#probably toxic dynamic

[moyashidoodles]

I spent way too long on this for no real reason. For funsies I guess!

Tip me if you’re feeling generous <3

[inkskinned]

in internet posts it is easy to cut them out of your life. they are hurting you! they aren't listening to you!

they held your hair back. they lent you lipstick. they held your hand at the train station and got you home safe. they rounded on your bully, got loud, said get fucked, spitting-mad in your defense.

they also cut the hair off again. told you that you should really think twice before wearing something like that. took you for granted. took your insecurities and threw them in your face again.

you know logically it should be easy. all the internet advice comments always read it will feel better. like an equation - if a person is rotten, you just remove them. you pull the tooth that's hurting.

but it was never a big flare-up moment. you don't live in a sitcom. they never tried to take your boyfriend or steal from your apartment. they showed up to birthdays and they wrote songs about you and bring you water without you asking. once you found out they carry an emergency inhaler for you, even though you haven't had an asthma attack in years - just in case.

where is the line? people fuck up. sometimes they fuck up badly. sometimes people have raw personalities, like a powerline, and being around them is dangerous. addicting. sometimes they can't help themselves, but you know they're trying. sometimes they are just rough-around-the-edges. sometimes they don't even realize how they sounded when they said that. sometimes it's just - you've both loved each other for so long now, the way this thing hurts goes back to the root.

and that's the fucked up part. you have pushed your fingers against the sweetheart of memory. things these days are electric, tense, harrowing. they didn't used to be. there were a lot of good days in there. sometimes you want to just close your eyes and say can this be over yet? do we still need to be fighting?

doing that would give up any chance you get of getting an apology, but you don't always know that you need an apology, you love them. once they flaked on your birthday party. once they told you to get over it, people are always dying. they also let you crash on their couch for a week after the breakup, handfeeding you when you were so sad you couldn't eat. they are also judgmental about everything, occasionally react to banal statements with an attitude that is weird and fiery. they also love you like a lighthouse sometimes, so strong they cut the storm like lightning.

but the problem is that you might be storm. you might be the thing that needs breaking. what if you are two forces who are desperately, horribly drawn to each other, shaped by the other person's passions, and both good for each other and bad in equal measure.

what if you're both just people, and you're no saint neither.

just cut them off! swallowing the saltwater, you catch yourself in the mirror. you've been shaking more than usual. there's an ache in you that is oblique, loud, impossible to soothe. is this what it looks like? when life is "easier"?

your mouth will always have a hole, is the thing, if you remove the tooth.

[starry-bi-sky]

"Stillborn? No, still born" Danyal au -- VLAD MASTERS THE BITCH HIMSELF

*Points at Vlad* THIS MFER GOT SOME TEEFS TO HIM. !! Okay okay, Vlad Masters in the stillborn au is different compared to most of my other aus in the fact that I am far more heavily leaning into his original ambitions of wanting a family and being desperately lonely. Because you know what wanting a family implies? Wanting to be a parent.

Fucked up father figure that could've been Vlad. Complicated love-hate relationship between the only two halfas in existence.

Danny hates Vlad, but he hates even more that he's genuinely considered his offers of mentorship. Vlad is the only halfa around, and they both have fire cores. Danny has these powers he doesn't understand, can barely comprehend some days, and can't control. But Vlad does. Vlad can. And Vlad wants to help him. He's the only other person who can get close whenever Danny runs too hot. Whenever his igneous hair cracks, splits, and spits back out into magma and his friends can't get close, Vlad can.

His hair is made of magma, which runs so hot that people need specialized suits in order to get near it. He physically cannot get close to the living as a ghost unless he's calm enough for his hair to cool into igneous rock. Which isn't as often as he would like. And sometimes he's too hot for other ghosts to get near unless they have fire cores -- which Vlad has.

There have been many times when Danny's having a meltdown (literally) and gone somewhere to be alone, to let his anger and hurt and loneliness overflow and spill out, that when he's come back to, Vlad's right there with him as an anchor. It's desperately frustrating, it's the only time they can get along. They don't say anything, Danny just turns and clings onto the only person he can touch as a ghost.

Its not fair. Vlad wants to kill his foster dad, and Danny can't let him do that. But he wants to be trained by the man, he wants his help and wants what he can offer. But Vlad can't step away from his revenge long enough to let him. It's just not fair. He thinks for a moment that maybe it could work, and then Vlad does something to remind him that no, it can't.

Vlad Masters sees too much of himself in Daniel Brown -- from the way he holds himself, to the defenses he puts up, his quiet anger that builds and builds and builds until it explodes. That simmers beneath his skin. All the way down to the fact that they have matching cores. This boy is cut from the same cloth as him, and by god does he want to help him. He's always wanted to be a father, and Daniel Brown is too much like him for him to ignore. He genuinely, truly cares about Danny and his wellbeing.

He wants to help him, child just let him help you. Let him kill your foster dad so he can adopt you himself and help with these powers that terrify and intrigue you -- he knows what that's like to have something that you can't control, to have a heat that you can't cool down from. "We're in the same boat you and I, let him help you please."

But his methods are all wrong, and Danny is too much like him -- stubbornness and all -- for him to agree when they oppose each other so greatly. But again, Danny is much like him -- which means that Vlad is equally stubborn, and in every single one of their fights he's parental. He's annoyingly parental. He drops his interest in Maddie to focus his efforts in trying to coax Danny onto his side. It's like trying to get a traumatized cat to trust you, and on some levels it works. It's like he makes some progress, and then moves too quickly and the cat immediately runs off and you have to start back from square one.

TL:DR; Vlad and Danny both want to find family in each other but they're too different to get along and ultimately they are doomed by the narrative to be at constant odds with one another unless one of them is changes, and it doesn't matter who.

[solargeist]

mother spore and mayor scar for the poor plesse djejssjksiw

I called her, I was in the graveyard alone and I called her, she sounded sleepy like she woke from her tomb And as the soil pushed me under--I tasted dirt, I tasted wonder

[iftrashcouldsparkle]

Hey does anyone wanna hear my thoughts about how Madarame and Fujieda's routes are essentially the same thing but in a different font????? Huge spoilers for the true route of Slow Damage.

Once I started playing Fujieda's route it struck me how it pretty much followed the same story beats as Madarame's:

Towa is confronted with a relic from his past > Something about it nags at him so he starts poking around > He remembers something from his past > He comes to terms with some aspect of his identity > Confrontation with the Takasato asshole that's been causing issues

But aside from that, both Madarame and Fujieda reflect different aspects of Towa's character. Both of their routes revolve around the idea of meeting someone so similar to you that they might as well be a mirror and the understanding that's born from that. The main difference is what they reflect and the traits they bring out in each other.

Madarame essentially reflects all of the things that Maya made Towa into. When they're together, they reflect and amplify the rougher edges of each of their personalities. Towa's apathy, his recklessness, his impulsivity, and his masochism are the things Madarame considers to be Towa's "true self". They're the parts of Towa that he sees reflected in himself; the parts of them that operate on instinct rather than the norms of society. Madarame loves Towa in his own way, and accepts the "roughest" version of himself, but these aspects of his character are things that Towa became because of Maya's abuse. It ultimately works for them and they find their version of happiness, but the more instinctual Towa that Madarame sought out is a version of Towa who is ruled by his coping mechanisms and survival instincts. To find this happiness (a happiness found in pain and danger), Towa must first be broken and regress back into his trauma. Madarame and Towa reflect each other in a way that enables the worst of their behavior.

Fujieda, on the other hand, reflects everything that Towa is DESPITE Maya's influence. (There is still that aspect of mirroring each other through their trauma and their shared scars is one of the big reasons they begin to connect, but it's more than that.) They reflect each other in their resilience in the way they choose to keep living and their refusal to let their trauma further define them. Both Towa and Fujieda suffer from survivor's guilt and consider suicide, and yet both of them make the difficult choice to keep living to some degree because of the other's influence. They reflect each other in the memory of the girl who gives them both the strength to carry on; someone they loved and lost. They reflect the ugliest and truest parts of themselves, showcased in their negative first interactions early in the game and the literal/metaphorical scars they share. Yet, despite how scared they both are at being confronted with someone so similar, they see the beauty and humanity in each other where they struggle to see it in themselves. Because Fujieda's character mirrors Towa's so closely, he's able to relate deeply to Towa and understand how much of his behavior is an attempt to regain his autonomy and recognizes that he could have very easily ended up the same way. Fujieda loves Towa for who he's managed to become despite Maya's abuse, and it's this mutual understanding that allows them to support each other so thoroughly. Fujieda and Towa reflect each other in a way that ultimately supports a journey to healing and recovery.

Anyway, if you actually read all of that I would love to hear your thoughts because it's been rattling around in my brain for too long!

[triglycercule]

horror has KR dust can't be affected by KR unless it's by another version of himself. horror's (somehow) still a judge dust wants repentance for his wrongdoings,,,, someone must see where i'm going with this

i just wanna imagine like if dust ever feels like he's doing something wrong (like having thoughts about gaining LV again or something,,,,) he'll just ask horror to give him like. a quick little punch. hit him with a bone fragment because he needs to feel his sins crawling on his back from a true judge,,,,

and then horror's more than happy to do it 😁😁😁 he winds that shit up before he bitch slaps dust :33 oh you need to be judged DONT WORRY DUST horror is a totally impartial judge that totally won't find your situation both ridiculous and entertaining 😁😁

[thelambthatkilledthewolf]

If Jon and Elias weren't Jon and Elias, I would probably ship them. However, as it stands, Jon and Elias are, in fact, Jon and Elias, so I cannot ship them

[cometblaster2070]

ty lee and azula being THE doomed toxic yuri couple resonates with me on a level nobody understands

[lexyscross]

Can I talk to you guys about the Aftons? I've been dying to talk to y'all about the Aftons ALL DAY! 😩

Headcanon: William's nicknames for Vanessa were "Little Bunny" and (of course) "Vanny."

[hauntzbin]

i feel like it's pretty safe to assume the people who say Chaggie is toxic because of Vaggie's attachment to Charlie haven't really been deeply in love before, especially not in a situation where their partner literally saved their life.

Sure a dynamic like that could go sour if you become too overbearing/demanding or controlling out of fear of losing them, but Vaggie is very obviously not that?

I can't exactly put the feeling into words, it's sort of a situation you have to experience in order to understand. But when you owe someone your life, especially when it feels that person is also your soulmate, of course you dedicate the rest of it to making them happy and giving unyielding support. Of course you feel like you owe them the world, because they're your whole world and the only reason you're even still here.

Yes it can create a power imbalance and your partner could take advantage of the obsessive loyalty that level of dependency breeds, but Charlie chooses not to because shes not abusive and she respects and loves vaggie.

Charlie recognizes that Vaggie has self worth issues and places her value in how useful she is to her, and instead of making it into a toxic situation charlie takes the time to reassure vaggie that she doesn't need to be 'proving' herself and that she is loved and valued as she is.

[automaticdata]

I like FH (though I prefer the toxic variety) but I just have to say, Scott letting Jimmy kill him in Limited Life is not some grand gesture of affection. He'd refused Jimmy earlier, and only agreed to give Jimmy time after he was under 30 minutes. In the same episode he gifted Jimmy 30 minutes, he also took an hour off of Jimmy's life by killing him. (Honestly, neither benefited; they both ended up with a net loss of 30 minutes from their killing/being killed by each other that ep.)

Even before I discovered toxic FH fandom, I was super iffy about all the FH fanfics I found, despite liking the ship, because they didn't feel like Scott and Jimmy, and stuff like this is why! Scott isn't some grand martyr who selflessly sacrifices everything for Jimmy's sake. He teases Jimmy about being a toy ("But I want to play with you, Jimmy") and makes the threat of an arrest into something flirty ("handcuffs? =D"), tells Jimmy he's a "snack" when he's a vampire, says only he's allowed to be mean to Jimmy, etc. That's the dynamic I find appealing - Scott flirting with Jimmy and Jimmy getting flustered and not knowing what to do with it. But that's not the dynamic that exists in, like, 90% of fanworks about them.

It feels like to me that the fandom has seized on the dynamic of super-competent person falling in love with borderline-incompetent person, and just ... stripped most other traits away from the characters. Like, where is Jimmy struggling to be skilled, to be acknowledged, to be respected? Who is this person who has replaced him, who is basically a doormat for everyone, who has accepted his role in the universe of being cursed with misfortune? Where is Scott loving social games, having fun teasing people, and generally being fun? This is the guy who had a blast being an evil vampire in AfterLife, who usurped a cult in X-Life, and who built a black market in Empires season 2.

Like, I know some people seem to legit have problems with toxic FH, but I feel like these posts that praise a dynamic that FH never had are just as damaging to the ship. It makes FH into something that, in fandom/fictional terms, I find worse than toxic - it makes them boring.

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

The fanon interpretation of Vox and Valentino's relationship really is just Satan and Saddam Hussein in South Park huh.

[whumpitisthen]

Abhorrent

Previous I Masterlist I Next

CWs: blood, gore, death, fear, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, religious themes, nonhuman whumpers, power dynamics, gay ass deities

“But, but you — please, My Lord, if, i-if your, um, Y-Your Divinity allowed us just one more month — a few weeks even! I’m sure we could come to a, a-uh, satisfactory agreement between the — ”

“I do not care.”

Crack. One final, choked wheeze herds out the soul from his body, and the garrulous suit falls silent. With just a single flick of his hand, three cervical vertebrae snap at once, shattering with enough force to allow for the shards of bone to dig their way deep into the man’s pharynx and trachea, letting blood gush forth to ensure his demise. The corpse smashes its nose bloody on the way down, drawing a new pool of red for the table cloth to swallow up, losing consciousness before it could suffocate fully.

‘You bore me.’

That was what their God had said before this, to the diplomat before him, right before the flesh was rent sliver by excruciating sliver off their body; now lying facing the most recently made corpse.

The human sitting right next to them had failed to endure the maddening scene and got up in a mindless panic to run, aiming to make as much space between themself and the gory execution as possible. Grim halted their plan barely three steps in and dragged them away into the shadows. He came back without the body, licking his fingers clean.

‘No imagination at all…’

That time, the Lord had looked away with a heavy sigh, an air of disappointment about him. Then, the german-tongued politician started vomiting blood, then lungs. The demon king did turn back to face him again; to watch him die. The body is still resting, cold, in a pool of its liquified organs.

‘Your time is up.’

That one was Grim's handywork; an eager, vicious attack delivered in a split second. He had aimed a perfect diagonal slice from the right shoulder to the left hip, splitting the human in twain. What is now two halves of a bloody mess on the floor could hardly string together a single sentence with Death looming above it, slowly counting the seconds like a sentient guillotine. His Lord hoped that the imminent threat would help the mortal come up with something more creative to say, but alas…

The demon almost looks vengeful as he watches each mortal become part of the gory decor, lining them up one by one to join the corpses — apt revenge for wasting his time. Coming into this parley, His Majesty had expected a little more desperation, and a little less arrogance. It seems that even after over three centuries of direct unholy sovereignty, conquest and subjugation, humans would still rather hold their belief in the God that had long abandoned them than to give reverence to the God standing right before them; who is merciful enough to let the brazen bunch continue their pathetic existence despite their frustrating lack of succumbence and endless hubris.

A battle of pride; that's what it always comes down to. Their human pride is just as tenacious as his own; a double edged sword, a hindrance and vantage at once.

“Utterly dull,” — he says, shaking his head disapprovingly, only once blood stops gushing forth from the most recently dead man, — “all of you are so utterly, utterly dull. Three hundred years, twelve generations, over eight tenths of your previous land taken or razed, your existence allowed purely of my own careful design — and you still don’t get it. You refuse to understand.”

If there were any humans composed enough not to show perturbance up until now, their stone exterior breaks at the absolute dissatisfaction that has soaked into their Lord. His almost anger is felt clear as day in the very air that surrounds them, raising the hairs on their arms in wicked goosebumps and causing an unnatural sensation of static and taunting whispers to invade every mortal mind.

A displeased overlord is a special kind of danger; the kind that incinerates nations and enslaves the innocent on a whim. But forget all that — at the rate this conference is going, not a single human is making it out of here alive. One could wonder, if these people are so important to the workings of human society, how will the rest of them adapt to their sudden absence?

Grim yawns. What are humans if not the most freakishly adept at acclimatisation? They were made to bend, they will figure it out.

The shivers and terrorising voices only last a few seconds, shushed by the demon lord's composed exhale. There are still so many of them, perhaps only the first few would be so untoward with their approach. Every word that came out of their pathetic mouths angered him, bringing him ever closer to erasing their entire race in one final torrent of infernal destruction — no, that would be an awfully rash decision from a man known to be the most patient. He can shape them, he can mould them, just as well as any of his own creations. They will yield eventually. He just wishes their stubbornness would fade.

He would never admit it out loud, not even to himself, especially not around Grim… But every trait that he sees in these mortals — this endless pride, obstinacy, wit, devotion, will, — they are his own. A curse, a punishment, a reminder. It originated with him, reflected back at him millennia later, and it absolutely infuriates him to no end. He cannot stand seeing himself in these specks of useless dust.

He wills the next mortal to stand and present their stance and queries, dared to implore their overlord to aid them and their nation; but their solemn monologue about how insufficient land and a lack of reliable resources bottlenecks their agriculture and has now lead to civil unrest, millions starving, rioting on the streets, stealing, killing, drawing their ire closer to their beloved benefactors’ estates, and how that has left their governing officials no choice but to plead for a mitigation of the sanctions placed on their people by their benevolent, omniscient ruler,  — and that is as far as he can bare to listen to this dry speech of utter selfish incompetence.

There is a painful lack of proper respect, Grim finds. All demands and no pleas. So official, yet so incredibly unserious. He can't help likening them to a circus of clowns in expensive suits, sitting around in their little clown cars debating their little clown problems.

It feels like humans have truly forgotten how to beg. No; maybe these ones have, but begging is in a mortal’s nature. They had just grown so accustomed to having a God that never answered them that now that someone more worthy came to take its place, they don't even believe he is one. Or they would rather pretend otherwise.

Either way, he doesn't really care about any of this. Instead, Grim finds his fun in circling the long row of seats on either side of the crowded dining table. Slow steps, a cold gust of air on the backs of each nervous mortal waiting their turn. He passes time inspecting their souls, bumping their feet or ghosting a hand along their shoulders to keep them in check, see their reactions. Backs ramrod straight, limbs pulled in, heads down, breaths thin. Like little soldiers.

He slows to a stop behind one; the one he likes most. A small woman, with big circular glasses and a mess of autumn-coloured hair held up by a single hairband. She is quivering, her hands hidden between her thighs as she sits nearly motionless; so unassuming, so afraid to bring any kind of attention to herself, that it only makes her stand out that much more. He is certain, now that he has watched her for a while, that she isn't the leader of anything, only a puppet sent in place of someone much more important. That, or she is wiser than any other mortal partaking at this diplomatic feast and babbling about things that do not matter.

She shudders and flinches at the chilling breath she feels on her cheek, hunching her shoulders up high. Her eyes squeeze shut before she could catch a glimpse of that terrifying canine skull he wears as he leans down, tilting his head to take a closer look at the circles under her eyes, the soft, natural colours of her makeup proving far too vibrant for her steadily paling face. He is curious what language she speaks, what her voice sounds like. One of those silver claws lifts to scrape her cheek, carefully lifting a lock of that soft, wavy hair to gently tuck behind her ear. He does not hurt her, he doesn't even try particularly to scare her, and that only makes her all the more alluring when despite that, she nearly whimpers, struggling to draw breath, like he's squeezing the very air out of her lungs.

She reminds him of his tormented little fawn. So little, so sweet, so easy to frighten. Stays still and quiet, merely hoping that she won't be hurt, no fighting, no running. Her soul vibrates with life, lighting up her otherwise morose expression with vibrancy in her green eyes. It makes him want to take her away, lock her up somewhere, make her scream, make her his. He smiles fondly behind his mask, and reaches past her to grab a fine looking piece of meat off the plate in front of her. It drips with a generous coating of blood, dripping down the bone of his mask as he lifts the flesh sliver above himself, pulls the mask to the side and drops the delicacy onto his tongue, savouring it. It tastes real enough, though reality is a funny concept when it comes to his Lord.

In the Nowhere, time passes a little differently. There is no certain way to tell its passage, no logic to its rhythm. It fluctuates seemingly randomly, going faster one moment, then slowing to a near stop another. He cannot be sure, but Grim does have a running theory hypothesising that the imaginary time of these temporary worlds is forced to bend to His Majesty's whims. In here, a dimension created by him and occupied by guests, the natural order of things is whatever he wants it to be — and what is time but one thread of a given reality interwoven into the intricate lace of the creator's mind.

It amazes Grim, that even with such magnificent power as to be a source of creation itself, His Majesty still finds the time to spend on the smallest, most insignificant of things, and often would rather use it to morph something already existing, as opposed to creating something entirely new. To each their own, he supposes. The Lord's personal projects do always end up to be something entertaining if nothing else, no matter if they are some scrawny thing he picked up off the side of the street, or if it’s the most incredible, incalculable, phenomenal masterpiece a God like him could come up with built up with endless care piece by piece from nothing.

It has been a while since his Lord has had a project. The last one has shattered long ago; a boring husk that became incapable of imperfection, or emoting for that matter, thoroughly emptied out until they became a lukewarm body without a soul, or opinion, or anything at all, left to listlessly wander their master's mansion and clean the halls over and over again, wheezing slow as if perpetually suffocating. Grim tried to put a little fear into them once, hoping to elevate the rhythm of their heart a little, but it was like they were dead already, grey with a lack of life behind their eyes, blinking slow, wholly uninterested in anything he had to offer that wasn't death. He remembers his Lord calling them a great disappointment.

He wonders if his newest gift will fascinate the demon enough to keep his focus for a while. He counts on the angel’s arrival being somewhat of a sentimental topic to his old friend.

Deep in his thoughts, the Reaper suddenly feels something. The scent of blood in water. His ashen skin shivers with its intensity. A sound; a wave of something strange, vibrant, beguiling, sorrowful. A soul crying for him. Screaming for him. Someone he knows?

He slows to a stop from his absentminded stroll and listens, looking around as if to ascertain the direction of the sad wailing. He feels his Lord's attention on him, ever careful of his premonitions. His bloodhound sensed something he cannot, and that is rarely a good sign.

The Lord waves a hand, shutting up the human diplomat's ceaseless rambling. — “What is it?”

Staring straight up at the ceiling, Grim listens for the cries, but they are much too hard to make out. He can’t tell exactly what's going on past the shadowed walls of this domain. His ears are filled with cotton. Letting his chin down, he hums. — “It appears I have somewhere else to be.”

“Is that so?”

“Somewhere important,” — he continues, more so to himself. He turns to his Lord, all but ordering, voice cold, but his tone still lifts towards the end, as if only patiently inquiring; — “open a gate.”

His Lord raises an eyebrow. This sudden change is completely unprecedented; a far cry from his unburdened, carefree Reaper. What has made him so worried so suddenly? — “What could be more important than being by my side?”

That pulls a laugh out of Grim; a little incredulous, a little genuine, but spine chilling all the same. — “The details of my duty are of no business to you, My Lord.”

Then, black smoke envelops him, catching him as he bonelessly falls back into it, swallowed up and gone. He disappears for only a moment; the next he is walking out from behind his Lord’s impressive throne. Bracing himself on the back of it, he leans down to murmur, his fangs peeking out from under the mask just so, smiling wickedly. — “So draw a gate for me. I may just be inclined to return sooner if you do.” — He giggles then, a mischievous sound. — “I know you don't like being all alone with these scary mortals. I'll hurry right back to your side, Your Majesty, you need have nothing to worry about.”

Even if he was considering opening a gate for him, he definitely won't after that mockery. Grim knows as much; but he cannot hold himself from playful jest. And nevertheless, he had just about enough of this senseless race to find out who can come up with the most boring way to beg their God, and by his calculations, he may have annoyed the Lord just enough for him to not mind Grim's absence too much once he leaves.

Sure enough, the demon narrows his eyes in slight contempt, not looking very amused — can he never take a joke? He then puts on an easy smile. — “I think you can find your own way there, wherever it is you must go. Clearly, you do not need my help.”

Grim’s fanged smile disappears as his Lord's own only grows when he lifts a clawed hand to take hold of his bloodhound by the chin, bringing him close enough to whisper in his ear. — “If you wanted to leave so badly, you could have just told me. I am more than used to your flippant nature; I know your thirst never leaves you long enough to think through a single thought in your head. Go home and grab yourself a snack, my ravenous Reaper, I won't stop you.”

His surprise is quickly replaced by a toothy grin, low laughter bubbling out of his throat. That shiver raising the hairs on the back of his neck; a familiar, pleasant electric current spasming under his frozen skin. A shaky breath slips out from behind his teeth. 

Under the mask, Grim's eyes flutter shut. His Lord is a dangerous, foolish man to flirt with Death in such a fashion. Truly dangerous indeed.

He can't resist grasping a hand around his old friend's wrist with unyielding strength, lifting those clawed fingers away from the possessive hold on his chin. If his grip hurts the demon lord at all, he doesn't show it. He then turns the offending hand and returns it to his lips. He presses a gentle, slow kiss to the black veins pumping the same black blood as his own steadily through them.

Blood void of any adrenaline, fear or anxiety. Playing with fire, tempting fate, and not an ounce of healthy cowardice to be found in those onyx eyes.

His Lord's smug faith in his Reaper’s loyalty annoys Grim greatly — almost as much as it captivates him.

“Abhorrent,” — he decides, a finely chosen word of farewell. His old friend smiles as if he called him beautiful.

With that, cursed black smoke envelops his body in a gentle embrace, disintegrating his form to mist until there is nothing left. The Lord's hand remains floating surrounded by Death’s frigid breath, leaving an echo of phantom touch on his skin long after the air inexplicably warms, sighing in relief with every mortal to announce the Reaper's departure.

<3

Mastelist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long @sordayciega @a-miscellaneous-number-of-rats

@letitbehurt @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[77338-fr]

she's far from done yet but I must share quinine my friend quinine

(brief lore)

>former architect of the isolated living spaces of her flight's oracles (im at the black lodge backrooms large hadron collider im at the combination black lodge backrooms large hadron collider)

>No Longer Welcome back home, part of my necropolis setting now (between plague and earth's coastal borders, massive mostly underground intergenerational graveyard)(soulsborne type location)

>helping to expand and renovate the lower chambers now :) she's fine its fine that she knows her works will only ever fill up with more dead people (her new boss seems to be in a hurry to fill them, too) don't worry about it

[ctrl-alt-deleting-yr-face]

okay to those of you who saw my last rb and care about my stupid guilty gear au. i NEED to rant right now. Massive long winded about bedkari (aka bedman x hikari, my stupid ship that’s part of reverie of rebirth) under the cut. Be warned they’re so toxic yuri

i just realized. The cornered pray analogy exactly how the dynamic between Romeo and Hikari is. The lamb preparing for their slaughter specifically is. Exactly them. But the thing is… The roles are swapped in a way.

Romeo, of course, has sheep elements. Those are a huge part of his design- Even in his canon story as well. He’s a lamb being led by a shepherd. He’s naively being led along by Ariels, she calms him when he rebels or lashes out against her, and she led him all the way to his eventual slaughter. He’s the lamb.

But with Hikari, he gets to be the shepherd.

Hikari is a yokai. She’s powerful. I wrote her to be powerful on purpose. She could be fatally wounded and survive, not even batting an eye due to her lack of pain receptors. Which she does. Right when she first meets Romeo. He tries to kill her, and yet she’s unfazed. She doesn’t care. She didn’t feel anything, and she knows she wants to be near him no matter what. All that’s important is pleasing him.

Basically all Hikari knows is Romeo. When she first met him and emotionally latched onto him, she had only recently awoken and still had all her emotions. All her emotions were developed around Romeo’s guidance and treatment of her, which basically just meant being his little assistant, aiding in his war crimes, and associating joy with his slightly harsh treatment.

All Hikari knows is showing her neck and stomach to Romeo.

When comparing the specific animal motifs of both Romeo and Hikari, it’s really fun to see the contrast. Hikari has the designs element of the predator animal, while Romeo has motifs of the prey. However, those roles are swapped in terms of their behavior. Romeo is abrasive and only begins to show care towards his yokai companion after months in his presence, while said companion innocently follows his commands and accepts anything he throws her way- Naively believing every word he says like it’s gospel. A little cat blindly loving the cruel shepherd. It’s a beautiful parallel that honestly was not intentional.

The sheep bares its teeth and bites into the neck of the two-tailed cat.

[triglycercule]

hhhhidea...,,,, CUTE idea (kinda?) dust reading to phantom papyrus during night to lull him to sleep,,,, but really its just a way for him to pretend that everythings not really that shit (as if phantom paps isn't just dust's denial incarnate) and to help him NOT wake up because of a nightmare again or something

(and just because i can't resist now im imagining this with mtt. not that dust stopped reading to paps in place of killer and horror (because he wouldnt he simply wouldn't) but now the two join them for storytime. horror knocks out pretty damn fast and eventually dust falls asleep too after he makes sure that paps is satisfied with the amount he read and then killer's just left to sit there. maybe he tries to fall asleep maybe he doesn't,,,, maybe he picks up the book and continues reading but EITHERWAY,,,,,, this scene in my head so 💥💥💥😇😇😇)