#that they inevitably drag each other back in. killing themselves and each other

[darkjusticiar]

Oh and I forgot about the rat king door. Ough

[amaranthineghost]

BUT I LOVE YOU SO (PLEASE LET ME GO) ( lando norris. )

he loved her, but knew he had to let her go even if it killed him inside. still he left a paper trail back to him.

warnings: heavy angst I suppose

authors note: wrote this with 2 am motivation. it was about time I finally gave you guys some writing after a couple of months of an absence (I sincerely apologize). I was thinking of making this one of the parts of the mini series because it sort of fits what I want to do with it, but i figured since i hadn't put anything out in a while, it'd be its own separate thing <3

part 2 found here

HE LOVED HER with every fiber of his being. every cell in his body lived for her, he told himself. the blood that ran through his veins underneath his tan skin, all the way to his heart that he had so carefully carved to be able to beat for her. she was the center of his life, he thought.

he really thought.

because now, as he sat and watched her through the fingers over his face to hide the incoming tears, he wished he knew what he should've done. because he only knew what to do.

to let her go.

surely, it wasn't easy, it was never going to be. but alas it was inevitable for the lovers to part though at the time, they wished for it to be only shortly.  but they were never coming back. they didn't want to believe, but their hearts knew.

it was a long time coming, but nothing could've prepared them for the heartbreak they forced upon themselves. it was like running blindly into the brick wall they had built together.

they didn't ever fight though. that was the one thing they took pride for their relationship, but now they realize it would've been better for petty arguments. because now, they realize they just don't work.

he was social, she was a homebody. he loved the night life, jumping between different clubs across cities he'd drag her to. of course, at the time she didn't mind being pulled into a club every so often, but it wasn't her scene. the media never was.

he knew that. she knew that it was his.

her hands shook with every folded article of clothing, occasionally wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she tried to avoid his figure altogether.

it wasn't like she didn't want him, in fact she needed him. but the relationship was doomed from the start, she knew yet she didn't care because at the time, everything was tunnel-visioned and he was the light at it's end. 

her best moments were the ones lived with him, yet also the worst ones too. but she didn't regret it, it shaped them for their future. one where they knew they couldn't be by each other's side.

they knew heartbreak was looming over them, though the possibility of severing their relationship at any given moment didn't dawn on them till blood was pouring out the wound and there was nothing they could do to stop the bleeding.

they wouldn't try to, they knew better than to patch a wound that would never heal. they let it bleed onto the cold floors of their apartment. the one she had to leave.

nothing had happened in the way they had wanted, but when would it ever if everything was always working against them? it was the world versus them and they lost.

they accepted that defeat.

she tried her best to keep her composure as she packed, for whatever thin thread they held onto would snap if she broke down. because they both knew he couldn't leave her if she did, wouldn't let her go.

because she knew he'd give up his career, his dream, in a heartbeat if it had meant he could still hold her at night. he said forever, and he would make it happen.

it sent her over the edge, reliving their relationship as her fingertips creased memories and packed them into a suitcase, each item of clothing holding significance from their relationship. all from the beginning, she'd kept everything, and that wouldn't change.

she broke. she recognized the textures beneath her fingertips before she could look, her favorite dress. her favorite dress that he bought for her for their anniversary. she knew it was over.

as soon as the choked sobs left her lips, the armchair he sat on creaked as he simply stood and walked to console her. his arms wrapped around her shoulders as the warmth of his chest spread across her back, which did nothing but break her heart more.

she pressed her lips against his skin, though not in an intimate manner, but to hide her struggled cries as the tears down her cheeks began to stain his skin with mascara. she gripped his forearm and bicep tightly, leaning her head further against him.

" 'm sorry," she mumbled against his skin, sniffling as she struggled to catch a breath between sobs. she clenched her eyes shut, seeing dizzying shapes underneath her eyelids. she hoped it would stop the tears.

"shh," he shushed as his lips kissed her hair, muffling his words, "i should be sorry."

still he spoke ever so softly to her as the day they'd met and she couldn't help but fold for his tone of voice every time. even when she knew she shouldn't.

" you have nothing to be sorry for, lan..." 

"i should've know the media would be too much for you, love." he mumbled against her hair, "i have everything to be sorry for."

"but i handled it." she peeled his arm from her skin, the streaks of black mascara almost making her lips twitch into a smile as it brought back memories. memories of crying-laughing and smearing mascara onto his arms. still, she held his wrist as she turned to face him, yet she didn't step back.

it'd be the last time they would be this close.

but part of him didn't want her to turn around. he loved when her makeup ran down her face as she cried tears of joy, with the bright sun shining down on her, acting as her personal spotlight, because she was the center of attention, with the wind blowing her hair.

he wished he could see her like that one more time before they left for good. because now he stood, resisting the urge to wipe the tears off her face. because now it wasn't happy, it was sullen. he wanted everything to be able to take care of her, to not let her leave. not yet.

he sighed, he had to give in. he always would, he couldn't help himself when he smudged the running mascara off her face, "fuck, that never works, does it?" he muttered in a soft panic as he realized he just made more of a mess.

she chuckled. she loved whenever he lightened the mood, intentionally or not, it was something she could always count on him to do, "every time, lando, every time." she replied through soft chuckles, sighing as she calmed.

he became serious once again as the smile slowly fell from his face and he wiped the black from his fingers, "but really, did you handle it?" he asked lowly, looking down at her with the same, soft look on his face she could always count on, "i know the media really affected you."

she sighed. there was no denying the exhaustion the media and paparazzi caused. they thought they were fine in the bubble of their apartment, but that bubble had long popped.

"you were born to shine, lando." she simply responded to not give him the truth he was expecting to hear, "that's just not me, we both know it."

"i know." he whispered, biting his lip and looking at her with a gloomy expression. he felt regret and guilt, " 'm sorry."

she shook her head, raising her hand to his jaw to trace the bone under his skin, “i know, but we're both at fault here. we should've known it wouldn't've worked out."

it hurt for them to hear, but it needed to be said, and he would've never said it. it was the truth.

she sniffled, backing away with the realization of how close they had become as she wiped away stray tears and turned back to the half-packed suitcase on the bed they once shared.

he watched her face as her eyes scanned the still heaps of clothing left for her to take, and boxes needing to be filled, "do you want some help?" he offered, his hand grabbing the back of her arm, caressing the skin as she jumped slightly at the contact.

she sighed and said through an awkward chuckle, "please," she reached again for clothes to resume her packing, " 'm afraid i'll change my mind if i stay too much longer."

her words hurt, like daggers slicing through his skin. another wound they couldn't heal.

"would it be that bad?"

his response hurt more. she hadn't meant it like that, but words were subjective. it was like he had taken the knife from beneath his flesh and twisted back into hers.

"no, lan, i didn't mean it like that-" she dropped the shirt she held to place a hand on his bicep, which he shrugged off.

" 'ts fine," he spoke without a tone in his voice, which was odd for him. His focus was on her clothes in his hands and somewhat neatly packed away into one of her many suitcases.

"but i just meant-"

"listen, 'ts fine, we aren't together anymore so we don't have to fix things, or try to."

she squirmed under the dagger as it twisted deeper into her flesh. the air was tense, too silent for her liking and his new attitude threw her off.

it made her realize that maybe there was something more to them that didn't work. because surely any two people who loved each other would make it work out.

it didn't make sense though. maybe it never would.

after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence between them where the only sound was folding of cloth and zipping up certain spots in her suitcase, he turned his back and left the room.

she watched him leave from the corner of her eye, but she didn't stop him. she wanted to though. she wanted so desperately to grab him by the arm and force him to talk to her, but she wouldn't. he was right. they weren't dating.

besides they couldn't even fix what they had before.

minutes later he reemerged with a hand stuffed in his hoodie pocket and another behind his back with something he hid from her. she couldn't get a peak before he slipped it into one of the boxes. she shrugged it off as something she had forgotten.

he returned to helping her fold, but this time with his back towards her. it pained her, she didn't want him to turn his back on her, yet in a couple of hours, she would walk through their apartment door, her back turned to him. it was unfair, she knew.

the tears this time were silent as they streamed down her face, but she didn't make a sound. she watched his actions for a solid five minutes, seeing his best attempts folding her clothes, for her. he was never the best at it, as she had poked fun at him for it in the past. it hurt to think she would never see the difference of neatness in her closet anymore.

her attention was piqued  when she saw his movement halt, quickly resuming with a messily put-together hoodie, one she didn't recognize to be hers.

she didn't get to look before he flipped back the top and zipped it up to go with the others.

she didn't have time to wipe the fresh tears from her face when he turned around after pulling the suitcase from the bed. he paused, dropping the handle.

in a swift motion, he pulled her into his chest. she couldn't stop herself from breaking down in his arms, his hand wrapped around her head, the other around her back. they stayed silent, apart from her sobs into his shirt. he didn't care if she ended up staining it.

they swayed for a while, longer than they should've, but at least now she had calmed down. though tears still streaming down her face and a headache forming in her head, they pulled apart slightly.

her hair was messy, her nose, cheeks, eyes and lips were red, her eyes were puffy and tears stained her face, but she was still prettier than ever.

he couldn't help but tuck the hair in front of her face behind her ear, his hand resting on her jaw.

for the last time, they kissed.

to him, it was like he was taking his last breath of air, or gulp of water for the rest of his life. he was taking what he could.

the taste of her salty tears, the wetness from her cheeks now on his, the hands in her messy hair pushing her desperately closer because he didn't want to let her go.

they sighed when they parted, his teeth grazing her bottom lip at a desperate attempt for more. more time.

they both stepped back, staying silent once again. they didn't have anything to say because their actions said it all. he stepped back to the suitcase he dropped and started moving them out to her car, which had considerably more trunk space than any of his.

it felt like when she was first moving out for college, with stacks of boxes and plenty of suitcases to make it seem like she was fleeing the country.

it all ended the second she walked out the door, but she didn't have to turn her back on him as he walked her to her car, opening the door.

one last hug between them. the last contact.

but they still followed each other's lives.

she would watch his races from the comfort of her new living room couch because she still worried about him the same amount from when they were dating. she noticed his suffering performance, though she sighed every time he crossed the finish line unscathed.

part of him knew she was watching for him.

he still followed her private accounts, liking the posts of the lifestyle that he could never live. it just wasn't his to experience, just like his was never hers to live either. most nights spent drunk in the dj booth, or out to dinner with other drivers, the social life had never been her scene.

he knew.

he knew all along that it was never going to end as they wished in the moment. they stared at their future without fully knowing what was waiting, yet they didn't step down.

months had passed. their lives were supposed to have gotten better, but they could both see they were both suffering.

boxes still unpacked from when she first left, she had never gotten around to fully moving in. still suitcases and cardboard boxes laid around the kitchen of her new apartment.

she felt like she should open them, like she needed to. if not now, would she ever?

boxes full of old memories from her childhood, or stuffed animals she had always convinced lando to buy for her. until there was one box left untouched. she hadn't remembered packing this one.

carefully, she sliced the tape and pulled back the cardboard. she was speechless.

his race helmet. his race helmet he dedicated to her.

dedicated for the anniversary of the day they met. for the race of the country where their eyes first found each other.

it had details about her. her favorite colors, places, things. it had her name, big enough to see from a while away.

he loved this helmet. and he gave it to her.

all she could do now was hug the last remainder of him and cry. she wasn't sure if letting him go was the right or wrong decision, but it felt wrong to question it now.

when she pulled away from the helmet and sniffling her nose, she noticed a piece of paper lodged into the visor. carefully, she pulled it out, unfolding it to see the familiar and horrible handwriting of lando norris.

she was lucky she learned to read it over the years or she would've been screwed.

blue suitcase. for when you're ready.

out of all of the suitcases she had taken, only one was blue. the one he had packed.

she hastily picked herself off the floor, carefully setting the helmet down on the kitchen counter before dropping back down on her knees and desperately unzipped it.

she tossed through every pocket and article of clothing packed into the suitcase, inspecting every single item. until she found it.

of course, he had given her one of his hoodies, but it was not just any of his hoodies. once again, a favorite of his he wore regularly. he gave it to her. it smelled like him still. curse him for spraying cologne on it.

she felt the fabric beneath her fingertips before slipping it on. a smile crept onto her lips as she went and sat back down on her couch, the TV had been playing FP3 in the background before quali in a couple hours time.

she pulled her blanket back over her, slipping her hands into the pockets. her brows furrowed when she felt yet another piece of paper, pulling it out to reveal even more horrendous handwriting from her beloved racer.

will let me know you're watching?

any day now love.

when the nights get lonely, i'll be waiting.

whenever you're ready.

i miss you, i'm sorry

ynusername

liked by landonorris and 4037 others

ynusername I don't know if i'm ready for this...

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proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[mykuup]

Of bone and bloom - Cryptid!Eddie Munson AU Part 4

Moodboard + summary + Serie Masterlist

My masterlist

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Summary : Despite all your efforts, the hunters decided to act to finally kill the beast. And because of your father keeping an eye on you, you arrived a little too late.

wc : 1,3k

Warnings : monster romance // fluff // smut // MDNI // unprotected piv (wrap it irl guys) // mention of injuries // mention of blood // size gap // no mention of y/n // porn with plot // afab reader (but no description)

A/n : @saphirmoraitie you're the best, thank you for helping me with this! To everyone who read this, thank you for being here 💜

Taglist : @jasminelafleur @maedesculpaeusoubi @sassidykassidy

The hunt

The night was thick with tension, the air heavy with the anticipation of what was to come. The men of the village had gathered at the edge of the forest’s edge, their torches flickering in the darkness, weapons ready. They were hardened hunters, men who had faced the dangers of the wild countless times, but tonight there was a different kind of fear in their eyes—a fear of the unknown, of the creature that haunted their dreams and whispered in the shadows.

You stood on the outskirts of the group, heart pounding with a sickening dread. You had tried to find Eddie, to reach him before the hunt began, but the men had moved too quickly. Driven by a mix of fear and anger, nothing you said could dissuade them. Your father had kept a close eye on you, ensuring you stayed far from the hunt. But your mind raced, desperate to find a way to prevent the inevitable.

The leader of the hunting party, a grizzled man named Harven, stepped forward, raising his torch high. “Tonight, we end this!” he declared, his voice firm and resolute. “This creature has haunted our woods for too long. We’ve lived in fear, but no more. Tonight, we take back our land!”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. The men steeled themselves and moved as one, plunging into the forest with grim determination, their torches casting eerie shadows. The forest seemed to close in around them, the usual sounds of the night muted as if the very woods held their breath.

You stood frozen, helpless as you watched them disappear into the darkness. You knew the forest better than most and had walked its paths since you were a child, but you had never felt so powerless. The weight of what might happen pressed down on you, suffocating your thoughts. You had to do something, but what? 

Time dragged on, each minute stretching into eternity as you waited, praying that Eddie would sense the danger and escape before it was too late. Deep down, you knew the odds were slim. The hunters were skilled and relentless. They wouldn’t stop until they found their prey.

Then, faintly, you heard it—the distant sound of shouting, the clash of steel, and the unmistakable roar of something primal, something not of this world. Your heart lurched a cold fear gripping you as you realized the hunt had found its target.

Without thinking, without caring about the consequences, you broke into a run, racing toward the source of the noise. Branches tore at your clothes, your breath coming in ragged gasps, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You had to find him, to save him before it was too late.

The sounds of the struggle grew louder as you neared, the shouts of the men mingling with the guttural growls. You burst into a clearing, your heart pounding in your ears, and what you saw made your blood run cold.

Eddie was surrounded, his massive form hunched and bleeding, the torches casting a fiery glow on his dark fur. He fought with a ferocity born of desperation, his claws slashing through the air, but he was outnumbered. His strength was fading. 

Harven and the others circled him like wolves, weapons gleaming in the torchlight, faces twisted with determination. One of them lunged forward, thrusting a spear at Eddie’s side, and he roared in pain, the sound echoing through the forest like thunder.

“No!” you screamed, your voice cutting through the chaos. But your cry was lost in the din, drowned out by the frenzy of the hunt.

Eddie turned, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief, agonizing moment. In that instant, you saw in them the same fear that had gripped you when you first encountered him. But there was something else there too—recognition, and maybe even a plea.

Then, with a powerful swipe of his claw, he moved, faster than any of the men could react. He knocked two of them to the ground, their weapons clattering uselessly to the dirt. Harven shouted orders, trying to rally the others, but Eddie was already gone, melting into the shadows of the forest with a speed that defied his size.

The hunters cursed and scrambled after him, but it was too late. Eddie had vanished into the night, leaving only the trampled grass and bloodied bodies in his wake. 

You didn’t hesitate. You plunged into the forest, following the trail of blood that Eddie had left behind. The shouts of the hunters faded behind you. Your only thought was to find him, to reach him before they did.

The trail led you deeper into the forest, the trees thickening, the air growing colder. Soon, you were alone, the darkness closing in. But you pressed on, heart pounding, guided by something beyond reason. 

Finally, you found him.

Eddie was slumped against a large oak tree, his massive form barely visible in the shadows. His breathing was ragged, each exhale a struggle, his fur matted with blood. He had fought bravely, but the wounds were too many, too deep. He was dying.

Your breath caught in your throat as you knelt beside him, tears blurring your vision. “Eddie…” you whispered, voice trembling.

He lifted his head weakly, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was no anger or rage there, only pain and resignation. He knew what this meant, knew that his time was running out. But he didn’t move, didn’t try to flee. He simply watched you, waiting.

You knelt beside him, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch him. His fur was warm beneath your fingers, the pulse of life still faintly beating beneath the surface. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I tried to stop them. I tried…”

Eddie made a low, rumbling sound, not quite a growl, but something softer, almost comforting. He closed his eyes, his breath coming in short, labored bursts.

With shaking hands, you tore a strip of your skirt, pressing it against the worst of his wounds. “Stay with me,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please, just stay with me.”

You worked quickly, your hands moving with a desperate urgency as you tried to stem the bleeding. You knew you were no healer, that these wounds were beyond anything you could truly fix, but you couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. You had to try.

Eddie winced as you applied pressure to a deep gash along his side, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched you, his eyes softening as you tended to him with a tenderness he hadn’t felt in centuries.

Time blurred as you worked, and the outside world faded away. It was just the two of you, alone in the dark, the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and Eddie’s labored breaths. 

After what felt like hours, you sat back, hands covered in blood, your heart pounding with fear and exhaustion. You had done what you could, but you knew it might not be enough. Eddie’s wounds were too severe, his strength waning with every passing moment.

But he was still alive, still watching you with those intense, dark eyes. And in them, you saw something you hadn’t expected—gratitude, and maybe even a flicker of trust.

You reached out, your hand resting gently against the side of his skull, your fingers brushing against the cold, smooth bone of the mask he wore. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” you whispered. “I’ll protect you, I promise.”

Eddie closed his eyes, a low sigh escaping his chest. It was as though he was surrendering, not to death, but to you, to the warmth of your touch, to the strange, inexplicable connection that had formed between you both.

You heard the horn ringing far far away but this time you would not follow its call. You stayed there, your hand never leaving his, offering comfort to the ancient, wounded soul beside you.

[popcornpieispissedoff]

A Pile Of Canon Divergent Danganronpa Headcanons:

The students absolutely did not get along when they first enrolled, they were all legit getting on each others' nerves and every other day was a shouting match.

Byakuya doesn't mind Ultimate Impostor's presence most of the time, but there have been times when he was seriously creeped out by Impostor.

After they adopted Kotoko, Hifumi collected all his loli/shotacon and invited Kotoko to help him burn it. Seeing the damage adults did to Kotoko has him rethinking his tastes in manga altogether.

If Kiyotaka catches anyone running in the halls he will drag them to that person's starting point and make them walk back to their destination.

When Gonta inevitably found out that Hiyoko liked squishing ants, he sat her in front of the biggest anthill he could find and unloaded ant facts on her. This bored the habit right out of Hiyoko.

Everyone has accidentally locked themselves out of the school at least once.

Over time, everyone noticed that Mikan was tripping over less and less. Though she attributes it to learning balance from Sakura, she subconsciously knows it's because she doesn't need the attention anymore.

Mikan wants to cure Nagito's terminal illnesses, but fears that Nagito's luck would kill him if she does so.

Mikan cares deeply for the Warriors of Hope, and is a key player in their rehabilitation.

The virtual Jabberwock Island from Danganronpa S is still there...but the students actually built it to get away from their oppressive dickhead superiors that they hate. It has the 50 day summer camp mode for all of them, or a solo mode for anyone to set a specific amount of time within the virtual world to unwind.

[Very slowly lays hand on Masaru's head as to not trigger his trauma of being slapped] This boy can fit so many cuddles and kisses.

Jataro won't just let you hug him, the little mf will let you s q u i s h him into your body with all your love and might. As long as he can still breathe he will be happy and let you hold him.

Kirumi cracks pretty easy under stress. She doesn't lash out at everyone so much as she curls up against the nearest wall and rocks herself.

Don't ask Kirumi to reenact Jackass with you, or she will absolutely overcomplicate the assignment and seriously injure herself. She does not comprehend physical comedy, much less the line where physical comedy becomes everyone around her fearing for her life.

Ryota straight up lives in the walls along with the balding Monokuma from V3. Junko and Ultimate Impostor are the only ones who know, but neither of them have been successful at getting Ryota out of his shell.

Korekiyo has been given an intervention by all the girls at Hope's Peak. It ended with eight hours of group hugging. Korekiyo is feeling better now.

Korekiyo and Kirumi have routinely fought over the air conditioning.

Masaru will bite anyone at least once, but for reasons only known to himself, he likes biting clowns the most. He will hunt down any clown that appears in his field of vision and not stop until he gets a bite.

If Gonta finds any insect traps or insecticides, he throws them down the garbage chute.

Hajime is still Izuru, but it's an open secret. His classmates love him no matter what his identity is. <3

Reserve Course students weren't so chill about Izuru, however-they wanted Jin Kirigiri's BLOOD. And the Ultimates just kinda let them do it for treating their friend as a lab rat.

One winter when the heater broke everyone slept together in the gym until it was fixed. We're talking a pile of blankets that was three feet thick.

They legit would not trade each other for the world except for Kokichi and even then Suichi would still be sad about it

Mahiru doesn't like taking pictures of Ryoma because his weirdly large eyes reflect all the light and the result always looks terrifying.

Someone kept leaving a stuffed toy clown in random places around the school...until they adopted Masaru and he promptly bit the shit out of it.

Ibuki tried playing from the rooftop once. It took 8 hours to find her, 4 hours to coax her down, and 2 hours to soothe her afterwards.

Nanokumas like to move things around when nobody's looking.

All Ultimates are prone to getting the zoomies. It ranges from Leon running around in circles to Sakura almost leveling the school.

Reserve Course students like to observe the Ultimates because Ultimates are all stupid fucking dorks and watching them accidentally stir up chaos is great entertainment.

Hope Fragments appear when a student feels their happiest. It forms within the body and gets hacked up like a hairball.

Gonta routinely has nightmares about being caught in a venus flytrap.

Fuyuhiko has become aware of Yasuhiro's debt to his family, and holds it over his head.

Peko wonders if her parents know about her becoming an Ultimate.

Junko is trying really, really hard to feign apathy towards her classmates in the name of Despair, but no one buys it.

Mukuro and Peko like to spar together, and they're pretty evenly matched.

Miu is soft (by Miu standards) towards Chihiro.

Miu becomes very anxious and needy at the mere thought of graduating from Hope's Peak and moving away from her friends.

More to come when my brain cells wake up and remind me who these people are

[necroromantics]

Okay but Apocalypse AU Ticciwork

What do you think???

I remember you mentioning this awhile back (which was when you sent this. Mb. Im getting through all my old asks. LMAO) and I pondered that shit so hard

I think an apocalypse AU would be so fucking fun. The Creeps already have the upperhand with knowledge on stealth, hunting, running from cops, surviving on very little, scavenging, self reliance, killing, etc etc. But I think as soon as things started getting bad, Toby would hang around Clockwork more just in case. He wanted to talk to her about how downhill everything is going in the world, how sick people are getting, how they're probably better off just staying in the forest. And for awhile she just brushes him off.

But fast forward to the height of the destruction the "zombie outbreak" has caused. Societies collapsed, governments falling apart, so many people dead or infected, Slender gone too. Now its just Toby, and Clock, them against the world, partners in crime. It wasnt a surprise they stuck together like they did. Toby separated from Tim and Brian pretty quickly after getting pissy with how strict they were getting, and Clock wanted to just be alone, fend for herself, but like always, Toby never let her. And she always let him in.

They had each others back for the longest time, they did pretty well for themselves, even crashed at a few safe havens ran by other survivors for a bit before inevitably getting kicked out or looting the place and making a run for it. They never found a place to stay for very long.

Eventually, they found themselves scavenging an abandoned prison, and they got swarmed by a hoard of undead. Toby got bit badly on his arm, and Clock dragged him out of there to safety, and frantically patched him up. He told her to cut off his arm with his axe before the disease spread. And she did, eyes closed. And it wasnt enough.

It started as pale, clammy skin. More pale and clammy than his typical complexion. Then, coughing, and vomiting, and Clock stayed by his side the entire time. At night, she'd finally agree to lay with him, and she'd rest her head on his chest and listen to his shallow breathing, nearly a groan. She could feel the sickness in every beat of his heart. And then she started noticing how cold he had gotten, when he used to be so warm.

And when he turned, after he begged her to cut his head off, Clock held his axe in her hands, and cut off his other arm. She muzzled that undead boy with whatever she could find so he didnt bite, and she brought him with her everywhere. And like a dog, he followed.

It was them against the world, partners in crime.

[suchine-toki]

(Another) Top 10 Gintaka moments

Arranged chronologically because it was too difficult to choose. Spoilers ahead.

1. Come back tomorrow

In front of the Shouka Sonjuku's gate, as Takasugi is leaving after winning his first duel there, Gintoki catches up to him and tells him not to get overconfident just because he won once by a miracle, which seems like mere excuses at first glance. However, Gintoki invites him to come back the next day, thus welcoming Takasugi as a fellow disciple of the school (ch. 518).

2. Divine punishment

While Katsura and Takasugi are discussing Sakamoto's arrival during the war, Gintoki intervenes to say he dislikes rich people. But his description clearly alludes to Takasugi, who realizes this and tries to defend himself, to which Gintoki pretends he wasn’t talking about him. This earns him a few kicks from Takasugi, being one of the rare instances where Gintoki allows himself to be hit by another man without consequences. The encounter continues with Gintoki teasing Takasugi while "defending" him from Sakamoto. However, Sakamoto is was very nauseous and ends up throwing up on both of them, leading Gintoki and Takasugi to unleash divine punishment on him (ch. 477).

3. Alone

When Itou Kamotarou allies with the Kiheitai with the intention of fracturing the Shinsengumi from within, he has an encounter with Takasugi where he reveals that he seeks recognition. However, Takasugi is able to point out that he just feels lonely. Later, when Bansai tells him that Gintoki said what he wants to protect hasn't changed, Takasugi quickly becomes upset. This ties the two scenes together and shows how Takasugi thinks Gintoki no longer understands him (chs. 165/168).

4. Alter egos

What Takasugi tells Gintoki here is a profound reflection of their complex and history-laden relationship that encapsulates the duality of their connection. Despite being on opposite sides, Takasugi and Gintoki see reflections of themselves in each other, envisioning versions of themselves that could have existed had they made different choices. They are so intrinsically connected that the existence of one defines and challenges the other, highlighting the inevitable collision of their intertwined destinies. At their core, they are two sides of the same coin, fighting for their own truths and facing their own demons (ch. 519).

5. Is me

After Oboro attacks Takasugi and leaves him on the ground, Gintoki drags to stand in front of him and protect him. He says that they are no different from before, both fighting against themselves. However, he also declares that he is the one who understands Takasugi's feelings the best in the world, and that the only person who can kill and protect him is himself, showing how strongly he feels about him. When Oboro lunges to attack Gintoki, Takasugi protects him, completing the phrase "don’t you dare talk about Shouyou" that Gintoki started (ch. 522).

6. Spitfest

When the Joui 4 reunites in Rakuyo after 10 years, Sakamoto tries to lighten the mood between them, which irritates Katsura and Gintoki, who start hitting him. Gintoki instructs Sakamoto to tell Takasugi "fuck you," but he translates it literally, telling Takasugi that Gintoki wants to fuck him. They continue to banter, with Gintoki commenting that one shouldn't spit right after waking up and Takasugi responding that he shouldn't complain about others when he emits a sweet breath all year, while they use Sakamoto as a spittoon. Poor Tatsuma (ch. 574).

7. A ghost and the Shiroyasha

After not seeing each other for two years, Gintoki encounters Takasugi in the ruins of Shouka Sonjuku. It isn't until after a clash that both realize they have been behind the same goal. At the same time, Gintoki learns that Takasugi has altana remnants in his body. But before they can continue their conversation, the police arrive to apprehend Takasugi, who escapes by propelling himself using Gintoki and proclaiming that he's a much more dangerous criminal. When the police question Gintoki if Takasugi was his comrade, he acknowledges that's how they looked and agrees (ch. 673).

8. Famous products

After escaping their pursuers, Takasugi arrives at the boat waiting for him. For a moment, he asks them to wait for Gintoki, but then he thinks he won’t come. To his surprise, Gintoki appears behind him, demanding what he had stolen. Takasugi agrees and returns it, thinking it was Shouyou's crystallized heart, when in reality, it was sweets. Indignant, Takasugi hits him and wishes for him to get diarrhea and die. Very elegant of him (ch. 678).

9. Don’t lose anything

As the situation becomes more complicated and the Yorozuya and others begin to arrive, Takasugi tells Gintoki to go back with them, that they are what he must take back. But Gintoki decides to stay and replies that there is nothing he needs to take back. While thinking of Takasugi, he says that everything he lost he got back a long time ago. This shows how much Takasugi wants Gintoki to be happy, but for Gintoki, Takasugi is part of that happiness. He’s fighting for everyone, which includes him (ch. 699).

10. It's over

Just before Takasugi could grab Gintoki's hand, he is stabbed by a Tendoushuu enemy, who decapitates him. Gintoki watches in horror since he was not aware of how far Takasugi's regenerative abilities could go, so as far as he knew, Takasugi had just been killed. He charges at the enemy hastily, leaving himself completely exposed to a counterattack. Then Takasugi reattaches his neck and attacks the enemy, protecting Gintoki. He later explains that the iron teachings of Shouka Sonjuku are in their souls, while recalling his encounter with Gintoki (ch. 700).

Part (1) (2) (3) (4)

[mischiefmaker615]

Be Prepared

Rating: R

Request: Loki request prompts: “No one makes me weak like you do. Or so fucking angry.” and “You’re lucky you make me so damn hard.”

Request For: eleniblue

“No one makes me weak like you do. Or so fucking angry.”

You glare up at Loki as your eyes follow him in his slow and steady pace around you. Your limbs were sore, both from being bound to each corner of the bed and by trying to get out of said bounds. Your energy was quickly spent in the first few minutes upon before taken into this mysterious room where he did nothing but relieve you of your SHIELD uniform, right down to your undergarments. Your body still shivered at the temperature as you stopped trying to guess where you were, it could be anywhere by now considering you had woken up from being unconscious. ‘’what did I ever fucking do to you-‘’ Your words were cut short as he moved to your side with his hand shooting out to grasp your jaw, his face looming close to yours with his eyes alone feeling like daggers. ‘’it’s the fact that a creature like you is merely wasted on trying to help useless mortals like them in a scheme to try to stop the inevitable.’’ He hissed, his grasp tightening as you wince, doing your best not to give him the satisfaction on crying out before his touch returned to being gentle once more; his thumb even stroking your skin. ‘’and yet you still refuse to join my side, even when there is clearly no hope for your so-called Avengers to stop me. I will have my thrown.’’ Your head turned to the side as he continued to stalk around the bed, his gaze dragging over your body hungrily as you tried not to squirm under his gaze. ‘’they don’t see your potential, your skill, beauty- you can be appreciated here..’’ he purred and your glare returned to him with your mock tone coming back. ‘’what’s stopping you from using the scepter then? You want my help so badly? Take it.’’ it was a stupid move, but if you had no choice in the matter anyway, at least your sarcasm had a small chance at pissing him off in the long run, giving you a win. Yet all he did was laugh. His laugh made you shiver all over again, his timing making you feel like the answer wasn’t clear even though his eyes said it all as he placed his finger tips at your ankle and slowly dragged themselves up as he spoke. ‘’there are two flaws to your accusation darling. One, using my scepter on you would surely disintegrate the fire in your eyes and spirit I oh so love so much. And two, I never exactly said I wanted your help.’’ ‘’join your side is what you said, like I’d ever try to hurt-‘’ ‘’perhaps I didn’t explain myself clearly love. I don’t wish for you to betray your rights to fight for mine.. exactly. What I merely am asking is that you become my queen.’’ He purred and your eyes widen, even as he sinks down onto the mattress beside you once his finger tips had passed your thighs and hovered right where your intimate area was- just being covered by a pray and your panties. ‘’and w-what gives you the idea that I would agree to that position?’’ ‘’hesitant? Think me a tyrant?’’ he smirked, almost hurt as he placed a hand on his heart for dramatic affect. ‘’you killed people-‘’ your words were cut short as his long finger hooked into your panties and moved them aside, revealing your intimate parts for open access. ‘’don’t you da-‘’ With a flick of his free hand, a tie formed around your mouth and dampened your words as you turned your head from side to side to try to remove it. no luck. Of course, you were cure he understood the string of cussing following after. ‘’your people kill people. Every day darling. SHIELD is all about the greater good, correct? Instead of rehabilitating others or sending them off to prison, they decide to shoot first. Even your people have weapons that are meant to knock mortals out rather than expire them.’’ Loki shook his head, as if disappointed with her before he places his hand beside her to rest his weight while his free hang ghosts between her legs, causing her to flinch and tense her muscles at another attempt to break her bonds. No such luck. "I can't blame you. I'm afraid I've built quite an unfortunate reputation for myself in this realm. Can't trust me any further than you can throw me, I suppose. But I do assure you that I will not hurt you Y/N, or I would already have done so.’’ He smirked, flaunting his upper hand in the matter before he lightly presses the tip of his middle finger to your clit, remaining fingers remaining up as if in a dainty position before he slowly began to rub in circles. Your eyes squeeze shut as your teeth sink down into the gag, trying to fight the pleasurable feeling and any sounds that would try to escape as your limbs fail to free you. Useless. ‘’how about a recap shall we?’’ he asked with a light hearted tone in his voice as if their situation was as simple as having tea in the morning. His eyes slowly moved from her face with a smirk as they dragged down to where his hand was in action and he already felt his bulge begging for some relief. Restraining himself, he added his ring finger along side his middle and gently dragged them up and down, up and down in an agonizingly slow pace that would keep her pleasure at bay but just at that edge where he wanted her. ‘’you are mine and I am very much yours. You are to be my queen and together we shall rule this world where you can also finally see the potential you have upon your skills, they impressively have been holding back from you. You can do far more damage than you think and they shall pay for the years of waste upon your devotion to them. While we have plenty of free time in between, I will take it upon myself to pleasure you, in all the ways I know you craze despite how you even now are trying to deny it. but I suggest you stop trying to lie to yourself and to the very God who can detect it, it only makes me want to punish you..’’ his voice got huskier as the tip of his middle finger ghosted upon your entrance and barely curled in as it passed, making your hips rise ever so slightly before you were quick to shove them back down but he had already noticed. “You’re lucky you make me so damn hard.” He purred as he removed his fingers and your eyes quickly looked away, wanting to hide your disappointment from the loss of touch before his hand found your jaw again and forced you to look at him. ‘’because lying to yourself is like lying to me.’’ A smirk returned to his lips after his serious expression and he slowly moved down your body before dipping his head to your cunt. ‘’but if that is what you wish darling, then I hope your prepared for punishment..’’

[the-umiran-amulet]

When he woke up, it was to find himself in the recovery ward of a hospital. It took him a while to remember how they had gotten there in the first place, but it slowly came back in bits and pieces, brief flashes of memory. Each one was a punch in the gut.

The war with Undar should have been nearly over. The desert-like region shouldn’t have stood a snowball’s chance in Hell against Octan’s military might. Though they suffered their losses, each battle had ended with Octan’s victory.

The battle at Southlake Point had gone wrong quicker than Cary could follow. It had been well on its way to another victory for Octan, for him, when...

When the demon showed up.

He hadn’t been able to see who had summoned it, but one moment it wasn’t there, and then the next moment it was. And it had started plowing through his men with ease, rending them apart with claws, tearing them apart with teeth, crushing the life right out of them with tentacles. It had taken him a while to figure out why his men weren’t even trying to avoid it, or take it down.

They could not see it.

Cary could though, somehow, and he had shouted like never before, bellowing out directions at a volume he had never before achieved to try to steer them clear of the beast. It worked, but only for a brief while. He could only do so much to protect his men from a foe only he could see. They all inevitably fell to the creature.

And then the demon was upon him, and he was fighting for their life. And then everything went black. And the next thing he knew, he had woken up here, covered in stitches, his left leg in a cast, and with his right arm in a sling.

“You were found by a courier,” a doctor informed him when the older man discovered him finally conscious. “You were barely still alive. How you managed not to bleed out, I can’t even imagine.” He handed Cary a cup of water. “Drink that slowly. We’ve been trying to keep fluids in you so you don’t die of dehydration, but it’s not so easy a thing to do for an unconscious man.” Cary obediently took a sip from the cup. The water felt so good going down, and he took another sip. Once his throat no longer felt like it had been thoroughly abused by sandpaper, he tried to ask a question. The doctor seemed to be expecting it.

“And what of my men? How many... how many of them survived?”

“Just you,” the doctor told him. Cary’s shock must have shown on his face. “The courier ran to fetch help as soon as he found at least one person still breathing, but there was no helping anyone else. Every other soldier had already long been dead by the time he arrived. It was a miracle we were even able to save you.”

Cary only nodded in response, the shock too overwhelming to find words. Every single soldier in his regiment. Dead. He knew he really ought not to be so surprised by that, given the situation they had found themselves in.

He had only one question ringing in circles around his head. How in the world had they survived? The doctor gave his good shoulder a gentle pat before leaving the room to let him process the bomb he had just dropped on the colonel’s head.

Alastar was slow to wake. Cary was in no rush for his twin to regain consciousness, not when he had such devastating news waiting to be told. But wake Alastar eventually did, and he wasted no time in trying to comfort his brother as soon as Cary had relayed everything that had happened. It is not your fault, he said. You did everything you could to save them. Fighting an invisible foe tends to leave everyone at a disadvantage.

“More than a mere ‘disadvantage’ though,” Cary muttered in response. And with no one left alive to back up his claims of a demon being at the battlefield, he knew they were in for a hell of a rough time once they recovered. His reputation was sure to be dragged through the mud, then tarred and feathered for good measure. Hell, he would probably be tarred and feathered, not just his reputation. How the hell does one get his entire regiment killed?

They started hearing the gossip the next day as nurses and doctors made their way up and down the halls, talking about the military officer slowly recuperating in the recovery ward. So incompetent that he got every single soldier in his regiment killed, they were saying. Laughing about it.

Cary could only sit and silently stew in his fury. It was not that long ago that these same idiots had been calling for him to get promoted straight to General, claiming he would win the war for them. Oh, how they had praised his tactical brilliance, his innovative strategies.

So much for Octan’s “rising star officer”.

“So how does one go about getting a thousand men slaughtered in a single day?” one of the nurses needled when he came to check on Cary’s bandages.

“I didn’t,” Cary snarled in response. “I did everything I could to save my men. One of the Undari summoned a demon to the battle. Somehow, I was the only one who could see it... They never stood a chance.”

“How very convenient,” the nurse drawled. “A demon only you could see, hm? I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be so bad at my job that I have to make up invisible demons to blame my failures on.”

The nurse didn’t see the strike coming, and scrambled out of the room as Cary roared fury after him.

It went on that way for another three days. Soldiers from another battle had been brought to the hospital—another loss for Octan, though nowhere near the wholesale slaughter that Southlake Point had been. Any soldier that was placed in the other bed in Cary’s room was only there for a short while before being removed. The colonel’s temper was becoming legend already, as he had taken to throwing whatever he could get his hands on at his fellow recoverees to get them to shut up with the constant questions and harassment.

It does seem to be quite the tall tale, Alastar lamented. If we hadn’t seen the thing for ourselves, I think I would have an impossible time believing it, too.

Cary heaved a sigh and dropped his head back against the pillow. “I suppose,” he murmured. Knowing that didn’t make the jeering and derision any easier to deal with.

And then on the fourth day they got another new roommate. The man was a bit on the short side, and was being supported by one of the nurses as he walked into the room. His head was wrapped in bandages. Oh, a head injury, Alastar murmured in sympathy. That can’t have been fun.

“Would have thought you lot would quit forcing roommates on us,” Cary grumbled, eyeing the new occupant of the other bed.

“We’re running out of beds,” the nurse sighed in response. “And this idiot here keeps annoying the hell out of everyone we bunk him with.” Said ‘idiot’ gave them a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to rein it in, but I guess I got my marbles rattled harder than I thought—”

“Anyway his last roommate threatened to knock him out if he didn’t shut up and we can’t risk brain damage,” the nurse interrupted. “Yours is the only room with a spare bed right now so please play nice?”

“I will if he does,” Cary agreed, folding his arms across his chest to the best of his ability with one of his arms still in a sling. Stupid dislocated shoulder. The nurse seemed to resign herself to that being the best answer she would get, and left the room.

The two patients regarded each other in silence for a long minute, one curious, the other wary. “So uh. Can I ask what the ‘play nice’ was about?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Silence for another few seconds, then, “I’m Ben, but you can call me Benny! I was a battlemage in the 57th Division. The doctors said I should be good to go home in a few more days, which will be nice cause I haven’t seen the stars since I woke up here a couple days ago. I don’t think they’ll let me come back to fight again for a while though, if ever, it’s not usually a good thing for a spellcaster to get their brains scrambled, we kind of need those.” Cary couldn’t help the amused snort that escaped him. Benny grinned in delight. “So what’s your name?”

“Cary,” the soldier answered, finally relaxing. Alastar gave him a polite nudge, questioning, and Cary acquiesced. Benny seemed to be an all right sort. He hadn’t said anything about their ‘blunder’ yet (most of their other roommates didn’t even make it two minutes before asking), and it seemed the source of his former roommates’ annoyance was his relentless chatter. Mages were usually pretty smart, and as such, Benny would probably be a much better conversationalist than the soldiers they’d had to share their room with before.

Alastar switched out after only a moment. “And I’m Alastar!”

Benny stared in shock, jaw dropping. “Wow. Oh, wow! Janus twins! I haven’t met Janus twins in forever!”

It was Alastar’s turn to stare. He had met other Janus twins? As far as they were aware, they were the only pair currently living. They had heard of one other set of twins, but they were very old and died when Cary and Alastar were still children. Benny didn’t look old enough to have met them before they passed.

He did say he got hit in the head, Cary allowed. Maybe he’s just getting his words mixed up. Alastar murmured softly in agreement.

Benny blinked as though hit by a sudden realization. “Wait. Cary as in Cary Callaghan?”

“Yes...?” Alastar hedged.

“You’re the colonel whose entire regiment was killed, right?”

That does it. Cary forced his way back out again, glaring at the mage. “Let me guess, you’re about to say something along the lines of ‘blaming an invisible demon’—”

Benny shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve heard too many incredible things about you over the past year to ever think you could make such a disastrous mistake. No, I... I believe you, about the demon. I mean it.”

Next Chapter

[suffarustuffaru]

arc 8 ottosuba and mutually assured destruction (devotion)

basically i wanna talk about this again but more Specifically bc they are gonna fuck each other over so fucking bad. like this is the most disastrous combo of all time. you got natsuki subaru who has rbd AND a suicide pill in his fucking mouth that he can use at any time AND he will die as many times as it takes to save Anyone he cares about. and then you pair him with otto suwen, aka a devoted little freak whos willing to let entire countries and millions of people, including people subaru cares about, die to save subaru. and otto has died for subaru twice now and will gladly do so again on top of that. they are the absolute worst combo of all time bc natsuki "ill save you no matter how many times i die" subaru and otto "i would let anyone and anything die to save you" suwen are inevitably going to come into conflict. otto wont let subaru die at any cost but subaru having rbd means that hes gonna win no matter what. hes gonna get what he wants. hes gonna die and theres nothing otto can do to stop it. and even if otto does stop subaru, its a lose lose bc either subaru dies and uses the info he got to beat otto next time, or subaru and otto end up having more fights with each other anyway, or otto does end up stopping subaru in some way (example: otto wanting louis to die) and subaru gets pissed at him over it, or all the otto permadeath flags end up being real and otto dies permanently and subarus gonna be destroyed and i bet ottos still gonna be like "i told you we shouldve left vollachia when we had the chance" on his literal deathbed bc him permadying proves his literal point this whole arc. and subaru can save otto all he wants but if otto ever figures out this hurts subaru in any way ottos never going to get over it. hes gonna be upset and pissed forever. there is no winning with these two. their devotion is violent and theyve literally found their match in each other. bc their devotion strips the other person of their own free will and choice in the manner bc they keep saying "no. i have to save you no matter what, even if you get upset at what im doing and even if i do all of this behind your back without ever telling you." and if they keep being stubborn theyre just gonna end up dragging each other down - which is the exact opposite of their goals to save each other. they are likely going to kill each other by the end of this, metaphorically or not. and its going to be because of love. do you understand. how do you save someone who wants to save you first. how do you save someone whos devoted themselves to you, body and soul, in the most violent way possible.

also if otto manages to read the tome once its restored... he's gonna figure out rbd.

[distort-opia]

I have always asked myself why do you ship batjokes? What is the appeal for you with this ship? You like bruce a lot, so why ship him with joker? I am just very, very curious.

Hi! From your question it seems like you associate having a favorite character solely with wanting them to be happy or wanting them to have nice things, which... yes, but also you have to keep in mind that half of Tumblr means this when they say they like a character:

Which I very much relate to, personally. Bruce Wayne is my favorite character of all time, but I specifically like to read/write about him going through the Horrors.

Shipping Bruce with Joker... well. Perhaps you're familiar with Hannibal NBC, and Hannigram? Death Note, and Lawlight? Or more recently, Interview with the Vampire and Loustat? I could list some more enemies-to-lovers, but it's the same principle. Two bastards who deserve each other and should not inflict themselves on anyone else, hand in unlovable hand.

Still, I appreciate that you're asking me this in good faith, so I'll try to explain in more detail. I got long, so I'll put my answer under the cut. Just a heads-up: there's mention of abuse, depression and some discussion of suicidality (stuff that tends to come up with more in-depth talk of Batjokes in comics), so take care.

While the ships I mentioned also have a portion of fandom going "But A is the good guy! Why would he care about B, who kills people and only seems to make them suffer?", that portion is larger when it comes to Batjokes. Bruce Wayne is Batman-- he's supposed to be a hero, the father figure of a large family, a symbol of hope. And there's a lot to be said about a more idealized or fanon version of Bruce, and the gap between it and the one depicted in comics. But I'm mentioning this gap because it tends to be connected with an unwilligness to deal with, or even acknowledge, Bruce's dark side.

Bruce struggles with violent tendencies, with an unbelievable amount of anger, with control issues, with paranoia and self-hatred and issues with intimacy. He's terrifyingly intelligent and also incredibly manipulative when he wants to be. He's canonically been abusive to his adopted children and he's canonically been shown to have quite the sadistic streak. And while I understand why some fans see this as bad writing (to be fair, sometimes it just is), reinterpret parts of it or pretend it doesn't exist... it is there, and it is a pattern. Many of these darker aspects of Bruce's personality are a result of how he's processed his trauma-- refusing to heal is literally the fuel for being Batman. But refusing to face his grief has consequences, and some of them inevitably end up ricocheting off his loved ones; though I am saying this as an explanation, not an excuse.

The way he's been written seems to have spawned two larger attitudes in Tumblr fandom, varying in degree and nuance: either refusing to deal with Bruce's dark side, or only seeing his dark side and hating his character entirely. And obviously, everyone is entitled to their own opinion and preference, as long as they respect others'. But to me personally, it's never been black-and-white. One of the best parts about Bruce's character is the very conflict at the heart of him... because despite everything I mentioned, Bruce always tries to do better. He's also empathetic and compassionate; he hungers for love and for connection, and he constantly tries to help people and do good. In my eyes, that's what Batman is about: never giving up. You fail, but you get back up and you try again. You might be struggling with so many things threatening to drag you under, but you make the effort to do good. To me that's deeply inspirational, specifically because it's not second nature to Bruce.

If you prefer a version of Bruce that doesn't have much of a dark side, Batjokes is likely not something you'll enjoy. Bruce caring about Joker is very much connected to it. He deeply relates to Joker because their identities are both born out of their traumas. They could have become the other, and that's a level of closeness and intertwining that cannot be understated. In the face of their loved ones being taken away, Bruce and whoever Joker used to be made choices in the opposite direction. Bruce chose to force meaning onto the world and be defined by his past. He chose to channel his anger into ensuring no one else goes through what he went through. Joker had the same anger, but he chose to erase his own past and burn the world down instead. He chose to ensure everyone else goes through the same horror he went through, to prove nothing has meaning.

And this is, at the end of the day, the reason why Batman never lets Joker die, even when it doesn't make sense. Joker's existence makes Bruce feel less alone-- and yes, it is very selfish of him to choose this over the lives of others and despite what Joker has done, but it is what it is. I've seen people discredit this notion of Joker being Batman's friend as stupid, because Bruce already has so many allies and such an extensive Family; how could he feel alone? He already has so many relationships, people he cares about and who care about him. But... that's never how it works, is it? You don't choose to feel the way you feel. Bruce loves the people around him, and those relationships ground him in very meaningful ways, but that doesn't make the darkness disappear. He wishes it did. But his choice to be Batman is a choice to keep hurting, like I just described. It sets him apart. And the line it puts him on, the things he's balancing, are things Joker intimately understands. Joker is his shadow and his creation, his negative. Bruce's anger and his sadistic violence get channeled in his relationship with Joker, and the worse Joker gets the better Batman has to become, and viceversa. I see it a bit like magic (and Bruce does too, when he talks about how he's afraid that if Joker disappeared, Gotham would send him someone worse). You cannot perform magic without it exacting a price, and the price for Bruce's good is Joker's evil. Lives are saved, but then lives are taken away.

What I am describing here is the appeal of the ship to me. In many ways, romantic is not nearly enough to describe it; I'm just fascinated by their dynamic, any form it takes. Batman and Joker have been opposites and narrative foils for almost a century, and I'll probably never run out of stuff to analyze (yay!). There's so many stories with them, so many different incarnations of them, so many layers and complications that their dynamic has accumulated, simply by virtue of how old and mythical they have become.

The more accurate description for them is probably soulmates, but the most painful kind-- destined to always meet but to always be at war, never able to kill the other or let the other go, because they are two sides of the same coin. And there's an attraction to not being able to let go, no matter how high the bodies pile up. Bruce can't kill Joker without losing himself, and he can't let Joker die. Joker can't kill Batman or let him die without losing his life's meaning. No matter what, the other is always there. They hate and resent this connection plenty, but at the end of the day, the other's existence is an essential comfort they can't run away from.

And thing is, Bruce sacrifices so much for his crusade as Batman. He sacrifices his very childhood and self, his potential happiness; he distances himself from his loved ones and he pushes them away. He represses as much as he is able to so he can go on, so he can save as many people as possible, so he can rewrite the trauma that broke him. But he chases Joker. He obsesses over Joker like over no one else. He chooses to keep Joker alive, even when it hurts his Family and even when it leads to more and more death.

Joker is a connection he selfishly chooses, and doesn't run away from, especially because it hurts. Both Bruce and Joker are self-hating and suicidal, so they allow themselves this one thing precisely because it's destroying them both. Yet, no matter what, part of Bruce sees in Joker someone who suffers, someone who understands, and he keeps trying to reach out to him because of it. It's not just the worst parts of Bruce that resonate with Joker. It's also his hope. Somewhere deep down he can't let go of the idea that maybe, Joker could be better, and if Joker could be better, maybe he could be better too.

...I guess I ship them because I want Bruce to get what he wants. Whether it's dying alongside Joker in a cave, or them helping each other heal, in spite of everything (both of these are plots for stories Scott Snyder has written, hah). Because the thing about Batjokes is that they're perhaps the only people on Earth who could get the other to stop. The easiest way is the way they've already chosen-- by being the one to kill the other. They both see death as the ultimate form of peace, a laying down of arms. But there's also the reverse; the possibility of a world in which neither of them has to die. A world in which they're not each other's preferred method of suicide, but in which they actually learn to live again, helped by the other.

I tend to oscillate between the two. I like Batjokes as an unmitigated tragedy with a course that cannot be diverted, and I like Batjokes as the most unlikely path to a form of peace. Both can provide catharsis in different ways. On a symbolic level, Joker is fighting for meaninglessness and Batman is fighting for meaning; Joker asks, "What is the point?" and Batman answers, "The fight is the point." On an individual level, they're both depressed and suffering from PTSD and always a hairbreadth away from self-destruction, but they keep each other alive, no matter how much it hurts. You can probably imagine how this ship can be a comfort, for people with similar struggles.

I do hope this satisfied your curiosity, Anon. Batjokes might still not be your cup of tea and that's okay, but as someone who likes to read about other ships and the psychology behind them, I hope this was at least a fun read. You seem like you're familiar with my blog already, but just in case you want to seek out canonical instances of what I am describing, I can point you to this compilation of Bruce's side of things that mentions part of what I say here, but also delves into comics. And my Batjokes meta tag is full of similar stuff, some detailing Joker's side too.

[damnilovefaerghus]

The Tragedy of Felix and Rodrigue

tl;dr: The tragedy is that Felix and Rodrigue are Fodlan's equivalent of "angry teenage atheist + nice religious dad", and also the Exact Same Person, because they both:

Devote themselves to some life goal following the trauma of losing someone close to them

Push away other people they care about with their attempts to make sense of loss

Fail in some way to show affection or communicate their true feelings

Care specifically about Dimitri like a lot

See: Felix coping with Glenn's death by copying his personality, devoting himself to crusading against anyone else finding meaning in death, and pushing away family and friends, or Rodrigue coping with losing his son and best friend by looking for meaning in Glenn's actions and Lambert's legacy, devoting himself to supporting Dimitri, and pushing away his remaining son in the process.

Felix and Rodrigue even approach life very similarly; both of them are tied up in the past and trying to avoid grief aagain. Felix's edginess is an effort to stop others from caring about his own death as well as to push other people away from their deaths, while Rodrigue is more than willing to die himself if it would protect those he cares for. It's even present in both of their endings; Rodrigue (at least in original 3 Houses) seemingly dies in every route to keep his promise to his king's memory, while Felix will inevitably throw his life away in meaningless killing if he loses Dimitri.

So the most tragic thing about their family relationship is that they're not actually arguing over what they think they're arguing over. Both Felix and Rodrigue are extremely loyal and devoted people who've made it their goals in life to protect others. The problem is that they're doing it in ways that feel like direct attacks on each other (and that Felix has dedicated himself to being an edgy asshole for the entirety of the game). If Felix had to admit that Rodrigue was not the embodiment of Faerghus's chivalry, just a man who said something stupid while grieving his son, Felix would lose the meaning he finds in protecting other people from dying like Glenn. And similarly, Rodrigue can't accept Felix's point about it being foolish to throw one's life away for a belief, because that would be tantamount to admitting that Glenn and Lambert died for no reason.

So what's the difference between Houses and Hopes (where they actually do manage to talk)? I'm just speculating, but in the original 3 Houses, Felix either ends up in a separate House, turns against his family, or in Azure Moon spends five years searching for Dimitri while Rodrigue is holding the last bastion of Faerghus's defense against Cornelia and the Empire. The focus is on the war, not their family relationship, and they've both moved too far to talk through everything in the limited time they have (though Rodrigue does try, according to a Yuri dialogue). In contrast, Azure Gleam puts the Tragedy of Duscur front and center, dragging Felix and Rodrigue's conflict back out and forcing them to reckon with it. It also helps that after becoming Duke, Felix has to start to consider things with more responsibility in mind, while Rodrigue upon giving up his title seems to have mellowed out a little. It doesn't change either of them as characters, but it starts to bridge the gap between their outlooks on life, and makes their mutual apology much more possible.

Anyway, the conclusion is that Fraldarifam is fascinating, and I am rotating them both on a little ballet dancer table where they (every so often) come together in the center to agree on something before spinning off again

[sparklyfaerie]

Zelink Week - Day 2: Forbidden

Since Ao3 is still down, I'm posting my submissions here until such a time as I can get it on the archive. @zelinkcommunity

Title: False Worship Summary: Really, what had her father expected? They are neither of them paragons of virtue, no matter how hard they try to give that impression. It had been inevitable that they’d be drawn to each other.

Words: 4,163 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Zelink (Breath of the Wild, pre-calamity) Extract:

They shouldn't be doing this—especially not here, not in a sacred spring of the old gods. But Zelda just doesn't care. The gods have ignored her all her life, despite her endless supplications. Despite all the soothsayers remaining convinced that she is the sacred princess of legend, destined to seal Calamity Ganon away. Why should she care about desecrating their holy sites? Maybe, this way, she might finally gain their attention—even if only to strike her down for blasphemy. It will be a pity to take Link with her, but she's already going to get him killed because she can't awaken her stupid powers anyway.

Ao3 Tags under the Read More

Ao3 Link Now Here! Tags: Pre-Calamity, Talking Link, Zelda needs a hug, Smut, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Zelda hates Hylia a lot, and her father a little, minor in-universe blasphemy, First time, Unsafe sex

False Worship

If her father had known what assigning Link as her personal knight would lead to, Zelda is a hundred percent certain that he would not have gone through with it.

At first, she'd hated being left alone with him out in the wilderness. He'd been silent and watchful, barely speaking a word unless spoken to—and even then, keeping his answers as concise and neutral as possible. He'd made her feel judged and found wanting—at least until she'd come to understand him.

Now, she's rather glad that her father trusts him. It means there's no one around to witness them push aside their boundaries and cross into forbidden territory.

The waters of the Spring of Power splash and ripple as she drags him into it, mouth hot on his. His hands immediately slide down her body to cup her rear, the heat of them scalding her through her wet prayer gown.

He turns them on the spot and backs her toward the stairs, lifting her onto the lip of the stone next to them. His lips find her throat as her fingers bury themselves in his hair, tugging his tie out and tightening against his scalp. Her head dips back at the slightest suggestion of teeth—not enough to bruise, but there will be red marks for at least a few minutes when he's done with her.

"There is nothing wrong with you." He breathes into her ear as her free arm wraps around his shoulders. "Nothing."

She tugs him to stand between her parted thighs, his hands leaving burning trails as they push sodden fabric up, up, up. Her breath hitches as he tugs her earlobe between his teeth.

Of course there's something wrong with her. She's letting her knight have his way with her in a sacred spring, for goodness' sake.

…or is she having her way with him? She's not sure. She's relatively certain that he would never put his hands on her without her reaching for him first, at the very least. And he would certainly never desecrate such a holy place of his own volition.

Maybe it's just her, after all. He certainly doesn't seem to have lost Hylia's favour for defiling Her descendant. At least, not yet.

His lips seek hers, and then his tongue is in her mouth. She sighs through her nose, pressing herself against him and feeling the warmth of his frame bleed through their drenched clothing. Her fingers are cold when she sneaks them up under his tunic, but he doesn't so much as flinch as her thumbs brush against the bones of his pelvis.

She feels bad that she uses him like this, to soothe the ache that repeated failure has settled between her ribs. But still, she exults in the feeling of warm fingers tightening into the flesh of her thighs before he curses, fumbling with her uncooperative smallclothes.

She rakes her fingernails over his abdomen when his hand slips beneath sodden fabric, tearing her lips from his to bury her face in his shoulder. His fingers burn as they slip between her folds, fumbling, seeking.

They've only done this a small handful of times, and neither are particularly experienced. Zelda has never lain with a man before, and she's fairly certain that he's never had a woman, either. He'd once confessed to her that he felt pressured to live up to an unrealistic ideal of courage and virtue, to have a pristine reputation and never set a toe out of line. That means there can be no string of jilted lovers left in his wake.

Really, what had her father expected, throwing two repressed young people into each other's company, out of view of prying eyes? They are neither of them paragons of virtue, no matter how hard they try to give that impression to the world. It had been inevitable that they'd be drawn to each other, that lines would be crossed.

Link may be as inexperienced as she, but he's a quick study. He finds her clit after a few moments of searching, cursing through gritted teeth as he sets to pressing his fingers against her. She makes a broken noise into the fabric of his tunic as her thighs clench around his hips, pelvis jolting at the sensation.

"Too much?" He asks breathily.

"A little." She admits.

His touch eases up into something far more manageable—and altogether more glorious. She sighs into the crook of his neck, lips pressed against the throb of his pulse. His skin tastes of sweat and spring water, his heartbeat strong and rapid under her lips. "How's that?"

She tightens her arms around his shoulders, panting into his ear. She makes an approving sound from deep within her throat, humming as he sets into a rhythm that makes her blood run hot.

They shouldn't be doing this—especially not here, not in a sacred spring of the old gods. But Zelda just doesn't care. The gods have ignored her all her life, despite her endless supplications. Despite all the soothsayers remaining convinced that she is the sacred princess of legend, destined to seal Calamity Ganon away. Why should she care about desecrating their holy sites?

Maybe, this way, she might finally gain their attention—even if only to strike her down for blasphemy. It will be a pity to take Link with her, but she's already going to get him killed because she can't awaken her stupid powers anyway.

It's inevitable, she thinks absently as he removes his fingers and lifts her rear from the cold stone. Knowing what he wants, she struggles with sodden, clinging fabric, letting him lower her legs back to stand in the water so he can help divest her of her prayer gown. It drops with a wet thwap into the water beside her, immediately borne away by the current and over the small waterfall that feeds the bottom half of the spring.

She's overheating, even though she's completely bare from the waist up. She scrabbles with her smallclothes, shimmying them down her hips to complete her nakedness.

He hikes her back up onto the stone and kisses her again—hot, wet, and wanton. The stone is smooth from thousands of years of weathering under her buttocks, chill to the touch. But then, Zelda is already cold, heated skin erupting into gooseflesh as she reclines. Water seeps from her hair, pooling around her as she lowers her back to the ground, lifting and parting her legs to make room for him to lean over her.

Link's lips near scald her when he begins trailing kisses down her body. He worries a red mark into the space underneath her breast, before trailing down, over her stomach to between her thighs. He kneels, as if in prayer—as if he's before an altar, though the real one is behind him. As if there's anything about Zelda worth worshipping.

She can almost feel the judgement in eyes of the statue of Hylia, gazing placidly down at them from across the water, as Her holy champion prepares to put his mouth on Her descendant.

It makes her burn all over.

He presses wet kisses from her knee up her thigh, teeth and tongue gentle on her skin. Careful, ever careful not to leave evidence behind. She wishes he could mark her properly, that he could suck bruises into her skin, to leave his mark on soft flesh—but a princess has no privacy. Someone will see.

Her father would be furious. Even if Zelda denied that it was Link who had touched her, even if anyone believed her, he would still be dismissed for taking his eyes off her long enough for her to take a lover.

It had taken her a long time to accept that Link's post had been earned. As the Chosen Hero, the only thing he'd have to do would be to help her seal the looming darkness. He doesn't have to be her protector. Any old knight can be a royal bodyguard; he had earned the job with his bravery and skill.

He doesn't have to be her friend, either; he'd wormed his way into her affections with his kindness and compassion, by making her feel listened to and cared about and seen.

She doesn't want to take his accomplishments away from him. So she bites her tongue and doesn't beg him to leave evidence behind.

Her eyes stare up, unseeing, at the night sky as his lips finally close around her clit, tongue flicking gently. Her shaking hand reaches down and cards through his hair as she sighs, eyes slipping closed to block out the moon and the stars above.

The warmth of him is solid and real, something she can reach out and physically touch. His presence has gone from a thorn stuck in her side, reminding her of her failures, to a warm comfort that soothes the ache of disappointment every time her prayers go unanswered.

One of her feet slips to dangle in the sacred waters. Link hefts it up over his shoulder without breaking away from her. His fingers dig into her hips as he pulls her closer, bare skin scraping against stone.

She whimpers when two fingers slide into her, flexing and searching for the spot he'd discovered last time—the spot that had made her squirm and shake and cry out.

It's good—he's so good. He gives and gives and gives and gives, and never asks for anything in return. He'd nearly had an aneurysm the first time she'd gotten on her knees for him, in the woods on the way home from the Spring of Courage, trying to assure her that she didn't have to, that he was okay, that he didn't need her to do that for him.

She wonders if he'll let her do it again.

Maybe, she thinks foggily as he finds what he's looking for and she cries out, she's been worshiping at the wrong altar all along. She'd certainly felt a kind of power with her lips wrapped around him, his hand gentle in her hair as he'd steadied himself against a tree with a soft groan. It had been wicked, and sinful, and not even the tiniest bit holy, but it had been something.

Her hips jump against his face as he sucks, massaging her from the inside. The hand in his hair tangles and pulls, her free one scrabbling against stone without finding purchase. He twists his fingers, and her eyes fly wide, back arching off slick stone as her mouth opens in a silent scream.

Stars spin above her as moonlight ripples on the water around him. When she collapses onto her back and lifts her head to look down at her knight, she finds him haloed in reflected light.

His eyes are on her. She shivers as their gazes lock, something dark and feral hidden behind blown out pupils drinking her in.

Her head drops back against the ground, whimpers breaking free as her thighs start to twitch and her hips begin to grind against his face. It won't be long, now. Link is incredibly skilled in all that he does—it only makes sense that that extends into bed sports, too.

For once, she doesn't envy him his proficiency. Not with her being the beneficiary of this particular skill.

She comes with a cry rending the night air.

He withdraws his hand and lips as she comes down, spent and twitching and boneless. The chill is beginning to seep in; her teeth start to chatter as she pushes herself into a sitting position. Link is bent over in the spring, using the sodden hem of his tunic to wipe off his lips and chin with sacred water.

She spies the Goddess statue over his shoulder, her eyes narrowing in contempt against imagined condemnation. As if she's wilfully sullying Link with her imperfections when he has every opportunity to say 'no'.

"I'll get your dress, Princess." Link offers into the silence, voice strained but utterly unwilling to ask anything of her.

Zelda's hand snatches out, wrapping around his wrist. Wide, dilated eyes find hers.

She loves to see him unmade, the image of Hyrule's perfect hero mussed and blurred. He looks wild; wet up to his chest, hair loose and unkempt, flush high in his cheeks and eyes dark with want. He looks perfectly mortal and human and attainable.

She doesn't know what he sees when he looks at her. She's sure she can't look like more than a pathetically naked girl with reckless fury in her eyes. Not directed at him—never at him, not anymore—but against a world and a Goddess that asks so much of her that she just cannot do.

"Come here." She tugs his wrist.

He steps back between her thighs.

Undoing his belt is easy enough; metal doesn't become harder to handle when wet. The ties on his trousers give her a little more trouble, but she gets them undone enough to draw him out and into her hands.

She seriously considers spinning him around and sinking to her knees before him in a different kind of prayer than the kinds she's spent all day fruitlessly offering. But she spots the statue again, and something wild and self-destructive takes hold in her chest.

"Come here." She says again, scooting forward until she's just hanging over the edge of the stone.

He seems to read her intent. "Princess—we can't—"

"Why not?" She challenges, breathing into his ear, trailing butterfly kisses down his jaw to the corner of his lips. "Because I'm a princess? I don't care about that."

He says nothing in response. She hears him swallow thickly.

She draws back to meet his gaze, eyebrows raised. Without saying a word, she begins to stroke him, touch feather soft. She knows the skin of her hands is silky and soft, maintained by a rigorous skincare routine imposed upon her by her maids. Logically, it must feel different from the times he's taken himself in hand, with all his calluses.

"We don't have to if you don't want to." She tells him as he screws his eyes shut and leans his palms on the ground on either side of her hips. He doesn't answer right away. She tightens her fist around him a little, delighting in the soft grunt he lets out, frame jolting against hers.

"I want to." He groans, his forehead coming to rest against her shoulder. "But I shouldn't."

"If you want to, you should." She kisses the tip of his ear. "I want to." She teases a little, taking it between her teeth and biting gently.

His answering chuckle is hot against her collarbone. "As my Princess commands."

He never calls her by name, she thinks with displeasure. She's given up trying to tell him to.

His hands are rough and callused on her hips as he drags her forward, almost completely off her purchase; she's forced to leverage herself against him, breasts crushed to his chest as he reaches down to hold himself. The fabric of his tunic rubs against her nipples, sending shocks of sensation whizzing through her.

Her arms wrap around his frame as he presses inside her. One hand fists in the sodden fabric of his tunic, the other in his wild hair as she stretches around his intrusion—a delicious burn that she feels creeping all the way along her spine and punching the breath from her lungs.

The statue watches on as they breach this final barrier—a line they've never crossed before in all their fumbling exploration. This is something so far beyond forbidden that it crosses over into taboo. Even if she'd ordered him at knifepoint to take her, Link could be executed for his.

The thought makes her nearly combust. His entire frame shudders as her legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking over his clothed buttocks.

"Are you alright?" His face is buried in her neck, nose bumping against her pulse. "It doesn't hurt?"

"You feel wonderful." She breathes, tightening her limbs around him.

For once, she feels wild and free and alive.

Zelda's mother had told her a legend of the Goddess when she'd been a little girl. It was said, her mother told her, that the Goddess had loved Her chosen hero so much that She had chosen to submit Herself to the cycle of reincarnation when he'd been cursed by a great evil, so that She would be there to support him when he was inevitably reborn. The hero was Her true love, destined to find and love Her in every life.

Zelda certainly doesn't feel like Hylia reborn—but Link is, without question, Her beloved hero. And, right now, in this moment, he isn't Hylia's. He's hers. Zelda's. She holds him inside her body and within the circle of her arms, the heat of him seeping into her from the inside out.

His movements are jerky and unpractised, and probably not helped by the tight hold she keeps on him. Water sloshes around his thighs and he grunts against her throat. His hands cradle her hips, moving her with him in an instinctive rhythm that she can't even begin to understand.

She closes her eyes against the sight of the Goddess watching on in disapproval. She embraces her rumoured, supposed impiety. If her virtue isn't good enough to gain the Goddess's favour, then it's useless to her. Better to give it to someone who already finds her worthy.

"Touch me." She breathes into his ear, panting in time with his movements.

A hand leaves her hip to slide between their bodies and fumble at slippery flesh. She forgets, briefly, who and where they are—she forgets about her failure and the disapproval of her father, about the whispers among the court and the condemnation of the Goddess, about her power and the ruin it will bring if she doesn't awaken it. All she knows is the man buried between her thighs; his grip on her hip, the feel of him in her arms, his breath skating across heated flesh.

She's still sensitive from her previous orgasm, fluttering around him as he jerks into her. That sensation, combined with his fingers, fills her to the brim and causes her skin to overheat.

He curses into her throat. "Princess—Princess I have to—" She feels him try to withdraw. She makes a noise of disapproval, pressing closer to him and tightening her legs around his hips. "Princess—I can't finish inside—"

Just the thought of it curls her toes. She comes again with a cry at his words, a distant part of her brain noting that mental stimulation seems just as effective as physical.

"Shit—shit—!" Link shudders in her arms, and she feels him grind against her, hand snatching back to her hip and pulling her roughly against him. There's a spasm and unfurling warmth spilling inside her. Her legs had locked around him in orgasm—she'd unintentionally prevented him from pulling out.

She should be worried about that, but she's strangely calm about the whole thing as they collapse against the stones in a heap of damp, panting cloth and flesh. Her fingers run absently through his hair as he presses his forehead into her breasts.

He tenses after a moment. "I'm sorry." He scrambles off of her, eyes wide and panicked. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's alright." She pushes herself to sit with shaky arms. Her nerves are still fluttering as she regains her breath.

"But—"

She shakes her head. She already feels cold without him. "There are medicines that can… flush out anything that takes root. Purah won't ask questions if I tell her I need one." She feels hollow as she says the words.

He relaxes, running his hands over his face.

The feeling grips her, sudden and unbidden, that she wishes she wouldn't need such an elixir. That, if she found herself carrying his child, they could elope like regular people and raise their baby far away from disapproving eyes.

Tears prick at her eyes as her mind follows that path—to a future where Calamity Ganon never comes, where she can keep him forever and won't get him killed with her ineptitude. She buries her face in her hands and curses the Goddess for taunting her by placing him within her reach, but surrounding them with circumstances that prevents her from holding him properly.

"Princess? Are you—did I hurt you?!" Link's voice is aghast. When she lifts her head, cheeks wet with tears, his expression is pained. It's the most expressive she's ever seen him—because he thinks he's done something to hurt her. As if he's ever truly done anything to hurt her. She can only laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"No." She shakes her head, looking down at the bare skin of her lap. She can feel his spend beginning to leak out of her, pooling on the stone and running into the sacred waters. "No, I'm fine. I just—I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry."

His hands come up to her shoulders, thumbs moving soothingly against her skin. His face ducks into her line of sight, eyes soft and kind. "Is there something I can do?"

You could run away with me, she thinks wistfully.

Instead of saying that, she gives him a watery smile. "Could you get my gown, please? I… need to clean up." She fights the urge to press her thighs together against the slightly uncomfortable trickling sensation.

"Of course." He doesn't kiss her again, like she wishes he would. Instead, he gives her shoulders a slight squeeze before letting go, wading toward the small waterfall and splashing down into the lower portion of the spring.

Zelda lowers herself back into the water. They've already defiled the spring by—she winces—fucking in it. She can't imagine cleaning away the evidence in its waters will damn her any more than she already has been.

It's terribly cold now that all is said and done. Still, she doesn't regret it. Now, even if they do succeed, even if her father decides to marry her off to some foreign prince or haughty noble, she can always remember that the first man she'd had had been one that she'd loved. Not a lot of women can say the same, especially women of rank.

She's not naïve enough to believe that she can ever keep Link in any meaningful way. Even if he loves her with the same all-consuming passion that she does him, her father would never permit it. Chosen by the Goddess or not, Link is a commoner. At best, if they somehow succeed, he'll be granted some kind of noble rank and shuffled off to a country estate to marry some nobleman's daughter, and Zelda will make the marriage that best secures Hyrule's political future.

And if they die, which is far more likely? Then at least she will have this experience to hold close to her heart for the rest of her short life.

As clean as she can make herself with only water and her own fingers, she wades, naked, out to stand in front of the altar with the statue. She pauses there for a moment, staring up at the Goddess's impassive face.

She offers no prayers, no supplications. She simply stares in defiance of the Goddess' judgement, daring Her to finally break Her silence to condemn her for her impiety.

Silence. There is only the rush of the water around her.

Sneering, Zelda slaps the surface of the spring, sending a wave of droplets spraying across the stone.

"Curse you." She mutters, glaring up at the statue.

It stares back placidly. Silently. Unflinchingly.

In this moment, Zelda has never hated anything more than the Goddess who turns a deaf ear to Her own descendant.

"Princess?" Link's voice calls over the spring. When she turns to him, he's holding a towel over his arm. "We should dry off. You'll get sick."

Her heart twists in her chest as she stares at him. Gods, but she wants to keep him. She wants to be able to hold him in her arms forever and tell him that she loves him, without having to worry about kings or countries or ancient evils.

But she is the Princess of Hyrule. Such a thing will never be within her grasp.

She wades toward him, taking his hand when he offers it to help her up the slippery steps. Gingerly, he wraps the towel around her shoulders. "I'll build up the fire again." He murmurs.

She nods silently. Then, he turns his back, and she says nothing as she watches him go.

"Curse you." She mutters under her breath again. Whether she's cursing Hylia, herself, her father, Ganon, or even Link… she doesn't know.

[nrc-asteryn-crew]

[ The video starts with a greeting.

"Aros~!!!" Pomefiores Cameraman calls out, filming the corridor. "Wait shit— don't tell vil said that." The camera is fumbled with, grumbling can be heard.

The view turns to the window, and a sleek glove and black arm are seen opening the window. The camera zooms in on two students, chasing a third and fighting each other on the way.

The chasers, nor recognisable, were Scarabias Tiger and Octavinelles Great Shark. The chased, the Mouse of Heartslabyul.

"Geez, I wonder what he did today."

The video ends with a wave to the camera. ]

And here I was, trying to make a super cool video for you, Aros. My crew is very fight happy. It has me concerned even!

Have a great day you all~

— Pomefiores Cameraman, the crew @nrc-extras

Edit; concerned? Don't make me laugh. You threw your glove at me.

— Scarabias Tiger, the crew @nrc-extras

You have recieved (1) Notification from Aros Clairze-Allaine , @nrc-asteryn-crew ]

[ There is a slight pause, for a couple of the seconds, while the camera is propped up on what seemed to be a specially made stand, proper lighting coming through the back, just as one would expect from a celebrity like Aros was.

The phone's camera was positioned so that Aros' upper torso and face were visible and centered in the camera, much like one would present themselves in a typical video call.

"Hello, Ah- ...Raven? Is- it alright to call you that? I'll assume so, for now, however please feel free to correct me if there is another term you'd rather me use."

He greeted, with a small, polite nod.

"It is certainly... a change of pace to have a video such as this in my inbox. Your 'super cool video' has been received with amusement. Your crew seem like a lively bunch, as is the 'crew' I too find myself in. They are... very, 'fight happy', as well.

"My my, I am no such thing! Your words truly wound me, Aros."

Another voice chimed in, sounding to be farther away from the camera than Aros was. Aros stepped back, and turned his head around, for a brief moment, solidifying this belief, scoffing, though fondly.

"Would it kill you to not eavesdrop for once in your life, Crimson?"

Aros spoke exasperatedly, bringing his attention back to the camera after he had glared half-heartedly at Crimson, and spun the phone into a landscape position instead, the camera now capturing more of his room behind him, featuring Crimson sprawled out onto his bed, messing up what was otherwise quite a neat area.

"Who knows! I certainly wouldn't want to try it. Who knows what would happen!"

Crimson responded, with an exaggerated, yet obviously fake gasp, his tone filled with cheek and sarcasm alike.

Aros rolled his eyes at Crimson's antics, before addressing the camera again.

"I shan't drag this on too much longer, though I do send my well wishes to... uhm- was that... Mouse, perhaps? And Tiger and Shark. I hope they haven't gotten themselves into... too much trouble."

He spoke, with a slight chuckle, while Crimson can be seen grinning amusedly at Aros as he spoke, sitting on the edge of his bed now.

"If there's anything you need, Raven, even if trivial, feel free to keep reaching out."

"Say Hi to Shark-ie for me, whoever's watching! Hm... I do wonder which traits of theirs are more shark-like. Ehe~"

Crimson piped up, having suddenly popped up behind Aros, in a tone that sounded equal parts teasing, and serious, throwing up finger guns at the camera, accompanied by a playful wink.

"Sure. And that, I suppose."

Aros tagged on, about to give the camera a wave when-

"Oh oh! If you find out what Mouse-y did to get chased by the others, I'd be very amused to kno-ww~!"

Crimson continued, in a singsong voice, giving the camera finger hearts, seeming very content to be messing with Aros, as well as the people who would inevitably be watching the video later, all at once.

"As long as you're not planning on using it for blackmail, or some kind of business leverage..."

Aros responded with a sigh, raising an eyebrow at Crimson, who only giggled in response, blowing Aros a kiss with teasing grin.

Aros just sighed, and turned back to (finally) give a polite wave to the camera, Crimson giving a much bigger wave in the back, before the video abruptly ends. ]

- Aros (and Crimson)

[spinningbuster98]

So!

Killing Metroids to proceed!

I used to absolutely hate this, being one of the main reasons for my dislike of this game, mainly due to hoe repetitive killing around 40 of these things is

Nowadays I....dislike it less but I'm sure not crazy about it, though that's mostly because I got used to it thanks to playing the games various times over the years

The main issue isn't so much the repetitiveness of it, it's the simple fact that....these fights suck man XD

The alphas are basic so ok whatever

The Gammas are a problem, they're basically bigger and tougher Alphas. The issue is both with their numbers and with the kinds of places you have to fight them in

None of these Metroids has much in the way of actual real attacks, rather they limit themselves to ramming into you nonstop, which is already pretty annoying, especially with Samus' clunky movement....but often the game will ask you to fight these things in very tight rooms where dodging them is pretty much impossible

Or maybe you'll have to fight them while inside of a tall vertical shaft, over tiny platforms, where you'll inevitably fall and offscreen them, forcing you to jump back up because they won't follow you, only for them to attack you from offscreen and knock you back down

Then there's the Zetas which are more obnoxious

And then finally the Omegas where, if you're not aware of their hidden weakness in their backs, you'll have to pump an absolute SHIT load of missiles just to bring one of them down, pretty much forcing you to either grind enemies for missile ammo or drag your ass all the way back to the nearest missile recharge station, assuming you even remember where it was given that, y'know, there's no map and everywhere still looks samey

None of these fights is fun.

Not a single one

They're annoying at best, aggravating at worst. And it should be noted that boss fights are usually the weakest part of most pre-Mercurysteam Metroid games (with semi exceptions such as Fusion, Prime 2 and 3), Metroid 1 itself sucked in this regard but that game only had 3 bosses, this one has over 40! And when one of the game's core gameplay elements is so unfun then that brings down the whole thing

Say what you want about Samus Returns but I will always defend how that game at least made the Metroids interesting to fight. Yeah sure a couple of Gammas run away to other rooms and that's stupid but it's still better than some of the more awkward fights in the original

This is one area where not even AM2R managed to improve, given that its idea of improving a bunch of bosses that were annoying because they only rammed into you nonstop....is to have them ram into you even MORE aggressively but with stricter hitboxes and in even more annoying circumstances (fyi: fighting Gamma Metroids in the dark is not very fun)

Related to this topic I've seen people liken Metroid II to a sort of proto-survival horror.

Y'know there's the creepy atmosphere but also the way save stations are used: you save the game in between sections of you going on Metroid hunts, having your health and resources diminished a little after each fight, thus creating tension because if you die then it's back to the last save point. The same people who have this opinion harshly criticize Samus Returns for being more generous with pickups, save stations and even having genuine checkpoints before bosses (even though by that logic AM2R should also be criticised since that game is also far more generous with pickups than the original and has save stations straight up fully recharge EVERYTHING, but y'know that's a perfect game so I can't complain I guess)

I...can see this point of view and it almost works...

But there's two issues with this

Firstly what gives classic survival horror games such as Classic Resident Evil their gameplay tension is resource management: the fact that your resources, from ammo to health items, are strictly limited, you can carry only a limited amount and what you find in the world doesn't respawn so you have to be careful

Well not only does Metroid II literally give you expansions to your health and missiles of course, but restocking is by no means hard and I'm not talking about the recharge stations: if you're ever in a pinch you can always grind enemies for health and ammo. This is a 100% viable strategy, in fact it's MORE viable than in Metroid 1 because not only are enemies here easier to kill they always drop the same kinds of pickups: specific enemies drop only small healths, others only large healths etc

Once you know this then the tension switches from "Oh god I need to be careful otherwise I'll lose tons of progress between sessions!" to "Oh god I need to be careful otherwise I'll lose tons of time grinding myself to efficiency!", which doesn't really speak of a real horror-like tension

But above all else: the source of this game's tension is not exactly good design so to speak

Because the main danger to your health, the main thing that's gonna waste your resources....are Metroid battles

And like I said: they suck

The source of this gameplay-related tension is 40 something badly designed boss fights

All the other regular enemies here are pretty weak and are mostly just nucances that are goung to slighty widdle down you're health mostly due to the screencrunch making you slam into them from off screen

And before anyone says that it's justified for this game to have unremarkable boss fights, since it's a gameboy game well....

Why make a game where you're forced to fight 40 badly designed bosses if you knew that the gameboy's limitations wouldn't allow you to make anything better?

Again: the game often plays against its own limitations rather than within them

[archtroop]

Wait, I don't understand. The Mexican government is absurdly corrupt to their citizens. The reason no one is upset is cuz they aren't using American weapon on their neighboring countries and killing civilians indiscriminately. The cartel does, and they are in bed with the government. Do u think ppl r cool with Mexican political corruption but then just hate Israel because their Jewish?

To boot, this is currently a political push by Netanyahu to strengthen his view. He needs an other to fight against to maintain his power, or do u not remember his political opponents disappearing or that his gov has openly paid Hamas???

I cannot have a say about Mexico, which I know almost nothing about. So in that case, I won't.

As for Bibi, the "hate an other and keep a power" was his strategy for as long as he was a politician.

He was strongly opposed Rabin back in the day, for example. He would always take thw opposite and point someone as the enemy and himself as a savior.

I can assure you that Netanyahu's opponents and political rivals are very much alive and kicking, though some arw silenced. But more and more come forward. He is hated to a degree that he and his flock of brain dead ministers are ran off of any place he dares to show thwir faces without a slew of security.

We know he would love this war to go on. He is our #3 priority as a nation to take care of, after bringing back the hostages and annihilating HAMAS.

Bibi is notorious for never making a decision in his life. All he ever does is perpetuate a cycle of dragging out the inevitable.

This Qatar money, he was certain could pay off Israeli peace. He spread this UN-like ideology, that if enough money goes into Gaza, people wouldn't be as improvised and desperate, and will pick themselves up and abandon terrorism. Terrorism thrives on desperation. There was A LOT of criticism over this within Israel.

He was incredibly wrong. Or, maliciously complicit.

In any case, I don't know if you are aware of the situation in Israel for the past year, but people were marching en masse, twice a week and each Sunday, against Bibi and his regime/judicial overhaul.

Statistics say, at least 5% of the overall population in Israel marched on one event or the other.

He is, in Israeli eyes, the main culprit and who led that nation to this event in blindfolds.

The slogan CrimeMinister is not for nothing.

[tanglefellau]

Y’know I never got far with this and not sure I ever will. But I like the ideas I had. Maybe I’ll write it in long form sometime, maybe not, but hey, might as well ramble to the internet, right?

The idea of TangleFell was an swapped-fell AU where monster souls could form a soul-bond with another, giving some amount of telepathy between the two monsters. These were not easily severed once made… for better or worse. There was some exception where parents and children would have temporary soul bonds that naturally withered as the children grew, but otherwise required two people to be extremely close, whether romantically or platonically.

Being Undertale, of course I started with Sans and Papyrus lol. At first glance, Chain/Sans was meant to look like he was in charge, dragging his brother Papyrus/Lock(jaw) by a leash and collar with Papyrus physically unable to speak out against it due to his jaw being wired shut… But they had a soul bond and Lock was the one calling the shots, mentally manipulating, abusing, and sometimes outright controlling his brother remotely. Chain is the more physically powerful one and is, in fact, captain of the Royal guard!!! Also they were raised by the Snowdin dogs and sometimes this shows up in them being a bit dog-like hehe.

Then I made the rest and oh boy.

The ruins… actually look pretty nice. Monsters generally don’t want to kill you and it’s full of plants (and artificial lights) thanks to exiled king Asgore. He’d try to be nice to Frisk, try to raise them, but, well…

He had a soul bond with Toriel. And Toriel has lost her damned mind. Much like with the brothers, she haunts him sometimes. Enough that, inevitably, he ends up attacking Frisk and forcing them out.

The “Flowey” of this world is Temmie… who is actually Chara. Specifically, Chara ended up as a ghost Mad-Dummy style, but with determination! Though given that magic attacks can still hit ghosts, it hasn’t helped them much except against Frisk, on occasion.

The Temmie village is replaced with Flowey village! And I think these lil guys are my FAVORITES. So you see…

Undyne, the Royal scientist using the hydroelectric power produced in waterfall, naturally experimented with determination and started using the old flowers from the queen’s gardens. Unlike in Undertale where one came to life, the Flowey came to life en masse and, gradually, started piecing themselves back together into having a sort of hive-mind/soul, each having pieces that grew soul bonds with all the other Flowey. This means the Flowey are actually very nice and childish, but dear god they are scatter brained… usually. They managed to rub enough collective brain cells together to escape en masse as well. Which you’d think would be bad given the setting, but they also know if any other are attacked. Yeah, you attack one and have a whole fucking Flowey swarm pop up around you. Monsters learned fast to leave the harmless little weirdos alone. They really like the soil in “Flowey Village” and also visiting Asgore in the ruins. He also loves them. One likes to stay in his house with him in a pot: Buttercup! He was one of the earliest to awaken. Also, instead of Tem-Speak, well… “We Flowey Can shapeshift and emote really well :D”

Undyne, as stated, is the total scientist. She considers Toriel something of a mom, and Toriel funds the science for her own gain. The fact that Undyne does surveillance only helps in Toriel’s very paranoid eyes~ She’s just as enthusiastic as in canon, though in this AU she’s kinda an electric eel mermaid (but still fishy up top? Bleh) like in that she has an eel tail and if she wants to move about on land, she often uses a robo-Walker that she powers with her own electricity! But typically she instead relies on security systems and her possessed robot propaganda machine, Napster (who is also secretly a rebel but she doesn’t know that). Bread and circuses and all that, right?

Alphys USED to be part of the Royal guard, but she started a rebellion in Hotland and intend to overthrow the queen. Unfortunately for Frisk/you, the easiest way to do that is absorbing a human soul. Tough luck kid. This means she’s at odds with her old best friend: Sans… who also hates Toriel by now, but both he and Chain are deathly terrified of her, so they work under her. Alphys is pretty, uh… well not based on a real raptor, but on the Jurassic park versions, long legs and will chase your ass down.

And… Toriel. Well, long story short, it started somewhat Undertale-like, but Asgore’s rage spilled into her and she was too clever by half in starting war against humans and preparing monsters for it. She got paranoid, got some LOVE, and just went progressively more insane. Give her one soul and she’ll leave, but in this AU, other monsters got the fallen human souls first and got the fuck out of dodge.

Finally… Frisk! They start with a bit of LOVE because they got attacked by a monster on the surface. Yeah, some escaped. Yep, it’s bad. But the sheer power of their DETERMINATION melted it. People saw that Frisk “got control” of one and chucked them down to be eaten and, hopefully, usurp control of a monster and help them with the overpowered Super beings coming from this cave. They wanted no part of this.

So… yeah. Might say stuff about plot later, but there ya go.