#manipulative scheming bloody BASTARD

[typosandtea]

For whoever you’d like to answer for:

♔ — Does your muse believe people are innately good or innately bad? Why do they believe this?

♖ — Do people, in your muse’s opinion, ever really change? Do they believe themselves to be capable of changing?

♙ — How hypocritical is your muse? If they can be hypocritical, do they realise this about themselves? How do they reconcile with it?

♝ — Is your muse concerned about being remembered after they die? If so, do they have anything specific notions about what they want to be remembered for?

[Prompts]

@bokatan thanks for the ask Bo!! :D

Including Thorn on top of Murphy and Tango aha (Thorn is tango's timeline institute sole)

♔

Murphy:

She believes that everyone is good, even if they show it in their own weird ways. She tries her darnedest to see in it everyone, but some people make is so bloody difficult, she is so tired.. People being awful for the sake of it just doesn't compute to her at all, surely raiders only raid to provide for their gang? That the soldiers mean it when they say they are here to help? She is an idealist to the point of blinding herself to reality, and like many of her views she clings to this one for dear life, because she is terrified of what will happen if she lets go.. Levels of denial wider than the river here.

Tango:

Like a many things about Tango, the answer to this question depends on when you asked them. Mostly though: Everyone is inherently out for themselves and anyone who says different is lying, perhaps to themselves as well. Tango is a selfish bastard and didn't even believe in the concept of friends until they started hanging out with Preston. Had a bit of a crisis of "holy fuck hes not trying to trick me or use me? he's really that nice for no reason??". Is starting to believe that some people actually care about others not for what they can gain.. sometimes… Thinks like this as they are from a family of scavvers, scammers and swindlers.

Thorn:

Very similar to Tango, but not in a defensive way like they are. Thorn actually thinks in the way that Tango initially believes people do. Thorn is out here manipulating, scheming and backstabbing her way to where she wants to be, both pre- and post war. Thus she also believes anyone with any sense is like her, only fools trust. Learnt early on that truth and trust gets you nowhere in life, re-enforced by being a corrupt corporate lawyer prewar.

♖

Murphy:

She believes that everyone can change for the better (except herself) and shes made it her mission so far to bring out the good in the people around her.. she has seen how drastically people can change for the worse under exceptional circumstances, like what war and its aftermath does to people

Tango:

They want to believe that they can change but evidence suggests otherwise. Does not like some choices that they've made in the past and the consequences of those choices. has experienced so much physical and identity change over their sixty odd years that they are unrecognizable to all but themselves.. but they keep watching themselves make the same goddamn mistakes every new place they wander. so sick of their own bullshit this time WILL be different even if they have to drag themselves screaming the whole way. (nobody said that change will be easy)

Thorn:

No, people don't change. Sooner or later they will revert to their true ways like a spring snaps back into shape, its always a matter of time till people snap. And why would she want to change anyway? Shes made something of herself in circumstances that would have made her mother weep, twice now and centuries apart.

♙

Murphy:

see above. VEry, and in the most frustrating way of everyone can change for the better except me though I'm the worst person alive. doubly hypocritical in that she believes that she is the worst :tm: while also subconsciously holding the biases that she is better than many others.. That little hole she started to shove the unpleasant feelings into long ago is now a yawning chasm that she is far too terrified to venture into.. but she must, as we all must. and she knows this, though thinking about her many issues with herself beyond 'awful person' is rightly terrifying, what if she is awful after all? (introspection is not Murphy's strong suit, her thoughts do not reflect her actions at all)

Tango:

They may be a prideful lying asshole, but at least they are consistent about it. If you started to flip some of their behavior on them they would probably notice your intent and relize wow that is super frustrating.. and then struggle to change. They are selfish in that they spent a majority of their life either alone or with people who would've turned on each other to make a quick cap.. looking out for themselves is one of the only reason they've lived that long. genuinely doesn't realize that they are rude sometimes.. hypocritical about tech and tinkering in that if they care enough about you they'll likely judge you for your handiwork while you repair or just fix it themselves for you while judging you.. absolutely refuses any form of help especially about their armour though. Very hypocritical about personal space, do NOT touch the armour!! but will stand right beside/ behind you, look over your head, and just lean over you if you're in the way, heck even just pick you up if its convenient, all of which would be less of an issue if they weren't armored 100% of the time.

Thorn:

VERY. but in a 'the rules don't apply to me' kinda way. flirts, lies and murders her way through life. Using her own behavior against her will absolutely land you on her list.. Changes the rules and mission parameters for her own gain, and is slowly building the institute into how she wants it to be with those she thinks is loyal succeeding and those she distrusts or wants gone failing under her 'rules'…

♝

Murphy:

Has been through so much grief, even pre-war, that she would rather be forgotten than inflict that on anyone she loves.. doesn't want to be remembered, out of fear that she will be remembered as a monster or cause pain with her memory.

Tango:

Death is the end and it sucks when someone is gone, but so what? bitch about it? (← hasn't processed the death of a close friend that they killed many years ago, an event that forever altered how Tango sees themselves and those around them, (the bad ending), though at the time Tango was too much of a stubborn skeptic to admit to themselves that they were friends and not just longtime business partners out of mutually beneficial circumstances, is still in denial even though they are starting to realize that friends are in fact a thing). Refuses to think about death long enough to form an opinion of the matter. fair, considering that they have already sort of died..

Thorn:

Oh she WILL be remembered one way or another of that she is sure. doesn't care whether people admire or despise her, but for now in the shadows shes slowly moving the pieces to her benefit and will reveal her hand when the time is right..

[allegra-writes]

"The Aftermath" Part III

Armand x Daniel Molloy

NSFW

Warnings: Rough sex, dirty talk, a tiny crumb of daddy kink. Idk, this turned out cleaner and more angsty than expected

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable character, and for legal reasons I won't be accepting tips for this story or any story set in Anne Rice's Immortal Universe. Thank you!

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Previously Next

“What the fu- GET OFF ME”

“I will not!” Armand had both of Daniel’s wrists gripped tightly, using the full weight of his body to pin Daniel’s to the floor, effectively trapping him, “If I have to physically restrain you to stop you from leaving me, so be it”

"You can't keep me here against my will!" Even as he said it, he wondered if, maybe, he could. Vampiric strength and all, he couldn't seem to make Armand budge. The more his maker pressed down on his wrists, the more Daniel understood just how much Armand had contained himself around him, the force he was using on Daniel would have shattered his bones to dust had he still been human.

"Then choose to stay!" Armand demanded, childlike and petulant, as if he truly couldn’t grasp why it had to be more complicated than that.

“It doesn’t work like that!”

“Then tell me how to make you want to stay! I’d do anything” He begged, and Daniel was able to hear the catch in his voice, feel the last thread of self-control Armand was desperately trying to hold onto. Daniel himself was feeling his own control slip. For all the power he could feel in his newly undead body, having the vampire -the other vampire, he was a fucking vampire too- so close, seeing the slow, faint pulse of blood pumping inside the bulging vein of his neck, was making him dizzy. Startled, Daniel realized he was hungry. “Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it. Anything you want me to say, I’ll say it”

Daniel shook his head in an attempt to clear it, to focus on what Armand was saying, but he took it as a refusal.

“You want me to apologize, for what little it would do? Fine, I will, even as it will not change anything. I am sorry. I am sorry for refusing to turn you when you asked me to, I am sorry for taking your memories of me and forcing you to live on. I am sorry for indulging Louis in his little schemes simply because the prospect of seeing you, of having you near again was too tempting to pass, I am sorry for not letting you die. I am sorry" Armand was practically screaming now, bloody tears streaming down his face, the mask of composure stripped away, "And the worst part is, I am not sorry at all. If I had the chance to turn back time, I would do it exactly the same, because I simply can't bear to even imagine a world where you don't exist anymore!"

Daniel cursed internally as he felt the words warm something up inside of him, melting his resolve, his righteous anger, away. Some forgotten, protective instinct inside himself, like a dormant agent that only Armand’s tears could activate. He had never been able to resist those tears, the bastard probably knew that. Even at his worst, at the height of his junky days and his mercurial, violent behavior, Daniel had always stopped short in his warpath of destruction to kiss those tears away. Armand, the puppet master, the play director, had to remember that.

Damned him. Damned the consummated actor, damn the manipulative bastard, damned the controlling freak. Damned his boyish face, so heart-rendering as it twisted in suffering. Damned his love. Damned the tears Daniel knew to be sincere.

“Damn you, Armand!” Daniel cursed, out loud this time, before crashing his mouth to his.

Damned himself. He had just damned himself, he could tell. There was no way an addict like him could get a taste of that and not become immediately hooked on it. The way Armand’s searing, silky lips felt against his own -hot with his blood- it was as if the link between their minds was there again, he could feel the kiss on his brain, the electric clarity of a thought, that's how pure it felt.

And then, Armand started kissing back, coaxing Daniel’s lips open with his own, his scorching, sultry tongue slipping inside his mouth, just a little bit, just enough for the tip to lick at the unbelievably sensitive interior surface of his upper lip, only to withdraw again, as Armand drew back, ending the kiss too soon, way too soon.

“Daniel,” There was concern in Armand’s voice, “you’re trembling”

“Feels good” Daniel mumbled. Understatement of the fucking century, but words were a little beyond his capacity at the moment. Something shifted in Armand’s eyes, the briefest spark of lust, pride, greediness, before settling on mischief.

“My firstborn… brand new and tender, a neonate” He whispered, almost in awe, before the mischievous look returned, “Everything must feel so different and overwhelming”

Daniel had no warning before Armand’s hand slid into his pants, making him cry out.

“Fuck, you’re evil!” There was probably a crack in the marble after Daniel threw his head back against it, but Armand didn’t mind, all of his attention on the newly fanged vampire as he closed his fingers around his length.

“And you, my beautiful boy, are mine” He whispered hot against Daniel’s neck, making shivers explode over his entire body, rippling and multiplying like the quiet waters of a fountain when a penny was dropped in it, “as you were always meant to be”

Before he could protest, say something inane and stupid that they both knew to be a lie, like how Daniel wasn’t his, the hand around his dick started moving, pumping slowly, the pressure carefully measured, barely there at all, but enough for Daniel to feel it, enough for speech to be an impossible feat for his mouth, busy as it was moaning.

“Do you like it, Daniel?” Armand’s devilish mouth was nipping at Daniel’s jaw, sucking at his earlobe, murmuring dirtily at his ear, “How even the smallest of frictions feels so intense on your cock? And that’s just my hand… imagine how my mouth would feel” He punctuated with a long, filthy lick at Daniel’s now hypersensitive neck, “How my cock would feel inside you… How yours would feel inside of me… I’ll never again feel cold to you, did you know that? Even if I don’t feed, you and I will be the same temperature. Can you imagine that? All that heat, all that exquisite pressure… we are so strong, Daniel, we have muscles humans don’t even realize they have, I could squeeze you just right, ride you until you came, and then just keep ridding you until you cried… You always did like it when I made you cry in bed, remember now, my Daniel?”

He did remember. Fuck, he remembered it all: The intricate patterns Armand would draw on his body with black ropes, tying him up tight and pretty just so he could spend hours torturing him, edging him with his hands and his tongue and his toys to the very brink of insanity, and then making him come over and over again until tears came to his eyes and he begged for mercy.

The devious vampire stopped the movement of his hand until Daniel opened his eyes to look at him in question, never once breaking eye contact as he licked his palm wet and sloppy, before wrapping the slick hand once again around Daniel’s cock, grip firmer this time, even as he kept the milking movements slow and measured.

“Do you want that, Daniel?” His personal devil asked, low and seductive, “Because I want it. I want to feel you inside me…”

Not fifteen minutes ago, Daniel had bragged about his self-control, the stoic discipline born out of a lifetime of self-denial, but there was only so much an ex-addict could take. It was one thing to wave a bottle of whiskey in the face of an alcoholic, it was a very different one to wet his lips with a few drops of Macallan 1926 and expect him to remain composed. And Armand was a fucking bottle of Isabella’s Islay. With a feral, animal snarl, he snapped, stunning Armand beyond reaction as he turned them around so he would be the one hovering over the older vampire. Daniel wasted no time with niceties, one hand holding Armand by the neck while the other frenziedly tore at shirts and pants and gloves until not a stitch of offending fabric was left to obscure the view of bronze skin and taut muscle. All the while, Armand smiled up at him beatifically, basking in Daniel’s fury, in the urgency and violence of his moves, parting his legs to make room for his crazed fledgling.

Daniel touched the pads of his index and middle finger to Armand’s plump bottom lip, slipping them inside the warm cavern of his mouth when he opened for him, pressing down on his tongue, letting him choke a little in his eagerness for sucking them, to taste them, to welcome any part of himself Daniel was willing to give into his body, whining as Daniel made to withdraw them before demanding,

“Bite”

He obeyed, eyes rolling back at the taste, but Daniel didn’t allow him to enjoy it for too long, quickly taking his fingers out of Armand’s mouth to briefly tease at his rim before shoving them inside, as deep as they would go, making his maker cry out.

There was little in the way of preparation, Daniel only managing to thrust and scissor his fingers inside Armand’s unholy, silky heat a couple of times before the demanding brat started begging,

“Now, Daniel, I want you now. I want to feel it, I want you to make it hurt!”

Daniel didn’t have to be told twice, letting go of Armand to lower his jeans and underwear just enough to free his dick and used his bloody hand to slick himself up before guiding his cock with Armand’s entrance and pushing in.

It was so immediately, devastatingly overwhelming that Daniel’s arms almost buckled, making him almost lose his balance. He managed to keep it together but barely, needing to hide his face in the crook of his maker’s neck to center himself again. Meanwhile Armand, as desperate and disheveled as Daniel had ever seen him, tried to wrap his legs around Daniel to push him down, to undulate his hips, anything to force more of Daniel inside himself, but one of Daniel’s strong hands splayed right below his navel was enough to pin him in place.

It was a power trip like no other. Of course they had switched before, inverting their usual roles of dominant and dominated, hardly anything could be found that they hadn’t tried in the heyday of their psychosexual games together. But it had always been make-believe, nothing but the flimsies illusion of control until Armand got impatient and flipped them over to ride Daniel as hard and as fast as he could without breaking his fragile human bones. Daniel had never held any real power over Armand… until now. Being able to keep his demonic lover in place with just one hand, forcing him to wait patiently, to take only what Daniel gave him, inch by agonizingly slow, unescapable inch, carving a place for himself inside this ancient, almost almighty monster that had haunted his dreams and nightmares for so long was exhilarating, to say the least.

By the time Daniel’s balls hit the supernaturally smooth skin of Armand’s buttcheeks, he was a sobbing, quivering mess under Daniel’s heavy, dead weight.

“Danny… Danny, please… I need… I need…”

“What do you need, baby? Tell Daddy what you need…” Daniel murmured, tone not-quite mocking. Armand whimpered, hands shaking as he clutched at Daniel’s wool-clad biceps, his shoulders, his hair, anywhere he could reach. Daniel kissed his blood-sweat damp curls, soothing.

“Don’t worry, baby, daddy’s gonna fuck you just the way you need it” Daniel rocked his hips a couple of times testing the give of Armand’s hole, splayed so snug around his cock, as much as his own resistance. He was acutely aware of every single one of his senses as they fired stimulus after stimulus at the speed of light. The only thing he could compare to how everything felt was that party down in Brooklyn so many years ago where he had tripped on LSD and ended up getting pounded within an inch of his life on the rooftop under a maroon sky. Both experiences had Armand at the center as his Polaris, the bright north star guiding him home, making sure he didn’t get lost in the whirlwind of sensation.

Proud of himself and sure he would not shoot his load as soon as he moved, Daniel pulled out. Not a couple of inches, not until just the tip remained inside, he pulled all the way out, just so he could slam right back in, muffling Armand’s cry with his kiss. Finding his purchase on Armand’s thick, athletic thigh, he hoisted it higher around his waist to deepen the angle of penetration and laid it in, setting a punishing, merciless rhythm that had Armand clawing at the back of his sweater, ripping the fabric to shreds.

“Daniel… My Daniel!”

“Yes, say my name baby… wanna hear you scream it… Fuck! You feel so fucking good…” Daniel almost asked, would have if he had found the words to do it, if it would always feel like that, every nerve on his body aflame, all of his newfound, insurmountable brainpower focused on one single point, the place his body sank into Armand’s over and over again. He could feel himself becoming this wild creature, this tameless animal with no higher reasoning, no other purpose but to have and take and possess the being under him, vampire instinct screaming at him, the voice of a revenant inside his own skull, telling him to mark his maker as his, to complete the ritual, to finish what Armand had started half a century before. Daniel felt his fangs descend, the drag of the dry bone almost sensual against his gums.

“Yes! My beloved, my fledgling, my Daniel… do it!” Armand clamored for it, exposing the enticing, endless curve of his neck, a lure impossible to resist. Daniel bit down.

Love. Cherishing, worshipful, all-encompassing love hit Daniel like a train as soon as Armand’s blood touched his tongue. He knew what it felt like, to have Armand inside his head, but that had never been a two-way street, even as the vampire had been more forthcoming inside the privacy of Daniel’s mind, his secrets had never been laid bare in front of Daniel like that.

Can you taste it, Daniel? Do you feel the sweet caress of the blood as it floods your insides? That searing, luxuriant gush of warmth as it flows incandescent from my veins to yours? I promise you, is just as orgasmic every time. There is nothing more intimate than holding a life between your arms and drink it up, no greater pleasure to our kind. Is it always going to be like this, you ask? Well, lover mine, my precious newborn, blood of my blood, sin of my sin, it won’t. In this big, wide earth, in this savage garden, no blood will ever taste as sweet, nothing will ever feel as good to you as I do. I am your maker, Daniel, nothing will ever satisfy you as I will.

A part of Daniel wanted to rebel, to protest, to push Armand away but it was useless. After all, he doubted any of his theatrics would be convincing, not after he came so hard at Armand’s words he could feel it overflowing his maker’s slight frame, leaking down his shaft, dripping on his balls. He parted from Armand’s neck, throwing his head back, overwhelmed by his very first swoon. And Armand, ruthless monster that he was, took advantage of his momentary helplessness to flip them over, straddling Daniel’s thighs so he could not escape.

“You did not think I was done with you so soon, did you, beloved?” He asked, the very image of depravity as he lazily stroked his leaking cock.

No. Daniel didn’t even dream of it…

To be continued...

[calvatier]

Lues!!! The evil bastard, but he's not the kind of evil that's unnecessary and over the top/"GRRRR I'll kill you because I feel like it"

also I think it's cute he's got his little makeup on, I bet he wakes up every morning and applies a fresh layer then smudges it out

Ramble:

he's more of a "girl wtf did you say to me, disrespect me one more time and you're gonna be sacrificed" aka he loves asserting his power and making examples out of it. He's more mental manipulation than hands on murder,,,like yes he will pretend to care for you so you get charmed into trusting him. This is in his cult setting where he has many followers and all that power.

I don't think Lues would be impulsive and fast with his schemes, he likes to drag things out and play the waiting game. He'll plant a little idea in your head and wait for you to make the decision that he knows you'll make. Aka he's a lil smartypants, he knows how to take advantage of people's ideas of him and his already established influence 😭 and this man can plan VERY far ahead, much like his master. His lessons as a follower of Zofagos have literally equipped him perfectly for this

now I think abt what situations he would genuinely get his hands bloody for,,,he's THE man of magic so why wouldn't he use his potent magic as a display of power ,,,but I dont think he'd kill his followers just to prove a point they already know,,,maybe towards those who commit treachery towards him but he would never kill his followers for no reason.

But also he does do ritualistic sacrifices to Zofagos using followers because above all things, Lues cares most about what Zofagos thinks of him the most. He will do ANYTHING to please his god, and I mean ANYTHHHINNNGG,,, he'll kill thousands of followers (he has done it bfr) if Zofagos asks him to,,Lues wants to gain the favour of his god so badly because he craves power so much, he knows he cant go against the literal god of dominion so he sucks up to Zofagos hoping that he gets a chance to even stand beside him when the time comes that zofagos rules over everyone (hypothetically)

[astarab1aze]

➥ Bastard Fox

⸻Technical Information. // Face, Voice, etc.

01. Faceclaim. Tatsuomi   [ Gokurakugai ]  &  Gilgamesh   [ Fate Series ] 04. Voice Claim. Zeno Robinson

⸻Profile Information. // Name, Age, etc.

01. Name. Loux Garo  02. Alias. Lulu, Firefox ( because it’s funny )   [ Flametongue ] 03. Sex. Male 04. Gender. Male 05. Age. 27-28  06. Birth Date. June 1st   [ Gemini ] 07. Blood Type. Sub-type SO+ 08. Race. Shapeshifter, American by nationality ; French-Japanese by ethnicity. 09. Marital Status. Single   [ Multiship ] 10. Orientation. Bisexual   [ Demiromantic / no preference ] 11. Residence. Formerly The Packhouse in Salem’s Crossing, Miami, FL ; Currently nomadic.

⸻Physical Information. // Body, Equipment, Family, etc.

17. Physical Description. Loux has a mop of disheveled blond hair that was once a darker shade, having lightened in the latter half of his youth. Though a bit messy and somewhat course, it’s softer than it seems. His eyes, hidden by blond, are stormy gray and unwaveringly calculating, seeing much but disclosing little. He’s of average height, standing at an even 5'10", and boasts a toned, lean build. Golden skin tone. He can usually be seen wearing some form of traditional Chinese, French, or Japanese clothing in a plain black & white color scheme. He also has a few piercings: Gauged lobes, fitted with weights, tongue piercing, and two on his weiner. He is also completely covered in scars from the chest down, caused by a nasty and very unfair fight between himself and 6 strangers at The Packhouse.  

13. Equipment. On his person, he keeps the following: His leatherbound grimoire, the Limitless Chest, a travelling mirror, his enchanted athame Brie, and a pack of assorted Franken-Leeches. 14. Occupation. Loux is a metphysical merchant, peddling stolen, contraband, and handmade magical items to fund his search for the sanguine star alongside Sortia & Vayn. 15. Job Performance. Untrustworthy, but whatcha got to lose? 16. Parents. Lionell Garo & Chihana Shikawa - tragically killed in the line of duty, assigned the infamous Bloody Mary Case as sorciers involving the horrific and long-lasting torture of a young pregnant woman; They were eaten alive by a Blackwyrm. 17. Siblings. Leonie (31F) & Lucienne (33F) - still living in Salem’s Crossing.

⸻Personality Information. // Likes, Strengths, etc.

18. Likes. Flirting, partying, stealing, messing with people, haggling, fruity beverages, napping, Cookies & Screams, selling brachio to dumb parents, talking shit, dancing, high art, ignoring Vayne, scarbuncle cheese, etc. 19. Dislikes. The idea of commitment, neediness, authority, humans, most other shapeshifters, anything related to the DRS, dimensional travel, bitter things, self-righteous types, Cottonmouth Cakes, having his music interrupted, etc.

20. Positive Traits. Dutiful. Helpful. Thoughtful. Protective. Straightforward. Playful. Patient. Affectionate. Sweet. Charming. Thorough. Fun. Ambitious. Decent bedside manner. A hero when you need him to be. Firm. Persistent. 21. Negative Traits. Distrustful. Freely cuts off communication with anyone. Selfish. Arrogant. Noncommittal. Emotionally guarded. Manipulative. Lazy. Cruel. Merciless. Reckless. Too ambitious. Impulsive. Murderous. The opposite of law-abiding. Obsessive. 22. Goals. What he wants most is more naive than either Vayn or Sortia : To bring his parents back to life using the starcutter - necromancy won’t suffice. 23. Desires. Comfort, shelter, protection, and recognition. Understanding. For jumbled thoughts and pain to be forgiven, for grief to be eased and put to rest. 24. Alignment. Chaotic Neutral

25. Personality. Loux is a scummy guy with a heart of gold buried deep underneath all the muck. He remembers and cherishes key details of the people that come in and out of his life, ever present in the moment. He cares a great deal for others than himself, but is lazy and noncommittal enough to justify doing merely the bare minimum and little more to help them - call it a halfbaked defense mechanism. He wears a crooked smile and some cheek to soften his every blow, guarding his truth closely and even using it as a point of manipulation to get what he wants. Misery loves company, so why not have a little fun with it? He likes fun more than angst, always and ever seeking out parties, alcohol, drugs, sex, the whole nine yards to drown it out, find even a hint of joy. He’s measured and calculating despite appearances, observant, and can generally read people fairly well. He’s flexible and accepting of most things, loose and perhaps overly friendly, tending to ‘go with the flow’. Any percieved sleights against him are met with exacting retribution, be it by force, magic, or otherwise, calm and collected. He generally decides how he’ll deal with a person from beginning to end early on. 

⸻Sorcery Information. // Element, Talent, etc.

26. Element. Fire - creation root and masterful manipulation. 27. Shapeshifting. Innate fox-shifter - natural-born shapeshifters will transform into the same species as their parents, but are capable of taking multiple forms depending on skill level. 28. Utility. Alchemy, curses, hexes, and wards - masterful. 29. Specialization. Multishifting - capable of transforming into a vast myriad of animals, objects, and people. 30. Graduate School. Merauda Barnum’s Home for Gifted and Troubled Boys - think of it as a magical Catholic school for impoverished foster children with a big helping of corruption a la the DRS. 31. Classification. Highly Dangerous - Marked for the Triangulary for arson, illegal use of magic, illegal shapeshifting in front of humans, fraud, grand theft, manslaughter, public indecency, assaulting a sorcier, the illegal cultivation and distribution of brachio & blackwyrms, among many others..

⸻Background Information. // Past to Present.

Loux was born in Miami, FL to respected sorciers employed by the Department of Regulatory Sorceries (USDRS) - the youngest of three. He was very young when they were killed and eaten by blackwyrms, having precious few memories of them, and so was simultaneously the least and most affected by their deaths. Spending most of his youth in and out of the foster care system, group homes, couch surfing, the like, he fell in with the wrong crowds, delving deeper and deeper into the uncomfortable underbelly of supernatural society. A boy would see suffering that was simply just so, blind eyes turned from the dying, overdoses, murders, innocents caught at the wrong place and wrong time, torture, betrayal, theft, and more - and embrace them.

   The truth is, he cannot cope without a family. He always knew what he needed most, how unattainable it truly was, but when rumors of a fallen starcutter began to circulate among the dregs, he pulled himself up by his bootstraps and got to work, siezing his opportunity. Guidance, acceptance, forgiveness may all be things he can only give himself, but he can right some wrongs and put everything back where it was, undo a lifetime of bullshit. Over the course of roughly eight years, Loux had carved a wide space for himself in Salem’s Crossing - enough room to flex, throw his weight around; mastering quite the handful of sorceries and keeping his word took him far. This opened up many different avenues for him and he has a guy for anything, any time, though he has stuck more closely with information brokers. Over this eight year period, he’s made little progress on his quest.

   However, two years prior to today, Loux met Sortia through a broker,  right place right time. They were both looking for the starcutter, and over numerous lengthy chats on a private balcony at Strychnine, they came to an agreement, an understanding - they would help each other get to the starcutter, but may the best mage claim its boon. It wasn’t long after this, during a particularly dark round of dueling, that their newfound synergy would be tested, hearing some whiny vampire cry and squeal in his attempt to back out of a fight. They interjected, naturally, both a bit nosy, and…discovered the vampire had more than enough reason to whine and cry. With a handful of Deadeye’s crew down for the count, Loux robbed them all blind and the trio took off.

   Currently, the three are travelling the world together in search of the starcutter. Ladida, been together ever since, besties for resties. The end. 

[eclipsecrowned]

AND NOW FOR SOMEONE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT...

JOANNA LANNISTER. (tw for stalking, assault, incest, death)

personals dni.

Backstory: The eldest daughter of Ser Jason Lannister, Joanna was born into the wealth and privilege that other noblewomen could only dream of. Being the granddaughter of one Lord Paramount, niece to his successor, and in time bride to the most recent to hold the title, Joanna's name has long been worth its weight in gold. Despite her father being an unlanded knight, his name and her ambition carried her far.

Such machinations and good breeding brought her to the Red Keep, to dwell with Queen Rhaella as companion. There, she would serve alongside the Princess of Dorne, and met the two men that would gall her the most, the men by whom her life would be defined. The first of these was King Aerys himself, who coveted Joanna and pursued her with the bloody-minded focus of a hound set on a deer. The second was a cousin of Joanna's, Tywin Lannister, who became some other man when in her company.

Joanna eventually married Tywin, despite meddling on the part of Aerys. Afterwards, she departed the royal court and took up her role as the future Lady of Casterly Rock. Despite being the wife of a member of the Royal Council, Joanna kept her distance, seemingly contented with life at the Rock.She gave her husband twin children, Cersei and Jaime, the year before he ascended to become Lord in his own right. At some point, she caught her eldest children in a troubling situation and forcibly separated the two.

Joanna would die almost thirty years prior to canon events. The birth of her third child, Tyrion, proved too great a burden on her body. She is never seen properly in canon, save in a brief dream her eldest son has. However, she is mentioned infrequently by her husband, children, and other relatives, as well as the few surviving members of the last Targaryen court. In standard Martin fashion, her backstory and character are not wholly fleshed out, but her absence clearly has impact on what those who survived her became.

My Fanon:

Going to come out and set this one straight outright: I hate most secret Targ theories that are not written on the wall (Jon Snow, Aurane Waters, etc.) While I am content to let larger fandom/my followers debate among themselves if any of the core Lannisters are secret Aerys bastards, it's a narrative I'm not interested in pursuing via my Joanna. She has so little story or agency as is, and I disdain giving the former to her via her being assaulted by the husband of a close friend. All her children are Tywin's, and Aerys never got as far as he wanted. Please note, however, that this is not me saying that Aerys never hurt Joanna. Abuse can be so much more than physical.

My own take on the whole 'bedding' situation and Joanna being sent away after is actually very important to how I portray her, and it plays out thusly: Aerys got too handsy, Rhaella was made aware of that and realized that his obsession was escalating, she sent away one of her few remaining friends to spare Joanna what we the audience know Aerys to be capable of. However, in the rush of Tywin and Rhaella conspiring to send Joanna to the safety of the Rock, no one filled Joanna in on Rhaella's intentions. She believes she was punished by someone she trusted for Aerys' actions against her, and ends up with a simmering hatred for the Targaryen dynasty as a result.

The last interpretation of fanon events I will touch on is that my Joanna doesn't really mesh with popular fandom perception of her. She's not the sainted Token Good Lannister who could have saved her husband and children and thus the realm if she had only survived. She was harder in nature than that, and a coolly calculating expert manipulator, and either approved of or tacitly accepted Tywin's worst traits. That does not, however, mean that she falls to the other side of fandom that presents her as a poisonous scheming bitch in the same vein as her kin. There's a true thread of kindness in her, especially for victimized women and outcasts, she's a learned woman who eschews several in-universe prejudices, and she is quick to defend those who earn her loyalty at any cost. My Joanna is a deeply complicated woman with both vices and virtues.

Rohanne Webber was renowned for her red hair, and I headcanon the Presters are likewise ginger. By these power combined... My Joanna is only barely strawberry blonde, leaning heavily towards copper-colored locks than true Lannister gold. She's quite pale like most real world European redheads, too, which means that she freckles easily. And yes, she hates that. So much.

All three of her children get some aspect of her personality. Cersei gets that permissive, doting idea of motherhood from her mother, even if she might not fully remember it -- Joanna might not have always understood the twins, but they always got what they wanted from her within reason. Tyrion has her voracious appetite for knowledge and the written word, though she favored myths and poetry over his love for history. Jaime, unfortunately, got the coping mechanisms: You go away inside yourself. Whatever they make of your body, they cannot take your mind, so you seal yourself behind it like a locked door. This is not to say she's a carbon copy of any of them, just that maybe some things do come to nature over nurture.

In the afterlife, Joanna is raging against her entire family. Her husband's monstrosity towards other women after all she went through with Aerys. The twins for having done such a horrid, unforgivable thing with the bond they were given. The son she never knew choosing the path of least resistance over becoming something more than what he has endured. She does not smile upon any of these people. She has regrets.

A study in: Parents as People / Born in the Wrong Century / A half-painted portrait / Never speak ill of the dead / Female ambition / "Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy." / Tears are a woman's weapon / The courts of women / "For hands of gold are always cold but a woman's hands are warm." / A secret history / The things we leave behind / Regicide / "Women have minds and souls as well as just hearts, and they’ve got ambition and talent as well as just beauty. And I’m sick of people saying that love is all a woman is fit for."

Verses/AUs:

Mainverse: Follows Joanna through her arrival in Kings Landing through her eventual demise. Canon-compliant save for the touches necessary for my interpretation of certain events canon treats as ambiguous. Beginning with Joanna's arrival as a maiden to serve Queen Rhaella and following her through adulthood, marriage, and motherhood. Potential triggering content abounds, at least where Aerys is concerned.

Survival: Follows Joanna through pre-AGOT events up to the most recent canon. Joanna survives the birth of Tyrion, though weakened and unable to have any more children. While this generally improves Tyrion's odds as a Lannister give his mother is in his corner, the rest of canon is a question mark to be defined by my partners and I in terms of divergences. Potential triggering content in any setting where Cersei and Jaime still follow through on whatever happened to make them like that.

A Lionesses Survival: Follows Joanna in a wholly fleshed out survival AU. Beginning shortly after her canonical time of death and ending some decades past the current 300 year of canon. Joanna being alive does not magically fix the timeline, but she and Tywin conspiring against Aerys and Rhaella and Joanna making amends does completely upend pretty much every event in book canon. Comes with extensive lore that I'm happy to flesh out to interested parties.

Plot bunnies/Calls to Adventure:

For older muses: Your character knew Joanna from her time in court, both the victories and the insults. Whether we play out their time together as courtiers under the Targaryens or pick up with your muse reaching out to the now Lady of the Rock after her tenure at court came to an end, there's ample opportunity to flesh out a dynamic and see where it went/goes.

For younger muses: Your character has some tie to Joanna's children, whether as friends, rivals, or lovers. Joanna, for her part, is going to dissect your muse verbally to see if they are worthy of the time and effort her child puts into this relationship. You want to have some part in the story of one of her kids? You go through Joanna first. Generally based in survival AUs.

For Lannister muses: Wife, mom, cousin, sister, Joanna is many things to the various Lannisters we meet. Give me any opportunity, canon-compliant or AU, to flesh out these dynamics. Let's give her some depth beyond 'everyone apparently liked her and she pegged Tywin.'

For Lannister loyal muses: Tywin might be ruled at home by his lady wife, but that lady wife also rules while her husband is away from home. Your muse needs something of their Lord, and Joanna is the one that handles negotiations. Your muse must win fair lady's favor in order to pursue their own aim, as nothing moves within the Rock without her knowledge and approval.

For 'Targs Negative' muses: The only good Targaryen king is a dead Targaryen king. Aerys is a brute and monster, who landed solidly on the madness side of the coin. Towards the end of her life and into her survival AUs, Joanna was conspiring to bring him down and instate his son as king with her husband as Hand and Regent. Join her whisper war rebellion in its early stages and see what can be done before Aerys goes too far into his madness.

Notes on this character:

I think I covered pretty much all my heavy canon/fandom divergences under the fanon panel of his post? But yeah, Joanna and Aerys never went all the way, all her kids are Tywin's, she's not some sainted innocent too good for this sinful earth idealized woman nor is she the totally stripped of character to be a strawman bitch that anti-Lannister readers want the family to be.

Given my own trigger, I'm liable to be very selective in the Tywins I write with. My main is written by my best friend Axem, who I trust and who understands and respects my boundaries. Not that I think other writers would do otherwise, just that I feel more comfortable at the outset with them compared to a stranger.

Definitely open to shipping her elsewhere than Tywin. Love me some AU potential. My one hard line is no, I'm not shipping her with Aerys. In any capacity. Even in AU. Feels synthetic feels bad on my brain.

[billiejean485]

... Did he -

Did he JUST D:<

[hp-mcd-fest]

💀Day 13 💀

Title: chamber of my bloody mind Author: @girl-with-goats Characters/pairing: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle Rating: E Word count/length: 9170 Warnings: MCD, Suicide, Blood, Psychological Torture, Psychological Game, Drowning, Toxic Relationship, Tom is a Manipulative Bastard Summary: Voldemort won the war. Harry Potter is held captive as one of Voldemort’s most valuable prisoners—he remains the last Horcrux, the key to the Dark Lord’s immortality. The prison he’s trapped in, isn’t, by any means, an ordinary one: it’s both a physical and a mental box. So, how does one escape such an intricate trap? Why—simply by dying. Chapters: 1 – Prompt: 128 - Voldemort wins AU, where Harry is the last horcrux and kept alive for that reason. At first Harry wants to survive, but eventually, after much desperate scheming to manage it, kills himself both because he can’t handle the world he lives in anymore and to make Voldemort mortal again.

[walltowallfandoms]

For Slasher 🔪🔪 (@babes-week Day 7), I'm gonna give you an AU scenario.

Musicalverse.

Lydia is more bitter, more angry at her father. She lets Beetlejuice talk her into saying his name.

As he ponders wicked, violent revenge scheme after revenge scheme... Lydia starts to find the idea of torturing—even killing—her father more and more appealing.

He forgot his wife, her mother! He abruptly moved her to a new house! He won't pay attention to her grief! He jumped onto Delia while his wife's corpse was still fresh!

That bastard must pay for the strife he's caused his poor daughter.

So, she and BJ work out a deliciously horrible little plan, to kill Charles. Lydia can barely wait, she's salivating at thought of her rat bastard father finally meeting his fate—and once he's in the netherworld, he can apologize to poor Emily for slutting it up before she was even in the ground. Beg his wife's forgiveness for the utter disrespect he showed her dead body.

The plan goes off without a hitch. Charles is terrified. Then dead.

Amidst the celebration of a successful plan, she remembers that Delia is still alive. The bitch her father had probably cheated on his ailing wife with. That little skank.

She has to go, too. And she does. She can postrate herself to Emily, too.

Lydia is more than pleased that the people who once made her life hell are now gone.

But her bloodlust, now fully awakened by an opportunistic and manipulative demon, still isn't sated.

When Charles' and Delia's friends come over to investigate, she just can't resist killing them too.

First goes Otho. Then Maxine. Then Max. One by one, the last human ties to her parents are gone. And Lydia now has the house to herself.

And BJ.

(The Maitlands had long since crossed over, unable to bear the sight of watching a teenage girl commit murder after murder with an unhinged demon).

Lydia and BJ celebrate their bloody victory by having sex, until Lydia is exhausted. In between rounds, they kill whoever is unlucky enough to ring the doorbell. Delivery man, pizza guy, census taker, a neighbour & her daughter, a medically fragile girl scout. All dead within days.

Lydia's never had so much fun in her life. But she's still not satisfied.

Neither is BJ.

He tells her that if she marries him, he can stay in the mortal world and cause even more havoc and death.

Lydia is delighted to hear this, and so, they marry.

Beetlejuice becomes an even more powerful demon, and he wastes no time in taking his new wife on a honeymoon—tracking down her old school bullies, and picking them off one by one.

Never has the other felt so much excitement and joy. And Beetlejuice has promised to turn Lydia into a demon once she dies, so they can continue their massacres forever.

Lydia is happy to have such a wonderful husband.

[samclownchester]

Supernatural Rewatch 04x08

Wishful Thinking

(Next Episode | Masterlist | Previous Episode)

This entire episode is centered around the idea of wishes that go bad. I find it interesting because the brothers have this conversation where they argue that you aren’t supposed to get what you wish for:

DEAN You're not supposed to get what you want, man, not like this. Nobody is. … We are miserable. We never get what we want. In fact, we have to fight tooth and nail just to keep whatever it is we got. SAM But you know what? Maybe that's the whole point, Wes. DEAN Yeah, people are people 'cause they're miserable bastards, 'cause they never get what they really want. SAM Right, yeah, you get what you want, you get crazy.

Which I’m not sure what to make of in the grander scheme of the show, because sure, neither brother has ever really had the life they wanted, but at the same time they both make some pretty intense wishes come true (ie. I want my brother to not be dead.). I guess if I were to draw a conclusion about this I would say that the point is there is always a price. Sure, Dean got Sam back but he paid for it dearly. And now Sam is on his way to fulfilling his own wish, but that’s going to cost him too.

That brings us to an interesting fact about Sam that we learn in this episode: He doesn’t want a normal life anymore.

DEAN Come on, if you could wish yourself back, you know, before it all started... Think about it. You'd be some big yuppie lawyer with a nice car and a white picket fence. SAM Not what I'd wish for. DEAN Seriously? SAM It's too late to go back to our old lives, Dean. I'm not that guy anymore. DEAN All right, well, what, then? Hmm? What would Sammy wish for? SAM Lilith's head on a plate. Bloody.

Am I the only one getting Age of Ultron era Steve Rogers vibes?? (Funny how for both of them this attitude didn’t seem to stick.)

Dean reacts to this with a little bit of unease, because, just like in 4x04, he wants Sam to be his nerdy little brother. But that’s not who Sam is, or honestly ever really was. I think he never really disliked hunting (as we saw in the first couple of episodes, he’s a natural at it and falls back into it very easily). I think he wanted to get away because he hated being controlled, hated feeling like he couldn’t make his own choices. (Now, of course he’s being manipulated by Ruby but --) he at least feels like he’s made his own decision to hunt down Lilith. Just like in Season 1, he’s focused on an end goal, and just like in season 1, he’s not interested in going back to normal life, at least until that end goal is achieved.

Dean’s arc this episode is centered around finally telling Sam that he remembers Hell. We have a couple conversations between them that remind me of 2x02 and 2x04, when Sam was trying to get Dean to open up about John’s death. For example:

SAM The nightmares, the drinking. I'm with you 24/7. I know something's going on. DEAN Sam, please. SAM Uriel wasn't lying, but you are. You remember Hell, don't you? DEAN What do you want from me, huh? What? SAM The truth, Dean. I mean, I'm your brother. I, I just wish you'd talk to me.

Just further solidifying their roles, with Sam trying to be Dean’s emotional caretaker (all the while avoiding dealing with his own emotions.)

But when Dean finally admits that he does remember Hell, he refuses to go into detail saying:

DEAN How? Do you really think that a little heart-to-heart, some sharing and caring, is gonna change anything? Hmm? Somehow... heal me? I'm not talking about a bad day here….The things that I saw... there aren't words. There is no forgetting. There's no making it better. Because it is right here... [taps his head] forever. You wouldn't understand. And I could never make you understand. So I am sorry.

Which, sounds very similar to what Sam said in 4x04

SAM There's nothing more to say. I can't keep explaining myself to you. I can't make you understand…. Because this thing, this blood, it's not in you the way it's in me. It's just something I got to deal with.

Once again, clearly splitting them apart. They both have these dark and troubling experiences that they feel make them unworthy and broken. They feel isolated from everyone but especially from each other.

[ketsuekki]

THE BLOODY WRAITH: JAPAN’S S-RATE BLIGHT!

PROFILE.

NAME: Keumi, Minami // 毛海美波. ALIASES: The Bloody Wraith (alt: The Bloody Onryō, The Bloody Goryō), Leech Bitch. AGE: 25 (as of chapter 296) D.O.B: 22nd of May. BLOOD TYPE: AB negative. GENDER: Cis female. SEXUALITY: Closeted bisexual, heavy preference for women. NOTABLE CONDITIONS: Antisocial Personality Disorder, Sexual Sadism Disorder, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, anemia (occasional, result of quirk overuse), dyslexia. APPEARANCE: Pallid skin tone. Thick, wavy and short green hair that reaches just past her shoulders. Green eyes with prominent dark circles beneath them. Abnormally sharp canines and two pairs of fangs; one pair beside her canines and one pair below them. Large (large!) breasts with a thin and lithe build. Little muscle. Arms and legs covered in self-harm scars. Has a thin, raised scar across her throat. 187cm tall and weighs 65kg. ETHNICITY: ½ Russian, ½ Japanese. NATIONALITY: Russian (formerly), Japanese. OCCUPATION: freelance photographer, yakuza head, terrorist. AFFILIATIONS: All For One, The League of Villains, Ketsueki-kai.

QUIRK.

Minami’s quirk is “Blood Pump”!! It is an Emitter-type power that has run in the Inoue clan’s ruling branch for over two hundred years, and allows the user to produce and control their own blood. Things such as volume, power and shape can all be changed to the user’s will --- but although the blood can be manipulated into various forms, movements or even pressurised streams, it should be noted they are unable to actually solidify it beyond the consistency of an average clot. 

This quirk uses the holder’s vitality as “fuel” to make and exert control over their blood and is extremely draining; its use must be efficient and tactical to prevent extreme exhaustion or, in some cases, death. Minami can use Blood Pump at her maximum output for roughly twelve minutes before falling into unconsciousness. The blood can not be controlled from more than ten metres away if it isn’t in contact with the user’s body. 

Unless it is being actively suppressed with a nullification quirk or the bearer has run out of stamina, this quirk can be used for the survival of otherwise fatal injuries by compensating for blood loss and, if there’s the skill for it, even ‘manually’ running one’s own circulatory system until proper treatment arrives.

Minami’s unique iteration of this quirk is the result of her parents’ powers combining, allowing others to receive a temporary powerup via consumption; since her blood is saturated with her life force, others can become energized and have their own quirk factors boosted from consuming it. The other quality she inherited from her father’s ability --- Ambrosia --- makes her blood adjust itself to be registered as delicious no matter the person tasting (or smelling) it. It has the potential to be addictive.

BIOGRAPHY.

Minami was born in the slums of Moscow alongside her identical twin Kiseki; their parents were Keumi Rui and Keumi Hanako (nee Inoue). Her childhood was a grim one; her ‘normal’ being outright neglect, left to fend herself and her older sister with zero care from their parents for as long as she could remember --- and, to be honest, she preferred to be her own carer when the alternative was her parent’s abusive teachings. The slightest mistake was punished with the most severe beating in their dingy little excuse of a home, a routine that would leave Minami distorted beyond salvaging for the rest of her life.

The girls had been instructed to hide their quirk the moment it awakened (three years old for Minami, seven for Kiseki). Their mother had run away from her family to elope with her husband, and their quirk was one that would give them away faster than hanging up a banner across their apartment building declaring their identities. The twins complied; Minami simply didn’t dare to disobey her parents, no matter how irrational their orders were, while Kiseki found a twisted satisfaction in the attention that came with being an outlier in a superpower dominated society. But, for all their filial piety, they were still human, and humans make mistakes.

While Minami was as violent as a child could come, she could only get so far with her body --- weak, frail and sickly --- before she began to desire to unleash her quirk to give way to even more absolute victories. Her blood practically boiled beneath her skin in every fight, and the innate desire to bleed grew and grew until she just couldn’t resist slicing herself open any longer. From age seven, she began training her quirk for combat in secret, practicing in alleyways and on drunks and vagabonds. Kiseki declined her offers to spar together, deeming it ‘not worth making her clothes dirty’. In the classroom, she was an absolute terror to both her teachers and her classmates, slowly but surely becoming a queen of bullies as she tormented anyone who slighted (which was any easy thing to achieve, considering a budding sociopath’s definition of ‘insult’ would bend over backwards to somehow place the blame on you) her and Kiseki. 

At age fifteen, Minami used her quirk on another student in her sister’s defence. Word spread of her quirk amongst the community, and she was forced to announce it officially on the quirk register… A register that was quickly brought to the attention of people who had been searching for any listing of a blood-based ability for years. They were rather rare, even now, after all. 

It didn’t take long for the Inoue, a yakuza clan in borderline retirement, to collect their lost daughters. It came as a shock to the twins, who had never once been informed of any family outside their little group of four. Minami and Kiseki were told their parents were forgiven for eloping, that they themselves were to return to Japan and take their proper place as members of the ruling branch. Their parents would remain in Russia as a reward, since they had gone to such lengths to escape there. Predictably, that was a lie: Hanako and Rui were killed before the twins’ plane left the ground.

Kiseki was soon bought by a rising Pro Hero for a quirk marriage. For the family, it was a perfect match; the pro wanted to build a lineage that would aid his prestige, and the Inoue wished to go legitimate, something having connections to a powerful, popular hero would aid... It didn’t go as planned. Refusing to succumb to the fate her own mother escaped, Kiseki rebelled against the arrangement as much as possible, acting out and threatening to tell the media all about the lucky hero’s teenage-purchasing, eugenicist schemes, displeasing her fiancée and her now face saving grandparents. Unchanged from their foregone glory days, the Inoue honour killed the elder twin for ‘disgracing the clan’. Minami was not told of this occurrence, seeing her touch trigger emotional stability but, after becoming suspicious of the sudden radio silence from her beloved sibling, she tortured her cousin into revealing the truth about both her sister and her parents. 

Predictably, Minami murdered the other members of the ruling family in a fit of rage, leaving herself the sole heir to the Inoue at only sixteen. She came to regret being blinded by red almost immediately --- seeing as she failed to get the name of the hero who had helped kill Kiseki before they all kicked the big one. For as much as she now hated them, Minami had to admit they were good, too good, at what they did. She didn’t have the faintest idea on how to track down Kiseki’s fiancée, and the lower branches of the Inoue, her adorable extended family, couldn’t make a dent in her grandparent’s cover ups either. So: Minami did the only logical thing she could think of --- she bribed the erasure of all records of her family’s quirks, anticipating future police investigations, and then proceeded to curb stomp her way through every single hero she could get her hands on, revealing her face to them just before they died to judge their reactions. If they were Kiseki’s fiancée, even the most twisted pro would flinch or… Or something, upon seeing the face of someone they killed, right..?

Her strategy was no better than trying to find a needle in a haystack, and she knew it… But she couldn’t just leave Kiseki’s vengeance unfulfilled. That was simply the kind of person she was; someone who wished to make the people she loved happy, no matter the cost. For the people who were kind to someone as burdensome, as terrible as her… She would show her love by dedicating her everything to them. Even if they were dead, even if it wouldn’t change what happened, Minami would make all those who hurt them pay for it.

At age eighteen, she was approached by a man called All For One (‘what kind of fucking weirdo has three words as a name?’). He claimed to have heard of her troubles through her cousins, and wished to help. Without asking for anything in exchange, he dug up the identity of Kiseki’s fiancée and watched as Minami finally fulfilled her life’s purpose --- and then swiftly swooped in to give her to give her a new role to play as soon as the euphoria faded and the realisation she was once again worthless began to settle in. Grateful and desperate to be used, All For One replaced Kiseki as the holder of her heart. Minami became his servant, first and foremost.

After graduation from high school, she began work as a freelance photographer for the fun of it (and to maintain a civilian persona, she would cry to her amused cousins), grew the Ketsueki-kai’s criminal activities for no reason other than to spite the ghosts of the former ruling family, and brought about whatever bloodshed All For One wished for. Of course, Minami never quite lost her taste for hero killing, and continued to destroy any hero, celebrity, politician or even villain that happened to irritate her. Some bastards needed a good humbling every now and then, right? Wouldn’t want those egos of theirs to kill them before she did! Anyone who posed an obstacle to the Ketsueki-kai met the same fate.

Minami is known to murder a target’s entire household before the target themselves. She won’t refrain from killing witnesses, either --- unless All For One orders her not to. By the present day, she’s built up quite a reputation as an S-rated villain, garnering rather fanatic fans who adore the nightmarish gore she leaves in her wake. Her personal villainy has no true goal --- she simply wishes to chase her desires, Cause Problems On Purpose and earn All For One’s praise. 

If she were to be arrested, Minami would be sent to Tartarus.

[rosalind-of-arden]

Sword and Pen Reread, chapter 8

I haven’t forgotten about these, really!

Dad Wolfe delayed the mission to let his kids rest and is still trying to get Glain to rest.

Jess says Morgan can make herself invisible, or close enough to it. Have we seen her do this?

Wolfe has gotten his hands on Anit’s tunnel maps. Here’s yet another instance of Wolfe, despite being a prickly bastard, showing some negotiation skills. He also contributed to negotiating passage from America to England, got the jewels from Jess’s mom, and dealt with the Welsh commander in Oxford. Am I missing any?

“’Ah. Of course. I hope...’ Wolfe stopped talking, which was unusual enough to make both Jess and Glain turn to look at him.” First, yes, lol, Wolfe does not usually do that. But also, he’s worried about Morgan. Probably both Morgan herself, and anyone close enough for her to drain.

It’s right after this awkward comment about Morgan that Wolfe reverses his position on Glain going. He’s reminded himself of the stakes, and of the fact that he’s already accepted Morgan’s risk-taking. Here’s where he accepts that he’s not going to be able to keep any of the kids safe. Morgan’s burning herself out using too much power, Jess is poisoned, Glain almost died, and Wolfe can’t protect any of them. And of course he leaves right after telling the kids to get ready. Wolfe can’t stand having feelings in front of the children.

Advantages for the new Library of being friendly with criminals: Wolfe’s got a whole network of informants courtesy of Anit.

Wolfe uses a special color for Zara sightings on his map. Jess isn’t the only one who has it in for Zara.

Is Wolfe the one to find out about the Greek fire facility? Timeline is unclear here. If so, there’s some good detective work.

30 High Garda Elites remaining. There were 500. That’s a pretty damn high casualty rate. Assuming we can trust Jess with numbers.

Ex-Archivist’s rule was “long, bloody, brutal.” How long, though, Jess? We want to know!

“You’re not wearing that Scholar’s robe.” Jess is apparently feeling familiar enough with Wolfe these days to critique his clothing choices.

“I want him to see the silk on my back, despite everything he’s tried to do to rip it away.” This is personal for Wolfe. But also, confirmation that his robe has emotional significance to him; it isn’t just a work uniform, but a symbol of his refusal to be destroyed by the Library.

Anit is wearing a ninja outfit? It’s “a style borrowed from countries farther east” in a shade of dark blue considered ideal for sneaking around in the dark.

Katja stays at Anit’s side. Can we say “bodyguard romance”? I am shipping these two and nobody can stop me.

Jess observes that Wolfe resembles a soldier more than a Scholar. 20 years of working closely with a certain soldier will do that.

Ambush time! Here’s another case of Wolfe thinking he knows what the Archivist will do, only to walk into a trap. But this time he went in with backup and expected the fight. He learns from his mistakes. 

But also, to a certain extent, this is evidence that Jess and Dario had a point way back in Ash and Quill when they were scheming together and thinking Wolfe and Santi had been part of the Library too long to fight it successfully. They’re dumbass boys, but they’re occasionally insightful dumbass boys.

Also, more Wolfe trauma going on in the background here. He needs to be able to predict the Archivist’s thinking because he needs to feel like he has some kind of power over the Archivist. If he could predict the Archivist’s moves, he could see himself as the smarter one. He may want to continue believing that there was mutual trust between them in the past. But what he’s getting is evidence that the Archivist can still manipulate him. That has to hurt.

[trillhouse-lh]

King Robert (Fantasyverse)

Okay so this one requires some explanation.

For the past few weeks /tlvg/ has been playing around with the sin kids in a fantasy AU. There is a lot to it, but the basic gist is that Lincoln is/was king and the boys are on their own quests to prove themselves worthy of the crown. Well, Lemy and Lyle are on their own quests... Bobby, being a half-blood, is ironically the bastard son of Lincoln and as such would only inherit the throne if both Lemy and Lyle were to perish. But that’s fine by him; Bobby has no desire to be king and is more than happy to join Lemy’s party in their quest.

So a recurring topic in the threads had been what may happen if Bobby WERE to become king. For whatever reason, common ideas seemed to be Bobby either being little more than a puppet king manipulated by Leia, or outright becoming evil himself. I disliked both of these and decided to take my own shot at it.

> Robert was no fool. He knew from the start that there would be those who opposed his rule. ‘Robert, the bastard king’ they called him. He was seen as weak, unfit for the crown. He paid these naysayers no mind… he would prove himself in time. > Of course, some were not content with mere words. > “The culprits, my lord.” Spoke the royal advisor Leia. The teenaged king glared down at the two young men before him. Haydn and Andrew… little more than lowly servants, and yet he knew them quite well. They had tormented him in his youth, and yet despite that he had been forgiving enough to allow them within his ranks. And how did they repay him? > With treason, of course. > Their plan had been simple: in the night, they would let in a small band of assassins through a hidden escape passage. But Robert had been prepared. No sooner had his would-be killers set foot within the castle proper than they had been ambushed by the royal guard. There had been no survivors, save for the two that had hatched this little scheme. And now they were on their knees before him with their hands tied behind their backs, flanked by two spear-wielding guards and glaring at him with no less venom than he did to them. > “I must say… even given my VERY low expectations, I’m almost disappointed in you two. Did you really think your little coup attempt would work?” He asked. The traitorous servants scoffed, looking away from him. “I know better than to assume loyalty from those that serve me. I have trusted subordinates stationed within even the lowliest positions within my court. They keep watch. They report to me and me alone. Did-”

> “Well, good for you,” Haydn scoffed. The king narrowed his eyes at the boy. “You’ve got friends in low places. No matter… a coward like you has no right to wear that crown. You may have stopped us, but we won’t be the last of it. More will come for you, mark my words.” > “Oh, I expect they will,” Robert replied calmly, “And I will be ready when they do. But first there is the immediate matter at hand…” He rose from his throne, descending the short stairs and approached the two men. “Treason is amongst the most severe of offenses. If you have anything to say in your defense, I suggest you do so… though I doubt it will make much of a difference.” > Haydn and Andrew exchanged a smirk. Despite the king’s posturing, they had no fear. This was Bobby, after all… a pathetic weakling, royal blood or not. > “Do your worst… Dobby.” Haydn hissed with a cocky sneer. > “Yeah, Dobby.” Andrew echoed, chuckling under his breath. “Do your worst.” > For a few moments, all was silent… Robert’s expression did not falter, and nor did he look away from the two. Finally, he pursed his lips, giving a small nod before glancing towards his advisor. > “What do you suggest, Leia?” > “A lifetime in the dungeons would be a fitting enough punishment, I think.” Robert averted his eyes, taking a moment to think before turning towards his traitors once more. They still wore smug grins upon their faces, expecting leniency for their crimes. > They would receive none. > “Take them to the gallows. Make an example of them,” He ordered, much to the horror of the two former servants. “And make sure you leave the bodies… their crow-eaten carcasses shall serve as a warning to those who would attempt the same.”

> Both Leia and the royal guards looked almost as shocked as the guilty pair themselves, and for a brief moment they even hesitated; but a sharp glare from the king snapped them from their stupor. > “Need I repeat myself?” > “N-no, my liege,” One of the guards stammered before he and his companion hoisted the boys to their feet. “Get moving, scum.” > “Y-you… DAMN you…!” Haydn shouted at the king as he returned to his throne, struggling as the guards dragged he and Andrew away. “This isn’t over, you bastard! You’re no king… you’re a PUPPET!” > “Hold.” The guards halted at their lord’s word. He had stopped midway to his throne, and turned to look at the two men… his expression stoic and impassive, yet somehow bearing a gaze colder than they had ever seen. He leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Haydn’s. “A puppet, am I?” He said quietly. “And yet… you will be the one dancing at the end of a rope this day. Away with them,” He ordered, waving his hand dismissively. “I expect them to be dealt with by nightfall.” > “Yes, my liege.” With that, King Robert merely watched impassively as the traitors were dragged away screaming, waiting until they had disappeared down the hall before glancing towards the guards stationed by the doors. > “Leave us… I wish to speak with my advisor in private.” He commanded; the guards did not hesitate to comply, and with that he and Leia were left alone in the throne room. He looked towards his half-sister, finding her staring at him in shock. “What?” He asked. “Do you not approve of my judgement?”

> “N-no, I… I’m just... surprised, my lord.” She said. “I only suggested leniency because I thought-” > “Because you thought me weak,” He finished, holding up his hand to silence her before she could protest. “And I do not blame you. I WAS weak, once… and through that weakness I found strength.” > “I-I see.” She bowed her head in respect. “For what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision.” Robert merely grunted in response, looking up at the massive portrait hung above the throne. It bore the glorious visage of the former king Lincoln and his sons, the princes of the kingdom… > ...The TWO princes of the kingdom, that is. Robert himself was nowhere in sight. > He sighed, shaking his head sadly. He was never meant to take the throne, nor had he wanted to… but when his brothers fell, he had no choice. Even now the memory of that day haunted his dreams; the image of Lemy’s bloodied face as he died in his arms was forever burnt into his mind, as were his parting words. > ‘The kingdom’s in good hands.’ > “My lord?” Leia’s voice snapped him from his daze. “You… wanted to speak with me?” > “Ah… yes, my apologies.” He muttered before heading to Leia’s side. There would be time for reminiscence later… there were more pressing matters at hand. “There’s something about this that bothers me. That passageway… it should only be known to a select few, correct?” > “That…” Leia tensed up, her mouth hanging slightly open for a brief moment before she regained her composure. “...That is correct, yes. It is likely that we have a traitor amongst your inner circle.” > “Hm.” Robert averted his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before looking at her again, wearing an expression somewhere between sorrow and rage. “WHY, Leia?” The young woman blinked in confusion.

> “I beg your…?” She gasped in mock indignation. “Y-you would dare accuse ME of-” > “As I said, Leia,” He snapped, “I have trusted subordinates in every station. EVERY station.” Leia looked flabbergasted, racking her brain for some sort of explanation… then, it clicked. > “...Gwen.” She hissed. Her brother smirked, giving a nod of confirmation. > “Gwen.” > “You promised you would make her your queen… why would she remain loyal to the one who broke her heart?!” > “A fabricated story, I’m afraid… clearly, it worked as intended.” Robert said. “She stepped down of her own volition, so that she may keep a closer eye on you. I assure you, we remain quite… close.” > “Damn you…” > “Now, answer my question. WHY?!” He barked, making the girl flinch. “I am your brother… the son of King Lincoln Loud, and the rightful heir to the throne. You swore a blood oath of loyalty to me. So why?!” Leia scowled at him, the malice evident behind her cold blue eyes. > “...A half-blood like you has no business in the throne room,” She spat. “This kingdom deserves a ruler WORTHY of it.” > “And I take it that would be you?” The king scoffed. > “Of course,” Leia huffed, puffing out her chest haughtily. “I deserve nothing less.” > “Our father never claimed you… you are no less a bastard than I.” Those words seemed to sting Leia somewhat, and she pursed her lips in irritation. > “...Maybe so, but a full-blood nonetheless.” She shot back. For a moment, neither said anything… the atmosphere between them was thick with tension. Finally Robert sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. > “I… never wanted to be king, Leia.” He said quietly. “I would give anything to be in your position, serving at Lemy’s side… the rightful heir to the throne. My brother. My FRIEND.” > “Too bad you let him die.”

> “I DID MY BEST!” Robert roared, the fury in his voice silencing Leia instantly. “I did everything I could to save him. But it wasn’t enough, and that day I swore in his name, in the name of ALL that fell that I would keep this kingdom safe. And those who would dare try to take this crown for the sake of pride or power are an threat not only to me, but to the kingdom. To MY people. And I cannot abide by that.” Leia’s eyes widened slightly, and she swallowed before speaking again. > “S-so… what, then…? Are you going to kill me?” She asked. Her brother frowned, his expression softening slightly; it took everything Leia had in her to suppress a smirk. “I know you… king or not, you’re still Bobby. Y-you’d… you’d never kill your own sister.” Robert’s face scrunched up in conflict. She was right… Bobby Loud would never harm one of his own, let alone kill them. He took a deep breath, then exhaled before shaking his head. > “No… I suppose not,” He said. Leia breathed a sigh of relief. > “I-I knew it. Deep down, you’ve still got that kind heart.” She said softly, before a wicked grin crossed her face. “...And that’s why you’re going to die.” She reached behind her back, drawing a concealed dagger from her robes before lunging for the unaware king. > ...Or so he seemed. Robert was ready for her… those years of adventuring had not been for nothing. He was more than just a wizard, now. He knew how to protect himself. He knew how to fight. And as Leia stabbed at him he caught her hand, barking out something in a language she didn’t understand; a moment later an intense, searing heat engulfed her hand, causing her to scream in agony. > Her forearm was horrifically burnt, looking as though it had been doused in oil and lit aflame, and her dagger had melted and fused with her gnarled flesh.

> “N-NO! LET-” Leia’s pleas were silenced by Robert clasping his hand tightly over her mouth. He stared at her with a cold, impassive gaze, even as her eyes filled with tears. She struggled in vain, unable to wrench herself free; this was not the grip of a mere spellcaster, nor of a weak, timid child. It was the grip of a man hardened by loss and pain. > “Let me make something very clear, Leia.” He said in a harsh tone. “Perhaps I was your brother, once. But now?” Leia’s heart plummeted into her stomach as she felt the heat radiating from his hand once more. Both his hand and the jeweled amulet on his chest began to glow, his gentle blue eyes reflecting the light in a piercing, red-hot glare. “I am your king.” > With that he shouted an incantation once more. In in instant Leia was incinerated, reduced to nothing more than a blackened skeleton; the king let go, letting it fall to the ground and turn to ash upon impact. He stared down at the pile for a moment before turning away, ascending the steps and sitting down upon his throne. > Finally, he let his composure slip. He buried his forehead in his palm, clutching at his hair as he forced back a cry of anger and despair. > Robert had known upon taking the throne that he would have to make hard decisions… decisions he knew for a fact that Lemy would never had made were he sitting in his place today. Lemy had always preached compassion and mercy, even against his foes. > To lead by the heart. > But Lyle had taught him a different lesson. To lead with a firm hand, to act without hesitation… to be willing to do what must be done. > To lead by the sword. > Perhaps the true answer lie somewhere in between. To grant mercy upon those who deserved it, and the fires of hell upon those who did not. To be both a savior and tyrant. To be compassionate, yet unwavering in one’s judgement. > To be king.

Greentext Masterpost

[infjtarot]

Devil ~ Scapini Shakespeare Tarot

· BONDAGE · MATERIALISM · IGNORANCE · HOPELESSNESS ACTIONS experiencing bondage accepting an unwanted situation being obsessed feeling tied down against your will losing independence allowing yourself to be controlled being addicted and enslaved submitting to another focusing on the material being caught up in appearances believing only in the physical forgetting the spiritual getting and spending overindulging the senses staying in ignorance being unaware operating within a narrow range experiencing limitation choosing to stay in the dark fearing the unknown being taken in by appearances feeling hopeless believing the worst despairing lacking faith seeing a cold world thinking negatively foreseeing a bleak future doubting Perhaps it’s time to get acquainted with some of Shakespeare’s greatest villains. Claudius – “Hamlet” When it comes to truly dastardly characters in the Bard’s work, Claudius, the uncle of Hamlet, ranks near the top. After poisoning his brother and seizing the crown, he marries Hamlet’s mother, but is haunted by his actions. He is a self-confessed villain, admitting his crimes to the audience and the Almighty, but believing that Hamlet suspects him of the old king’s murder, Claudius plots to poison Hamlet. The scheme backfires, leading to the bloody close of this epic drama. Iago – “Othello” One of the purest manifestations of evil in Shakespeare’s body of work is Iago, the conniving and deceitful second lieutenant to Othello, the tragic titular character. Displaying malice and jealousy without clear reason, Iago is a force of lies and chaos, double-crossing numerous characters, and ultimately manipulating Othello into murdering his wife, Desdemona. Don John – “Much Ado About Nothing” Evil can take many forms, and Don John in “Much Ado About Nothing” is one of the slowest-burning villains in the Bard’s work. The illegitimate brother of Don Pedro, Don John does little to hide his negative attitude, nor his envy of Claudio, his brother’s most trusted companion. He fabricates a lie about Claudio’s betrothed and her faithfulness, in an attempt to spread his own sadness and misery to others, but his plans ultimately fall to ruin. Lady Macbeth – “Macbeth” One of the most legendary villains of theatre is Lady Macbeth, the manipulative and sinister matriarch of “Macbeth.” Although many people see Macbeth as the prime villain of the play, Lady Macbeth is the one who sparks many of the most destructive and deadly events of the play. She subtly drives Macbeth to murder King Duncan, her husband, by challenging his manhood, while maintaining a facade of innocence and ignorance, rather than revealing her true role as the evil puppet master of The Scottish Play. Caliban – “The Tempest” In the surreal setting of Shakespeare’s “The Tempest,” Caliban is the bastard child of the devil and the witch Sycorax. When Prospero, the exiled duke of Milan, lands on Caliban’s island, the magical creature sees the duke as a conquering invader. Caliban is similarly doomed to existence on the island, and plots to viciously murder Prospero. He is a complex villain, however, as his knowledge and behavior is largely mirrored from Prospero, making him a powerful symbolic figure in Shakespeare’s mythos. Macbeth – “Macbeth” Lady Macbeth may be pulling the strings that create the tragedy of “Macbeth,” but the titular character is the one who carries out the murderous deeds. Seen as one of the most controversial characters in Shakespeare’s canon, Macbeth is dangerously balanced between villain and victim, a young man who is hungry for power, but also unfairly manipulated by witches and his domineering mother. Aaron the Moor / Tamora – “Titus Andronicus” Another carrier of unchecked (and possibly unwarranted) chaos is Aaron the Moor, the villain of “Titus Andronicus.” Secret lover of Queen Tamora and her ally in the plot to destroy the House of Andronicus, Aaron is the “chief architect” of the tragedy that unfolds in this play. From framing innocent characters for murder to convincing the title character to sever his own hand, Aaron the Moor is an angry, violent, and unsettling figure in Shakespearean lore. Edmund – King Lear Jealousy is a common thread amongst Shakespeare’s great antagonists, and Edmund, the illegitimate son of the Earl of Gloucester in King Lear, is no exception. Envious of his brother’s legitimacy, Edmund schemes to murder his brother and father in order to seize his father’s title. He also manipulates King Lear’s daughters, Goneril and Regan, and finally, orders the death of King Lear and Cordelia, failing to retract the order before Cordelia is killed.

Richard III – “Richard III” While some scholars place Richard III in the tragic hero category, this titular character is flawed to the core — flying into mad rages at any sign of insult, and holding deep resentment for anyone who has ever rejected, mocked, or spoken ill of him. While his physical deformity – a twisted spine and a withered arm – cast him as something of a sympathetic character, he is also a dangerously ambitious and savage figure who orders the deaths of nearly a dozen named characters in this historical play.

Shylock – “The Merchant of Venice” As Shakespeare’s villains go, Shylock is more multi-faceted than most. A Jewish moneylender who has lost his wife and is about to lose his daughter to Christianity, Shylock is a bitter and vengeful character, demanding an actual pound of flesh from Antonio, who defaulted on a large loan. Set in the late 1600s, the play shows how the inequality between Christianity and Judaism helps drive Shylock’s evil intentions and desire for revenge, but that fails to redeem him in the eyes of most audiences.

Cassius – “Julius Caesar” In “Julius Caesar,” Gaius Cassius Longinus is the brother-in-law of Brutus, the famous betrayer of the Roman emperor. In Shakespeare’s rendition, Cassius is crafted as the clear villain, the primary conspirator in Caesar’s eventual murder. He is manipulative, driven by jealousy, and unhampered by morality, making him a similar figure to “Othello’s” Iago. However, despite Cassius’s evil nature, his ultimate scheme of swaying opinion in the Senate after Caesar’s death fails, and his treachery is uncovered.

Tybalt – “Romeo and Juliet” Unlike the more sinister villains populating Shakespeare’s plays, Tybalt is simply a feuding fighter with something to prove, along with a deep hatred of the Capulets. As a character, Tybalt is not only Juliet’s cousin, but also the driving force of the violence between the Capulet and Montague families. He challenges Romeo to numerous fights, and eventually slays Mercutio, Romeo’s best friend. Romeo returns the favor and kills Tybalt, for which he is sentenced to exile on Verona. This directly leads to the tragic climax of this legendary love story, meaning that even in death, Tybalt’s lust for violence and tragedy affects the land of the living.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

kidnap my heart (ransom my soul)

Based off @homemadesterekpie​’s post   (also on ao3)

Getting kidnapped was never fun. But it was something that Derek had eventually gotten used to.

No matter how perfect his memory, no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't have been able to count how many times he had gotten kidnapped. It was just a part of his life as an alpha.

He had been kidnapped by hunters and werewolf poachers who either wanted to torture him for information on the rest of the pack or force him into his full shift so they could skin him alive for his pelt. Then there were the hunters that just wanted to terrorize him for the fun of it.

He had been kidnapped by other werewolves, other alphas who wanted to usurp him and take over the highly sought after territory that had belonged to his family since before time was a concept. There had even been one alpha who had kidnapped him in a bid to get him to mate her daughter.

He had been kidnapped by fairies and pixies that reveled in the idea that they could overtake Hale territory in the name of the fae folk. It had been a useless endeavor but they had persisted nonetheless.

He had been kidnapped by witches who had wanted to use his blood for old sorts of dark magic. And he had been kidnapped by other darachs who sought to harness his alpha spark for themselves.

There had been countless other creatures that had kidnapped him — vampires, sirens, dragons, even a kelpie — but he had always escaped. With a few scrapes and bruises that would quickly heal, but he escaped all the same.

It was different with hunters.

With hunters, he genuinely had to worry about whether or not they would actually kill him. While other creatures might hesitate at killing, or even just seriously harming, an alpha werewolf who was so connected to the land he could practically predict when the leaves would start to change, hunters had no such qualms.

All they wanted to do was inflict as much pain and agony and traumatizing torment as possible. Until he was begging them for death, begging them to just put him out of his misery.

And they would. In a rare show of mercy, they would kill him. But it wouldn't be quick or painless. No, hunters were never that kind.

They would draw the death out. However they could.

Werewolves could still die of dehydration. It just took a little longer. And the hunters wouldn't mind waiting.

Mistletoe extract was much more than an essential oil used for homeopathic treatments. When injected into a werewolf's bloodstream it acted like a poison, a slow one that felt like fire coursing through veins like a deadly flood.

Knives dipped in mountain ash wine could be used for dismemberment. That way no limbs would heal, nothing would grow back.

It was both fascinating and horrifying how creative hunters could be when scheming up new ways to torture and slaughter werewolves. Human cruelty would never cease to amaze him.

Not after decades of suffering at the hands of humans, of hunters. Not after he was manipulated into being an unwitting accomplice in the murder of his family.

Not after being seduced by a woman twice his age who had charmed her way into his bed and his heart with pretty smiles and sugary sweet lies. Not after being accused of his own sister's murder by humans who had no idea what he was, only who he was.

Not after the pack he had formed out of desperation and howling loneliness had been hunted down by the very same family of hunters that had taken everything from him when he was only seventeen years old. Not after his attempt at living a life with some semblance of normalcy had been shattered into pieces.

And especially not now. Not after they had dragged Stiles into it.

Apparently, Chris Argent, who Derek had been keeping an eye on despite his many assurances that he had put his days of werewolf hunting behind him, still had a few surviving family members. Family members who just so happened to be hunters.

And lo and behold, they had decided to vacation in Beacon Hills for the fall. Of course, Derek hadn't known about any of it until he had already been knocked out by a cloud of wolfsbane and dragged off to some abandoned warehouse.

Hadn't known until he had already been chained up to an electrified fence that was pumped full of enough voltage to kill a whole herd of elephants. Until he had already been viciously shocked for hours on end in hopes that he would reveal where the other members of the pack were.

Derek had never been so grateful that most of the betas had decided to attend college out of town. He had reminded himself of that every time the damn Argents turned on the generator.

He had tried to focus on thoughts of Erica's smile as she laughed at something sarcastic Boyd had said as the hunters gouged him with blades dipped in mountain ash. Had pictured Isaac's head of golden curls and Peter's rare moments of tolerability as he was doused in yellow wolfsbane that made his skin burn like it was on fire.

But the thought that got him through the worst of the torture was Stiles.

Stiles' warm brown eyes that sparkled whenever he made a particularly clever joke. Stiles' perpetually messy hair that couldn't be tamed by all the hair gel in the world.

The constellations of moles on his pale cheeks and down the column of his back. The perfect Cupid's bow of Stiles' pink lips.

The wild way he gesticulated with every inch of his body. The way he quoted Star Wars whenever humanly possible.

The colorful flurry of flannels and ironic t-shirts he always wore. The bright highlighters he gnawed on when he studied at the loft.

It was those thoughts, thoughts of Stiles, that got him through the most agonizing forms of torture. From when they ripped off his claws, one by one by one, to when they drowned him in pools of mistletoe oil.

All that he could deal with. It was nothing new, not really.

But then they crossed the line and one of those bastard Argents dragged someone else into the room. Someone who kicked and screamed and cursed and quipped despite the blood in his mouth.

Someone who earned himself a harsh punch when he bit the hand of one his captors. Someone who screeched out profanities in English, Polish, and the broken Spanish that one learns in high school.

Someone in a ripped flannel and bloody Deadpool t-shirt. Someone with a bloody split in the Cupid's bow of their lip. Someone with messy hair matted with blood.

Someone who the hunters chained to a post so they could torture him, too. So they could burn him with blow torches and break his fingers and his toes.

It went on for days. The torture. The hellish agony that had become both of their lives.

Their only peace was when the hunters got bored of dragging blades across their skin and firing rounds dangerously close to their heads just to scare them. When the hunters left for a few hours to eat and sleep and shit.

Derek tried to use those hours to sleep, to let his body focus on healing. But Stiles, poor Stiles, with the pain receptors of a human and a sore lack of supernatural healing abilities used the time to finally cry.

He tried so hard to be quiet, biting his bruised and bloody lip to keep his sobs in, but Derek could always hear him. Could always hear the desperation, the hopelessness in every hiccup, in every shaky breath.

It was only marginally better than when they actually tortured Stiles.

Because it was then that Derek would have given anything to be deaf. To not have to hear the anguished cries from the boy he loved as the hunters beat him bloody while demanding information.

It was during those moments when he raged against his constraints, when he tried to yank himself off the electrified fence and slither out of the coils of barbed wire they had curled around him. When he tried to rip his chains from the wall so he could kill every last one of the hunters.

He was nearly feral with it, the need to protect Stiles, to rush to his side and free him from any harm. It was the age-old instinct of an alpha protecting its emissary, its mate.

But the hunters didn't know that. They didn't know the stories that had been passed down from alpha to alpha, generation to generation. They didn't know about werewolves. Not really.

Sure, they knew the basics: big teeth, pointy claws, shifts influenced by the moon. And, yes, they knew how to torture and bribe and kill. But they didn't know werewolves.

They didn't know the story of the wolf that fell in love with the moon and serenaded her each and every night with a song so sorrowful the moon eventually took pity on the poor wolf and gave it the gift of walking upright. All the better to reach out to its unattainable love.

They didn't know about the bond between alphas and emissaries, of the shared touch of magic in both. Or how that magic could easily turn deadly if necessary.

And they had no clue about mates. None.

They didn't know about the madness that could overtake a wolf if their mate was threatened, if their mate was hurt. They didn't know about the righteous rage that gave Derek the extra strength to free himself from his restraints.

He had deep lacerations around his midsection, fragments of steel lodged in his gut, but the pain didn't register for a second. None of it.

Not the wolfsbane filled gunshot wound in his chest or the gash in his forehead. Not the fatigue that came with days of captivity and starvation or the lethargy from the poison coursing through his veins.

All he cared about was getting to Stiles, getting to his emissary, his mate. About decimating whatever stood in his way.

It was over in just a few seconds. For all their guns and wolfsbane and mountain ash, all of the hunters ended up the same way: piles of blood and butchered flesh strewn around the warehouse.

The coppery stench of blood hung heavy in the air but Derek couldn't smell it. He could only smell Stiles' distress, his pain.

Whining high in his throat, fueled by adrenaline, Derek had carefully scooped up Stiles in his arms. The aimless wandering through the warehouse sapped the rest of his strength.

Barely two seconds after Derek managed to lug Stiles out of the warehouse and into the cool air of the night, he collapsed. The last thing he saw was the full moon hanging overhead, a silent sentinel as he cradled Stiles to his chest.

He woke up what seemed like years later, emerging from the dark blanket of unconsciousness into the golden sunshine pouring in from the floor to ceiling windows in the loft.

He was in his bed, the downstairs one that he had been using less and less. The sheets were warm yet cold at the same time as he gradually grew more aware of his surroundings.

There was a stabbing pain in his midsection and a full body ache plagued every inch of him. He reluctantly opened his to stare up at the high ceiling, at the rafters where a pigeon had been nesting when he first moved in.

He could hear people breathing, the several distinctive heartbeat patterns informing him that his betas were around. It was a comforting sound, their heart rates calm and unhurried, assuring him that there was no present danger.

But then he realized that there was a heartbeat that was missing. The familiar jackrabbiting pound of Stiles' heartbeat was nowhere to be found.

Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, despite the vertigo, he abruptly sat up, frantically looking around for Stiles. But he couldn't find him.

"Derek?!" A vaguely familiar voice called but it was lost in the fog that was quickly clouding his rational thoughts. "Guys, he's up!"

In a moment all of his betas were by his bedside, worried expressions plastered on their faces. Even Peter looked genuinely concerned.

"Where's Stiles?!" Derek growled at them, his eyes flaring red as he continued searching the room for his missing mate. He could feel his fangs elongating, his claws lengthening as a lethal mixture of protectiveness and worry overwhelmed him.

So caught up in the whirlwind of emotion, he reached out to grab Peter by the front of his V neck. He tugged his uncle close as he snarled, "Where. Is. He?"

"He's upstairs!" Erica snapped, moving forward. She pointed a manicured, red painted nail at the spiral staircase on the other side of the loft.

Releasing Peter who reeled back with an exasperated sigh, Derek leapt from his bed, ignoring his aching limbs. The climb upstairs was agonizing but it was worth once Stiles came into view.

He was lying in Derek's bed, bandaged and draped in a warm blanket. There was an IV in his arm, pumping him full of fluids.

In a chair by the foot of the bed, the Sheriff was snoring softly. He was frowning, even in his sleep.

Stiles was awake, trailing his eyes over the wall until his gaze landed on Derek. He smiled as much as he could without jostling his broken nose, croaking, "Hey, Derek."

Derek could only whine as he slowly crossed the room to climb onto the foot of the bed. He ducked his head in apology, baring his neck.

The sight of Stiles was horrible, a reminder of how much Derek had failed him. Of course, Stiles didn't see it that way, quipping, "You should see the other guy. Well, actually you already did. Right before you ripped his throat out. It was kinda hot."

Ignoring Stiles' witty comment, Derek plopped down beside him, burying his face against the side of Stiles' chest. With a soft smile, Stiles curled his arm around Derek's shoulders, running a hand up and down the alpha's back, "It's okay, Der. I've gotcha and I'm not letting you go. Never."

The sound Derek let out was more of a purr than anything else. Not that anyone could blame him. He had found his moon and he would be damned if anyone took that from him.

[asernolonger]

The Lost and Forsaken

Selenie wanted to scream to the heavens. Finding one of these rat bastards was bad enough, but two of them?! And of course, both of them were Overlords, and of bloody godsdamn fucking course, one of them was the founder of the Garlean Empire, and the other was the most irritating, manipulative piece of shite she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. But, like before, with Emet, it seemed that she had the upper hand on the white-robed bastard. He seemed to have no idea that she was behind him, up in the air. 

Well, if it worked on Emet, why couldn’t it work on him? 

She quickly angled herself into a dive, not a proper Dragoon move necessarily, just a high-speed dive, spear drawn and ready, and pounced on him, pinning him to the ground beneath them both. In the next second, she used the hand that wasn’t holding her spear to grab both of his hands, and used that same arm to pin them to her body. She then pulled the rest of him up with her as she stood up, adding an extra layer of security by using her spear arm to pin him even harder to her body, and, as if all of that wasn’t enough, she pressed her spear close to his pale throat.

But even all of that wasn’t enough for the disgraced Dragoon. After she had a firm grip on him, she then launched skywards, and darted to the nearest high building she could find-one that, if he were to fall from it, would certainly kill a man and, at the very least, incapacitate him. She then landed on the roof of her chosen building, dangling his body over the edge.

“Hm, so not just that swiving whoreson Emet, but you too, eh? Do you remember me, you scheming bastard? And tell me, what could possibly drag the Emissary himself here? Can’t imagine this realm is anything you give a shite about, after all. Don’t lie to me, or I’ll let you fall. And, unlike how things were back on the Source, it’ll be much more difficult for you to come back from death, I’m sure of it.” She demanded, tone devious and confident, yet seething with barely-contained rage and contempt.

@emissaryinwhite

[moonlitgleek]

Reading your Robert ask, do you think Jaime can be redeemed or nay?

Talking about Jaime and redemption is like stepping on a landmine in fandom. Let’s do it.

Look, in theory, everyone can be redeemed as long as they are capable of changing. Jaime is capable of change; the person we met in AGoT is not the same one we left off in ADWD. So in the abstract sense, yes he could be redeemed but only if he takes measures to earn that redemption. But is Jaime taking those measures? The answer is a resounding no.

Oh sure he wants to regain his honor. He is not happy with who he has become and wants to change that but the thing that doesn’t often get discussed about this arc is that Jaime’s motivation is centered around him. He is not doing something because it’s the right thing to do or because he actually cares about these people, he’s doing it because he is struggling with his self-image and wishes to improve it. We see this in how he constructs narratives in his head, casts himself in it and merrily ignores the things that do not fit. Any action that Jaime takes in the Riverlands is done so that he can pat himself on the back for it and feel good about himself. Of course there is nothing inherently wrong in finding satisfaction in doing a moral thing, and most redemption arcs often start with a person feeling bad about themselves, but this is fundamentally what Jaime’s arc in AFFC is solely about – feeling good about himself. He willfully ignores the reality of the situation in the Riverlands, and of his own culpability in it, just because it does not fit with the image he wants to construct for himself. Does he try to make up for it, for any of it? Nope.

Yes, he sends Brienne after Sansa, and he tries to prevent additional bloodshed in the Riverrun siege, but even that is about how he feels about himself. He does not send Brienne after Sansa because he cares about Sansa or because he wants to make up for destroying her life, but because Sansa is his last chance for honor. That’s it, that’s his purpose. It’s a very self-centered view that he displays again and again in AFFC.He ends the Riverrun siege without bloodshed not because he gives a damn about these people’s lives, but because he wants to keep the illusion of keeping his vow to Catelyn that he has come to see as a symbol of regaining his honor. Not that I agree with praising him for ending the siege without bloodshed in the first place because I don’t understand why I should commend Jaime for it. I should praise him for…. not committing an additional crime? Is that what redemption is or how it’s earned? He is already validating the Red Wedding and rewarding its culprits but I guess people find it praise-worthy that he doesn’t murder his way into Riverrun to do it. Give the boy a gold star.

The reason Jaime resents that Edmure make him verbalize his threats is because Edmure denies him the illusion of being generous and honorable that Jaime has constructed in his head. Edmure is also forcing Jaime to face the fact that what he is trying to achieve in the Riverlands is not peace but subjugation built on a bloody crime. Jaime is willfully rationalizing his actions and deluding himself into thinking that what he is doing is honorable and that he is doing the right thing and restoring the king’s peace but we are not really meant to buy into his self-delusion, especially since GRRM makes sure to deconstruct those delusions.

Peace and justice, that’s what Jaime would like to think he is doing in the Riverlands, but is it really? Because here’s the justice that Jaime enforces:

No Wodes appeared, nor any of their smallfolk, though some outlaws had taken shelter in the root cellar beneath the second brother’s keep. One of them wore the ruins of a crimson cloak, but Jaime hanged him with the rest. It felt good. This was justice. Make a habit of it, Lannister, and one day men might call you Goldenhand after all. Goldenhand the Just.

Was it justice? The only indication we got to point to these people being outlaws is that….. they took shelter in an abandoned keep? Jaime reflects on the devastation in the Riverlands and on how “scarce a field remained unburnt, a town unsacked, a maiden undespoiled”. The lords and landed knights have abandoned their smallfolk, from old Ser Quincy who barred himself inside his castle and left his smallfolk to the mercy of Rorge and Biter in Saltpans to the Blackfish himself who stripped the land of resources before retreating to Riverrun. So were these people Jaime hanged outlaws, or simply starving and homeless people driven out of their homes by the war and taking refuge wherever they could? Does Jaime spare half a second to consider this?

And what about his oh-so-proud reaction to rescuing Pia? Oh he absolutely was in the right to punish her attempted rapist but like, all of the Mountain’s men have raped Pia. Repeatedly. And Jaime takes them on and adds them to his ranks - the men that he says of “about the best that could be said for Gregor’s men was that they were not quite as vile and violent a bunch as the Brave Companions.”, the men who are largely responsible for why the Riverlands are in such a bad shape, the men who were behind the Raping of the Riverlands, murderers and rapists and despicable human beings all. But Jaime is Goldenhand the Just for punishing one of them? What about the rest? Where’s the justice their victims are owed, or does Jaime get to pick and choose who gets justice and who doesn’t?

What about the victims of the Red Wedding? These people who were slaughtered treacherously while they were guests beneath the Freys’ roof. It’s really rich of Jaime to pat himself on the back for doing “justice” when he is rewarding a bunch of criminals. What grounds does Jaime Lannister have to claim that he is restoring the peace and meting out justice when he is refusing to enforce the law? When he is allowing and enabling the breakage of one of the oldest customs in Westeros that just happens to be essential to the health of the state? What Jaime is doing is the opposite of justice, and it’s no different than what Rhaegar Frey is advocating in White Harbor, just dressed up in gold.

And while Jaime is deluding himself into thinking himself Goldenhand the Just, we get this gem

If the Blackfish would not listen, he would have no choice but to break the vow he’d made to Catelyn Stark. The vow he’d sworn his king came first.

Where do I even being? At Jaime putting the responsibility of breaking his word to Catelyn on the Blackfish who refuses to bow to a violent illegitimate regime, or that Jaime is honestly deluding himself into believing that he is keeping his vows and thus is being “honorable” when he knows that Tommen has no right to his crown? The Lannisters organized a coup and killed everyone who dared speak against it, and Jaime can not even own up to it. He rationalizes the hell out of it to make himself feel like he is being honorable. But he isn’t. What he is doing is legitimizing a crime his family committed and pulling a PR stunt by calling it peace. Of course the only one who buys into said stunt is Jaime himself.

The most basic start for a character to earn redemption begins with owning up to and facing what they’ve done wrong, something that Jaime really has not done. Does Jaime regret his incestuous relationship with Cersei? Only insofar as he could hate her for lying to him and not being faithful to him but does he, at any point, own up or regret that he was one of the main pillars of a violent coup that sent the realm propelling into war? We’ve all argued extensively over the nature of his “peace tour” in the Riverlands and butted heads over whether his actions were honorable or not, but the fact is that Jaime is responsible for all of the shit that went down. The whole situation is of his own creation. Jaime sent the ball rolling when he chose to sleep with his sister, father bastards on her and help her usurp the crown. He committed treason and destabilized the realm by sleeping with his sister but the thing he regrets about it is trusting Cersei.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Jaime and I adore his arc. But one of things I love about it is how it forced me to examine my view of redemption arcs and how conditioned I was to consider an arc redemptive just because an asshole character started to be just a bit less of an asshole. Because I used to call Jaime’s arc redemption. But it’s not. Jaime is not seeking redemption, he’s searching for a new identity. The two things are not mutually exclusive, of course, but I’ve yet to see Jaime do anything to earn redemption. A couple of decent acts do not magically redeem someone, and the road to redemption can not lie in actively trying to emulate a notorious war criminal or upholding his legacy, which is what Jaime does in trying to prove he is Tywin’s kid.

Make no mistake, Jaime is still breaking his vows with his actions in the Riverlands, both his knightly vows that are based on protecting the innocent and defending the weak, and his vow to Catelyn to never take up arms against her family. Threatening to catapult Edmure’s baby if he does not surrender Riverrun goes against Jaime’s vow to Catelyn. Validating a grotesque crime like the Red Wedding by rewarding the people who took part in it goes against Jaime’s vows to Catelyn. Jaime’s obvious distaste for the Freys means nothing when he is enabling their rule. His verbal attack on Sybelle Spicer is hypocritical since his contempt is due to his own father’s scheming and manipulations. Gosh, are we supposed to applaud Jaime for detesting those people for something that his own father orchestrated when he is trying to follow in Tywin’s footsteps? Jaime does not reject Tywin’s methods, he follows and validates them, then despises those who aided Tywin so he could maintain a false moral superiority, even though Jaime’s actions in the Riverlands do nothing but compound Tywin’s crimes. There’s nothing honorable about pushing an illegitimate regime on the region, or in forcing a family to surrender their seat to the people who killed their kin by threatening to catapult a baby. Jaime behaving honorably in the Riverlands is an illusion, just like his “peace” is. His actions undermine the rule of the law, they make a mockery out of justice; what kind of redemption can ever be found in that?