides hiss when they make contact with the rings of her authority: the black metal of the Old Machines, the black jade from the Oldest House. (Even in its sickly state, it loves her, it love her. The Hiss metastasizes like a cancer in the Oldest House, and still the building calls out to the Emperor, it yearns to see her face again.) His innards writhe against her the ring of her matrimony, the ancient starless sky opening a hole in his brain.

The Emperor’s mouth fills itself with meat in perpetual motion, writhing and screaming horrors grown between the sections of fat and flesh, things that burst with red and bile when her teeth sink into them. She breaks him open again, her mouth eating its way through to his heart as his head and neck hang, held by tendons and ropes of veins and nerves tangled in his spine.

Watching through the veil, Nyx thinks of all the people and things she would like to see the Emperor break open and eat, and eat, and eat. Her own impatience grows within her, impatience and desire. Churning in dark space between her own organs is the thought of having Extinction all to herself, telling her who she should devour. She imagines the Emperor’s hands, wet and tacky with golden ichor, the flesh and atoms of lesser gods being obliterated in her mouth and stomach during Earth’s final hours.

In the dark of her heart, Nyx imagines the Emperor eating Chronos. When she looks at the thing the Crawling Chaos grew, her starlight eyes replace his image with that of the Titan’s. Perhaps that is her own rage, her own desire for revenge that has sat within her for millennia, a taste for violence that she has always pushed down within her. Nyx looks at the Emperor’s hands and imagines them crackling with violet dark energy as they apply newtons of force to the Titan’s face, caving it in; she envisions her wife’s hands breaking open the rest of his form and reaching into his body to pull out everything within him. She imagines Extinction eating Time, the immensity of her gravity crushing him as she eats and eats and eats.

The Night’s elegant face remains impassive, but her chest rises and falls as she breaths deeply.

Nyarlathotep hums. A sound like a smile within a smile, a laugh within a laugh, whispers within whispers.

“Feed her, O Night. He is here for you to break as well.” As he speaks, multiple sets of his many hands reach around the Night Incarnate. They touch the skulls on her necklace, they settle on the concave curves of her pauldrons, they trace the shape of the bat-like wings that hover near her, they smooth underneath ribbon of lilac silk that levitates around her, they cup around the cluster of stars near her crown. “I have grown such delights in his vessel, things only for the Precious Emperor to eat.”

Nyx watches the Emperor gorge herself on the man. Blood gushes from her mouth as her teeth sever veins and capillaries and arteries, it coats her lowers face, her hands, her tentacles. Blood soaks her neck and her chest, red and wet even in the darkness, drenched in that thick liquid that gives life, that she devours, that spurts every time her teeth sink into him, breaking into him, tearing him apart. Vantablack hair slips from her shoulders. The room grows hotter.

A tightness grows within the Night, desire coils deep within her, a heat in her core and in her gut; a tightness that is almost unbearable, she feels it spread. Nyx looks at the Emperor covered in blood, watches her eat this thing grown specifically for her, and thinks how much she wants to fuck her. The sight awakens the Night’s hunger for Extinction, her wife. Insatiable, unending.

One of Nyarlathotep’s hands reaches around the goddess, long fingers unfurling to gently hold her face by the chin as he leans closer to her. “You should unmask, O Night.” 

Unmask. Unmask. Unmask.

The impassive face Nyx always wears, the role of ancient mother and house overseer that she still plays; she has pushed down eons of cravings because she deemed them a distraction. Nyx watches the Emperor eat, her body and tentacles drenched in red and black, and she desires, she yearns, she lusts. To have the Emperor in her arms, to run her hands through her hair, to possess her completely. The Emperor will do anything for her, she belongs to her, only her.

Nyx rises from the klinai, the Crawling Chaos letting her go, and parts the veil. She is unbothered by the ankle-high blood, uncaring that the hem of her violet dress is now soaked with ancient, fermenting red.

Tentacles emerge from the darkness around her, midnight and full of stars. They wrap around the thing sliding over the Emperor’s oil black ones, taking his ruined body from her, and they tighten. A wave of Nyx’s hand and she summons another klinai, the Ziggurat allowing it to come into existence, metal and royal and violet. In the heavy haze from steam rising from fluid and gore, the Night Incarnate’s eyes of starlight meet the Emperor’s eyes of stellar death. Nyx can see the vibrations in her wife’s eyes, stars on the very brink of being crushed, being eaten; when she observes her pupils more closely, they are black holes and the red brightness around them are accretion disks. Even in the Emperor’s eyes, she devours.

As much Nyx would love to put her hands on her, to hold her face, to kiss her, to claim her, she withholds for now. There is more pleasure to be had feeding her wife, in having her submit herself to her. Tentacles hold the thing in place as the goddess takes out his right eye. Beautiful lavender nails and cold, pale, slender fingers easily sinking into his eye socket. Within a single motion, the Night pulls out the ocular organ, ripping the optic nerve that connects it to his brain.

With the eye in her hand, Nyx approaches the Emperor. A smile forms on her painted violet lips as she places her free hand on the entity’s chest and wordlessly commands her to sit on the klinai. The Emperor does so, without question, her own tentacles wrapping around the legs of the furniture as her great form sits. The thing’s fate is now in the Night’s hands, his annihilation now controlled by she who was the dark at the beginning of everything, she who will be the dark after the end of everything. Nyx slips her hand underneath the Emperor’s chin, holding her as she places the eye at the entity’s lips. “Eat for me, O Extinction.”

The Emperor obeys. Her mouth opens and wet, black tentacles emerge, seeking that which is in her wife’s hand; they seek his eye, they seek everything it contains. Nyx feeds her the way the way one feeds their lover an oyster. She watches with great interest the way the Emperor tentacles wrapping around the small organ, holding it in place, enveloping it with the total absence of light and sound as it is crushed by black teeth. The Emperor eats his eye the way she would eat a star.

Black leaks from the great entity’s mouth, the material mixes with the red, eating the red. Now that she is close to her, Nyx can see how the violet darkness of the earrings the Emperor wears pulsate in time with the viscera around her, darkness that pulses with the event horizon of the black hole in her chest, violet that pulses with an insatiable desire to have the goddess, to kiss her and worship her and obey her and fill her.

“What do you want to eat?” The goddess asks. One of Nyx’s tentacles traces the line of the Emperor’s jaw. She adores the way her wife leans into its touch, wet mouth slightly agape, breathing deeply. Another one of Nyx’s tentacles does the same to the other side of the Emperor’s jaw, until they hold her in place, snaking into her vantablack hair to cradle the base of her skull. A deep sound leaves the Emperor, more black material dripping past her lips; her eyes swarm with pleasure, vibrating, buzzing with noise from the feeling of being touched by the Night. Through her own growing lust, she responds, her voice filling the room.

“His heart. His brain. His liver.”

Three parts of his soul.

The Night hums. “You’ve done all the hard work for me.” Nyx’s tentacles wrap around the Emperor, they slip around her middle, they follow the biomechanical nature of her body, sliding up the valley of technology and darkness that is her sternum. They weave with her own tentacles and pull her arms back, holding them in place, keeping them captive. They slip between her legs, following down the strangeness of her hips and up her powerful thighs, they bring her to a low, dull ache. The Emperor does not resist, rather she readily accepts being held and touched and restrained by her wife’s tentacles, so long as she can eat; her mouth opens, letting out a deep-toned sound and drooling black tar, thick black liquid oozing with hunger and arousal. A smile graces the painted lips of the Night Incarnate as she took in the sight before her. “I get to enjoy watching you eat.”

Tentacles make short work of removing the thing’s liver and splitting it in two pieces, the right and the left. Nyx holds the smaller of the two halves. As the Night feeds the Emperor the liver-meat, black tentacles seek to curl around her slender fingers, desperately wanting to feel them amongst the wet blackness. A soft sound is extracted from the depths of the Emperor’s chest as Nyx pulls her fingers away just as they make contact.

“You may touch me after you have eaten everything,” Nyx says, playful and loving and devious all at once.

“Yes, my goddess,” the Emperor replies.

The Night pulls apart the organ again, fluid and blood gushing from its tissue, raw and fresh. Her hands are now drenched in red, beautiful and pale hands adorned with rings and jewelry now coated in the liquid that once pumped through his body, the material that gave him life. It, too, hisses and refracts and screams against her fingers, against her rings, against her nails. The man’s liver is a thing of hate, malignant, one third of his soul and ripened by the hand of the Crawling Chaos. She feeds the Emperor the offal and watches as it slips into her mouth, as the black tentacles wrap around it and squeeze it as black teeth and gravity pulverize it.

“Good,” she says in a pleased tone, rewarding the great entity with praise as she feeds her another piece, and another, and another. The Emperor obediently eats it all, with great enthusiasm, eager to ingest whatever her wife gives her.

The atmosphere of the room grows headier, heavier, more humid as the Emperor eats the last of the thing’s liver. Nyx’s tentacles continue to indulge themselves in the entity’s biomechanical body, as they maintain that low ache ache within her. Nyx can feel her own desire coil tightly in her gut as the Emperor’s mouth part to let out another sound and another gush of black exits her mouth, down her chin; the entity rocks her hips against her wife’s tentacles, desperate for friction.

“Do not spoil your appetite, my beautiful Emperor,” the goddess softly reprimands.

“Yes, my goddess,” the Emperor’s abyssal voice is deeper, heavier as she stills her hips. A low sound leaves her as Nyx’s tentacles touch her in a particular way, a reward.

It is a wondrous sight, the Great Lord of Extinction so pliant and ready to obey the Night Incarnate. The red in her eyes vibrate with desire, with love. It was just a short time ago that the Emperor was full of violence, brutally breaking the thing open, enjoying his pain and his madness because it pleased her, because that was his ultimate purpose: to feed her, to entertain her, the Crawling Chaos continues his unending existence in various forms because it all comes down to this in the end. Nyx’s eyes study the great entity and her state of being; she wonders if her wife planned this, to have his three-part soul fed to her, to bring her into this ritual because she once expressed that she wanted to watch.

Nyx is part of this now. The Emperor wants her to be part of this. Nyx wants to be part of this from now on.

(Nyarlathotep is pleased by this development.)

The brain is removed and spare tendrils of darkness emerge to help the goddess break apart the hemispheres and the other parts at its base. They separate each lobe of each side, while Nyx goddess gently holds the Emperor’s jaw as she feeds her the cerebellum. Underneath her fingertips, she can feel the structure underneath her wife’s skin move, opening to allow black tentacles to emerge and help Nyx bring it into her mouth, all while obeying her command to refrain from touching her. The Night continues to wear her smile as her hand leaves the Emperor’s face.

Lobe by lobe, Nyx feeds the Emperor the thing’s brain. The goddess watches the entity savor the annihilation of the second part of the thing’s soul, brain-flesh ripened by the Dark Tower.

“You’re doing so well, my beautiful Emperor.” Nyx’s ethereal voice, old as the universe, rewards her wife, her praise causes thick, viscous black tar to ooze from the entity’s mouth again. One set of her endless tentacles carefully remove the thing’s heart, the other set continues to touch the Emperor. They both slide into dark spaces, one sinks into an awaiting chest cavity to obtain that fist-sized red price, one sinks into Extinction, opening her up for the Night Incarnate, preparing her for what is to come after the ritual. Nyx controls the Emperor’s arousal, raising the dull ache of desire to a heated lust, intensified by the humidity of the room, sustained by anticipation. Deep within her, Nyx feels the same. There is a exhilaration to it all, of being in control, of feeding the Emperor, of watching her devour, of being the one who makes her ache, of being her obsession, her love.

(I know what you are, Eternal Night. You are just as greedy as she is, the thing laughs. Greedy, greedy, greedy. I know you let your mind wander, I know you think of her more than you think of your children. I know how you want her, how you dominant her, how you claim her. There is a sickness in his laugh, a madness, crimson and echoing across cycles and worlds. Show your Reaper Queen just how possessive you are. I am the ritual to lead you on. Unmask, Night.)

The Night Incarnate holds the thing’s heart in both her hands. It is smaller than her own heart, fitting neatly in her palms. Slowly beating, the last third of his soul. The heart remembers, it is a container. Once it is devoured by the Emperor, the ritual will end and the cycle will begin again. It is one of many ways Extinction maintains the universe, across and beyond space and time. Nyx looks down at the Emperor, her smile unmoving, her face keeping its serene expression even while her desire grows, tight and condensed and hot like the core of a star.

“You serve me, O Reaper Emperor. Tell me how you worship me.”

The Emperor answers without hesitation, her abyssal voice made deeper by her current state. “Everything I devour is for you, O Night. I eat whatever you want me to eat.” Her eyes are full of bliss, the joy of submission to the Night Incarnate, her wife. “I will annihilate whatever you want me to annihilate. I exist for your pleasure, I exist to bring you pleasure. I am yours, completely. You are mine, O Night. My Empress, my goddess.”

She says all the words Nyx loves to hear. Devotion, submission. Extinction gives herself to the Night Incarnate; her mouth is open and expecting, drooling, even as she adjusts her hips to allow Nyx’s tentacles to sink deeper into her. The violet smile the goddess wears grows a little wider, displaying her approval, her pride, her own joy in her work.

A soft hum leaves Nyx as she moves closer to the Emperor. “You are exquisite when you are like this, my love.” One of her hands reaches towards the entity, tracing the line of her jaw until her fingers hold her by the chin once again. “Open for me, Extinction. Eat for me.”

The Emperor opens her mouth and wet black tentacles emerge again, gripping and wrapping around the heart, bringing it to her. Her dark material floods the organ, turning it from life’s red to oil black, the gravity of her darkness already crushing it as it passes the event horizon. Her black teeth sink into the flesh, drinking the blood the floods her mouth, even if some of it spills onto her chest. Nyx guides her jaw, helps her devour the organ, commands her when to open her mouth wider and when to apply pressure, pulverize. The Emperor’s tentacles twist themselves around Nyx’s, the one that restrain her; they twist and tighten as the Emperor leans forward, closer to her wife, so she could easily consume the heart, leaning forward in hot, aching want. Starlight eyes watch her, fixating in the black tentacles from her mouth that pull the organ into her mouth, little by little as she eats and eats and eats.

And then the heart is no more.

Cold, beautiful hands made red by lovingly feeding her wife, cup the Emperor’s face. Nyx’s amethyst lips claim the entity’s pitch black ones in a deep and hungry kiss, a yearning to finally have her turn at devouring her after spending all this time watching her, feeding her, preparing her.

“Such a beautiful, perfect wife, and all for me,” Nyx says, enjoying the way the Emperor melts into her touch from the praise. She commands her tentacles to remove her dress and ornamentation, the Ziggurat doing away with the silks and jewelry to the same place she shares her clothes with the Emperor’s. Even her stephane is gone, allowing her midnight black hair to fall to its actual length. The goddess runs her hand through the Emperor’s beautiful, long, vantablack hair and pulls her closer, finally granting her permission to touch her, gently releasing her from her tentacles. “You’ve been very good. And you’ve eaten everything.”

The Emperor’s hands immediately filled themselves with the soft flesh of Nyx’s thighs as she worships her wife’s body. Black lips leave the black and red imprints of lipstick and blood on Nyx’s thighs, on her stomach. Slender fingers sink into the Emperor’s hair, cradling the back of her head, guiding her to where Nyx wants to feel her mouth; pulling her up so she could leave her markings all over her breasts, all over her neck. The Night’s tentacles coax out the entity’s arousal, lovingly continue to sustain its ache, their attention eliciting low sounds, black and scarred lips agape against’s the goddess’s skin as she feels herself throb. “My Nyx…..” Abyssal, teeth-rattling machine baritone. Nyx loves that sound more than anything, especially when its her name in her wife’s mouth, her name being caressed and stretched by the black tentacles in the mouth of Extinction.

Nyx gently pushes the Emperor down on the klinai as she crawls on top of her, straddling her. The entity aches between her legs, desperate, needy, lost in her own lust for the goddess, her own fullness from devouring the Crawling’s Chaos’s gift. Nyx’s tentacles continue to touch her, they go where her hands cannot. The goddess looks down at the Emperor, her hands moving up the biomechanical exterior of her wife’s chest, following every texture and ridge wet with blood and black tar. A soft sound escapes her as her wife’s hands fill themselves with her hips, moving at the same time and rate as her own hands, long and spidery fingers and sharp talons greedily running over her curves, indulging themselves in all her softness.

“It will be a very long night for you, Extinction,” the Eternal Night says, her ethereal voice heavy and sultry and punctuated by the sound she makes as she takes in all of the Emperor’s arousal.

(The ritual is complete. The corpse of the thing laughs as the variations of himself pull him down. The doors are open. A new cycle begins and the daylight does not come.)

[dragonflight203]

Mass Effect 2 replay, exploring and Mordin’s loyalty mission:

Xe Cha

-Aphras – A garden world that was home to a sapient avian species in their bronze age. Massive impacts to their habitation centers killed them, vaporized the water, and lifted dust into the atmosphere.

The obvious conclusion is Reapers, but they supposedly only go after space faring species. Planet descriptions like this make me think they might kill species in earlier stages, to prolong the time until the next harvest as much as possible.

-Tosal Nym – A second garden world in the system. It was destroyed by similar strikes that created a dust shroud that killed the planet. Based on their patterns, it was not a natural disaster.

So the question is: Why?

The planet description makes no mention of a sapient species, making Reapers unlikely. However, perhaps their fossils and/or remains just haven’t been found.

Or in one cycle there was a species that destroyed garden worlds for shits and giggles and destroyed both Aphras and Tosal Nym. It’s possible.

-Zadar Ban – The location of the N7: Blood Pack Base mission.

Going by the mission, this is the third garden world in the system. It has waterfalls! Grass!

However, since two garden worlds in system is considered extremely rare, I suspect this was an oversight and it’s not supposed to be habitable.

-Not much of interest to this mission. It’s just a long corridor of shooting because Shepard apparently vents their frustration by killing Blood Pack.

Normandy

-Cerberus sent an email assuring Shepard that TIM had ordered the Subject Zero project shutdown before the riot, and that the surviving children were given amnesia and handed over to the Alliance. Surviving doctors were “forcibly retired”.

How convenient. And absolutely bullshit. Except killing the survivors doctors, that I believe.

There’s no evidence that TIM has any limit when it comes to experiments, except that they produce results. If he ordered the Subject Zero project shutdown, it’s because it wasn’t successful. Not because he had any moral qualms.

Aresh says he believed he was the only survivor. He woke up after everything was over; while I can believe he missed other survivors – he was a child and in no frame of mind to thoroughly check – it’s quite possible he’s the only one that made it out. And if other children did survive, it’s more likely that Cerberus repurposed them for another project than hand them over to the Alliance.

-Jack says she’s “not a girl’s club person”. She likes Shepard and that’s a good place to leave it.

-If you talk to her again, she says Shepard is just messing around and she doesn’t want to play.

Understandable behavior if frustrating. Jack doesn’t know what to do with sincerity or how to be someone’s friend. It’s easier to drive Shepard off than to grapple with it. She has enough to deal with working through her past.

Urla Rast

Talis Fia – The Citadel Council gave the volus colonization rights in return for favorable trade terms.

Once again: This is in the Terminus System. The Citadel Council supposedly has no power in them. How are they giving way colonization rights?

The Terminus Systems are one of the biggest headaches to work out in the series.

In ME1 the Citadel Council wants nothing to do with them; in ME2, the game goes back and forth over whether or not the Citadel Council has authority. The main plot generally says they do not, but the planet descriptions imply that they do.

Mordin’s Loyalty Mission

-Compared to most other loyalty missions in the game, Mordin’s is deep. There’s a lot to sift through in it.

-The Chief Scout doesn’t think the krogan can unite if offworlders interfere.

Fair. Ideally, unification will be driven from within. If it’s created artificially be external forces, then it will likely fall apart once the external forces that drove it vanish.

-He also says that the Weyrlock Clan started the Blood Pack.

However, the Codex says that the vorcha started the Blood Pack, then the krogan Ganar Wang took it over and made it the force it is in ME2.

Krogans normally have their clan name as their first name, so I doubt Ganar is part of the Weyrlock Clan.

So, which history is true?

-The mako would have been handy on Tuchanka, I’m just saying.

-The lead up to the Weyrlock base provides one of the best excuses for the conveniently placed cover: Given the krogan clans are perpetually at war, they probably placed the cover there themselves at some point or another.

-Miranda says the only krogan buildings more durable than hospitals are bomb shelters, and most of those were destroyed in civil wars.

If the krogans ever stop fighting, they’d probably do great in engineering and construction.

-And another patented ME2: Humans are Special moment.

Humans are useful as test subjects because they’re more genetically diverse. Ergo, they have larger reactions to stimuli.

This diversity also makes it more difficult to predict the nature of a given human. Humans have a wider expression of intelligence, biotic ability, etc. than other species.

Was any of this necessary?

It’s not actually plot relevant to ME2 or ME3, so it just feels like propaganda for humans. Which is strange, because all players are (presumably) human.

-Mordin assumes that it must have been the krogans that experimented on the human research subject you find. He never even considers that it could have been Maleon.

-The renegade dialogue when you speak to the Weyrloc Clanspeaker is very good.

-If you go paragon, it shows the complexity of the genophage.

The Clanspeaker is clearly upset when describes “the piles of children that never lived”. It’s quite a poetic line, and is designed to garner sympathy for the speaker..

Then he immediately goes on to describe the revenge they’ll take on the turians, asari, saleons, etc. That pretty much kills all the sympathy.

This is the dilemma of the genophage – it’s cruel and unethical, but the dangers of curing it are also undeniable. It’s hard to sustain a desire to cure the krogan when they’re plotting out how they’ll destroy your people afterward.

This is what makes Wrex and Bakara so critical – they desire to move past the genophage and build a new future for the krogan that doesn’t include conquering the galaxy.

-In the lab, Mordin is emphatic that he’s never used medicine to kill.

If he needs to kill, he has plenty of other means to do so.

This is Moridn’s dilemma – he struggles to reconcile the parts of him that are a killer and a healer. He justifies the killing as necessary to protect, but it still troubles him.

-Mordin considers the rachni extinction a tragedy. Diversity is important.

Not surprising – Mordin places a high value of life. When possible he’ll preserve it.

-It’s clear that what he enjoyed about his work on the genophage was the challenge of modifying it.

Seeing the fall out of his work hurts him to his soul.

Mordin’s head tells him that the genophage is essential, but his heart hates what it does to the krogan.

-The krogans were offered a truce during the korgan rebellions. They refused it.

-If you go paragon, Shepard says that the upgraded virus kept the krogans in barbarism.

I disagree with that: The krogan stayed in barbarism because they chose to. They could have gotten their act together and worked on way to revitalize their people – Wrex even tried to!

The genophage didn’t help matters, but the krogans are responsible for their own choices.

-Mordin has distinct overtones of white man’s burden: He says that the genophage is not a punishment – it’s just a correction for the krogans’ removal from a hostile environment.

The salarians uplifted them, so it’s their responsibility to “correct” the harm caused by that.

-Paragon Shepard is frustrating through this mission. They’re very self-righteous and insistently naive; they think that curing the genophage would fix everything with the krogan.

And it would not! There are many krogan like the Weyrloc Clan and Wreave that want to fight for the sake of fighting. They’ll swarm over the galaxy if the genophage is cured. They are why it was invented.

But the genophage is cruel. And it creates more cruelty as krogans lose hope for their future or desperately try to cure it.

Just, I wish there were a way to acknowledge that the genophage is complex when speaking to Mordin rather than treating it as a binary good/evil.

-Mordin says that the simulations showed that if the genophage was cured, the krogans would go to war and the turians and humans would eliminate them completely.

The modified genophage was meant to save the krogans as much as anyone else.

At least to Mordin. I suspect many other salarians have different opinions.

-Miranda, about the scout leaving: Hopefully his story of curing the genophage will be passed off as a hallucination.

Of course she’d be thinking of that.

-Mordin’s as pissed at how Maleon is developing a cure for the genophage as the fact that he is. Maleon is violating all ethics Mordin taught him about science.

-Maleon, for his part, figures that he’s so drenched in blood that a bit more doesn’t matter.

Clearly salarians don’t have the saying “The first rule to digging a hole is to stop digging”.

Even if Maleon’s hands will never be clean, he doesn’t have to spill more blood on the floor.

-Maleon does raise the valid point that the decision to modify the genophage was justified based on simulations, but simulations can’t account for everything.

For example, the Reapers.

However, I’d argue that you have to work with what you have. You’ll never know everything, so if you wait until you do you’ll never do anything. You just do the best you can and accept the consequences.

That is what makes ethics so critical – you draw lines and say This, I will not do. No matter how bad it gets, this is unacceptable.

So when you do have to act with imperfect information, at least what you do is less likely to be unforgivable.

That’s the step the STG skipped.

-That Mordin even considers saving the data shows how much the modified genophage upsets him. No matter what he says, he feels guilty.

Normandy

-Mordin’s proud of Maleon’s backbone, even as he’s furious about his behavior.

-Mordin claims salarians resolve their emotions quickly. Maybe not healthily, but they decide how to handle them for better or for worse.

Is that true, or just Mordin diverting Shepard? What other salarian is he going to check with?

-For someone so talkative, Mordin is very evasive about discussing Tuchanka. He does not want to go there.

[cloudjumpervalka]

really surprised i haven't posted these?

the first is a lineup of my apprentice for the arcana game in their various outfits. they have since become a big inspiration for my new book project

the second is a lineup of all my ttrpg characters over the years. more info about them below (this is so long i apologize but i love my blorbos)

Dagny - half wood elf druid. he lives alone in a swamp after running away from home. he doesn't much care for people after growing up in a toxic environment. he dedicates himself to preserving the wildlife he's found solace in. Notably has a pet seagull named Gordon and a coral snake named Alton

Beryl Frozenfire (ft. Sapphire Frozenfire) - mountain dwarf barbarian. beryl and sapphire grew up as siblings born into a wealthy mining family (all of their family is named after blue gemstones) beryl grew up more interested in fighting to protect her home while sapphire grew up interested in becoming a powerful wizard. they grew up as the best of friends but long story short, beryl accidentally kills sapphire during a raid on her family's mine. beryl leaves her family home to atone for this, only to return years later with her new traveling party against her wishes. while saving her family's mine which had fell apart after the disappearance of their two children, she finds herself now magically attached to an ax holding the angry soul of her dead sister.

Morgana Thales - dusk elf death cleric. (yes i used Mor for a like month long side campaign i dont remember the exact details but bear with me) morgana loses her wife in a raid against their village. she then makes a deal with the followers of (i dont remember the deity oops but i think?? it was Shar?) to resurrect her wife in exchange of her service

Jullian - fey eladrin bard. he plays the hurdy gurdy. he's a traveling musician that relies on his constant traveling to refrain from forming any good relationships. (and honestly i've tried playing him in two different campaigns but i just can't rp as him lmao so me leaving those campaigns early is very in character actually)

Nanjo - human... doomed superhero... "vape ghost". she was born with powers that allow her to turn her body into vapor to "teleport" (similar to reaper/moira ovw) however every time that she uses her powers, she loses a part of her physical body. she currently does not have either of her arms intact, instead she moves her hands around with clouds of vapor she forms to create "smoky arms". she does not want people to know she is essentially disintegrating for multiple reasons. but the main reason is she is a retired jpop idol. it was too hard to keep her secret on stage so she left her other two group members to be a duo. while she cannot continue performing on stage, she uses her abilities in a modified cosplay of her favorite idol to fight crime

Olive Alberich - android on the run from being disassembled. she was built as a product of a corrupt company. she was purchased by a wealthy family that used her to act as a nanny for their child. she acted essentially as the kid's sole caretaker as well as her homeschool teacher as she had infinite knowledge in her head. one day the kid asks to do a science experiment as her homework for the day, but things go wrong and results in the kid dying from a explosion/fire that burns down that wing of the mansion. this event triggers an empathy chip in olive's brain that was not meant to be installed. olive distraught in that moment can recall her years raising this kid in new light while watching her body burn. her owners after seeing olive's new attitude, call for her recall as they believe she intentionally killed their child. she believes this is unjust and is now on the run. she has since acquired a new "cool girl" look by cutting her hair, changing her wardrobe, and replacing one of her eyes. if anyone asks, she's human

the last one is cheating because its beryl again but from when i tried bringing her back for a new campaign that was abandoned quickly lol

[dzthenerd490]

Alaitoc Eldar: Guardian

Description: Elite fighting force of the Alaitoc Eldar, young but brave females and males who fight for their Craftworld to take on the overwhelming threats of the Galaxy. As Guardians they only attack when the fight comes to them, defending their Craft World and ancient Shrine Worlds of the Eldar, especially those that belonged to their ancestors.

Arsenal:

Alaitoc Guardian Bio Suit - similar to the Biosuit for Space Marines and Legionnaires but is much more powerful as it is powered by the Psyker energy form the Eldar themselves. Allows the Guardian to fly and even gives them a thin but powerful Void shield all over their body vaporizing physical projectiles and repelling energy projectiles. Though this shield can be overloaded or overwhelmed into deactivation, so the Eldar are trained to never be reliant on it. Given arm and leg braces both for protection but also to be able to harness excess Psyker energy allowing the Eldar to summon continuous or powerful Psyker spells without the ever-increasing risk of Chaos. The most common spells that can be used is to create Psychic blades that easily slice through steel or shields to block out physical attacks and projectiles.

Spirit Orb - Also called a Lacrima, contains a bit of the Guardians essence but powered by a contained form of Warp Energy through a process only known by the Eldar. Is used to both be their primary weapon and defensive companion against overwhelming threats. It is able to float around on its own and shoots Psyker lighting at enemies of the Guardians. Thought can only unleash its true power when in the possession of its Eldar master.

Screaming Grenades - Grenades that not only explode but release a shockwave of destruction that lasts for 1 minute. Blowing any target apart and those that do manage to survive still have the chance of being shot with chaos lighting that will vaporize half their flesh and may leave them as a disfigured monster that will now try to kill other survivors as what’s left of their minds have been corrupted by Chaos.

Whispering Sword - A powerful sword already strong enough to cut through metal like a hot knife through butter. However, it is able to extend into a large plasma blade that is so powerful and hot, it can slice through an Imperial Tank, cutting the entire vehicle in two. Is able to reshape itself into a bow that shoots plasma crystal arrows. Able to piece through anything and once impacted sprouts out into crystal spikes that further rip apart their targets and burn hot enough to melt anything that is left or tries to crush them.

Fighting Paths:

Diver Avenger - a fighting style that is rather basic but relies on learning physically from the enemy. The standard approach is to fight wildly and weakly to make them believe you are basic and therefore easy to crush. They should proceed to fight without great effort and thus are open to weaknesses that can be exploited. This fighting style relies on being adaptive and evasive so even if the enemy does not fall for it there is no way the Eldar can be overwhelmed, so long as they have space to retreat to.

Howling Banshee - A strange form of attack where the Eldar will “scream” with Psyker energy while running around their enemies only striking at random times and at random enemies. This is meant to cause as much confusion as possible to leave the enemy no chance to strike back or retaliate. The screams also greatly affect enemy Psykers, leaving them in so much pain they cannot retaliate even if they see the Eldar coming.

Dancing Star - A fighting style of the Eldar where they use a little of their Psyker energy to create luminous illusions to trick and disorient enemies while striking for the kill. Like the Howling Banshee style but works better against Orks and Necrons who cannot sense Psykers or have any Psyker abilities and therefore are normally harder to trick.

Dark Reaper - a fighting style of using ranged weapons with heavy fire power for fire support purposes. Eldar of this path learn to increase their sense to the maximum for more efficient aiming. No enemy can escape their sight or their fire, but they lack the defensive capabilities needed to defend themselves in close range attacks. As such, it's never good to be fully reliant on this path.

Swooping Hawk - a fighting style that relies on the anti-gravity flying abilities of the biosuit for the Eldar. Allows them to focus and strengthen their bodies for attacks from the air, either down on land enemies or up towards enemies in the air. Nothing can escape an Eldar who relies on this style.

[carnalapples]

7 snippets, 7 mutuals

thank you @rowanisawriter for the tag!! i'll tag @theluckywizard and anyone else who wants to share :) lots of dialogue this time around lol:

bodyguard au (cullen/f!trevelyan)

“You’re jealous,” she laughs again, because she’s feeling this insane urge to wind him up. Like maybe it’ll lead to something. Around them, a dozen Cullens purse their lips in disapproval. “They don’t know what you can really do,” he murmurs. “And does that frighten you?” He blinks, something heavy swirling in his eyes and in the air between them. When it becomes obvious he won’t say anything, the dozen versions of her stride away from the dozen versions of him.  “We have an early morning, Enchanter,” he calls out behind her. She wonders what he’s trying to remind himself of with that.

2. a heart that laughter has made sweet (cullen/f!trevelyan)

It’s strange to see Cullen out of uniform. He wears light traveling armor, his wife similarly clad. It’s strange to see Cullen at all, really. He had not realized it had been that long.  “You just missed Hawke,” he says. “Oh,” Cullen replies after a moment, slightly breathless. Rylen snorts at his visible relief. He nods at the woman next to him, offering a little salute.  “Hello,” she says. She exhales and raises a hand to her brow. In a moment, Cullen moves to take the coat from her shoulders. Again, he notes with a hint of amusement, he had not realized it had been that long. 

3. cut down at the garden's gate (hawke/sebastian)

“I wish I could have known you then,” There’s a sharp edge to it, a dangerous current.  “It couldn’t have gone anywhere good. You’re better off knowing me now." “And you would have taken a bride.” She shifts the topic so suddenly, Hawke. True to her skills on the battlefield, her words aim to disorient and to dazzle.  “I am a younger son. It would not have mattered who I took to wed, as long as they were of standing.” And the truth is, he could never have had someone like Hawke, never would have deserved them.  “I don’t know much about being noble,” she says, slightly more subdued.  “You are noble in the truest sense of the word.” And he leaves before he can act on anything he thought he left behind. 

4. ordinary world (miranda & shepard, background shenko)

That’s not exactly accurate.  She’s never stopped thinking of Kaidan, or of her crew. He hovers at the edges of her mind like a ghost. Like a specter, true to his name. But it’s the first time she lets herself dream beyond the snatches that kept her alive through the rubble, through all of the surgeries. The first rational thought: what would he think? Ashley should have lived. She immediately feels guilty for the thought. That Ashley should have lived instead of strong, sweet Kaidan, whom she’s killed a hundred times in her mind. Vaporized by a reaper beam slicing through the Normandy, skull crushed in the impact of a crash landing, shredded by the claws of a husk. She’s almost jealous. If there’s one thing she can’t seem to do right, it’s die.

5. negative space (pacific rim, mako/raleigh, i really want to finish this soon!)

It was the abruptness of it, really. The violence of his mind ripped from hers, an indescribable sense of loss. Like losing half of herself. No—the truth of it, as the doctor insists. She had been more than herself, and she suddenly had to return to normalcy. To singularity. To loneliness. She was shaking on that raft, shaking Raleigh, trying to work her way back into his mind, and past the relief of him opening his eyes, all that was left was bitter disappointment.

6. dead winter in the forgotten land (i call this my amell/alistair messy divorce fic)

The paper is the softest thing she’s felt in years. She wants to cry a little when she touches it, unused to comfort. The Inquisitor writes hesitantly, like perhaps she is awed. It makes Amell a little prideful and a little endeared towards her. She means to let it be, but there is something about this letter: how the envelope is covered in dirt from all corners of Thedas while the paper is untouched by any hands but the Inquisitor’s, how the handwriting slants to the right like any good Circle mage’s does, how the ink pools at the end of every stroke like the words were thought over and over. She begins to write back. I wish to see my king again, she writes, the truest thing on the page.

7. long distance (jab tak hai jaan, akira/samar)

He says he loves his country, but that’s not really why he’s here, taking apart bombs in the dead of night while their fingers go numb. The other day it was snowing, and something detonated, and he couldn’t tell between the insulation fluff and the flakes pouring down, and he was sliced through with something sharp, the sensation of having erred grievously.  There’s a woman in London who loves him. Why the hell is he here? He ignores it. He tries his best to ignore it. He goes home, and his boss calls. More people are enlisting. He’s had an impact, and it begins to eat at him. It has been eating at him. He was supposed to be a singer. He was supposed to be too soft for this life. “You would be a horrible soldier,” he says to Akira on the phone the next morning. “When have I ever wanted that?” There’s a rustling that feels like it’s inside him. She must be adjusting her coat. That bright one with the fur. “You don’t listen. You’re very reckless. And your decision-making—“ “I didn’t ask for that, either,” she snaps, and the muffled rush that undercuts her words of traffic makes him frown. “Be careful,” he can’t help but say. A pause—and then she scoffs, but there’s a softness to it, something he would like to think of as fond.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the poetic naga reaper. ﹚: zhào talisen .𖹭 ݁

. . . a dance with death !! 🍒 : “ am i upset? no dear, i am admiring your voice, your eyes, the way your lips move as you speak — no, no i am not upset with you, never. i fall quiet, for you pull me into a trance ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 781

꒰ species ꒱ naga, grim reaper

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ chinese

꒰ age ꒱ 26

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ isfj

꒰ alias ꒱ viper ( hero alias ), pequeño segador ( by neva ramona ), night orchid ( family alias ), dark vapor ( by enemies ), javier’s errand boy ( mockingly, by aetheers around the order ), termite infested snake piss ( by the artisan )

꒰ story ꒱ 

the personification of death. the poet himself.

the viper, a highly skilled and well-known member of the order of aetheers and hero of the city of elritea, though behind the mask he is zhao talisen, a literature uni student with the incessant urge to protect.

protect what?

raised to revere the gods - yet turned to a resentment for the divine. a chaos that rages within him. for this world that he adores; yet loathes with all his being.

and so he shall pour it out into his endless lines of poetry. into his acts upon theatre stages. a beautifully macabre soul. one gentle. one shattered.

꒰ appearance ꒱

deep maroon eyes with slitted pupils. has two beauty spots beneath his left eye. often uses eyeliner

long black hair that reaches to the small of his back, cut in a jellyfish hairstyle. often wear hairpins

tanned skin, androgynous and elegant features

6’8” ( 203 cm ) in height, a toned figure comprised of lean muscle but doesn’t look as such with his fashion style

long nails that can develop into talons, often painted deep purple

elongated forked tongue ( which he can mask as a normal one ) with a midline tongue piercing

rows of sharp teeth with an extra pair of upper snake fangs

wears lots of silver rings

lots of silver jewellery and necklaces

two standard lobe piercings along with an upper lobe, helix, forward helix and orbital piercings on both ears — while his right ear holds a standard conch and tragus piercing, with an industrial piercing on his left

often has a dark academia aesthetic in terms of his fashion. from turtlenecks and coats which can turn into vintage or traditional chinese fashion

unhinging jaw which he can conceal with magic

nipple piercings and navel piercings

frenum piercing

 

꒰ personality ꒱

quiet and calm, appears as the epitome of serenity and elegance. a particularly gentle person on the outside

very poetic in the way that he speaks, ties in nicely with his elegance. has a passion for theatre and literature and expresses this in his day-to-day life

studious, mature and observant. prefers peace over conflict

beyond kind-hearted. he is hyper-empathetic and sympathetic in many ways, often having quite the soft soul. often takes on the roll of protector

dutiful and enjoys taking care of those around him

however, he can be moody at times due to repressed feelings. as he always feels as though he should bottle up negative emotions and not allow himself to show them

has a lot of resentment towards his past and is dealing with a lot of his own insecurities

he can be very blunt and might not always realise that his wording could set off whoever he is talking to. especially because he is brutally honest

can be quite stubborn

it is a very difficult feat to get on his nerves as he is a very patient person. however, should one actually find a way to annoy him purposefully, he can be quite mean

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

shows his more talkative and chaotic side with you

he can be very gentle, passionate and peaceful. he loves being able to take care of you and ensure your wellbeing

sometimes loves throwing you into confusing conversations and teasing you until you’re flustered. loves seeing your angry little pouts

adores every inch of you and is very vocal about that

composes poetry and songs for you that he is unafraid to read or sing to you in an effort to show his love

boundaries are very important to him and he makes sure to never cross yours

very physically affectionate too, as he is touch-starved, so he often has his hand in yours, his hand on your waist or on the small of your back, at times may also just press your side into his and walk with you, arm slung over your shoulders

be prepared for many late night walks and late night drives

sometimes pulls you out of bed and dances you around the room

loves baking with you and cooking for you especially

can be quite cuddly, so be prepared to get snatched randomly throughout the day and get teleported somewhere secluded where the two of you can sit and snuggle up

loves littering kisses all over your face an whispering out his deep love for you

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

soul-reaping: talisen has the ability to reap more than 500 souls and carry them on his scythe until he can send them away to the afterlife.

vapour teleportation: can shift his physical form into a dark vapour and can move at high speeds towards a different location.

dark vapor production: produces a dark vapour from his back and shoulders that can blind and disorientate enemies greatly.

hallucinative vapor production: similar to his dark vapour, however causes those that breathe it in to hallucinate; often multiple versions of him.

acrobatic fighting: very flexible and graceful in general, he is able to move his body in a fluid motions and exert his physical form a bit more than others.

illusionary trickery: spells that he has taught himself, the ability to cast certain illusions.

skilled martial artist: trained from a young age in various martial arts and uses a combination of these in combat.

can see souls/ghosts: as a reaper talisen has the ability to see ghosts, spirits, wraiths, etc. along with the souls of both living and dead.

increased bodily function: advanced strength, speed, agility and durability.

heightened senses: advanced sight, smell, hearing, taste and awareness of surroundings.

healing factor: a dull healing factor that heals his injuries far quicker than an average human

elastic jaw: the ability to unhinge his jaw to drastic measures

flexibility: flexible organs and skeleton giving him the movement of a snake

hyper climbing and clawing: able to slither up surfaces

seismic sense: able to feel vibrations in a seismic way whenever his limbs touch surfaces. he can feel these from quite awhile ago

fangs and bite: has retractable fangs that secret certain venoms and a very powerful bite

enhanced lung capacity: able to hold his breath for longer

stealth: can move around swiftly and quietly

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

oranges: he has a bad allergic reactions to oranges and thus cannot ingest them. he takes medication for this upon contact

lizards: he has a phobia of lizards and cannot look at them. this can result in him fainting in some instances

claustrophobia: fear of small or confined spaces

apples: he has a mild apple allergy

horses: a very bad allergy to horses, he could get hospitalised if he does not take his medication.

fainting: should he grow overwhelmed, he is prone to fainting

loud noises: he cannot handle very loud noises at time, specifically people screaming. this can either send him into states of shock or worse — can cause him to go into states of deafness.

daylight: as a nocturnal reaper, daylight and other bright sources of light can weaken his senses of sight as he is used to the darkness of the night.

d’akar: an anti-magic material that can greatly weaken him if he comes into contact with it.

extreme emotional attachment: while reapers may remind one of humans, they are not. they are beings with very empathetic instincts and have souls bigger than the average mortal being — a thing that has been with them since their creation. they become extremely attached to things they love and it may cause them to become erratic if enough they love is taken away from them.

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

rishen herrera: best friend, boyfriend.

alessio arias: frenemy

javier herrera: mentor, boss.

rishima singhania ( herrera ): mentor, boss.

lucía herrera: close friend, ( “older-brother” friendship )

shimada takara: close friend.

takashima takeya: close friend

yuè mèng yáo: mother, different universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào mùchén: father, enemy, different universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào hàoyú: younger brother, irish twin, different universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào haitāo: younger brother, different universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào xīyáng: younger brother, different universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào yizé: younger brother, different universe ( verse 9948e )

zhào yŭ xī: younger brother/sister/sibling, different universe ( verse 9948e )

neva ramona: “tìa neva”, caretaker, different universe ( verse 9785n )

gael herrera: “tío gael”, caretaker, different universe ( verse 9948e )

 

꒰ extra ꒱

he is a university student majoring in literature who also takes theatre, astrophysics and biochemistry.

he plays the harp.

has a watch that can transport him across dimensions.

has a cat named beauregard oliver the 7th arch king of death.

he is fluent in csl & asl.

he can speak chinese ( mandarin ), spanish ( latin american ) and is learning hindi.

talisen, despite being very academically smart, is as a matter of fact a goldfish when he isn’t in class.

talisen used to be almost deaf in both ears before he got his snake powers, which is why he often feels overwhelmed by his new ability to hear. for this, he was given hearing aids that adjust the amount of sound he can hear, to help him feel comfortable in loud environments. his ears are very sensitive without his hearings aids and may make him prone to anxiety attacks.

he has a scythe, rish, which has the ability to paralyze on strike.

[scxttershot]

So I copied this over from my Discord rants last night - a brief text-based analysis of Floyd Lawton's character depth.

Re. Possessing no outward feelings except sarcasm and general assholery, suppresses everything else, subconscious belief that we deserve to be punished, chronic intimacy issues probably stemming from how fucked up his family is, actively suicidal with a death wish, debatably has 0 redeeming qualities on the surface, generally homicidal [bitch me too to all of this!!!!]. Despite everything, Floyd cares. He wouldn't be around other people by choice if he didn't. Waller has canonically offered him the chance to walk several times, as he's served multiple sentences. He wouldn't have damn near agreed with Peter/Ragdoll saying the Secret Six were his family if he didn't. Wouldn't have manipulated a doctor at gunpoint into telling a young woman who he at that point barely knew that she didn't accidentally cause her father's end stage lung cancer re. Lori/Black Alice. Also yeah his flings with Jeannette, Michelle, etc. were a lot more than just sex if you read Deadshot: Bulletproof or Gail Simone's Secret Six series, there's actual romance and protective feelings there. Susan Lawton who knows, it's hard to say and I really think what they had completely fell apart after their son was murdered, + her character wasn't super developed. In any case it's the classic machismo thing of "showing human emotion makes you weak and a liability" coupled with what I'm damned sure is PTSD. The reaper follows Lawton like a shadow. re. The Get Out of Hell card, he specifically steals it because he doesn't want to watch the Six tear each other apart over it. Also re. Floyd cares, 1987 Suicide Squad: he went with Digger to Digger's mother's funeral as a plus one and stuck around without even being asked. Meanwhile the entire time he's claiming not to like Captain Boomerang.

 And eventually, Floyd breaks out of that hard shell a little. It takes fucking RAGDOLL calling him [and Catman] out over it, and it's literally the final issue of the 2008 Secret Six series, but he's genuinely concerned and pained when Catman gets shot. For reference. If the guy who replaced all his joints with cybernetics and banged his own sister calls you out and makes an actually good point while doing so, that is both concerning and something you should probably listen to. Earlier in the run he also cares enough about Thomas to ask him personally to chaperone a date with Jeannette because Floyd is legitimately scared she'll take advantage of him, also. Is that referring to physically? Sexually? Emotionally? Probably all three. But nothing happens. Like. Damn. There's not a lot of content that goes out of its way to specifically show that a lot of Floyd's generally abrasive personality is an act. AS IT STANDS given pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths Floyd Lawton, lately DC has made him far too sympathetic for a homicidal contract killer. There is a very fine line between "likeable asshole" and "this is watered down to the point where sometimes it's but the vapor of a character". We need a balance, DC. And I hope, one day, someone can write that again.