#musings: gideon

[anithikos]

the vibes are absolutely horrific up in here

[erotiik0s]

some scenarios for different muses <3

gideon

gideon in different incarnations over time.... impersonating a holy man in a luxurious ancient temple, gilded and draped in muslin, something something body worship, sex as meditation, incense as an aphrodisiac

using the money he siphons from his followers to pay for sex/pay off his affair partners... his pleas for donations increase the more he sees them

demonic/supernatural occurrences when he orgasms... objects nearby floating, eyes glowing, hands hot like fire.... maybe

jin

someone indulging jin in his fantasy of being chased and mated by something/someone more powerful than himself. feeling hunted and protected, but mostly importantly wanted. helps it gets him almost high on adrenaline. could be a kind of roleplay but also could be dead dove, who knows

jin feeling the need to create a distraction/avert suspicion from himself at work bc of his embezzlement & theft, so he starts an affair with someone higher up in the company as leverage/protection/to keep their eyes on him in a completely different way

jin in a fantasy or horror setting being a literal monster fucker instead of just fucking morally monstrous humans. vampires, werewolves, aliens, shapeshifters, eldritch abominations, consenting monsters welcome... combine with point 1/fear/primal kink for a deluxe special

julian

hearing someone's confessions of their lustful behaviour and having to fight temptation while in the other side of the confession booth

julian volunteering to impregnate someone who desperately wants a child, perhaps even for a couple needing a sperm donor, bc then its in service of helping someone and creating new life and also he gets to breed the absolute hell out of someone

julian using a glory hole in a moment of desperation bc he doesnt have to look at the other person face to face and he can hide his shame from them

noel

noel x supernatural lover he can dissect alive and also fuck, maybe at the same time maybe not, either way he's got mad scientist written all over it

a bratty sub eventually breaking noel's cool dom demeanour and seeing him get annoyed and flustered doling out their (bd/sm) punishment

[bones-for-time]

Lots has has already been said of Gideon’s last words to Harrow being a biblical quote from the book of Ruth, due to their frequent inclusion in wedding vows (“The land that shall receive thee dying, in the same will I die: and there will I be buried”). However, the broader story of Ruth also has interesting implications for what Gideon understands of her lyctoral sacrifice.

The biblical Ruth is a Moabite who marries into Naomi’s family while they’re all living in Moab. After all the dudes in the family die, Naomi begs Ruth to return to her own people and her own gods because that’s her best chance of someone providing for her. As a foreigner, Ruth will have difficulty surviving in Naomi’s hometown of Bethlehem, and Naomi cannot save her, “[e]ven if I thought there was still hope for me.” The verse preceding the that bit Gideon quotes is “But Ruth replied, ‘Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.’” Ruth does return to Bethlehem, where her bloodline produces both King David and Jesus.

Gideon understands enough of Lyctorhood to know that her sacrificial death will not actually be the end. She knows that Harrow will go back to the Ninth to serve the girl in the Tomb, and whatever remains of Gideon’s captive consciousness must go with her. As Gideon falls on the spike she envisions herself as part of the Ninth and the Ninth’s gates opening for her - not just because she is saving the Ninth by dying for Harrow - but because she’s choosing, in some tortured suspension, to stay there. Harrow’s people will be her people, and Harrow’s goddess in the Tomb will be her god.

[yeahinoticed]

day 5,346 of using gideon for practise

[apolaskiart]

If we move in life as a pair... then maybe this world would become a little more fair...

PAPA'S GOT A NEW HYPERFIXATION INBOUND!!!!

[camplease]

harrow grew in her emotional awareness of other people as people at an incredible rate during the events of gideon the ninth, a rate that honestly stretches the bounds of plausibility. and i think a lot of it, maybe even most of it, was specifically a reaction to an awareness of gideon, specifically, in genuine mortal danger that harrow had never previously considered

even before harrow was able to accept that she feels any affection for gideon, her covetousness of gideon's presence is evident. but, on drearburh, even though there might’ve conceivably been natural disasters outside of harrow's control that could’ve changed this, i think gideon’s survival of the child massacre made gideon seem like an almost supernaturally ever-present fixture of harrow’s universe. no matter how much gideon bled and broke in those 17 years, i don’t think harrow had truly considered the reality of gideon’s mortality before

when harrow thought of losing gideon, she thought of gideon escaping. prior to canaan house, though death involving those close to her was already something harrow knew intimately well, each example is inextricably connected to its specific context. with "the body," the cause of death didn't pose any immediate, direct threat to harrow or those she cared about. as horrific all of drearburh’s children’s deaths were, as heavily as they weighed on harrow, this was a part of her history rather than an imminent threat. and, as much grief and sorrow that the personal responsibility harrow felt for her parents’ suicides colored her existence, as much as she even once blamed gideon, ultimately, harrow's parents killed themselves. these were all so different by their very nature from the deaths at canaan house and the possibilities they illuminated. something or someone was maliciously seeking out those among her in the present. gideon's very existence could no longer be taken for granted, never mind simply losing possession of her

i believe that both accepting her own care for gideon and accepting the risk of losing gideon beyond losing control over her is what led harrow to assess the inherent harm and dehumanization of their power imbalance and to begin to understand the flaws in her worldview overall, the flaws in the system that granted her and others in power the power to abuse it at will and use those under them as tools

but the reason why i say this was a lot of/most of and not all of the reason for harrow's growth is because i think she always had some latent capacity for it that she'd just previously suppressed. and i don't think this is unique to harrow. i think the worst people within any system wear away at their humanity, and, thus, their ability to perceive the humanity of others and act accordingly, a bit at a time. but this process isn't irreversible. harrow's relation to gideon was just the catalyst for that reversal in her

i can’t say exactly who harrow would’ve become without gideon at canaan house with her for the lyctoral trials, but she would’ve certainly been very different from the person she is now

decided to make my own post because i was thinking about this poll way too much and it led me to a big enough tangent that it's its own creature at this point, though i also wanna credit that initial spark

[elfieafterdark]

Excuse me, might I have a moment to tell you of our lord and savior Gideon Nav?

[alexdough]

Experimenting with my guinea pig

[onestellarghost]

she gave you her heart so just eat it already

[seren-the-ninth]

Babstarion is unimpressed by Harrow's necro-splaining.

Cam'zel is so restful to be around!

More TLT x BG3 crossover silliness!

Harrowhark is unimpressed by Babstarion's dagger juggling.

Now who is necro-splaining who? Gal Sex Pal and Harrow 'discuss' the finer points.

Oh Griddle! You're sooo sexy! I shan't look!

Oh no! I looked!

No no no! I will be strong and resist your lithely muscled forearms...

Oh myyyy, I looked again... Maybe just once...

Omg they're so cute I can't even.

Harrowhark's tiny smile that brings Gidlach to her knees.

[baalzebufo]

my desire to draw is finally back after months but unfortunately for everyone else my muse is entirely this freaky little fruitloop

[anithikos]

portraits of :: gideon

[strawberryshortcake1495]

Guys hear me out: Reverse Falls but Will is replaced by the Collector from TOH

30 years ago, Stanford Gleeful discovers the Collector buried underneath his lab and manipulates the shadow into helping him rise to the top. The Collector is oblivious to this and sees Ford as a father figure, affectionately calling him “Papa” which the old bastard uses to his advantage.

Things get better once the twins show up, because now Ford has something he can use to keep the Collector under his thumb, sharing them with the twins with promises that they’re in good hands with their “new siblings”. At first, the Collector believes this and loves helping the twins with the Tent of Telepathy, seeing the shows as fun little games they get to play with their family unlike the Archivists.

Then Pacifica and Gideon come into the picture and the twins start abusing the Collector to get what they want to defeat the two little do-gooders and the Collector’s feelings get hurt. So very hurt.

When Pacifica takes it upon herself to free the Collector, they couldn’t be happier. Then they realize that she’s just using them as a weapon against the twins. Of course. She didn’t actually like them. Nobody ever liked them. They just want their power.

The Collector decides that everyone in Gravity Falls is broken and that they need to be fixed.

[aconitemare]

Does anyone know that TLT fanart someone drew of the various ninth planet skull makeup styles they envisioned? I can't find it but I really wanted to reference them for cosplay ideas, they were awesome

[imbadatparking]

origin of something evil; 

The pale blue wall holds his attention at a sharp standpoint, the same smooth sight that’s been there since before he was born. The ceiling fan flickers, wavering shadows playing out a vision of his parents dancing and smearing azure paint across each other’s skin. Rolling brushes and Simon and Garfunkel and plastic on furniture, laughter ringing out. A time he doesn’t remember but aches for anyway. 

The pale blue wall holds his attention at a sharp standpoint, the same smooth sight that’s been there since before he was born. The ceiling fan flickers, wavering shadows playing out a vision of his parents dancing and smearing azure paint across each other’s skin. Rolling brushes and Simon and Garfunkel and plastic on furniture, laughter ringing out. A time he doesn’t remember but aches for anyway. 

Soccer trophies line the shelves next to school awards and a family photo. Him, Mother, Father, in their best clothing tastefully arranged on their stairs. They are all smiling, but before, what's unseeable, is that they were all arguing loud enough for the photographer to hear behind the closed door kitchen. If one squints, the premature gray hairs in Mother's hair, the hard lines of Father, and the tightness around Adam’s eyes becomes visible. Adam hates the picture.

The decorations have been standing, unchanging since forever. Besides the addition of his achievements, what Father says is the only thing worth showing off, it is a stranger’s room. Its inhabitant does not belong in it like it does not belong in the house.

He’s never considered changing it, but if he did, he'd make it less… blue. Father doesn’t like the idea. Father, I hate blue; Harhar, since when? ‘Sides, it’s a great color, an honorable color, a real man’s color. 

He’d choose purple, maybe. A dark purple. Royal or plum or hippo or —

The color of a fresh bruise. 

The darkening shade around Jackson’s eye after his fist landed in it, that smudgy sludge green, brackish mess, a bloom of violet crimson.

The sound had been sickening, a whistle of air and then skin against skin. Exhilarating adrenaline coursing through his arm as he pulled back and released before he even realized he lost control. The headspace of that awful rush of power that comes from having of a weaker thing at your mercy.

It was all kind of a blur. 

A slurred word, one too many jeered comments. A slam against the locker, hands curled into the school’s uniform collar, tight around the tie. One yank and he could’ve choked him. 

Close enough to hear his hitched breath, the soft flutter of his eyelashes. 

One hit, two hits, the spurt of vibrant blood from a crooked nose, a shouted curse, and frantic hands pulled him back. 

Only one voice registered in that panicked silence: Don’t — stop, Adam, stop. It’s not worth it, it’s not — 

More hands, more blood, more voices. White-hot anger. 

Then: Mr. Adam! Mr. Jackson! Both of you in my office. Now. Voice stern like his father. 

An acute walk of shame, every pair of eyes on him knowing what happened, waiting for the moment the hallways cleared so they could go back to spilling gossip. In the gray locker, a flicker of his reflection: narrowed, pinpoint eyes, dilated hazel to black, dark eyebrows drawn, mouth tight, a near-mirror image of Father on his worst days. All traces of Mother gone, only the cruelty of anger arranging an even crueler face.

In Jackson’s face, he saw intimate familiarity; bloody and bruised by the hands of a man too broken to love. 

When he got home, sullen silence from Mother emptying the car, reminiscent of the aftermath of stone-cold nights with too much wine and a heavy lifted arm, he didn’t dare let out a breath out of line.

Father had been rightfully pissed, but the straight of his back recalled something like pride. 

Adam spent years scouring over textbooks and bibles and handbooks, looking for a how-to on How To Be The Perfect Son, and the one time, the second time, the third time he gets into a fight, full pot of water filled with boiling rage spilling over and over and over, Father’s expression is the least concealed arrangement of pride he’s ever seen. 

Know what you did was no good, and there’re consequences to your damn actions —  spittle flying and bruises forming and bit-back groans — but if my son knows one thin’, it's howta swing one like a real man. 

I learned it from you, Dad.

The seed of rot has been planted, the roots have grown and knotted together in the dirt of his soul. Like the Apricot trees out on the lawn, blackening from the inside with a bitter swing to the ground and an unsalvageable likeness. A taste of him is already too much before he is spat out into the trash with the lid sealed shut.

It’s too late for him; one bad tree and now the entire grove is poisoned, generations of peeling bark and falling , no matter how often they prayed for redemption. Someone should uproot these trees and destroy them; someone should plow over it until it is nothing but pure again. But it’s stood here far too long thriving in its own ugly and no one has the tools to do it. It will continue to fester, diseased and alive, spreading fruitlessly to whoever dares eat what their branches bear.

Adam’s sins are intrinsic; internal; melded into the metal of his bone and sparked by his father’s hands, crafted into the perfect weapon. 

The blue laughs at him, having known this for years.

In the corner, an oil spill seeps from the creases, running down his wall and swallowing him in a black hole of darkness. The devil lives in these walls and he is staining the foundations. 

Maybe the only way to get rid of it is by praying, to baptize it free of the ever-present evil, and emerge blissfully clean. Wash his hands, rinse the blood off his knuckles, scrub these walls, and find his own.

He presses his hands together in that familiar fold, fingers laced, closing his eyes softly. Grounding, grounding.

Dear God. 

Don’t let me be him, don’t let me be him, don’t let me be him —

> @nosebleedclub prompt xxiv. > from an excerpt of my tentative book, Apricot Seeds > ask to be tagged

[ghost-of-a-wizard]

So succexy, so succexy