#then I turn on burning crusade

[mzcain27]

I need wow to like. Let me turn expansions on

[val-of-the-north]

The "Hornsent deserved it" sentiments make me lose my goddamn mind

Short answer: No they didn't.

Long answer: Oh my gooooooooooood can we NOT do this shit, please???

There are two underlying sentiments to this line of thinking.

The Hornsent hurt Marika's people, thus Marika did nothing wrong, therefore they deserved to die badly

The Hornsent hurt Marika's people + Midra and some others, Marika is still evil, but the Hornsent deserved to be destroyed

Both may even come to the extreme of "Messmer wasn't cruel enough" or some other nonsense in the same vein.

-

Number 1

To tackle number one, we need to remember a little thing called Elden Ring's base game. The Hornsent's jar ritual is undoubtedly abhorrent, that much is true. But I urge you to remember the things that happened during Marika's reign. She:

Murdered all of the Fire Giants but one, subjecting him to a fate similar to hers but worse, forced into labor confined on the mountain among the remains of his people and culture. She mocked him, to boot. All of this because they might have burnt the Erdtree.

Enslaved the Misbegotten from birth "or worse" because their species just so happened to have made contact with the Crucible.

Rewarded her own loyal Crucible Knights with scorn because of it too, as they didn't fit her current society that they fought to establish.

Made sure the Albinaurics were seen as lesser just because they were graceless, which influenced the way they were treated. She even had her Inquisition, run by Rykard, torture them in needlessly cruel manners, as they appear to be their main victims.

Just in general, she allowed Rykard to run a sadistic Inquisition to torture heretics to the Golden Order in the first place, and she saw nothing wrong with it or their practices.

She entombed the entire Great Caravan over a false rumor, which is the sole reason why the Flame of Frenzy was even a problem during her reign. This has also scarred the remainder of their people greatly.

Made the lives of all Omen a living hell either by cutting their horns just as they were born which often kills them, hunting them down in as cruel a way as possible by using their trauma and body parts against them, or throwing them in a sewer to fester with evil spirits hidden from view. She also used to shackle them, including her two children, just to make extra sure they wouldn't crawl out.

Shunned anyone who saw a vision of the Erdtree burning, regardless of who it was, and chased them away from their homes.

Literally allowed the belief that shorter people are somehow lesser, for apparently no reason at all (her most random discrimination decision tbh). This forces them to band together and take up honorless jobs just to get by, and in turn, people start to spread rumors of their inhuman practices, which are likely all untrue.

Had people literally work as slaves for the nobility just by virtue of "being born into obscurity", whatever that means. As well as other accounts of slavery like the Fallen Hawks (likely tied to the defeated soldiers of ancient Stormveil).

Likely endorsed viewing anyone without Grace as inferior beings, which includes the Tarnished that only exist because she divested them of it. She has done nothing to ease their discrimination (despite potentially seeing them as a future asset of sorts), as even the members of the Crusade are more than ready to kill us, like Fire Knight Queelign.

All of this was done in service to HER religion and order. Killing all the Fire Giants and burying the Nomadic Merchants alive? Oh, they could have ruined her age with those pesky flames of theirs.

Systematically oppressing Omen, Misbegotten, Albinaurics and the likes? Oh, they are impure creatures, unlike her people, blessed with the Grace of Gold, elevated from the rest. (Which is the exact same line of thinking as the Hornsent and their horns for crying out loud).

"Oh but the Hornsent stuffed her people into jars" yeah, and I am not arguing the contrary! It was a cruel, deranged practice, born of simple superstition that their victims would be reborn as "good people". But Marika's answer if you don't fit her vision of the world is to either get rid of you and your people through extermination, by literally hounding you from your rightful home, or by enslaving you.

Both sides are genuinely awful... but there's only one side that people are justifying, and it sure as hell isn't the Hornsent.

Marika's backstory is meant to make her less a god, which is all we have ever known her to be before the DLC, and more a human, which is what she once was. It gives her complexity as a character, it's meant to be the catalyst from which we learn why she took the path that she took. It is absolutely not meant to make us go "holy shit guys, Marika was the good guy all along???", because what she brought upon this world through her burning desire for vengeance has ruined it irreparably, and ruined the lives of most of the creatures who inhabit it.

This includes her ruthless, honorless, pointless Crusade against the Hornsent. Sure, it was her own son that started it, but it was for her sake. It was her who allowed him to wage it, he had her full support... until the thing turned to such a slaughter-fest that even she could not associate with it anymore due to how appalling it all was. And what better way to do that than to seal her own son away to wage war endlessly? And not just because his actions made her look bad, but also for the same crippling fear and prejudice that saw her kill all Fire Giants but one and scar the Great Caravan.

Gratuitous violence across the board, and for what?

(I want to make it absolutely clear that I don't mean you can't like Marika now. In fact, I'd say the DLC made her much more of an interesting character to me as well. I just cannot fathom seeing the entirety of Elden Ring and coming out thinking "wow Marika was the good guy" because she isn't. Heck, coming out thinking that she'd be disgusted with what her grandson Godrick is doing with grafting as if she isn't the queen of having zero empathy for those who are graceless or aren't her family, which the Tarnished he grafts are neither. She'd probably be very proud if anything. Marika is a monster. She became one the moment she obtained godhood, because no milestone would quell her. She did all the wrongs, so take this whole section as a refresher in case you had forgotten)

-

Number 2

Now, to tackle number 2... this one seemingly has more nuance, but falls for the tried and true pitfall of "the many must pay for the crimes of the few" which is exactly where it rots and collapses onto itself.

Apparently, because of the perpetrators of the Jar Rituals, ALL Hornsent, INDISCRIMINATELY, deserve to be destroyed. They all, each and every single one, deserve the Crusade and the absolute pointless ruin that it brought them. From the children, to the ones who were friends with people with no horns, to the ones who found their own practices grotesque, to the ones that weren't even tied to the Tower's religion and were just simply living their lives.

They ALL, EQUALLY deserve to be burned, to have their cities destroyed, to have their lives ruined. All of them. Ok.

Number 2 works with the assumption that the Hornsent are some sort of hive mind. Some sort of all-encompassing religious order who believes in their superiority. But that's just the Tower's religion. Hornsent are a people. And people are individuals, with their own opinions, their own lives. In fact, from the perspective of the average Hornsent citizen, they were attacked out of nowhere as they were living in peace, which likely means they weren't even at war with Marika before this event.

People also have the assumption that all of the Hornsent were benefiting from their society, which is blatantly false. In fact, outside the treatment of the Shamans, the people that we know the Hornsent have hurt the most are their fellow Hornsent. We know of quite a few of them suffering at the hands of their kin BECAUSE of their religious and cultural practices.

Being Hornsent isn't a "free from mistreatment" card. If anything, the large Gaols where they were imprisoned were built specifically to house them. The main prisoners we find in large numbers are commoners, the same types as the ones scavenging the ruins of their ravaged towns. They are often seen eating maggots off the floor and cowering in fear. All of them were Hornsent too, locked away for who knows what crime. Could have been big and important, small and insignificant, or even just a failure to do something properly (there's precedent), point is, it's clear the Hornsent weren't having a good time in there.

The jar rituals were used mainly as punishment for the imprisoned Hornsent themselves, as a way to have them become "good people". This was just as horrifying for the Hornsent prisoners as it was for the Shamans I assume. Look how terrified this Hornsent seemed at the prospect of sharing that fate. This is the reason why they chopped up Shamans in the first place, as ritual ingredients for a punishment meant primarily for their kin.

And there were more Hornsent who suffered because of the leading ideology. Curseblades were once shunned because they failed to become tutelary deities, and so they were thrown in the Jar Gaols. They were only let out so they could use their expertise and flowing movements to defend their homeland when Messmer invaded, otherwise they'd be rotting with the Innard Shamans and the other Hornsent prisoners the way Labirith is.

It's also worth pointing out that Midra's Mense was filled with Hornsent attendants who sided with their sagely master regardless of his lack of horns and what the Inquisition believed of him. If we were to operate with reasoning number 2, they too would deserve to be murdered in the Crusade because they just so happened to be Hornsent. Because ALL Hornsent deserve extermination for what happened to the Shamans.

And we also know that the Hornsent can find what happens in Bonny Village revolting. In fact, we know that from someone who was born and raised there.

This sounds nothing like someone who thought any of that was ok. So who is to say other Hornsent weren't like this too, especially those who DIDN'T live in Bonny Village? Those who risked being stuffed into those same jars themselves? We make waaaay too many assumptions about an entire race, and that in itself is foolish enough.

If there's someone to blame, it's the Tower's Inquisition. They are the religious order that governs the Hornsent. They have all the power in their society... and yet, would you look at that? Enir-Ilim, their sanctum, the one place where those calling the shots reside, is completely untouched. And what about Bonny, the most structurally fine Hornsent settlement, when you'd expect it to be a black stain of char by now. But nope, no sign of Messmer activity and the Greater Potentates are just running around naked, doing their thing as usual.

The Crusade isn't even a good tool of vengeance, the only ones suffering are the civilians who were likely the ones with a higher risk of ritual jar punishment anyway. If this isn't proof enough that the Crusade is a completely petty, useless revenge war that accomplishes nothing I don't know what else to say. I'll just leave with what the people taking part in it were taking pride in doing.

These are people who, without a shadow of a doubt, would have chopped up most of the oppressed groups described earlier and stuffed them into jars if Marika had told them to do so. (Heck, something like this was being done to the Albinaurics already, as we have seen previously...)

They have zero moral superiority, their deranged zealotry is the only reason they act in the first place. Not to mention that they have no connection to Marika's struggles or past, nor were they informed of them I bet. It's likely only Messmer truly knows the reason for the Crusade, and that's only because he is her child and shoulders all the blame onto himself.

"Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death" is LITERALLY their motto. Do you really think they stopped at the Hornsent? They were just their main target, but judging by the way all of Messmer's soldiers, including Queelign and the other Fire Knights, and even HE HIMSELF, attack us on sight for the simple fact we are Tarnished and lack Grace in our eyes, I have no doubt in my mind these people were just rounding up and killing anyone who didn't conform with the Golden Order.

THESE are the people who should be allowed to play judge, jury and executioner with the entire Hornsent race. And people will genuinely, with a straight face, tell you "That's right".

-

To conclude... I think I actually hate reasoning 2 more than reasoning 1 lol, despite not liking either at all. At least 1 is understandable. Marika is a very interesting character, one that we have known for a few years now. We have an attachment to her, heck, sentiments of her being some sort of misunderstood/rebellious figure were already there before the DLC. In that regard, I understand the emotional response, even though I still think it's a wrong mindset to have. I have at least some hope that it is purely in the realm of fiction because it's a beloved character, nothing more...

Reasoning 2, on the other hand, attempts to be nuanced, or at least pretends to be. In reality, all it peddles is the "an eye for an eye" mentality which is much too common irl as well. Not only that, but it deals in monoliths. All people belonging to a group or race are equally responsible for stuff they didn't even commit, stuff that could have even harmed them, because their leaders decided to commit crimes against another set of people. And don't get me wrong, there will be even commoners from that group or race that will agree with and celebrate that bad deed, but just as many will not, but will be either scared, powerless, already being punished for speaking up through physical violence or elaborate shunning, or currently protesting and doing something to hopefully ignite a change.

But that reasoning only exists to perpetuate cycles; of war, violence, and hate for the most part. And sadly, this mindset is very prevalent, a lot of people fail to see the issue with wanton violence as long as it's to stroke that lust for vengeance. And vengeance is a theme that Elden Ring criticizes multiple times in a row, even beyond the obvious horror of the Crusade.

[milkywayes]

We all know the endless frustration of Garrus calibrating in ME2, but the whole situation just tugs at my heartstrings. Not just that he’s trying to keep busy to distract himself from grieving the incredible loss of his team, which he believes to be his fault by turian standards, but just:

“Shepard. Need me for something?” -> [hurriedly and dejectedly declines a personal conversation] -> “I’ll be here if you need me.”

That.

Something about the way he phrases it around need. It gives me the strong impression that he’s not just shutting himself down for his own sake so he doesn’t have to deal with messy grief and self-recrimination and burning, wounded anger before he can do something about it. He’s shutting himself down so he can work. He’s shutting himself down because once he starts actually grieving and processing, it’s over—his productivity, his clarity of mind, his usefulness to Shepard’s team on a suicide mission.

His usefulness to her, full stop.

Shepard has made clear from the start of their reacquaintance that she is depending on him. Someone I trust at my side. He’s got her six. His whole raison d’être, at this point, is to support her and be an asset to her mission. The only reason he is alive, right now, is because she needed him for her mission, and he knows it.

He will not let her down. Not like he let his team down—by ‘letting his feelings get in the way of his better judgment.’ He will not let it happen. He will be there if she needs him, he will be there to depend on, and he will operate as a repressed damn shell of himself in order to do that and be that person for her.

I’ll be here if you need me. Please don’t ask me how I’m doing because if you do, chances are I no longer can, and then what’s the point of me? But I’ll be here. You can depend on that.

And then there’s his action plan for Sidonis, and there’s a lot I could say about that would make this post way too long (turian society: living in service of the collective, the absolute taboo of ‘compromising your team,’ blame lying on the superior officer - and Garrus’ personal crusade: uncompromising justice) all of which play heavily into why he’s trying to execute the guy, but there might also be a note of efficiency in there.

One shot, and then it’s over, and he can be there fully for Shepard. One shot. One inhale, one squeezed trigger, and it’s done, and he can tie up the case and put all his energy into something else: their mission. It’s neat and clean… and not effective and bad for him in the long-term. He might not admit this to himself, and it might take a clear head to come to the conclusion, but the thing is—I’m not sure it matters to him. What matters is that he gets the affair dealt with swiftly so he can do his damn job. For Shepard.

Luckily for him, chances are that it does matter to Shepard. Because for all that he’s locked himself away, she sees him as a friend—or more. Because even when he’s turned her away every single time, she wants him to be better. Because she cares for him more than she cares about his usefulness.

[divinegrey]

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 / 𝐜𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

hi folks! it's good to be back and stretching my writing legs again. starting off with a caitlyn prompt! this could be read as a stand-alone or as a continuation of another caitlyn fic, broken pillars.

prompt: heyya! i'm absolutely in love with caitlyn AND your writing, so i was hoping we could combine the two :DD maybe something along the lines of cait x reader, a continuation of "broken pillars"? reader was injured in the blast, and Cait helps them/her (whatever you prefer) recover. maybe reader sees how much ambessa is manipulating her, and they end up getting into a fight over what's right?

words: 1162

warnings: mentions of violence, light angst, happy ending

“Caitlyn, this crusade is only going to end in more violence. You can’t possibly not see that!”

The Kiramman library has become something more of a battleground, in recent days. You were finally discharged from the hospital after extensive care to the leg you lost in what has been dubbed one of the worst terrorist incidents of Piltover’s history. And in those days since you’ve been home, you’ve become privy to every single thing that happened, everything that Caitlyn went through in her attempt to find Silco. 

Now Silco’s dead, and the whole of Zaun is in disarray. It only took one woman stepping in at the right time for Piltover to begin mobilizing; Ambessa Medarda. 

“It will be necessary for the safety of Piltover, our safety that we find Jinx and put her into Stillwater. She cannot be allowed to remain free for what she did to you,” Caitlyn says, standing at all too far a distance from you. She’s unreachable, has felt utterly unreachable ever since the explosion. Between tending to you, you know the gaps of time when she wasn’t at the hospital was spent sitting beside the famed warlord of Noxus. 

You’ve seen the change happen before your very eyes. It makes you scared. 

Pushing your hands on the wheels of your chair closer, you try again. “Cait, please, just listen to yourself. You’re suggesting arming an entire battalion of Enforcers and leading them into Zaun will fix the problem. You tried the strike team, it didn’t work the way you wanted it to, but that doesn’t mean—” 

“Until Jinx is behind bars, we are not safe.” Caitlyn’s stare is steely, but therein lies the exhaustion found in the bags of her eyes. Neither of you have been sleeping all too well; she comes into bed late at night when you’ve tired yourself out trying to stay up, and she rises before you have a chance to kiss her good morning. Caitlyn turns, hands on her hips. “You are not safe. I cannot stand for it.” 

“So, what? You slap a gun into every willing hand and shoot every Zaunite that gets in the way?” You sigh, leaning back against the cushion with a sigh. “And you’re fine with that? I know you, you’re smarter than this.” You wheel yourself closer to her side, taking her hand. “I know that this has left you distraught. Your mother in a coma, me in a wheelchair, but we are both still here, Caitlyn. An eye for an eye. You took Silco out, the Undercity is in chaos. People down there are scared. The Caitlyn I know and love wouldn’t be putting together weapons; she would be putting together aid, a plan to unite Zaun peacefully as possible.” 

Caitlyn doesn’t look at you. Rather, the fire that burns in the library hearth, the flames reflected and dancing in her eyes. She squeezes your hand, the callouses from shooting for so many years evident on her fingertips. Her throat bobs with a swallow. 

“It makes me scared, Cait. To know that Ambessa is saying these things into your ear and it feels like I can’t even get through to you,” you start, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles. “I’ve been friends with Mel long enough to get a sense of what her mother is like, I’ve studied enough politics to know what Noxus prioritizes. Strength and power. They see that in Hextech. That is all they want. They don’t care if they have to start a war to get it, because that is what they’re good at.” 

Caitlyn blinks, and for the first time in days, you see a tear fall from her eyes. Her chest rises with a heavy breath. “I failed to keep you safe. I had an opportunity to pull the trigger on Jinx. Vi, she— she weakened me. I wanted so badly to believe there was a way to end all of this with everyone alive, and the cost of believing that was nearly losing you and my mother.” A small scoff. “If my mother will ever wake up.” 

“Look at me.” You tug on her arm, and only then does she turn to you. You make a gesture for her to sit down on an armchair and she follows, slumping with an exhaustion you both feel in your bones. You take your hands and hold them tightly. “You can’t burden yourself with every ounce of responsibility, Caitlyn. You are one of the strongest people I know, but even you will crack under that pressure. Please, just give yourself some more time, give Mel and I some more time to try and put together a plan. The Council is angry. Ambessa has power enough as it is, but what she sees in you is someone to exploit. Grief is a powerful motivator; all I ask is that you don’t let it motivate you into something you’ll regret.” 

If it weren’t for you holding her hands, you might not have noticed the shake in her fingers. You know your girlfriend well enough to understand that the shaking only comes when the stress has built up so much that it reaches her hands; a sharpshooter can’t risk shaking hands when they need to take the shot. With something of a forlorn smile, you bend your head, trying to catch her eyes. 

“Love, I promise, you didn’t fail me. Nor your mother. I’m still here, and I still love you so, very deeply with everything I have in my heart. So please, if there is any guilt or grief you carry about me, drop it. Because I am with you, until the end of time,” you say, pouring every ounce of devotion that you possibly can into your words. What you see in turn is the exterior of Caitlyn’s armor cracking, the tears falling, and you cup her face within your hands, bringing her eyes to yours. “I love you, Caitlyn Kiramman.” 

Her hands hold your wrists tight; it’ll take time for her to lay down her guilt, and you’re happy to stand beside her in the meantime. You kiss her, soft and tender, the salt from her tears on your lips but you couldn’t care less. You survived death and lost a leg, a grief that will settle, but you count your blessings where you can find them. Your family is still alive, Caitlyn is still alive, and her parents are still alive. 

It will have to be enough. 

“I love you,” Caitlyn whispers into your mouth. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Your heart is safe with me, and mine with yours. There is a light at the end of this tunnel; we need only find it, okay?” You stroke her cheekbone with your thumb, wiping away the tears as they come. She nods, resting her forehead against yours. 

Only time will tell of what happens to Piltover and Zaun, but you breathe easier, knowing you have your partner at your side. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading! anon, i hope this was what you wanted!

[candywrithee]

*soft yandere themes implied

Imagine being a technically? villain in mlp but they just couldn't stop courting you. Prince Solaris gifting your opposing kingdom gifts to "mend both of your relationship". Prince Artemis giving you the sweetest dreams because even you can't stop him from dreams. Or maybe you can, no one knows.

Prince Caden and (fem)Shinning Armour agreeing with each other to pursue you. After all, two is better than one! You could easily just ruin things in the crystal empire and all they do is shake their heads and softly bringing you away to possibly lock you up as time out.

Dusk Shine and Butterscotch would be so scared to even try without a bit of help. Dusk Shine could definitely willingly try and hand you anonymous gifts. Butterscotch's animals would be scared at first but if you are ever so soft to animals, they wouldn't be after seeing you around them. Doesn't matter if you avoid them, they know you can be soft. They had to drag Butterscotch to talk to you. Bonus points if you can tower over him.

Bubble Berry is very (genuinely) happy around you. You could dumped a whole cake on top of him and he'll just eat it off thinking you want to party with cake. Just imagine the chrysalis and fluffy videos. That's you two.

Applejack is... Trying his greatest with the help of his family that is. The cutie mark crusaders are on the case! He's down bad like his dad with his mum. Like father like son I suppose. Bunny shaped apples and apple desserts all the way.

Elusive is a handful but definitely not shy. Sweetie belle is really struggling with rooting for her brother or for Applejack because of last statement. Elusive gifts you the flashiest things, even ones that doesn't really cover themselves in diamonds. I'm sure you can tolerate his efforts. Ego? 50/50.

Rainbow Blitz, I'll admit is not the best partner candidate. But he's the element of loyalty for a reason. He gets points because of his loyalty to you. He's the athlete boyfriend that wants to show off every second to just impress you. He the one that says "This is for you!" while pointing at you at his every game.

This turns more into a boyfriend thing so let's be mean.

You burn every gifts sent to you, and even slam the door on everyone if they appear in front of your place. You yell at Butterscotch and his animals when they get so overwhelming. You push them harshly that they fall when they get so close. You purposely sabotage them or make them trip like at Rainbow Blitz's.

You can do so much, what's stopping you?

But they're delusional enough to think you have a good soul deep down your dark heart. I mean just look at Stellar Gleam! (Don't feed their fantasies or do, I don't care.)

[irisintheafterglow]

hii i would like to request the premise of a feral gojo over reader getting hurt or in danger 🤤 please don't feel obligated to write tho only if u feel like it :3

cross them, cross me (gojo x you)

wc: 1.29k

cw/tags: brief but explicit violence including descriptions of blood (satoru beats the shit out of a curse lmao), swearing, angst/fluff with a happy ending, established-ish relationship with pet names baby and sweetheart

note: ah feral gojo my beloved. i think i got a little carried away with writing the violence aspect but what can i say! he really did go feral when you got hurt! anyways, hope you like this anon and thank you for the sweet ask <3

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated :))

The sound of bones crunching between his fingers is euphoric.

One by one, he takes the Curse’s limbs in his free hand, the other effortlessly holding it by the neck against a wall. Its desperate wriggles and squirms are futile and pathetic. With a tightened grip, the wretched body parts in Satoru’s palm wither and become a limp slug of skin. He’d tuned out the Curse’s howls of agony minutes ago, the world around him falling silent as he focused all of his energy into making the Curse beg for death. The phrase “seeing red” was familiar to him, sure, but the hue tinting his vision now was a deep shade of crimson. Whether that was from the blood or his own concentration, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

“What, did you give up?” His taunting smile turns into a snarl when the Curse fails to answer him the first time. It slumped itself against the wall, but he woke it up with a firm slap across its face. It wasn’t allowed to die, not yet. Not until he’d had his fill of its cries. “Learn your lesson yet?” It coughs out a plea for mercy, but he isn’t satisfied. Times like these were the only time his power truly went directly to his head. 

“Gojo.” Nanami’s voice temporarily breaks him from his trance, but Satoru doesn’t bother glancing his colleague’s way. His hand still remains around the neck of the Curse, scathing blue eyes burning holes into its face. “It’s time to depart.”

“I’m not done yet,” he hisses, embedding the Curse’s face further into the wall. The suit of his coworker is pristine and unscathed; his own uniform, on the other hand, was soaked in blood that wasn’t his own. No, he wasn’t done yet. Not until every Curse within a ten mile vicinity knew exactly what would happen to them if they attempted to harm you again.

“They’re asking about you,” Nanami states impatiently with a quick look at his watch. “And I’m working overtime.”

“Five more minutes,” Satoru commands and Nanami has no choice but to obey, releasing an exhausted sigh and leaving his superior to his crusade. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, realizing that the Curse must have died while he wasn’t looking. He examines the lifeless creature with pure disgust, flinging it so intensely at the wall behind him that its innards splatter like wet paint. “You are below me,” he says to no one in particular, but he can sense the frightened energy of the weaker Curses inhabiting the building. “Touch them and you will meet the same fate.” 

Once he’s exited the abandoned hospital, taken down the Curtain, and found the alley corner where he’d instructed Nanami to watch you, all remaining malicious intent in his body disappears. You’re scowling at him, your default expression when in his presence, and it reassures him that you’ll be okay. 

“What took you so long?” You wince and try to adjust yourself against the wall, swatting his hand away when he crouches and tries to help you. “I thought Nanami said there was only one Curse in the building.” He shrugs and you give him a skeptical look, slightly less potent than usual due to your injured state. “Toying with a Curse while I’m bleeding out? That’s a new low, even for you.” He knows you mean it in a joking matter, but the darkness that passes over his face after he laughs doesn’t escape you. It unnerves you, a little bit, trying to imagine what he was doing to the Curses when you weren’t there.

“What can I say? I was just trying to make you miss me,” he replies with only the tiniest hint of hesitation. He’s put his blindfold back on, you notice, but the subtle dip in his eyebrows tells you that he’s not revealing the whole truth. “I’m gonna lift you now–”

“I can walk on my own,” you protest, rooting a hand on the concrete and trying to push yourself up to no avail. You fall back against the wall and glare at his silently patronizing expression. “I just need a second.” 

“We don’t have a second. We need to clear out before the police get here,” he reminds you and you wave him off. “C’mon, just let me help you.”

“I can do this on my own,” you reiterate while simultaneously failing to stand. “It’s because you’re watching me. Just turn around.”

“If you wanna see my butt, just say so,” he grins and you roll your eyes. “But, really. I’m gonna lift you now, so try not to wiggle.” His arms extend to cradle beneath your legs and lower back and you’re surprised to feel the fabric of his uniform, not Infinity, when your hands try to push him away. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” you stammer in panic. He pulls away immediately and his teasing expression softens. You let him brush the dirt from your cheeks with one of his hands, the other coming to cover yours on his chest. His heartbeat is unwaveringly steady, his body warm beneath your fingers. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’re okay,” he reassures you. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you now.”

“It’s gonna hurt when I get up,” you whisper back. “A lot.” 

“I know it will, but it’ll only hurt for a few seconds.” Your exhales are too uneven. He had to get you back to the school if he didn’t want you to continue losing blood. 

“Seconds? What about the car ride back?”

“Oh no, baby. We’re not taking the car.” He shakes his head and gently laces his fingers with yours. “I’m warping us back so we can get that wound taken care of faster.” His grip on your fingers tightens, a crack in his composure revealing a glimpse of his own anxiety. “I just need you to let me help you.” After a few more moments, you nod and he doesn’t hesitate, scooping you into his arms before you can even register the searing pain in your side. The world goes white for a few seconds, just as he said, but then your head finds his shoulder and the pulse in your ears quiets. 

You wake later in the day to the sun casting an orange glow through your bedroom window. As you sit up, the pain in your side is still present but significantly dulled. When your eyes adjust to the light, you finally notice the figure slumped in your desk chair, a respectful distance away from your bed. 

“Satoru.” His eyes fly open and he’s in front of you within seconds, searching your face with concern and running his thumb over your knuckles. You give him the smallest smile you can muster and he reciprocates with a blinding grin. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, adjusting his position so that your legs can swing off the side of your bed. He rests on one knee in front of you, holding one hand in his, the other continuing to caress your face. “How are you feeling?”

“A little shitty,” you admit. “But, not nearly as shitty as earlier.”

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Need me to get you anything? A snack? Two snacks?” Your laugh feels warmer than the setting sun and you shake your head, lightly tugging him to stand up and crawl under the covers with you. “I guess this works too,” he mumbles against the top of your head, pulling you close until you’re snug against his body. 

“What were you doing in the time you were killing that last remaining Curse?” He hums thoughtfully and you swear his muscles flex protectively around your body. 

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. For now, we both need rest.”

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[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober - Day 2 (Size Difference)

Reinhardt WiIhelm x Male!reader

The scent of burnt candle mixed with the smell of alcohol filled the air; it was clear that Hana had gone all out for her birthday celebration. You're sure the others are enjoying themselves, but you've never been the party type.

Your scene is way more calm and quiet, so staying near the back and watching the others socialize from there seemed like the best play for tonight.

But it seems like loud has a way of following.

Walking up beside you, Reinhardt hands one of the cups in his hands to you with a warm smile, "Guten Tag mein Freund! I thought you might need something to drink." 

The cup seemed to disappear in his big hand, his giant form dwarfing even yours as he stood next to you. Reinhardt watches as you take the cup, your hands making brief contact. At that moment you realized that these cups were rather large, barely being able to hold the whole thing in a single hand.

The old crusader leaned in closer to you, his arm brushing yours lightly. "I am glad you could make it tonight," he says, raising his voice over the loud music and taking a sip from his own cup.

"At least one of us is," you mutter, taking a sip of your own. Despite not putting any effort into projecting your voice, he seemed to have caught it.

You see a slight furrow in his brow at your words, "Ah, well…", he starts to speak, hesitating slightly, "if you do not wish to be here…"

He takes a big gulp from his cup, letting his gaze drift towards the other guests before focusing back onto you.

His expression turned serious now, "If it would make you feel better, we could leave early?"

Silence fell between you as you meet each other's gaze.

Feeling your fingers tracing along his stomach, Reinhardt couldn't help but let out a soft moan at the sensation, his muscles relaxing under your touch. His eyes were shut, head leaning back as he let you explore his body.

Soft whispers left his lips in German, too low for you to hear properly, though they sounded sweet.

As you grabbed his hand, pulling it up to hold your palm to his, Reinhardt opened his eyes lazily, watching as you examined both of your hands.

A small smile graced his lips as he spoke up, "Ja, mine is quite larger.", he says, sounding a bit prideful.

"Everything about you is larger," you huff, pushing him onto his back, eliciting a grunt from him as he lets you do so easily. "It's not fair."

He folded his arms behind his back, exposing his muscular torso to you fully. "Ah~ my apologies mein Liebling", he said in a playful tone. "I did not mean to be so imposing."

Chuckling, you climb onto him, straddling his chest.

Reinhardt groans, a light blush appearing on his cheeks, "And how does your Crusader look from there?" He asks, his voice lowering slightly.

"He looks...less intimidating," you mutter, feeling like those birds you see on rhinos.

Smiling softly, Reinhardt moved his hands from beneath his head to gently grip your thighs, squeezing them tenderly. He then moved one of his hands to your belt buckle, slowly undoing it while looking into your eyes.

A low hum escaped his throat as he worked on it, clearly enjoying every second of it.

As he finished undoing your belt buckle, he lifts your legs up with one hand, carefully sliding off your pants with the other, leaving you in just your boxers.

A soft sigh leaves your lips, a bit embarrassed he was manhandling you so easily. His eyes glance downwards briefly to admire your newly exposed legs before looking back up at you.

He hooks your waistband with his thumbs, motioning to pull them down. However, instead of doing it alone, your hands reached out to cover his, helping him remove your boxers with ease.

As they join your pants on the floor, he gives a small smile, grabbing at your hips and pulling you higher up on his chest.

Your face burned up as he did so, causing your cock to bounce slightly, dragging across his skin. Holding you firmly in place, he looks at your hard-on that was now a few inches away from his face.

Reinhardt leans forward slightly, his hot breath washing over your cock as he breathes deeply, taking in your scent. A shiver ran down your spine as he held you in place with strong hands, pausing for a moment before finally pressing his lips against your cock, placing a soft kiss on the throbbing shaft.

"Rein…"

Hearing you moan out his name and reach out to grab at his hair sent a jolt of heat throughout his entire body, causing him to shudder. He pulled back after placing a kiss on your cockhead, looking up at you.

"Sweet boy," he coos before planting another kiss onto your cock, followed by another, and another, peppering wet kisses across the length of your shaft. Each time he kissed it caused his already hard cock to twitch, precum beading at the tip.

He barely hears your little whines as he pressed his lips against your cockhead again, slowly parting them as he took you inside of him.

You gasp as you felt yourself slide into his mouth, your hands maintaining a strong grip on his head. A low moan escapes your lips as you struggle to stay upright.

Grunting at the sudden movement, he wrapped his arms around your hips, holding you close as he began bobbing his head back and forth, working your length in and out of his mouth.

Each thrust pushed your cock deeper into his mouth until you bottomed out, the tip of your cock hitting the back of his throat. He hummed softly in approval, the vibrations strumming through your dick as he held you there.

"F-Fuck," you whine, tugging on his hair a bit harder than intended.

His hands gripped your hips tightly as he controlled the pace at which you fucked his mouth, changing between slow sensual thrusts and slamming your hips into his face harshly. It wasn't long before his mouth became sore from all the movement, but he paid no mind.

"Rein, I'm gonna…" you moaned, tugging at his hair as you felt yourself getting close.

Reinhardt suddenly thrust your hips forward, forcing you all the way down his throat. He swallowed convulsively around your cock, triggering your orgasm immediately. With a loud moan, you cum down his throat, filling it with rope after rope of hot cum.

Once you were done cumming, he slowly pulled back, releasing your cock from his mouth with a pop. Cum dripped from the corners of his lips as he smiled up at you.

Pulling you down to meet him as he gets up from laying down, his large hand gripping the back of your head firmly as he crushes his lips against yours. You let out a muffled whine, your hands holding on to his chest as you open your mouth to let him in.

You could taste yourself on his tongue as it wrestled with yours.

Pulling away from the kiss, he kept his large hands on both sides of your face as he squished your cheeks playfully. "Mein Schatz," he chuckled softly. "You taste delicious."

Scumtober 2024 Masterlist

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.5k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows. anyway no warnings for you guys today besides maybe this is boring lol

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a/n: young coryo has me in a death grip rn guys this could be a problem-

next part

Fists clenched at your sides, you storm up to the front of the hall, staring intently at the Dean. You knew your odds were better pleading with Dr. Gaul, but that was a task far from your mind. "Miss Y/L/N, I don't have time for your petty complaints at the moment." He dismisses you before you even reach an appropriate distance to start your discussion.

"I was waiting for this." Festus chuckles, commenting on how none of the chosen mentors had a chance to process anything or even speak before you were stomping down the centre aisle, between all their seats, and up towards the podium where Dean Highbottom now stood.

Coriolanus found his gaze following you, despite his better judgment telling him to focus on the subject- scratch that, problem, at hand: his assignment of the mentorship of Lucy Gray Baird. She was fiery, that's for sure, and upon first impressions, she reminded him of you.

"You think I couldn't handle it, is that it?" You almost shout, discarding all formality in favour of getting answers. 

"You knew the qualifications, Miss Y/L/N." The Dean sighs.

"I got one B over a year ago! God, hold a grudge much? You're miserable!" People are staring now, noticeably, but you don't care. You're used to getting what you want, and the one time you don't, it comes back to bite you in the ass over a year later.

"Then you should have done better. Drop this or I'll demerit you." He states in response, clearly hardly caring. You huff, face red as you storm off again, making a point of slamming the door open so hard it hits the wall with a bang.

Coriolanus never understood fully why the Dean let you parade around with this attitude directed at him, but never so much as lifted a finger to punish you. If he had made a scene like that, he would have been expelled on the spot. "I should go after her." He turns to look at Sejanus as he's getting up, quickly gathering himself to follow after you. He had little interest in staying anyway.

"I'll go." Coriolanus stands, placing his hand on Sejanus' chest to stop him. "You stay. I'll sort her out."

"Coriolanus Snow, off to sedate his girlfriend again." Arachne teases as he walks off, leaving Sejanus to defend his name in his stead. He'd much prefer talking you down to uselessly explaining to the other kids in your class that the two of you were nothing more than friends. It was a wasteful endeavour. You were just the only one who's presence he could stand in a social capacity.

You made it outside, pacing the large front steps of the academy, fighting the urge to rip off your skirt and burn it right there. Along with the rest of the building.

"Y/N." You pause when you hear the door close behind someone, looking up to see your friend.

"Coryo." You reply, continuing with your fruitless crusade at this point.

"What happened to not caring about the prize?" He asks, stepping down so he's level with you on the staircase, getting in your path so you can no longer pace.

"I don't care about the prize." You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's not about that."

"I doubt that." Coriolanus raises an eyebrow at you. You had told him at length you didn't care about the prize when you found out you weren't even in the running, because your parents could pay your tuition anyway. He envied your privilege, but he had never envied you.

"No, it's not." You insist. "I got one less than stellar grade one time and now I'm missing out on this opportunity- effectively throwing away any shot I have at Gamemaker."

"That's dramatic." Your friend replies. "I think you're better off than me."

You scoff. "Oh, boo hoo, Coriolanus Snow. I'd take Lucy Gray in a second."

"Just because she can cause a scene doesn't mean she'll last a minute in the games." He replies.

"Duh, it's not about winning. It's about the experience, it's about-"

"Being on TV?" He asks, and despite his serious expression you know it's a joke.

"Even you know I'm not that shallow. I'm not Arachne." You can't help but smile. He does too, for just a second. "And frankly, I'm offended at the insinuation."

"Then enlighten me, Y/N Y/L/N." Coriolanus prompts, and suddenly your demeanor changes in a way he would deem hardly noticeable if he hadn't known you for years.

You sigh, dropping your tense shoulders. "My father will be up in arms when he finds out." You answer, voice in a whisper despite being alone out here. "I'm an embarrassment to my family name."

"That's impossible." He shakes his head quickly. "You're their pride and joy. A gem of the Capitol."

"Ah, but for how long?" You reply, poking his chest. "Until the oldest Y/L/N child doesn't get a mentorship? Until my brother does in three years and I am an irrelevant face in the University halls and he is winning the Plinth prize?" The small smile on your face fades as you look down, thinking over the consequences for the first time.

"Perhaps, but one day that will come back to bite anyone who doubted you when you're the new head Gamemaker. I'll be sure of it." He nods, and your smile returns. 

"Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, I salute you." You giggle, raising your hand in a salute. You had heard his cousin say that to him once, two or three years ago by now, and you were not prepared to let it go. You can tell it was something he believed, despite the misshapen buttons on his dress shirt and the weight he'd steadily lost over all the years you'd known him. Who were you to deny him his ambitions? Everyone else was fooled, so you would act as though you were as well. The same way he had habitually ignored the bruises on your arms and under your makeup the day after you brought home that B grade last year.

He just nods in response, jokingly tugging at his vest in pride. 

"I hate to tell you that I will have to decline your generous offer." You say, and he looks confused. "I don't need your charity. I'll make it so you'd be a fool not to hire me, Mister President."

You sit down on the stairs, looking out at the city. He joins you a moment later, dusting off the ground beneath him before letting his clothes touch the surface.

"So, how are you feeling?" You ask, sick now of talking about yourself.

"Honestly, not great." Coriolanus answers. "She'll be first down, and I'll be out. We're about at odds with each other, I have no shot at the prize now."

"I don't know, Coryo." You smile a little, bumping his shoulder with your own as you try to reassure him. "Lucy Gray has a or two fight in her. I can tell."

"She reminds me of you, a little bit." 

"Is that a bad thing?" You chuckle.

"No." He shakes his head. "You never back down from a fight. Even if you should."

You laugh, turning a little to hide the burning in your cheeks. "I suppose I could see the resemblance. I'm no stranger to telling someone to kiss my ass."

"That's true." He nods, smiling but not quite laughing. You're not sure you could remember seeing him laugh, not since Felix fell down the stairs in the lecture hall a few years ago and screamed like a girl. "Maybe you could help me."

"Help you? How?" You ask, brow furrowed as you look over at him. Whatever it is you'll agree. He knows too much about you for you to deny him anyway, and it's not like you really had anything to lose. If you couldn't have the Plinth prize, you'd want it to go to Coriolanus.

"With Lucy Gray. I don't even know where to start, what to think, what to do." He explains.

"Well..." You think about it for a second. "If you want her to listen to you in any capacity, she'll have to trust you. So be nice. And maybe convince her to sing again. People were talking, that's what you want. It's the best you can do."

He nods, sitting up straighter. "Thank you, Y/N. I have to go." Before you can respond, he's gone back into the building behind you. You sigh, calmer now, despite dreading the prospective task of having to go home and face your father.

"Mister Snow, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dr. Gaul asks, readjusting her gloves without looking up at the boy as she throws what he assumes to be some kind of food into a blacked-out tank in front of him.

"I'd like Y/N Y/L/N to be my partner in the mentorship," Coriolanus states, making her pause.

"Why?" She asks simply, resuming her task.

"I believe she would be an asset for Lucy Gray."

"They do have a similar... spark. Don't they?" Dr. Gaul nods a little bit to herself. "But what makes you think that this wouldn't be an unfair advantage?"

"It wouldn't be an advantage. More like an experiment." He answers, effectively piquing the doctor's interest. "We can observe the benefits and faults of two mentors versus one, moving into the next games, and the effect of choosing based on compatibility, rather than random, careless selection."

Dr. Gaul hums, wiping off her leather gloves with a cloth as she thinks it over. "And this would have nothing to do with your relationship and sympathies towards Miss Y/L/N, correct?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Miss Y/L/N certainly doesn't get any sympathy from me." It's not a lie, at least he doesn't perceive it to be. You would be an asset to his cause, to his deliverance of the prize, and likely the most pleasant person to work with, ironically.

"I will think about it." Dr. Gaul states. "But the prize will not be awarded to her in any capacity, you must understand."

Maybe he does feel bad for you. He's entitled to that prize, no doubt, but it's hard to picture a world where you wouldn't be the runner-up; even if that is his reality. "I understand." He nods, before turning to leave.

"Oh, and Mister Snow." Dr. Gaul draws his attention once more, causing him to stop and look back at her. "Don't let her charm you."

"Y/N!" You look up from your textbook toward the door, knowing your brother will be opening it any second after he calls you. Surely enough, he does. "Coriolanus Snow is here. He wants to speak with you."

"Can you show him up to the library?" You ask, quickly wiping your reddened eyes.

"He's there with dad already." Your brother tells you and you sniff, nodding a little bit. "Thank you. Tell them I'll be right there."

You quickly throw on a sweater, double-checking in the mirror that you don't look like you were just crying before leaving. Besides a little bit of redness around your eyes and blotchiness on your chest covered by the sweater, you should be okay.

"Well, thank you for extending your influence on my daughter's behalf. I owe you a great deal." You hear your dad speaking from down the hall as you get closer. "Though, I wouldn't fault you if you changed your mind. I understand she will be a burden on you."

"No, sir. It would be an honour to work with her." You hear Coryo say as you step into the door frame. 

You knock gently on the open door, alerting them both of your presence. "Y/N." Your father says, nodding toward your friend. "Coriolanus has pulled some strings to try and help you maintain what's left of your reputation."

You sniff and nod, looking over at Coryo as he stands across from your dad in your library, posture perfect like a soldier standing at attention. His professionalism will always impress you, it never falters in the presence of others. "Thank you." You make an effort to smile at him, which he politely and uncomfortably returns. "Could you give us a moment?" You request, returning your attention to your dad.

He nods and shakes Coryo's hand before bumping into you as he exits the room, pausing before leaning down to whisper to you.

Coriolanus watches, your eyes widening for just a moment while your dad speaks to you and then you nod, thanking him quietly before he leaves. You stand there awkwardly staring at each other for a second while you listen to his footsteps descend the stairs, and then hear the door to his study close. As soon as it does, you're quickly walking up to your friend and throwing your arms around his waist, your head leaning into his chest.

He freezes for a second before hugging you back. "Thank you, Coryo." You whisper. "I won't let you down."

"Are you okay?" He asks, resisting the urge to just rest his chin on the top of your head and pull you closer. It's been ages since he's been hugged like this, and though it's meant more as a comfort to you, it's consolatory to him as well.

You nod, snapping out of it and quickly pulling away, taking a respectful step back. "Yeah, yes. Sorry." You clear your throat, quickly readjusting your sweater.

"Don't be." He shakes his head quickly, brows still furrowed as he looks you over. He doesn't know what you came home to, but he has a strong theory as to what the cause of your tear-stained cheeks could be, and it certainly wasn't an empty fridge like his. 

You stare at each other for another moment before you look away. "Uh, so, you spoke to the Dean?"

"No, he despises me." He answers. "Dr. Gaul was more sympathetic to the cause."

"Dr. Gaul and 'sympathetic' have never been used in the same sentence before." You tease.

"Well, she likes us for some reason."

"Thank god." You chuckle, slightly shaking your head.

"But... seriously, are you okay?" He asks again, this time blatantly looking you over. While embarrassing, it does feel nice to see that someone cares, that someone noticed. The remnants of pity behind his eyes makes you almost ill.

"Fine." You nod in confirmation. "Would you like something to eat?" You offer, leveling the playing field.

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[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[grimitto]

Hello. I've never posted on tumblr before but I figured I would now.

I'm trying to get a full description of Messmer's backstory plotted out and after doing some research this is what I have so far (the briefest, simplest version.)

Messmer was born with a cursed ability, flame. Much like the frenzied flame that threatens to burn the Lands Between into pure chaos. Messmer was also born with an Abyssal Serpent (Base Serpent???) inside of him, although it can manifest on the outside. (???) The serpent consumes his flames and grows endlessly more powerful. Messmer's flame and the Abyssal Serpent were very powerful, drawing ire from his mother, Marika who despises any threat to her throne.

Messmer has always been family-oriented and enjoys the camaraderie between shared bonds. Brothers in arms or brothers in blood. Before his mother's crusade, Messmer spent his time with his younger siblings and friends, and likely trained alongside them from youth. Particularly Radahn is said to regard Messmer (and Gaius) as older brothers.

"Both were as elder brothers to the lion, and both were cursed from birth. In spite of, or perhaps because of this very reason, Gaius was both Messmer's friend and the leader of his men." - Remembrance of the Wild Boar Rider

The "lion" being Radahn.

Marika, fearing Messmer's powerful flame, wanted to test his loyalty by turning him into a symbol of her wrath. Marika has always hated those who embraced unnatural and grotesque traits, wings and horns specifically, so she embarked on a crusade to cleanse these people, the "hornsent," from the Lands Between. Messmer, eternally loyal to his mother, did so without qualms. The hornsent, and any who are considered enemies of Messmer's mother, Queen Marikia, will always be enemies of Messmer.

[Of the hornsent] "A vestige of the crucible of primordial life. Born partially of devolution, it was considered a signifier of the divine in ancient times, but is now increasingly disdained as an impurity as civilization has advanced." - The Crucible Scale Talisman

Although his armies knew this war would be far from honorable or heroic, Messmer's strong bonds with his men resulted in him having a large and loyal army for his crusade. They gave up riches, titles, and faced scorn for being loyal to Messmer.

"The warriors who fought in the crusade set aside both honor and mercy to wantonly impale and scorch those deemed impure." - The Crusade Insignia Talisman

"Each and every knight hailed from a renowned family of the Erdtree's upper echelons, but were shunned and chased from their homes after pledging allegiance to Messmer as their master." - Fire Knight helm

One warrior, who became known as Messmer's most loyal, was a princess of Carian, Rellana. She abandoned her nobility to follow Messmer. Her loyalty was influenced by romantic love that Messmer never returned.

The crusade was going well (as far as genocides go), but some of Messmer's men learned of his accursed flame and the Abyssal Serpent always growing stronger inside of him and—fearing Messmer was actually corrupt or would become so inevitably—rebelled and mutinied against Messmer in an attempt to kill him. Messmer dispelled them without any difficulty (they were banished to an underground tomb), but mourned the loss of his brothers-in-arms.

The surviving hornsent and many of the general population rightfully vilified Messmer for the crusade.

His mother, learning of this growing unrest, finally found a reason to get rid of Messmer, who was powerful enough to threaten her throne. She plucked out Messmer's eyes, and replaced only his right eye with a Seal of Grace, used to weaken the Abyssal Serpent and flames inside of Messmer. Marika then rescinded Messmer's Grace and banished him to a realm known as the "Shadow of the Erd Tree." Marika also banished any of those still loyal to Messmer, including Rellana.

Messmer, forever loyal to his mother, does not scorn her for abandoning him. Although he is bitter in exile, he blames himself and his flame, he hates the crimes he committed, resulting in a strong self-resentment. Messmer took all the blame of Marika's orders.

"On his mother's wishes, Messmer made himself a symbol of fear, undertaking the cleansing crusade she desired."

"Direct thy maledictions, thine ire, and thy grief towards me alone." - Messmer's armor

Also, I haven't seen the item descriptions to back this up, but apparently the Shadow of Erdtree realm is like the afterlife for the Lands Between and Marika has assigned Messmer to rule over it. That makes more sense than just banishing him, but I haven't seen the in-game sources.

Judging by his dialogue when Messmer meets the Tarnished, I believe the reason he attacks is solely out of loyalty to his mother. As he considers all Tarnished an enemy of Marika as they are "stripped of the grace of gold," AKA they are not guided by grace because Marika doesn't like them.

He also clearly harbors his own prejudice against Tarnished, as he then destroys the restraining eye his mother put in him saying, "I will not suffer a Lord devoid of light," which means he'll die to stop Tarnished becoming Elden Lord, even though Marika allegedly wants the Tarnished to become the Elden Lord, which is fairly common, but overall confusing...

---

Anyways, this is what I personally consider to be Messmer's backstory after looking around (Credits mainly to this reddit post) and trying to compile all the random bits into a story. If anyone knows other important details or thinks something here is wrong I'd love some feedback!

Grim out 💪

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part Two

Words: 2.7k

Part One | Series Masterlist | Part Three |

You have no intention of messing with the stability you have discovered in Jackson. But whatever higher power is still up there twenty years after the end of the world has other plans.

Warnings: slow burn, post-outbreak, Joel Miller is a grump and a menace, no use of y/n, eventual smut but not in this chapter, I still have no idea how many parts this will be but I’m feeling six maybe?

Maria’s words ringing in your ears, you resolved to stay away from Joel and his not-quite-adopted daughter. Having become accustomed to defending the things that mattered to you, you found yourself protective of this little community your dad would have dismissed as communist had he had the chance to see and unfairly judge it. Sleeping without your boots on, your feet rubbing over the bare cotton tucked up in blankets, had been a pleasure you had finally remembered how to enjoy.

Marla, though. Marla has always had a flare for the dramatic and surprisingly poor judgement for someone who has lived this long through the end of the world. She was a literal child on outbreak day, as opposed to your wisened 16 years, and you suspected she may have stopped developing around that point. Her complete lack of maturity, her ability to wonder blindly into abject terror just to unblinkingly fight her way out of it, was endearing so long as there weren’t clickers on the edge of the tree line. She had decided your tendency to isolate was ‘making you weird’ and every lunch time for the last four days had arrived on your front step to march you down to the mess hall. You suspected the real reason was to check out the newcomers, under the cover of altruism. You respected her tenacity, even as you resented her for it.

Four and a half days into her crusade to integrate you into any available social group, she waved a spoon in front of your face.

‘This is no good,’ she assessed, gesturing to your eyes, then your bottom lip. You sucked it in between your teeth and reminded yourself she had been the one hauling you over the sides of mountains to get you here.

‘Be more specific,’ you said and she grinned.

‘You don’t smile when you’re in here, your eyes go all squinty,’ she observed.

You felt something click in your jaw and you reached up to push hard on the condyle, the masseter tight as a bow string.

‘Just so many people,’ you said, pushing your stew around in your bowl. ‘It doesn’t make you nervous?’

‘I go through that gate most days of the week,’ Marla replied, her tone passive but somehow assuring. ‘The way Tommy runs it, no-one’s getting through that check point with anything less than a Nobel peace prize.’

Out of the corner of your eye you watched as Joel offered his left overs to his daughter, the two of them sitting alone at the end of a nevertheless crowded table. He sat hunched, favouring his right side, his arm tucked in hard against his ribs. If he leant too far over in the wrong direction he grimaced, and you noticed this all in the fleeting glances you allowed yourself while Marla forced you to ingest first your stew, and then her gossip.

‘What do you know about them?’ you asked, cringing when Marla turned her full body to peer in their direction. It wouldn’t have surprised you if she pulled binoculars out of her cargo pants to get a better look.

‘Him and Tommy spent a lot of time apart, when Tommy was a firefly.’

You sucked air into your lungs, sure for a moment they had just collapsed.

‘He’s not anymore, not for a long time,’ Marla defended. ‘He didn’t…he doesn’t follow their philosophy.’

‘You’ve been talking to Maria,’ you observed. She started plucking at the skin around her fingernails. You smiled at her, warmth in your voice. ‘Ray not the only one doing reconnaissance?’ And you rolled your r for dramatic effect, and because sometimes you could be quite funny, actually.

Marla grinned, busted. ‘It’s. It’s important for me to know, when I’m on patrol it’s about protecting? People? So I need to know about…the people.’ You wanted to give her a standing ovation, the bullshit was so exceptional. Instead you lifted a hand to her shoulder, sent affection down your arm and under your palm, where you hoped you deposited it into her muscle.

‘Maria’s not a fan,’ you said, and watched Marla acknowledge this fact, then make her way around it.

‘He’s different to Tommy, I guess. She’s made her preferences clear.’

You let that sit for a second. You thought about telling her what Maria had said, keeping his daughter in the dark, but you felt a need to keep the seed unwatered, not to throw it any fertile ground.

‘He’s hot,’ you confirmed, simply, and she blushed.

‘He is though?’ She grinned. ‘I’m going to ask Tommy to swing him onto my patrol.’

‘He patrols?’ You asked, alarmed, noting again the way he was so stiff on his right side as he pushed his chair back behind him.

‘He’s a protector,’ she replied, and you both watched as he stood from the table, waited for his daughter to follow, then shuffled off alone and away. ‘Like me,’ Marla finished, reaching for your unfinished stew.

—

You knew, in this new world you all now made the best of, that curiosity was a dangerous thing. Remembered the young boy from two apartments down who wanted to see the sun fully set without dipping behind walls. The girl who thought the FEDRA soldier with warm green eyes might have been a softie under all the armour, all the hardship. The kid who wanted to understand why the fence was humming, and put his hand out to see what would happen. Curiosity was a dangerous, tricky, deceitful thing in a world already lousy with nasty surprises. You kept your head down and your mouth shut, and it had got you this far. You would have to be perfectly happy not knowing anything about Tommy’s older possibly homicidal but kind of limpy on one side brother. That was your plan.

It, too, failed almost immediately. It wasn’t fate or divine intervention that delivered him to you, it was Tommy, on your front porch with Joel over his shoulder, Tommy’s smile bright and benevolent and Joel’s grimace trained solely on your doorstep.

‘Evening’, Tommy said, and not for the first time you imagined him in a cowboy hat just so he could dip it to you like a gentleman. ‘You met my brother?’

You shook your head, having apparently swallowed glue sometime between opening the door and this moment.

‘He’s grumpy and he’s hurt,’ Tommy continued, undeterred by his older brother’s scoff of disapproval. ‘Not necessarily in that order.’

‘Hurt how?’ you asked, stepping forward before remembering yourself and immediately stepping back.

‘Not hurt at all,’ Joel said, and his voice was so much softer than you imagined, a gentle rumble, that carried with it years of struggle. You tried with every atom on your skin to stop the goosebumps. Failed.

‘Not recent, but acting up. The cold. The walkin’ Tommy continued. ‘Maria said you work miracles, so thought I’d give you the devil’n see what you can do.’

You smiled at Maria’s assessment, wanting to ask after her but sensing from the pure recalcitrance leeching off Joel that it would be the thing that finally made him turn and march home.

Instead you stepped aside, gesturing into the warmth of your home. Tommy smiled again, whacked Joel on the shoulder and down your front steps. ‘Behave,’ he called out behind him, to which his brother very purposefully did not respond.

You realised as soon as he was in it that your house suited Joel. It was a little shabby, a lot rough around the edges, but it smelt like warm wood and furniture oil and you’d tried to keep things ordered for the sake of appearances. He stopped in the entryway, his eyes swivelling from your lounge room to the bedroom doors, and you stepped forward and around him to get to your treatment room. ‘In here,’ you said, and turned your back so you wouldn’t see if he’d rolled his eyes at you. You felt him approach behind you, heard a floorboard creak as if it sang just for him, and held your breath.

‘The hell is that?’ he asked, and you turned to see him pointing at your apocalyptic massage table.

‘You get in the middle, the towels hold you up,’ you said, seeing it now through his eyes and dying inside, just a little.

‘Ain’t getting on that,’ he said, plainly. ‘Thing’ll collapse and take us both with it.’

You sighed. He was hot but he was also annoying. He was a perfect match for Marla.

‘You haven’t even said where you’re hurt,’ you said, and he stopped you.

‘Ain’t hurt.’

‘Where Tommy thinks you’re hurt,’ you said. You watched him cock his knee out to the side, shifting his weight to one leg and standing with his hands on his hips. He seemed bigger than the room could possibly withstand. His jaw tensed as he thought.

‘Shoulder,’ he said eventually, having apparently assessed that divulging this information wouldn’t likely result in instant death.

‘I can do your shoulder in a chair,’ you offered, and immediately regretted your choice of words. He raised his eyebrow.

‘Chair any less collapsible?’ he asked.

‘Not at all. But you’ll have less distance to fall,’ you said, and his eyes sparkled ever so slightly when he laughed.

Except that the kitchen was smaller than your treatment room and somehow you’d never noticed it, and with the table and chairs in the centre of the room suddenly it felt like Joel took up all the space. You contemplated this as he shuffled around you, how Maria at nearly eight months gone could feel petite in comparison. You realised you hadn’t seen her at the mess hall for a few days, that you should check on her.

‘I gotta take my shirt off?’ Joel muttered, with his back turned to you. When you didn’t immediately answer he turned to look at you over his shoulder, and where you thought you’d see ridicule you saw only a guarded vulnerability. For a second. Before he turned away.

‘Have you never had a massage?’ you asked, and he sat heavy down on the chair.

‘Not really my thing,’ he said, in such a way that did not engender any follow up questions.

‘You don’t have to take it off’, you said. ‘Whatever you’re more comfortable with.’

You realised then he had already decided, settled as he was with his back to you and his hands resting in his lap. He closed his eyes, almost as though he was bracing himself.

‘Go on then,’ he said.

You glanced at the ceiling. Events of the last twenty years already had you pretty much convinced there was no higher power, but in this moment you appealed to it, regardless. You had no idea what had your heart racing so fast. You flexed your fingers to try and get them to steady before you touched him.

His right shoulder was indeed tight, but you knew almost immediately that wasn’t where the pain was coming from. Over his flannel you felt along the clavicle, up to the back of his neck, swept down across his scapula. When you reached further, down towards his waist, he shifted, clearing his throat. You pulled back.

‘Said shoulder,’ he said. At this you rolled your eyes, finally having enough of the man who you were helping for free being gruff in your own kitchen. At least Maria made you tea when she came over.

‘It’s all connected,’ you said, prodding perhaps a little more roughly at his deltoid. ‘You need to think of your body like a series of links in a chain. One gets weak and the rest of them up and down from it have to compensate.’

‘Mmm,’ he replied, and you weren’t sure how but he made it sound dismissive. You felt heat on your cheeks.

‘The shoulder doesn’t just mean here,’ you said, putting your hand on the expanse of his shoulder blade. ‘Shoulder pain can be neck, jaw, back.’

‘You go to school for this?’ He asked, changing the subject.

‘I did yeah, before… Before.’

You took a step closer, repositioning yourself so that you could take his wrist in your hand and hold his arm forward, over his chest. With your other hand you pushed into the rhomboid, felt the push back of the muscle as it fought you to release.

You realised, after several seconds of holding him, that you were basically hugging him from behind. You wondered if he could feel your breath on the back of his neck. You wondered if he liked it. This close you could smell the soap he used, the sweat on the back of his neck mingling with the warmth of his cotton shirt. You released him, tension now effectively transferred from his body to yours, and he let out a long exhale.

‘You favour this side,’ you said, before you’d really thought about it.

‘Do I?’ He asked. ‘You notice things like that?’ In that moment you were glad to be behind him, so that he couldn’t see the blush storming up your cheeks.

You set upon his trapezius, then, digging your fingers into his flesh, found it more pliable than his shoulder. You heard his sharp intake of breath.

‘Tender?’ you asked, but he didn’t answer other than to grunt. You continued, suddenly realising you were dangerously close to running your hands through his hair and worse, wanting to.

He hissed then, and you stopped. ‘Sorry,’ you said, automatically, and he pushed your hand away, but not unkindly.

‘Was carrying some wood on it,’ he said, reaching up himself to poke and prod at the tender spot. ‘Tommy was there, saw me tryin’ta be a hero. Called me out on it, said I don’t know my age.’

‘Sure you weren’t showing off for the sake of your little brother?’ you asked. He grinned.

‘Not for him, but maybe for the other guys gathered round helpin’.

You put your hand on his left shoulder as you came around in front of him, pushing the table out of the way with your hip as you went. ‘Here, I just need to…’ you said, as he pushed his chair backwards to make space for you, and you used his good shoulder as an anchor when you pivoted to turn back towards him. He looked up at you, big brown eyes underneath arching brows. You saw his hands lift from his lap as if to steady you, as if to grab you by the hips and grind you down on his cock.

You swallowed. Took a second to wonder where that had come from, before you lifted your hands to his right arm and folded it again in front of him. ‘Just need to get a better angle,’ you explained, almost under your breath now that you were facing him, and he nodded quickly at you. For a moment he just gazed up at you, and you felt more naked than if he had stripped you down right there in your kitchen. You felt relief when he closed his eyes.

‘So when you say carrying some wood…’

‘Three planks, not heavy just awkward. Used to be able to do it easy.’

You cupped his trapezius, easier to get to from the front, and gently lifted the muscle up with a squeeze. Close to him like this, his face level with your chest, you felt more than heard the rush of his air as he gasped. His eyes flew open and shot straight to yours, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

You wanted to lean down and suck on his bottom lip. You felt the tremble return to your hands. A synapse, firing off randomly somewhere behind your earlobe, reminded you when the client was in pain to keep them talking. You swallowed twenty years worth of ache, and cleared your throat.

‘You a carpenter?’ you asked, and for some reason thought of Jesus, and of Joel wrapped in a loin cloth, and of nailing yourself to the cross if you couldn’t fucking get your shit together.

‘I was a contractor,’ he said, closing his eyes now that you were no longer actively torturing him.

‘What are you now?’ you asked, feeling a click under your fingers as the joint finally settled. He exhaled, the relief causing him to finally relax just a little, his whole frame leaning forward toward you, such that you worried his head would collide with your breast.

‘Old,’ he said, after a beat.

‘All fixed,’ you said, taking a step back and colliding inelegantly with the kitchen table. Later, after you’d refused any and all payment and he had promised to owe you a favour regardless, after you’d walked him to the front door and shown him out, after you’d gone into your treatment room and stood staring at your massage table as if it had any answers, you went and stood in the doorway to your kitchen. The table was still askew, the other chairs dangerously close to scuffing the walls. Your gaze lingered, though, on the chair where he had just been. You found yourself reluctant to move it, wanting to sit down in it to try and keep his warmth. You laughed at yourself, wondered what Marla would say, tried to practice how you could tell her the story at lunch tomorrow.

You flicked the light off before you went to bed. You’d move the chair back tomorrow. Maybe.

[mothiir]

yknow what??? fuck it. im not even gonna turn on anon. IM NOT EVEN GONNA DO IT!! because at this point you'd clock my ass a nautical mile off for who it is just bc im gonna ask for exactly what you caught me for on anon LAST TIME.

SO,,,, haha,,,, heyyyy mothiiiiir,,,, pllllleeeasse more nasty ass rabbit/emp headcanonnns OR writing or anything,, you always cook and im one starving ass loser.

thank you ily and your writing once again ok ok ok BYEEE

cw: angst, not what you intended but this got me thinking about the emperor and then uh. we got this. not set in the little rabbit verse, which will soon become obvious. playing loose with the canon timelines because i don’t know exactly how the burning of monarchia went down.

—

—

Monarchia burns — and three days later, Guilliman and his sons make planet fall.

—

It takes a great deal to surprise a Primarch, and yet here Guilliman is, blinking at the charred rubble of your former capital, struggling to find words.

“Say that again,” he says, at length. You sit up from your prostrated position, lifting your head just enough to address his shins rather than the ground.

“There is no penance great enough for the crime we have committed against the Emperor and the Imperium,” you say, your voice soft, but ringing clear. “There is no punishment that we do not deserve for such blatant defiance of the Imperial Truth. I can state that we were misled — which is true — and that we were ignorant, but that is no excuse. All I can say is that when I discovered that my Lord Husband was acting in defiance of the Emperor’s wishes, I acted as swiftly as I could to remedy it.”

It makes even less sense the second time around. The once-glorious city is wreathed in flames; the sun blotted out by a miasma of smoke. The same story is repeated across the entire planet. A revolution almost overnight — temples torn down, idols cast into the sea, believers put to the sword. The few Word Bearers that remained had died at their posts; they had slaughtered thousands of their kinsman, but died all the same. Bears torn down by hounds.

“You did this,” he says. You shake your head minutely. Your hair — once a glorious braid almost to your waist, always ornamented with some fancy that Lorgar had gifted you — has been chopped into an unkempt bob around your shoulders. Guilliman vaguely remembers a tale amongst Lorgar’s adopted people: of a queen who had lost a great battle, and shorn her locks in penance.

“No my lord. I did nothing. My people acted against the rot in our ranks. They carved it out.”

“Millions have died.”

“It is no great loss that those who would espouse the evils of theology perish,” you say, your voice as flat and featureless as a windless sea. “All I ask is that those that remain…”

For a moment, emotion returns to your voice, colouring it.

“All I ask is that some of them be spared. Please.”

You lift your face for the first time since his arrival. Your lips are lined with blood, shadows hung beneath eyes sunk deep into their sockets. In the space of three days, you seem to have aged decades — from a fresh-faced woman in the bloom of youth, to a crone who has seen the ending of all that she loves.

—

The seas do not boil. The sky does not burn. Another battle is brought to a shuddering, decisive end as the Ultramarines join on the side of your rebels — no, you cannot think of them as such. They are not rebels; they are vindicated. They are fighting for the truth, for what is right and good. They are crusaders.

You — you are not a crusader. You are not sure what to call yourself. Lorgar called you a goddess; a title that always disquieted you, but you accepted it, for his eyes shone so when he looked at you, and he made love to you as though you were the only thing that mattered. Now, you have lost count of the number of men and women who have died for referring to you as such.

You are not a widow either. Your husband lives, though you do not know where he is. Once, Lorgar pressed his hand to your chest and felt the thrum of your heart against his palm and said that no matter where you went there was a golden cord that bound your heart to his; that no void nor fire could split asunder what was joined in love.

You dream that you wind a golden chain around your hands, pull it taut, and bite until your teeth chip, until your tongue bleeds, until it frays into dust on your lips.

—

When you meet the Emperor, you press your forehead to the cinder-warm flagstones that used to be a marketplace, and you wait for death. You know, in a distant dreamy sort of way, that you should be afraid, but you are not. You accepted your death what seems like a lifetime ago — in reality, it is less than four days since you gave the order to start burning the temples.

The irony of it all. People answered your call to arms, to not-so-holy war, because you are Lorgar’s bride, because you are the woman once called goddess. And what did you do with the power that he gave you? You ordered that his greatest works be destroyed.

But what else could you have done?

Colchis is your home. And in his arrogance — in his endless childish arrogance — Lorgar would have let it burn to ash rather than do as he had been bid. Did he truly believe his father a god? If so, why would he not obey his commandments as soon as they were given?

Thinking this way hurts you — not only because it stirs anger like a wounded animal in your breast, but because it throws into stark relief how Lorgar’s mind contained chasms and corners you never saw. How even though you gave yourself to him as completely as a woman can, he always kept parts of himself hidden from you — but you will not waste time delving into that labyrinth. His beliefs are inconsequential. Only the facts matter. Lorgar worshipped his father as a god. Lorgar was told to stop. Lorgar did not.

You visited the day of judgement upon Colchis before the Emperor got the chance, betting everything on a single desperate gesture. You do not regret it, though you will dream of the dying wails of your people until the end of your days. If you had not acted, all would have died. Now, maybe — just maybe — some may live.

“The girl acted in the best interests of her people,” the Emperor says, and it is only then that you realise precisely what was happening: he was rifling around in your head, subtly enough that you could not see the intrusion; mistaking his exploration for an ill-timed moment of navel-gazing. All at once, pain rushes into your knees and thighs, knife-like cramps. How long have you been kneeling there?

Then, inexplicably, a wash of frustration: girl, he calls you. Girl. You are staring down your third decade of life — nothing for one such as him, of course, but really.

Girl. You carved out your still-warm heart and laid it on a flaming altar and he refers to you as girl.

“Stand,” he says, and you obey, fighting the hysterical urge to snort with laughter — you’re exhausted, swooning, and starting to feel the after-effects of the universe’s most powerful psyker reading your thoughts. Blood drips down your chin. “I am satisfied with the efforts of your loyal Imperial citizens against the primitive cultists.”

“Thank you my lord,” you say, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground — thus missing entirely the swift, puzzled look Guilliman gives you, for ‘I am satisfied’ is more praise than the Emperor normally gives anyone.

(And perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or the wild shadows cast by the afterglow of battle, but Guilliman swears that just for a moment his father smiles.)

“Heracles,” says the Emperor, addressing one of the gigantic golden sentinels standing to attention beside him. “You will escort her aboard the Bucephalus. We will speak further when I have dealt with my son.”

The golden sentinel inclines her head, and you try your best to stay upright, your legs shaky as a newborn colt. You do not think of what the Emperor will do to Lorgar; you cannot.

“It goes without saying,” says the Emperor, almost as an afterthought. “But your marriage to him is annulled.”

Eight years. Your life; your heart; that golden cord. What love has joined together, none may tear asunder - except that is not true, was never true.

“Yes my lord,” you say.

[cyberstole]

𝒜 𝒟𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐘 𝒪𝐅 𝐵𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐛𝐲 𝐬.𝐭. 𝐠𝐢𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐧

a series of dialogue prompts from the 2021 dracula re-telling.  feel free to change pronouns as you see fit ! cw; gore, sexual themes, emotional abuse, & toxic relationships

❛ i never dreamed it would end like this. ❜ 

❛ there is no horror left in this world that can surprise me. ❜

❛ eventually, even your death becomes its own sort of inevitability. ❜

❛ i was so happy to be your marionette, at first. ❜

❛ am i sick to still think on you softly, even after all the blood and broken promises? ❜

❛ this is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession. ❜

❛ war is never valiant, only crude and hideous. ❜

❛ good. when life fails you, spite will not. ❜

❛ i will raise you out of the dirt and into queenship. and, i will give you your vengeance. ❜

❛ i wanted to break them, even more slowly and painfully than they had broken me, leave them bleeding out and begging for mercy. ❜

❛ water your mother’s flowers with their blood. ❜

❛ in this world, you are what i say you are, and i say you are a ghost. ❜

❛ bloodlust brings on a delirium that’s difficult to describe. ❜

❛ i have loved you too long to imagine you do anything without an ulterior motive. ❜

❛ i’ve never been looked at before. like that. ❜

❛ what is more lovely, after all, than a monster undone with want? ❜

❛ i was your little mouse, kept in a gilded cage until it was time for the cat to play. ❜

❛ i knew nothing except the strength of your arms and the scent of your hair. ❜

❛ your priest’s bedtime stories cannot account for us. ❜

❛ to know oneself, one’s limits and abilities, is its own power. ❜

❛ i was alone, and i was scared. i had no home left to speak of. ❜

❛ and god, how i adored you. it went beyond love, beyond devotion. ❜

❛ i wanted to dash myself against your rocks like a wave, to obliterate my old self and see what rose shining and new from the sea foam. ❜

❛ you turned a strong-minded girl into a pulsing wound of need. ❜

❛ what would you have me do, as ruler? ❜

❛ are you sure you aren’t a holy man come to lecture me on the sins of excess? ❜

❛ i was well-acquainted with violence by then. ❜

❛ but I had never outgrown my thirst for vengeance. ❜

❛ in my mind, i was god’s lovely angel of judgement, come to unsheathe the sword of divine wrath against those who truly deserved it. ❜

❛ you mocked my lofty aspirations, cynical as ever. ❜

❛ when will you give up this ridiculous crusade? ❜

❛ there was a darkness in your eyes and a tightness to your mouth i hadn’t noticed before—or perhaps hadn’t wanted to. ❜

❛ i would never leave you, my love. not for the entirety of my second life. ❜

❛ you seemed to me a fire burning in the woods. i was drawn in by your enticing, smoky darkness, a darkness that still stirs memories of safety, of autumn, of home. ❜

❛ it was like grasping at a flame. i never penetrated to the burning heart of you, only came away with empty, scorched fingers. ❜

❛ whenever we were apart, you left your essence caught in my hair, in my clothes. i scented the taste of it on the wind, I shivered and ached for it. ❜

❛ i was happy to spend countless lifetimes chasing the warmth coming off you, even though the haze was clouding my vision. ❜

❛ my piety was a sporadic, half-feral thing, sometimes lashing out at god with teeth bared, other times nuzzling against his loving providence like a kitten. ❜

❛ i felt my heart tumble down through my ribs and hit the ground. ❜

❛ it tortured me, how perfect you looked. i wanted to pull you behind the carriage and drain you dry. ❜

❛ i wanted to crawl between whatever was blossoming between the two of you and live there. ❜

❛ you’ve found cruelty to be an effective tool. ❜

❛ do you want her for your own? ❜

❛ ours is a solitary existence. it would be good for you to have a friend. ❜

❛ it’s as easy as breathing. one foot and then the other. and don’t overthink it. ❜

❛ you must never overthink any good and pleasurable thing. ❜

❛ you must sit with me tonight at dinner. i must have you close. i want us to be the best of friends. ❜

❛ i think i shall never marry, my lord. i will simply take lovers and never let any man shackle me with wedding vows. ❜

❛ am i to be bidden to my own bed like a dog invited to beg at the master’s table? ❜

❛ desire makes idiots of all of us. but you already knew that part, didn’t you? ❜

❛ there was an uncontrollable fire in you that was hard to look away from, much less resist. ❜

❛ all vampires find some way to stave off the monotony of an endless life, with hedonism or asceticism or a rotating door of lovers. ❜

❛ i’m talking about us, you and i. let’s be honest with each other, for once. ❜

❛ love was no girlhood game. it was an iron yoke, forged in fire and heavy to wear. ❜

❛ laying with you made me feel so vibrantly alive. it was almost enough to make me forget that i was already dead. ❜

❛ this is about your obsession with justice, isn’t it? ❜

❛ i was suspicious, and even more dangerously, i was curious. ❜

❛ i was the love that started it all, wasn’t i? ❜

❛ it has been a long time since i have felt clean. ❜

❛ like christ, i had become intimately acquainted with violence and the sins of the world, but i had not come away unblemished. ❜

❛ but it was not god who spoke.it was you. ❜

❛ you could have kissed me or slit my throat and either would have made as much sense. ❜

❛ i don’t know what I had been thinking, supposing i was strong enough to leave. ❜

❛ you made it into an art form, this quiet sort of violence. ❜

❛ i want to live. but i want to live in the world, not on the outskirts of it. ❜

❛ love is violence, my darling, it is a thunderstorm that tears apart your world. ❜

❛ love makes monsters of us, [ name ] and not everyone is cut out for monstrosity. ❜

❛ [ name], our sunlight, our destroyer. my prince cast in marble and gold. ❜

❛ he was as inevitable as a revolution, and heralded in just as much violence. ❜

❛ potential. you always loved that word. you were drawn to potential like a shark to blood. ❜

❛ look around you. what sort of life is this? ❜

❛ i craved you like maidens crave the grave, the way death burns for human touch: inconsolably, unrelentingly, aching for the annihilation in your kiss. ❜

❛ i still wanted to believe I was living in a fairy tale, that i laid down every night with a prince instead of a wolf. ❜

❛ before your time dear, just some dreadful victorians. ❜

❛ it took every ounce of self-control i had not to pin him down and tear out his throat. ❜

❛ the world has no place for us, we are wanderers by nature, lions among lambs. ❜

❛ we cannot exist only for each other. ❜

❛ i had never allowed myself to want this because i assumed it wasn’t a possibility. ❜

❛ i love you. look at me, [ name ], my jewel, my wife. i love you. don’t do this. ❜

❛ i was tired of waiting expectantly at your tomb every night for you to rise and bring light into my world once again. ❜

❛ i made you into my private christ, supplicated with my own dark devotions. nothing existed beyond the range of your exacting gaze, not even me. ❜

❛ i apologize if you were expecting contrition, my lord. i don’t have any to muster. ❜

❛ here's your demon, do what you will with him. ❜

❛ i think, someday, i would like to fall in love again. ❜

[lemonhemlock]

I actually agree with your opinions on dany but don't you think that her fall arc wouldn't work well nowadays ? I think when Martin was envisioning Dany's story in the 90's, it was meant to be something groundbreaking in the fantasy genre and it certainly would have, had all the books been written and published back to back. But I don't think the backlash to her ending in S8 was just because of the execution. Most people just fundamentally believe that Dany as endgame villain is misogynistic.

hmmmm i actually think that having white saviour dany turn megalomaniac dictator is a message we desperate need in these times because it helps deconstruct whiteness and offer a more profound take on feminism than most media we get served today

as you can see from my recent anons, there is a very deep-seated refusal or fear or laziness or idek what to call it from dany/targ stans to engage with intersectionality even at the most basic level! i've brought up this concept so many times that i sound like a broken record (and i don't purport to be any kind of scholar on the matter) but so, so many of them (even when they're well-intentioned!) just cannot seem to surpass this "if also victim how can not 100% right" mentality in regards to dany.

you must be familiar by now with the never ending chorus of bemoaning girlboss feminism and wanting complex & unpalatable women on screen but not being able to stand it in practice when female characters are not perfect. in the books, dany would have the most slow burn downfall arc and a ton of pages devoted to her innermost thoughts and character progression so that you could see exactly how a combination of idealism and entitlement can turn valiant crusaders with a lot of power into authoritarians who need to impose their world view at all costs. how dangerous it can be to believe that you're the repository of truth and justice!

let's also put it this way: think back to the season 3 finale and remember detergent white daenerys surrounded by a sea of faceless brown people in awe of her and calling her mhysa....

... and then you'd have the author tell you that this was supposed to be played straight and there is no subversion at all? those silly monolithic ethnics just needed an aryan princess coming from a long line of blood purity inbreeding to liberate them! how could that be an up-to-date feminism message in 2024? for that reason alone it's supremely out of touch. when has this ever even been a thing? 'white woman bravely frees slaves'. are white women historically known to have fought for human rights concerning other minoritized groups? it would be a pretty condescending message to put in your best-selling book if you ask me

[arjudy224]

Cobblepot's Cabana

Summary: Working for Oswald Cobblepot has its perks. Mr. Cobblepot always gives out Christmas and summer bonuses, you get excellent health insurance... However, working at a pool owned by one of Batman rogues can put you at odds with the Caped Crusader himself. One day, the Riddler and Killer Croc team up to defeat Batman. This team endeavor doesn't work out the way they expected.

Lifeguard POV:

There wasn’t any mention of how to handle situations like this during the certification. Teenage boys doing back flips into the shallow end? Yes. Nose bleeds? Of course. Clocking into work to find the Gotham knight fighting not one, but two of his rogues on the pool deck? Absolutely not. Nothing could have prepared me to witness the all out brawl that was occurring during my shift. Or the fact that Killer Croc’s tail defensively slapped the Riddler, Batman, and Robin into the pool. Tyler hands me the lifeguard tube with a sly smile.

“Good luck with that. I’m going to go pee.”

If I wasn’t so concerned for the teenage vigilante getting his face pushed underwater by a crocodile, that would have been incredibly annoying.

Staring at the drowning quartet, I am faced with a dilemma.

Do I get paid enough for this? (No)

Would interrupting the feud end with my imminent death? (Probably)

Poor Eddie Nygma flails desperately against the waves made by Killer Croc and Batman wrestling. For such an intelligent guy, one would have assumed he would at least know how to doggy paddle... One would be wrong. Every time the man, known to the rest of the world as the Riddler, touches the water... He sinks. It's honestly impressive how quickly he can reach the bottom of the pool. His panicked green eyes cause my heart to swell.

Dammit... Fine.

Within moments, I plunge into the icy water. Of course today of all days Cobblepot would turn the temperature down for dramatic effect. Fighting against Killer Croc's waves, I lunge for Eddie first. Avoiding his panicked limbs, I shove the buoy flush against his chest. Eddie clings onto the life preserver with a grateful gaze as I meet a face full of salt water.

My eyes burn from the impact. Resurfacing a few feet away, the vigilante/ crocodilian brawl somehow managed to turn on the manual waves. I watch in disbelief as Eddie gets pulled in their direction. His feverishly pale skin and blue lips chill me to my core.

"Oh.. No you don't!" I gasp struggling against the current. Another wave pushes me under. Stay calm. You've done this before. Opening my eyes, my heart stops when I register what I am face to face with.

Void like black eyes stare emotionless in my direction. With skin so grey and smooth, I'm almost tempted to run my hand across. However, the hundreds of sharp teeth keep me at bay. There's a shark in the pool, King Shark, to be exact... and he's not happy about the wrestling match going on above. Typical Gotham. Funny enough, I checked the attendance log this morning. Nanaue canceled his membership months ago, but that's none of my business.

From the corner of my eye, I vaguely make out the faint outline of the drowning boy wonder. The kid’s head is above water for now, but the heavy plated Robin suit cannot be easy to swim in.

Sometimes, King Shark confuses the lifeguards for poolside snacks. Easy mistake really. Cobblepot had warned us previously of the last guard who got eaten. Unzipping my fanny pack, I fumble for my saving grace: a small tuna packet from my morning lunch. Offering it to the shark, I await his response. That must have been the right move because a smile emerges with hundreds of teeth barring all at once.

Pressure and panic spreads throughout my body from the lack of oxygen. Crawling to the surface, my lungs gasp for air while I assess the current situation. Eddie's conscious, yet even with the raft his lips are still tinged with blue from his underwater adventure. Robin's fighting with less vigor than before. He doesn't have much time. Killer Croc is in his element. And Batman? Well, like any Florida man wrestling with their local wildlife: he's doing his best. His sluggish movements are showing how much the cape and his weaponry are weighing him down.

Considering my options, I make the dumbest split second decision of my life: I ask for help. Diving under the oncoming waves, I gesture towards King Shark with as much pleading as I can muster. I don't speak Shark, but I motion to my fanny back to insinuate their would be more fish ahead. Nananue slowly nods his head before circling the water around me.

For a second, I think my life is over. Maybe my parents were right to throw a fit when I announced my acceptance into Gotham U. I'm sure Metropolis Lifeguards’ don't have to make bargains with their local trespassing aquatic life.

To my relief, King Shark doesn't bite my head off. With an impatient shimmy, he waits for me to hold on. I shrug before crawling on his back. We cut through the waves with such ease that I find myself in awe of the cartilaginous fish. If I swam like that, I would bum off Oswald Cobblepot too. The Riddler and his life raft tug loosely behind due to the harness around my waist.

Checking my watch, I frown.

Tyler was supposed to take me off stand ten minutes ago. That bastard. From the empty pool deck, I bet he left work early again... for the 3rd time this week.

Speeding past the giant iceberg in the center of the pool, King Shark reluctantly slows down once we near the frail looking teenager. Before I can hoist the kid up, Nananue eyes the young boy with interest.

"Don't even think about it. If you eat Robin, I have to explain to Cobblepot how you've been staying here for months without paying for a membership."

With an exaggerated sigh, the Shark man allows me to hull the kid half way out of the water. Somehow, Robins mask managed to stay on during the kerfuffle. His wet black hair sticks to his forehead. He's got a pulse. He's breathing. Reaching the pool deck, Robin’s limp form is proving ridiculously lofty to move.

Across the pool deck, Batman somehow managed to tranquilize Killer Croc. His damp armor makes a hilarious ~squish~ noise with every step. Eddie sprawls on his back muttering something I assume to be riddle associated. Robin's starting to regain color.

Thank goodness, I didn't have to do CPR; I do not want to be the one responsible for breaking the Boy Wonders ribs.

One eye flutters open, then the other. The intensity of his blue eyes catches me off guard.

"Instead of saving my life," He rasps with a mischievous grin, "Can you save my phone number?"

Very original.

I briefly consider shoving him back into the pool. If I hadn't spent the last 20 minutes trying to save his life, I would have. Instead of responding, I make eye contact with his Guardian.

"I'm going to need to ask you two to leave." I elaborate gesturing to my watch, "The pool closes at 9."

[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

✧₊⁺ Of Fatherhood And Dreams Not Spoken ✧₊⁺

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x OC (Astraea)/ Khan is in this. It's mostly him and Roboute talking.

Author's Note: Because I'm terrible at writing a story proper. I rather just write drabbles from the overall plot I have in mind. That being said this overall plot I have named "Wisdom in the Stars". And here are some key things to note for this overarching story:

This is all very self-indulgent and I will not apologize. If the Grimdark can be extra, so can I!

Bobby G's love interest is a xenos of my making, so they are as long-lived as him, but not a perpetual.

Again mad self-indulgent. Oozing copium by the ton

Rowboat Guillotine deserves a happy life and some damn peace

So many Primarchs are going to be back in some drabbles. Again no fucks given

Proofread? Never heard of her

I like saying Roboute's name wrong as a means of affection.

Warnings: Slight nsfw at the end. Talks of pregnancy, children, and kinks of the breeding variety.

18+ ONLY

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There were oh so many things he's done that made those words that thundered in his head in a cacophonic choir ring true. Tool. Betrayer. Theif. Why did he focus on those? Perhaps deep down he knew them to be true.

He wanted to be a good son, and he was to his parents. But to his creator? The one that called him his last hope? Even now with all that was accomplished, he wasn't so sure. An effective tool? That he was.

Oh, how that was the crux of this all now. Because something was breaking. Had been for so long. The strict need to follow His every word, every teaching to the letter had long started to crumble. To this point, he could justify it. Excuse himself. But this?

Vibrant blue eyes that had started to have a light behind them, a sign of the better times he was in, gazed down at the dataslate. The message he was reading was still open, not that he needed to read it again. The words burned into his mind. Screamed of his selfishness and brought the crippling fear he might fall like the one before him that wanted such heretical things for himself.

The wrestling of what parts of him were human had never been so hard. Basic human needs were beyond him. At least he believed that. But since his revival and she walked into his life...Why hadn't the Emperor made them machines?

His gaze moved again, this time back to the garden in which he sat, relaxing of sorts. Something he was learning to do. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not yet. She was playing with some children of her maidens. The laughter of the little ones made him impossibly light and much larger than he was.

Those sounds filled him with feelings new, but also familiar. He sounded like that when his mother played with him, and cared for him. Yes, he was a child once, despite how quick his mind grew. His mother never let that stop him from being a child in some capacity.

Yet those laughs terrified him and cast a deep shadow of guilt and shame. Not for him, never for him. A Primarch has no need for biological children, any children. He had his Astartes sons. The best of the best are forged through painful surgeries and grueling tests. Mass-produced versions of the tool they were templated from. He was a god of war, a weapon, and weapons do not need things their masters need.

Roboute scowled. When the stirrings rose up, hot and drowning him out.

"You should do it."

Roboute had been so lost in his mind he hadn't noticed Jaghatai had taken a seat next to him.

"Excuse me?" Guilliman asked. His composure not once gave a hint of how chaotic his mind was at the moment.

At first, it was as if Khan wasn't going to answer him, "Horus, would slip from time to time, about how his children would rule the stars after the crusade was done. Even when Malcador with cold words would remind him, that the only reproducing we would have were our gene-sons," Khan sighed, "You are not going to turn into the next Horus because you long for family not us, or your gene-sons. Do the procedure."

Before Roboute could ask how he knew that was on his mind, or even what he was told Jaghatai continued, "You've been watching Astraea and those kids with so much intent like you were trying to manifest something. That and you happen to want to go to the planet in their empire that is known for its advanced DNA work medical procedures on many races? Namely in the areas of conception? Please. Most of our brothers might be blind, but I and Corvus know better. You're the one who took your gene-seed sample, yes?"

Guilliman nodded, "I assume Corax is the one who found that out?"

Khan nodded, "And Cawl, they handled it. So do it. You out of all of us, always thought of a galaxy at peace, or the closest to it. You never lived for the hunt, the fight, but the peace. You fought for peace over thrill and power. So take this. You are not Horus. You are not weaker. I think we are all starting to wake up in a sense. It is...uncomfortable. But perhaps, we are more than the sum of our creation?"

"I hope so." was all Roboute could say.

༺═──────────────═༻

This, out of everything was what he loved now that the galaxy wasn't on the verge of ending. Laying in bed with Astraea while a fire burns gently. Her soft hums lull him into comfort and bliss. Large fingers drew little circles over her belly, as his mind offered him images of her heavy with their children. How, as much as he hated the word, divine she would look. Oh, how he would worship her. A goddess in her own right. a living one who brought life into the world. Life she deemed him worthy of creating with her.

His mind continued with the future it was offering. How she would waddle about and rely on him to help her stand, or lean against when walking took everything. Her trying to ride him when is looks so ready to pop. How he would fuck her like he could put another one in her before the first child is born. Her already beautifully full breasts, engorged and heavy with milk.

Roboute blushed when he felt himself pushing against her. He craved it so bad, despite how much it scared him.

"Roboute?" Astraea hummed looking over her shoulder with an impish grin, "And here I thought you were tired."

She kissed his chin, as she turned to face him, hands roaming over his strong broad chest, before gliding down to his erection.

He could smell it, she was already aroused. Oh, how she melted for him so easily. But he was the same for her. There were some days he had to force himself away from her for a bit, worried all he would do is fuck her until they both were raw and overtaken by the ruinous powers.

"Would you want children?" Roboute asked, between his heated breaths and needy kisses.

Astraea looked at him a bit surprised, and yet like she half expected this, "I thought we had to wait on even marrying, let alone speak of family. But of course I want children. You know this." she replied.

He did. But he still wanted to ask, as if her mind had suddenly changed.

"Good," he smiled rolling on top of her, holding himself up on his knees, which were on each side, "Then we should get some more practice in."

He leaned down and nipped at her ear, as a hand moved over her breasts and down to her hot core, "For once the procedure is done, you are not leaving my side and bed until it sticks."

This might be the single most selfish thing he would do, but he wouldn't regret it. He wanted to feel human, to understand all that he had been fighting to protect for all these long years.