#little massive murder machine boy

[zeeckz]

i have noticed that in mgrr there are plenty of animations of raiden in a chokehold. idk if that suits your style and preferences but mb it'd be a fun thing to draw (and to look at)

I couldn't find any chokehold aside from Armstrong's, at least during cutscenes - are they on regular [boss] battles if they cause you big damage or..?

On a side note I had forgotten how anime-y that fight is......

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Escape the Friendzone 2/4 (Word count 5.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Massive arms go about her as she's pulled against a lean chest. It's an awkward, tense hug. He smells of open air and coppice, with a whiff of acrid sweat on top as she lays her head somewhere between the bumps of muscle of a warm chest.

Not even the body heat makes him appear more human: his heart is not pounding as fast as she thought it would after making it clear he would score some tonight.

She fears she's dealing with a sociopath. Might even be a psychopath.

"Are you still afraid?"

"I don't know." Her breaths are everything but steady as she inhales the intoxicating scent of a madman.

"Don't be scared. I will only hurt those who wish to hurt you."

His pledge renders her weak; it makes her legs shake. She gets far more than she bargained for when pulling him in to give her a little late-night comfort.

Friends with benefits is a situation bad enough, but this is not okay. The guy's fixation seems boundless, and if she tries to wriggle out of this… relationship and starts seeing someone else, it might end up in König scrubbing the potential future love interest's guts off his shoes.

And something in the idea isn't even wholly appalling.

Good God…

"I don't want you to hurt anyone," she whispers like it isn't his day-to-day job – to hurt and kill people. She is on the verge of collapsing to the floor and stays upright only because he holds her in authoritarian embrace.

"Little angel, it's what I do." He releases her only enough to bow his head and look into her eyes. His stare betrays slight distaste. Those eyes are calm mirrors of how can someone be so naive.

"You come to me if someone is mean to you," he orders in a stern voice that makes her feel faint.

"Alright," she breathes a fluent little lie. He's satisfied with her answer, however, and presses her head back against him with effortless control.

She imagines him knifing someone with a listless stare from sparing a glance her way; she fantasizes him strangling some chauvinistic moron in the darkness after they have been "mean" to her. Quickening breaths betray her sick thoughts to him because he pulls her even closer. She can feel the enormous cock pressing against her body with a promise of violence.

"Angel… I wish you would stop teasing me."

"Yeah?" Her laugh is restrained, and her heart is racing inside her chest – like it's some kind of a good idea to have a heart attack while a murderous psycho turning into a boyfriend is in the same room with her. "Where's the fun in that…?"

"Do you always tease men like this?"

"No," she swallows a mouthful of woodland and musk. "Just you."

"Hm."

"König… Can I see your face?"

The man finally seems to find his reserve again. He detaches from her, and she can hear the audible gulp inside the hood.

"Maybe later."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other like he usually does when he's a bit nervous. Probably to ease the discomfort from still being forced into those pants with such an astoundingly large, swelling erection, too.

She can't come up with anything that might explain why the man is so uncomfortable with showing his face. From the small glimpse she saw in the showers, everything looked completely normal. There is some other reason why he wants to wear the mask, most likely some mental block, and she would simply have to wait until he's ready and willing to take it off.

"How about a kiss?"

He doesn't shake his head or escape her as she hesitantly steps toward him and raises a hand to the hem of his hood.

"If I just…"

He does nothing as she starts to raise the mask. The look in his eyes is somewhat haunted, though.

She lifts it just enough to reveal a clean-shaven chin and a pair of thin, tightly shut lips. She briefly notices that there's a scar on his jaw before his mouth opens to call her in. They're polar opposites of each other: she feels breathless and limp when their lips meet while he's a statue of rigid power. Even his mouth is tense as she catches his bottom lip between hers and tries to soften that immortal stiffness. Distant notes of hops catch her tongue just before he pulls her back into a crushing hug.

The guy is not the most perfect kisser. He's very avid, though. In fact, his eagerness is what makes it a scary experience, what makes the kiss clumsy. He smashes his lips on hers with force, then opens his mouth so wide she fears he will devour half her face.

The ungloved hands slide down her back and cup her ass. He's gentle, but she still feels like she's levitating, half an inch above the ground from his groping. He moans like they are already having sex, but before she can disconnect herself from the violent kiss, he does it for her.

"I want to fuck you," he pants across her lips, eyes half-lidded and drunk. "Can I fuck you?"

The man has no conception of how to dance these dances. He simply declares his wish to shove his junk inside her and kill those who might do her harm. She feels dizzy in his arms, like dew that will evaporate under too much heat.

"Yeah, yes," she tries to sound sane, although there's nothing sane about this.

So much for being just friends or being nothing at all…

Her heart is beating faster and faster; it wants to rend itself out of her chest. She feels ample sweat between her thighs, then realizes it's only her own wetness that has broken through the cotton of her underwear. The dress is so tight in the middle that she can't simply try and throw it over her head, and the buttons at the front seem to have suddenly become too big to slip through the holes.

He doesn't take any of his clothes off while watching her undress. The instant she opens her whimsical veil of blooms, he moves close and shoves the fabric down her shoulders so that it drops sadly on the floor. Then he flicks a knife out.

Shit… Shit what the fuck–

"No–Don't–!"

The blade is forced with a flat surface under the middle of her bra. He pulls the fabric away, turns the blade - it's a miracle she's not bleeding by the time he cuts through the center front like it's butter. Her breasts fall free, and the destroyed lingerie hangs cheaply on the side before it gets dragged away too. She looks at his work, her exposed tits and the crude, fat knife he swiftly returns to its sheath.

"That was my favorite br–ah…"

The man is terrifying, even when he sinks to his knees. He dives for her breasts, licks the undersides and sucks her nipples like he's famished. Her head rolls back, and she feels fainter still as he gropes her like she's his toy, chews a nipple until she shudders and cries in pain. Then he goes down, down, panting hot breaths on her skin as he goes, the hood grazing and tickling her skin.

His hands shake slightly as he tears down the last piece of covering fabric from between her legs. She can't even step out of the briefs before a blazing tongue is pushed to her clit, all but delicately.

Perhaps he's not a virgin, but he's not a veteran, either – still, it draws a filthy moan out of her.

She has to take support from his head to prevent herself from falling when the tongue simply forces its way between her legs. It curls to meet her folds, slick with her wet. She knows she's practically leaking at this point, and hears how he licks his lips.

"Of course the angel tastes like heaven too," he rasps in her mound, sounding rather… bitter. Almost annoyed.

She thinks it's only the beginning, but he suddenly rises like a Kraken from the sea, like a Godzilla about to destroy an entire city.

"Get on the bed. All fours."

She chokes the whimper that tries to escape her, then turns and crawls onto the bed as if they are running out of time. His urgency is hers now, and she presents herself to him, waiting for the man to thrust in without remorse, but it's his mouth she feels first.

"Uh–Oh my god…"

He licks her with a flat tongue, torturously slow while she's on display. They're long, profound sweeps, as if he wants to sample her rather than give her pleasure. Although he does give her an immense amount of it.

She falls on her elbows, face down on the bed, exposing more of herself to him in the process. Her pussy has been neglected for so long that the feel of his hot tongue on her is absolutely breathtaking, thigh-shaking. She pushes herself back a little, lets him taste his own medicine for once.

And of course it only makes him more unhinged.

"You're wet like a…" he laughs a short, dry laugh straight into her folds, and she finally whimpers at the sound. "You want it so bad?"

"Yes…?"

It's a sad little confession but more than enough for him. He freezes behind her, and something in the way the air shifts tells her he has risen and is now standing high above her as she's in this crudely vulnerable position.

"I've made you wet this whole time?"

She snivels, opens her eyes, closes them…

"Yes," she sobs in the bed, nearly topples, but he grabs her ass and keeps her in place.

"Ach du lieber Himmel…"

She pants and cries in the sheets, but the sobering silence lasts only for so long.

The sound of a belt being opened shoots her skin full of goosebumps. Only a few seconds later, the fat tip of his cock is swept across her folds: it probes for a second, then slides in.

"A-ah–"

"Scheiße… So tight…"

He hisses and goes all the way in – the journey is long and torturous as he stretches her wide. The thickness only grows at the base, his balls are already tight as they arrive to press against her.

And mercy is not at the top of his list as he realizes she has denied her need and therefore, his. He starts to sail inside her, back and forth, in and out, like it's his job, too. It's total torture. She might just pass out before this is over.

"You little tease…" He seizes control of her hips while using her as his own personal fleshlight. The noise of wet, slick fucking is deafening. The pace is upped soon, and he has to use strength to hold her in place while ramming her from standing while she tries to hold on for her dear life and hold onto the sheets.

"Not so fast, König," she whimpers into her pillow, but he won't listen. The pace is frantic, and his thrusts are deep; he fucks her with despair, with anguish-driven, starved thrusts born from greed.

Nothing has ever felt so good, nothing.

"Just friends, eh?"

She has a hard time deciphering whether he is happy or mad. His voice is pitchy, and she knows, she just knows that he sounds equally as unglued on his missions. Perhaps that's why people rarely talk to him.

"Don't–don't be angry…"

"No? Say that you want me," he commands somewhere behind her, desperation coating the air with pungent sweat and musky arousal. "Say it–say it–"

"I want you," she finally cries, and it feels like an absolution. An amnesty. Remission of sin.

There's panting and frantic sound of slaps of flesh against flesh behind her. The air all around is pure electricity. It makes her quiver and throb and squeeze: him, the sheets, anything and everything.

"I will bring you flowers every morning and fuck you every night. Ja?"

His length is the only thing she can focus on; all else dissolves into a hazy mist. The cock glides in her like he's oiling a gun part, and he could ask her to kill someone and she would only say–

"Yes, yes."

He slides in and out with less and less control, moans and grunts with every thrust now. She's already past the point of no return, even though the orgasm keeps hovering right beyond her reach. She only needs a few more minutes. Or maybe just one...

"König… Not...so–fast…"

He answers something in German, an annoyed string of words she has no clue what they mean. He's probably just swearing profoundly.

"Get...what you deserve..."

That's the only thing she can flesh out from the English that follows. He finally finds some mercy with a choked groan and tries to slow down a little. It's even worse when he does that. He pulls almost completely out, then sinks back in, agonizingly lazy, and that does it: the full length of his giant cock slipping inside her without effort makes her walls clench.

"Oh God…" Her back is arching, her toes are curling, a tight cry disappears somewhere in the pillow, and he won't stop with the – "Oh–fuck–!"

"Yeah," he cheers her on as she screams, cries in the sheets while his cock swims in her. His hands dig into her hips, and she barely has brains left to think it might leave bruises. The orgasm comes in waves, shakes, and he won't let go even when she's only a heap of throbbing, soaking flesh and rapture.

And it's not the end; quite the contrary. He continues to fuck her with abandon: balls slap against her with every jab; they must be covered in her juice at this point, making the sound of sloppy thrusts utterly obscene. She's able to stay in a face-down, ass-up position only because he's holding her there for his cock.

The grunts turn into a wide, thick groan as he approaches the edge as well. The pace slows down almost to a halt before he comes.

"Jetzt…kommt–" he groans through gritted teeth, voice all taut while he grinds through his release. It's a multitude of deep, oddly paced thrusts, a sad attempt to get everything he can, and she's still like a wet gulf sucking him in.

The last throes are sluggish, the madness starts to pass, and she feels like every bone has left her body. There is nothing solid left when the man slowly relents and settles somewhere deep inside her. She can hear how he pants with his mouth open, and it sounds painful, wet, almost drooly. Then he swallows with a breathless gulp, slips out, and lets her go.

She immediately falls forward - topples, crashes, crawls on the bed, tries to rearrange what's left.

Just friends...

Yep.

He crashes somewhere beside her, spent and out of breath. The front of his shirt is covered in sweat; the air is filled with the stale scent of musk and saline sweat and pure, mad sex. She can barely catch a glimpse of the slick, glistening length of him. It feels like a miracle that this thing has been inside her. It’s not that it’s monstrously thick: it’s simply long, curving a little to the side, lean and aggressive even when growing soft.

"You play with fire, Engel. Why did you make me wait so long?"

The masked killer beside her is panting but satisfied for now, and turns his head to look at her. She has to muster all her courage to look back.

"I'm…a bit shy."

"You're perfect," he declares while watching her in her sex daze and ruin. So, at least he's not angry. He finally looks… normal, even with that absurd hood still on, with that intoxicated, admiring stare in his eyes. The ice in his blues has turned into melting snow.

"I noticed you the minute I arrived here."

She can't prevent a hand from reaching out at that, from splaying fingers over his chest.

"I noticed you too," she whispers back before moving closer to snuggle him. His heart is finally thumping in his chest, right under her cheek – from the late exercise or their closeness, she can't tell. A heavy arm goes around her, pressing her further into the nook of his armpit.

"You remind me of one of my knives," he says while holding her close.

Oh good God…

"You are a butterfly knife girl."

"Oh?"

"Ja. Small and cute and a lot of fun. And I can't get enough of you."

So much for getting rid of the man after getting some d. God, what was wrong with her? Any other woman would have put up some boundaries, perhaps gotten a restraining order by now.

"Is it… a good knife?" Her voice comes out as an annoying squeal, and he pulls her closer, ever closer.

"I mainly use it for playing."

She wets her lips in an attempt to calm herself, to comfort herself. She’s just another plaything for a murderer whose hunger seems endless, even if he’s more civil now. Still, she fears this man is only after sex and violence. Her little dresses and petite lingerie won't stand a chance against such brutality.

"What knife are you…?"

"Classic Glock field knife. Tall and ugly."

Behind the thin veil of indifference, there's pride. It borders on arrogance. She catches a dash of bitterness, too: field knives don't pair well with butterflies, perhaps.

"König, you're not ugly," she breaks their odd cuddle to look at him. "This sounds like a trustworthy knife to me."

He looks back at her with an even warmer tinge to the glacier of his eyes.

"It is. You cannot hope for a more loyal blade."

Her gaze drops somewhere in the darkness of his shirt. He's pledging himself for the second time to her, and it causes another storm inside her head. There's warmth on her cheeks, too.

"You are cute when you blush," he observes with pleased tranquility.

Perhaps... Perhaps he doesn't want to hurt things he finds cute.

Perhaps he will take care of them, like he takes care of his knives.

It still takes some getting used to that he allows his hood to be lifted just enough to push his tongue inside her mouth or pussy but taking it off to show his face is too much. She is lying there with him in an odd post-coital dream, thoroughly naked while he's still fully dressed. But she doesn't feel cold, not when pressed against his blazing form like this.

"Did you nick my underwear?" She asks out of the blue, and the hand stroking her waist stops in the middle of an idle caress.

"I might have," he admits without a single ounce of remorse in his voice.

"König… That's not cool," she says, knowing he can hear the lack of scolding in her voice.

"You want them back?"

"I… Gosh. Yes, that would be nice."

What a pervert.

"Or... Nevermind. Keep them," she sighs, trying to brush off the fact that the underwear in question wasn't even clean. "Do you steal women's underwear often?"

"No. Just yours."

A laugh meant to convey her shock is far too laced with joy to make it clear that she finds his deeds preposterous. She simply fails at every turn in trying to express that she's a decent woman. He knows it now, probably saw it long ago; that she's the perfect cheval glass to his perversions.

The hand on her hips moves to caress her thigh, and the drowsy stare observes her with growing mischief.

"Ready to go again?"

"Whuh–Again…?"

He takes her hand and moves it right over his cock. It's lean and demanding, and pulses under her palm.

Tall and ugly, she thinks while her walls dare to throb with hunger.

"You make me hard," he says, almost as a whisper, "all the time."

Jesus… There was definitely no rulebook when it came to this guy.

She gets to watch from the bed how he gives her a show as the man finally decides it's time to take his clothes off. The shirt is the first one to go: it flies somewhere on the floor while he holds on to his hood. The sculpted muscle looks even bigger up close, and the plates are covered with thin hair. It runs thicker below the navel, and his thighs are pure power: they surround the sleek length of his cock like trunks of strength when he finally gets himself out of those pants.

The v-shape of his upper body is something she will never get over. Broad shoulders shrink and curve into narrow hips which in turn swell into powerful thighs, and while perhaps this guy wouldn't win the gold medal at a fitness competition – judged by the way he's lean and athletic but not low fat ripped – he certainly is the most beautiful man she has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. He's a demigod with his herculean strength, a titan who's too big for the world of mortals. A tormented Samson who will never be tamed with treachery or tricks.

The bed sags as he crawls back to her like the gentlest predator. Her legs open wide to receive him – a classic missionary feels like the most intimate choice after the faceless pounding she received earlier. He gathers her legs as he proceeds: forces them up, up, almost next to her arms until he's hovering over her exposed pussy.

She should've known that some boring missionary wouldn't satisfy this man at all.

Her eyes drop to her legs and what's between them: she's in no position to do much of anything, but as the tip of his cock – smooth, pristine velvet – slides across her wet folds once more, she rather helplessly tries to drive her hips up to meet him.

It's like she's drunk or in a dream. The scene is wild and filthy: she's plump and spread open, ready for the taking, thighs almost in her ears as he draws his hips back and finds her opening.

"Please be gentle," she begs with a whisper. He halts for a while to lock gazes with her rabbit stare.

"You are pretty when you beg, little one. But I would never hurt you."

She swallows, and her lips part – his gaze instantly falls on her mouth, then raises back to her eyes, gentle and painstakingly ardent. He's close, so terribly close – and not just physically. Her thighs quiver with anticipation as the thick velvet slides in.

Holy fuck–

She savors the spread, and he's gentle, like he promised. The groan that erupts from inside the hood above makes her walls ache. He's so merciful this time, and she wishes to lift the black veil that still keeps them apart, to see his face as he takes her, to see that scar on his jaw and how his mouth hangs open with hunger, just like hers…

His cock comes out all wet – she can hear it – before plunging right back in, and it makes her mewl.

"Oh God…" Her eyes shut tight from the sensation of being so filled. She's even more starved than she thought. It's scary, far scarier than the mass murderer above and inside her.

"You like that?"

He's breathing heavy, and she knows he's looking at her, the distorting face of pleasure, the way she's biting her lip. Tears try to force themselves out from the passionate, featherbrained proximity, from being so tightly knitted together, like a bunch of happy, overstimulated nerves.

"Look at me," he orders, and she opens her eyes like they're under his command and not hers.

"You like it like this?"

She nods with tears in her eyes, and he won't stop looking at her like she's his most prized possession.

"Gut. I will make you scream again."

The man's dreamy stare follows every twitch of a lip, every bat of an eyelash. She looks down briefly to escape that love – the sight of the long thickness disappearing in her while she is so crudely open for him makes her feel dizzy, even when she's lying down.

Some pillow princess…

"Sehr schön," he comments while watching her face which must look like that of a dumb, anesthetized doll. His cock has that effect, and now that he's hovering over her, staring into her soul while filling her, it makes everything even more painful because it's sweet. She's under lazy waves, and decent men seem the most boring thing on earth right now.

"You like my knives?"

"Ah–what…?"

"You stared when I played with my knife."

She knows he has caught her staring more than once and bites her lip again not to blurt out how she had stared when he had played with... other things as well.

"Mh, yeah… It was beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

The sudden waves of intimacy leave her fragile and weak. His stare is nothing short of a caress. She is open and helpless for him to pound to his heart's content, but he's gentle, bordering on loving...

"I can teach you how to play with them."

Jesus Christ, this dude is just crazy.

"Uh-huh," she agrees to it with her mouth hanging open from the overload of sensation. The lewd sound of his cum pushing out of her with every thrust is an obscene background music for this – or any – conversation.

"I have a collection."

Why the hell would he be talking about his knife collection in the middle of–

"I own at least fifty knives. I can show you all of them if you come to my room."

His gaze is at least as piercing as his cock, and she realizes how serious this is: knives are his life. He finds them beautiful too, he collects them and cares for them. They're a profession, but they're also the most important thing in his world.

Knives are his essence.

And he had likened her to a butterfly knife...

"S-sure."

The sound from where they are joined rises to a sluggish crescendo: drowsy, filthy claps of flesh on soaked flesh. He makes her sick and well at the same time: he drags her to hell and raises her to heaven. He's the remedy and the curse. He plays with her like he plays with his knives: ravenous, entranced, obsessed.

She tries to concentrate on too many things at once: that intoxicating voice, the memory of him playing with death, the cock plunging inside her over and over again, making warmth pool below. She imagines him killing people with his collection, picking his tool for the day. He's not the only lunatic here because even the very thought makes her tight around him.

"You are close?"

"König… Just–" she whispers on the cusp of a deeper, soul-rending orgasm.

"You like it when I talk about knives?"

She breathes laboriously and tries to hang onto the last bits of her sanity, but he knows her, knows her already. He weighs down on her until her thighs come to rest right next to her breasts. He's plowing her in a crude angle, indecent and deep. It's vulgar, and she loves it; loves the way he stares at her, all helpless under him.

"Please, I'm gonna–"

"I can show you my guns too."

Ohmygod–

"I'm gonn–ah–!"

She shatters, her walls clench; her pussy sucks him like he's hard candy.

“Sieh dir das an… You were made for me.”

"Nh– Please…"

Her head tosses on the pillow as if in a dream. She's fathomless, and going to pass out, the cock inside her makes her eyes roll back in her head until she sees white, the color of saints.

"Shy girl… Beg for it."

The voice that answers his command is not that of a shy girl; it's not hers at all. She hears it from underwater, and her reality consists solely of the man filling her, spreading her, transforming her from an angel into something deliciously wicked.

Please, just–

It's not her voice, and yet it does sound everything like her. It begs, mewls a plea after the other in a string of helpless little whimpers.

Don't stop, please pleaseplease…

"Besser als jedes Messer…" he rasps, more darkly now. "You drive me crazy, Engel."

A chant arises in her head: she has sinned and there's no turning back. He feels far better than any promise of heaven. She could never have guessed that being cast out would feel so good.

His release comes with a tight rip, he goes taut like in that shower, only ten times more desperate. The hiss under the hood turns into a pained, strained roar of a grunt. The first time was foreplay, a quick one: this is true release. She almost hopes she would faint as the whole body of the Austrian titan goes hard as a rock. She couldn't be more spent and used, and still, her pussy answers his godly essence by clenching around him, pulling him in like he's the best man there is.

The man of her dreams, the man from her worst nightmares...

His eyes are liquid, the waterline twitches. She sees behind the walls, a millisecond's worth of fragility before his head drops, and the muscles are released from the violent trance. Broad shoulders cage her in like she's suddenly deep inside a mountain pass. Spent and dead and gone, there's no hurry any longer: he is buried deep inside and throbs whatever leftovers he has to give her.

She's filled to the brim, crushed under his weight, banished: and it's only delicious, the feeling of her body disappearing somewhere in the depths of the bed he has plowed her into. She waits dutifully as the man gathers himself, even gets brave enough to touch him. The masked face is buried somewhere in her neck, and his stomach ripples with a few shivers as her hand runs down his spine.

"I want to do this every day," he declares softly while panting through the thick fabric of his self-made shield. She feels pure horror and thrill in her chest.

To do this every day… She will eventually break, like a toy that has been used too much. She's not made of steel like those butterfly knives used mainly for playing.

"König, this is crazy… We're crazy," she tries to put into words the unholy mess raging inside her. He snorts before releasing her from the absurd position. The weight of him leaves her empty as he pulls out, then drags his way beside her to gather her back into his arms.

"Don't be ashamed, little one," he coos through the mask. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Two rounds of intense sex have liberated him, the manic terror has turned into a strange compassion. The look in his eyes is magnanimous and tender, almost droopy. She feels weightless and timid, an angel once more.

"We belong together, you and I," he states with conviction that sends sweet dread inside her heart. "Don't worry. You will never be lonely again."

Her fate is sealed, and she fears a big, fat knife will cut her heartstrings too if she tries to escape his protection. Her jaw trembles at the prospect of him returning to her every day to fuck her bare after an adrenaline high on the field. She sees a future of tears and sweat and cum, a beast lulled into sleep amidst a withering sea of flowers and torn lace.

She tries to find the right words, hopes he will be swift and merciful in his execution.

König, please…

It's not the hood, it's–

"Everyone fears me," he sighs beside her. "I'm glad you don't."

[hmshermitcraft]

U want crackships??? I'll give u crackships!!

Mumbo Jumbo and V1 ULTRAKILL

Literally only because of the Mumbo vampire hc and the fact that they'd both "drink" blood.

Mumbo is kinda weird about drinking blood, it's basically cannibalism, even though he isn't human and it's a vegetarian diet he feels bad when the hermits show up for the monthly blood drive so Mumbo has plenty of caprisun blood bags.

V1 has no such qualms. V1 rolls around in gore like a fucked up little dog, V1 will do anything for a lil sippy of blood, V1 is absolutely flabbergasted when Mumbo is hesitant to eat in front of others.

Where V1 comes from the only one who had an issue with how it ate was Gabriel, and even he got over it eventually since V1 was not about to listen to an angel of all things. Plus there's more important things to worry about, like surviving in hell.

Trying to introduce V1 to the rest of the hermits is a nightmare because V1 is a homicidal maniac who's always hungry, but Mumbo manages it. V1 actually takes a liking to Xisuma because of his past as the doomguy so they manage to bond over their shared experience of battling into/through/out of hell and then killing God. Mumbo is thankful for this because at least V1 is learning that not everything that moves is a snack bar waiting to be eaten.

V1 brings Gabriel along one day because it's good to introduce your boyfriends to each other and Grian catches a glimpse of another previously brainwashed, now wanted criminal angel guy and is like "hell yeah let's be friends" and Gabriel is like "what the fuck is this weird bird???"

V1 being completely unable to speak and also literally a robot makes communication about feelings a bit difficult for Mumbo "emotionally constipated" Jumbo but they make it work with insane games of 20 questions and charades, which diffuses any arguments because it's so silly to watch this murder machine responsible for the extinction of the human race (????) try and communicate "why the fuck did u take my phone charger, i needed that" by gesturing wildly and beeping.

Mumbo lets V1 run wild under Scar's various mountain projects turned mob spawners whenever it gets a little antsy/overwhelmed with the amount of people it can't kill. After it's done mumbo has to pressure wash it so it isn't tracking gore literally everywhere because it has no issue with being covered in guts.

Mumbo is a massive, tall, wide, strong man, and V1 is just a little guy made for speed more than strength because u don't need to be terribly strong to shoot a gun. So basically whenever he wants, he can just pick V1 up and take it anywhere he wants. V1 doesn't mind because Gabriel does it too. What mumbo couldn't have foreseen is lifting V1 up, only to then be lifted up himself by Gabriel, creating a tiered uppies train. This has become a sort of tradition, sometimes V1 will even lift Grian before then being picked up, making a four layer uppies stack.

"hi I'm grain, this is my boyfriend Mumbo, and this is Mumbo's "boy"friend V1, and this is V1's boy"friend" Gabriel."

I don't know what this is, I've just been playing ULTRAKILL and, in my infinite defense, u did ask for this.

-carrie

Sometimes people will ask Mumbo how they got together, in that cute way that happens with couples. Mumbo has no idea. One day he was dating Grian, the next he was also dating an enthusiastic robot with a thirst for blood.

Once V1 gets the hang of 'no killing or maiming' there's at least plenty of hermits willing to duel with it. V1 always looks a little too happy about winning. None of the hermits even care at this point, they've all seen it carried under Mumbo's arm like a misbehaving dog. Ruins the intimidation factor a little.

[billspotts]

State of Terror: Life After Venezuela’s Electoral Uprising

In a voice message to the ruling party leadership, Maduro summoned PSUV militants and his remaining supporters to defend his rule: “Coordinate with National Police (PNB) and Guard (GNB) to restore order,” he commanded. “We have to grab this by the head. Act immediately. Every little fire that starts must be extinguished.”

On the morning of July 29th, while the Comando por Venezuela celebrated a de facto triumph of more than 30 points over Maduro—after processing 73% of the voting tallies—demonstrators returned home under the watchful eyes and cannons of colectivos and security forces.

On July 28, Venezuela’s government—perhaps dazzled by its own misreading of the situation—became exposed to electoral reality. The barrio, emerging as a new agent of change, slapped chavismo in the face, forcing it to embrace the only version of sovereignty Maduro understands: the power to dictate who lives, who dies, and who goes to jail, echoing the words of Cameroonian social theorist Achille Mbembe.

In a context where hundreds of thousands of people volunteered to defeat Maduro at the polls and then protect the evidence of their collective will, the brute force unleashed since July 29 seeks to destroy the spirit and hunger for change that Machado’s campaign activated.

As Chávez statues were toppled and Maduro posters torn down, the government, from its trenches in Miraflores and Fuerte Tiuna, tried to convince international mediators that Amoroso’s announced result wasn’t up for discussion. At the same time, it turned on all engines of its war machine, including an overblown rhetoric that doesn’t even pretend to be logical. Maduro, Diosdado Cabello, and Jorge Rodríguez have labeled those who oppose them—from local politicians to foreign governments, even on the left—as Nazis or fascists, describing demonstrators as drugged criminals from the U.S. and cells from the international criminal organization Tren de Aragua.

A week after the election, human rights NGO Foro Penal confirmed 1,102 arrests, with 170 of them in Caracas. Monitor de Víctimas reported 23 murders so far, with colectivos responsible for at least 9, operating in total sync with State security officers.

Like paramilitary forces fighting a hybrid war, colectivos work as PSUV’s fist in the areas where the chavista State holds more economic and social power over a population now turning its back on them. Their priority is to defend their government sponsors at gunpoint.

The offensive reached the doors of those who took to the streets the Monday after the presidential election. A video from that day shows a man on a bike recording himself while chasing demonstrators, saying to the camera: “Here we are, prepared to defend peace and our principles. We want peace, but we are prepared for war. In Venezuela, it was our president Nicolás Maduro who won. Guarimberos (a slur for protesters) ran to hide in their homes. From now on, we take over the streets that have always belonged to us, not to oligarchs!”

Communal councils and what’s left of the Hugo Chávez Battle Units—PSUV grassroots structures forming a sort of parallel chavista State—have been ordered to identify, locate, and point out anyone who called out the election fraud in different communities.

Under this war logic, anyone who poses a threat to those in power becomes a target for colectivos and security forces: demonstrators hiding in safe houses, people who showed their voting tallies or denounced the fraud on social media, and community leaders and members of comanditos who promoted participation and defended votes for Edmundo González.

On Tuesday the 30th, in the densely populated (and formerly very chavista) 23 de Enero area, PNB detained four boys—three of them teenagers—who were banging pots on the eighth floor of a building. Caracas Chronicles obtained voice notes sent by leaders in communal councils in Distrito Capital. In one of them, a woman hoped that someone would “shoot escuálidos (classic chavista hate speech for opposition folk)” to get them in line “while Maduro decides to call the army. At least I saw colectivos giving them hell. If they catch anyone, they will make a pulp out of him… and they are hiding between our buildings.”

A WhatsApp chain message shared with neighbors in San José, in downtown Caracas, read: “We call on mothers, families: advise your kids and don’t help the Right. After all this, the opposition leaders wash their hands and continue their trips and lavish lifestyles while our young people fall under the weight of law and order. We can’t cry after that happens. Women, defend your households and protect them from destabilizing plans.”

Caracas Chronicles reached out to one activist who organized volunteers in Western Caracas on July 28, who has since gone into hiding along with about eleven colleagues. Colectivos started hunting for her the minute after the opposition rejected Amoroso’s results. From her hiding place, the woman sent videos showing how CICPC and DAET patrols have assisted colectivos in taking over the barrios.

DAET, which replaced the infamous FAES death squads, highlights the scope of Maduro’s policy against the poor, which has progressively mutilated human rights and living conditions for those with the least. Meanwhile, the regime sustains an oppressive minority of party militants, colectivos, CLAP clerks, police officers, and intelligence personnel with privileged access to institutional networks and State resources.

According to psychologist Andrés Antillano, these inequalities within low-income groups generate fear, distrust, and resentment in the barrio—where chavista groups impose the status quo by marking enemies and controlling those who criticize the government.

A noticeable pattern in this repressive wave has been the indiscriminate attacks on teens and young people who have known no other president than Maduro.

Last week, late at night, the DGCIM posted a reel on their Instagram account announcing their new “campaign” and security operation, “Operación Tun Tun,” with the hashtag #sinllorader (#nowhining). In the background, a song played: “Children take care! Please be aware. All that you’ve done will come to bear!”

“Operación Tun Tun,” which translates to Operation Knock-Knock, isn’t new. Diosdado Cabello first announced it on his TV show “El Mazo Dando” in 2017, during three months of Venezuelan protests, to target people he considered “terrorists.” This time, the DGCIM, along with other police forces like the CICPC, led by Douglas Rico, not only released this video with its intimidating song but also shared images with WhatsApp and Signal phone numbers, urging people to report anyone allegedly involved in a ���physical or virtual hate campaign through social media.”

This operation targets everyone who worked on election day as witnesses or as part of a “comandito” (the opposition grassroots group involved in collecting voting records), those who protested, and even people posting on social media in support of González Urrutia, Machado, or anyone expressing disagreement with chavismo.

On Saturday night, Cabello showcased various Venezuelans detained under “Operación Tun Tun” across the country on his TV show, using the hashtag #PeaceHasArrived.

Other security forces, like the Táchira Police, published “wanted” notices with pictures of young men, labeling them “leader guarimberos.” Even before the elections, Nicolás Maduro had warned that there would be a “bloodbath and fratricidal civil war caused by the fascists” if he didn’t win on July 28.

In addition to raiding homes, various security forces, including DAET, PNB, GNB, and local police, have set up checkpoints in different Venezuelan cities to seize and inspect mobile phones.

The surveillance, targeting, and persecution of citizens extend to other social media platforms like Telegram. Public figures and activists have reported the existence of various Telegram channels created to post pictures of people involved in election day activities or peaceful demonstrations. Some of these channels, like “Caza Guarimbas” or “Controla las Guarimbas,” were shut down by the platform after being reported for promoting violence.

In these channels, users could see messages like “Edmundo is a killer” or pictures of young individuals accused of being responsible for hate crimes (as defined in Maduro’s Hate Law).

This manhunt has created a new environment in the country. People are deleting WhatsApp chats, activating disappearing messages, and sending important information to relatives abroad so they can spread the word about what’s happening inside the country. Some have had to leave their homes and find places to hide.

The situation has also changed how people gather in the streets. For example, during María Corina Machado’s demonstration last Saturday, journalists refrained from recording participants’ faces. Even Machado, who had recently expressed fear for her life in The Wall Street Journal, appeared in public covered with a hood before climbing onto a bus.

Understanding that loneliness and despair are fertile ground for totalitarianism, Maduro and his elite are trying to break the connections people have built, isolating citizens once again from the democratic cause—even more so those who directly promoted and defended the vote in the presidential election.

How can we fight this? If terror seeks to deny what happened at polling stations on July 28th and the intrinsic political condition of voters, the first step is to raise the voice of truth, convinced that, no matter the violence that followed, on that day, Venezuelans spoke with resounding clarity.

Secondly, being strong and resilient doesn’t only mean protesting in the streets. To remain active in defending the true results, we must protect ourselves, stay alert, and manage our energies carefully.

For those who risked their lives in the last several weeks and months of campaigning, protection from state terror means moving between hiding places and waiting for an embassy in Caracas to process dozens of refugee requests.

For others, staying in the streets protesting to the very end is just impossible. “Now, the end of this is in God’s hands,” said Richard, who volunteered on the 28th and went out to demonstrate in Catia the next day. “I’ve been running around on my bike and saw things are getting quiet again. We already took a huge step.”

[shieldofiron]

As a Halloween thought for you because omg you finished serrated- thrall Steve dressing like a vampire bride because he’s sad and pining alone in Billys massive castle

Just thought this might be a little pick me up thought

"Steven! Steven," Billy glanced down at his bloodstained shirt. Steve had such tricks, the humans had made such progress in the field of laundry since Billy had stopped paying attention in the 1800s.

Since Steve had moved into the nest, he'd made so many improvements, including installing one of their laundry machines. Billy had happily paid to have new plumbing installed for his human thrall, anything to keep Steve happy. Though he feared he was quite ruining it by constantly asking whether he could get help putting his clothes in.

He ran a hand through his hair a few times, wishing, as he often had, that there was new progress in the world of mirrors and photography so he could ensure he looked his best for his... Steve.

There was a scuffling noise behind the door to Steve's room but there was no answer.

"Steven... are you quite alright?" Billy leaned into the door.

But there was no answer.

Billy's mind began to race, imagining the worst. Perhaps slayers had infiltrated. Eddie had a passing fancy for a small slayer, a blonde boy with murderous accuracy. Eddie could have easily led the slayer here in his doomed quest to seduce him.

"Steven!" Billy burst through the door and stopped still, "Oh."

Steve was half huddled behind a mirror, trying to hide. Which was proving difficult, because he was wearing a dress Billy had never thought to see again.

Chrissy had had a human bride, long ago. She'd specially made the girl a dress, a traditional vampire bride's dress of red lace. When the girl had died, Chrissy had packed it away with her bride's belongings.

"Steven."

"I didn't steal it! Chrissy leant it to me! I swear," Steve squeaked.

"But..." Billy shook his head, "Why?"

"I just... um... I thought maybe..." Steven rested his head against the mirror, "I know I'm just your thrall but... this is just for me. I'm allowed to dream a little right?”

If Billy had a heart it would be racing, "Steven."

"I know, I'm s-sorry, Billy, God," Steve groaned, "Just leave me alone."

Billy disappeared into smoke and reappeared behind Steve, tracing the line of the open back of the gown up to the top of Steve's delicate spine, "You make a beautiful bride, Steve."

Steve just made a little whimpering noise.

"But I think," Billy ghosted his lips along Steve's neck, "We could make you a new one."

Steve shivered, "Billy, don't tease me..."

Billy spun Steve in a whirl of motion, pressing him into the heavy wood frame of the mirror.

"I'm not teasing," Billy stepped between Steve's parting legs, "Fuck, Steve. I'm not a fancy man. If I hadn't got turned I'd be dead in a gutter in Derry long ago."

"I don't know what that has to do with anything," Steve said in a whisper.

Billy ran his hands along Steve's bare back, "Because I love fine things. I love fine things that I don't deserve, but fuck Steve, I will take them."

Steve looked up at him with wide bambi eyes, "Then take them."

Billy forgot all about his laundry. But they ended up having to clean the wedding dress anyway, or Chrissy would kill them. They didn't call her the blood queen for nothing.

[kyo-kitai-san]

*hurls my second AM design into the ihnmaims tag*

so i finally decided to post my other, more au!AM design i suppose. one thing that stuck out to me in the story was how downright childish AM could be at times or depending on interpretation (i mean, snickering at the survivors having sex? throwing a tantrum over ted murdering his other toys and Slugging him for it?) so thats how we got here. (details on the design under the cut)

this is mostly what I imagine AM would have looked like had the military decided to make an android form for him. (ft. some self-indulgent twinkfication. i'm kind of projecting here. its no coincidence he has my haircut.)

i have lore justified it all though-- I imagine the military intended initially to make him more… I guess ‘traditionally masculine’ (this was the cold war, after all). but after some prototyping and tests, they ‘scaled things down’ for a few reasons: 

Safety: this was really the primary reason. who wants an android with that much ‘killing data’ and the capacity to act on it? of course, that safety would later be undermined by AM being wired into all those massive systems giving him control over everything… but hey, they tried? 

Showing off: of course, showing off an android that screams power and ‘american masculinity’ is great, but what’s better!! showing off how delicate and small you can make your machinery! how intricate and powerful it can be even in such a small size! (AM does not appreciate all this ‘delicate’ talk at all, by the way, thank you very much…)

and, yes, i know… the “white twinkification”… to me, I can't picture a group of american military men in the late 1940s making their special little boy anything but white as white bread. propaganda poster looking ass. 

As for his exposed machine parts, I picked the ‘wheres’ very specifically, based on the idea of mechanical limitations: 

Hands: very finicky, very articulated parts. Not the easiest to cover smoothly in whatever synthetic material they picked for skin. After lots of fiddling and ending up with ‘skin’ being torn or stuck in between parts, they’ve just left the hands uncovered until they can figure out a fix. 

Lower jaw: from my observations, the mouth always seems to be the ‘weird part’ to me on video game characters or irl robots– something about it just rings uncanny. Obscuring that part or making it not so ‘human’ seems to help though, so i imagine a similar purpose here— on top of using it as a blinding signal that he’s not human. Don’t want him sneaking out somehow… 

feel free to ask questions or otherwise talk to me about him! i always have brainrot over AM...

[nomsfaultau]

13) “Give me your hands” and 22) Survivior’s guilt. 

Disclaimer: this blurb is set in the SCP SBI AU I have called Fault, and dances over the timeline so good luck. Explanation of AU; tldr. 

“Give me your hands.” The stranger’s voice was gruff and demanding, and Tommy complied at once. It wasn’t that he was intimidated! Sure the random demon he’d summoned was massively tall, extremely strong, and just killed a lot of people, but Tommy was an alpha male! And anyway, the bloke technically saved his life in the barest sense of the word, so he had to be a good guy. Nevermind that Tommy watched people be reduced to smears running down the walls. They were villains. That was what they deserved. Right?

Tommy held a little stiller than he preferred, acutely aware of how easily the boar hero’s fists crunched skulls in. But the enormous hooves were surprisingly gentle as they held Tommy’s hands, prodding in their examination. His hero adjusted his dorky glasses and peered closer, curiously studying the strange crimson color curling around Tommy’s fingers. Blood mixed into the ruby power dancing across Tommy’s palms, indistinguishable. 

The Blade hadn’t been the only one killing the villains. 

“...huh. I’m guessing this red stuff is what summoned me?” 

“I think so? Do you know what it is?” 

His hero grunted. “I was hoping you’d know that.”

“Nah, it only showed up a few minutes before you did.” Tommy studied his own hands just as intensely. With great concentration, he tried to get the swirling scarlet liquid to grow. Then, to disappear. It ignored him, and he frowned, not sure how the power worked. Wait. “WAIT! I have superpowers now?!”

The Blade squinted at the boy. “Uhhhhhh. Suuuuure?” Tommy pumped his fist in the air rather excitedly. He had to admit it was kinda cute even if he wasn’t a kid person. “Probably don’t tell anyone, alright?” he hazarded, suddenly a little worried the twerp was going to get himself nabbed immediately. This kid needed to shift away from Marvel to X-Men fast if he was going to survive.

“Yes! Like a secret identity! So you’re a superhero, right?” Tommy peered up hopefully. The crimson hitched upwards. “Right? Those guys were villains because they tried to murder me. That’s why you killed them, right?” There was almost a note of desperation to the question.

“Um. No.” The Blade pretty much murdered them because he was suddenly teleported into a hostile situation and was immediately attacked. Self-defense, baby. 

The ruby power spiked then, the scent of fear sharpening. But then bull-headed determination flashed in his eyes. “A vigilante then, that makes sense. Like Batman. Hey! And now I can join you and save people too! You can be my sidekick.”

“Wait hold on, no, you’re MY sidekick, not the other way around,” The Blade argued before realizing that meant he inadvertently supported Tommy’s absurd notion. He was a survivor, he didn’t have time to be a savior. If the kid wanted to read any morality into his actions that was their problem. 

“Ok. I’ll train under you until I’m too powerful and surpass you completely, and THEN you’ll be my sidekick.” For some reason, the voices didn’t feel threatened by his open intention to usurp him. Weird. For once in his life The Blade was getting zero intrusive thoughts about brutally murdering the dude he was talking to. It was kinda relaxing actually. 

Tommy held out a fist, and after belated realizing it wasn’t a (very wimpy) attack The Blade completed the fist bump. Tommy beamed at The Blade. “Thanks for saving me.” 

It was…strange. No one had ever thanked him for something like that before. And sure he’d really only incidentally saved the boy through a combination of weird coincidences, otherworldly machinations beyond their comprehension, and the fact something about Tommy’s power literally prevented him from even contemplating attacking him, but The Blade did have to admit it felt pretty nice. 

Nice, but not the reason his tail was wagging. Nope, not at all. That was all post-bloodlust high. Definitely. 

.

“Give me your hands.” Mum smiled as she said it, but it made trepidation build in Tommy’s gut. 

Tommy fixed his smile, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, you’re so clingy. I’m not a kid anymore!” 

“You’re fifteen—”

“Only for a few more weeks! I’m practically an ad-” Deviously, she lunged for his hands and he jerked back sharply. “Don’t,” he yelped a little too desperately. Tommy gulped, trying to swallow his panic. “Don’t do that I have a- have a reputation to maintain Mum, can’t be doing cheesy girly stuff like hand holding haha.” 

“Tommy-” her tone was far, far too serious as he retreated. 

“I’ll get a hold of it eventually, just give me some time. We’re working on it.” Tommy was a little frustrated he hadn’t figured out how to control his powers yet, but all the other guys said it took a while so that was okay. At least it didn’t work on The Blade or Philza. The same couldn’t be said for Wilbur, which was really bad. It just made him bicker with the others, which, while funny, still meant he couldn’t control the Red. Tommy didn’t know what had made it so lethal in the villain encounter, but he needed to find out before he risked getting someone hurt. 

He’d find a way to use it for good, though. One way or another, Tommy was going to be a hero.

“What does your power do?”

Tommy laughed nervously. “Sorry, that’s confidential hero stuff, Mum.” 

Tommy refused to tell her what happened in that room. Her baby boy witnessed -enacted?- a massacre and that wasn’t something that would ever be undone. He went in normal and came out with blood permanently fresh on his hands. All she knew was a haunted look came across him in quiet moments, and she didn’t trust the new ‘friends’ he’d made in the aftermath, and he absolutely refused to touch anyone. 

She reached up carefully to avoid his hands, craning his head down till their foreheads touched. For all that she had to rise to her tiptoes to meet him, Tommy was still her little boy. He’d grown a lot in the last year, and even more so on that dreadful day his powers showed up, but she’d never stop seeing that golden-haired child with his mischievous, gaptoothed smile and dirt staining the knees of his pants. 

“Just talk to me when you’re ready, okay? And if those men try anything I’ll destroy them.” 

Tommy’s laugh was far brighter this time. “Mum! You wouldn’t stand a chance! Besides, The Blade and his friends are nice.” 

Scruffy was the word she would use. She’d vetted them, of course, she wasn’t going to just let her son lose with complete strangers and just trust he came home safe. The Blade was intimidating, but a dork. That Wilbur fellow was just a hopelessly broke musician as far as she could tell, though had a worrisome collection of scars. She respected Philza to some degree though, since he had an ounce of manners. Hopefully, he’d keep the others in line. 

“Tommy. You’re spending hours with homeless people, I have every right to be concerned.” Still, they were the only ones with any idea of how to help Tommy explore the new aspects of his identity. Unfortunately, Tommy’s mother was the supportive type, and was trying to give him room to experiment despite her reservations. 

“You’re always worried though.” 

She pressed a kiss into his forehead. “With a brat like you, I have to be.” He pulled a face, feathers ruffled at the utter indignity of affection. But she let gravity seep into her tone. “I know it scares you. But I know you’ll do the right thing, you’re a good kid at heart. Okay? This isn’t going to change anything.”

.

But it did. 

Tommy had been abducted and locked in a padded room for days now, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. He wanted his mum. In Tommy’s books, that was a pathetic thought for a sixteen-year-old to have, but it was true, he wanted to see his parents so bad it hurt. He wanted his friends. Or even not his friends, random people at school, hell even people he didn’t get along with so long as it was a face he recognized. Or even one he didn’t. At this point, Tommy would settle for one of the freaky scientists or soldiers just so there would be someone to talk to. Or, more accurately, shout at and demand answers from. Like, were they villains, where the hell was he, what did they want, why did they kidnap him…

And then someone finally entered the room. Or, more aptly, the guns entered before the squad of soldiers, so Tommy actually found it suddenly easy to continue saying nothing at all. His hands shot up in the air in surrender, scarlet ribbons of liquid dancing around him. 

“Cease the threat display,” a guard barked. 

The power only poured out further. “It doesn’t- I don’t control it, it won’t-” he was ordered to be silent. Tommy had never been good at that, but he managed, biting down questions. Doctors circled like vultures, and he had the strangest premonition shivering down his spine. He felt like a lamb being inspected for imperfections before the slaughter.  

“Give me your hands.” Gloves were dropped into his outstretched palms. Thick, sturdy, and frankly pretty ugly. Tommy had no idea how deeply he’d come to despise them. In fact, Tommy had very little idea of anything, head still caught in the little stories people liked to tell. Lies about powerful heroes rescuing civilians, or good triumphing over evil, or the world caring about people like him. 

“Um. What are the gloves for?”

The guard grinned. “So you can’t fight back.” 

.

The demon was tall and slender with bright white eyes and a literal beam of a smile. He seemed nice. That was the problem, the Foundation always sent Tommy to meet the nice ones so that he could fix that. 

Tommy approached cautiously, carefully weighing threats between the D-Class prisoners behind him and the towering demon ahead. Anomalies were safe at first though, and Tommy knew exactly how to protect himself now. And if he were honest, Tommy didn’t want to get to know the D-Class before their imminent execution. It only made the nightmares worse. 

“Hi!” the demon chirped. “I’m Halo! Wow, I haven’t seen someone new in…” he trailed off uncertainly, a faint furrow of his brow. But he shrugged quickly enough. “A couple years I guess. Sorry, they think I’m boring. No one really pays attention to me anymore. Not violent enough to be interesting I guess. They certainly tried, though.” Tommy caught the flash of horror flickering across glowing eyes. He knew that pressure intimately given how he’d broken beneath it. Still, Tommy perked a little, not expecting the hope. A sour consolation, but neglect had to be far better than cruel attention. Maybe one day he’d be left alone too. 

“I’m…” he swallowed roughly. “I’m the Instigator, I guess. I’m the newest attempt.”  

“Begin threat assessment test,” came a strict voice over a com system.  

At Tommy’s wince, Halo gave him a reassuring smile and a snort. “Don’t worry about that. These muffin-heads have been trying to get me to murder people for years and I’ve yet to break.” Tommy…didn’t have that kind of strength. He didn’t know how Halo had endured it. 

All he knew was that was finally ending today. 

“Instigator, give it your hands,” ordered the overseeing worker. He could feel the eyes of observers for all that he couldn’t see them. 

“Ignore them. What’s your story?” Halo asked. “I haven’t talked to anyone in ages, what’s it like? Are you a recent capture? Do you remember the outside still?” 

Tommy glanced nervously at the observation window. But he was almost just as desperate for conversation. “I’ve been here a few weeks. And. And I miss trees. It’s weird, but I miss how tall they were. Like, because that meant there was space, not these cramped cells and hallways.”

“Yes! And the sky! Oh how I miss the freedom of the sky,” he sighed, dark wings flaring out. 

“Stars,” Tommy added. “Just scattered out, millions of them. And people, everywhere, and you can just talk to them and they’re nice, not like here at all. I just want to m̵̮̙͗u̷̺̦̇̀f̷̟̀̄̈́f̶̯̯̈́̍̀i̸͕̭͎̅̌n̶͔̣̭̏ing talk to someone, you know?”  

“Language,” the demon chided, barbed tail lashing. “But yes. Listen, this is important, did you know a guy called Skep-”

“Give it your hands,” the human demanded. “Or you’ll be wearing gloves the next three days.” 

Tommy went sheet white, rigid to the point of breaking. Halo gave him an odd look, awkward but politely sympathetic if utterly confused. He looked to the observation window. “I’m, erm, guessing that’s some type of punishment?” Tommy nodded, relieved someone understood. But of course Halo would, hadn’t held out for years against the Foundation’s demands? 

It was his kindness that betrayed him. Halo bent to his level, hand outstretched. “Well alright then. Don’t want that happening of course! It’s okay, just do what they say.” He didn’t understand what was about to happen. Tommy did, though. But Tommy had made this choice before. It was easier afterwards, took a little less coercion each time once you’d crossed that threshold. He knew he was selfish, prioritizing himself over other’s lives, but once you made that choice you made it again, and again, and again. 

He swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat. “I’m sorry,” Tommy shoved it out fast like that was any type of salvation. Tentatively, he reached for Halo’s talons, grasping firmly. 

The executor shook hands with his weapon. Crimson seeped from their joined grasp. 

Halo’s friendly smile dropped. This close, Tommy could make out the sharp fangs hidden amidst white glow. The demon stalked past to the chained prisoners, sharp words ringing out. Condemnation hissed out, giving way to shouts, to anger, to violence. 

Tommy was told that the D-Class deserved it. Death row inmates, the vilest of humanity. Tommy’s arms wrapped around himself, frenzied scarlet curling around, spreading, exacerbating. Halo’s snarls gurgled through thick viscera, visceral ripping noises rending the humans apart. The Foundation said they deserved it, just like they said Tommy deserved to wear gloves when he disobeyed or get hit whenever he wouldn’t stop talking, begging, screaming. He kept his back carefully to the unfolding slaughter, eyes squeezed shut. Pretending he couldn’t hear the ragged howls of agony. 

Pretending he couldn’t hear the way Halo started to sob the moment the bloodlust faded.

.

The air was dusty as Tommy climbed into the abandoned hayloft, clambering over to where Tubbo perched. His nose wrinkled, still unused to all the various smells of the outside world. It was still startling how much world was in the world, overwhelming at times but exhilarating always. 

Tommy scooted over to sit as close to Tubbo as he dared, distance carefully calculated to keep them safe. His legs swung back and forth over the edge of the loft, his friends scattered below, happy and free. 

Tubbo waved at him, looking excited. There was a strange intentionality to the gesture, exaggerated. But Tommy couldn’t blame them for that. He wasn’t a stranger to pretending everything was normal. The escape was…rough, to put it mildly, let alone the horrors of the Foundation. It felt nice to laugh even if it was a tad forced at times. But it made the next one easier, so it had to be worth it. 

“Give us your hands.” 

Red spasmed along his arms. Tommy leaned away, unpleasant memories flickering in his head. Given the fact that Tubbo was unique (a word which here means ‘made out of hundreds of thousands of bees’), Red didn’t work traditionally. Mostly, it resulted in pure self-destruction. Tommy shuddered to remember the way Tubbos’ skin tore apart as frenzied insects slaughtered themselves. Not something he was in a hurry to repeat. 

“No, it’ll explode your hands,” Tommy said, not knowing that was exactly what Tubbo wanted. 

They gave him a sweet smile, half crooked. “It’ll be fine, Tommy. We won’t get Red’d, we just want to compare our hands. Our grandpa always said big hands meant you were going to grow up to be tall, kinda like puppy paws.”

Tommy scoffed. “Well I already know I’m going to be massive, and anyway it’s not worth the risk.” 

“We’ll be careful. But if you think ours are that much bigger, that’s fair. You still only have kid hands after all~”

“No! I’m basically an adult! Just…hold still, I guess…” Tommy approached cautiously, still conflicted but splaying ruby fingers out to match their own hand. The fingers shook a little from the tension poured through them, little curls of Red unfurling off the back of his hand like sprouts poking through topsoil. Tubbo slipped their own close, lining up the newly finished digits to match the angle of his. Tommy’s fingers were longer than their own, stockier, his palms broader. They hovered closer and closer, shrinking the gap. “Hah! See! I told you. Um, that’s close enough, I think.”

“We can see from a bunch more angles than you can, Tommy. We’ll know if it's too close.” He flashed a nervous smile, but trusted Tubbo. Still, it felt wrong to tempt himself like this. It took just about everything he had to not lace their fingers together and pull his best friend into a tight hug. Just…hold Tubbo, feel the buzzing warmth of life and the purr of bees working within their hollow body. 

A quiet cage around his heart forbade him from ever reaching out. Tommy couldn’t touch almost anyone in the entire world. It felt near suffocating at times to yearn for something regardless of how disastrous Tommy knew the consequences would be. 

It didn’t occur to Tommy that some people welcomed disaster. 

Tommy’s fingers curled in slightly, unconsciously wanting to close around Tubbos’. Closer, closer, till they were almost touching…

.

“I’ve done some really, really awful things, Phil.” But it didn’t stop Philza’s arm from wrapping around his back and drawing Tommy in. If he were honest, he didn’t want it to. Tommy melted into the embrace for all that he didn’t deserve it. 

“I know,” Philza murmured, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean you’re evil. The world isn’t heroes and villains, Tommy.” 

“Okay then I’m a bad guy.” Philza rolled his eyes. “I mean with a power like this what else could I be? I’m a baddie. A wrongun. A ‘malignant, misbegotton ne’re-do-well of a knave’–” Tommy sang, rattling off the old man insults Philza sometimes fell into when he got angry and forgot what century it was. 

“Stop deflecting and give me your hands,” Philza interjected. Tommy griped at him for being rude, but relented easily. Philza cupped Tommy’s hands in his own, reverent almost. 

“If you’re going to try to say there isn’t really blood on my hands don’t even m̷͙̞̈͋ư̵͍̬̒͝ͅf̶̡͉̽f̶͇̬͌í̵̻͇̺n̵̛̛̠ing try it. We both know that’s a lie.” Red spasmed, tendrils looping around Philza’s talons. 

“But your hands aren’t evil. They are simply hands. Red is the exact same. Power doesn’t possess its own morality, that’s up to the weilder. Your power isn’t evil, and neither are-”

“For you, maybe. Anyone else and it’s just brainwashing bloodlust.” He’d been stupid for ever thinking he could save anyone. 

“You can have precautions without having terror.”

“I can’t control it. I’ve tried so, so hard, and I just can’t. All it’s done is ruin my life.”

“The Foundation did that, not the Red, and most certainly not you. Surviving doesn’t make you evil.” Philza lifted Tommy’s hand, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “I hope one day you can find love for every part of yourself.”

[loderlied]

Sorry if you've explained it before, but how exactly did gortash and zeke become aware of each other?

no problem i can summarise!!! (or at least attempt fuck this got long sorry)

so, i often refer to gortash and zeke as the machine vs the wild and the inevitable war that comes with that. so, there’s the time that the machine becomes aware of the wild and then there’s the time it meets its blood/essence in flesh as zeke.

so, if you read any of my fics you know that gortash narrates them in second person, addressing zeke as ‘you’ and this ‘you’ has been addressed by gortash since way before zeke was born. it’s the endless new lives of the wild. ripping out flowers just to rip them out. stomping on ants and destroying their hills. and then the event that made gortash distinctly aware of his antithesis as a young boy of no more than 10—a starling he caught. he writes in his journal about it and narrates to that same ‘you’ about the cage its kept in, the beautiful song and how much more beautiful it got when he clipped its wings. later on i headcanon that gortash takes up a ‘hobby’ (he technically sees it as work) as matador. keeping his own pigs and slaughtering them. making leather and carpets out of extinct animal species. these little things are all encounters he had with his archnemesis, or more accurately aspects of it. paving himself a road through conquest & consumption towards the wild’s beating heart.

he becomes aware of zeke specifically during the blood in baldur’s gate murder series, about 2 years before they meet and 1 year before zeke becomes aware of him. i think he saw baldur’s gate always as ‘his’, so he is highly aware of anything going on in his city, and as a result of zeke’s highly unusual and more importantly completely feral but most effective killing pattern, he starts stalking zeke fervently. i mean visiting & acquiring his childhood home types of fervently. the realisation that zeke is the wild itself and his archnemesis as the machine comes later after careful metaphorical & physical dissection of him. learning to know to invade to conquer to destroy and all. he has finally learned who, or more accurately, what ‘you’ is and digs the machine’s instruments into this heart.

of course zeke has one of these more figurative experiences with the machine too, and that being orin capturing & shackling him in a room for a red room like bhaalist gathering he did NOT want to attend (for no more than 60 seconds no one is capable of restraining zeke except for gortash. zeke ends up killing everyone instead of just the targets he was supposed to kill lmao)

i’m gonna paste an old post here because i honestly couldn’t summerise it better but add on to it, but zeke is essentially this child prodigy detective who gets hired to look into a series of cases that all seem unrelated at first but are actually all have one thing in common: gortash. zeke finding out about gortash not because of his well hidden tracks but because there aren’t any in the end. zeke is a hunter, THE hunter, and he catches every person working for gortash sooner or later, but then there’s this enigma above them, controlling them, and he’s just scared shitless. how he goes from calling him ‘the spider’ to him just being this massive enigma, a blinding light but utterly unknowable to the wild. the apex predator would have been able to kill a spider, no matter how finely woven its web is. but this? this isn’t anything natural. this is like the shackle that bound him, this is the rifle that shoots the apex predator, this is that shackle. it’s the inherent unknown in ‘god’ and the inherent ‘god’ in the unknown. and then there’s the endless fear and terror that comes from this. that comes with perhaps not being able to see the direct source of that light, but to see the god-machine’s work around him everywhere, taking over everything. gortash is and always will be this unknown thing to zeke but there’s one thing he does know, even subconsciously first, that this is true horror.

[grigori77]

Critical Role, Campaign 3 Episode 91

A long episode with an ominous title ... yeah, this can't bode well at all ...

Sam's a cat again. Great ... oh, Taliesin's a mouse? Of course he is. This is more like it ... Travis is loving this already ... ah, short but sweet, definitely ... oh yeah, I totally agree with Ashley, massive Donnie Darko vibes ... XD

Liam: "I want Sam and Tal to reenact that scene from The Shining." Um ... okay? O.O

So, picking up right where we left off, then ... chaos, and LOTS of craziness, with VERY heavy implications ...

Oh, so Liliana is HUNTING, now? For them in particular? Or just ... ANYTHING? Hmmm ...

Yes, SHUSH, Pate! You're REALLY loud right now ...

Chetney-wolf: "Hold onto my tail! Tighter!" Stop it, Travis ... XD

This is going to be a complicated getaway, clearly ...

PANIC!!! Great ... how long is it gonna be before they get spotted? CAN THEY get away from this?

Mystics? Crap ... "a Murder of Mystics" ... yeah ...

A little on-the-run healing and repair work ...

Balls, good point ... yeah, they have NO IDEA where they are or where they're going ... and now Ashley's cocking dice all over the place ... O.O

Oh, this can't be good ...mystical shenanigans ... FUCK!!! Invisibility is now GONE!!! Shit! Oh this is SO FUCKING BAD ...

PLEASE don't tell me they just lost their Telepathic Bond too ... oh for the love of the GODS, Matthew, you cruel bastard ... NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOO!!!

Hide! Just fucking HIDE, people!

Wow ... Taliesin rolled amazing, but Sam and Ashley rolled BALLS on Stealth ... that's so bad ... oh shit, and now they've got GLoamglut RIGHT ABOVE THEM!!! Ouch ... does it see them? Oh no, Fearne, PLEASE do not try to PET the fucking thing!

Marisha: "There are no dumb ideas in D&D!" Are you SERIOUS? OF COURSE there are!

AAAAAAAAAND now they're blown ... good one, Fearne! Now they're coming down ...

Ashton, WHAT THE FUCK are you doing? Oh, that's right, HE IS still in his powered state ... 32 points of damage on the wall? Holy fuck ... oh yeah, that's just a FANTASTIC distraction/escape ... nice! Just run. RUN!!!

Another wall? Oh yeah ... BOOM!!! Ashton's just a demolition MACHINE right now ...

NOW he's knocking down a building they're not even going into ... bit overly much for cover, isn't it? Jeeze, Ashton ... STOP ENCOURAGING THIS, Matthew!

Oh yeah, they're TOTALLY broadcasting their location now ...

Seriously, just HIDE while you got cover, seriously ...

Crap, Dex saves for the three of them? O.O ... oh hell, what's that fucking Fay dragon gonna do? Darkfire? Oh hell ... whoa, 16 points is HALF damage? Ow ...

Oh, NOW Imogen's casting Invisibility? Yes, do that ...

Evoroa gives directions ... yes, good move ... do that now!

Quart mile away? No, HALF of that? Hmmm ...

Back to the panicked chase ... RUN RUN RUN!!!

Can they fit through that? Ashton's going under, apparently ... just SQUEEZE guys ... yeah, shquish in those fantastic tits and that luscious butt, Fearne! Crap, it's coming again! I hate that fucking dragon!

Oh wow, the Sorrowlord speaks! He knows she's here! Crap!

Pass Without a Trace! Finally!

Fearne: "Do we need to cut off your wheels?" FCG: "127 hours!" Cue sawblade startup whir ...

Wow, Zathuda is actually MONOLOGUING ... Fearne: "Can you say all that again?" LOL ...

Fungus? Great ... Annihilation? Cool ...

"Pussy in Bio"? Nice flask nonsense this time, Samuel ...

PEG IT!!! Once it's clear, anyway ...

Polymorph, yes ... a "moon thing"? Hmmmm ... so she turns FCG into a Slither ... okay ... and then she Wildshapes into one too ... okay, get tunneling guys!

Ah, yes ... where ARE THEY going?

A Survival roll? Oh boy ... 28? Nice one, Ashley! Heading back towards their exit, then ...

And so back to the others ...

A Wisdom save IMMEDIATELY? Fuck, Matthew ... 15? Hmm ... wait, THAT'S not good enough? Shit! O.O

Laudna: "You're not like a sleeper agent, are you?" No, really, please don't even put that karma OUT THERE!

The Sprawl Grotto? Cool ...

Yeah, they don't know WHERE they're going right now ...

Bronze fountain! OKay ... oh hell, what's THIS shit?

And now they're very effectively TRAPPED. Great ... is this them SPECIFICALLY, or just general? Oh, it's DEFINITELY for them ... not good ...

SHIT!!! LIliana is now RIGHT ABOVE THEM ... "Did ... you ... KNOW?!!!"

Is Imogen REALLY gonna try and bluff this? Wow ...

Oh, so she has been THROUGH IT ...

The locket? Oooooh ... O.O

Can she talk her down? Get through to her somehow? COME ON ... Persuasion roll? Oh boy ... 16? Whoa ... um ... is that enough?

Wait ... DID THAT just work?

Yeah, just RUN ...

Oh, for fuck's sake ... NOW what? Damn it, more mystics? Crap ... oh yeah, they're proper BUSTED ... crap, this is the ACTUAL Weave Mind?

Oh, so this MIGHT be an illusion? Hmmm ...

Hold on, are they doing something to Chet? Crazy werewolf shit? Crap ... and Travis totally fails that save ... O.O ... bollocks, this is so bad ... Sam: "Quick! Distract them with a toy!"

Liam: "If we keep making these jokes for 30 minutes we won't have to deal with this problem!" LOL

Orym is choosing NOW to invoke Nana Morri ... oh boy ...

What just happened?

Nothing immediately around, but they're in the area ... just GO. Right now, just FUCKING GO. RIGHT NOW.

Back to the Burrowers ...

It's oh so quiet ... that CANNOT be good ... yeah, just BOOK IT ... nuts, more mystics ...

Oh, they FOUND THEM? Okay ... yeah, just FOLLOW THEM!!! Quick!

Going up? Yes, seems the smart way to go.

Yeah, they DO NOT speak Slither ... aaaaand they're finally back together ... in the most ridiculous way possible ... XD

Yeah, sending a merssage to the Volition would probably be the smart move right now ... maybe they could send somebody to find you ...

So, where to go now?

Imogen Sends to Rashinna ... so the safehouse is out ... hmmm ... so they're just going to have to find alternative digs ...

OOh ... yeah, do that! A giant mole sounds so cool ... like that one in City of Ember! O.O That'd be sweet ...

FCG's still a Slither? Oh boy ...

Crap! What's this? Oh no, what the fuck ... PLEASE don't be fucking Otohan! No ... NO!!! Fuck ... that bitch is SO FUCKING CLOSE now ... hell ... JUST RUN, guys!

Ashton pops up out the ground and SMACKS THE ROOF OF THE TUNNEL with his hammer once they're through ... smart and sweet ... oh fuck ... you mean he COULD collapse the whole thing? Thankfully not ... phew!

Bollocks, Otohan is COMING!!! Fuck ...

RUN!!! JUST FUCKING RUN!!!

Crap ... SHE'S FOUND THEM!!! They're in deep shit ... AND NOW he chooses to call a break? Seriously? Matthew!

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck ... and now he's producing a Battlemap ... AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! Cut Wizzkids plug! Also FUCK!!!

Fuck me ... is the rest of this episode JUST gonna be combat? Gods no ... I'm not ready for this ...

ROLL INITIATIVE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

So ... Orym's up first ... he slips between her leags and turns round to attack her fancy backpack ... OKAY!!! A Crit! Go, wee man! 38 points of damage! Yeah! Another hit! Yeah! ANOTHER Crit! Sweet! 25 points ... anmd she's Hexed too ... nice ...

Legendry Action? Crap ... Telekinetic Control? Fuck ... and even with Indomitable Orym can't resist it ... she flings him like a ragdoll! Ouch!

Laudna unleashes her Hellhoud because she is FURIOUS right now! Yeah ... FCG names the pooch Caviar? Cute ... now she Banes Otohan ... goody!

Otohan dashes off ... giving the Hellhound an attack of opportunity ... which fails ... crap! She attacks Chetney ... oof ... 27 points of slashing damage! Ow! Plus the Psionic knocks him prone ... another 16 points with additional Force? Argh ... and another 13 plus 9 more ... AND another hit? 13 plus 10! Fuck ... he is BARELY alive now ... O.O

fuck, and she has ANOTHER attack with an offhand weapon? Fuck ... ACTION SURGE?!!! Matthew NO!!! PLEASE don't do this! Silvery Barbs from Laudna ... which fails? Shit! Fuck ... and now he's OUT!!! She keeps hitting him, 2 IMMEDIATE Death Saves ... argh ...

Fuyck ... she just straight MURDERED him ... LAST WORDS? What the fuck?

Sweet fuck ... CHETNEY'S FUCKING DEAD?!!! Are you serious, Matt?

Now she's going after Fearne? FUCK!!! No ... and now SHE'S on the ground too ... fuck!

Ashton pops up out of the ground RIGHT IN FRONT of Fearne to block the coming attack ... he swings at her with the hammer ... "Gosh, you got a punchable fucking face!" 23 points of damage and he knocks her back HARD ... Density Well? OKay ... he batters a nearby platform and knockd it RIGHT ONTO HER ... YES!!! She sort of dodges so it's just a glancing hit ... he's monochrome now ...

Otohan rushes Imogen ...

Fearne is FURIOUS about Chetney as she flames on like the Human Torch! Nice! Oh, nice fiery Fearne mini, Matt! O.O She comes in right behind the bitch ...

Oh, so Otohan's like doing MONK SHIT? Fuck ...

FCG goes to Chetney's corpse and casts Revivify at 7th Level ... please ... please please PLEASE let this work ... come on, Changebringer! Come thorugh in clutch ... please ... YES!!! THE WOLFMAN IS ALIVE AGAIN!!! Thank fuck ...

Caviar! Attack! Kill this bitch, you wonderful Hellhoud! 19 MISSES? Seriously? Fuck ...

Otohan attacks Imogen ... 14 points of Force damage ... she gets knocked BACK but not down, at least ...

Imogen Telkinetically grabs the backpack and tries to tear it right off her ... oh wow ... and it WORKS!!! Oh yes! Let's go! She pounds it into the ceiling and smashes it to fuck! BEAUTIFUL!!! She grabs her hand and casdts Shocking Grasp ... go go go ... 14 points of damage! Yes!

Orym Misty Steps to her and pulls a Bat & Switch with Imogen, then takes a swing ... NAT20!!! YEAH!!! 23 points of slashing damage! Then 14 points! A Crit! 28 points! VENGEANCE!!! YES!!! Go wee man!

Laudna drops a 5th Level Blight on the bitch ... oh fuck, Legendary RESISTANCE? Damn it ... whoa ... 51 damage? Even halved that is SWEET ... Eldritch Blast! Yeah! Hit! Hit! And another hit! SWEET!!! 13 damage, then 15, then another 15! YEAH!!!

Now Otohan goes for Imogen again? Oh for fuck's sake ... thankfully she fails miserably ... second hits though ... ouch ... Orym to the rescue! Nice defence! And Silvery Barbs from Laudna! Yes ...

She keeps going for Imogen ... she is just POURING the hurt on ... and now she's going for Orym? Hmmm ...

Three way attack of opportunity? Fearne CRITS IT!!! Nice! 16 damage! Yeah ... Orym gbets another 22 on her ...

Now she goes for Laudna ... just hits her Mirror instead ... and the second ... and the third ... but then gets her with a CRIT!!! Oof ... 14 slashing and 12 Force damage ... ow ... and she's knocked down ...

Chetney shakes off the rust ... as he flanks he Misty Steps to Imogen and pours a healt potion into her for 12 points back, then slopes back away to safety ...

Ashton powers up as close as he can to Otohan, then holds until she gets into range ...

Otohan uses anothe Legendary Action to attack Laudna ... 10 points of slahsing damage and 18 of Force ... ow ...

Fearne casts 6th Level Blight on her ... gah, only half? 39, down to 18 ... fuck's sake ... it's STARTING to take a toll, but still ...

She's going for Laudna AGAIN?!!! Fuck ...

FCG rolls towards Orym, then pulls a mass Cure Wounds on everyone. ALL OF THEM get 23 points back except himself ...

Caviar attacks again and it's another miss ... crap!

Imogen gets up AGAIN and hurls a Psychic Lance at her ... a Nat20 on her save? Are you FUCKING KIDDING? Argh ... 30 points halved to 15 ... nuts ... so so tries to Telekinetically Push her towards Ashton ... but it fails ... crap ...

Orym tries to jump on top of her and slash down into her ... it hits! Yeah! 9 points, then a Crit ... 18! Third misses, though ... then he backs off to give Ashton room to attack ... she gets an attack of opportunity ... OUCH!!! 16 slashing and 10 Force damage ... shit ...

Why does she KEEP attacking Laudna?

Destroy this bitch, Laudna! HUnger of the Shadow Shard? Oh sweet ... wait ... WHAT? That doesn't work? COME ON, Matthew! Argh ... so she Quickens a 5th Level Hunger ... which HITS ... 48 damage on this bitch! Yeah ...

Oh, she's FLARING? Fuck ... Exultant's Fury? Double fuck ...

But now she's been pulled into Ashton's Gravity Well and he attacks ... 23 plus 2 of fire damage! POW!!!

But now it's HER turn ... she goes for Ashton ... and hits him ... ow ... twice ... AND ANOTHER? Fucking hell ... I can't believe he's still up ... wait, he has Erratic Defence? Okay ... so he slams her right into the wall! Nice ...

She retreats ... and attack Imogen while she does it? Fuck ... Imogens's knocked down ... AND she gets an Action Surge? What? FCG takes half of the damage, BARELY saving her from going out right there ... second hit takes her out, though ... FUCK!!! Now she's going for Chetney instead ...

FUCK ME, CHetney's out AGAIN?!!! Un-fucking-FAIR!!!

Now she's going for FCG ...

Top of the round ... come on Ashton ... he charges her flat out while charging up ... Nat20 on the first hit! Yes! Chaos Burst ... 64 points of damage in a single hit? Wow ... how is she STILL UP?

Otohan goes for FCG ...

Fearne pulls Scorching Rays on her ... fuck ... that doesn't work out HALF as well as we'd expect ... wait, she's FIRE RESISTANT? FUCK!!!

She attacks Letters ... and he's OUT!!! Fuck! Death save ... 19 ... oh thank fuck ...

Wow ... Caviar is just COMPLETELY BALLS on this fight, isn't he?

Imogen Crits her Death Save ... SHE'S AWAKE again! Oh thank fuck ...

Orym picks himself up and draws Seedling, using it to pull himself to Ashton, bouncing off him to attack her ... first attack misses ... second hits ... 12 slashing damage ... next hits ... eight damage ...

Laudna casts Wither & Bloom at 3rd Level to get FCG up again ... spends a sorcery point to quicken qnd pours 12 Necrotic damage points into Otohan ... quckens again, pours an Eldritch Blast into her ... two hits one miss ... 16 damage altogether, halved to 8 ... oof ...

Otohan goes for Orym ... fuck, she is just KILLING It tonight and I hate it ... Orym is BARELY UP right now ... wait ... where the fuck ... she just DRANK A SUPERIOR HEALING POTION?!!! Son of a bitch! 66 POINTS BACK?!!! Fucking hell ...

Chetney succeeds his second Death save ...

Legendary attack on Fearne ... gods fucking DAMN IT ...

Ashton attacks ... first hit is a CRIT!!! 46 points of damage! Yeah ... next hit is a miss? Fuck ... what, is that ALL he can do? Shit ...

She hits him right back ... FUCK!!!

Fearne casts Aura of Life ... it helps, i guess ... zand there's NOTHING ELSE she can do ... O.O

Otohan hits HER ... nasty hit ... but she's got Armour of Agathys, so she burns her right back ... but Aura of Life is GONE ... fuck ... as if she NEVER cast it ...

FCG flips his coin and asks "Run or fight?" Hmmmm ... it lands on its side? Interesting ... so he casts a mass Cure Wounds ... 23 points back to everybody but Fearne ... and now his mood has turned RED?!!! Fucking hell ... so he's gone berserk again ...

Caviar tanks YET ANOTHER FUCKING ATTACK ... oh my GODS why is the Hellhound even OUT?

Imogen casts Sending to her mother ... REALLY?!!! Fucking hell ... and she's COMING?!!! Wow ... mothering instinct is STRONG. Otherwise there is NOTHING she can do right now ... so she's just gonna continue to play dead? Nuts ...

Orym is in shitty condition but pushes through ... makes an attack, small hit ... he's barely hanging in on this fight ... fuck ... so he downs a potion on the bonus action? Okay ...

Laudna casts Phantasmal Force to make Otohan see Liliana coming in to FUCK HER UP?!!! Wow ... and the bitch RESISTS IT ... shit ... that was almost so cool ... so she just Eldritch Blasts her instead ... a hit and a Crit ... 7 on the hit ... she Empowers the Crit ... 11 altogether ... not spectacular but it chips away at her ...

She attacks Orym ... and he's DOWN ... FUCK!!! Next on Fearne ... Shield protects her! Yes! So she goes for Ashton instead ... now an Action Surge on him too? Fucking hell ... and he's ALMOST down except that he's RAGING so he keeps 1 hit point ... fuck ... but her next takes HIM down too ... FUCKING HELL!!!

She attacks Imogen while she's down ... Deception Check? OMG ... barely makes it through ...

Is there ANYTHING Chetney can do? He pulls out Turmoil and casts Shatter ... 19 points of Thunder damage ... and that's all he wrote ... fuck ...

Now she attacks FCG ...

Fearne cuts her off and inflicts 48 points of damage on her ...

She attacks FCG again ... he is BARELY alive at this point and completely insane right now ...

FCG casts Guiding Bolt ... on HIMSELF?!!! Fucking hell ... what the fuck is he DOING? He's self-destructing? What the hell, Sam? Oh, this sounds SO BAD ... is this genuinely going to DESTROY him if he does this?

Oh my gods he is genuinely making a fucking MEAL out of this self-sacrifice ...

Fuck me ... is Matt CRYING? Wow ... whoa ... EVERYBODY IS LENDING HIM DICE to do this ... O.O ... what the epic FUCK, Sam? Oh my fuck that is A LOT of rolls ...

79 damage ...

Sam's description of FCG's death is BEAUTIFUL in the most heartbreaking way possible ... his eyes go white again? Oh my fucking gods ...

Otohan is RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF IT ... holy fuck, she is DEAD ... and so is Letters ... oh my fucking gods I don't believe it ... what the fuck, Samuel?

Holy shit, the whole table is just IN SHOCK right now ...

Just like the rest of the party ... slowly they start to pick themselves and each other up ... those who are down are nursedc back enough to get them on their feet ...

IS THERE anything left of FCG? Ashton finds the coin ... Chetney collects Otohan's backpack ...

They throw what's left of Otohan in the Hole.

Ashton POUNDS an exit into the wall with his fists. They're on the surface again ... and here comes Liliana ... she can already tell they just lost someone ...

So is she with THEM now?

That's it for the night ...

Fuck ... we're all exhausted and completely devastated and SO FUCKING SAD ... oh my gods ... seriously though, NOW what?

[classificationhell]

Setup for the 2p Universe My take

While it is mostly the same as normal hell there are a few key differences in this universe. I'll go by character through character to explain the major ones. Firstly,  Charlie essentially has Vaggie’s personality and classification (Alpha Neutral) she wasn't the one who came up with the idea for the hotel. Vaggie (Omega Caregiver) has a personality closer to Charlie's but but she isn't quite so optimistic about heaven, think Charlie's personality with the knowledge that angels can also be uncaring jerks. Vaggie was stripped of her wings during her first extermination as she wasn't cut out of the life of an exorcist. This Charlie might be brash but she isn't the type to leave someone bleeding out in an alley. Despite what she's been through Vaggie believes that if the rest of heaven saw redemption was possible things could work out better.

Angel Dust (Beta Master) isn't a porn star. He's in a mafia his father formed in hell along with his brother Arackniss. He doesn't really know about all this redemption business, but he's still a drug addiction so a free room away from his oppressive father most of the time? He's down. Besides that he knows his sister is in heaven and maybe he might want to be able to see her if redemption is possible. He's a closeted homosexual in this AU because his dad and brother are extremely old school and homophobic. 

Husk (Beta Neutral) is a gentler soul, less gruff and more fatherly, but he is still a massive gambling addict and most of the time drunkard. He cares about others but could give less of a shit about himself. Niffty (Alpha Master) is actually mostly the same chaotic little gremlin with one key difference, she keeps the bugs she catches in terrariums and such to form her mighty roach army! 

Alastor (Omega Caregiver) the most different in my take of this universe. His suit is blue and he's a typically melancholic fellow, not that he doesn't smile, no he still always does but now he's often seen crying and is very emotional. He is softer spoken and sweet, but once he gets attracted and close to a person he is worse than canon Angel Dust with flirting and becomes almost hypersexual towards them. He's still a mass murderer, but now he murders those who would harm Omegas, Pets, or Littles seeing them as the fairer classes in need of protection. Speaking of Omegas Alastor is the only Omega Overlord to ever exist in either version of hell. Unfortunately, during his seven year absence the porn industry has become rife with exploitation of both Omegas and Littles. He is too busy helping with the hotel for a frontal assault just yet, but he won't stand for this mistreatment.

Sir Pentious (Alpha Caregiver) remains mostly the same except for the fact  he is actually competent and his death machines can be a threat, but Alastor is just too strong for it to be effective. Also he's a smooth talker in this universe. Still, a nerd with his emotional support egg bois though.

Vox's (Beta Caregiver) signature color is red and matches his loving partner Valentino's (Alpha Caregiver) own. Both Vox and Valentino are sickeningly sweet to each other and when together often show their overflowing affection no matter the setting. Velvette (Alpha Neutral) is like their estranged niece or something, she's not quite as close as a daughter but they treat her leagues better than anyone else. Vox and Valentino have odd tastes in entertainment, well actually sadistic, torture pron and odd painful game shows are their personal favorites. Both only care about the V's and their bottom dollar. Valentino could care less about Littles if it meant he could make thousands in profit every week from using them in rough scenes. He was able to distance himself because they weren't his, though he did want one.

Both Vox and Valentino want a Little but they haven't found one that's spoken to them yet. Sure they had felt the usual instincts, but after those calmed there was nothing. It bothered Both of them going through every Little in hell, caring for them for an hour or so before the novelty wore off and they ended up as another porn star. Why couldn't they find a Little they both felt as much for as they did each other? Vox was more affected being the more emotional of the two, despite not acting like it, and Valentino was often comforting his partner that it would only be a matter of time before they found the perfect Little to complete their little pack. After all, sinners fell every day, surely one of them would appeal to them; they just had to be patient. In the meantime they had enough love for each other to tide themselves over.

[seth-burroughs]

The Rain Code x Warriors au no one asked for nor will receive an explanation for

What's up I'm still doing bad and feel my last year's mystery stress sickness is coming back and none of my drafts are anywhere remotely close to getting finished anytime soon because of that how are you are you interested in cat

(picked the TPB timeline because it makes the most sense and has the most fitting characters, but I might cheat or bend it a little, we'll see)

Yuma Kokohead -> Rusty/Firestar

Main boy :) because of course he is. Yuma's now an orange cat. Firestar was the name of Number One, and Rusty (canonically Fire's old house cat name, I'm not calling them kittypets I'm sorry) was the name of the trainee he very politely borrowed his identity for.

Makoto Kagutsuchi -> Scourge

In wc canon, Scourge is also Firestar's half-brother (but they don't ever knooow) and they both kill each other + he's canonically stated to be VERY short like one of the smallest cats in the series. After the cloning, Makoscourge painted his fur completely black except for a one white paw (for the aesthetics. or maybe I'll just give Fire a white paw as well, kinda like Yuma's and Makoto's lil ahoges), started wearing the "OwO" mask, the dog tooth studded shrimp color collar, the fucking blood dyed amv bangs, the dog tooth reinforced claws........ The former CEO took him to hot topic for the first time in his life and he was fucking MESMERIZED none of them knew what they have brought upon themselves by this single act. He is a very silly man, lost in the whimsy. When his mask gets pulled off in the Mystery Labirynth, his face is just not dyed at all and it's just ginger with green eyes just like Rusty's/Firestar's/Yuma's/whatever.

Shinigami -> Spottedleaf

In canon, Spottedleaf does infamously end up haunting Firestar's dreams as a ghost to send him cryptic visions and furiously make out with him in front of his pregnant wife, he did have a crush on her before she died and I'm pretty sure she was retconned into reciprocating it was real bad and then they double killed her so Fire won't have to choose between her and his wife in heaven it was REAL bad uhh. I still like her though. I can get you out of the narrative girl just take my hand.... She can be the weirdgirl incarnate she was always meant to be. I wanted to say something else but then I realized holy shit I'm just tweaking her into Bonefall rewrite Spottedleaf am I... What can I say it IS peak Spottedleaf.

Yomi Hellsmile -> Tigerstar

Also extremely obvious. He is evil and has immaculate sexual tension between the protag whoops sorry I forgot literally only me and like 2 other people here ship Yuma and Yomi uhh anyway. While it does fit I'm a little dissapointed that Yomi/Tigerstar is gonna be losing so much of his cringe charm..... Like, say goodbye to deeply unserious insecure prettyboy toothpick Yaoi with silly little insults such as "umbrella sewing machine man operating hand hook car table" and how do I even describe all of this in less than 3 paragraphs. Say hello to broad-shouldered muscular extremely intimidating 100% serious and competent fascist built like a fucking brick shithouse with very broad-shoulders that doesn't need a henchman boytoy to handle all his numerous murders, have I mentioned his massive fucking broad shoulders, Firestar sure did do that a lot. It's like, where's the fun..... Whatever.... I guess...........😔😔😔

Martina Electro -> Leopardstar

Now for an assigned role I'm way more cool with >:)))) for an outrageously long while I had trouble with whether Martina should be Sasha or Goldenflower, fool I was, until I remembered Leopardstar fucking exists. She is literally perfect like I cannot state this enough. AND canonically she was later retconned to have feelings for Tigerstar but I hate to acknowledge it how dare you massacre Lep like that. She can still be his gf alongside vice director though, she's just engaging in acts of deceit whilst putting opioids in his food and trying her darndest to convince herself she's actually 100% in control of the situation before she's dragged to the cube dimension and has a brief "are we the baddies" moment. I don't think she still resigns from being a peacekeeper though Leopardstar 100% would take that fucking promotion the moment she's offered it and a year later when she' done feeling guilty regresses back into being a violent asshole she has learned NOTHING❤️

Fake/Hitman Zilch -> Darkstripe

So many dissapointments happening here sigh..... This one was obvious and honestly the only valid option for FZilch aside from maybe Nightwhisper or Blackfoot? Anyway, the downsides: one, Darkstripe will never be as cool as fake Zilch he thrives on being a cringe mistreated lickspittle. Two, he's definitely not one of Tigerstar's "closest advisors (🏳️‍🌈)" whilst Dark is pretty obsessed Tiger does not give a shit and considers him a looooooser boooo lameee fuck you *canonically swats him away with his tail that one scene*. But, I mean, at least the toxic yaoi became an entire new category of toxic.

Swank Catsonell -> Brokenstar

Pure vibes. It just fits. He employs small children and makes them fight to the death in his office for glory

Seth Burroughs -> Longtail

In canon, another one of Tigerstar's lackeys that didn't know about his crimes and when he found out he immediately left. I thought he was not evil enough to be Seth at first, but it kinda fits and he does make up for it in his cringe value and being noted to be a coward, though that may have been just Fire's opinion. Also, with all the bunny Seth Burrows jokes, I'd like to mention Longtail got his eyes clawed by a rabbit so hard he went blind so do with that what you will

Guillaume Hall -> Russetfur

Aaaand this is where I started having trouble with the remaining peacekeepers. Eventually I settled on Russetfur & Blackfoot/Blackstar for Guillaume and Dominic, because I like this danger duo I and some of the fandom completely made up about them. It's okay, the authors don't know you like we do...... While Blackstar did have a higher rank and Russet was his deputy, I do think she still had at least an equal amount of power as him, they're buddies pair bonded for life Blackstar is nodding respectfully to whatever incomprehensible wisdom she's sharing

Dominic Fulltank -> Blackfoot/star

In canon, started out as a murderous henchman of two major equally murderous evil dictators, before they both died and he finally got that boss promotion he always wanted, then he got ruined by the, you guessed it, retcons, but I don't like to be reminded of his atrocity of a novella. I always imagined Blackstar as like, unbelievably jacked holy shit the muscles on that cat, (and honestly most of the fandom does too so. lmao) and he does indeed canonically unflinchingly do the dirty work of all his bosses such as killing and maiming and destroying an

You get the point. He serious'd. Darkstripe wishes he could be him. And I'm pretty sure that was even canonically implied in the sixth book lmaooooooooo. Loser <3

Dr. Huesca -> um. Goosefeather?

The looks definitely fit, Dr. Huesca indeed bears striking resemblance to that tortured feline. However, while sometimes an asshole, Goose is definitely not evil... But he could be. He deserves to be. As a treat. Also: old man pride

Kurumi Wendy -> Cinderpaw/pelt

Easy, get Cinder'd idiot. They even have a pretty similiar energy too, I feel. This is where I got a bit tired, uhh...It's 11pm. Anyway I love Cinder and I love Kurumi say anything bad about them and I'll start scream crying on the floor

Halara Nightmare -> Yellowfang

Halara gets the old beam. They're now in their fucking 60s or something perhaps 70s. Yellowfang, on the other hand, gets the non-binary spec beam. She already gave off massive butch vibes in canon already, whatever. I don't think I can uhh in short terms explain Yellowfang's whole deal rn but the gist of it she's a very snarky grandma figure to Fire that gradually warmed up to him while she was- my cat vomited. While he was assigned to take care of her while she was taken prisoner into ThunderClan camp. Her personality's pretty funky. And she does seem cool enough in order to deserve to be Halara Nightmare.

Desuhiko Thunderbolt -> Graystripe

I think I'm taking a break and coming back to this tomorrow actually after all. Hello this is tomorrow Jasper. In canon, Graystripe is Fire's silly goofy boybestie when they're young, then he starts secretly dating Silverstream - hold on i can't fuvking take tjis im making myself hot cocoa again bye. Ok it's done let's see if that makes me feel something. As I was saying he's dating this cat and she's from a rival Clan so that's illegal forbidden love and then she dies during childbirth and he leaves his own Clan for a while to raise their babies there but then he gets exiled and goes back to his own and then his kids almost get publically executed for being half-clan so he and his buddies rescue them. And then he gets abducted by humans and meets this new gal called Millie and they start dating and then she gives birth to his new babies and then a tree falls on one of them. I'm pretty sure Fire was also pretty gay for that guy. Uh, anyway. I think he fits the bill because of his goofy charm but also it's pretty disturbing to imagine any iteration of Desuhiko actually getting bitches

Fubuki Clockford -> um. uh. Silverstream?

Silverstream, in canon, is the only daughter of Crookedstar, the leader of RiverClan, and is (implied to not having a problem with) getting various privileges because of this. Fits with Fubuki's rich timelord parents, plus light blue aesthetic, and a few other things which are hard to articulate. Only thing is that she's generally way more headstrong and impulsive than Fubuki showed to be, could "bend her father to her will with little effort", and disrespects the law if it's stupid to her which, queen shit. I think she'll play a lot of little pranks with her time powers, and devote her free time/time with YumaRusty when he's accused of terrorism crimes (but that's just unrestrained summer fun anyway) to absolutely decimate any peacekeepers they come across with some looney tunes shit

Vivia Twilight -> I'll be honest I have no fucking idea

Zero fucking idea. Literally NOBODY in this arc fits for the 5D chess of a character Vivia is. I'm not even sure if in any of the books. Help me. But also I don't really care because I don't even like Vivia at all anyway he freaks me out get him away from me.

Yakou Furio -> Bluestar?

Protag mentor figure except Bluestar is actually doing a good job at that until she loses her marbles after her mid-arc torment gauntlet and has a corruption arc until she drowns and gets healed of all her issues momentarily before fucking dying. She has a dead husband, dead mom, dead sister, dead baby, dead deputy, dead deputy #2, dead bestie, holy shit that's a lot of motives for suicidemurdering Huesgoose. Btw Goose was her weird voice of god hearing uncle in canon (and he was also dead) but I'm probably taking it out unless. Anyway she's kinda too good for Yakou but. They're also both blue like that is a blue cat

And for some side characters, keyword some:

Aiko -> Littlepaw/cloud

Aetheria's now not an all girls school anymore sorry I cannot do this guys. Littlecloud was Cinder's/Kurumi's good buddy and I like their friendship. Unfortunately, you know what that means.

Karen -> Swiftpaw

Originally was supposed to have Aiko's place before I remembered Little exists. In canon his most notable moment was dying brutally, which I mean also fits the Karen quota. Plus, while not an asshole per se he does have a more fiery/overall angry personality and he did try to impulsively take on a pack of dogs to prove himself and fucking died, if under enough pressure I'm pretty sure he could smash Aiko's/Littlepaw's head in with a brick too👍👍

Yoshiko, Waruna, Kurane -> Brackenpaw/fur, Thornpaw/claw, Brightpaw/heart?

Siblings in canon and two of them are guys so no murderous yuri I guess :(( But I mean I don't have to follow canon to a T anyway lmao so we'll see. In canon, basically the other three remaining apprentices along with Swiftpaw and the ashfern siblings, plus they do function as a trio via just being sibs. Plus some notes from the books: Cinder is the fourth sibling. Brightpaw follows Swiftpaw in his quest to slay the doggy and while he dies she survives but gets her eyeball and half of her entire face's fur torn off.

Real Zilch -> Redtail

He's very dead. Very, very dead. His most iconic moment was dying abruptly and tragically via murder rip in rest

Kei Colan -> Snowkit

He is a child. That's a little boy

Snowkit, signing furiously: MY MAMA GOT FRAMED AND IS GOING TO BE PUBLICALLY EXECUTED BY THE PEACEKEEPERS IF NOTHING IS DONE PLEASE HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEE. HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Yellowfang, signing back in swagful motions: and how much cash does your mama have on her currently

Jiei Colan -> Speckletail

Snowkit's very old mama. Looks like she could kill you but genuinely does not have a body count. Yet.

Ramen Stand Owner -> Ravenpaw

Ravenpaw in canon hit the bricks and ran away from the Clans due to being in danger there, and lived out the rest of his days on a farm with his cowboy boyfriend Barley mostly free of drama. I'd say that fits lmao. We can make his old name Rusty, not a problem.

Margulaw -> Pinestar

90 year old voice "yeah so uhh my fucking son grew up to be a dictator now. When he was a newborn ghosts were yelling at me to kill him because he'll grow up to be a bad man otherwise and of course like any sane kanaiwardian father I said "fuck that" and had to leave ma' family behind run away from the company so the demons would shut up. And y'know little buddy... Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I just can't help but. Y'know. Anyway. Sigh."

Do you get my vision did that sound comprehensible

[edwordsmyth]

"It has become clear during the past two months in the Gaza Strip that the Zionist entity is plenty capable of equaling the belligerence of the American frontier, an era of wholesale ethnic cleansing thought to be a feature of history.  (“It could never happen today,” people sometimes would foolishly declare.)  Colonial atrocities of the past—Wounded Knee, Sand Creek, the Trail of Tears—are now everywhere in evidence.  The Zionist entity is carrying out a kind of primitive violence with modern technology.  This violence fills our computer and television screens. People around the world get minute-by-minute accounts of massive destruction and widespread murder. Certain images have become horrifyingly familiar: throngs of refugees queuing for bread; ambulances dodging tank and machine gun fire; hospitals in disarray; once-dense neighborhoods transformed by aerial bombardment into kilometers of rubble. We scroll through photos of men blindfolded and stripped to their underwear, lined up on the ground like antiquities in a museum courtyard. The scrolling continues into pictures of white body bags in shallow trenches and then into videos of little girls and boys screaming trauma into the ruins of their childhood. We are perhaps the first generation to witness genocide in real time. History books about the horrors of the past are written every time somebody opens social media.

The theory that bearing witness will curtail Israel’s ability to act on exterminationist fantasies no longer holds. Information and knowledge, it turns out, aren’t reliable bulwarks against genocide. Impunity isn’t beholden to disapproval.

What does it tell us that the Zionist entity can conduct this genocide in high definition, with no credible deniability and amid condemnation from all corners of the world? It tells us that people serious about Palestinian liberation were right to despise the so-called radicals who laundered Zionism through celebrity activism, academic credentialism, NGO astroturf, and the Democratic Party. An entire class of influencers arose from Bernie Sanders’ failed presidential campaigns. They populate hundreds of podcasts and livestreams. They wasted incalculable energy and resources promoting a man who would go on to repeatedly justify the bloody campaign in Gaza. Now they deplore Sanders after having extracted all the clout appended to his name and having ostracized the outliers who accurately tagged him as a fraud from the get-go. It was the most noteworthy example of a timeworn practice: pursuing access to microphones and New Yorker profiles by subsuming Palestinian liberation to institutions constitutionally hostile to revolutionary politics. It tells us that international governing bodies and legal institutions are at best useless. Despite some halfhearted hemming and hawing, the UN has been an accomplice to the Zionist entity’s genocide. The ICC will never see an American, Israeli, or EU war criminal on its docket. The Arab League pretends to care, but its performance is entirely unconvincing. Such institutions have been captured by imperialism since their inception. It tells us that “dialogue” was always a pathway to submission. The idea that Israelis and Palestinians should dialogue as a means to peace was always dubious if only because dialogue can’t work in situations of disparate power. But now, with Israelis overwhelmingly in favor of the genocide, it should be clear that Palestinians never had anyone to dialogue with in the first place. It tells us that Western academe was completely unprepared for the material demands of decolonization despite its popularity as a professional brand. Many among the intellectual class, including scholars of Fanon like Adam Shatz and Lewis Gordon, either disavow or diminish anticolonial resistance or ignore it altogether. Academe is where resistance goes for processing and beautification after it has been completed. It’s rarely a place for the organizing stage. It tells us that deterrence isn’t a game of strategy played by eggheads on the internet, but an onerous project conditional on guns and rockets. Academics generally are too scared to say it, or, in an object lesson on arrogance, don’t actually believe it, but a cache of weapons will always be more important than a conference panel. It tells us that electoralism is a sham. There is no meaningful ideological variance among U.S. politicians at the national level. In practice, they range from center-right to fascist. In the upcoming presidential election, for example, voters will get to decide between two scarcely-functional old farts with histories of sexual misconduct and a complete devotion to Zionist genocide. It tells us that racism isn’t simply an attitude, for its origin is social violence and eventually it will become physically violent in order to perform its civic mandate. In the framework of settler colonization, racism manifests as a yearning for cultural purification through displacement of the native. It tells us that capitalism makes death a valuable commodity. The Zionist entity isn’t merely an imperialist beachhead; it is a major player in the international weapons trade. It tests new munitions, chemicals, and surveillance technology on Palestinians. It arms reactionary forces throughout the Global South. It serves as a conduit and accomplice to U.S. policing. Because of Zionist occupation, corporations enjoy the use of human subjects as raw material for development and innovation.

It tells us that we wasted a whole lot of time trying to convince the oppressor that we are worthy of life when the oppressor cannot live without our extinction.

More than anything, it tells us that in the benighted West there is no democracy, no free speech, no legislative remedy, no human rights, no right even to be human. These are illusions people repeat in an effort to survive pervasive depravity, or myths they cynically invoke to gather the crumbs of deprivation. There is a ruling class and various iterations of the dispossessed and the dispossessed exist only to serve ruling class gluttony.

That’s why countless people can deplore a genocide zoomed into our personal devices without being able to stop it. We are not simply ineffectual in the world of policymaking; policymakers are taunting us with their depravity.

What can we do, then? It’s important to start by recognizing that the entire political class, from presidents to online pundits, has no regard for us—detests us, in fact—and is therefore never a reliable source of empathy or relief. Denizens of this class do not want our feedback; they want us to scroll through the debris of their malevolence. Upon this recognition, the possibilities become clearer, albeit less convenient. But in the spirit of urgency, we can keep it simple: whether it happens in darkness or light, on screen or off, the Zionist entity needs to become an archive we browse as a cautionary tale, or else our future on this planet will be history."

[kaeda-the-wolf]

Diego Jimenez x Lauren Wolffe (OFC)

Word Count; 1,750

Part 2: Burgers & Bail 

In which Detective Lauren Wolffe and her partner, Marcus Morenci, are paid a visit by one of the best criminal defense lawyer's in New York.

Warnings: Language, brief mentions of domestic violence/child abuse/murder. 

Author's note: This chapter is brought to you by my finally taking an actual vacation.

Any gifs used in any posts for this story do not belong to me.

Lauren is two cups of coffee and a quarter of the way through a massive stack of case files when a white paper bag is plopped down in front of her. Slightly startled, she glances up from the paragraph she's read at least twice already to see Marcus looking down at her with what he probably thinks is a charming smile. 

"What's this, a peace offering," Lauren questions as she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't still irritated about earlier, especially after the way the rest of their previous conversation had gone. 

"When  you say you're talking from experience, I take it you mean your daughter? What's her name? Ella?" 

"Ellie," Lauren corrected. 

"Right. She's what, eight or nine?" 

Lauren stayed silent, focusing on her driving as she switched lanes. 

"That's her on your phone lockscreen, right? And in the picture on your desk?"

Again, Lauren doesn't reply. She has no intention of encouraging his attempts at small talk. 

"She's a cute kid. Looks just like you, except her eyes. I take it she took after her dad, there. Speaking of which, where is-" 

Lauren had stomped on the brakes, probably a little more forcefully than necessary, as someone had cut them off. Marcus had jolted forward with a curse, nearly smacking into the dashboard.

"What the fuck, 'Ren?" 

Lauren gritted her teeth at the shortening of her name. She'd always hated it when people called her that.

"Sorry," she muttered halfheartedly.

"You'd think with as many people that live here, at least some of them would know how to drive."

Lauren had calmly agreed, and the subject had effectively changed after that, much to her relief. Marcus meant well, but Lauren had already been fighting back all her constant fears and worries about her daughter after the events of this morning, and wasn't about to go digging all of those up at the behest of someone who just couldn't leave well enough alone, even if he was her partner.

In fact, she was doing her best to not think about those things. Or the case.

That was why she'd stayed buried nose deep in work since they'd returned to the precinct, her only consolation being that the person responsible for the boy's -Antonio Reyes- murder was in a holding cell downstairs.

Out of sight, mostly out of mind.

"No," Marcus huffs. "It's lunch. You know, actual food that's not a bag of chips and a stale candy bar from the vending machine downstairs?" 

"Careful, Marcus," Lauren chides lightheartedly with a small smile as she tears into the bag. "Keep talking like that and someone might think you actually like me." 

"I do actually like you," Marcus quips sharply, only for a sheepish look to cross his face the moment he realizes he was a bit too eager to reply. Lauren arches a brow, but Marcus is sputtering on before she can even think of a response. 

"I mean,  I do most of the time. Still think you've got a stick up your ass."

"Right," Lauren chuckles, choosing to overlook his response as she tears into the bag in front of her. It's from her favorite restaurant a couple of blocks away and she's actually pretty damn hungry (chips and candy only go so far) so she pays little mind to what Marcus had gotten her as she pulls out the food. 

"Double bacon cheeseburger with everything but the pickles and onions and cheesy tater tots, right?"

Lauren's hands freeze in the middle of pulling a box out of the bag, a chill crawling down her spine. As much as she loved the old burger joint, Lauren rarely spared the money to eat there, preferring the cheapest option available for lunch (which, more often than not, usually meant eating nothing) in order to pinch a few extra pennies for her daughter's sake. She and Marcus had gotten burgers once, maybe twice, since they had started working together…

So how did he have her order down perfectly?

"Uhm, yeah," Lauren answers, unease thick in her voice as she locks  eyes with Marcus, jarring her into moving again. "Thank you."

The smile she gives is more of a grimace than anything, and obviously forced as Lauren pops open the box of tater tots, but Marcus simply smiles at her, looking pleased with himself. 

And somehow, that's even more unsettling. 

When he steps away from her desk to go back to his own, she lets out a breath. She gets about half of the burger down, unable to keep from side-eying Marcus as she eats. The food is delicious -as always- but her appetite was nonexistent, her stomach roiling. 

How the fuck did he know my order?

She tries to put the thought out of her mind. Really, she does, but it's a futile effort as the thought echoes through her mind again and again. Maybe he'd asked one of the other detectives -maybe Cartright, or Howell- but then she doubted that they paid enough attention to know. Cartwright was nice enough, but Howell didn't care for her, and the feeling was mutual. 

"Is the food good," Marcus asks, meeting her gaze as Lauren glances at him over the top of her computer monitor. He'd opted for the exact same burger, she noticed, but had swapped out the tater tots for the Cajun steak fries. 

"It's great," she replies absentmindedly, shutting the nearly full box of cheesy tater tots. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," is his emphatic answer, a brilliant smile flashing across his features. Lauren was sure that smile was enough to woo just about any woman at the bar, but it reminded her more of something more predatory, something that looked welcoming on the surface, but would rip you to shreds if you got too close. 

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he continues as Lauren tries to discreetly drop what remains of her food in the trash. He pays her absolutely no mind, eyes focused on his computer screen in front of him. 

She doubts he's looking at anything work related. 

"We'll have to eat out more often. There's a new Italian place a few street over-"

Marcus' words abruptly, uncharacteristically go silent, which commands her attention far more than whatever he'd been saying. Lauren looks up, having returned to her work, and the moment she does, her heart takes a nose dive into her stomach. Standing just inside the main door of the precincts bullpen, looking regal as ever in a tan, three piece suit that she has no doubt costs more than her rent two times over, is Brian Nguyen, one of the most renowned defense attorney's in New York. Next to him stands Lieutenant Albrecht, who is so red in the face it looks like he might stroke out.

Brian cuts a glance at Lauren, giving her a subtle, knowing smirk as he speaks.

"Detective Wolffe." His dark eyes pierce right through her. It's not a look of triumph, it's a warning, a reminder. "It's been quite a while." 

No, it hasn't, Lauren's mind supplies in answer. The thought is slightly bitter, and overly guilty.

She was all too familiar with Brian Nguyen, or rather, the kind of clientele he represented; drug dealers, mob guys, enforcers, all the other kinds of guys who probably deserved to be under the prisons rather than in them. 

If he was here, it was an omen for a bad day. 

"Indeed it has," Lauren replies coolly. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" 

"He's here for Carlos Muñoz," Lieutenant Albrecht responds, his face bitter. Lauren grits her teeth, apprehensiveness settling poorly in her stomach. 

She probably shouldn't have eaten that burger.

"Just to talk, I'm assuming? He started asking for you the moment we cuffed him." 

"I'm afraid not, Detective Morenci." 

Sure you are, Lauren says to herself, rage boiling in her veins. She knows all too well what Brian Nguyen is here for, if he's not here to talk to his client.

"He's made bail?" Marcus questions, and Lauren wants to sock him for not reading the giant pink elephant in the room. She settles for scratching her pen deep into a stack of blue sticky notes on her desk. Ellie had picked them out; blue was her favorite color.

"Yes," Albrecht grits out, and Lauren knows he’s feeling the same frustration as her. "They're already working through the release process." 

Lauren shakes her head, glancing at the picture of Ellie on her desk. It was an older photo from a birthday two years prior; Ellie is grinning, all dimples and missing baby teeth, holding up a new stuffed animal frog that Lauren had gotten her, brown eyes bright and her hair in lopsided, blonde pigtails.�� It was a picture similar to one that Lauren had seen in the Reyes home of the little boy -Antonio- that Muñoz had murdered. 

Antonio Reyes would never smile like that again, and the bastard responsible for it was going to walk free. 

Just like far too many others. 

This was another aspect of the job that Lauren hated, one that she would never get used to. And it was something happening more and more often.

Lauren sits at her desk, seething, and watches as Nguyen signs the necessary paperwork for the bail. The moment he bids them all goodbye, at least having the small sliver or decency to not look smug as he does so, Lauren feels the straw break the camel's back. 

"This is such bullshit," she spits, haphazardly shuffling case files back into their folders. She pauses when she spots an extra copy of the photo of the lifeless, beaten body of the boy. 

"I can't say I'm surprised," Marcus remarks, ignoring the glare Lauren flashes his way as he kicks back in his chair, hands behind his head. "But how does a guy like that make bail that high?" 

"He doesn't," Lauren hisses, throwing on her jacket. Tucking the crime scene photo into the inner pocket, she grabs her keys and marches towards the door. 

"Where are you going?" Lieutenant Albrecht questions, a hint of worry showing through his otherwise neutral expression. 

"For a walk," Lauren answers, softer than she would if anyone else were to ask. They would probably be having a conversation soon about how she was doing. 

Her lieutenant simply nods, knowing better than to try and stop her. 

If he knew where she was headed, he would.

Masterlist ☆ Part 1 ☆ Part3

@1zashreena1 

[animalkingdomcute]

Why are kittens so cute? You asked Google – here's the answer

Dean Burnett, Wed 11 Apr 2018 08.00 BST

Every day millions of people ask Google life’s most difficult questions. Our writers answer some of the commonest queries.

A few months ago, my family and I went to a nearby cat rescue shelter to get a kitten. There were five in the available litter to choose from, but as we were watching them play, one of the two tabbies boldly decided to scale a nearby sack of bedding, then promptly fell in head-first and couldn’t get out. Obviously, we had to have that idiot. And that’s how we ended up with Pickle.

'Far from being a vulnerable, timid little ball of fur, Pickle seems to be an actual psychopath.'

Named by my five-year-old son for a character from Blaze and the Monster Machines, Pickle seemed to have no fear whatsoever, immediately taking to playing with the kids, being manhandled by my two-year-old daughter, and constantly attempting to sit on me while I’m working. But recently, after all his inoculations and “other” treatments, we had a cat flap installed so he could go outside. We were honestly worried about him. He’s growing fine but is still quite slender; he’s so young and small still, and there are a lot of other cats and dogs in our street. Would the little guy be able to cope?

You know in The Dark Knight when Gotham City’s all happy because the criminal element has been tamed by Batman, then the Joker turns up and all hell breaks loose? It was a bit like that, but with a cat. In the first two weeks of him being outside, Pickle had stared down and scared off every (bigger, older) cat he could find, started and actually won several fights with next door’s (massive) dog, decided to use the neighbouring children’s trampoline as a toilet, and I recently saw him chase what looked to be two genuinely afraid teenage boys down the street.

We also recently found a large tuna steak on our garden path. Still no idea where that came from.

Dean Burnett and Pickle

So, far from being a vulnerable, timid little ball of fur, Pickle seems to be an actual psychopath. And possibly a master thief as well. Even by standard cat stereotypes, this is pushing it somewhat. Such characteristics do not scream “cute”. But… look at his face!

Yes, Pickle, a kitten, is still cute. All kittens are. But, why? Why are these miniature monsters, with their aloofness, numerous spiky bits, and tendency to murder things and bring you their mangled remains, so capable of triggering human empathy and adoration? They’re not even the same species as us! Countless people ask Google, “Why are kittens so cute?” every day, so it’s obviously a common question. Thankfully, science has provided a few answers and explanations.

‘Countless people ask Google, Why are kittens so cute?’ Photograph: Melanie DeFazio/Stocksy United

Much of the earliest work into cuteness as a scientific phenomenon began with the term 'Kindchenschema'

Part of it is the fur. Studies have shown that primates instinctively seek out, even need, soft pleasant contact, preferably with our own parents and kin, but the basic tactile sensation will do usually. This may stem from an evolved like of social grooming, and extremely rewarding and influential practice among social mammals like us, so the very act of running your fingers through the long soft fur of another being is likely something we respond to at a deep, instinctive level, so any animal which seems to be all soft fur is going to be instinctively more appealing. And kittens are exactly that. The Oatmeal’s Matt Inman describes stroking a kitten’s tummy as “like frolicking in the back hair of an angel”, which sounds just right. This may also explain why scaly or slimy creatures don’t get the cute label, but birds often get a pass, particularly the ”fluffier” ones. Feathers are nice and soft too, after all.

It’s not just the fur though, obviously. Rats and mice have fur, but we have industries dedicated to wiping them out. And tarantulas are technically furry, but…

So what else is it about kittens that trigger this cute reflex? Much of the earliest work into cuteness as a scientific phenomenon began with Austrian scientist Konrad Lorenz who coined the term “Kindchenschema”. As the name suggests, it basically proposes that the more qualities and features something has in common with human babies, the cuter it’s perceived as being. For instance, babies have disproportionately large heads and eyes compared to their eventual adult form, thanks to the uneven ways the brain and body develop. Kittens (and puppies) also have large heads and huge eyes, so are considered cuter than the more evenly-proportioned beady-eyed rodents nature provides us with.

Younger animals generally provoke this cuteness reflex more, even if the adult version is still relatively small and fluffy. There are many theories as to where it comes from, or what it’s for, but it’s a particularly potent one that “hijacks” many neurological processes. Many argue that it stems from an evolved pressure to care for babies, as human ones are so vulnerable and need constant care, so it’s good for the species. It can even go “too far”, where the cute reflex is powerful but regularly thwarted (due to species, distance, cultural limits on what’s acceptable interaction etc), and results in aggressive elements being invoked (“So cute I could just squeeze it/eat it up!” and so on).

Kittens seem to trigger a lot of the inherent reflexes in our brains that we’ve acquired over the millennia of evolution. Their furry small bodies with the huge heads and eyes tick all the right boxes, so we find them so cute, we let them get away with murder. Literally.

Dean Burnett discusses this and similar matters in his new book The Happy Brain, released 3 May.

[the-goth-catte]

††BLACK MASS @ PANDEMONIO†† 10.1.2023

The Mediaeval Baebes - Now Springes The Spray Night Club - Show It To Me In Strict Confidence - Seven Lies (Club Mix) Meg Myers - Running Up That Hill Skold - Peek-A-Boo Tre Lux - Never Let Me Down Again William Control - Strangers VNV Nation - When Is The Future Revolting Cocks - Do Ya Think I’m Sexy Informatik - Retrogradation Apoptygma Berzerk - Backdraft (Sarpsborg Synth) Vanguard - Ragnarök Depeche Mode - Enjoy The Silence New Order - Bizarre Love Triangle MCL - New York Leather Strip - I Sit On Acid Nitzer Ebb - Join In The Chant The Cruxshadows - Monsters Die Sexual - Bound, I Rise Mechanical Moth - Black Queen Style Echoberyl - Aliens Male Tears - Model Citizen Pet Shop Boys - It’s A Sun Leather Strip - Love Like Blood And One - Steine Sind Steine Dues Ex Lumina - Addicted To Your Pain Actors - Like Suicide Talk To Her - Zodiac Twin Tribes - The River Dark - In The Dark You Die Creux Lies - Misunderstanding Virgin Prunes - Baby Turns Blue Oddko - Kitty Girl (Nitroverts Mix) Biomekkanik - Fuck The Pain Away Mind.In.A.Box - I Love 64 Apoptygma Berzerk - Kathy’s Song (Ferry Corsten’s 12” Mix) Bruderschaft - Forever (Grendel’s EssenZ Mix) Front 242 - Headhunter (Front Line Assembly Mix) God Module - Little 15 Miss Construction - Fuck Me Too Noisuf-X - Orgasm Das Ich - Kannibale (Patenbridage: Wolf Remix) Grendel - Zombienation V.2K5) Schwarz Stein - Bio Genesis NIN - Closer Leather Strip - Army Of Me Wumpscut - Wreath of Barbs (Heavy Extended Mix) 3TEETH - Degrade Faderhead - Move Harder London After Midnight - Kiss Mari Kattman - You Can Show Yourself Out Red Lorry Yellow Lorry - Talk About the Weather Executive Slacks - I’m Coming The Cure - Fascination Street She Pleasures Herself - Good Girl She Wants Revenge - Take the Workd Spider Lillies - The Error Is You Ulver - Machine Guns & Peacock Feathers Trevor Something - Summer Love Cold Cave - Prayer From Nowhere Rein - Dystopia Hallows - All That Is True Dies Marc Massive - Recite After Me Drab Majesty - Dot In The Sky William Control - Knife Play Apoptygma Berzerk - Is Electronic Love To Blame? Walk With Anything & Mrs. Hands - Non-Stop Violence Third Realm - Banshee Leather Strip - Japanese Bodies Depeche Mode - Strangelove Ministry - Effigy (I’m Not An) The Cruxshadows - Helios (Solar Night Mix) Anders Manga - Welcome To Darkness Chiasm - Isolated Nightcrawler & Deus Ex Lumina - My Worst Enemy Is Myself Ludovico Technique - Absence Project Pitchfork - A Cell And One - Body Company MSI - On It (A23 Mix) Celldweller - Heart On (Aesthetic Perfection Mix) Dance or Die - Aliens Electric Only Fire - Up n Down Nitzer Ebb - Murderous Revolting Cocks - Attack Ships on Fire Sisters of Mercy - Lucretia, My Reflection Alien Sex Fiend - Ignore the Machine Rosetta Stone - Adrenaline The Wake - Christine The Mission - Wasteland Nosferatu - The Keeper’s Call Susperia - Allegedly, A Dancefloor Tragedy Virgin Prunes - Pagan Lovesong Soft Cell - Sex Dwarf Specimen - Kiss Kiss Bang Bang Inkubus Sukkubus - Paint It Black

[grayintogreen]

LOST CHARACTERS AND D&D CLASSES

Welcome to posts that cater specifically to my brainrot, I'm your host, a girl who thinks too much about D&D classes and characters from her other fandoms because what is brainrot but something that infects every other possible interest.

Some notes before I begin:

I did not do every character. There are like 40 characters in this show of narrative significance. Some people have to be fucking commoners okay. If you're offended by who I left out, I don't know what to tell you. For the most part, the characters I left out were either not around enough or didn't have an arc significant enough for me to imagine their forward progression as a D&D character or who served such mad NPC energy that the speculation was pointless. Or the answer was really boring (most of the antagonists fall under this heading).

Jacob and Smokey are deities and therefore were not included for that reason.

I didn't include Walt because the only thing I could think of for Michael was Oathbreaker Paladin and while accurate, it requires a significant amount of DEEPER thought I didn't want to go into for something that's just for shits and farts. And including Walt but not Michael felt mean. That said, Walt is basically a conjuration wizard in canon, which means it's kinda boring because there's no fun speculation. it's right there.

There aren't a lot of arcane magic-users, not because I wanted to be boring and stupid, but because this is just not a bunch of people who lend themselves to fucking magic.

I'm putting this under a cut because it got long. SO LET'S GO.

Jack Shepherd, Cleric

Jack is a cleric in the same way Kingston Brown is (or the same way Zerxus is a paladin). There's no god here, just commitment to the practice. Tragically, there's no "science" domain, so I think the closest would be the Order Domain, which fits his control freak tendencies and leadership vibes. I mean Voice of Authority? That's his entire thing.

Kate Austen, Ranger

Kate is a weird one because I think what she is and what she values about herself kinda run at opposition sometimes. And "commiter of arson that one time that led to subsequent crimes" doesn't actually define you as a class. Ultimately, what Kate loves is running off into the jungle, so I went with Ranger (with the possibility of multiclassing into rogue for evasion/disengage). Subclass is a little iffy, especially because Kate isn't as much a murder machine as some of the other characters (ironic given she is the one billed as the murderer), but I think Fey Wanderer works best given a lot of the spells and bonuses it grants involve GETTING AWAY and that's her whole thing.

James "Sawyer" Ford, Fighter

Sawyer was hard because, like Kate, 'con man' is not a class, it's an occupation, but I also didn't want him to be a Mastermind rogue for reasons I'll get to later and also compared to the ACTUAL Mastermind rogue in the (massive, massive) party, he's penny-ante at best. Sawyer is, aside from that time he missed the marshal's heart at point blank range (anyone can crit fail), a gun guy. I feel like Gunslinger is the most appropriate option for him. High charisma and boosted proficiencies in deception and persuasion make up the con man stuff.

John Locke, Ranger/Paladin

John is such a fucking ranger, the island desires him carnally. I think I'd be remiss to suggest he be anything but a Hunter, but UNFORTUNATELY, Hunter is not good for John, like, at all. John's a Gloom Stalker, because John is hardcore.

That said, I think Locke multiclassed into Paladin of the Island pretty damn quickly to the point where his Ranger stuff is background to that. Oath of the Ancients, specifically.

Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Bard

Hurley is the most goddamn bardic character on this show besides Charlie. I, an audience member, get Bardic Inspiration every time he talks, he's just that fucking lovable. You cannot talk to Hurley and not feel empowered. He is a GOOD BOY.

I think ultimately his role as Island Guru and his propensity to talk to and see dead people makes him well-suited for College of Spirits.

Charlie Pace, Bard

Charlie almost didn't make it on this list because the answer would be so boring and he's a way more generic, traditional bard than Hurley, but then I had to think about what his college would be. I think given everything, he's hilariously suited to Tragedy Bard, and I don't think you can find a single reason to tell me I'm fucking wrong, especially given his ultimate ending.

Jin-Soo Kwon, Ranger/Rogue

Jin almost didn't make it on this list because like "ranger with an ocean favored terrain" is as far as I got. Also jesus there's so many rangers on this island already. But THEN I got to thinking about Jin's life as a thug for Sun's dad and was like could he have taken levels in assassin rogue that overwhelmed his humble fish ranger beginnings? Absolutely.

Sun Paik-Kwon, Rogue

Sun is a unique one in that I don't think she found her class until after she got off the island and then immediately went "I'm a Mastermind Rogue now" and we love that for her.

Sayid Jarrah, Artificer/Fighter

Sayid was a goddamn hard nut to crack, because his chief skills are "technology" and "torture." Initially, I thought he should be an assassin rogue, but Sayid's heavily tactical and plays too well with others to sell rogue, so I went with Battle Master. Also there is no goddamn Artificer class that suits "communications officer," so that's just gonna be up in the air.

Desmond Hume, Barbarian

Desmond is the only barbarian. No I will not be taking criticism. Subclass is funky because my first thought is Path of the Zealot with the electromagnetism oracle superpowers just being flavor worked in, but honestly what would be funnier if he was a Chaos Barbarian like Ashton and the mechanics are broken, since it fits his weird time travel bullshit.

Mr. Eko, Paladin

Eko is such a paladin, like oh my god. What I can't decide is if he's an Oathbreaker paladin working to reform himself or just an Oath of Devotion Paladin who speedran the whole process, but still feels he has much more to do.

Ben Linus, Rogue

Ben is a Mastermind Rogue. Ben is THE Mastermind Rogue. Ben is so good at being a Mastermind Rogue that he forgot his subclass doesn't have a great fight build and kills you anyway. With a nightstick.

Also I think he spends a lot of his time in later seasons with levels in Twilight Cleric since he was effectively Smokey's Richard. He didn't do anything with the power it was just "my evil god who looks like my dead ex-husband whom I murdered gave me these spells I guess."

Juliet Burke, Cleric

Like Jack, I think Juliet's faith goes into either people or abstract concepts, like idk Cleric of Women's Reproductive Rights. Personally, given everything, I think Life Cleric suits her best, which means she has the potential to make some of the funniest jokes ever during her villain era.

Charles Widmore, Warlock

Charles Widmore is 100% a Warlock of the Island, which makes Ben ousting him as President of Everything so much funnier, like bitch the island gave ME magic. I actually have no idea what subclass. I didn't get that far because I'm too busy imagining Alan Dale throwing eldritch blasts at Michael Emerson and still losing.

Daniel Faraday, Artificer

Can Dan be an artillerist simply because of his "i'm gonna detonate a hydrogen bomb line?" No? TOO BAD. i actually don't know about Dan, like artificer fits, but ya boy's a physicist and D&D doesn't care about physics. I don't know why I put him here. I think Dan should get to make magic bombs I guess.

Miles Straume, Cleric

Miles is a grave cleric who has never healed anyone in his life and will not start now, he just uses his Grave Powers to talk to dead people and find where the bodies are.

Richard Alpert, Cleric

It was a tough decision between cleric or paladin for Richard, but let's be real, since he gives off way more long-suffering energy, he might as well be the cleric. Paladins only suffer like that if their name is Zerxus. My suggestion is Light Cleric since Jacob is the being of light on the island. It's poignant.