#im frothing at the mouth this shit is so up my alley

[technicolorxsn]

just finished 2001 🎉🎉🎉

[swallowtail-ageha]

I know you are primarily Sulyvahn x Dancer truther, but what do you think about Aldrivahn? 🤔

Joke answer:

Real answer:

Ok while i do admit i haven't really rbd much content about aldrivahn i will say that it's like. One of my favourite ships LOL mostly because depending on how you intepret the lore they can be either the campy villain couple who wrecks shit together (if you think that they were collaborating) or the super murderous hatesex "i am forced to work with you but i hate you so much" couple (if you think aldrich actually was antagonising sulyvahn and decided to attack his troops when coming to irithyll)

I like the second more in my hc because then it'd be the first time ever in his life sulyvahn was actually powerless against a force greater than him and i am a sucker for power imbalances, but i also like the first one too because lmao. I just Know they'd be on some barbie movie ass shit and i think they'd be hilarious

So yeah! Very versatile ship!

I think however the main characteristic of both interpretations is a struggle of power between them: one must top and rule over the other, and they both well know it, so while in the second interpretation they're more openly hostile to each other, in the first one they're also way more subtle and backstabbing! And while they did love each other, they also were totally willing to throw one another under the bus if push came to shove. They both had extremely dominant personalities that wouldn't permit anyone else to command over them, after all

Also one aspect of it that makes me go insane is the Aldrivahn when Aldrich is in Gwyndolin's body. I do get why people (especialy 'Dolin's fans) can be unconfortable with it but also. God. Im frothing at the mouth feral. The whole pseudo-necrophiliac cannibalistic aspect of it. THE FACT THAT GWYNDOLIN IS STILL CONSCIOUS... the horror the revulsion

And again if you go with the hc that Sulyvahn and Gwyndolin were A Thing this adds another layer of fucked up. Miyazaki i need to study your mind.

Its just... jdjwjdwj so grotesque so disgusting it's up my alley 10/10 would live in my head rent free again

[lsdruid]

“Anyone else feeling homicidal right now?”

[1] Love for Maximus The real psychopaths of history, upon learning that killing is frowned upon in most cultures, take up research and author textbooks. These demonic cysts of the world never die. Across generations, they appear in the lives of young Gilneans, their spirits wild and lustful like young wolves, and then fuck them over until the young wolves roll over and expose their vulnerable undersides to their now dominant lover. Boredom, apathy, and homicidal thoughts are the half-demon love children. It was the words comprehensible to only an educated fraction of all Gilneans, swimming in blue ink across a fragile page, that were the only remnant of a dignified life long gone. Through the ink, a disembodied voice endured. Somebody made love under sheets, slid coins across the counters of sweet shops, sobbed over graves, and slipped into death beneath the gazes of loved ones. Who’s dying now? The only souls currently thinking of his name, a pair ofstudents. For the rest of their lives, the name “Albert Hendrick” will flush their faces with a furrowed brow and taut lips, as if remembering a spurned lover, or closer to the truth, hours choking their own minds with formulas. “Y'know, some people internalize, wanna kill themselves.” a slender, pale hand flattened a lock of reddish hair against a soft cotton nightgown, directly over the heart thudding beneath milky, speckled skin. A willowy index finger jutted into the spine of the open textbook. “This makes me wanna kill -somebody else-.” A boy with neglected blond curls and savage blue eyes lied down alongside, obliviously peering into the book, his eyes soft and curious where his amber-eyed companion’s were simmering with frustration. He was six feet, very tall for a Gilnean of fifteen. His looks have been compared to a number of celebrities. “You’re almost all the way through.” The boy reported matter-of-factly, deftly snatching his friend’s calculation-smeared paper from underneath a cocked elbow. “Hey, how are y'doing these problems without making the table?” “I uh, have no idea. He doesn’t check for accuracy, I’m bullshitting so I can get this over with and get credit,” the girl explained, suddenly flustered. “Ha, I thought you knew some super genius shortcut to these ‘n I was wasting my time here, Miss four point somethin’” “Just finish that up so we can get going.” “Might as well do some learning while I’m filling this sheet out, rather than write down nonsense.” “When are you ever gonna need to know the scientific name of the knee cap? Like, oh fuck, oh shit, help, I got shot in the patella.” “I used to be an adventurer like you, then I took an arrow to the patella.” “You are finishing that today, and we are -leaving in ten minutes-,“The girl snapped, her last words spoken with the restrained fervor of a judge sentencing a man to die. “Patience of a saint.” He patted the girl’s back. The girl jabbed her elbow into his ribs. A nerve has been touched, and the boy, no gambler, wouldn’t test his luck again. The subtle, sarcastic comment was applicable. Anxiety and impatience haunted the girl like a lingering disease. Nothing was ever accomplished quickly enough, nothing was ever quite right. She lived in the past, she clawed at the corners of her mind as if with enough mutilation, their guts would spill and yield answers from the future. It is believed that whoever created life would be disappointed; the gift of youth, meant to be enjoyed, was wasted fretting. Then again, these believers should be reminded that urchins in the streets are starving. What does another irritated soul matter to this maker of things, or to anyone? “For fuck’s sake, you’re gonna get going, or you’re gonna get two shattered patellas.” “Well, shit, I’ve only got so many of those!” It took several minutes to slip into cotton shirts and heavy woolen garments. Breakfast took another five – honey and bread was jammed into mouths and scarfed down, the plain crumbs chokingly thick, dry, and hesitant to go down a throat at this bleary hour of the morning. Out the door in thirty seconds, enough time to walk several miles of winding Gilnean streets with time to spare. The sun had yet to breach the layers of cumulus that hung languidly over the city. A vicious cold lurked in the fog, its moisture chilling the air to a deep freeze. With tops of buildings drenched in fog, the sky appeared oppressively low. If it weren’t for the lamps that distributed vital light along the cobblestone streets, wet and slippery with morning dew, school children would never be able to trek to their livelihoods at the proper time of seven in the morning. The conversation was as sparse and bland as breakfast, but it was basked in the unassuming warmth of old friendship. The cold wasn’t bad enough to bite through their layers and worry their skin, and the morning was pleasant aside from the weather. the streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional stranger, who always seemed to be as bundled up, sleepy and shy as they were. The boy occasionally initiated cheerful good mornings, but was never returned anything aside from mumbled greetings. After one of these failed social gestures, the girl scuffed puddle water at her buddy, who pretended to be unaware of her antics. Bored, she skipped to his side. “I just remembered, I wanted to get to school a -bit- early to speak with a teacher, and we’re running a -bit- behind,” the boy pointed out, his tone optimistically rising in pitch. She dug into him with a pointed amber glare as her perfect morning schedule melted in her hands. “You -forgot-.” The possible words left unsaid, yet hinted by her threatening look, is what unnerved him the most. “We’re good, hey, we should be able to cut through here.” When the pair turned into a musty alley, they were hardly able to walk side by side. The girl could have sworn the buildings were trying to squeeze them like bugs. It was hard to navigate, but the boy possessed an amazing sense of spatial awareness. His knack for navigation never failed him, although in this situation, after winding through a few forks in a narrow labyrinthian alley of an overcrowded city, it looked like it might be a while before they got an idea of their whereabouts. Once they were thoroughly lost, the darkness unraveled something large and fanged on four legs. It was just a dog. The girl moved behind the boy, grabbed his gloved hand, and gently tugged. Frothy drool oozed from the bitch’s jowls and shiny drops of saliva coalesced on the ground, glinting like little coins in the teasing light. She moved forward, but it wasn’t quite right, the gait was interrupted every moment with a limp. She dragged herself over the dark, wet cobblestones like a demon from hell. She opened up a mouth full of horrendous teeth and strings of spit. The boy looked inside and froze. His repose was shattered by a jarring cry that sounded like a woman’s shriek combined with a slamming door. The adrenaline iced his blood, then set it on fire. When his senses cleared, he realized he had stood bleary eyed while his companion swung her fifteen pound book bag into the beast’s twisted, fanged grimace. It was still standing after the blow, staring at them, froth and vapor both streaming from its maw. The vapor floated up in delicate spirals and the saliva, thick as porridge, laboriously tumbled onto the cobbles. In an attempt to startle the rabid animal, the boy raised both arms and waved vigorously. The beast gazed at him, perplexed. Then, it slid to the ground on its side. The mangy, wiry form was suddenly overtaken by erratic tremors. “Oh, damn. Just keep walking,” the boy hissed to his gaping companion, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, gently coaxing her to abandon the scene, to stroll around the rabid dog without looking. It was nearly over. They were some ten feet away when the girl braced her legs, bringing the two bodies moving as one to a halt. “Wait! I hear something.” He could hear it now. The silence in the motionless alley managed to sustain a whimpering so quiet he had to listen for a moment to assure himself he was not mistaken. The girl drifted from her companion’s side, slowly moving towards a pile of rubbish blurred by the hazy darkness. She had traced the sound to its source. She knelt and the boy took several wary steps towards her. A soaked and unpleasantly grimy cloth sheltered an equally grimily unpleasant puppy. He had the coloration of a cow, white with large ink stains of black. The fur was congealed to the bony little body with a foul-smelling soup. The boy raced over, peeling the outermost coat from his shoulders and arms as he went. He plucked the mud puppy from the dirty hands of his companion and swaddled the little beast in wool, holding the bundle close to his chest. The pup looked up at him with large, milky brown eyes. They both giggled, first the boy in low, coughing spurts, and then the girl with breathy chuckles. The shock of the attack melted to overwhelming adoration of a baby animal. It looked to them both, and then began to cry out indignantly for care, its little form shaking like a leaf. Upon request, dog and jacket were shoved into the straight-faced boy’s shirt. The little head popped out. “Are you naming him? You found him.” “I’ll give -you- the honor,” the girl huffed out in between giggles. “Then he is Maximus. Maximus, Conqueror of Words! Hero of our time.” “He doesn’t look like a Maximus.” “He’ll grow into it. Look at those big paws!“

The puppy arched its neck and squirmed around until he was able to press noses with the boy. A little pink tongue darted out, the cleanest bit of flesh they’d ever seen from this little animal, to wash the boys chin and lips. “That’s disgusting. You could start drooling and snarling at me like the mum. Stop what you’re doing.” “Wise advice from a wise girl.” “Yeah, well, obviously it’s because Im ‘Miss Four Point Something’ and you’re slackin’ at three point three three three threethreethreethreethreethreethteethreethreeththththththth-” He had a breathtaking moment of fear in which he morbidly imagined her never being able to stop, so he covered her lips with his own. The moment it dawned on her that she’s practically being spooned dog saliva, she shoves the guffawing boy away. The puppy yowled, and she yowled right back. "Y'talking politics to ‘em, Jay?” "I think he’s a Godfrey supporter.” “Oh, dear god.”