#darktopics

[spoiledmwilk]

♤ Welcome to The Deceivers blog ～ ♡

I deal with mental health issues so my blog will have darktopics && whatever else idk !

Feel free to bicker with mi ! More info on myself below

It (He) / hir  ✦  Angel or Shuu if you'd like

I am a black aroace-ish teen ! Aswell as a demigirl girlfailure . Puppyfail at heart ♡

I lack sympathy aswell as empathy && deal with moodswings .

Uhms the pawsomest fat puppy ever heh

[darktopicalraaaal]

im back!!!!!!

hi ill do this intro later but im darktopical or topi idfk call me whatever you;d leik uh bye

[buttery-toasts-blog]

Eremin Roleplay Request ~ ♡

hello everyone!! I'm looking for people who are 18+ and literate to advanced in their responses!!

I'm okay with dark topics and smut! I also have a few plots in mind and feel free to let me know your plots! I will be happy to help decide what we want!

I preferably to play armin arlert! and looking for someone to play eren yeager! :D

~

please, if you're interested. pm me or add me on my discord crazycat◇#6538

[little-witchys-cottage]

Can you not do this to skekmal???

{ warning topics of r⭐️pe and sexual abuse }

I seen some fanfics that make skekmal... a r⭐️pist....

Like they think his character would legit enjoy r⭐️ping people...

They legit dumb his character down to just

“ yeah he’s a r⭐️pist because he’s evil but don’t worry! He does it because of love too! So it’s okay! The victim will love him in the end!”

This character legit has never in the dark crystal series EVER shown any signs that he would ever do such a thing..

Never once has this character ever been hinted at to be a r⭐️pist...

Like that’s doing something real gross with a good character so like can you not...

But also the sexualizing r⭐️pe is wrong..

They’re writing r⭐️pe like if the r⭐️pist.. r⭐️pes the victim enough then the victim will love them.. like that’s terrible!

They acting like r⭐️pe is a symbol of love... that’s not how rape works.. it’s not “ loving “

So like can y’all not...

Ps: if you’re someone who supports sexualizing rape and try to say it’s “ love “ when in reality it’s one of the most terrible and traumatic things that can happen to a person. Like It ruins lives every day. don’t interact with me if you’re like that and please seek mental help..

[lord-lostatsea]

Self Para || Flotsam, Jetsam

In which we see a younger, more volatile Erion Thessal reacting to his father and the news of the impending proposal he does not want. His response will change the perception he has of both himself and his role as Eldest of the Thessal family forever.

Soundtrack: 1917 Opening

The halls of Darktop were quiet and cavernous in their existence, dim and damp with the smell of salt. Brine coated the outer walls as waves crashed against the seawall in thunderous applause. A figure stood alone atop the highest point of the manor, a balcony overlooking the expanse of water surrounding his home. For as far as the eye could see, the sea howled. 

Erion Thessal swept his hair away from his eyes with a heavy hand, the other curling white-knuckled fingers around the cold stone of the railing. He has seen his twenty-seventh winter here in Mordu. He loved the island, the people and its quiet solitude, loved the king and his brother with a loyalty that was astounding to some and baffling to others. Erion was a quiet young man, aloof in his opinions on most everything save the Angmars and his family. The royal family was one he would bend a knee for his entire life, a fierce loyalty there that curled around his heart and warmed him on his coldest, loneliest nights. That loyalty to kin was what anchored him here even when his heart longed to be out at sea. 

“Erion, my boy, what in the blazes are you doing out there,” barked a rough voice, stretching from the safety of the study behind him. The young man sighed, quietly, and turned, pasting a smile to his lips. It did not reach his eyes. 

“Just thinking, father. I’ve a number of the fleet to train early tomorrow. We’ve some new whelps who need to gain their sealegs.” The smile that curled his mouth now as he maneuvered, reluctantly, from the chill of the salty air was more true, crinkling the edges of his eyes. 

Unlike the man that stood before him, broad in shoulder yet hands smoothed by years of a lord’s work, Erion Thessal was tanned and weathered, skin a rich brown and hair stained by the sun. When he had docked to answer this summons from his lord father, Erion stank of the sea. Now, the layer of brine had been scrubbed away, leaving skin shining-pink in its wake. The collar of his thick outer garb was rough against the skin, chaffing but something Erion knew he needed to endure. In his father’s eyes, there was no room for anything less than the proper behavior. He was the Eldest, the Thessal Heir, designated by his eyes and the Quintessence that coursed through his veins. A well-kept secret from the Four, yes, but a fact all the same. 

That responsibility wore on him now, weighing down his shoulders to curl in on themselves. Lowering himself into a highbacked chair, Erion edged as far away from the fire as he could, the flush coating his cheeks designating his discomfort. He was unused to the heat of fire, preferring the cold to flame. It was difficult to keep a blaze going on a ship, much too precarious, so Erion did without. After years on the water, one grew used to such things. Some days, looking at his father now, Erion believed the lord had forgotten what it felt like, to be free. 

Erion would never voice such things aloud, not to him, but he had voiced such things to his beloved sisters, privately and in the many letters they exchanged. 

“Erion,” came the voice, and the heir winced, dread eating away at his stomach. Glancing up, Erion felt small, like his father loomed. “We must discuss your...prospects, my boy. You are the Thessal Heir. You must conti--” 

For the first time, Erion met his gaze, interrupting his father before he could even begin, voice calm. The seas behind them writhed, crashing wildly against the southward rock wall. Schooner boats and ships further out rocked wildly in their moorings and a menacing fog descended, as though created from thin air.

 “No, father. We will not. I do not wish to marry. I do not wish to be a pawn. I will not be.” 

“Boy,” his father growled, eyes blazing. “You will. You must. There is no other--” 

“The girls are quite capable, I think. Nerissa is betrothed to our king’s uncle, Selina to Cassius They can produce our Thessal brood. But I will not.” He had no desire to wed, no desire to anchor himself to the land, no matter how deep his love for this island ran. His place was out at sea, where he was free to do as he wished, where he did not feel suffocated by his very existence. Darktop, while a fine home, was not his home. He was to be its lord but this was not his throne. The Wench was his true home, before that the smaller skip, his little Falconer’s Lace; she sailed in the fleet now, small and quick and ideal for scouting. 

Erion’s fire dimmed when his father next spoke but the sea still raged, the fog ever descending. 

“You have no say. You have no choice. A proposal has already been promised. You will honor it, or you dishonor this family.” The tone was final, a door slamming in his face and Erion felt these four walls closing in, felt the heat suffocating him, squeezing his lungs tight enough that his chest heaved in his panic. Wind lashed at Darktop’s walls and his father looked outside, lip curling, disgust clear on his face. 

“Blasted boy,” he said, stalking over to the outer doors and slamming them closed. Erion flinched, eyes screwing shut as his chest heaved and his heart threatened to suffocate him from its place in his throat. His father rounded on him, a thick finger bejeweled with gold and a signet ring jabbing at him. “The Wench will not leave this harbor, you hear? She is docked, and so are you.” 

Erion threw himself to his feet, eyes wild and wide and the color of the sea outside. He quaked with his panic, shaking with it, already feeling it descending over his head and swallowing him whole. Without a backward glance, the younger Thessal fled the room and raced down the halls, breaking out into the courtyard at a breakneck pace, scarcely stopping as his father’s men shouted after him. 

This was not home, not on this night. 

The Wench weighed anchor that evening. She did not return for three months. 

[goddesstrolls-archive]

jauz has an edgy red sister now i guess

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[seoservicesoh]

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[seoservicesnd]

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[lalbuginfo]

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