#very very rough ideas on the lunatics!!!

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: In 30 minutes or less!

Danny is a delivery man.

He got the job after realizing his resume was severely lacking in terms of working experience.

Also when he needed more money for his own purchases. There is a big difference between begging his parents for an allowance and earning his own spending funds.

The thing is, no matter where Danny applied, he was not getting a call back. Jazz warned him that a majority of Amity Park didn't hire them - as she also attempted to get a part-time job when she was his age - because of the Fenton last name.

She swore and hissed, but she couldn't prove that it was the reason they weren't hired. She just heard the talk around the town. They all said they wouldn't want to hire from the lunatic family.

That whenever a Fenton went , something bad quickly followed.

It stung, that not even Nasty Burger wanted him. That placed hired people under sixteen for Pete's sake. But Danny was resourceful. If Amity Park hadn't hired him, then he would just try the other place he had civilianship in.

The Infinite Realms.

Danny figured that if societies existed with the Realms, then they had to have a form of currency. He just needed to find one that used the same one as his world did.

FrostBite was more than happy to point him in the right direction. Since his people were the ones to spend generations attempting to map out the Realms, he had found a part of the ghost zone that Danny could blend into easily.

It was only a thirty minute commute from Danny's family portal. He could easily make that after school.

Thus, Danny flew to the portal location FrostBite told him about and ended up in a place called Central City. He found employment very quickly at Joel's Pizza, and for sixteen dollars a hour he was racing across the city to give some sizzling pizza pies.

. He was given a company scooter, but Danny preferred to fly. No one saw him as he never turned off his invisibly until he arrived at the destination. He got great tips for his speed, and his boss was fun to work for.

His parents are proud that he has a job and is not causing trouble. His friends also have their own jobs so Sam and Tucker have to plan their meet ups now- buts that's just a part of growing up.

The only thing that made his part-time difficult was the ghosts. Not all of them bothered him now a days but a few still did.

Like Young Blood. The brat didn't seem to care that Danny was going to be late to a shift since he had no concept of the importance of adult responsibilities. He was able to text his boss an apology using school as an excuse, but he was still thirty minutes late and sporting a black eye.

Joel stared at him for a long moment, muttered something in Spanish, before handing him five pizza boxes, and told him to take it to the central city police department. Danny was supirse he didn't even lecture him.

When he got to the station, the person in front told him to wait a moment since it was the forensic department that ordered food. He waited a few minutes until a blond man came down the hall, with a cheerful smile.

That smile fell when Danny turned to look at him. There was a brief flash of something dark that crossed his expression before the smile was back ten fold

"Hello," Danny said, standing up. "Order for Barry?

"That's me!" The man grins, holding out a wad of cash "Keep the change."

Wow. A fifty dollar tip!

"Sure thanks!"

"Welcome kid!"

Danny practically skipped away, Barry Watching him climb onto his scooter and slowly blending back into the traffic.

He turned to look at Officer Dawn "Is it just me or was that kid covered in bruises?"

Officer Dawn's mustache twitches with displeasure. "He definitely was. Looked fresh, too. Not only that but he works for Joel Pizza"

"This Joel a trouble maker?"

"The opposite, he was a foster kid. Once he aged out and got his own business, he started hiring teenagers in similar situations. Usually, his staff are all kids who are having a rough time. If things are too bad, he makes reports, but we try to avoid it. Don't want to lose one of the few trustworthy safe spaces for those kids." Officer Dawn's hesitates for a second before he carefully asks."A cop poking around may spook them, but a forensic chemist won't. Do you mind finding out what the delivery kid's deal is for me?"

"I look into it." Barry promises already knowing the Flash is also going to be following the boy just to make sure he safe.

He hates it when kids get hurt. Remind him too much of Wally.

[thecursedjazz]

Postal 1 dude isn't evil (and is genuinely the most morally grounded and decent person we've actually met in the Postal Universe)

From what we gather he was living a very normal life prior to going crazy, not like the other dudes who go on senseless rampages when tasked with mundane everyday things. As Promo material does state he's a well educated and mannered person so it's only realistic that this man did have a genuine job and was generating a level of income prior to his decline in mental health and moving to Paradise.

And as stated before he is well mannered in the sense of being stated a "quiet nice boy" and "voted the most likely to succeed". From what we gather this guy was the text book example of a model citizen. The only "flaw" is that he kept referring to a girl he only dated once as his girlfriend but even then that could come down his delusions along with his lack of grip on reality causing him to genuinely think she's his girlfriend or  the fact he's canonically quiet (as shown from the Promo material and also the fact that he doesn't actually physically speak AT ALL during the game) and most likely doesn't understand social ques as of it.

---------------------------------------

But the most important thing is that he doesn't even have malicious intentions.

The very first thing he proposes after being "attacked" by "groups of lunatics trying to invade his home" is.....go the sherrif for help. The Dude didn't have any Intention to go on a murder spree, he'd rather of just went to the authorities like any other average Joe. The whole thing really tells us that he's not usually a violent person.

Even rewinding back to level one: the war journals (and Vince) did state that the Dude was entirely convinced that he was being attacked by group of lunatics, one of which even firing rockets at him, goes without saying that self defence is really the only option here.

Course it remains solely as self defence until the Dude reaches the train station, the significance being his war journal where he writes "if I can get out i can warn everybody...YES, I CAN WARN EVERYBODY!". The dudes goal has shifted into saving the country as a whole rather than himself which ultimately steers him into going to the air force to find out what has happened to cause the supposed hate plague. The dudes actions represent him more as selfless now with him now doing this in the bigger scheme of things rather than his own self preservation. If its not clear already: maniacs wouldn't care about warning/ saving people from a hate plague, Dude 2 most likely wouldn't give a shit and let it spread since he was totally cool with nuking the entirety of paradise and its innocent civilians.

Furthermore he openly states that he doesn't want to kill people. At the trailer park he writes that "There must be others like me, immune to this...germ warfare or whatever it is". Practically he's saying that he'd much rather run into some normal people instead of having to kill them, it's a stark contrast to the other dudes with the Postal 1 dude appearing as genuinely empathetic whereas the others will literally kill people for something as simple as waiting in line and afterwards not think anything of it.

Also very worth noting that when he enters the ghetto he mentions he's genuinely worried he'll get mugged, we're really getting the picture that he's literally just some normal ass guy with the idea of going to the rough side of town shakes him up.

(Even worth pointing out that only for the ghetto does he go back to calling it a diary like he's momentarily lost his soldier/war mentality at the thought of going into the rough side of town).

---------------------------------------

So simple and short:

Postal 1 dudes literally just some average everyday guy (who's been through some really fucked up shit that's forever gonna remain unexplained beyond the veteran theory) who's trying to do the right thing but he's woefully misguided due to his deteriorating mental state as well as being possessed by an entity beyond his broken minds comprehension.

He's literally the complete opposite to every other postal dude (and if anything he's one of the most morally grounded people in the franchise as crazy as it is)

Oh and if this wasn't enough: rws did say on a twitter post that he's literally Just some average guy who's had some shitty days.

(I wrote this at 4am so soz if it's all over the place)

[heavywithourbabies]

First off, I'm a guy. So there's that.....

Ok, making one of those little intro pieces so you can get to know a little about me. First off this tumblr page is nothing more than the ravings of an obsessed lunatic hiding away from the world. My only real kinks are Breeding, Lactation, and the biggest pregnancy fetish you can imagine. (Please take note, I am not sexually into Birth. I am all for fucking so hard your water breaks, sucking on your nipples, rubbing the belly and giving gentle head during contractions, etc. As soon as the baby is in the birth canal, I'm going full on daddy mode. Horny time is over. Anyone else feel the same?)

I am a 39 year old man and I am very attracted to women. In particular, I am aroused by thick, extra curvy, big ass having women. I am feral for HEAVILY pregnant women. I have tons of reasons why but at it's core, I believe it is the ultimate form of femininity. There's nothing more womanly than having a gravid belly heavy with child. Even the phrase "heavy with child" weirdly turns me on.

I'm also very very much turned on by all the side effects of pregnancy including big dark engorged nipples, stretch marks everywhere, not just the belly, the little treasure trail some women get, the bigger hips, your face getting chubby, and a very swollen vagina. That all said, I'm not into Morning Sickness. wakka wakka.

I fully support the LGTBTQ community. I just can't keep track of all the new names and terms. I blame my shitty memoir on wasting my twenties drinking. But I totally support it. be who you want to be and love who you want to love. This life is rough enough without people being shitty to you for your basic human needs.

I am utter devotee to horror movies, and I live for the month of October. Halloween is the greatest day of the year. If you don't like Halloween...... honestly, who are you? Who the fuck hates Halloween? I love the art form of sequential art (comic books) and my favorite Character is Venom from Marvel Comics. I would literally kill to get a chance to write for Venom. Marvel will NOT return my phone calls.

I still write stuff (a lot of half started scripts and abandoned graphic novel ideas mostly) and I will and often shamelessly promote myself and the written erotic stuff I create on here. Enjoy my sexually frustrated ramblings and badly edited prose. Remember kids, it's free.

I am a lonely werewolf hopelessly howling at the moon.

I say love who you gotta love. Do what you need to do. Try to have fun and just don't hurt other people.

I was born in Canada and raised in the States. Toronto is the old country and Denver was home base. Currently in the windy city.

NO MINORS. Seriously, get the hell out of my joint! THIS BLOG IN NO WAY ENDORSES, PROMOTES, OR ENCOURAGES ANY HEINOUS USE OF MINORS. I honestly struggle talking to people under the age of twenty five. I hope I don't have to repeat any of that.

Any Trump supporters who follow my page, I would also ask you to leave. There's nothing here for you at this establishment.

Need to know anything else? Feel free to ask.

-The ghost host with the most, the ghoul that'll make your lady parts drool, and every other terrible joke I can think of.

[ateezscupid]

can u write a fic where san is a mean dom? i have this thing for calling him sannie bc its cute! and i think it would be hot if he mocked yn calling him that and it was kinda centered around humiliation!!! i love ur writing sm id love to see this done in ur style <333 i hope this doesnt make u uncomfy to write!! ):

- 🕸️

hello hello! i’m getting to this after a very long time, my apologies but i’ve been WAITING for someone to request mean dom!san. he’s been in my mind for a few weeks but i’ve had writers block and could never figure out how to write it out, so thank you for this.

and don’t worry about anything making me uncomfortable! a lot of things, i don’t have a problem writing. i plan to make a really detailed post about my rules and things like that soon so you guys know what i do and don’t write!

anyway, let me stop blabbing. enjoy!

﹟𝗠𝗬 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ⋆ 𝖼.𝗌𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗭 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 / 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧

plot - san always gets flustered when you call him sannie during sex, but he loves it just as much as you do.

warn - kinda smut w/o plot, dom!san, unprotected sex, rough sex, pet names (baby, princess, pretty, etc.), choking, begging, degrading, humiliation

w/c - n/a

𝗧𝗔𝗚S - @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan

you didn’t think today could’ve gotten any worse. you were teasing san the entire day trying to imply you needed him without actually saying it, but he clearly wasn’t catching the signals you sent. he was so busy with work, he couldn’t spare at least ten minutes for you.

you didn’t want to tease him so much that he’d be annoyed of you and he’d stop talking to you for the rest of the night, but you needed him. it’s been a while since the last time you two were together in bed. all you’ve been thinking about for the past week is how his hands would feel on your body; his hands squeezing your breasts and caressing your skin. rubbing the pads of his fingers on your clit and messing with the sensitive little bud that was there.

if anyone had asked you how badly you wanted to spend at least one night with him, you’d ramble on and on about it. you rambled about it to wooyoung the night before and it was clear he didn’t want to listen to your horny problems.

“distract him while he’s working!” is the advice he gave you, and boy, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

now you were face down in the bed with your arms pinned behind you, your makeup smudging on the pillow and your entire body shaking uncontrollably. you thought distracting him would make him realize what he was missing out on, but you did it at the worst moment.

it was embarrassing to say the least. san was in his office having a meeting, and you had the crazy idea to walk inside with nothing but a lingerie on. you’ve been wanting to wear it for a while, so what harm was there to wear it while he was having a business meeting? it was a harmless idea, and hic co-workers wouldn’t have seen you since you planned to go underneath the table. but you messed up.

while you were busy unbuckling his pants, neither of you noticed the top of your head was visible at the bottom of his computer screen. that meant everyone in the call saw yo ur head, and only one thing came to mind. when it was brought to his attention, he excused himself then turned his mic and camera off. you knew a punishment was coming your way when that happened.

he dragged you out of the office without saying anything and threw you on the bed, ripped the lingerie off your body without hesitation, and pounded into you like there was no tomorrow. there was so much going on in your mind, like would his co-workers think you were some sex crazed lunatic? or would they think of him as someone addicted to sex? unprofessional? there wasn’t any room for you to feel bad when you felt too good to remember what happened.

“this is what you wanted, right?” san growled as he pushed your head into the pillow, using his unoccupied hand to land hits against your ass whenever he felt like it. “you wanted to be treated like a slut, now you are, you little whore.”

no words could come out of you. just a bunch of incoherent babbles spilling from your swollen lips and tears falling down your cheeks. you loved when he was so angry all he could do was fuck the lights out of you. you loved him being rough and treating you like a rag doll. it was impossible for you to get over how easily he went inside you and how much he stretched you out. it felt like heaven.

“s-sannie~!” you whine into the pillow, hands curling into fists behind you. “f-fuck, s’good… y-yes!”

“don’t call me that.” he smacked your ass once more and thrusted harder. he was lucky you were facing away from him otherwise you’d see the visible red tint on his cheeks. he liked when you called him sannie, but now wasn’t the time. at least that’s what he told himself.

“such a little whore for me, hm?” he grunts, leaning down and biting your ear gently. “you wanted to mess with me during my meeting and now everyone saw how much of a dirty girl you are~. you wanted attention so bad but ended up embarrassing yourself in front of everyone.”

“i-i—,” even your attempts at forming full sentences failed.

“aw, is it too much?” he whispered in your ear. “you like it when i fuck you like this, huh? such a fucking whore.”

“sannie, p-please i-i can’t—,”

“sannie blah blah blah!” he rolled his eyes and basically forced you to arch your back. “i said not to call me that, and now you’re not listening? you wanna be bad now?”

“s-sa—,” you weren’t even allowed to finish your sentence. the minute you tried to speak, his hand was wrapped around your neck and gripping so hard, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. you loved every bit of it.

“pl-please—!” you whine. “l-let—“

“let you what? cum? after you were being disobedient?” he kissed your temple, groaning softly and letting go of your arms and planting his hand on the bed. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you opened your mouth to speak, which triggered san to tighten his grip around your throat. it was almost too much.

“call me sannie again, i dare you.” the tone in his voice was enough to let you know he wasn’t joking around, but the urge to be a brat was weighing on you.

“s…” you bit your lip. “s-sannieee!”

he didn’t say anything. he took his hand away from your throat and lifted you up by the shoulders, wrapping one arm around you and using his other hand to rub rough circles around your clit.

“you wanna be a whore? i’ll treat you like one.”

[oliveroctavius]

Doesn't the decision to get involved with Sam Bullit prove Gwen was a bad person?

Hey, I've been looking for an excuse to post about this. The Sam Bullit arc isn't really about Gwen (though it certainly reveals some things about her character). The Sam Bullit arc is about racist dogwhistles and why they work.

ASM #92 pg 19: "I will bring law and order to the people of this great city! I will show no mercy to the anarchists and all others who would destroy our way of life!"

Bullit's platform is not openly white supremacist in the sense that it doesn't overtly mention race. He talks about laws and safety in a way meant to appeal to rich white voters. The true meaning should be clear to anyone with any political awareness (who are those others and what is our way of life?), so why does this rhetoric attract "otherwise rational" people?

ASM #91 pg 6: "I want to volunteer to help you--in your campaign for DA. Because--I want you to bring Spider-Man to justice!" "We need strength--strength to punish those who mock the law! I will use such strength to bring Spider-Man and others like him to justice! I will not betray your trust."

Gwen makes her decision to back Bullit on the way home from her father's funeral. There's a very real phenomenon of tough-on-crime bills named after (white) murder victims. The grief of families who feel like justice hasn't been served is a powerful tool to push harsh laws while smothering any criticism as "disrespectful" to the victims. What’s in a Name? An Empirical Analysis of Apostrophe Laws, 2020.

Bullit showed up at George Stacy's funeral with this exact goal in mind, and when Spider-Man "kidnaps" Gwen later, he leverages the media obsession with white girls in danger for his cause. Gwen is a pawn, but she did offer her help first. Her desire for closure is very human and her short-sighted reactionary faith in "the law" is very white.

Oddly absent from your "proven bad person" takeaway is J. Jonah Jameson. The Bugle lends Bullit a platform to make Gwen's personal tragedy a political talking point. JJJ has the ~Black best friend~ excuse and everything, and he still blows past red flags like crazy.

ASM #91 pg 7: "Maybe they were better days than now! At least we had law and order then." "Yeah--and lynch mobs, and bread lines, and Uncle Toms..." "Come off it, Robbie! What's wrong with a man standing for law and order, anyway?" "Maybe it just depends on whose law--and what kind of order you're talkin' about, man!"

(Another point of this arc: marginalized groups learn to recognize dogwhistles pretty quickly for survival reasons. If they tell you something is a dogwhistle and you don't see it yet, look closer.)

ASM #92 pg 9: "Parker's story just served to open Jameson's eyes--but I've kept a dossier on you. I haven't been city editor all these years for nothing! I know where your support comes from. I know about the lunatic hate groups who are backing you. I know what you really mean by law and order!"

Late in the campaign, the Bugle switches sides. This scene tends to be described as JJJ giving the racists what-for, but the moment is truly Robbie's. (Note that it took Peter getting roughed up for Jameson to take this seriously!) JJJ can yell at Bullit all he likes without consequences, but Robbie is kidnapped and threatened by white supremacists in retaliation. It's Robbie's determination to speak up that eventually puts Bullit out of the running for good.

The Bullit arc isn't there to sort characters by Bad Person and Good Person. Neither Gwen nor JJJ have to personally hate black people for their self-centered sense of safety to be weaponized by a racist agenda. This is a Stan Lee PSA about masked bigotry and how it might appeal to you even if you consider yourself a Good Person.

But for some ~mysterious~ reason, Gwen's brief agreement and Jameson's brief rejection are the only parts of these two issues I ever see brought up, with Robbie's major role not mentioned at all. Some ideas fit more neatly than others into smug ship-war quote tweets and anon asks, it seems.

[themotherofblood]

Dear author, you don't know how happy I am to see that your ad requests are open. That said can I get an extremely romantic, overwhelming, passionate and rough smut with Daemon x Martell fem reader inspired by the song "Ang laga de", please?

you have no fucking idea how happy this ask made me, like kicking my legs and smiling like a lunatic happy. I have envisioned this very smut scene at least a hundred times. It is a little dark, both Daemon and Y/N are kinda crazy in this. Madly in love, literally

masterlist

smut, talks of murder, blood, loss of virginity, oral (f), more blood, fingering and evil daemon being a softie.

Daemon Targaryen x fem!Martell Reader

“I refuse to be your mistress!”

That is the last thing you had said to your beloved dragon prince.

The Dornish were said to be a shameless lot regardless, and here you fell for a married man.

The Rhoynish gods were laughing at your stupidity, there wasn’t even a lure placed for you to catch. You simply fell for him, hard.

What had been a month long endeavour to see your younger sister wed a distant Targaryen cousin. Turned to your own nightmare. You had never craved for something as much as you had Daemon Targaryen. His flirtatious deeds, bringing your flowers and trinkets had bouncing like a little girl. It was frustrating, you had tried courting before and yet it felt flat, you truly believed that men simply were not capable of pleasing you. Until he came along, him and that stupid red dragon that made you want Daemon even more

He became the thing you wanted to cry to the gods about, the sweets yours parents wouldn’t let you have or that fine silk dress that was far too big for you to wear. His niece Rhaenyra, also egged this fire further and not once had either of them mentioned that he was married! It was painful, really fucking painful, learning that his loyalty was sworn to another.

You’d spent nights unable to sleep on foreign beds, awake in the royal gardens of the Red Keep, where the prince kept you company till the sun graced the horizon and you had succumbed to slumber with your head in his lap. There was serenity, shared comfort that dwelled between the two of you. You had heard stories, counted first hand of the nights he’d spend in brothels with his whores. You didn’t care, you wanted him.

“I refuse to be your mistress.”

It was a lie, you would happily become his salacious secret should he have asked a second time. There was no dignity, no obligations or customs, to you there was just him and the one truth that boiled your blood hot. You had already given him a piece of you heart as you boarded the ship to return home. You wanted him to ask again, to whisk you away on his dragon and yet he allowed you the curtesy to return home with your honour intact.

“If there is anything the crown can provide for Dorne, do not hesitate.” Viserys coughed his words out as he presented his farewells to you in a crowded court

“Should I ask, you wouldn’t be able to provide it your grace.” You wandered, keeping your head low in respect for the man and your wants

“What is it that a king cannot provide,” Otto Hightower questioned, taking offence to your wording.

“Daemon Targaryen.” You stated, gasps echoed across the throne room. You had committed a crime, stained your honour for good. You didn’t care nor did you give Daemon a last look before boarding your ship.

Honour- what was it compared to feel of being in his arms? What was devotion if not sound of his voice relaying Valyrian poetry? What was love, if not your heart that drowned in his blood?

What was love- if not the letter of his wife’s untimely injury?

Rhea Royce, bedridden of her paralysis, remained frozen and useless to her husband.

There was much that Daemon Targaryen was capable of, much that you were capable of. The sheer fire that burned your passions would have soaked your own hands in Rhae Royce’s blood.

She didn’t love him.

You did.

Then came your brother, his stupid alliance and vengeance against the Targaryen’s was costing you your sanity, you had pleaded with him for weeks and then you succumbed to the insanity that perhaps there was venom in your heart for whoever kept you from your dragon prince.

It festered for days, the mirrors in your room painted with clay. Refusing to look at yourself until he laid eyes upon you as his wife.

You had sat at supper with your brother, his disappointment was clear. You wanted to lay with the enemy, if loving Daemon was treachery then you would happily lay your hands forwards retribution. There should have been sorrow, a searing burn of guilt- he was your family, your blood. You shared a cradle and a mother; nothing more. Your sweet brother, for now was thorn digging into your palm as you admired the flourishing bud of devotion. He had to be plucked out.

The forbidden subject was brought up once more, there wasn’t a request in sight but a demand from his brazen sister.

“Let me be his, let him have me.” A prayer, Qoren grew irate over your insolent behaviour.

He loved you dearly, his sweet sister who was blinded by the rage of love. He wouldn't allow it, claiming to chain you to your chamber if you made an attempt to contact him. You said nothing as you nibbled on your food, spatters of blood dripped onto your pie. You could feel your throat constricting and yet it was nothing compared to the agony you had been in without Daemon.

Qoren coughed profusely, blood dripping from his nose as his eyes widened at your betrayal. In truth he had betrayed you first, choosing to keep you away from the one thing you had ever truly wanted. You could taste the copper on your lips, corners of your eyes welling with tears as you ripped the small pendant from your neck; even with the antidote to the poison in your system. The despair never stopped.

An unpleasant event truly, yet what was anyone to do, Qoren had no heirs and your blood-bled mustard. In the true picture of your house’s words, you remained unbent; raging on in sheer will for one man.

Even tainted in blood, you wore white for him; to remain pure, awaiting him to paint you in the colours of his house

He will return for me, for my love

There was no assurance that he would fly to you, no evidence that Rhae Royce’s accident wasn’t a mere coincidence; yet your arrogance had you rubbing rose oil onto your skin.

My dragon would return to me, you were sure of it.

For days the men sworn to the Martells had sighted the skies day and night, all in hopes of seeing a red dragon looming over the palace. The very ladies that had dressed you since you were a child urged for you to see reason, men often toyed with naive noble ladies for their amusement. He hadn't toyed with you, you were his cherished doll, one he stole because he simply could.

“Princess,” A young squire heaved, a folded parchment in between his fingers. Sealed with a three-headed dragon.

Your wish was my command princess.

Even without a name, the curls on his lettering were indicative enough an answer for you.

He had indeed harmed Rhea Royce for you, just as you had killed your brother Qoren for him. In your heart, you knew he would find you soon; just as your orders for exotic flowers and wines were distributed to merchants, people in your household began to whisper of your delusions.

Then the black skies graced your hopes, almost taunting all those who questioned your faith in him. The moon, full as is lit the ocean in its milky glow, from those very black skies came your faith. Loud whistles of a dragon echoed through Old Palace. Yet another young squire mumbled out in laboured breaths.

You smiled to yourself as your ladies sat in silent shock, their efforts in dressing you in white and gold would bear fruit tonight. Their feet sprung to action, the jangles from their anklets were muffled in your ears, and you just smiled to yourself. You hiked you skirts up as you skipped down the corridor, the jangles on your gold anklets seemed to have been cursing everybody who questioned you.

The doors to the Old Palace opened as Daemon Targaryen rode in on horseback, and along with him came a small entourage. He sat tall atop his horse, finally a Targaryen worthy of conquering Dorne. You were sure your ancestors were screaming bloody murder, shunning you and wishing you ill will, and yet as you stood at the enterance of the Old Palace, your father’s name meant nothing infront of the man you loved.

“In a bustling court you asked for me, may all see; I have arrived.” Daemon proclaimed as he stood with his arms out. You feet hurried down the steps, hoping to grace him with an eternal embrace and yet he raised his hand to stop you dead in your tracks

“I applaud you, for a devotion even I was unknown to. You stripped yourself bare of your honour and dignity for a relationship you had no right over.” He retorted, you couldn’t understand was her perturbed? Is that what he was here for, to lecture you?

“What reasoning do you have for this madness?”

“Love.” You stated, even the word in itself felt lacking for the true tempest that swirled in your environs. It had to be bigger, all consuming.

“The one revolts against the mightiest of dragons, that love,” You walked towards him “The one that fearlessly professes her devotion at court, that love.”

“When she sees her beloved and forgets her family, that love.” You eyes glossed over, consuming your skin in wild fire, begging him to claim you already

His hands harshly grasped your forearms, shaking sense into your as he spoke.

“The Faith and my brother’s court will never see you as one of theirs,” He warned.

“I accept.” You smiled.

“Marrying me would have you walking on fire!” He reasoned, hoping you would back away; a flower far to delicate for him to touch. He would give his life for you to not wither.

“I accept.” You nodded.

“I have a wife, Rhea.” He grimaced at the thought of his bronze bitch “I shall never be able to provide you the title of my first wife.” His hand trailed up to hold your cheek, stroking away the moisture that had looked below your eyes.

“Taking my name as yours will bring nothing but notoriety.” He kissed you cheek.

“I accept.”

“Then let it be known, the world would remember us as one,” He moved backwards gesturing towards the priest in his entourage.

“The Watergardens,” You stated, gesturing your servants to lead the priest to the location.

Daemon had allowed you moments alone, your household torn over what was happening. While many sighed in relief, perhaps you would finally eat; let life make your skin glow yet again. The storm gave away and your lamp was still burning bright. He presented you with a head piece made of khaki cloth, amber and rubies with stray pieces of shells. You handmaidens were quick with it, pinning it onto your hair as Daemon made his arrangements. Caraxes looked over the Watergardens, whistling just as ecstatically as his rider as he perched himself on the beach mount.

The universe seemed to have been in agreement of your emotions, the wind on the beach picked up; cooling your overwhelmed and hot skin. The skies were clear, twinkling in stars and the full moon as the complimented the low tided waves crashing ashore. Your own servants had been quick, decorating the gardens with yellow and red candles and exotic Bravosi flower arrangements placed on vases. Daemon awaited you by the shore line.

Your hands held a dhanuchi, clay burners that held sizzling coal pieces accompanied with sandalwood. You hiked your skirts up, walking towards Daemon, counting your steps as your bare feet hit the sand, you were trying your hardest to breathe; he stood their awaiting you looking as galant as the day he received you at the Blackwater ports, it was from that day you knew your fate would be painted black in his name.

Daemon turned, toying with a black obsidian dagger as his eyes softened the second he saw you. He held his hand out for you take as you stopped next to him, placing the dhanuchi at the alter.

“This will hurt,” He whispered, gesturing to the dragon glass daggers. You shook your head, no pain would compare to the three moons you had spent without him. He lifted the edge against your bottom lip, drawing blood as he gently slashed a cut, he guided your hands to do the same. The taste of copper filled your mouth, a stinging sensation ran through your lips; one you knew would only soothe once you felt his lips on yours.

Blood of two, joined as one

You cut a gash on your palm, wincing as blood trickled to the surface; Daemon did the same with his before grasping your bloodied palm within his. The priest wrapped a silk across your palms, your lover’s lilac eyes held concern for your pains and yet wild adoration. You were to be his. Blood began to trickle into the cup of wine placed under you as the priest continued.

Ghostly flame and a song of shadows

Daemon marked your forehead with his blood, you followed his lead as the priest instructed the symbol you drew, he then offered you the cup of wine laced with your blood. You eyes never once left Daemon’s as you sipped on the strong wine before giving him the cup to do the same.

Two hearts as embers, forged in the fourteen fires

His hands came to rest at your cheek, both growing restless of the vows as he wiped the dripping blood from your lips.

A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness.

You pulled yourself closer to him, one might say you were dazed from the blood loss, in truth it was Daemon’s lilac eyes, how his hands caressed your skin. The wanting fires that engulfed the alter seeming leave everything in ashes but the two of you.

The vows spoken through time, of light and darkness.

He whispered along with the priest.

There was no shame in the way your lips crashed against one another, you tasted his blood on your tongue and yet his hands scorched your skin, almost consuming your body whole as his hands wandered everywhere as his lips claimed you. A stray tear fell from your eyes as your held onto his face, letting his tongue explore yours. You couldn’t breathe from the passion of it all, not that you cared; you life was now his to do with as he pleased.

You rested on Daemon’s lap as he lounged on your window bed, working a healers poultice on the cut of his palm, still lingering in the after effects of wedding. His hands gently returned the favour as he wrapped yours in gauze, you prayed that it would scar; it was a testament for your devotion.

“There- all fixed sweet wife.” Daemon whispered, nudging his nose against your cheek. Heat immediately rose to you cheek as you looked away, you were his wife.

You shuffled off of him, you walked to the steaming dhanuchi that you had carried back to your bed chambers, you bed chambers smelled sweet from it aroma. You had lit in hopes of being blessed by the fertitly goddess, that your marriage remaind pure and secure for eternity. You pushed you skirts always as you climbed onto your bed, letting the steam grace and bless your bed with your unconditional wish.

You dropped the burner on the floor after, letting it submerge the room in its sweet smoke. You awaited your husband as he rid himself of his tunic, you shuffled closer as you sat on your knees. Admiring his toned body and taking account for every battle scar on his skin that you would spend the rest of your life healing with your love.

“Will- will you bed me now, husband?” You whispered, your lips dangerously closer to his, begging for another kiss.

“Oh, I plan to do more than just bedding you.” His lips moulded against yours once more as his hands tugged on the ties of your blouse.

“I conquer Dorne tonight,” He teased, peppering kisses to your temple down to you cheek. He pushed you back on the bed, almost immediately pouncing on top.

He grasped your wrists with one hand, pushing them above your head as he laid siege upon your neck. Laying warm- wet kisses and bruising nips at your neck; his hair tickling at your bare skin as your squirmed underneath him. There was no reasoning to the gentle throb that began pulsing at your core- you rubbed your thigh closer to make it halt. He pushed aside your unlaced blouse, your chest heaved as he suckled on your breast, pulling and licking the hardening pebble in his mouth.

You back arched if the bed, pushing your chest into his mouth, small open mouthed gasps left your mouth as his fingers danced past your navel; yanking on the fastening strings of skirts. His hands pushing your skirts and small clothes down at once, unwrapping you like present as your laid in his ordered positioning.

You succumbed to your exposure, you moved your head in shame, opting to look out at the glaring moon as it witnessed your de-flowerinng. Daemon took offence to your actions, using his fingers to guide your chin towards him as he groaned in disapproval.

“Three moons apart and you dare look away from me?” Daemon cocked his brow at you, freeing your hands as he ventured lower on your body.

“I- forgive me, my prince.” You whispered, your lungs refraining you from speaking any louder

“Husband,” He corrected as he pushed you legs apart.

“Husband.” You mewled in shame as his fingers stroked your folds that looked by the minute. His lips latched onto your inner left thigh, sucking and nipping at the skin.

All the while his eyes remained devious yet absurdly comforting, the two fingers that drew circles on your thighs or a small groans he left against your skin, indicative of how much he was truly enjoying himself. Just for his own satisfaction he marked your thighs at several spots, leaving darkening marks for you to reminisce over in the coming fortnight.

You felt intoxicated, revelling in the way his tongue wet your outer folds before indulging in the saccharine delight that was your cunt, a shameless moan echoed through your bed chambers as you felt his tongue flicking at a much sensitive spot. He moaned against your mound the second your taste hit his tongue.

His palm, large enough to lay flat over your soft belly to hold you flush a against the bed as he took his liberties, lapping at your like his last meal had been consumed days before. His eyes bore into yours, his own demeanour turning to command, strumming the pleasures of your body to his own rhythm.

“Such a sweet delight,” He complimented, mostly to distract you from his finger easing into your tightness. You immediately clenched down on the intrusion. “This shall ease the discomfort.” He elaborated before spitting onto your folds

Your head fell backwards in shame, focusing on the comforting caresses in your torso as Daemon plunged his finger in knuckle deep. You couldn't take the prolonging tasks no longer. You whined, pawing at Daemon’s trousers.

“Please, please have me already.” You begged, you wanted to feel him within you. You could careless of the pain or discomfort, you just wanted to be one

“Take them off,” He instructed, your hands immediately worked on unbuttoning his pants, before digging your fingers into her rear to pull them down. His cock- that thing hung pliant between his legs. Part of you looked up at him curiously, and the other half wondered how your envious would engulf such a monstrosity. Your eyes silently asked for permission, to which Daemon simply stroked your hair as your wrapped your hand around the warm appendage. You were unsure of what to do.

“Stroke it, gently.” He guided you as you followed, feeling his cock twitch in your hands as you moved your hands back and forth. His tip soon glistened in moisture leaking from within. All Daemon could think of were your sweet lips wrapped around his cock and yet there was an eternity to teach you of the pleasures of the flesh. “Good girl,” He cooed.

He urged you to lay back against the pillows, working his length to harden to its full potential. He hesitated, having taken many maiden heads before, he needed this to be delicate as he tore through yours. He circled his tip at your sensitive rose bud before pushing at your entrance. You gasped out loud, letting you arms wrap around his shoulders as he inched forwards.

The stretch of his efforts shot a stinging sche through your pelvis, and he halted. Kissing your cheek and cooing at you in an attempt to alleviate even a fraction of the discomfort you were in. He advanced all the way in, hoping to let your ride out the waves of pain; you cried out louder and yet there was a little more left to go

“Look at me, just me. I shall make it better.” He groaned, hoping to suppress his own pleasures that coursed through his body, your tightness strangling his cock with threats of nearly milking him dry before anything had even begun. He felt selfish for feeling bliss as you silently wept underneath him, he caressed your cheek, the thing he held onto as his lips kissed your face. Peppering kisses to your forehead and your lips, over and over again as he inched forward

“Dae-” You shrieked as he finally bottomed out within you, the pressure of the stretch making your eyes well in more tears. You pulled yourself closer to him, trying to muffle your weeps on the crook of his neck. His arm reaches under you to support your neck. His deeper voice whispered encouragements as he awaited you to adjust to the pain.

“Look at how well you take me,” He whispered in between kisses that he pressed in your temples “Made just for me, aren't you? My sweet little wife.”

“Just for you,” You sniffled, letting yourself rest back against the pillows.

There was a humiliating familiarity in the way your aches encouraged your actions, you shuffled underneath him. Hoping to get him to move and yet he solely focused on doting on your body.

“Husband-” You whimpered, making his eyes shoot to you as they were focused on where the two of you were connected just moments before. He hummed in acknowledgement

“Can you- um please.” You stuttered, almost frustrated at yourself for losing your wording this easy.

“You have to tell me sweet wife, show me what you need.” He asked, urging his will into your answer.

“Please move- I need you to move.” You requested, he smiled before angling his hips backwards; hissing wantonly in the process and you mewled under him. There was pain within the first few thrusts and yet the deranged tendencies of your blood milked pleasure from the pain that subsided to a subtle pressure in your belly.

Daemon lost his composure, uttering vulgarities in your ear; the most obscene of sentences paired with the sweets of names he had picked for you.

“Perfect little hole, taking me so well,” He’d compliment one minute.

“Should have fucked this cunt the first day I laid eyes on you sweet girl,” The next he’d complain of the things he’d regretted.

He held your jaw, a feral smirk adoring his lips as he took your apart, your bangles clicking as your body bounced with his determined thrusts.

“Daemon!” You shrieked, such hurtful pleasure causing you to bed for such sinful things

“Just like that, scream your husband’s name.” He grunted, “Let all of Dorne know who owns this pretty body. Go on tell me.”

“You do, you do.” Cries poured from your lips as you held onto his forearms. “My Daemon,” You moaned as pulled yourself up to kiss his lips.

“Yes, yes sweet girl. All yours.” His deviant smile widened. Your cunt began to flutter around him, such flattery could mean just one thing as Daemon pushed his pelvis against yours, his thrusts grinding at your nub.

“That’s it, just lay there and take my seed,” He growled, his playing again harshly grasping your jaw to make you look at him.

“Dae- Daemon!” The ever impending storm began to paw at your insides,

Not long now- “I want it, I want babes and so much more. Please, please.” You begged to hope that itch would finally give way, and so it did. With no warning and only a scream of your husband’s name, your body erupted in ecstasy.

Daemon groaned out loud, muttering praises of your name, good girl, his sweet girl. Yes, you were. All for him as you loomed on a cloud perched high above the ground, you only registered Daemon’s thrusts faltering and warm filling your core, and then you felt Daemon’s caresses on your skin as you coaxed your heaving body to stability.

“Still with me?” He whispered against your hair and all you could muster was a lazy nod against his chest. You hissed feeling his cock leave your opening, he pushed you through it all. Letting his body weight do the work for you as he pulled himself to sit up along with you.

You finally opened your eyes, blinking away stray tears as he wiped at the trails of moisture on your cheeks. He bundled your exhausted body against his as he lifted you off your bed, walking you along to your chaise before wrapping a spare blanket against both your bodies, almost rocking your vulnerable body to a humming under his breath.

Maids poured into the clear martial bed, they all frowned at the image of their beloved Lady Martell curled against a dragon without a care as you nuzzled against him. Daemon snapped his fingers at them as they began to carry the bloodied sheets away, gesturing to the corner of the room for them to leave it behind. He planned to gift it to his brother’s council, as a warning.

There was nothing anybody could refuse Daemon Targaryen from- that and that he had a new wife. A wife of his choice, a wife he intended on loving until his death bed.

[feralbutfluffy]

58: Muriel

Chapter 58 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

******

Muriel slid the key into the lock and turned it with a satisfying click that they rather enjoyed.

They nudged the door open with their knee and wiggled their way inside, arms aching under the weight of a heavy crate of alcohol.

Things had got rather a bit out of hand at the off-license… 

But they didn’t think Crowley would mind! They gingerly placed the crate down just inside the door, setting off a jangle of clinking as the bottles settled themselves. Pulling on a bottle neck at random, Muriel tugged one loose and tucked it under their arm before moving deeper into the flat. It was curiously quiet.

They found the angel and the demon standing just inside the bedroom, Crowley leaning heavily on Aziraphale, the two of them silently taking in Muriel’s attempt at interior design. At the sound of their footsteps, Crowley turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Your handiwork, I take it?”

Muriel felt their face get very hot, like it might catch fire, and at the same time they felt-

nervous 

scared 

worried 

anxious

eager

excited

They placed the bottle just inside the doorframe and looked around, trying to see the bedroom through their eyes.

♢♢♢

Muriel had sent Aziraphale away earlier, hoping to give him time to talk to Crowley, and then they had sat on the bed, contemplating the dark, sleek angles, the emptiness of the room, everything cool and sophisticated and impersonal.

They had looked at the blood stains.

If they miracled them away, and replaced the sheets with similar, new ones, would that be enough? They thought of how Crowley had sounded when he had told her about sleeping, the way he had talked of it as if it were sanctuary.

'Great plan for a dreary month. Or a boring decade. Or a particularly rough century.'

Muriel tried to imagine Crowley wearily falling into this same bed with any amount of relief.

It seemed impossible.

Muriel thought of the way he had eyed the plants.

‘If plants have memories they’re unlikely to thrive in a room where some lunatic angel…’

Muriel wasn’t sure about plants, but Crowley certainly had a memory, and they suspected that what held true for plants might also hold true for demons.

Each time he lay in bed, he would probably be reminded of the stains. Even if Muriel removed them, he would still know. Every time he turned his head to the wall, he would be looking at the spot where his skull had cracked against concrete. Every time he swung his feet out of bed and placed them on the floor, he would be standing where he had been knocked to the floor, before he had been taken away. 

And it had only got worse from there.

Muriel felt their breath catch. Grief. Their heart felt swollen with it.

They stood and stepped away from the bed, trying to think of everything they had learned to love since being on Earth, so much of it from - or at least around - Crowley himself: from the simple loveliness of casual touch, to the way dust floated in sunlight, to almost-friendship, to the greenery of St. James’ Park, to fuzzy socks, to the padded booths at the coffee shop, to books, to reading books, to sugar crystals… 

They filled their mind with calmness, with warmth, and pulled at ideas, flicking their fingers down in the subtle gesture that drew power from Heaven.

The stain on the wall vanished, as did the black and gilt table that had careened into the wall.

The bare grey walls blanched to white, and then a sage and lavender haze crept over them, a fog made of watercolour splashes that had slowly cleared to reveal a dappled wood. Sunshine filtered through indistinct leaves, scattering impossible rays of golden light against the floor where it met the wall.

A walk in the woods, they thought, trying to infuse it with all the relaxation of a forest on a warm day.

They thought of Anne of Green Gables and the dust in the bookshop. A window appeared in the forest wall where there was no business being a window, and just outside it, the branches of an impossible tree swayed softly in an impossible breeze while inside the room dust motes twirled lazily, illuminated by the light. Muriel smiled, delighted. 

More gestures, more miracles. 

Muriel made short work of the concrete platform and the flat, stylish bed, banishing them elsewhere in favour of an enormous bed on a frame so low it almost looked like it rested on the floor. An ornate headboard of gilded mahogany dominated the space, borrowing details from Muriel’s recently departed chair and Crowley’s throne. 

An outrageously puffy duvet sheathed in golden velvet was heaped high with cushions and pillows and blankets in autumnal colours, each one with a different texture that invited the sleeper to touch, to hug the chenille and linen and silk and stonewashed cotton and cashmere to their body, to sink into the softness and drift into dreams. 

Crowley could burrow into it, if he wanted to. He could get lost in it, if he needed to.

Muriel’s hand patted thin air, and they looked up at the ceiling as clouds rolled in, thick and white. They narrowed their eyes and at the twitch of a finger, the clouds dissipated until they were nothing but pale painterly strands stretched across a pale blue sky.

They’d trotted down the hallway then, searching until they had found what they were looking for, and returned to the room looking extremely pleased with themselves. Their index finger moved, and suddenly there was a small, sleek bookcase made of polished wood, a matching end table, and a dark, soft, inviting wingback armchair. After a moment’s thought, they added a floor cushion.

They got to work stacking the published works of G.K. Chesterton on the bookshelf before adding the novels of Jane Austen. 

They placed The Extremely Big Book Of Astronomy on the end table.

Muriel banished the stain from the floor with a grim nod and buried the polished concrete under a layer of soft, plush carpet, dense enough to make it feel like walking on a cloud, 

They made a space for Benedick and Beatrice, and then looked around, enjoying the peace of the room. 

They loved it!

But would Crowley? They worried at their lower lip, thinking about Aziraphale’s aversion to dust, and Crowley's clothes, and Crowley's car... They looked around, thinking about Aziraphale telling them about the first time he had met Crowley, about the stars-

They could see it in their mind’s eye, then, and it was so precise that one sharp flick of their hand made the entire room change so quickly it made Muriel stumble.

The bed, its contents, and the wingback armchair were unchanged. 

The forest was gone, as was the window. The clouds rolled back and disappeared. 

In their place, silk velvet coated the walls and ceiling in a seductively deep navy. It was studded all over with constellations and errant stars picked out in gold thread. The carpet darkened considerably to match.

The bookcase became something sturdy and old with gilded whorls carved into the corners. The end table turned into an antique, and the floor cushion softened and sagged. Great swathes of material - some thick and heavy, some chiffon-thin - draped loosely from one corner of the room across the bed to the wall, creating an asymmetrical canopy in analogous tones. Muriel hid filament bulbs in the folds, and the enveloping darkness of the room made their soft warm light look ethereal.

Muriel added tiny string lights somewhere near the ceiling, then threw themselves backwards onto the bed, lying in the pile of blankets and pillows and cushions as if it were a nest. They looked up at the fabric. It twinkled with tiny pinpricks of light that looked like distant stars, the larger filament bulbs gently illuminating the bed, their light diffusing through the layers of the canopy. It was perfect. Dark and moody, yes, but also lovely and comfy and relaxing. It was perfect. Or at least they hoped it was perfect!

They thought of Anne of Green Gables again.  

‘And you know one can dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things.’

Muriel had never dreamed before but it sounded lovely!

A flick of a finger placed Crowley’s decorative coiled snake on the bookshelf alongside a rubber duck made of brass. They crafted a tiny bowl of sugar crystals out of nothing and placed it on top of The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy. They placed three pairs of fuzzy socks on the end of the bed. They sighed contentedly.

Of Muriel’s many revelations from their time on Earth, touch had been one of her favourites.

Shoulder bumps and friendly nudges and high fives and handshakes delighted them, the spark of connection they could feel from the most casual brush of skin against human skin a shock to their system after thousands of years of barely even speaking to a soul. As a nod to that, everything in the bedroom yearned to be touched; the carvings, the contrast of texture between the smooth velvet and the hard gold thread, the cosy happiness of too many pillows and blankets made from too many fine things. 

The other favourite revelation had been friendship.

Crowley was dear to them now, filling so many roles. He was like a teacher, but also like family. He was a mentor, and also maybe a reluctant friend? He was mean sometimes, only not really, only in a funny haha way, and he liked sleeping, and being seen as dark and grumpy, and liquor, and ducks, and plants, and Aziraphale. Not in that order.

And he didn’t like being woken at six thirty.

They had tried their best to make the room something he would feel comfortable in, something utterly different to what it was before while still hewing to his general style.

They had gone back to Crowley and Aziraphale then, feeling nervous, and taken themselves off on a needless errand hoping they would have processed the redecoration in their absence, but now here they were, and it appeared Muriel might have arrived at exactly the wrong time, because despite Crowley’s raised eyebrow they both looked slightly slack-jawed with shock.

“Y- Yes?” Muriel stuttered. Crowley looked back at the room, his eyes roving over the bed before meeting Aziraphale’s in what Muriel understood to be a meaningful look.

What the meaning was, however… well, that was completely lost on them.

Aziraphale stiffened and pointedly pivoted away from both Crowley and Muriel, which they took to be a bad sign.

“Do you hate it?” Muriel asked. “I can change it back if you hate it!”

Crowley smiled then, a proper smile, one that slightly split his lip where it had been healing (ouch), but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Don’t you dare. This is great!” He looked excited in a way that Muriel had never seen, and for a moment, even with the bruises and the wounds, they could - if they tried very, very, very hard - imagine Crowley squealing with delight.

He beckoned them over, and when Muriel got close enough he reached out and took their hand, making them jump. He was still smiling, his face bright with joy - which was quite unnerving but also lovely - and Muriel watched him with wide eyes, wondering if he was quite alright.

“Thanks. I mean it, Muriel. This room- Well, I was afraid... I was dreading coming in here. And this- Well, it's- It’s so bloody gorgeous it’s distracting...!" He meant it, Muriel could tell, but his smile faltered, and it was lopsided as he finished the sentence. "... And I needed distracting.”

There was fondness written all over his face, and Muriel thought they probably were friends now, actually.

“Have a gold star,” Crowley said softly, and suddenly there was a small, hard, heavy object between their hands. He pulled away, and Muriel uncurled their fingers.

In the palm of their hand was a solid gold ingot stamped with an M in the shape of a star.

[fufuheheii]

Cyno x Adventurer!F!Reader

Very short! Encounter request between Cyno and an Adventurer♡

♡ You trudge through the sand, your shoes already filled with it as you attempt to walk across the desert. The map in your hand is already soaking wet with your sweaty hands and you struggle to hold the compass in your other hand.

♡ Just a few days ago you received a commission to deliver an item to some guy living in the desert. It pays hefty money, and you need the extra mora to at least get some decent food for your future adventuring days.

♡ It happens often that scholars would run off into the desert in hopes of not getting found by the matra. With so much sand, there’s no way to track someone with so much sand and wind covering their tracks.

♡ However, for the general mahamantra the sand is his domain.

♡ “N-no!” the scholar screams before getting slammed against the sand floor. “Oof!”

♡ He shrieks when the tip of the General Mahamatra’s weapon points right at his face, and at the very end of course, stands the mahamantra himself. He glares down at the man, his piercing red eyes inspecting every belonging and seeing none of which is stolen from the library. “Where is it?”

♡I-I don’t know what you’re talking about-,” he stops when the edge of the weapon touches his neck. “I-it’s with an adventurer! I c-commissioned them. S-she has the knowledge capsule!”

♡You sent an adventurer to do your job?” Cyno almost laughs, but in the eyes of the scholar it looks like the demon smirking. “How pathetic. Where is she now?”

♡ “I h-have no idea,” he hiccups. Cyno narrows his eyes before looking out into the desert. If it’s an adventurer, no doubt they’ll be lost by now. There have been a number of them coming into the desert with no idea on how to navigate through it.

♡ He turns back to the scholar. “When did she leave?”

♡ You finally reach your destination. Just up ahead is a small oasis, and a number of people native of the desert sitting around. You look back at your map and frown at the mess it has become. “It’s fine, I’m sure they have an extra map for me to use,” you reassure yourself under your breath as you head over to the oasis. “They look friendly enough…right? Wait, they’re looking super alarmed right now…uh, hi! I’m here to deliver something!”

♡ Cyno hurries through the sand, sprinting at the speed of a cat in danger. After learning where the scholar sent the woman to, he realizes that’s the area where bandits regularly hang out together. Damn it all, to think the damn scholar would go as far as to send an innocent civilian into the hands of bandits…there’s no way she’ll get out of it alive.

♡ He sees his destination up front, and his eyes that were once glaring into the heat, widen at the sight before him. The bandits run past him, screaming about a crazy lunatic. But he doesn’t mind them. Archons no, the person before him is truly too beautiful to look away from. Her frizzy hair from the intense heat, her arms flailing around, and most importantly, her shiny six pack that shines in the sweat under the sun makes his heart go doki doki as he watches the marvelous sight before him. Never has he seen a woman possess so much strength, so much willpower. With the exception of the Traveler of course, but this woman is different. For her body looks firm, healthy, and her birthing hips are just right. Something awakens in him, something is making him want to tell a joke to her. He holds the left of his chest, his face reddening.

♡ Is this love? ♡

♡”This woman is crazy!” one of the female bandits screams before getting smashed in the head by a barrel. Another barrel is thrown at the escaping bandits by the one and only adventurer who is sweating buckets. Your clothes are half torn from getting into a small fight with the bandits for supposedly roughing you up too much. Your face is full of sand, your lips so chapped from the intense heat that it's bleeding down your chin. You pant as you watch all the bandits run away, all bruised or injured.

♡ Thank you mom for forcing me to take self defense classes. As you’re getting ready to jump into the small pond of water, you notice a figure heading your way.

♡ Is your eyes playing games with you, or is that a dog with a human body? As the thing gets closer and closer you see it is a boy around your age, his eyes wide and sparkling and cheeks red as you look at you with so much awe.

♡U-uh, you’re not a bandit are you?” your voice cracks from the lack of water for hours. He blinks before shaking his head.

♡“I am Cyno, and I have a thousand jokes to tell you.”

It’s been so long since I played Genshin Impact I had to actually search things up to refresh my memory (;_;) Hopefully ya’ll enjoy this, and thanks to the anon who sent the request!

[lacontroller1991]

Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 1: Edward Teller x F!Reader

Day 1: Lost Pet Meet/Race Against the Clock Masterlist

Warnings: General Audience, language Word Count: 710 Author's Note: Based off of Benny Safdie's Edward Teller

The sun is warm on Teller’s face as he lets out a sigh in content. It’s been a rough few weeks of work for the Hungarian theorist and a stroll in the park seemed like a good idea. And it is. The bay breeze gently blows on his body, messing with his hair as he sits there in silence.

“Buddy!” His blue eyes snap open. So much for quiet, he thinks to himself in annoyance. He just wanted one day where he could have a minute of peace. “Dang it! Buddy! Get back here! Come here boy!” The next thing Ede knows is that there is a dog on his lap, licking his face. Teller closes his eyes and turns his head away, trying to push the dog down. “Oh my goodness. I am so, so sorry.” The person comments, the weight of the dog being lifted off of Teller as it barks, the owner attempting to hush it. “Damnit Buddy. I can’t trust you. You’re staying ON your leash.” Teller hears the faint click of a leash before opening his blue eyes and turning to the woman, who has a brown stain all down her front. “I am so sorry sir. This dog has a mind of his own.”

Teller’s eyes roam her body up and down, taking in her appearance. Along with the dark stain, the person in front of him sports a crazed look in her eyes and messy hair. It’s clear that the dog had taken you for a walk, and not the other way around. “It’s alright. First time walking a dog?” The girl tilts her head, squatting down to rub the ears of her dog. 

“Heh, no. Normally Buddy is very well behaved, and normally Buddy doesn’t take to strangers, let alone jump in their lap and lick their face, so I have no clue what his deal is.”

That name sounds… familiar. Squinting his eyes, Teller looks down at the dog. A beautiful shepherd with a luscious fur coat and a ridiculous collar that Teller always made fun of whenever he was visiting Oppenheimer. Did this girl steal Robert’s dog?

Standing to his full height, Teller’s eyes shift from Buddy, who lays at Ede’s feet, tail wagging to the flustered woman. “This dog isn’t yours.”

“Huh? Oh, no. It’s not. I’m a do- wait, how do you know it’s not mine?” Teller smiles softly, reaching down to scratch Buddy’s ears, the dog’s tail thumping happily against the green grass.

“Are you sitting for Dr. Oppenheimer?”

“Yeah, actually. He’s my neighbor. Do you know him? He and Mrs. Oppenheimer occasionally ask me to watch their dog while they go out of town for whatever business they attend to.”

“Yes, I know him quite well.” Unfortunately. “We work together.” The woman tilts her head before recognition sets in.

“Oh nice! I’ve only met Dr. Lawrence, but it was rather brief. I’m (Y/N), by the way.” She sticks her hand out only for Edward to take it into his softly, giving her a firm but gentle shake.

“Ede Teller. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah you too. I’m sorry about Buddy getting all up in your business. But now it makes sense why he would just run off and jump on a stranger.” Teller nods his head, pulling his hand back to his side. “Sorry for appearing like a crazed lunatic. I was sipping on my coffee but Buddy quickly bolted and jolted me forward, spilling the coffee everywhere,” she laughs softly, hand reaching up and scratching the back of her neck. 

Teller thinks it’s cute. Teller thinks that she’s cute. Besides, she seems friendly enough and he’s rather lonely. How bad would it be if he asked his friend’s dog sitter out for coffee? “Would you like to go get another? Since Buddy spilt yours?”

Her eyes widen and Teller decides that he could easily swim in the pools of her eyes. “Like together?”

Shucking off his blazer, Teller takes the leash from her hands and drapes the cloth over her shoulders. “Yes, it seems like you need it and I don’t mind lending a helping hand.” He smiles softly, stunning the woman.

“Yeah, that would be great actually. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

-fin-

Tag List: @un-ionizetheradlab @anonymous-badger-238 @mariedork

[elfrowan]

We Are Not Alike by According to Hoyt

This is a post I should not have to write. Mostly because it’s self-obvious. But it took ME a while to figure it out, so– Here it is.

First let’s dismiss the entire “it’s an hoax” because that’s just the left (broadly defined as to the left of Lenin) being their usual lunatic selves. I’m not even going to respond to the self-proclaimed surgeons or the self-proclaimed ballistics experts on twitter. I’m going to say that if they had even minimal contact with reality they’d realize that even fragmenting ammo does not fragment in contact with ear cartilage (not enough resistance) and no, having a bullet graze you doesn’t mean your head explodes. I don’t actually know whether to advise them to put down the crack pipe or stop watching Merry Melodies. I feel like someone should tell them safes don’t randomly fall out of the sky, nor pianos from upper-story windows, but from the ones I’ve seen on twitter they’d fight us tooth and nail on that too.

There is a much easier way to put their bizarre fantasies to rest: For the whole thing to be a carefully orchestrated false flag, you have to believe that Donald Trump — DONALD TRUMP — is as carefully self-controlled and obedient to choreography as a trained dancer.

I’ll wait till you stop laughing and then give you the graphic again, about how closely, and by a random turn of the head, America escaped a bloody civil war last Saturday.

But sure, cooly-oh, if you believe Donald effing Trump timed the turning of his head precisely, after the bullet had already been fired by an untrained 20 year old sniper…. Oh wait, if you believe that you’re probably jonesing to vote for socialists, so it fits.

As for “all an hoax” you’re requiring that everyone there, including the secret service which is not only controlled and assigned by the present administration, but who also are being dragged through the mud for malice and incompetence, be complicit on this. This includes the family of the man who died. If you really believe that, get out of here. You’re not serious and not only are you a f*cking infant, you’re a moronic f*cking infant. Shut up, child, the adults are talking.

Then there is the outrage and certainty that he should not have got up and pumped his fist, because “ree” he’s keeping his secret service in danger to grandstand. First, if the secret service can’t drag a 79 year old man (and themselves) out of danger (and remember their JOB is danger, their concern is supposed to be their detail) they need to find another job. Yesterday. Second… I realize that none of you EVER were responsible for keeping any group that was in anyway connected to you from doing the inadvisable. BUT–

If Trump hadn’t immediately got up and done that, we’d already be in a civil war. Before news that he was all right could have gone out, people would have gone hot. And listen, you have no idea. You really have no idea.

And no, it’s not a Trump cult. It’s a “if they could get him, they’re coming for me next” “Nothing to lose.” “I have plans in place for this circumstance.” Do I know anyone in the group that would do that. Not explicitly. But I have guesses about a rough three to four dozen of my acquaintance. And I know the psychology.

Look, even after he got up and pumped his fist, I found myself — I was cleaning the house and away from the computer. I have already promised never to do that again — calming people on texts with “No, from the video he’s not in danger. Stop worrying” until I gave up (my kitchen is still a mess) and got on the keyboard.

But speaking of psychology, we get to the important part of this post.

There is very little my colleagues in Science Fiction and Fantasy do that shocks me. Even the politics from the left side of Judas’s ass does not shock me. I’ve read (or at least skimmed) their books, and the flaws are right there, in the worldbuilding that behaves like no real world would behave ever, unless it were utterly contained inside the broken clockwork mind of Marx.

But there was a take that propagated like lightening through the left side of science fiction, echoed by some people who probably once had functional brain cells of a sort, that made me kind of rock back on my heels. This was based on the would be assassin’s registration (voter registration isn’t politics. My husband and I have different ones, and yet we’re about the same.) And it was…. ahem “Why should I care if Trump was shot at by a right winger?”

This was completely puzzling to me because, well… I can’t picture a scenario in which anyone who is broadly to the right of Lenin would try to shoot the candidate of the party opposing the Junta. Not vote for him, maybe. Shoot him? That requires a completely different level of passion and animus. Unless these people were completely insane, I couldn’t figure out why people otherwise capable of writing three coherent paragraphs would even say that.

But then I flipped it.

Look, is it believable that say, advocates for “Palestine” would shoot Joe Biden, for being insufficiently anti-Israel? Well, sure. Is it possible trans advocates would shoot Joe Biden because in their eyes he was insufficiently pro-trans? Or radical communists who think he’s a right winger? Sure. Of course.

But here’s the thing. We’re not the same.

Sure, the right has a broad tent. But it’s a tent. Meaning, there’s a ton of space, people move erratically within in — and sometimes get in hair-pulling arguments — but we’re not cohesive groups in close contest.

Why?

Well, because mostly the right in America wants to be left alone to live their own lives. With a few exceptions, what we want the government to do about our cause is “Leave us alone, and stop forcing me to act in ways that go against my perceived self-interest.” That’s it.

This means that while I think some of you people might be a little loonie on your hobby horses, it’s no skin off my nose. If you really want national currency to be gold-based, well, fine. Can’t be worse than what we have right now, though I think you’ll find it has similar flaws in the end. Or if your hobby horse is that you want to get rid of national parks… Whatever. If I were an avid camper and hiker, I’d already have groups ready to buy and maintain what I consider essential parts of them, should that ball drop.

And that’s leaving aside that I agree with many of your hobby horses. They’re not mine, but I’d go “Heck yeah”: like get rid of the department of education schools and turn education control over to the closest local level or stop dictating minimum wage at a federal level. Or “reduce bureaucracy” or…. anyway. Ahem. I don’t really have a hobby horse, per-se I have a stable, and it’s summed in Viva La Libertad, Carajo!

What I mean is reducing the federal government is not an endeavor that causes us to have MURDEROUSLY strong feelings about our leaders.

Strong feelings? Sure. That’s why our primaries are so disputed and why the left thinks we’re so scary. But frankly, we’re the people who eschewed the indoctrination of the schools, media, entertainment, to make up our own minds. We have strong feelings about breakfast cereal, let alone presidential candidates.

They’re just not the kind of strong feelings that leads to shoot them. (Presidential candidates, or breakfast cereal. The only thing I own I’ve ever considered taking to the range and shooting to pieces is my printer.)

Meanwhile, the left?

Oooh, boy. While they encompass many single-issue groups, their side is not a tent.

You see, what they’re competing from, because of their conceit of a central, and centralized government who can be all things to all people, is a finite budget and government-granted primacy. Money and power given to feminists doesn’t go to trans, doesn’t go to terrorism supporters, doesn’t go to terrorism importers, doesn’t go to parks, doesn’t go–

On top of which they believe in Marxism, which is to say, they believe in finite pie economics. Wealth can’t be created, just endlessly redistributed. And this leaks over to everything. So you know, you can’t have equal rights for women without taking some from men, otherwise women are insufficiently “equal” (no joke, when my kids were in college, email from the university. They’d achieved 65% female graduates in Chemistry. More work needed to be done to assure that females had “equality” in chemistry. And no they weren’t suggesting cutting that down to 50%. Equality for them apparently meant 100%.)

The left side of the isle is not so much a broad coalition of groups all going the same general way. No. They’re groups that resemble nothing so much as rabid weasels tied together by the tail presenting teeth and claws outward, but ready to turn them on each other at the slightest provocation. (Or imagined provocation.)

So, their candidate being shot by their own side? Absolutely believable.

What they don’t understand: We’re not alike.

On the right side, Trump being shot by a “right winger” or “republican”? is jaw-droppingly bizarre and unbelievable.

I mean, okay, there’s the never Trumpers. So, some young man was so inflamed by the immortal rhetoric of the Bulwark that he…. No. Some young man loved Ron De Santis so much that he– Barely plausible, except any Ron De Santis fan knows that’s not who would replace Trump, because the right doesn’t work that way. And Ron to his eternal credit has in no way stoked that kind of flame or demanded that kind of follower.

So, what? Are we to believe that the leaders who are genuinely snippy at Trump have that kind of following amid the youth?

Advance the Pierre Delecto Brigades, with their perfectly coiffed hair, wielding their combat roladex! Forward march.

Or perhaps: Up the Mitch McConnell volunteers, in their turtle armour….

It won’t wash. It won’t pass the giggle test.

We’re back again to “The left isn’t insane, but what they think they see on the right is just a mirror, reflecting them endlessly.”

Which sometimes requires more effort on our part to understand their “thought” than they put into those opinions to begin with.

[automatismoateo]

Christianity is a fucking cult via /r/atheism

Christianity is a fucking cult To add some context, I have been an atheist for years and currently I am 15,my immediate family has been going through a very rough period from last year and my parents were coming into this year very broken down by the situation (it's personal). My mother and father have been watching those preachers at mega churches on YouTube for a very long time, they love the sentiment of a loving god, but recently my dad decided to go to church and my mom was on board for it. The experience, however, told me a lot about Christianity and how disgusting it is. The people at the entrance will wave and greet you with the most pleasant smile when you enter, which immediately I saw is meant to disarm you. We walked in and went upstairs to find seats and there were performers on stage singing worship songs that were disturbingly subtle in how much they reaffirmed and subliminally put messages of submission in your head. The music plays a substantial role in manipulating your state of mind to being more amicable to the idea of joining these sincere lunatics. There is a disturbing and malicious agenda that comes with Christianity and it's tactics in luring in people when they are broken down and hopeless in their late 30's and middle age, only to make them think that they must serve their god to get better or to get rid of the sickness that they totally have and to bask in the salvation and being saved by jesus. Does that make sense to you? I hope it does, because It's no surprise that Christian party's will intentionally do everything in their power to look like they're doing something amazing, when in reality the more attendance there is at the church the more money they make and thats all they care about. My dad couldn't get enough and is now a Christian, but my mother (god bless her heart😭), said that she isn't a Christian and is on the fence. Anyway what's your opinion on the whole shabang? What's your personal experience with these people and places? I'm excited to hear your responses. Submitted February 15, 2024 at 02:40PM by Moist_Air1239 (From Reddit https://ift.tt/Rno34sh)

[pterouras]

Going on a bit of a rant here, sorry. Scroll past if you want.

being queer in an entirely conservative family that refuses to understand your identity is fucking rough!

What I want to get out of the way beforehand is that, comparatively I have it good compared to others, and I acknowledge that. I’m upper-middle class, live comparatively comfortably, and am going to a very good college. Acknowledging the position you’re in and the privilege it comes with is extremely important.

That doesn’t change the fact a good percent of the population want people like me converted or dead, so honestly please actually fuck right off with right wing bullshit! Bigotry isn’t just a difference in opinions or beliefs! Persecuting others isn’t just a friendly difference of ideas.

That’s why I’ve been masking my identity to my family and if I’m being honest, I’ve already let enough slip as is. I shouldn’t have to be hiding like this.

I don’t like being faced with the possibility that they’re paying for the college I’m going to and they can just stop paying for it if I’m outed, and if that happens I’m completely fucked! My education’s over and my dreams crushed bc two boomers’ bigotry takes priority over their child!

Not to mention the MANY people less fortunate than me who face the same issues if not worse! Believe it or not, the US isn’t the worst place for a queer person to exist and my heart will forever go out to those who will never get the chance to be themselves even online, who face execution for even being suspected of being different.

Perhaps it’s silly of me to even reveal myself at college where my parents can catch wind of it eventually. I like having an environment irl where people can actually accept me though, even if I’m grasping at straws. I’m getting off track though and I’ve talked about myself enough

I don’t normally say stuff like this directly instead of just reblogging but I don’t have a smidge of tolerance for hyperreligious bastards whose views condemn vulnerable people. People shouldn’t have to fucking live in fear because a collective of lunatics must feel superior to minority groups. There isn’t a place in the world where people like this should be allowed to hold power and if you think right and left wings are something as simple as a petty argument that can be settled over tea and biscuits, go fuck yourself. If you’re outright right wing or conservative you’re even worse. Rant over

[nightcoremoon]

disturbed’s new song is… sigh… titled “bad man”.

yes. seriously. david what the fuck. this is weak bro.

well at least it slaps. and when I first heard it I thought that he was saying batman and that it was from the the batman soundtrack or something. and it sounded like if it was about batman it would be FUCKING AWESOME.

so

the grinch got a wonderful awful idea.

I wanna write a lyrical parody about batman but from the perspective of the villains and the citizens of gotham.

batman such a sadman is it ever enough, will you ever find a new obsession? what if batman, like a blind man, so lost in the dark, was searching for gotham’s salvation? batman it’s too bad, man, you will never succeed and you’re never gonna find the answer now. batman bat man, another madman, OH batman what’s the reason why? OH innocents always have to die (by your hand) NO I will never understand, why these cowards bow to your demands. they’re all victims of another (batman)

masked man no you didn’t think that we were okay to kill and you questioned our system of justice. take it off man you’re not hiding in the shadow anymore, you’re about to finally face this. rich boy, a fuckin bitch boy, need to get over the loss. there’s no way that you can be justified now, sadboy batboy goddamn madman, OH batman what’s the reason why? OH criminals never have to die. NO I will never understand, why the police bow to your demands. we’re all victims of another (batman).

guitar solo followed by a new additional bridge verse

batman, arkham has opened and lunatics fill the streets. batman, sitting in your privilege among gotham’s elites. batman, terror spreading, you’re watching from the seat. batman, we are dying, to appease your selfish conceit. batman, where are you now batman, broken by bane, batman, where are you now batman, tortured by zsasz, batman, gotham is eating you batman, eaten by the pyg, batman, gotham is needing you batman, killed by ras…

that’s all I got for right now for a very rough base draft.

I’d like to incorporate elements of the futility of relying on the police for a criminal justice system when half the cops in the city are on the mob’s payroll and the other half are always drunk off their ass, as well as the fact that Bruce Wayne could have solved a significant majority of the crime in the city through philanthropy especially towards mental health reform but he didn’t because he wanted to spend his billions of dollars on high tech toys to play furry dressup and punch goons in the face and fuck supermodels rather than actually take charge of his corporation and use it for good. however I wasn’t exactly given very much to work with here since half of what I just wrote is THE ENTIRE ORIGINAL SONG.

[lordascapelion]

I think it’s only so when you get to the further extremes of the right but it’s becoming more and more common.

But honestly, a lot of this country still works. Property rights are still very strong in the US (exceptions are a big deal because they’re exceptions). If you’re some kind of minority, it’s a great place to live and even in places where you’re less welcome you’re not in significant danger of being beaten or murdered for your minority status.

But we are on the verge of a secular crisis (future historians will actually probably say it started with COVID.) The economy is teetering on the edge. Inequality is high and social mobility is low. There are lunatics from every political stripe wanting to get rid of the things that made the US a great place to live (I think the left is the more problematic one, as the full implications of Wokeness would cause immense damage. The right has some bad ideas too but they’re less agreed upon in that political coalition and very few normies take them seriously.) Wars are brewing across the globe and demographic crises will make things unstable.

It’s a rough time for many people and even very intelligent people tend to see the world in terms of everything being good or everything being bad. Black or white.

You ever notice how both the American right and the left are convinced that the modern USA is the worst country to ever exist and is completely doomed?

[spaciebabie]

ANYTHING ABT THEM, I WANT BIBLICALLY ACCURATE LUNITICS DUMP ON ME

(Fanfic anon)

(imma b honest this is the first time I've thought deeply abt their characters beyond the ass jokes so these characters are likely ta evolve as i draw em more. my characters just tend ta write themselves yk yk?)

first off: the lunatics use they/he pronouns!

first thing that came ta my mind was that luni drives an old run down car that's got a ton of scratches n dents, but they've had it for years n they're an incredible mechanic so-

luni was a car mechanic b4 getting a job at the pizzaplex and was a little intimidated and shocked when they got the job! even though they're good at what they do, they have a little bit of imposter syndrome at times. he's a little shy, modest guy, but extremely extroverted! once he gets comfy all bets are off

tic went ta college. they went HAM. they had the goal ta work at fazbear inc b/c of how advanced their tech is! they can b a bit egotistical at times, they def think they're that shit and they have the skills ta back it up. literal science genius. he's an introvert, but he's really out there n likes ta get in ppls face. he relishes in the fact that he can creep ppl out

luni was at the pizzaplex first b4 tic came along. now, while luni is shy at times, he's not gonna take shit from NOBODY n tic was a little bit (a lot)rude ta him at first. something something...."I'm way better at my job than you why are you even here?" and so the rivalry began :)

yeah that's right!!!! rivals ta lovers!!! hoh yeah baby!!!!

they go thru some competitive stuff a la: who can fix the animatronics faster? who can do the most repairs? who can come up with the best upgrades? and it just kept going n going till they both ranked up enough in fazbear inc ta where they get paid BUCKET LOADS of money. like. these guys are LOADED. fazbear inc pays them WELL.

eventually, they get ta a point where they've both reached their peak and there was nowhere else left ta go. they're forced ta work on equal ground n get ta know each other beyond the rivalry n end up crushing on each other :3

as they get ta know each other they realize that they share similar interests in loving memey n cursed shit. HR is fucking suffering b/c they're tryna keep the pizzaplex afloat w/all the "incidents" that keep happening that they literally don't care what any of the employees are doing as long as they're doing their jobs. the lunatics at this point are valued members of the fazbear inc team n so they basically become untouchable b/c of how good they are.

that also means they're often left w/nothin ta do since the robots last p long between repairs. so bored one day, tic gets a funny idea. "what if we glued asses onto the bots?" luni laughs and the rest is history.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

Forerunner

A new chapter for an old legend.

Type: Sidearm

Slot: Kinetic | Energy | Heavy

Element: Kinetic | Stasis | Strand

Perk: Full Stop - Oversized Sidearm with extended-range, heavy-caliber rounds. Fires full auto with increased rate of fire. Deals increased precision damage to unshielded targets.

Trait: Pace Yourself - Tapping the trigger gives this weapon less recoil and improves accuracy.

Masterworked Trait: The Rock - For several seconds after a final blow, alt-fire to consume part of your ammo reserves, converting your next thrown grenade into a fragmentation grenade.

Ornaments: Braytech M6, Gilded Honors, Calefactor

Origin & Description: In 2001, a little studio named Bungie introduced the world to the new millennium of videogames with three simple words: Halo: Combat Evolved. It's pointless for me to talk about Halo because if you're here reading a guide to the minutiae of imaginary videogame guns then you have, at minimum, heard of the game that launched the modern FPS, Bungie's fortunes, and the golden age of couch co-op.

In 2021 Bungie planned to celebrate the studio's 30th anniversary with a Destiny event, including weapons and armor referencing their many hits over the years. Naturally they planned a good chunk of Halo content. Problem is, Bungie no longer owns the Halo IP. Microsoft acquired the studio in 2000 so Halo could be a launch exclusive for their entry into the console market; possibly one of the smartest moves ever made in gaming, since Halo essentially sold the Xbox. Over the next several years the series grew into such a flagship franchise for Microsoft that when Bungie parted ways with Microsoft in 2007, the Halo IP stayed behind. From Bungie's perspective that was fine since a) they'd made just about all the Halo games they wanted to and b) they were in the middle of spooling up an interesting new IP named Destiny.

But now Bungie's designers have a hilarious problem: their 30th anniversary content needs to reference the enormous franchise that made Bungie famous, but without ever directly naming it. That's how we got Forerunner, a sidearm that's a dead ringer for the original Halo's legendarily effective magnum pistol. Its name has a double meaning: the Forerunners are the ancient race that constructed the eponymous Halo Arrays where the first game takes place, and Halo was the literal forerunner of Destiny. Its masterwork perk even lets you convert a chunk of Special ammo into an old-school Halo frag grenade after a kill. Its perk symbol shows a stylized eagle clutching lightning bolts in its talons with a central seven-lined symbol familiar to Bungie fans, known as "the Seventh Column." Much like how a football team's supporters may be referred to as "the twelfth man" on the field supporting the eleven actual players, Bungie's community is called "the Seventh Column" supporting the company. The wide-winged eagle evokes the insignia of Halo's UNSC, while the lightning it holds refers to Bungie's own insignia of a raised fist clutching a lightning bolt.

Forerunner's pull quote and lore tab pay tribute to Halo's role both in building Bungie and in influencing the design of Destiny. Banshee comments on the weapon that, "it's like they were making a hand cannon but didn't know it yet," and that the weapon must have been for "a Titan, maybe...and a big one, too." He concludes that the weapon "had fired its last round. What a last round it must have been," maybe referring to the last Bungie-made Halo game, the critically-acclaimed Halo: Reach. The gunsmith resolves to rebuild the weapon for Guardian use, creating "an homage, an offering to the creators of the original relic. A legacy." All in all it's a sweet tribute to the Halo franchise from devs who have moved on but still remember and cherish its triumphs.

At the Legendary rarity tier Halo's well-represented by the BxR-55 Battler, the original Halo 2 battle rifle famous for the B-X-right trigger button combo that could one-shot an opponent in PvP; Retraced Path, a Covenant Focus Rifle; and the iconic double-pointed energy sword broken into two blades, Half-Truths and The Other Half. The rest of the anniversary weapons celebrated Bungie's older games with Marathon’s Wastelander M5 shotgun, Pathways into Darkness’ M79 Grenade Launcher reskinned as Pardon Our Dust, and Myth’s Balrung claymore as the Vortex-frame sword Hero of Ages - plus updated D1 favorites Eyasluna, 1000-Yard Stare, and Matador 64. There are also armor ornaments, ships, sparrows, and oh yeah a multiversal game show hosted by Xûr and a horse made of stars. All in all it's a great party.

I've only played one Halo game all the way through, and it was the black sheep outlier Halo: ODST, so I can't tell you how much Forerunner mimics the original magnum. I can tell you that this version is a lot of fun. Unlike most sidearms it hits hard and has a generous range, and its Special ammo cost is a small price to play for the solid crack of impact when you hit. The masterworked ability to crunch a grenade out of Special ammo is not a trivial bonus, either. You do pay for that range; I mostly use it in tap-tap-tap mode because while it can fire full-auto, that mode already sits at the exceptionally slow (for a sidearm) fire rate of 200 RPM, and has such a kick that it'll only stay on target for one or two rounds. But it's still a roaring good weapon, and if it was as fun to play in Halo as it is in Destiny, I understand why people kept using it even as they picked up fancier guns - just as memory returns to the classics. Here's to thirty more years!

Destiny 2 Compendium Armarum Exoticarum

[ Ace of Spades | Ager's Scepter | Anarchy | Arbalest | Bad Juju | Bastion | Black Talon | Borealis | Cerberus+1 | The Chaperone | Cloudstrike | Coldheart | Collective Obligation | The Colony | Crimson | Cryosthesia 77K | DARCI | Dead Man's Tale | Deathbringer | Dead Messenger | Devil's Ruin | Divinity | Duality | Edge of Action/Concurrence/Intent | Eriana’s Vow | Eyes of Tomorrow | Fighting Lion | The Fourth Horseman | Forerunner | Gjallarhorn | Grand Overture | Graviton Lance | Hard Light | Hawkmoon | Heartshadow | Heir Apparent | The Huckleberry | Izanagi’s Burden | The Jade Rabbit | Jötunn | The Lament | The Last Word | Legend of Acrius | Leviathan’s Breath | Lord of Wolves | Lorentz Driver | Lumina | Malfeasance | Merciless | MIDA Multi-Tool | Le Monarque | Monte Carlo | No Time to Explain | One Thousand Voices | Osteo Striga | Outbreak Perfected | Parasite | Polaris Lance | Prometheus Lens | The Prospector | Queenbreaker | Rat King | Riskrunner | Ruinous Effigy | Salvation's Grip | Skyburner’s Oath | Sleeper Simulant | Sturm | Sunshot | SUROS Regime | Sweet Business | Symmetry | Tarrabah | Telesto | Thorn | Thunderlord | Ticuu's Divination | Tommy's Matchbook | Tractor Cannon | Traveler's Chosen | Trespasser | Trinity Ghoul | Truth | Two-Tailed Fox | Vex Mythoclast | Vigilance Wing | The Wardcliff Coil | Wavesplitter | Whisper of the Worm | Wish-Ender | Witherhoard | Worldline Zero | Xenophage ]