#actually the first part is a lie.

[whitestopper]

Something I don't see people talk enough is not that Ben and Darcy are different but that they are two extremes that ironically end up meeting.

Ben wants to remain closeted to the extent that he won't even acknowledge Charlie as a casual friend or challenge Harry's homophobia (which, regardless of your opinion on Ben, can be enough for rumours to start circulating) and will date girls whom he doesn't fully - if at all - like just to throw up smoke and mirrors. On the flip side, Darcy's agenda when she meets Charlie for the first time is to make friends with another local gay person.

This is one thing when it's out Charlie (though it should be noted that he was outed as opposed to coming out and therefore might not have been entirely comfortable being approached for that alone) but another thing when she needles him about Nick, though it's largely laughed off because she is correct that there's something between them and lots of people find her wanting to associate with fellow gays relatable (which is... fair). However, it slowly becomes more of a nuisance; first when she tries to set up Elle and Tao on the triple date (which Elle does not want even though she does like Tao), then when she insists that there is something romantic between Isaac and James (which there isn't, at least not on Isaac's end) to Elle's discomfort and Isaac's frustration respectively. Ben won't tell you a thing about himself at the risk of being picked apart, while Darcy will gladly pick at you if she thinks you'll tell her something good (especially something gay).

In some sense, both Ben and Darcy use relationships to affirm - Ben to affirm his (illusion of) heterosexuality with girls and his gayness with Charlie, and Darcy to affirm her gayness and self-worth with Tara (though I absolutely discourage the idea that any relationship mentioned - especially Tarcy's, built on a five-year friendship - is that shallow). This sentiment is something that I sometimes see, though implicitly and hidden underneath a joke - the idea that a romantic relationship 'done properly' is inherently a step in the right direction and even inherently feminist. This is something Heartstopper halfway/accidentally deconstructs - Ben isn't willing (or fully able) to acknowledge what's happening even when he and Charlie are alone, Charlie has the idea that he owes other people more than he should give reinforced by his relationship with Ben, and Darcy mistakenly thinks whether you like someone or not is the only thing that matters when it comes to dating. [I say halfway because Heartstopper is built on shipping but... C+ for effort?]

Another similarity is how Ben and Darcy shield others from their home lives. Sure, Darcy is more than happy to go to Tara's house in a way Ben is not for Charlie, but she stays there to avoid being at home where (proximity to) gayness is curbed - moreover, Tara and Darcy have been friends for five years, Darcy has been out as a lesbian for years, and the two have been dating for at least a few months... and yet Tara at best has never known about the extent of Darcy's tumultuous relationship with her mother, something that sticks out as Tara is the more emotionally aware one. In other words, Darcy has been hiding her home life for years despite her easily being closer to Tara than Ben is to Charlie - Ben and Darcy are swimming in the same river of denial.

While I understand that hiring extra actresses would be another cost, it's a shame that we never get to see Tara and Darcy's friends. They tell Elle that "a few of their friends" know and that she can be considered "part of the inner circle" yet we never see the rest of that circle. Sure, we get them interacting with some people in the girls montage, but apart from the four main girls (five with the addition of Sahar in S2) and that one teacher, Higgs is just a school of extras talking about how lesbians are disgusting only to suddenly cheer and woop at Sports Day. I think seeing more of Darcy's (and Tara's) positive interactions with peers would help elaborate on why Darcy feels comfortable with being out in a way that Ben cannot and help contrast the lesbophobia that Tara notices later.

[mishy-mashy]

Kudo makes funny facial expressions

[lemongrablothbrok]

"And oh, how they danced, the little children of Stonehenge..." - Nigel Tufnel, Spinal Tap

(image from: Led Zeppelin: Shadows Taller Than Our Souls by Charles R. Cross)

[pagesofkenna]

coming up with such cool worldbuilding ideas that the reader/player will never get to know about. currently trying to figure out how to hide a planet

[mad-hunts]

i like how barton went from being like... a hippie in terms of how he viewed sex in his early twenties, then kind of abstained from it for a few years / became sexually repressed, which... definitely isn't such a good thing. BUT then he became even more of a freak (and i do mean that in the good way this time LOL) around the time he started residency because WOW is that shit stressful. though that was also unfortunately around the time when he really started to spiral as well 😬 but we don't need to talk about that ahahhh

like the way this man learned how to express his sexuality REALLY came full circle in the end considering he was like 'yeah, back in the early days that i was in college, i was a freak. but now i'm not anymore... though do you want to see me do it again anyway?' like 💀 JSJSJ if he weren't so demented, i'd almost be inclined to say good for him, y'all LMAO feeling comfortable with your sexuality and perhaps even having a bit of fun with it (though maybe too much in barton's case, because he literally weaponizes it in order to lure in his victims. BUT once again, we don't need to talk about that right now psshhh. i actually fully intend on talking about that in the tags NGL) is more often than not a good thing after all

[plaguethewaters]

little superhero au thingie!! except the superhero part is super duper nonexistent and this chapter is litterally just cbeeduo proposal. Enjoy!

---

"You've gotta forgive me, because I'm about to get really sappy here."

Ranboo says, and Tubbo thinks it's awfully ironic. It's night, brilliant stars shining over them - the only true advantage of no public lighting at all - they're on the roof, sitting on the thickest blanket they own and huddling together for whatever warmth they can find, the few remnants of their picnic laid abandoned to the side. They've been out all evening, eating sweets and heart shaped sandwiches, because Ranboo had always been a little extra. He thinks, we've gotten past the sappiness threshold a whole lot ago, and also, there's no way whatever you've got to say could be worse than this romance novel ass- situation.

His hand is taken into Ranboo's, who starts rubbing at his knuckles with his thumb. He does that often, when he's nervous - but also, Tubbo muses, he's nervous about pretty much every single aspect of his life, so this isn't anything new. Then he starts talking, with a way too big, almost suspicious smile on his face, his voice low.

"You know I don't- I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am now. I didn't know this kind of happy even existed, I think, not until you two came into my life." His gaze is soft and, as previously anticipated, unworldly sappy. "You've made me truly content with my life in entirely new ways, and continue to do so every single day. I can't really imagine my future without you in it."

"You're making this sound like a marriage proposal, bossman." Tubbo giggles, just to lighten the mood. Mostly because he's right, and he does not know if he could survive the weight of a love so, so fucking ginormous, settled on his shoulder's like the world's heavier and softer mountain, not without a little comedic relief.

"I mean..." Ranboo kisses his hand, doing a so-and-so gesture with his free one, "Kind of?"

The mountain doesn't move, and Tubbo's suffocating. This is not how he imagined he would die.

"I-uh. sorry?" he manages to shutter, while his mind helpfully supplies him with a series of his possible obituaries. "Young man dies of Too Much Emotion.". or "Romantic relationship actually a trap, Villain dies because Boyfriend loves him too much." (Boyfriend? Fiancè????? What the absolute hell.)

"I mean, i mean not now, obviously that's- that would be a little too much to dump on you so soon." Ranboo laughs, clearly as nervous as he looks. "Just, like, I've prepared a whole speech, goddammit, let me say it properly."

Tubbo sees the light. His heart is definitely going to explode.

"Okay I've, I've started this a little wrong. Because I said, right, I said, I can't imagine my life without you, but it's more like, like, I couldn't have imagined my life without you. I would've never even tried. I don't think I realized I could imagine a life for myself outside- outside of hero work. I either died at fifteen - or, or seventeen, or twenty, or whatever limit I decided to give myself that year - or got an eternity of work, no escape at all. Then, then you, and Tommy, and suddenly I'm dreaming of white picket fences and wedding bells and large breed dogs and- did you know I was a writer? When I was little, I used to have notebooks over notebooks full of short horror stories, and then I stopped because with housework and normal work and trying not to starve I never had the time - you've made me want to write again. You made me realize I could dream, and follow those dreams and succeed."

The speech comes out rushed, all too many words confined in all too little space, too little time. He sounds like he's afraid if he doesn't speak soon enough, someone is going to come and steal his voice, leaving his feelings forever entrapped.

His gaze shifts, and now he's staring directly into Tubbo's eyes. The intensity is overwhelming, oppressive, painful. His eyes bore into Tubbo's skull with the force of a drill, carving a hole from his eye socket to the center of his brain, then making a little cave in it and resting in it's center.

"I don't- marriage right now would not be a good idea, I don't think, but? Maybe, in the future... Will you marry me?"

Their stares break, and the parasite removes itself from Tubbo's poor, poor brain. Then he's playing with Tubbo's fingers, looking blushy and shy to the side - because of course he's nervous now, after completely destroying him, leaving unable to think anything but an infinite sting of I love yous and wondering how on earth he got this lucky and fuck. Tubbo would die a thousand times over if it got him to look this pretty again.

What the hell was he supposed to say now? He isn't, and has never really been good with words, not when actions and punches have always done the job just as well - how could he speak now, having been hit in the face with a confession like that? With the, the- he would call it the burden, he guesses, but that's just entirely the wrong word - the responsibility, the knowledge he's the reason Ranboo was able to grow and get through all of that, given to him like it is no big deal. He would've never thought of that. In fact, he was worried he'd been doing way too little support wise, lacking the knowledge and emotional maturity needed to properly help someone like that.

Like even now, after the whole speech, he still isn't all that convinced. All he ever did was love Ranboo - which isn't news, and would continue not to be news as far as he's concerned. He loves him, will love him even if he somewhat disagrees with the confession, because how could he be possibly worth so much in Ranboo's eyes, who deserves so much more than he could possibly give, and he loves him so much - but he does not know how to say any of that.

So, he just kisses him.

And again, and again, trying to push into his lips anything that cannot fit into his mouth and failing still, but nobody's to say he doesn't fucking try. When he stops, it's because his traitorous body runs out of air to breathe, but he still keeps as close as possible, resting his forehead on Ranboo's. If he has to stop to breathe, they'll fucking share the breaths too.

----

Ranboo has learned, by now, that Tubbo kisses like he's fighting.

Mostly by way of focus and determination: he kisses with the same kind of concentration one might have when operating a sniper rifle - or, much more topically, when defusing a tickling bomb. There's no second in which he's idle, any rest clearly ruled by strict necessity rather than any want or will. When he does retreat, surrendering finally to the need of air, he doesn't part neither far nor long, touching their foreheads together or breathing in his neck, his hands mapping all available territory to make way for later exploration.

Ranboo has seen him battle, has fought him directly in the past, and he finds no difference between the crushing adrenaline of a missed punch, of wrestling for a loaded gun, of running towards a lit fuse - and whatever he is feeling right now.

A hand finds its way to his thigh, squeezing the soft flesh, and the little air he'd managed to keep in his poor lungs gets knocked out of him. Maybe they are in battle, actually. Maybe killing him is Tubbo's way of saying no.

Because - and he's said this already, but his brain is too scrambled to pay attention to something as utterly unimportant as repetition (anything less important than this). Because he's used to Tubbo, to the way he seems to equate love and war, to the almost violence of his affections but this feels... different, somehow. Somewhat. He's not focused enough to register what's actually changed.

Maybe it's the way his mind had already been lost in the anxiety of the moment, before his little speech, and the suspense for an answer now; or maybe it's just the thick layer of tears evenly coating each of their faces.

Which, by the way, does not help to ease his worries at all, to be entirely honest. Not that - don't get him wrong, it's not that the kissing isn't nice (heavenly, wonderful, amazing, showstopping and a plethora of other words that do not even come close) but it doesn't really enlighten him as to what Tubbo's answer is going to be. Is this a "Yes of course I'm going to marry you" type of kiss or more, like, "No how dare you ask that I'm kissing you just so you shut up" deal?

(Now, a normal person, in a hypothetical fictional audience, would probably butt in right about now with, let's say, a text to speech device of some sort. And they would say, with all the confidence of anonymity, they'd say: "Ranboo, this is a really stupid dilemma. Why would he ever choose to reject with a kiss? Nobody does that ever." And they would probably be right! But the hand is still on his thigh, and another hand is rubbing slow circles into his waist, and the kiss is still happening, so forgive him if his reasonings aren't all that rational right about now.)

He manages to detach himself eventually - not easily, not even particularly willingly - for the few moments absolutely necessary to regain a couple braincells and learn how to use his own mouth again.

"Uh- U, I, Is this-" Not to use it well, mind you, but he isn't going to complain. he'll take what he can get and deal with it. "Uhu-"

"What was that, bossman?" Tubbo giggles, voice still raspy from the assault to his lips, and Ranboo finds it somewhat insulting; loquacity is an absurd standard to hold for the guy currently being lobotomized.

"Wh- was that, uh" Tubbo's hand is slowly rubbing at his cheek in what was probably meant to be encouragement, but only manages to scramble his brains even more. "Was that a yes?

"No."

His stomach plummets.

He knows, logically, that he should not have expected anything. They've been dating for not even a year, and this was sprung on Tubbo so suddenly, and everyone always say to never ask if you aren't sure your partner will say yes but Ranboo will never be sure of anything in his life (at least not how he was sure this would've worked) and he needed to ask like, physically. And at the end of the day it's not like this is gonna mean anything for their relationship, because ring or not he knows Tubbo loves him (maybe, hopefully, because he cannot begin to imagine the contrary, it would tear him apart), but he had dared to hope-

"No," Tubbo continues, "I've just started making out with you, because that is how normal people reject proposals in real life." He's smiling, still caressing his cheek, and Ranboo wants to die a little less. He pointedly ignored the disembodied voice of the fictional audience member reminding him how they were right. (Just because you were doesn't mean you gotta act mean about it. Meanie.)

He groans, quite loudly, so that all of his horrible pain is heard, and hides his shameful face in the warm crook of Tubbo's neck.

"Never start a sentence like that ever again, for the love of god."

Tubbo laughs, bright and loud. "Oh, you poor baby", he croons, mockingly. Ranboo is being made fun of, but the guy doing it is exceptionally beautiful and also his fiance now, so all the haters are quite obviously just jealous.

"You're right though," Tubbo continues, "I wasn't quite finished answering."

Whatever smart, flirty and witty reply Ranboo could have given him gets swallowed by a chocking sound, as the push of lips and the warmth of hands pull him onto yet another battlefield.

---

"You know what would be really, really funny actually?" Tubbo asks, after everything is done. He's basically sitting in Ranboo's lap now, only one lonely knee left hanging on the blanket. They cuddle together tighter, mostly because they want to, but also because it got so cold on that roof once the sun went down and now it feels far below freezing.

"Hmmmm..." he rumbles, a content rumble (NOT. a purr. shut up.) so loud it almost hides his voice. "No, what would?"

"If we just pretended to be married already." Tubbo sits up a little bit.

"Just like. Hear me out."

"I'm hearing, I'm hearing."

"Okay, for one - we've got like, another full year before we would be able to actually get married and you and I both know I've got zero patience to wait that long. And we're like, super wanted criminals, so nobody would want to marry us even if we were legal, right?"

"Absolutely correct."

"And also. Think of the Bitches faces when we get into battle against them and we have wedding bands on, calling each other 'husband' and shit"

A pause.

"Oh, oh my god" They both start laughing at the same time, falling back into the blankets in a mountain of little giggles. The thought is, as expected, absolutely hilarious, and with the added giddiness of being able to be husbands, of loving each other that much - it doesn't look like they'll be stopping anytime soon.

The moon is high in the sky, the cold is still frigid, and their laughs are loud enough for several noise complaints. Tonight, they hug each other and go to bed. Tomorrow, chaos would begin for real.

[whumpitisthen]

Bloodhound

Previous I Masterlist I Next

“You really should consider accompanying me one day.”

Leaning against the glass door of the balcony, his eyes survey the blue shade of the woods outside with boredom. The Sun sinks lower minute by minute, surrounding the crown of every tree with a halo of scalding blood. To the east, he spots a wave of dark clouds coming this way. A wild storm is certainly inbound.

“I would suggest inviting someone more interested in your company,” — murmurs the man lounging in the corner. He sits with an old tome, studying it intently as he bears Grim’s efforts to distract him from his work. A small demon kneels next to his seat on the floor, focusing intently on the carpet under its legs and not the claws running through the curls between its antelope-horns. It wears a heavy metallic collar and a chain leashing it to its master, as well as vivid veins spanning the entirety of its sickly pale skin. Dark pits sit under its eyes and colourful bruises blot its limbs and torso, rings of purple encircling its wrists, ankles and throat. It occasionally winces in worry, shuddering when a stray finger wanders a little too close to an eye, then settling once more. The flinch is no more apparent than the clattering of its bones as it trembles in mortal terror under the hand that provides safety only through pain.

Grim scoffs, that trademark smile glowing in the golden red light of the bleeding sun glazing his fanged teeth. He turns to glance at the other, twisting his neck to the side in an unsettling, inhuman manner. — “I’m asking for too much again, aren't I? Oh, how could a little servant like me ever expect a god to make time for my silly little ideas? Inviting you so brashly on a trip to the Flesh Harvest near the southeastern colony as a way to have fun and relax? Please excuse my insolence, Your Majesty. I must grovel and beg for your forgiveness, lest you smite me where I stand for such an outlandish request!”

The dramatic display fails at garnering more attention. When the man’s eyes lift to glance at Grim, they land on the theatrical posing of the Reaper's hand, the knuckles hovering just over his own forehead, eyes closed and neck bared as he moans in faux-melancholy. When no comment comes his way, one mischievous crimson eye cracks open, and a toothy grin swiftly replaces the played-up pout. — “Must you always regard me with such contempt, My Lord? Those eyes are sharper than a dagger.”

His lord makes a face at that, rumbling a thought in his throat before letting it free. — “Do you find me so scary?”

Death's expression softens, his hand falling back to his side. Truly, it's hard to tell sometimes if his lord truly misses the meaning of jest, or if he is countering it skillfully with a surprising assumption. — “Positively spine-chilling,” — he teases with a good-natured chuckle.

The neutral expression of his lord rarely ever changes. The slightest widening of eyes, scrunching of eyebrows or downturn of his lips are all that you must acclimate yourself with, as those who aren't proficient in recognising the subtle changes in his mood may well find themselves in immeasurable torment at the snap of a finger. That is, unless he puts on a fake expression to garner empathy. It is, of course, not impossible to catch the lord truly smiling or laughing, or even yelling and crying — it's only that, to bring such a raw, emotional reaction like that out of a being that has existed since near the beginning of time, something outstanding must occur. He has been witness to the best and the worst of existence, and has not only experienced it all first-hand, but doled it out in return. Grim is one of the only remaining people who still manages to coax a true laugh out of him every once in a while. He is also the most likely to bring onto himself his old friend's true wrath.

Grim watches the demon slave by his lord, mesmerised by those long lashes fluttering in overwhelming fear. The poor creature is struggling to catch its breath. Not something out of the ordinary; it is in one room with two of the most powerful forces of evil in the world. Both the Reaper and his lord carry with them an unnatural air that weighs on the very souls of whoever happens to be near them  — an aura of death and danger, and an aura of fear and submission respectively. It must feel suffocating for a little thing like it. Grim licks his lips at the thought, and the demon must catch that from the corner of its eye, because the quietest, most adorable little whine squeaks out of it.

Ah, his lust is still not satisfied. Mori’s blood still coats the underside of his claws, their shrill cries still echo in his ears, yet he still finds it difficult to keep focus when such a darling critter is kept just out of his reach like this. He will have to pay another visit to his favourite fawn later. They must be having the time of their life with his newly acquired Fallen. He wonders what all they must be chatting about. He wonders what all Mori will tell the angel about his new life. He wonders how much he will come up in conversation.

“You don't sound very scared,” — his lord muses. The withered book he has been reading through he now places on the midnight black surface of a desk to the side, giving up on retaining any information he may gain from it for as long as Grim is here; an achievement Grim feels far too proud to have reached. — “As a matter of fact, you sound even more daring today than usual. As if you have made it your goal to annoy me to death. I doubt that would even be a challenge for you. Is this what this is? An attempt on my life?”

Despite the neutral tone, Grim catches the slightest smile in his lord's voice. It always warms his cold, unbeating heart when he smiles. It's this feeling of accomplishment, as well as the privilege of successfully manipulating his lord's mood in such innocent, harmless ways that does it for him. Manipulation is his lord's field of expertise, a thick outer layer of lies on his skin that not many can penetrate — Grim merely enjoys being the exception.

“You wound me, Your Majesty,” — Grim sighs, folding his arms. Red eyes break from infinitely dark ones, catching the exact moment the sky and the earth meet outside. The slave gasps behind him, cowering away from its master as he stands from his throne. The chain leading to his scarred hand falls to the floor in a downpour of heavy thuds, scaring its heart into beating just a little faster. Grim can hear it as well as if he had his ear right up against that ribcage visible through straved skin. — “Is your goal, then, to bore me to death? I could just leave, you realise. You called me here in the first place, and I have better things to do than to stand around beside you like an accessory. You already have one lap dog sitting by you; isn't that enough?”

He can't help but let his attention wander, from the cursed forest beneath the balcony to the timid, careful swishing of a tail against the floor. His gaze is pulled right back to the source of the delicious aroma wafting through the air. To the veins pumping that sweet nectar just a few strides away. — “Tch. My hunger does emerge again. The little one… I am tempted to snatch it up and have a taste.”

“Oh, you can have it if you would like. It tastes divine; it would be cruel of me to not share it. Just try not to end it yet.” — Ignoring its tremendous pleading, its owner leaves it right there with no remorse or care, defenceless against lustful eyes devouring its body from where the Reaper stands. It expects Grim to leap at it immediately, to latch onto and maul it, tear off a limb or two. Every second longer that he remains staring by the glass door with the red rays of the sun haloing him from behind like a fallen archangel, the demon scooches further behind the plush armchair to hide from that palpable, perverted menace coming off of the deity in waves.

It's the most precious scene, watching it cower and disappear inch by inch behind the furniture, listening to its heart beating inside its chest wildly.

“Enjoy it. A gift for showing up so early and surviving my apparent deadly disinterest,” — his lord yawns, his shoulders popping loudly as he stretches. Facing him properly, it's clear to the Reaper now that the devil is in a good mood. A dangerous thing, his good moods. Almost as unpredictable as his bad ones. — “I called you here for a reason, however. It may give you insight as to why I chose to decline your offer so outright, if you will let me explain.”

Grim suddenly brightens, tearing his eyes away from the small demon with an excited gasp, forgetting entirely about his hunger. He directs a truly devilish grin at His lord, looking awfully mischievous. — “No… Could it be? Your Majesty — are you in need of a favour from your dear old friend, the Grim Reaper?”

The title Grim uses for his lord is a flattering one, chosen carefully as a pet name of sorts. It serves well as a way to soften his words, and even better to tease when the opportunity arises. No one else calls the man royalty, and in reality, it is almost offensive to see him as only that.

No mere king has ever ruled the whole world before.

“A favour?” — asks the lord, raising an eyebrow, leaning up against the massive half-moon shaped desk at the back centre of his study, — “what do you mean?”

The Reaper is practically bouncing in his giddiness, giggling as he chirps with a flourish, — “what else could this be? You called me here to ask for my help, did you not? You even brought a lovely little lamb as payment.”

“You misunderstand.”

Grim skips up to His Majesty, taking hold of both his shoulders lightly as he leans in and speaks with sympathy. — “Oh, I know you find it hard to ask for help, darling, but there is no need to deflect. I am here to provide assistance, always and forever.”

“Grim.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I only have one favour to ask of you, my dear.” — He reaches out a warm hand to place upon the Reaper's cheek tenderly, his knuckles chilled upon contact with the undead flesh. There is no humour in His lord's voice, yet what he says next still manages to have the silver haired man cackle like a hyena in amusement. — “Please — shut the fuck up.”

Grim breaks from him in his fit of laughter, and though he doesn't see, his lord’s smile widens in a genuine way as he watches him lose all his composure to the unexpected delivery. He appreciates how familiar this feeling is; how, at his core, his oldest friend is still the same even after all these years. He still hides his smile behind the knuckles of his hand, he still breathes as he laughs, drawing out lovely long notes that most find endlessly unsettling. The mundane has become more than an annoyance to him by now, one that he fights every day as he looks for newer, more entertaining things to fight his ancient boredom with. Grim remains the one constant he could never bear to lose.

Once Grim escapes his breathlessness, he lifts a clawed finger, keeping his head low as he wags it at his lord a couple times in a ‘you got me’ kind of fashion. — “First of all, language, Your Majesty…” — He leans heavily against the desk behind him, taking a deep, mumbling breath.

Between leftover chuckles, his lord tilts his head to the side, regarding him with what seems to be indifference. — “Are you done?”

“Defeated candidly in a fair battle.” — The Reaper composes himself swiftly. He straightens as the last of the amusement bleeds from him, leaving only a satisfied expression. He gestures in his lord's direction vaguely, bowing his head as he decides to take a closer look at the demon still huddled behind the furniture weeping softly as he gives up the stage to him. — “Please, do carry on.”

Glancing out at the slowly darkening sky, his lord notes the falling sun. A chill wind is starting up, blowing out the candle sitting on the small table just to the side. Ephemera flies off the cluttered desk, landing on the large emerald green carpet stretching from entrance to furniture. A great storm in the making indeed.

As he moves to close the balcony doors, he has the chance to elaborate in the newly created silence without disturbance. — “It is already sundown. We must make haste.”

“I recall you had something planned, yes,” — Grim mutters as he peeks behind the wing chair, finding a shaggy head of unkempt hair curled up against the arm of it. The slave has a fractured hoof, slowly oozing black blood from the vicious crack. It must be horribly painful to walk on that. Only half-listening to his lord, Grim approaches the trapped demon whimpering against the fabric, whispering to it with a dark craving. — “Hello, little one. I can already tell you will only bleed the sweetest blood for me.”

“I was invited to a meeting, one which starts not long from now,” — his lord starts, clicking a claw against the surface of his desk, — “in human territory.”

Pulling at the demon’s long, black, twisted horn until it crawls up onto Grim’s lap, they sit on the chair together, the demon held close, captive in Grim's arms. He slides a hand onto the back of its neck, curling pale fingers into its hair to lightly pull and bear its neck for himself. Only after nuzzling into the soft, vulnerable skin of its throat to indulge himself in the mouth-watering aroma of a helpless little creature whining and crying from the purest fear does he care to reply. — “Mmm… How lucky you are.”

It's unclear if he speaks to his lord or the poor thing gasping in his lap.

“All of their leaders will partake. I assume they are ready to strike another deal with me. Or perhaps they have a new plan to try to get rid of me. Either way, it's always amusing to watch them struggle to delude themselves, isn't it?” — his lord muses, watching Grim taste the skin of the slave, drinking in the terror coming off it like waves of pure honey. One monster thirsts for its blood, the other its agony.

“It truly is, Your Majesty. You're making me,” — a long, open-mouthed kiss over the drum of a carotid artery pumping scarlet ichor, — “…very jealous.”

The lord seems pleased. He had hoped the blood would satisfy the Reaper, and it seems he chose well. It's a marvel Grim hasn't torn into its neck until now. His eyes have fallen shut, almost purring as he finally tears delicate skin and bites down. Almost like a hypnosis, feeding never fails to put the Reaper into the deepest pool of peace and pleasure. It's a vulnerable state to be in, especially in front of someone who could so easily take advantage of it watching from the side. Going off of his change in attitude alone, its blood must taste just as delicious as its fear. He is thoroughly distracted by the rush of crimson entering his mouth, holding the demon ever closer as if to squeeze the life out of it. It's such a beautiful sight.

“Don't be,“ — his lord says, — “I didn't call you here to cause envy. As I said, I may be walking into a trap. While I am certain I will survive, it's never a bad idea to have my loyal guard dog with me. Just in case.”

No further comment comes, only squeaks and cries forced from the main course’s throat. With fangs digging deeper into its flesh with vigour, it cannot help providing a lovely show for the both of them. Evening entertainment; nothing more and nothing less.

Pausing to watch the life fading from its eyes, it's clear it won't survive this unless the lord steps in.

“Is it to your liking?” — he inquires from the side, fixing the lace ruffle at his sleeve absentmindedly. — “I found it living in the streets of Gorenest. It came to me looking for help. Told me about how its family had abandoned it. How it had been living off of favours for strangers. It is used to this, if you can believe it. It is used to abuse.”

Neither the slave nor Grim even notice him joining them on their side of the room. He puts a hand right back to those soft, dishevelled curls, pulling down along its scalp gently as it shudders weakly, going limp between them. Its misery is simply delectable every time he gets a taste of it.

Not long after, it loses consciousness, signalling the sudden end of dining for both of them. Disappointed, yet so enamoured, Grim lifts his head from the bloody crook of its neck, eyes half lidded and breathing slow.

“So you're saying I should let it live,” — he rumbles, holding it upright with ease, — “so you can torment it further.”

“Precisely.”

“And you want me to come with you to this human meeting and hold your hand, because you are too scared to go on your own?” — Grim asks, turning to his lord with a raised eyebrow.

“I am asking if you would like to come with, as I know you love scaring humans and annoying me specifically,” — his lord replies easily, letting go of the unconscious creature and summoning his walking cane to his hand. — “If you want to, then we may go at once. I am already late because of you.”

“Because of me?” — the Reaper gasps incredulously, straightening in his seat, — “the nerve!”

But his lord has already turned his back to him, knocking twice on the blackwood floor with his cane to alert the servants and call for their aid in caring for the half-dead demon in Grim's lap. As if out of thin air, the empty halls spit out a couple horned creatures in similar collars to that of the abused demon slave, hurrying inside to take it from the Reaper with care. He simply stands and lets the body roll off him to the floor, forgetting about it as if it was a corpse already. Bowing deep before swiftly running off just as quickly and quietly as they had arrived, every servant and slave disappears in but a moment, leaving only the Reaper and His Majesty.

In a blink, his lord transforms into a different being.

He tends to change appearance often. From demonic, to purely human, to something downright monstrous, incomprehensible. Humanoid, an animal, simply a shadow on the wall. Sometimes he has no form at all, existing somewhere nobody can visit, not even Grim. It's fascinating, certainly confusing, but with enough time, one grows used to even this.

“Right after calling me your guard dog as well. I wonder why people think I'm the crueller one between us,” — Grim adds on, snarling in distaste. More often than not, the most hurtful things come out of his lord's mouth in the most casual ways. Common decency and respect are weapons as much as threats and promises are. They work the best when used in tandem, weaving their threads together to form a net impossible to escape.

His lord has taken the form of something similar to Grim; an innocuous, young, handsome mortal man, with an easy smile and right posture. He takes on human forms more often than one would expect a being like him to, seeing as most in power love to flaunt their abilities over others, showing off and shouting from the rooftops of their golden palaces that they hold power and they should be feared.

His lord appreciates humans, is all. He finds them fascinating. He hates them, and he adores them. He finds them disgusting, yet pure and innocent and gorgeous. Taking on their form helps him understand them better, and helps them fall for him easier. He loves humans. He loves to rip them apart. It's as simple as that.

“You are right,” — his lord says, turning back to face him with a sly smirk, — “‘attack dog’ would be more fitting.”

That prompts a scoff of a chuckle, and a tightening of the corners of his mouth. He does not appreciate being called a dog, his lord knows this well — but he can't deny that the description, while demeaning, isn't untrue. It would be a sign of weakness to do anything but laugh it off, and he does so with the bearing of his fangs and the growl of a wild mutt. He is an attack dog, and he chose to be. It's more fun that way. He does not appreciate the tone and repeated disrespect is all. Doubling down on it is more than just a small, harmless offence.

“You snide prick,” — he purrs, not even giving him the chance to catch anger slip through his words, — “it’s one of those days, huh? Just can't bear to hold your tongue. You can just say it's nice to see me, no need to hide your shame behind such harsh words.”

He can't help leaning in, nearly closing the gap between them, smiling with only his lips. His eyes are stone cold. — “I missed you too, Your Majesty.”

‘Call me your dog again. I dare you.’

Five seconds. Tension. His Majesty seems unbothered. Calculating, as he always does in that twisted mind of his. Then, the Reaper abruptly brightens again, tearing away and summoning his scythe to his hand, swinging his silver claws above his face to pull that cursed canine mask out of the shadows and put it on, hiding behind it before his true emotions could show. It would be a waste of time, and a waste of dignity.

His attack dog. Right. — “Shall we be going then?”

His lord seems entirely too unfazed by his barely cloaked threat, but Grim is anything but convinced. Both of them are more than aware that they are on equal footing. They are both gods, after all, they are both capable of hurting the other. That knowledge usually translates to mutual respect, reinforced through a shared past and millenia of time, and perhaps a bit of friendly confrontation. Sometimes, however, his lord forgets that he is more than just a dumb, defenceless servant carrying out his deeds without a word. He may be loyal, but only as loyal as a wild animal gets. To provoke a tamed lion relentlessly has never led to anything pleasant. You cannot tame something wild.

“Mmm. I suppose we shall,” — comes the murmur of a reply. Smooth and casual. Not even a change in tone.

He stomps on the floor with his cane once more, just a tad harder than before. In rushes another servant, looking to the ground in submission. It holds its dirty apron in its clutches so hard it tears into it with its beastly fingers.

“Clean this up,” — orders its master plainly, gesturing to the blood and papers scattered across the floor with his hand, — “and be thorough this time. Your legs have barely healed; I would hate to have them torn up again.”

Its knees knock together under it from the sympathetic, unbelievably innocent tone, itching at the heavy scarring between them. — “With pleasure, muh-, My Lord.”

He smiles sweetly, emptily, then turns away without a word, letting it begin its work. It struggles to bend its legs enough to reach the floor, trembling from exertion already, but that is not important. They have somewhere to be.

A snap of his fingers, and the very space rips open in the middle of the study, sending more clutter flying. A portal, one that presumably leads to where they need to go. Like a melting mirror, its edges flow and grow until it is large enough to fit a person comfortably, beckoning the two deities to enter with its unholy light.

“Come along.”

~

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long

[joelsbloodyhands]

My Dialogue While Playing TLOU Part One 🚀

(Spending a long time in Sarah’s room at the beginning)

Me: *reading the title of her books and cds, looking at her photos, opens bday card for Joel, cries at the giraffe* You know if we just stay here then nothing bad will happen. Right? 🤗

(Ellie meeting Bill for the first time)

Me: Don’t mind him. He’s just a grumpy gay with commitment issues.

(Bill leading Ellie and Joel through the church to the window)

Me: You know “fireflies, this” and “fireflies, that”. How many places have we been to that could be potential homes, Joel? Father that child already! 😤

Bill: Well, if you’ve got anything to confess, this’d be the place to do it.

Me: *knows what’s going to happen later* Joel, we may need to detour back here later 👀

(Getting split up from Henry and Ellie)

Henry: Take care of my brother!

Me: Protect my daughter with your life or you’re toast, buddy! *killing all the Stalkers while wondering if Ellie knows what toast actually is* 🤔

(Ellie lifting her hand for a high five)

Me: *clicks the prompt button so he delivers the high five* Not about to swerve or I’m throwing you in this ravine, old man 🤨

(Looking for Ellie who has stabbed the shit out of David)

Joel: (just woke up from death slumber) Where is she?

Me: Where is my sweet baby child? 😖 (knows very well where she is) 🙄

Joel: *sees the bodies* Oh god, I gotta find her.

Me: We will, babe. I swear! Maybe if we just talk to ‘em, explain the sich, they’ll hand her back *starts crafting Molotovs* ☺️

(Ellie traumatised by what happened with David)

Joel: (has just mentioned teaching her to play guitar) Ellie, I’m talking to you.

Ellie: (experiencing ptsd) Oh yeah, that sounds great.

Me: Joel, I think we need to go back. I forgot to piss on David’s corpse 😑

(Ellie and Joel walking around the bus depot)

Ellie: I dreamt about flying last night.

Joel: Oh yeah? Tell me about it.

Me: 😭😭😭 *cries for the hundredth time*

Joel: *keeps calling her kiddo*

Me: My heart is gonna collapse if you keep doing that.

Joel: Come on, kiddo.

Me: *proceeds to keyboard smash*

(Ellie and Joel finding the giraffes)

Me: (starts crying, no really and proceeds to sit there with the cute music playing to let my faves watch the giraffes together because the world did in fact end but then Joel softened towards Ellie. They retraced their steps went back to Jackson, the fireflies fucked right off and died of natural causes, no surgeons were murdered meaning this action will not have consequences, everyone lived happily ever after and lived to an old age, especially Joel. Ahem. Turns off pc. Sighs happily).

(Joel killing all the fireflies in the hospital)

Me: You know some would call this murder but I call it intent to cause harm and those two things are most definitely not the same *throws 3 nail bombs* 😁

(After killing the main surgeon)

Me: *listens to the other two surgeons plead for their lives* Huh? I wonder *shoots the first one causing the other one to slide down to the ground in fear*

Surgeon: Please. I don’t want to die.

Me: *shoots them as well* I’m not the accessory to murder here. You are. Attempted murder anyway *picking up Ellie* let’s go Babygirl 🥰

[stevethehairington]

first book of 2024 = finished woooohoooo!!!!

[nihiltism]

ok so while my ds is getting sand poured into it at alarming rates I'm thinking about how jrpgs in specific have a really weird desync with How Important Death Is. like some address it better than others but it very frequently happens where if you take a step back youll go "am I wild or is everybody just like, Really down with murder in this game". and consequences for said murder, especially in a characterization sense but even just actual physical consequences, don't really happen? unless it's a vehicle for conflict but like. when it is a vehicle for conflict it feels weird because why are These Guys actually taking the fact we killed somebody in broad daylight seriously and coming after us for it while all the other npcs and even the main party took it like it was another saturday evening

see I Think where the issue lies is in the fact that everything is in its own little world when you're in a battle? like. when you fight an enemy and you get leather out of it it's seen as something the enemy Drops and not. their hide. when you defeat a character in a battle it does just feel like you Defeated them. unless there's dialogue afterwards that says otherwise you don't even mentally assume you killed em you just wounded them enough to make them flee or dissolve or whatever. and it's Weird to just. have that assumption there because for a lot of games it really isn't clear if you're killing them or defeating them !!

that last point is extra important when you have the specific brand of Skittish Hero / Noble Hero Who Doesn't Kill People / Rational Hero In Way Over Their Head or whatever where you really don't think they Would kill a guy just to get them out of the way. in that case it's REALLY weird because it's hardly brought up. even if it Is brought up that that guy Sure Did Die the mc doesn't tend to actually have a reaction ??? and I don't know why this is ???? like Any written reaction would be more interesting than nothing even if the guy doesn't have a full on crisis about taking another life having them go "oh shit, The Consequences" would be nice. really anything except (oh cool we can advance the plot now).

I will also mention that Some deaths do matter plot wise but very frequently what makes them matter is how much of it is linked to an in game battle I think. if your mc just finishes a fight and comes back to the overworld and the guy's Disappeared or Dissolved or whatever it means they don't matter. if the guy's still around after the fight it means it's more significant, especially if they're still alive but wounded or Really Shaken Up. because this clears up the indistinguishable line between if a battle is lethal or not and if a character decides to deal a finishing blow now it's Way more telling of their character. even though this is basically the same thing that happened in the (killed In A Battle) scenario. just with more dialogue. I will also mention that the person who deals the finishing blow is Rarely Ever that good hearted protagonist and often they'll even go :0 at somebody else committing a murder despite them instigating and helping murder quite a few people. just. In Battle. so it's less bad. I guess.

this is leaving out the fact that in party deaths are often a Major Major Blow because like. ok that's fair. that's A Guy You Knew that's understandable. anyway I don't really know where I'm going with this I just think it's interesting how in these types of games death can swap from not mattering at all to mattering a Lot and if u don't think about it too hard u don't even question it. I'll probably be putting some examples in the tags idk

[it-came-autumnally]

In retrospect it's really funny that the one thing I really honed in on during the first time I went through the Sky arc was Joshua's appearance (characters love to point out his mop of dark hair and amber eyes and I really really thought that it would relate to some important plot point somehow) but while replaying SC I found there's this one scene where it almost pays off (albeit, in a very silly way):

During the infiltration of the Ouroboros Lab, Anelace informs the party of how Joshua is also in the lab. If a player has been paying attention, they can probably guess that something about this feels off because Anelace mentions how she "recognized his clothes" but she has no reason to be familiar with the new look that he dons in this game yet (and there's no reason for Joshua to have switched back to his old outfit either).

But, if you're me, then you instead notice that she does not take the chance to mention his amber eyes. And, as we find out, there's a good reason for that!

...After all, this Joshua is fake, and has no amber eyes. Of course Anelace didn't see them; she couldn't have.

[l0rd-0f-c0ws]

I frequently feel completely isolated no matter how much I talk to people. So that's fun

[crossbackpoke-check]

nosy anon again making a return because i think what my brain did was read that i helped find some kind of writing and then did not fully process what the writing was?? but upon rereading i am very intrigued if you ever get the urge to share i will be all eyes/ears/senses required to enjoy things!!

I GET TO DO WIP WEDNESDAYYYYYY!!! the writing exists mostly in the form of a tag (fantastic! 'verse) and also a thirty-two page doc of snippets and planning, so the sense you will be using most is imagination:

don't think i have ever actually formally written out anything about fantastic! 'verse but! the tl;dr of it is that it's a semi-college au: joel is still a hockey player for the lv phantoms, but morgan is a college student-athlete. it's incredibly relevant to the plot that joel falls in love with morgan in the check-out line of a wegman's, lies a little bit, and ends up going back to get his degree.

most of it is just good fun about college kids growing up, but i think there's a lot of parallels between making your way through a development system where traditional "success" isn't always guaranteed (ahl -> nhl, completion of higher education -> pursuit of a career) because that development system isn't always designed for you to "succeed" or have opportunities. heavy quotation marks around success because part of that struggle is learning what you want in life and how you define success. are your dreams achievable? are they still the same dreams you always used to have? it's infinite branching universes of would you still love me if i was a worm (ahl player forever) (a college dropout) (a college graduate) (older) (realizing the fallibility of your body) (uncertain of the future) (human).

silly little snippet:

[livvyofthelake]

fun thing i just noticed at the airport the other day when i had to get out my id. my driver’s license says my eyes are green. my whole life i’ve been wrestling with the concept that my eye color is so fucked i never know whether to just say they’re blue or have to do the annoying Well Actually they’re not just blue they’re sort of a teal blue green. because my parents always just said they were blue. and when i got my license at the dmv they asked me my eye color and i said blue. because i always just say blue even though it’s more complicated than that. but no my official identification literally says they’re green. hello…

[sqlmn]

Motka (left) and Germaine (right) are two dumbass asexual bffs. Kinda lengthy rambling below.

Germaine doesn't like much physical contact but Motka and his brother Tremaine are fine. The reasoning being, when he was younger, he was fine. Contact was good. Hugs were nice. Tremaine hated his guts until he was like three then latched onto him impressively and cried if anyone got too close to them. So Germaine just kinda .... learned to avoid contact with others and keeping his distance for the sake of Tremaine. (their parents died when they were young so Germaine did his best to raise Tremaine and worries all the time he messed up really bad)

Motka is very friendly with everyone and enjoys being around others. But Germaine? That's his safe spot! He adores Germaine (and Tremaine) and considers himself very lucky to know them. He doesn't admit it to Germaine but he's actually very jealous of him and Tremaine having each other. He knows they lost their parents and that's sad, yes, but they have each other. Motka however? Has his parents alive for most of his life but his younger sister passed away before he met the brothers. So seeing them together makes him a little sad about what could have been for him had his sister not gotten so sick.

Also: Germaine cannot lie. Like he just can't. Motka admits "you know, it's endearing knowing you will always be honest with me but sometimes I want to punch you over what you say" and Germaine's just "that's very fair and you can punch me if you really want". (spoiler, Motka doesn't punch him)

Also: Motka doesn't use the word "love". He'll very openly say "I adore you!" or "I cherish the time I spend with you!" but he avoids saying "love" at all costs. No one really knows why, it's just a weird Motka-thing, just like Germaine being unable to lie.

[solitaireships]

🌟✨🎂 for whoevers been on your mind lately ? :D (@comfortingstars)

Gonna answer for James!

🌟 - what does your f/o do to help comfort you about your insecurities? what do you to do comfort them about theirs?

It’s hard to say with the first one here bcs most of my insecurities are ones I keep to myself and the few other ones are always ones where any comfort for it feels hollow and fake, so idk what would actually help. I do think in general he would just try to reach out to me and involve me in things tho, and show interest in what I’m into

With James I try to remind him that he’s handsome, both verbally and through physical affection (since that’s what his main love language is). I also just try to validate him on a lot of things and make sure everything is judgment free since a lot of his insecurities are around him feeling different from others/broken. So I try to make sure he doesn’t feel that way and he knows that no matter what, I love him exactly as he is

✨ - share some headcanons about your f/o! this can be visual headcanons, sexuality or gender, disabilities and neurodivergencies, etc!

He’s ace, biromantic, and polyamorous. In canon he has a strong need to be in control and associates control with being able to protect people, and that’s something that imo comes from past traumas about not being in control of situations and people he cared about getting hurt/dying bcs of that. On that note, he canonly has PTSD with some psychotic symptoms (hallucinations mainly) and imo he’s also autistic

He also canonly is physically disabled, with his right half from the neck down being prosthetics and his left arm around the elbow got amputated + he got another prosthetic for that. His prosthetics are set up so he can feel sensations aside from pain bcs he thinks that would just slow him down, tho he does get phantom pains

🎂 - how has your f/o changed over the course of the relationship? how have you changed? do either of you miss past things about the other?

James has opened up to me a lot more over the course of the relationship, and that means he’s gotten a lot more comfortable with vulnerability. I think I would get more comfortable with that too over the course of things. But as things got worse for him, he’d become like. Less happy for lack of a better term, and a lot more stressed. So I’d miss when he was able to relax more, and when he was more able to just breathe and calm down