#but actually he's being manipulated by someone else

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

"Didn't want you to?" Remus snorted, "well, sucks to be him, huh? It's a good thing you didn't, I bet he would've hurt you if you did... And yeah, probably. Really? You don't mind your body?" Remus nodded, "I thought you would've, if I'm being honest. You pass so well that I thought you would've hated your body. I don't mind it either, whatever you're happy with then I'm happy with. I just...wanted you to know that you don't have to keep this body if you don't want to. I'm happy with anything." He smiled to him, then he worked his way back up to start washing the blood off of his neck. "I really have made quite a number of bruises on your neck... We better talk to Patton before he freaks out about this."

"Hm, I doubt that would work... I mean, he won't believe you if you call him. Even if you get Roman to call him and tell him directly that he's safe and happy, I doubt he would believe it. I mean, you can try... But that's just my opinion." The man shrugged, "Yeah? Alright, I'll send him a few dogs with a note. Mhm... Well, he clearly likes dogs, judging by Janus, so I think dogs may be the best bet. I'll get on that right away." The man grabbed a pencil and started writing that down on his notes.

"Oh, also, I have something else to report, talking about Remus... So, one of the boys mentioned that they've been keeping tabs on their ex. This ex lives close to Remus, and he used to be Remus therapist. He also is friends with Roman. But neither of them has spoken to this ex for some time. However, as of recently, after you finally got Roman, he's been spending an awfully long time with Remus all of a sudden. He's got some cameras set up inside of his ex house, and this is what he's caught." The man pulled out his phone, and he hit a few buttons. Finally, he presented the phone to Virgil, it was a live feed of Remus and Emile in the shower, and how they were giggling and moaning. "There's feed of them having sex too. Remus cares so much about his brother that he's having sex with someone he hasn't talked to in years instead of searching for his missing brother. That's horrible, don't you think?"

"Oh? He actually wore that and didn't complain? Huh, I thought he would've complained. I bet he looked quite adorable in it! Did you take any pictures of him? I would love to see it! Oh, I'm sure you made that clear amongst the boys, I heard them chatting about how they would love a piece of roman but they cant. Wow! And he let you do that?" The man chuckled, "I bet that was incredibly hot. Have you had sex with him yet? Do you think he's going to get pregnant anytime soon?"

"Hm... Well, that's another matter I wanted to talk to you about. I feel that the mutt is a liability. He may be working on getting out, or be Romans voice of reason. And we can't have that. I do understand that it makes Roman happy, so I agree that he should stay. However..." The man smirked as he opened his file and slid it over to Virgil. "I have an idea... I've been really interested in doing this experiment, but the opportunity hasn't presented itself yet. This is the perfect opportunity." He grinned, "Why don't we turn Janus into a stuffed animal? He won't be able to talk, he won't be able to get into Romans head, and he won't be able to help Roman escape. Hell just be a little plush toy that Roman can hold and feel comforted by. Now... Obviously, Roman would feel distressed to find his friend has turned into a plushie. But, I can manipulate Romans memories to make him think that his plushie has always been that, a plushie." He sipped.

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2

[kaisaerinlover]

kaiser x very tragic and isolated reader. and innocent. and idk how else to describe this but yeah just read ok

he’s a bit ooc here especially for my writing cause he’s being nice

you don’t feel like you have any purpose, you’re a girl in a world full of people with so many talents. so much beauty and so much of, well, everything. but you’ve never fit into that. never had anything of your own. you are you, isolated little you. every day you’ve lived has been to please others, you don’t ever recall actually living a life of your own volition at all. everything is for everyone else, or was, it’s for kaiser now.

he’s glad he found you, because he likes you a lot. you’re similar to him, after all. maybe not in the way you’d imagine. you’re isolated, because you have no one. you were used by everyone around you for whatever personal gain they had and discarded again after as if you were some sort of tool and not more than that. he’s isolated because he thrives in restriction, thrives in loneliness, thrives from the idea that nobody likes him and he’s a piece of shit; because that’s all he grew up knowing anyway.

he likes that you have no friends, likes that you’re the same as him. likes that he can have you to himself, in his own sick way. he knows it’s wrong but he can’t help it. he remembers when he first met you and you were nothing more than an empty shell counting down the days until you finally disappear. any outsider would consider it a curse that someone like kaiser entered your life at such a fragile and tender time; a time when you’re so clearly depressed and suffering, but you deem it a blessing. he remembers the dates you would go on, the love bombing and manipulating he did, that never seemed to work as intended on you. you were just so grateful for everything he did in general, so happy, so eager to please. it was endearing. you’re really his first love, he can promise you that. you’re the first person who really ever opened his heart up. and, he hates admitting it but, the first person he’s ever truly pitied.

he’s sorry for you, real sorry in fact. sorry that you feel the way you do, that you are the way you are. you don’t even allow him to give you as much affection as he’d sometimes like to. and it angers him a bit. he’s not one for these things, so the fact you deny him of them sometimes when it’s exceedingly rare of him to be so kind pisses him off. but it also makes him like you more. and pity you more. and loathe himself more. he likes taking you out for a stroll in the quaint little countryside town he moved you both to (he prefers the isolation he has with his huge mansion a bit further off the road from the village), he likes it. and you’re so in awe every time, without a doubt. big eyes looking around at everything curiously. he feels sorry for you, really really fucking sorry. so new to the world and everything to do with it. he has one memory in particular he’s fond of.

when he brought you out into the village for the first time and you excitedly ran and started picking flowers from someone’s garden. “you can’t pick those, those aren’t public property” he chastised you. and you didn’t listen, you just handed him the handful of tulips you just plucked from the ground of some poor old couple’s front garden and hopped over to the next one to pick some more. he mentally sighed but god your naïveté was so endearing, it still is. he’s always reminded that you’re living for the first time too, but maybe not just in terms of just existence. you’re experiencing life for the first time, he can tell you’ve never lived for yourself before. simply kept inside and made to abide by whatever it was everyone had you doing before. he hasn’t much context on your family, or whatever bunch of people it was that you lived with before him. but he knows they aren’t nice since the first time he met you you were preoccupied with obeying whatever orders they barked at you. you looked so empty, you were at a shopping centre carrying everything. he remembers seeing you so often around town with these people, looking so empty and doing their bidding, he just had to have you for himself. he likes pathetic things, but now he realises maybe he’s the pathetic one for you. he’s entranced by your innocence. he likes crushing beautiful things beneath his thumb; would gladly spit on a flower and stamp on it, so he’s not sure why his psyche is constantly making him be oh so fucking kind to you.

he remembers that same day you vandalised the poor village folks gardens, you sat on top of the roof of the church clocktower, in front of the huge ticking hands of time, doing nothing but eating rusk and ice creams. his hand over yours and your hair blowing in the wind. you were so fascinated by the sunset, how the sky changed colour into something so impossibly beautiful. you were just so enamoured by everything; such innocence is refreshing. his heart actually skipped a few beats. you stared at the sunset which was so astonishing and new to you after so many years of whatever the fuck it was you were doing (he doesn’t want to know, he can’t let himself feel even more pity for you, too many human emotions felt by him and he’s sure he’d explode) but all he could look at was the tragically beautiful girl next to him.

he tried to invite you out more after that, and he can’t forget what you told him. you looked up at him and smiled, a sad smile if he’s being honest, and all you said was “don’t worry, this was more than enough for someone like me”. someone like you, he hates the way it rolled off of your tongue so naturally. it sounds like a curse. someone like you. everyone deserves a break, you don’t even think you deserve it. god. he hates the fact it actually twists his insides and makes them churn so disgustingly. he remembers when he finally helped you escape whatever life it was you were living before too, how you insisted he didn’t have to, how the memories of your very very few escapades out were enough to tide you over for the rest of your life, hell, even all of eternity if you were to live that long. he wasn’t having it. maybe he saw himself in you, someone who needed help and just never received it. when he was living with his piece of shit dad still, he knows he would have loved some help. he remembers when he stopped merely existing and started living for himself. the feeling is liberating; maybe he wants to give you that liberation too. but you’ll never do that, it’s fine though, you live for him and it’s more than enough.

you’re really tragic. even kaiser admits that. you’re still as kind and sweet as the day he met you years ago. and it’s just sad, because sometimes he’s so mean with you. but he really cares about you, he does. that’s why he’s scratching your head now as you’re laid on him drawing something random on a notebook he bought for you. he bought you some colours from the village and a book and told you to go wild, and you did. he doesn’t even know why he did that, he likes hiding behind a facade of luxury. spoiling his girls rotten, giving them whatever expensive brand he saw first and showering them in gifts worth more than their entire family combined. but he doesn’t want to with you. it’s not that he doesn’t want to spoil you; the opposite actually. those gifts are just… not you. don’t get him wrong, you have a wardrobe of clothes that costed more than a pretty penny. but he’d rather get you items of sentiment. money also seems dirty to him, he’s not sure why that’s the association he holds with it. you’re pure; he doesn’t want to just turn you into some whore who’s obsessed with cash. a dirty slut. you’re too good for that. he thinks your childlike wonder of the world doesn’t suit this. and besides, your drawings are pretty cute. he likes watching you like this, watching you get so lost in something. seeing you have a bit of passion/a hobby. at first, he couldn’t quite get you to indulge yourself in anything at all, not even something as simple as doodling on paper. you always just gave him that mellow look and shook your head. he remembers when he first handed you the colours and book: “micha i don’t need it, don’t worry, i just wanna be useful to you” he hated that answer. he’s not even sure why.

he doesn’t know why he cares so much. he’s staring at your head so hard whilst in thought he’s surprised you haven’t noticed it yet. well, you have, you’re just pretending you don’t know. you don’t want to bother him.

he’s never cared so deeply about anything before other than football. he’s heartless. he’s not human so he shouldn’t have any feelings remotely similar to human emotions. this doesn’t align with the warmness in his heart he feels when he looks down at you drawing away to that sweet heart of yours’ content. and he just audibly growls in frustration. man, every fibre of his being is telling him he needs to take care of you and treat you right, and he agrees with it, that’s the worst part. you perk up at his growl and look up at him. and he just takes your notebook off of you along with the pens, puts them down on the table and grabs your hand. you know where you’re going, so you walk with him to the door to slip your shoes on too.

it’s evening now, and you’re sitting in front of the clock again. ticking away. watching the perfectly orange sky as the sun slowly descends ready to be replaced by the moon. licking away at a popsicle. both of you wrapped in one of kaiser’s coats. doing the same stupid routine as always. you looking in awe at the beauty of the world, the universe in general. and him looking in awe over the beauty of you. it’s like the sun only rises and falls to kiss your face with all of its light. you’re so pretty like this, hair falling down your face slightly and your face glowing in the radiant light. he likes the routine (though he hates admitting it). it’s comfy for him. the public thinks he’s some put together luxurious princeling, which is true he supposes. but with you he doesn’t have to. he feels… poor again. in a weirdly comforting way. sitting in front of the huge church’s clock, where you both definitely aren’t allowed to be sitting. licking at some cheap popsicle he bought from the small supermarket. holding your hand and admiring you. this feels like the most real version of him, and he’s glad he can show it around you.

as he snaps out of his thoughts, he notices you looking at him. big eyed with popsicle dripping a little down your mouth, so he reaches out with his thumb to wipe it away. god, he’s almost melting in his spot. he tries to conceal it, but he can’t be sure if he’s doing a good job or not. he hates how you’re the first person to make him feel like he’s in his puppy love phase all over again; he’s fucked countless women, had so many escapades you wouldn’t believe it, so much psychology books read and embedded into his brain, so much control over his stimuli, so good at pretending he doesn’t care. but with you he simply can’t. “thanks for this” you say. your voice is smooth as honey in his ears “for doing this for someone like me.” he hates when you say that. he just sighs and moves a little of your pretty hair behind your ear. “anything for you” it’s true. he would do anything for you. anything for someone like you, he knows it even more as you giggle at his simple action.

he’s more similar to you than either of you think, never quite believing you’re human and worth much. kaiser referring to himself as a subhuman, and you always dancing around the subject. “someone like me”. bullshit, kaiser thinks.

you shuffle a bit towards him and cup his cheek to kiss him, blushing the whole time as you do it. and he’s taken aback too, still kissing you back though. you’ve done this countless times but there isn’t a single kiss that doesn’t make him feel butterflies inside. not a single kiss for you either that doesn’t make your stomach fold in on itself. as he kisses your sweet lips he can’t help but to think about how he wants to take you out more. to see more places, more dates, more of the world. he wants to spoil you with life. he wants you to live, he wants you to feel as liberated as he felt the first time he discovered soccer. he wants to fix you.

and you are slowly fixing him too. it’s funny, you’re both so human and you both have trouble accepting that. both so human and both so deserving of love. both need to live for themselves, but there’s always going to be room for the other in this dynamic.

that’s something you can both agree on. both of you thinking of the other as your head rests on top of his that’s laid on your shoulder looking at the sky ahead. it’s comforting, two humans, breathing in sync, thoughts in sync, seeing the same thing, holding hands. a love so pure, purity michael kaiser didn’t even know he could welcome into his life. but he doesn’t mind, he likes it. you like it too, love you didn’t think you’d ever be able to accept before, here in your hands.

as mean as he tries to act, as evil as he might be, unfortunately he just can’t quite bring himself to fully commit to it when it comes to you. when he’s around you.

and you, albeit a little stupid at times, recognise this. and maybe, just maybe, it makes you feel happy inside. selfishly happy. maybe living for kaiser is like living for yourself, you’re like one soul divided into two bodies. he agrees.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hey, Nalyra

Why do you think Armand was so upset at the idea of turning Madeleine and tried to talk Louis out of it?

Was he actually upset?

Was he actually upset about the turning or possibly something else?

I guess what I'm asking is: can we trust Armand's explanations here that he was repulsed, afraid and angry (the turning being against the rules)?

Cause I gotta say, I'm not entirely convinced. The explanation seems... insufficient, considering everything we know after the reveal.

Also, people seem to agree this is the moment that Armand knew he had to choose the coven over Louis, but idk, is it?

Seems to me he always meant to kill Louis, though maybe he had doubts along the way. If he didn't know wether he was going to kill Louis or not, then what's the point of making Lestat come and take part in the trial? The whole thing was to torture Lestat, so to kill Claudia but not Louis makes no sense, a half measure.

You understand the show and the books so well, I had to ask your opinion. Maybe I'm overly suspicious for no reason.

Love your blog btw, please never stop engaging with the show and with us anons <3

So happy you like!!! *hugs*

I think... I think the plans were in motion, and the principle willingness to kill Louis was there, it had to be, for the trial script to be prepared, for Lestat to be lured over, for the rehearsals, and so on.

In the books, Armand actually influences Louis to make Madeleine, in an effort to get Claudia out of the way. This is different here, I would say, edited tale or not, because there is nothing impromptu about it all. Everything has been planned.

Deep, deep down, Armand is still the coven leader of the Children of Darkness. Lestat came and smashed the remains of the little cult, but he could not get ~400+ years of indoctrination out of Armand. Of course not. And Armand lives by these rules, at least some of them, even in later books, for example he "cleans up" young vampires wherever he goes. Because... he is the coven master, the one to decide over life and death.

Armand, at that point, was very much convinced he would never condemn someone to this life. That is why he could not turn her. He simply could not. And, ultimately, she meant nothing to him.

Armand, as the coven master, denied her the turning, and therefore, for the coven, that was set.

When Louis decided to turn her nonetheless, it went against the coven, the coven rules, the coven ruler. It, wanted or not(!), rejected a part of Armand, a part that Armand (even later on) continues to cling to, like a life line.

Book Armand manipulated Louis to break him free (by destroying the coven), and then lamented to Lestat about Louis being numb with pain (not kidding) afterwards.

The Armand of the show is very much bound to what remains of his coven, it is the only stability he has had and which he sees. And, in a way, this blinds him to an actual possible relationship with Louis that would build on more equal grounds. Unfortunately.

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Absolutely fascinating, and I can see exactly what you mean.

From someone describing Cross's personality, including his impulsivity, emotional dysregulation and being spiteful (and approved by Jakei as nailing Cross's character). He's got anxiety, struggles with self-worth and self-esteem yet simultaneously acts so self-absorbed to the point where he has no qualms about being a jerk to literal children.

Take his relationship with XGaster. Cross hates him as much as he wants his approval. Willing to fight against him or alongside him in whatever it takes to get his AU back and to stop the Overwrites (all or nothing). Because for all his dad’s abuse, he’s still his dad, and Cross wants him to be proud of him. (There’s old Jakei pride art where Cross is wearing a rainbow shirt and hugging XGaster, saying “I hate you so much…but I love you” while smiling goofily)

Cross is full of himself, and believes himself to be more powerful and understanding of things than he actually is and feels entitled to his happy ending (tbh fair, considering everything). Or just take that moment of his interaction with Goth for Underverse Studios, where Cross justifies taking and drinking all his chocolate milk because Cross is an "adult" and therefore needs it more than Goth.

This conflates with his anxiety and self-doubt, where he also worries if he’s done enough or if he should’ve done something else but it’s too late, so he buckles down with his decision even if it’s a bad one. If anyone considered themself a “god”, he’d think it nonsense. That everything is run by codes and magic and force of will. So if a deity imagery is used with XGaster then Cross would think it’s up to him to stop that false god

His beef with XMettaton? Full of passive-aggressive interactions between the two especially when Mettaton refused to help Cross when a cow was chewing on his bandana. And it's this moment that gave Cross bovinophobia because he genuinely believed he was about to be beaten.

Then there's all of his unstable relationships with friends and what was once family. XChara causes him so much grief, and when they shared a body he despised the loss of autonomy. But they were also there when he was alone in the Antivoid for who knows how long until Ink came. They’ve become a reluctant companion, but there’s constant friction between the two for both the events that happened with their AU and clashing thoughts on how to handle things, both believing the other to be correct and that the other just messes everything up.

All or nothing with Ink: He believed Ink abandoned him and was never his friend to begin with when Cross had asked Ink to bring his AU back and didn't. All of their history, of how Ink probably kept Cross from going insane from the equivalent of solitary confinement and an emotionally unstable XChara, of how Ink helped Cross develop a passion for art and it's one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he has, all of it is pushed to the side and ignored by what Cross perceived as a slight to him and a manipulative betrayal. How could Ink pretend to be his friend when this whole time, he couldn't bring back XTale, and later on, worked with XGaster to keep his Soul safe and then release it?

All or nothing with Frisk: XFrisk was his best friend, and the betrayal that XFrisk had used Cross and tried to kill him and the others to steal Overwrite from XGaster that kickstarted Underverse in the first place had him throw his locket and rage and hate XFrisk and refuse to accept the name "Cross". A resentment that carried on throughout Underverse and in art of them answering asks, there are brief moments where they're friends again only for Cross to lash out at other moments. And in Underverse the locket is one of Cross's most prized possessions, and he always keeps it on his person. And yet "Cross" is his name, his entire identity, and he lashes out at XPapyrus to the point where he punches him in the face and threatens him with bone attacks until he says his name "Cross".

His brother, who was one of the people Cross wanted revived again more than anything, he's willing to go so far as to enforce his identity by physically attacking XPapyrus who only wanted his brother back.

Aside from his AU back, he wants a sense of normalcy again. He wasn’t always so frustrated or mad all the time, this is a side effect of not only childhood abuse but also trauma from the events of XTale. Not to mention the moments where even as a child, Cross He wants his home back, and more than that, he wants peace and to rest and to be loved (it hurts to distance himself from XPap, but Cross believes it's the only thing he can do now; that he has no other choice) That Cross now and will never be the Sans that XPap knew and loved, and wants to still be accepted by the ones he loves despite having changed so much

All the moments where his body was controlled by others: by XFrisk, XChara, or XGaster, the moments where he's emotionally vulnerable and was manipulated, greatly resemble dissociative episodes, where Cross is so disconnected from his body and even his mind feels out of his control. It's like he's nothing more than a Tool for others to use.

Looking at Cross as a whole, it all aligns much too well with BPD.

ASPD INK WOOOO CLUSTER B REPRESENT!! Nobody can take away Cluster B character headcanons away from me, Cluster B characters I love you

HELL YAAAAAAAA

We love Cluster B in this house

Allow me to actually give you a tiny list of cluster Bs and the characters I associate with them

ASPD: Ink, Nightmare (I’ve been also considering Killer, not yet made a decision tho xhxhxh)

BPD: Nightmare

HPD: Error

NPD: Cross

[fatalism-and-villainy]

Rewatching season 2 had me really struck by the sheer amount of time Will spends performing for other people, and how few fully authentic interactions he has. In fact, I’d say one of the biggest through lines between the first and second halves of the season is Will learning how to wear masks, and then actively deploying that for the purpose of catching Hannibal.

(And how fitting is it that the promo for season 2 had Will wearing the iconic hockey mask? Not just a franchise in-joke, but a reflection of the fact that he “becomes” Hannibal in this season, begins to symbolically merge with him, to the point in which his own goals become clouded to him.)

It's a natural extension of season 1's establishment of his empathic abilities, where he begins to more actively use his ability to read other people and discern their motivations as a tool, or weapon. Simply telling the truth about his innocence doesn’t serve him - so he adapts a façade very quickly, in his faked tears for Hannibal and Alana. All of his interactions with others while in prison - Chilton, Lounds, Matthew Brown, etc. - are very deliberately engineered, and lean into what Will knows (or thinks) each person wants to hear - all setting the stage for him doing the same thing to Hannibal. Every word, everything about his intonation, is so precise - something that specifically struck me in this stretch of episodes was when he talks to Gideon and very carefully leans forward as he’s trying to drive his point home:

(And the body language, interestingly enough, is not just persuasive, but also mirrors the way Gideon sometimes leans/dangles his arms out of the cage when talking to others - and it reminds me of Will also mirroring Hannibal’s body language during the “not now that I finally find you interesting” scene, when he bites his lip in the way Hannibal so often does.)

It really highlights how so much of how he interacts with others during this entire stretch of the plot is a very carefully crafted performance, with so many of Will’s actual feelings and motivations subsumed into his manipulations. I remember watching the DVD commentary on Su-zakana, and they talk about how Will’s visible surliness with Hannibal was meant to stem from the fact that he didn’t want to be too friendly with Hannibal right away, because it would look suspicious. And I think that gets at something that’s present with how both Will and Hannibal manipulate others - they’re not necessarily lying about their feelings, just consciously using genuine feelings or motivations as a method of influencing others. With Hannibal, he frequently does feel genuine affection for others, and his care for them stems from that, but it’s also often used to put them at ease, serve his own ends. Will, for his part, is genuinely angry with Hannibal, but actively uses those feelings to fashion an aura of standoffishness. And of course, Hannibal has a genuine pull for him, and he deliberately leans into and cultivates that enjoyment for the sake of entrapping Hannibal. …Which of course leads to a situation where he has to put on a show for Jack as well, in which he downplays how deep into it he’s getting.

So it’s entirely fitting that the opening of Mizumono features the two halves of Will’s face - the front he’s presenting to Hannibal, and the front he’s presenting to Jack - merging, mask-like, in the middle of the screen.

They’re both the real him, and they’re both masks - and he gets so subsumed into his performances for others, the modulation and accentuation and sublimation of his feelings that they require, that he gets lost to himself (and is also terribly lonely and isolated). No wonder he’s confused and unmoored in early season 3.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

All he knows is flirt with men and lie.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[baalzebufo]

One Star, Brighter than the Rest

y'know what. im probably not gonna get around to writing more of this because im lazy but if it sits in my drafts forever nobody will see it so im posting this fic/drabble/thing. THIS IS for my demon gideon au.

Gideon, at the end of his rope, calls Bill to make a deal. But Bill has bigger plans. Much bigger plans.

---

‘I'm finally ready to make a deal.’

The walls of his solitary cell seemed to shift then, as the buzzing in his ears grew into a wild cacophony of laughter. Gideon stumbled backwards away from the chalk sigil on the wall, his vision blurring and swimming as the dream came into being. The crude drawing seemed to pulse, its single eye blinking. Then, a massive beam of light- Gideon shielded his eyes, and the moment his vision returned he was hovering there before him. Bill Cipher.

‘WELL, WELL, WELL! Look who came craaaawling back!’

---

The triangle squinted at him, throwing his hands up and watching the child flinch at his voice. Gideon felt his back pressed against the cold stone wall of his cell. He had no time to respond before Bill sprung forward.

‘Geez, you look haggard, shortstack! What's wrong, the warden giving you trouble again?’ His tone was mocking- his tone was always mocking. ‘One of your prison buddies finally got fed up and try to shank you? Oh, wait, my bad. That’s supposed to happen next week! Haha!’

Gideon swallowed hard. He couldn’t let Bill get to him. He had summoned HIM- he’s the one in control. He wasn't playing second fiddle to Bill, not now, not ever. He balled his hands up into fists and steeled his nerves, stepping forward with his nose in the air.

‘Listen to me, demon! I called you here because I- I want to make a deal!’ He glared up at Bill with an unearned confidence. ‘You messed up my plan last time, but I'm givin’ you one last shot to prove yourself to me! Y'all're gonna break me out of this joint!’

Bill's eye widened then, before he threw himself backwards into the air with laughter. Gideon seethed. His arms shook as he puffed himself up, standing on his toes. ‘Are you LISTENING to me? Do you want to make a deal or not!?’

He grit his teeth until Bill calmed down, wiping a tear from his eye.

‘Ohhh, kid! You're KILLING me here! You’re really killin’ me!’ He shook himself from side to side, tutting disappointedly. ‘I gotta say, your lack of imagination would be funny if it wasn't so sad, Gideon.’

‘My-’ All at once, rage flared up inside him. ‘WHAT?’ He roared, fully ready to throw one of his tiny fists into the ‘face’ of that smug isosceles jerk-

‘Don't you GET IT, KID?’ He hovered down to Gideons level, put one arm around his shoulders and tugged him in close. ‘You got a personal genie right here, and all you wish for is to get outta prison? Did you even READ my entry in that book you had? You’ve got NO idea what I’m capable of, and here you are, askin’ me for something you could do with one lousy prison riot.’

He patted Gideons shoulder softly. ‘Look, I get it! You’re probably just worn out from all that hard prison labor, aren’t ya? Your mushy little human brain isn’t working right! So I'll cut you some slack just this once. After all, we’re buddies, aren’t we? Haha, yeah we are.’

Gideon froze up, pushed himself out of Bills grasp. He squinted- then frowned. What was he getting at, here…?

‘What are you ramblin' about?’

Bill's laugh cut through him again. ‘You gotta think BIG, shortstack. Sure, I could help you outta this jail, or I could give you the power to do it yourself. I could make you just like ME!’ Bill threw wide his arms and little sparkles flew from his palms.

Gideon blinked, his jaw slightly agape. Bill took his stunned silence as an excuse to carry on his pitch.

‘I've been working on something special while you've been away, and I've got it all figured out! I could make you a bona-fide demon, kid! You could get my powers with all the perks. Think about it- getting into the nightmares of everyone who's ever crossed you, tormenting their every waking moment! Phenomenal cosmic power, right?'

'You're basically the perfect candidate, too. I mean, look at you-' He gestured vaguely at Gideon- for once in his life, speechless. 'You're almost crazy enough for it. I mean, hey, I saw that time you nearly gutted Pine Tree with those shears! In front of his sister, no less! That was DE-LUXE, kid. No hesitation. You've got the murderous ambition to really go far.'

'Honestly, you're probably the only person in this lousy town who could HANDLE this kind of power. So hey, just this one time, let me make YOU a deal you can't refuse! Haha!'

Bill blinked at him- ‘Wink!’ and held his hands out wide. If he had a face, Gideon could tell there would be the biggest toothy smile plastered on it. He swallowed.

Bill was dangerous. He knew this much. He knew you should never- ever- trust a demon at it's word. And yet...

‘You're insane.’ He muttered, shaking his head. ‘You can't do that, it- it just ain't possible.’

‘Gideon, REALITY IS AN ILLUSION. What's ‘possible’ is whatever I WANT to be possible!’ Bill drifted, floating upside down as he spoke. ‘I defy the laws of nature just by EXISTING, so who's to say I can't do anything I want? You're talking to a criminally insane triangle, kid! Start BELIEVING. Here, let me help you.’

Bill snapped his fingers, a teal flame shooting up from his hand and forming a portal of sorts- within it, figures started to form. Gideon saw…

He saw himself.

He saw himself laughing. He was wreathed in flame yet somehow still cast in shadow in the middle of a chalk pentagram, his five-pointed star burning bright. Gravity Falls around him lay in ruins. He stood in the burning husk of what was once the Mystery Shack. The Pines lay crumpled, crushed beneath burning timbers. The smell of ash and blood thick in the air.

And hovering before him, as if in a deep fairytale sleep, was Mabel.

Sweet, sweet Mabel.

He saw a vision of his victory. All the power he had ever wanted coursing through his veins. Everyone who had ever slighted him was dead by his hand. And his only love- she was all his, forever.

His vision reached out, took her hand so gently. He could almost feel her hand in his, her skin so… so soft. He hadn't felt it in so long. His hands shook, and he reached out.

And then, the vision erupted back into flames with the click of Bill's fingers.

Gideon stood, spellbound, holding a breath he didn't think he could let go. The teal flames still flickering in the back of his mind.

‘Yup, I knew you'd pick up what I was puttin’ down, kiddo.’ Bill flipped himself upright and straightened his little bow tie.

‘It’s about time you got everything you deserve, isn't it?’

All at once, Gideon seemed to snap out of his stupor. He blinked, shook his head. He took a step back again, swallowing down the lump in his throat. No- no… this had to be too good to be true. The devil was a tempter, he knew this much. But if there was a chance- the smallest chance- that this future could come to pass... He hardened his expression as best he could, trying to gain back his swiped upper hand.

‘But wait.. what would you get outta all of this? There's no way you'd be helpin’ me just outta the ‘goodness of your heart’… if you even have one of those.’

‘HAHA! You got me there!’ Bill swiped at him playfully. ‘But I'll have you know I have at least NINE hearts, and several other heart-adjacent organs! Wanna see?’ He wiggled his fingers before sticking one hand straight down into himself- a horrific CRACK sounded along with a spray of what looked like television static, a horrible thick black something trickling out to the floor down his arm- up to the elbow in his chest. It took all of Gideon's willpower not to scream.

‘Answer the question!’ He snapped. Bill huffed, let his hand flop out of his body- the relief when he didn't drag some sort of horrific organ out was palpable. He brushed himself down, the wound closing as easily as it had appeared.

‘Okay, sheesh! Keep your hair on.’ Bill rolled his eye, leaning forward. ‘Obviously, I wouldn’t do it for free. We can do a trade. I’ve got some stuff I need to finish up in the physical realm, see. So I’d just-’ He mimed jumping with his fingers. ‘- hop on into your body for a bit. Temporary possession.’

‘My body-!?’ Gideon clasped his hands over his heart, realizing his back was pushed against the wall again. Bill wanted to POSSESS him?

‘Yeah! Geez, you look like you’re going to pop an ulcer, kid. You wouldn’t be in it, obviously!’ He scoffed. ‘We take you out, put me in, you get all my powers an’ I get to use your chubby little hands to finish some personal business. I won’t even keep it that long. Think of it like a vacation! And when I’m done with it, you get my powers for keeps. There’s basically no downside!’

Bill floated down to the floor and folded his hands together. He shrugged. 'It's all up to you now, kid.'

Gideon got very quiet. He took in a deep breath, then hopped up to sit on the edge of the metal slab they called a ‘bed’ in here. He fiddled with the fringe of his blanket, chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought. Bill was surprisingly silent as he watched him struggle with this. Then, he hopped up next to him on the cot.

‘Listen to me, Gideon. You've always known you were different, right? I mean, hey. You were born a freak. I get it! I was born a freak in my world, too.' Gideon frowned, but Bill held one hand up to stop him from interrupting.

'I GET it. They only call us freaks 'cause they can't handle that we might be BETTER than them. It happened to me once- now it's happening to you too. They want you to roll over and conform, to bury your head in the sand and be ''normal''. Well, that ain't gonna happen!'

‘And it's because fate had something bigger in store for you. Why do you think you were born different? Why do you think you're so much smarter than everyone else here? Hell- why do you think YOU found that journal in the woods, and not one of the village idiots?'

'It wasn't dumb luck, Gideon. It was fate.' Bills voice grew... darker. More intense. It prickled at the fear response in Gideon's head, and yet... he found himself entranced, somewhat.

'I saw you had potential. I knew you were destined to do more than sell cars, grow old, and die. You could be so much more. So I kept my eye on you until I knew you were ready for it. Now's the time, Gideon. I see EVERYTHING.'

He looked up- Bill was hovering in front of him, now. His eye was glowing with a vision of the void. Within its depths, universes swirled. Galaxies shifted in their positions. And at its heart he could see one star, shining brighter than the rest.

‘And you can see, too. All you need to do is-

shake.

my.

hand.’

He extended his arm forwards, and it erupted in a familiar cold blue flame.

‘And I'll show you.’

…

Gideon swallowed hard. Nothing good would come of this. He was making a pact with a demon. One that had ended poorly, before- how badly would it end THIS time? What if Bill was lying? What if their plans were foiled before completion? What if, what if, what if, part of him repeated.

But the other part of him… the selfish, cold, cruel part of his heart burned brighter than ever. Ever since his amulet and his journal had been taken away and he had been thrown into this cell, he’d felt powerless. He had crawled his way up from being ostracised, weak, and alone to basking in fame and fortune. And then it had all been taken away.

No longer loved, and barely even feared. What did he have in here? A handful of schmucks who gave him their seconds in the mess hall? How long would it be then, until THEY tired of him, too? They’d cast him aside eventually. And then he would have nobody and nothing but a cold, dark cell and a life to regret.

He needed that power back. No- he needed more. He needed enough to wrestle the world back into his hands. To know that all he had to do was will it, and it would be crushed back into stardust.

His eyes were cold. He looked up.

‘It’s a deal.’

He took Bill's hand.

.

.

.

[wheelercore]

Theory with no coherent proof on my part: brenner only visibly ages rapidly when a portal is open.

[otome-dissection]

yakuza 0 majima they could never make me hate you

[kissingarthurclaus]

Ok I was watching Stardust Crusaders with my partner last night (who's an angel for watching with me 🥺) and I had genuinely forgotten that Polnareff was Dio's servant for an entire YEAR before being sent to kill the Joestars and co....gives me a lot to think about

[swordmaid]

for me… FOR ME..!!! and for shri’iia specifically the lock in for astarion’s romance is his graveyard scene in act 3.

i think it is too quick for shri’iia to be moving on to another relationship considering her previous one was with her mistress who essentially groomed and isolated her for like … more than hundred years. learning to chase her own desires and not moulding herself to what anyone wants her to be is something so new to her…!!! and something that she’s still learning how to be comfortable with….

and what I like abt romancing astarion with her is that I usually go for the dialogue path in his act 2 confession scene where you can ask him:

- what do YOU want to do?

and he goes like honestly idk what we’re doing but /this/ is nice. it just feels like two people exploring the option to love for the first time and taking things in their own pace rather than jumping straight into the relationship. they’re going at a snails pace… they don’t know what they’re doing but they like this feeling and the vibe and they want to more of it but they’re not ready to commit to anything yet and it’s fine for them …!! and they’re only committing by the end in the graveyard scene where significant time has passed and they’ve learnt a little more about themselves and they’re both more confident about their own desires and also how they want to be loved.

like it is so fitting I think… and sweet… not to mention astarion being a high elf & a vampire and shri’iia being a drow, they have all the time of the world for themselves so I def think they would want to take their time. except if shri’iia turns into a mindflayer or drider by the end then that plan is out the window lol

[skrunksthatwunk]

found out that rascal's owner took him again while i was out, and he's probably not gonna be back since the semester's almost over. i don't even know if his owner's coming back next semester, if i'll ever see him again. if he'll ever see me again. why do they wait until im not around to do this? why do they never let me say goodbye to him?

[godsfavoritescientist]

Tbh? I still feel so out of my depth whenever I try to write Bill. For whatever reason it doesn't come naturally to me like writing Ford does. Every time one of y'all has thoughts on Bill's characterization or writes something Bill-centric I'm mentally taking so many notes

[mxdotpng]

though i don't think it's right to say the party didn't like luke before he changed. there are a lot of times where its obvious they do have some sort of attachment to him even if its obscured by how annoyed and/or frustrated he makes them. like when luke went back to baticul for the first time and everyone was trying to cheer him up and go sightseeing together, or when they were worried about him during their trip to choral castle. they were rightfully biased, as they saw the forefront of his behavior, but if they hadn't liked him at all they wouldn't have agreed to travel with him again, nor would their feelings after akzeriuth be so personal.

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[medicinemane]

Heard someone talking about some movie or show or something say it had "the villain from Breaking Bad"

And I'm just like... Walter White?