#void and morals KILLED ME

[aur-el-ias]

@laulo821

[chaos-burst]

[ID: a digital illustration of two D&D characters, one mine (Asche, he/him, on the left) and the other one belonging to @fearless-flower (Kieran, he/him, on the right) done by @sadfishkid. The art shows the two characters from a bird's eye view as they're lying on a bed, spooning and asleep. Asche is a black-skinned tiefling/fire genasi with black, untidy hair and orange, glowing markings all over his body as well as many scars and bruises. Kieran is the big spoon behind him. He is a grey-skinned drow with long, pointy ears, black curly hair and he's wearing a white tank top and a turquoise shorts with small dragons on it. Next to the bed stands a nightstand with pain killers, sweets and two mugs on it. Warm evening sunlight bathes the scene in a soft, orange glow. End ID]

At this point I feel like Tasha is the official artist for my Enor campaign :'D Kieran is a PC (rogue/fighter) in my homegame and Asche is an NPC (rogue/warlock). When the guy who was sent to assassinate you saves your life instead this is what happens. Oops.

[gece-misin-nesin]

Regarding Batman and Responsibility: A Rant

So, whenever there is talk about the age old question of "Should Batman kill Joker?" there is always, and I mean always someone who says something along the lines of: "But it's not Batman's responsibility to kill Joker so it's wrong to put the burden onto him." and on the surface this seems like a reasonable argument. After all, there is a police department in gotham, there is a government, so shouldn't we hold them accountable as well? Well, not exactly.

(Warning: I probably mispelled responsibility and responsible a LOT in this post, please don't begrudge me for it.)

Of course, those institutions ARE responsible for the Joker to some degree but the real question, to me, is: why is Batman considered as "NOT responsible" when he very much is.

People who make this argument usually say: "Well Batman is a volunteer, a vigilante! This is practically none of his bussiness." And true, Bruce isn't required to be a vigilante, he does it entirely out of his own volition. But is that not the whole reason why he IS responsible? I mean, Bruce is the one who CHOSE to take up that responsibilty, he is the one who CHOSES to shoulder that burden. In that sense he isn't that different from a government official/cop/etc. those people do it of their on will too don't they? Bruce, day after day, year after year, choses to fight for Gotham, to protect it and its people; he takes those responsibilities onto himself and yet... stopping Joker somehow, isn't one of them?

In my opinion, it is hypocritical. Bruce is the one who says things like "Gotham is MY city" or "I don't allow metas in Gotham, you need MY permission." or "You can't operate as a vigilante in Gotham without my say-so."(Stephanie Brown, anyone?) he routinely describes his vigilantism as a "war on crime"(which, yikes) and calls it a "crusade" and says it is his "mission" no? He chooses to do these things all on his own, no one forces him to. At a certain point, it's a matter of integrity. He can't pick and choose what exactly constitutes to protecting Gotham and what doesn't. He can't decide that beating up muggers in the streets is extremely important and is his job while improving Arkham isn't. He can't decide that, despite putting Joker in Arkham over and over again knowing he's going to escape, he isn't at least partly responsible for Joker's future victims. He can't keep stopping people from killing Joker(Under the Red Hood, hello!), saving Joker from the death row, putting Joker into a Lazarus Pit, or saving him from natural disasters(because you KNOW he would) and then claim "Oh, but killing Joker isn't my responsibility." He can't willingly claim responsibility for Gotham in every other scenario, EXCEPT for that. That's just having your cake and trying to eat it too. Unless he decided that by saving Joker he is not actually harming Gotham, by allowing Joker to live he is actively NEGLECTING his mission, his duty. And anyway, I thought the whole point of superhero comics was that people with power to better things shoud use those powers to do exactly that. Batman DOES have the power to "better" Gotham, he just isn't using it.

"Killing Joker isn't Batman's responsibility." No, it is. Because protecting Gotham and its people IS his responsibility, as he took it onto himself. If he didn't want to deal with the consequences of such a thing then he shouldn't have become a vigilante in the first place.

Mind you, this doesn't mean he's the ONLY one responsible, far from it, just that he is.

(I genuinely don't remember whether I made a post on this before but I have ranted about this to myself outloud when alone multiple times and if I have to think about this so do you)

[And YES we all know the real reason is because Joker is DC's cashcow, that is not the point of this post...]

[eepy-deebser]

bitches be like "i'm in a new fandom" and its fucking mcyt again

[fayevalcntine]

I know some fans have expressed hesitancy towards Louis' given memories/experiences in season 1 not being fully true and I know that some of it boils down to racist fans "being given reasons to hate Louis/Claudia" but honestly, I feel like that would also strip them of any chances to be fully complex characters who are also vampires in their own right.

When I consider Louis as an unreliable narrator, I don't think about whether or not this will absolve Lestat of his wrongdoings (which it obviously won't because there were issues with him way before episodes 5-onwards), but specifically about why he's doing this now and why he would specifically need to have such a story to grab onto, so much so that being faced with even just a glimpse of the reality of what happened causes him to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. To me, Louis still carrying shame/guilt over the past, his nature and even his former relationships to Lestat or Claudia, make him a character that is filled with a ton to still deal with. 144 years of life and he still hasn't been able to even break down a small part of his own internalized feelings? That is not something that can be simply or easily fixed or dealt with, and that is what makes him an intriguing character that should be given the space within the show as such.

The same can be said for Claudia. I understand why some fans cling to the repeated notion that she only decided to kill Lestat for Louis (being his knight and savior), but that is frankly a disservice to her as her own person because it renders such a significant choice on her part to solely be Louis' aid/new guardian in his life. Claudia has her own reasons for hating Lestat, she has every right to despise him for condemning her to a life that she wasn't even warned about and for condemning her to a constant in-between state of being in a teenager's body. Add onto that his abuse and cruelly taught lessons to her. From Lestat's perspective, his approach may not seem as harsh as what he has faced, but from Claudia's, there still hasn't been a given reason for it. And even if there was, his approach is still horrible towards her. This is why her relishing in his murder should be for her own reasons for revenge and spite, because frankly she has every reason to be hateful towards him. Making Louis the center of her world and love within his own version of events frankly simplifies Claudia and her existence (and even apparent death) to begin and end with Louis, but even Louis isn't really honest about her or honest to himself about who she really was.

Also, I think it's slightly regressive to insinuate that only the white vampire in this ensemble so far should be as horrible, selfish, cruel and insane and yet still get narrative focus (even during his apparent redemption) whereas characters like Louis and Claudia should only ever have noble and pure reasons for existing and moving about in the past or present. The show obviously has a responsibility to give proper focus to Louis and Claudia, but I think that in such a show where vampires who've lived for so long have done things that seem insane to a normal person, they should also be allowed to be complicated, nuanced characters.

[offmyfuxkingmind]

sometimes i wish people held their morality lectures in front of a mirror instead of dumping them on your head

[lacroixqueen]

you're too pretty to kill (18+, noncon)

deadpool x fem!reader

Summary: deadpool was hired to kidnap and kill reader but reader is just too cute so it puts him in a moral dilemma

Pairing: fem!reader x deadpool

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Tags: bondage, brat, gun kink, gun play, praise kink

You loved days when you could just rollerblade around the city without so much as a care in the world. The feeling of the warm summer breeze running through your hair. Watching as the lights zipped by like dust lost in the wind. You wish you could do this forever. After all, it was your peace, your one true happy place. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Out of nowhere, you felt an arm wrap around your waist and a leather glove holding a handkerchief cover your nose and mouth. 

You tried your best to fight whoever your assailant was back, pulling on his wrist in a desperate attempt to rip it off your face. But before you knew it, you felt your vision blur and your head begin to spin. It felt like the world was melting right before your very eyes. 

Next thing you knew, you woke up to a sea of black. You could feel a piece of fabric cloaking your vision and tied securely behind your head. You tried to move your hand to hoist yourself up, only to find that both your hands were roped together behind your back. You tried to scream into the void, only to find that your mouth was sealed with a piece of tape.

“Mmfffhn!” you managed to sputter out, leaning against what felt like a cold, concrete wall. In fact, it was quite chilly wherever you were. Was it a basement? Warehouse? Regardless, you were shivering from head to toe. The tiny crop top and mini skirt you threw on this morning before going rollerblading was just not cutting it, unfortunately. 

You quickly snapped your head in the direction of what sounded like heavy footsteps and… clapping?

“Well, well, well,” a sly voice rumbled from the opposite end of the room. “Now what do we have here?” 

The unknown person gradually made his way over toward you, knelt before you, and removed your blindfold and gag. 

You looked up, only to lock eyes with what you could only describe as two white ellipses, narrowing ever so slightly amidst the shadows. Your eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness. 

“Such a shame,” your captor sighed to himself. “You’re so pretty too. As in, way prettier than most of my other victims. Normally my clients pay me big bucks to knock out assholes with beer bellies, bad breath, and a name on the registry but you.” He made a rectangle with his thumbs and index fingers as if to take your photograph. “You are perfect.”

“Wh-what are you going to do with me..?” you stammered, almost too afraid to ask. You never took your eyes off of him. He was tall, lanky, even. Dressed in all red and black. You took note of the gun in his holster and the two massive swords strapped behind his back.

“Oh, nothing to write home about,” he assured, ruffling up your hair like you two were childhood best friends. “Well, I guess if you are really dying to know. Someone important wants you dead. So I guess you could say, I, being one of if not the most popular hitmen on the black market, was hired to.. Uh, what’s the word, kill you! Yeahhhh, that sounds about right.”

“I don’t understand,” you muttered to yourself. “All my life, I can’t think of a single thing I did that could possibly warrant this, I mean.. why me?”

“Oh how tragic,” Wade remarked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear while a tear slowly rolled down your cheek. “I mean, who in their right mind would want to kill someone like you? You are the literal picture perfect definition of the girl next door who wouldn’t hurt a flea. It would take a psychopath to even dream of such a thing!”

You glared at him while he carried on his little performance. “Don’t mock me.”

“Oh.” Deadpool stopped mid-sentence as he lifted up your chin with the tip of his index finger. “So it’s going to be like that, then.”

He leaned back slowly, only to gingerly remove his pistol from its holster. 

“Tell me, Y/N..” he whispered softly. “Have you ever held a gun before?”

“I.. no..” you replied, gasping as he pressed the cold barrel against your cheek. 

“Would you say you’ve ever, oh I don’t know, felt it on your skin?” he teased, dragging it across your neck and collarbone. He took notice of how you swallowed the lump in your throat nervously, and the way your lip quivered ever so slightly. 

“Or what about in your mouth..” his voice suddenly took a dark turn as he shoved the front of the handgun in between your lips, forcing it into the back of your throat. 

You felt your blood run cold. At first, it all felt like some sort of a game. Like one sick, twisted joke. But now, it suddenly became real. 

Wade was absolutely giddy, watching your soft, plump lips part open and accept the icy metal. He liked seeing how your pink tongue was forced still and how you squirmed like a helpless animal he had total control over. And the adorable little noises you made when your mouth was full. It delighted him in a way even he couldn’t explain. 

“Would you say you’ve ever.. choked on one?” he said, barely being able to contain his laughter. Without another word, he pushed the pistol even deeper, causing it to squeeze against your uvula, eliciting your gag reflex. 

“Whghnnn..” you muffled out, trying your best to mentally distance yourself as far away from this entire ordeal as possible. Your mind was racing at a pace you couldn’t keep up with. You were trying to formulate a plan, something, anything to have him show you mercy. 

“Wow, you really are so good at this,” Wade mumbled, not relenting at all as he continued to shove the gun further down your throat. “Definitely better than I thought. Hey, do you like practice or something? Because God, you are a natural! If I weren’t about to kill you right now, I’d hire you on the spot.”

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo. 

Realizing he wasn’t getting any further reaction from you, Deadpool slowly removed the pistol from your lips, watching with glee as a string of saliva connected your tongue from the tip of the barrel. 

He then proceeded to drag the side of the handgun across your chest, over your bare stomach, and finally, resting on the waistband of your skirt. 

“So.. Y/N was it?” Deadpool rambled on, as he played with the pleats of your skirt with his free hand. “Right. You know, I would say I don’t have a lot of weaknesses in this world, wouldn’t you agree? So anyways, after I got mutated and all fucked up from that bastard Francis and became who I am now, there’s very little out there that truly phases me these days. But this..”

He gestured towards your pastel pink miniskirt. “This is something else.” 

And with that, he gently lifted up the cloth with the front of his gun to reveal your lacy magenta underwear.

“A thong! Boooold,” he commented, pressing the cold metal of the barrel right up against your labia. “I was wondering if you were wearing something underneath, and this answers the question. God, that’s hot. You know what’s hotter, though? One of my best friends, Logan. There’s just something so je ne sais quoi about that beautiful man. Anyways.”

Your breath hitched. Suddenly, a wave of goosebumps cascaded over your skin, and it was like the world just stopped making sense. Why did this suddenly feel sort of.. good? Minus the incessant yapping and endless sidetracked one-sided conversation, you wanted more. More of whatever this was. 

And Wade granted your wish. He pulled the fabric of your thong to the side with his other hand and gently prodded your clit with the tip of his pistol. 

He was taken aback when you moaned softly at the sensation. 

“Oh?” he said as he raised an eyebrow.

He pressed the gun even harder onto your pink pearl, eliciting another sigh. 

“Huh. Color me impressed,” he muttered. “This entire time I thought you were fighting for your life but you are actually enjoying this? You dirty little slut! And here I thought you were prim proper little miss perfect..”

“Why.. why are you stopping?” you breathed, a splash of pink brightening up your cheeks, causing him even more of a surprise. “Just keep.. Keep going.”

And to his own dismay, he obliged. 

“How would you feel if I did this?” Wade asked, but before you could even react, he had already shoved the barrel of the gun deep into your cunt. 

You tossed your head back in response, moaning helplessly as he pushed the pistol in and out of your swollen pussy.

“Ah, ah~” you cried out, instinctively spreading your legs open to allow him even more access.

“Now that’s a good girl!” he encouraged, taking note of your subtle invitation and pushing it even harder and deeper than he did before. “Wow. You know, this has been truly enlightening, Y/N. I never in a million years would have guessed you of all people would turn out to be a freak! And you, my friend, are the freakiest of the freaks.”

“I-I am not!” you protested, gasping as you felt the cold steel pushing heartlessly against your walls. “I like normal things too.”

“Uh huh,” Wade said as he continued to fuck your insides relentlessly with his gun. “And I am a three-headed sabertooth tiger named Richard. See? We can all tell lies to ourselves! It’s fun.” 

You could feel yourself practically melting into his hands, your soul floating into the ceiling until you heard it. The click. 

“Well, it has been real Y/N,” Deadpool sighed, his index finger resting comfortably on the trigger. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell had the time of my life! Shit, if we didn’t meet under these circumstances, we absolutely would have hit it off in another reality. As in, I would have fucked you in a multitude of positions in a variety of exotic outdoor locations! Unfortunately, however, the fun and games have to come to an end somehow. I mean, wouldn’t you agree?”

You felt as if your heart was about to both break and jump out of your chest simultaneously. 

“B-but..” you tried to reason with him. Not that it was any use, of course. “I really liked this..”

“I know, babe,” Wade cooed, his free hand snaking up and gripping around your throat tightly. “But if I don’t kill you now, I probably never will because you are just too cute. And sometimes I just can’t help myself but make stupid decisions.”

“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, looking up at him. 

Wade was just about to pull the trigger until you caught his eye.

“Aw, FUCK!” he shouted, immediately removing the gun from your dripping snatch. “Don’t.. don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you inquired innocently, tilting your head to the side. 

“That!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards your face. “Looking up at me with those big, stupid adorable eyes. You know I can’t help myself when you do that.” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you shrugged. “Besides, I thought you had already made up your mind. You sounded pretty sure of yourself after all.”

“You know, you really are a little shit, you know that?” Deadpool fired back, placing his hands on his hips. “God, and this was supposed to be sexy and dangerous, but you totally ruined the atmosphere.”

You smiled to yourself, self-assured in your victory. “Well, does that mean you are going to let me go?”

“Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself,” Wade responded, untying your ropes and smacking you on the ass as you stood up. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Before you walked out of the warehouse, you stood on your tippy toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek over his mask. “Thank you.”

“Go, GO!” he yelled, pushing you towards the exit of the dingy building. “And don’t come back.”

And as soon as you came, you were free. The moonlight poured through the cracks of the tree branches outside and lit up your face. The door slammed behind you in a dramatic fashion. And with that, you finally felt yourself settling into another moment of peace. 

[pedgito]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 — one: beginnings | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

chapter summary | You're dead weight, a burden on Joel's shoulders after the death of his daughter and the collapse of the world. But, if there's one person to challenge him, it was you.

author's note | this spurred from jo (@undercoverpena) and i, a conversation over kinks and wanting to explore them in separate chapters but somehow create a cohesive story and here we are. she spun for me and gave me a collection of beautiful kinks to try out. this is going to be BIG one for me, so if you plan on staying along for this ride, i love you so much.

chapter warnings | 18+, early outbreak, age gap (early 20s, mid 30s), canon character de*th, canon typical violence, m*rder tw, morally grey!joel with trust issues, tommy is buffer, use of weapons, weapon training, unjust decision making, reader is such a nuisance to joel, sex as a distraction, joel is so emotionally stunted he can't help it, awkward aftercare

word count —6k

SERIES MASTERLIST, PLAYLIST, AO3

You’ve never seen so much blood.

His shirt was soaked to his neck, expression blank and void as Tommy rounded the truck to open the door—it wasn’t the same one you’ve seen pull into their driveway for years now. It was new, unfamiliar. Joel’s weighed down, his arms straining as he heaves whatever he’s holding up in his arms, finally coming from around the door and into view. Her curls fell first, body limp in Joel’s arm as he held her close–it was Sarah. Little Sarah who you would babysit in high school for extra cash when the Miller brothers had to work a few extra jobs to pay the bills, little Sarah who always had the biggest smile on her face. Not so little anymore, years gone and passed as you graduated and went off to work some dead-end job to stay afloat in hopes that you could attempt to pay a college tuition.

But, that all seemed futile now. 

It was late September when the world ended—Joel’s birthday, you’d know that from the fact Sarah had mentioned it to you that morning as she checked the mail that Joel had forgotten from the day before. A normal day for you, for everyone else. But, for Sarah and many others, it was their last.

The neighborhood was quiet now, the hoard of freshly turned infected heading for the inner city and toward the noise, like one singular hivemind following a predetermined path. 

And your parents—they weren’t even here. They had left for vacation a week prior, spending the next two weeks out of the country, celebrating their anniversary far away from responsibility and the barrage of news from all over the world. But, they would come back to nothing. You couldn’t stay, you couldn’t wait around—it would get you killed; starvation, lack of resources, it would only get you so far. 

The infection was worldwide, incurable—it was the last thing you heard before the satellite on your television cut out, snuffing out any last bit of hope you had left.

In the midst of Joel’s mindless walk to the front door of his home, Tommy glances over his shoulder to survey, likely for more infected. But, he spots you.

His eyes squint slightly, like he’s seeing a vision of you. They widen as he realizes you’re real, you here—you were shaking, arms crossed over your chest and your fingers digging into your biceps as you hid by the shadow of your door.

Tommy knows that look, your eyes go wide but soften as he approaches. 

You can’t say you’ve held a conversation longer than five minutes with either of them, even after living next to them most of your life, but his hands are held up as he approaches and carefully, almost as if you were going to scurry away like a feral cat.

“You alright, honey?” His voice is quiet, a hushed whisper as he comes closer and stops a few inches, peering inside of your house and finding it empty, “Are they—did they—”

He looks over at you wearily and your fingers dig into your skin, peering over his shoulder and staring at the open door, Joel no longer in sight, “They left on a trip and I—I don’t,” You sigh through your nose, closing your eyes to blink away the stinging tears, “They’re dead either way, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand reaches around to rub at your back and you fall into him easily.

“Sarah–” Tommy tenses up, pulling away slowly to look at you as you peer up at him, noticing the near permanent frown on your face, your expression unchanging as you attempt to process and fail—it wasn’t fair, none of it made sense, “is she dead?”

The sound of something fragile falling and breaking in Joel’s house startles you both, sending you both apart and rushing toward the house without thinking. The idea of being alone now was more fearful than anything else—no survival instinct, no plan or method to stay alive. You’d be dead by next nightfall if you stuck around though, that much you knew.

The sight sends your heart into your stomach. Joel was hunched over Sarah’s lifeless body, his arms sticky with blood—some of it dried and some of it not. There were a few broken picture frames on the floor at Sarah’s feet and you felt your breath catching in your throat, watching as Joel brushed her hair from her face and cried, silently.

“Joel,” Tommy begins, slow and careful, “we’ve gotta figure out a plan.”

“We’re buryin’ her first,” Joel tells him, “not leavin’ her like this.”

Tommy nods in understanding, looking over at you briefly.

“Listen, Joel…”

“She ain’t our problem, Tommy.” He bites harshly, resting Sarah down gently as he rose from his knees, “Kid’s got her own family.”

“Joel,” Tommy stresses, motioning toward you subtly—Joel looks reluctantly and he can see the fear, practically smelling it on you—it’s the last thing he needs right now, “they’re gone—can’t leave her here.”

“We can.”

“We won’t.”

You take a few careful steps back, quiet and timid, away from the brothers.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy moves in, blocking his brother’s face from view as you lingered near the open front door, staring out toward the street as you couldn’t bare the sight of Sarah’s body laying a few feet to your right, “she used to babysit Sarah—helped you out in a pinch a hundred times. I understand this—”

“This is my daughter—”

“She���s my niece too, goddammit—don’t try and spin this, Joel.” Tommy rocks on his heels, hands hugging his hips as his shoulders stretch out, broad and wide, “We bury her, we get our shit and we go–I’m not losing you, too. I will drag your ass out of here if I have to.”

There’s a sliver of Joel’s face that comes into view as he peers over Tommy’s shoulder at you, eyes dragging over you carefully before he returns to Tommy, “She’s ain’t worth the trouble.”

He’s completely tossing aside the fact that you were an adult, young but still—you sigh shakily, “I can carry my own weight, you know?”

He’s stoic, a long stretch of silence as Tommy stares him down, lingering and waiting for Joel to come to his senses, but even when he does—it’s forced.

“Then start loading the truck,” Joel tells you, “anything—food, water—”

“Yeah, I got it.” You respond in a pinched tone, trying to stifle your own emotions.

Joel doesn’t argue further, picking up Sarah with a sudden gentleness that returns at the sight of his daughter while Tommy disappears to the attached garage and you linger for a brief moment as Joel admires her, knowing that this was all he had. Knowing that eventually even this memory would fade over time.

His guard softens as he looks at her and you find that was the right time to speak more candidly.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” You tell him, your voice quiet as you approach and he looks at you briefly, acknowledging with a nod as you move beyond him and toward the kitchen, “she’s a sweet kid.”

His voice breaks but barely wavers, a subtle sign of emotion that he was suppressing deep down.

“She was.”

His departure after that is quiet, meeting Tommy at the backdoor as he reentered from the garage with the shovels and blanket in hand, a sorrowful look on his face that furrowed his brow.

They both worked silently in the backyard while you loaded up what you could. Their house was mostly scarce, knowing Joel was probably creeping up on a shopping day that would never come. There’s a few canned goods you manage to scavenge along with a decently untouched pack of water bottles and while you couldn’t brave the other houses in fear that something else might be lingering, you gather what you can from your own. 

By the time you’re closing up the truck bed they’re both walking toward you, a gun tucked away in both of their waistbands and a rifle in Joel’s free hand—his arms were cleaner, albeit still dirty.

He’d changed, rid himself of the bloody clothes and brushed past you silently, his eyes dark and empty. 

Tommy stops at your feet, offering up a knife sheathed in a leather casing that you could attach to your jeans, “Ain’t got another gun, but it’s somethin’.”

You nod slightly and take it from his grip, “Thank you,” You tell him, turning to find Joel waiting with the door open, expecting that you would climb into the middle as there was nowhere for you to go, unless the truck bed seemed like the better option—it didn’t.

It was blind trust, putting your life in the hands of both brothers. 

But, you had no choice. All that mattered was living.

—

And for Joel, the cost didn’t matter.

It’s jarring, frightening. His emotions are like a light switch—when on, he’s calm and able to hold small talk, but even that was forced and uneasy. But, when your supply dwindles down after a week or so of driving and camping in the deep brush of forest, you find what the light switch is like when it’s off.

It was a stranger, a helpless guy alone and clearly on the verge of death. All of you were on edge, the dwindling September heat still lingered into October and you had blew through your last bottle of water the night before, sweat dampening your clothes as you sifted through the aisles of the convenience store that was bare bones and empty by now but you were hoping, praying—but then you hear it and to Joel, it was prey. 

He yanks your knife from where it’s secured at your waist, so quick you barely even feel the tug as he carefully steps around the corner toward the counter, finding an older gentleman with feeble hands and energy that was dying out by the second. He was starving, dehydrated. But, so were you. And so was Joel.

“Joel, don’t.” You speak from behind him, “There’s another store in town. It’s bigger.”

“Hand it over,” Joel demands, the knife tucked away in his right hand behind his back as he held out his left, beckoning with his fingers as the man stared on, bottom lip trembling in fear as he squeezed at the plastic bottle, “now.”

There’s a moment of hesitation where the man begins to speak, shaking his head, but Joel is on him before he gets the chance, shoving the knife through the center of his throat—quick, quiet, efficient. You sigh deeply, knowing it was already coming. Joel wipes the blood away on the now dead man’s pants and snatches up the water bottle before he’s shoving it into your chest and sliding the knife back into the holster.

“You killed him,” Joel looks at you torsely, eyes half-lidded as he waits for you to continue, “you—you didn’t have to kill him, Joel.”

“You’re welcome,” He answers with finality, “Tommy’s waiting’, let’s go.”

You glance at the dead body with a grimace, the weight of it pulling down as the man slumped to the floor and his blood pooled closer and closer toward you. You step back quickly and follow after Joel who’s already ringing the bells on the door above the entrance.

“That was quick—no trouble?” Tommy asks when you return to the truck, climbing over Joel’s lap as he refuses to move, digging your knee into his thigh out of annoyance.

He takes it in stride, though. Doesn’t even react.

“No,” You lie easily, “Last one, though.”

You’ve learned to not speak on it—Joel’s quick tendencies for anger and bruteness. Hell, most of the time you could just ignore it, like now. Arguing never worked, Joel didn’t care enough.

Besides, you were just a waste of resources. Joel said it so often that it echoed in the back of your mind every time he slashed, stabbed, or gutted someone for something you needed, or wanted.

It started in small glimpses, you or Tommy could say a word, make a noise, and Joel’s brow would pinch together and the scowl on his face would deepen. 

And Tommy was objectively selfless, which bothered Joel more than it should—but given how things were, it made sense. Good karma wasn’t going to do anything for your conscience in a world that was based on self-preservation. In Joel’s mind, it was kill or be killed. And he always killed first. He learned not to take chances, hold out on good faith. It didn’t exist anymore.

And he didn’t just attack on his own behalf—he’s done it for you on a few occasions. You’ve never killed an infected, Joel always got the first hit in. Your knife would be at the ready, shaky in your grip and he would look over at you with dismay, knowing that if you did manage to have a shot you would ultimately miss. So, instead of coaching, he yanks the knife from your grip and plunges it into the skull of the infected. 

He hides his tendencies from Tommy well for a while—you always sensed Joel’s underlying itch for conflict after Sarah’s ultimate death and the few weeks you spend together on the road. You didn’t stay anywhere longer than a couple days, different cities throughout Texas as you made your way upstate. Utah, Boston, Pittsburg. Anywhere but here.

The early mornings in the forest after an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement—no rain meant sleeping in the bed of the truck or setting up camp in the one tent you had to share. But, when it did, the three of you would be forced to hunker down inside the four feet of truck cabin with nowhere to angle yourself but one of the brothers. Joel almost always shrugged you away, so by default, Tommy was the one you always chose. He didn’t seem to mind, thankfully.

Regardless, early mornings usually meant that Tommy would take his time teaching you a few things while Joel slept heavy in the truck, the low rumble of his snore heard as you both paused and Tommy readjusted the position of the knife in your grip.

“If you’re gonna hold it the way you gotta keep the dull side close to your arm,” He tightens your fist around the handle, “that way you ain’t accidentally cutting yourself with your own blade.”

You nod, squeezing down on your grip until it feels comfortable and Tommy leads your hand back toward you before guiding it through and back towards him slowly, “Always aim for the head on infected—right to the brain, kills ‘em instantly.”

You already knew that, but the reiterating is a nice reminder. 

Everything had a weakness.

“People,” Tommy starts hesitantly, “I mean, they’re livin’ and breathin’—if you let them close enough anywhere is gonna hurt them, but try to aim for the neck or the face.”

The stark image of Joel forcing the knife through the center of the man’s throat is heavy on your mind and Tommy pats on your arm as you lower it, but your eyes focus on his waist.

“Can you teach me how to shoot?”

Tommy looks at you wearily—not because he doesn’t trust you, but there’s something there.

“What happens if one of you is in trouble?” You ask him, pressing on the issue. “And I’m the only one who can do anything? I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. I’m not asking for everything, just enough to know. Tommy, come on.”

Tommy sighs, scratching at his slightly grown-out facial hair. It wasn’t nearly as thick as Joel’s, but it was clear you had all been deprived of basic hygiene over the last several weeks.

“Alright,” He relents, but holds up a finger at you, “Just the basics, for now.”

“I mean, Joel’s planning to drop me off at the nearest QZ anyways,” You joke, shoving your knife into the casing at your waist as Tommy pulls the gun out of where it’s tucked into the back of his jeans, “might as well learn as much as I can before then.”

“He won’t,” Tommy assures you, “we’re not abandoning you like that.”

You didn’t agree, but you push the words back down and take the gun that Tommy is offering as he comes to your side, arms coming around your back and around you. He’s positioning your fingers alongside his own and speaking over your shoulder and neither of you hear the car door that opens over your shoulder.

Within seconds the gun is being yanked from your grip and into Joel’s, his fingers dangling through the loop of the trigger and his eyes locked on his brother, “You lost your damn mind?”

Tommy snatches the gun back from his brother, tucking it away into his waistband.

“She’s got just as much reason to learn,” Tommy argues, “—I don’t see you makin’ an effort to teach her anything.”

“It’s not my problem,” Joel says dismissively, “we’re better off just doing the work ourselves. Kid can’t even kill an infected, she’s not gonna save your ass in a gunfight, either.”

The frustration in you boils, simmering over the edge as you push through both of them and toward the truck, closing the door with a slam as their angered voices muffle into the cabin of the truck.

“She’s not our problem, Tommy,” Joel tells him, “the sooner you realize that the better.”

“That why you plan on droppin’ her off on the doorstep of the first QZ we stumble into?”

There’s a long beat of silence before Joel speaks, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Tommy answers, his voice laced with smugness that even you could hear, “she’s already got it set in her mind that you will and you know what—don’t blame her, either.”

Eventually, the argument settles. It’s abrupt and both of them sandwich next to you in silence as Tommy follows the path back to the road, his fingers drumming quietly against the steering wheel. But, you can feel the charge of Joel’s frustration as his fingers twist around each other. You tune it out eventually, the silence drowned out by the low hum of a cassette tape that was playing a song you had heard a thousand times by now.

You knew your own weakness was hope and it was dwindling every day.

-

By Denver, you’re all irritable. Eleven hours cramped in a truck on days of very little sleep and small scraps of meals you’ve made stretch for weeks. All the tension, arguing, and frustrations comes to a head when you stumble upon an abandoned cabin on the outskirts of town, close to the mountains and secluded. It was perfect. 

There was a large, brushy forest to hunt and it was right beside a stream. You knew it was better than nothing and that the three of you could make it work for a time—the only problem, it was already occupied.

“Stay in the truck,” Joel orders to you, cocking his gun in his lap before he’s stuffing it back into his jeans and nodding at Tommy to follow. You almost expect him to argue, but he doesn’t. He follows, like a dutiful little brother as they both stalk toward the cabin calmly.

It was one car, clearly hot-wired and stolen alongside its broken windows.

It was clear that whoever was in the cabin wasn’t the original owners either, spotting the pile of dead infected burned to a crisp beside a stack of logs that you assumed were to keep the fire burning inside the house, watching as the black smoke creeped out of the chimney.

The minutes that pass feel like an hour and you begin to wander if they both decided to keep going, abandon you and try their chances down the stretch of highway without you.

You scoot into the driver’s seat and open the door, stepping out carefully as they muddy ground causes you to slip until you regain traction and as you close the door you hear it—a loud crash, a scuffle, and then Tommy’s voice alongside Joel’s.

You run in without thinking, crashing through the slightly open door to find them both with their arms around the neck of two other men, the strangers your eyes set on are already fading. They claw, scramble for air but they’re losing. Joel slams the butt of his gun into the back of the head of the guy he’s holding before they’re both twisting at their necks in unison, the signifying crack louder than the bodies as they hit the ground.

It isn’t shocking as it should be, having seen so many people on the other end of Joel’s violence—but for Tommy, the guilt of you having to witness that is immediate.

“Kiddo, I’m sorry,” He approaches, his hands out in front of him—he was approaching you the same way he had on outbreak day, timid and careful, “you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

You glance at Joel briefly who’s gun drops to the floor behind him as he heaves the dead man up in his arms and drags him out the back door of the cabin, there’s a subtle shake to his head at Tommy’s words that makes your ears ring, drowning out his profuse apologies.

“It’s us or them, right?”

It cuts off his line of speech and his eyebrows raise slightly, “What?”

“Us or them—I’m always going to choose us, for as long as that is. Joel would too.”

Suddenly he realizes that his justifying is naut as Joel rounds the corner and continues to drag the other body out before he’s joining you both in silence as he rubs his hands against his jacket.

“Alright, uh—I want you both to settle in here, try and make it more homey for the time being. I’m gonna drive into town and see what supplies I can scavenge, should be back by nightfall.”

“I’ll come with you,” Joel adds, but Tommy stops him.

“No,” He tells his brother, a quick shake of his head, “stay here with her, get another fire going.”

And for once, Joel listens to his younger brother. His tongue is poking at his cheek as he looks away with a begrudging annoyance as he stalks toward the fireplace.

“Keep an eye on him,” Tommy whispers to you, “alright?”

You nod and smile at the gentle squeeze to your bicep that Tommy offers as he departs.

When he’s gone, the silence is deafening. Joel’s gun was still on the floor, somehow forgotten by the man who never let anything slip past him, always on guard, always ready to attack.

His back is turned when you pick up the gun, the deafening click making his head turn on a swivel.

-

He’s on you in seconds, standing from his crouched position but you were quicker, stuffing the gun behind your back with a faint smile, taking a few steps away.

“Give it to me,” Joel commands, palm extended in waiting.

“Not like you to leave stuff layin’ around,” you comment jestingly, “I think I’ll keep it for a bit.”

He stalks, heavy footsteps against the hardwood floor as you retreat further and further until you’ve ultimately cornered yourself and Joel lunges for it behind your back but you take the opportunity to sweep under his arm and slip from his grip, dangling the gun from the grip of it with two fingers.

“What? You don’t trust me with it?” you taunt, “Think I’m gonna shoot you, don’t you?”

“I’m not askin’ again,” He charges and despite your quick reflex his hand is on your wrist first, the other coming around your neck as he presses you against the back of an old, dusty couch. It creaks under your weight and sends a cloud of dust up with the movement, “drop it.”

“Say it to my face,” you retort behind a strangled tone, feeling the heavy pressure of his thick fingers around your throat, tilting your chin up at his face where he towers over you, “say it and I’ll go—you won’t see me again, hear from me. I won’t be your responsibility anymore.”

Joel shakes your wrist and squeezes and the gun drops, clattering against the floor but he doesn’t let go, not yet.

“You’ll die out there.”

You squint your eyes in disbelief, a soft laugh bubbling from your chest.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you repeat that to Tommy a million times over the last few months.”

You pull at his grip but find that it only tightens, your fingers clawing at the hand around your throat, his fingers tucked under your jaw as it pulls your chin up and up, nearly touching his chest with how close he is to you now, your feet scrambling slightly underneath your for proper footing as you leaned against the couch. 

You speak again, hoping to crawl under his skin and make him uneasy, bothered.

“What? Sudden change of heart?” you ask, “Suddenly I’m worth protecting? Tommy would love to know about the handful of men you’ve killed in my honor, you know?”

Joel’s face twitches at that, his eyes dragging toward the gun on the floor—that was your window.

You force your knees up and into his stomach, shoving him away as he stumbles but the feeling of his arm coming around your abdomen has you squirming, turning and hitting him with weak, balled up fists that didn’t amount to half the strength he encompassed. It was barely a struggle for him.

Eventually you give up, waiting and waiting for him to let you go. His gaze is heavy, almost curious in the way he watches you go through the stages of resistance to acceptance and then finally giving up before your eyes are peering up at him, pressed against him at every point of contact, the cold metal of his belt buckle digging into your stomach.

“You’re stuck with me and I’m sorry,” you tell him out of desperation, “I just want to learn and you could teach—”

It takes you a second to process when his lips press against yours, a biting kiss that is forceful and startling, gasping into his mouth at the action but your body reacts instinctively, arms wrapping around his neck and hands fisting into his hair, the subtle essence of salt and pepper that was only noticeable this close. Joel groans softly, the first true and honest sound that has come from him all evening.

“Irritating,” Joel speaks against your lips, mumbled as he leads you, bumping your legs against the arm of the couch before you’re both tumbling over, “—do you ever fuckin’ shut up?”

He’s coined you vexatious in his own mind, not realizing how impossible he was to be around either—stubborn, impossible. An unmoving force of rigidness, but here he was—pliable to the fingers that slip under his shirt as he settles between your open legs, his own pulling at the button of your jeans.

You don’t need words, knowing that you both have communicated off eye contact at a level that was never spoken about but just worked. It clicked and when he pushed, you gave into the blow.

Silently you work alongside his own hands, pushing your jeans down and off. You kick them to the floor, working at your underwear while he undoes his own jeans, feeling like you were both working against the clock with your heart hammering in your chest. He was eager, impatient—still Joel, but it was a new look. It was the dynamic that, for you, felt like the missing piece.

Weeks of constant bickering and side-eyed glances all boiling down to one break in his mulish personality, this was the resolve.

The warm touch of his palm against your upper thighs pull your attention to him and he breathes out harshly through his nostrils, his jeans shoved down his thighs and his free hand palming himself over his underwear, squeezing at your skin as he offers only one word in acknowledgement. A question.

“Yeah?”

You nod shakily, answering with a soft, “Yes.”

-

There is no build-up, no gentle touching that leads to soft caresses as Joel presses himself inside of you. His hand is gripping the arm of the couch above your head as he grips himself at the base of his cock before he’s pushing in with one solid jerk of his hips, a hurried and desperate movement to bury himself inside of you. Your fingers pull at the hair by his nape and he grunts, head pulling back as he snapped his hips back and pushed into you again, sharp and angered. His jaw was tense, the subtle peek of teeth bared behind his lips

It’s a harsh disjunction; a man you would watch from your window on weekends as he spent mornings chasing Sarah out in the lawn—softer, happier. Her protector.

With reluctance, he’s become your own. Whether he would admit it aloud or not, he knows. But, it isn’t the same—you were extra baggage, a burden, but one he felt chained too. And more importantly, distraction.

You could see his humanity slipping week by week, a dull shell of himself most days. He won’t even look at you now, his eyes squeezed shut as he thrusts into you, your eyes dragging from his face to his cock, your hand traveling down to fist at his shirt, dragging it up his stomach. 

The dark, coarse hair at the base of his cock traveled up his stomach, across his thighs. Big, strong thighs that held your legs apart and the thickness of him ached, stretched you open after months of unintentional celibacy forcing you to grip him tight, wincing with every continuous snap of his hips, feeling a hand come around to cup the back of your head, cradling it as his forehead drops and presses against your own, blocking your line of sight and forcing your eyes closed. Just feel, he’s trying to convey. Don’t think.

And it works, lingering thoughts fading away as pleasure bleeds in. His top lip grazing against the round part of your nose, his hot breath fanning over your mouth as he huffs and you moan against him, a soft and broken noise that only forces his grip to tighten against the back of your head and the other hand at your thigh, finger digging into the flesh so harshly that the ache would linger for days.

You feel the crest creeping up on you but it isn’t enough, slipping your fingers between your body silently, but the fingers around your wrist startle you, dragging you back to the surface and opening your eyes to his, his expression earnest but stoic.

“Don’t,” He shakes his head, “—just close your eyes, I got it.”

You can’t find the energy inside to argue, feeling the hand cradling your head circle around to the crown of your scalp, fingers digging into the hair and pulling taut, forcing your head back and then he’s touching you, two thick fingers circling your clit in time with his harsh, hurried thrusts.

You do close your eyes, feeling the soft tuft of his hair against the side of your face as buries himself there, his movements jerkier as his fingers work quickly, squeezing around him as your fingers dig into his forearm, hips working against his fingers instinctively to search out more and more until you’re tipping over the cliff and free-falling, coming with a soft gasp as he pulls away suddenly, fisting his cock tightly as he came over your stomach, hastily shoving your shirt out of the way as he grunts quietly, his face pinched and completely unreadable when you do finally find the energy to look at him, eyes dragging toward the ceiling as you breathe and try to process what the fuck just happened.

There’s a distant rip of fabric somewhere to the right of you and far away, noticing that Joel’s already redressed when he approaches and wipes gently at the mess of cum dressed across your stomach, shoving your jeans back into your hand in the same movement. 

You look at him oddly, shuffling the jeans and underwear in your grip as you rise, eyes following as he moved around, started building the fire Tommy had told him about a half hour ago and is so glaringly ignoring what had transpired just now—you move quickly, redressing to avoid the judgment if he looked back and you were still staring.

And you notice the itch, the unavoidable twitch in his shoulders as he can’t settle with his movements, occupying himself to keep running on the clear adrenaline high he was on—he’d killed a man and immediately directed his frustration at you and used it as a means to stall, distract, satiate that monster dwelling inside him that always came out around you.

“So, can I leave now?” You ask him, his eyes peeking over his shoulder as he shoved a new pile of wood into the fireplace, “Are we finished?”

“You’re not leaving,” Joel tells you—you weren’t moving, weren’t planning to, but you wanted to see where the conversation would go, whether Joel would admit that he cared more than he let on, his emotions so stunted since Sarah that they came out in bouts of violence and rage, “I’d never hear the end of it.”

You offer a smug chuckle in response, “So, I was right. You don’t want me around.”

Joel turns on his knee, allowing you to see the remnants of flush in his cheeks, his messy hair and his response that rips a hole straight through your chest, “I’m stuck with you because Tommy wants you around.”

It wasn’t a direct answer, but you could read into it enough.

You glance over the back of the couch, wondering if the gun was still laying on the floor where Joel had squeezed it out of your grip, but the click to your right has you turning in an instant, staring down the barrel of Joel’s gun.

“You got a lot to learn,” Your glare is less than impressed as it lands on him, petulant and annoyed, “Don’t ever touch my gun again, alright?”

“Oh,” you respond airily, an impish smile creeping onto your face as you tilted your head slightly, “so—you fucked me as punishment or because of some silly little fantasy you've always had of fucking your neighbors daughter?”

And to your surprise, Joel's response is less angered.

“You could do with a little punishment,” He rises on his knees, pocketing the gun back in his jeans, and smirking at your dumb-founded expression, “—couldn’t you?”

Joel approaches closer, motioning with his fingers for you to stand and without thinking, you follow. His subtle smirk grows wider and he’s reaching for the forgotten knife on the floor, having fallen off your pants in the midst of your hurried undressing.

“I ain’t here to teach—I’m keepin’ us alive. The sooner you learn to shut up and follow, the better,” He reaches for your hand, placing the knife into your open palm, “and you kissed back, so that look on your face, that regret—”

“Who said there was regret?”

Joel’s eyes stick to you, meeting yours fiercely for a moment as you take the knife from him and reattach it to the loop on your jeans. His tongue licks at his bottom lip briefly, watching the subtle grin spread across your face.

Your words were a challenge. 

And for you, that meant game on. 

-

dividers creds: @/saradika-graphics

[fangsandfeels]

"Everyone gets along because there is a threat", yadda, yadda, yadda.

Bullshit. This is not how real scenarios work and it has never been.

russia is a global threat right now, but the world can't decide between sucking its dick and politely asking it to stop because the mere thought of confronting russia makes it shit its pants. The very few countries who scream into the void, warning about russia and telling people to wake the fuck up are ignored and viewed as crazy doomsayers.

This is how real crisis looks like. Nobody works together against a threat because people are spineless cowards who would rather throw their neighbors under the bus than fight. Nobody learned anything from history lessons, books or survivors.

The only difference in a fantasy game is that NPCs end up having more spine and moral principles than real people.

But in Veilguard, everyone gets along because they have NO reasons not to.

Davrin has no real reasons to beef (if you can call it that) with Lucanis because he is a Grey Warden. He knows where Grey Wardens take their conscripts from. He knows that Grey Wardens regularly recruit mages who are a lot more likely to get possessed if they're not careful. Working with an assassin who knows friend from foe isn't the worst thing ever. One subtle warning about taking action if demon takes over is enough.

Taash has no reasons to antagonize Emmrich aside from horrible writing.

Neve gets along with Bellara because writers gave Bellara a happy childhood with her family and turned Dalish artifacts into Apple store gadgets, while refusing giving Neve any nuance as the citizen of Tevinter.

Emmrich gets along with everyone because he is generally a kind and well-mannered person who doesn't like to stir the pot.

Any companion who could have had a sharp edge, got that edge ripped off and a cartoon band-aid slapped on.

Never doesn't deal with people who don't know about Shadow Dragons (and they probably shouldn't know much because when you work against a powerful government who wants to destroy you, you shouldn't show off), so she constantly has to deal with the fact that people assume she is a noble or a slave-owner because she is from Tevinter; that they don't know that she had to literally fight against being enslaved herself because in Tevinter mages who refuse to use their power to dominate others are turned into slaves as well.

Bellara isn't conflicted about working with humans, especially Tevinter humans at all. She seems to never have dealt with oppression her whole life and she is super quick to write off Cyrian as evil even though there are clear SIGNS that he was tricked and controlled by the Forgotten One. But no, she never thinks "He is still there, I can save him, I won't lose him again", she goes straight to "Oh nooo my brother is dead to me".

Emmrich doesn't get burdened by people reacting to him and his sincere intention to help with fear, because of all the sinister rumors revolving around necromancers and Nevarra. He isn't hurt by people assuming that he loves death and things dying. If even he openly admitted that he is deeply terrified of death, they wouldn't have believed him.

Harding isn't burdened by the revelation she learned and what to do with it. Should she storm her way to the Orzammar? Should she talk to fellow surface dwarves and reconnect them with their history? Should she never breach the subject because the truth hurts and it's too much pain, too much anger to live with - and maybe she shouldn't let other dwarves go through it?

We don't even have a party divided on what to do with Solas (kill or talk it out)? Even though it's logical to have companions who are convinced that Solas has to die and those who think that he is misguided and can be convinced to stop.

Also, there are NO companions whose background, viewpoints and attitude would rile other companions up. We have no controversial characters whose interactions with the crew Rook would have been forced to intervene in unless they want their team to start throwing hands with each other.

We could have had Imshael - to give EVERYONE a reason to worry, and argue, and have conflicts. We could have had an ex-Venatori Calpernia bashing heads with Neve, Bellara, and Emrich. We could have had a Qunari spy who'd make Lucanis' dagger-arm itch.

If writers didn't forget about the Architect, we could have had an intelligent Darkspawn companion Davrin could be losing his shit around.

Or heck, we could have had a former red templar who got partially (magically?) reversed from their mad state and is now not a mindless beast, but still is on a borrowed time, probably needed due to their strength, but barely tolerated by anyone.

Who is fanatical, mostly because they have to believe they made a noble sacrifice, that it all was for the greater good -- because the truth scares them to their core. Who gives Lucanis shit for being an assassin and abomination, who bashes necromancy, and mages, and talks about purity, while downplaying their own actions as "Yes, these are my sins, but they are for the better world, and I would be proud to die for that world unlike you heathens who would rather ruin it than repent for your flaws". The kind of companion you'd initially want to do nothing with, but who can reveal an entire gallery of fucked up contradictions and trauma if you decide to keep them around.

However, writing such companions takes skill, courage, and requires absence of greedy corpo "we don't want to scare away new players with all that moral nuance" thinking.

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 10/12

Anonymous asked: Scratch: Won't anyone think of the children!! If you're gonna be smooching then get a room!!! also Scratch: Time to go manipulate more children into destroying their relationships! @manorinthewoods asked: There are two events in which Scratch has, so far, gained emotions: one, when he discovered that the Serkets stole an incredibly important magical item and hid it for centuries or millenia; and two, romance in his workroom. ~LOSS (20/9/24)

@manorinthewoods asked: "Is it because there’s a ‘good’ and an 'evil’ way for a God Tier to die?" On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate this brain fart? ~LOSS (20/9/24)

Wait, is that a brain fart? Because to me, it still scans.

Prospit, the 'good' moon, would naturally be associated with heroism, and vice-versa for Derse. Am I missing something really obvious?

Anonymous asked: Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Death's Bell grows ever nearer. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. But will it determine whether the thief is trully a sinner? Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Honk. I guess we'll see :o) @ben-guy asked: The showdown between Vriska and Terezi really is one of the watershed moments of HS imo. You've questioned if Vriska has matured enough to escape death by mysterious transcendental judgement engine… but let's not forget the meanings of the words in question, and their inherent linguistic and philosophical ambiguity. What if her death being caused by her pursuit of a heroic (albeit foolish) plan tragically makes her growth the cause of a permanent death instead? What if Terezi's decision to kill her is just regardless of Vriska's motivations, making her growth a moot point? Of course, this feels a lot less mutually exclusive, which goes against the implications of the clock imagery. […]

How did Scratch phrase it again?

The terms of a God Tier permadeath are defined according to the case of the individual - which implies that Heroic and Just are subjective, even to Sburb. It sounds like there might not be any ironclad rules, and that everyone's ruling works differently.

Yes, Scratch appears to be outlining some universal examples here - but what does, say, 'corruption' really mean? There are many equally valid interpretations, and a lot of them are contradictory. Maybe each death uses the definition that makes the most sense to that player.

In any case, I think Vriska's fate is currently meant to be unclear. She's designed from the ground up to be a complex, morally ambiguous character, and you could construct a valid argument for either outcome.

For my part, I'm fully convinced this will resolve as Just. I've been predicting Vriska's death for most of the Act now, and it's extremely fitting for it to happen at Terezi's reluctant hands. All those Incidents are finally coming full circle, and they're coming for her.

@morganwick asked: Note that Scratch starts talking about dark pockets and needing to speculate immediately after Vriska sees Karkat and Terezi's corpses. That's all Terezi needed to see, which means it's all Scratch needed to know - and all Hussie needed to know as well.

True! The fight that Scratch couldn't call was part of a doomed timeline. Its outcome was completely irrelevant to the story - and therefore, there's a good chance that Hussie didn't bother to decide on the victor. Author Theory survives another day!

@relaxxattack asked: i dont know if this counts as spoilers (it's a quote from andrew hussie) but i think your theory on scratch's omniscience is basically spot-on! "Doc here refers to the dark spots, the pockets of void on which his vision is built. These hint at limitations to his omniscience. As an alt-author figure, his omniscience makes sense, since the author has sweeping knowledge of story details as well. Because I "know everything," he "knows everything" too. Of course, as I write the story, there are plenty of things I don't know yet, and the "not knowing" is always an important part of the process in this largely improvisational medium. The known gaps are worked into the story, evaded through time skips and other tricks, filling out the surrounding narrative until certain answers become clearer, and then revealed at the right moment. The voids are built around, and in a real way, become foundational, almost load-bearing gaps in knowledge, just as he describes. Pillars of shadow. So his dark spots are not only a limitation to an otherwise ridiculously overpowered villain that can be exploited, they're a feature of a specific type of "authorial omniscience" copied into his profile." -- Andrew Hussie

...and it's officially Hussie-approved! Let's fucking go!

Anonymous asked: One kind of less obvious thing he says about circumstantial simultaneity is that it weaves together perfectly disparate chronologies such as a pair of distinct sessions, so it seems it is at work when there is communication between sessions, such as conversations between humans and trolls. ie: The troll sending the message is circumstantially simultaneous to the human receiving the message. Ditto for the memos. Anonymous asked: Posting for someone else again. -DJ || I interpret Circumstantial Simultaneity to mean a very simple thing: "those events happens at different times, but at the same meta-time". Especially if the things happen in different worlds, and so happening at the same time is impossible, because different worlds have isolated timelines. - RM

That makes a lot more sense than my interpretation. I think I was thrown off by Scratch's insistence that Circumstantial Simultaneity is 'not fully comprehensible to a mortal mind'. His use of such phrasing led me to assume that the concept was more complicated than it appeared, leading me to try and puzzle out the 'real' meaning of the term.

So, in a nutshell, circumstantial simultaneity is when multiple sections of reality are linked by shared events, allowing their local timelines to synchronize. Seems straightforward enough.

Anonymous asked: i don't think scratch technically lied. there are multiple ways in which scratch could die in the same way that there are multiple ways in which anyone could die - an axe could theoretically kill you, but that doesn't mean there has to be a timeline where you get killed with an axe

The semantics here are pretty interesting.

Scratch has stated that there are multiple ways to kill him, which could mean:

That there are multiple scenarios which have a non-zero probability of killing him.

That there are multiple scenarios that would hypothetically cause him to die, if they actually occurred.

These two statements have fairly similar meanings, but, as anon pointed out, there's an important distinction between the two. Statement 1 requires Scratch to actually die in some timelines, but Statement 2 doesn't require him to ever die, in any timeline.

Scratch has stated that he'll only die in one timeline, which means that there is only one scenario that will ever lead to his death. All other scenarios will never lead to his death - and thus, even if they could 'hypothetically' kill him, the probability that they will kill him is zero.

@heliotropopause asked: Never change, Noir. is that the oil jug WV uses for his mural in act 2? how'd it get to Scratch's lair?

I don't think it's the same jug, for the simple reason that both Carapacians emptied out the whole thing for their respective shenanigans. This ain't no Alchemy Jug!

abysswarlock asked: I like to think that the meta joke with the disks are a parallel of how the kings scepters hold small instantiations of skaia that exist within skaia itself, in this case the story of homestuck exists in disk form within the narrative itself.

Perhaps, but the Scepter's recursion is explained to be a game mechanic, whereas there's currently no explanation for the disk's existence. I guess Hussie himself could have put it there, but, like... why?

Anonymous asked: ‘His army thus inspired would spearhead a major re8ellion. Surely one at least on the scale of the sectarian revolt crushed 8y the High8loods, who thereafter for8ade its mention, or any invoc8tion of the heretical sym69ls at all, even in private journals.’ do you have any theories about this line?

Karkat's leadership shines in times of immediate crisis, which is part of why he struggled to keep his team together in the Veil. He doesn't know how to motivate people without an immediate, in-your-face threat - but since his ancestor was leading a rebellion, that probably wasn't an issue for him. The threat was omnipresent.

In short, I think Karkat Senior was always in Vantas Panic Mode. He'd have spearheaded Alternia's first rebellion with vim, vigor, seemingly infinite stamina, and sheer, bloody-minded determination - and if he was anything close to as likeable as Karkat, folk heroism was virtually inevitable. I can't wait to learn more!

@semaphoricwave asked: w.r.t. learning Mindfang dates the Summoner: it makes you wonder if Vriska's obsession with Tavros was the Alternian equivalent of comphet. She had no respect for his agency in the scenario (not difficult to develop when you're able to mind control people), but also she didn't seem to hold much stock in her own agency in all that, either. It's not even a cueball fortune, she just seems to want to be true: this boy she wants to 'make better' (but doesn't know how) is meant to make her happy. Anonymous asked: so with the revelation of the summoner, this makes TWO characters that vriska canonically was in/pursued as part of a romantic relationship that were descendants from her ancestors romantic partners. girl is inventing new kinds of comphet 😭

Vriska, for god's sake. Terezi is right there.

@iknowitsgreen asked: I find it so interesting that there's now an implication that Vriska literally expected Tavros to grow wings and fly to safety when she threw him off that cliff. The question is, did she simply resent Tavros for proving her fantasy wrong, or did she convince herself that Tavros chose to be paralyzed over showing his wings to her? It somewhat recontextualizes her early treatment of him either way

Layers upon layers upon layers. Vriska was fucked up about Tavros from twenty directions at once, and should never have been let within a thousand feet of the poor guy.

@manorinthewoods asked: Since trolls growing wings is apparently some sort of mythic event, presumably the God Tier wings of Vriska specifically tie into this. A God Tier troll gaining wings would be much more significant to the troll than to the human reader, as their culture places incredible emphasis on the meaningfullness of such - and perhaps the God Tier ascension could be likened to such a 'pupation'. ~LOSS (10/9/24)

It would explain why both Vriska and Aradia got them, but John didn't. The trolls have a lot in common with insects, so it stands to reason that in their culture, an insect's metamorphosis would be associated with divine apotheosis.

Anonymous asked: It’s super fascinating riding along as you go through this sequence because when I first read homestuck literally all the mind games went over my head haha. I saw what happened, and had a decent grasp on the characters, but the idea that Gamzee was manipulating Terezi? Never occurred to me. Everything about “why didn’t Terezi suspect Gamze” was just a mystery I never solved (mostly because I never understood gamzee, and still don’t) So Thank You so much for helping me understand better, years later! It’s so wild to look back and know what happens, but still have a limited grasp on why it went down that way.

Thank you for the kind words!

And yeah, a lot of Gamzee's schtick seems to be focused on obfuscating what he's actually doing. The real smoking gun there was the near-complete loss of Terezi's deductive abilities, at the exact moment Gamzee should have entered her radar.

@skelekingfeddy asked: ive always seen the grand highblood as not a troll, but like, the head of the imperial drones. when asked why his blood is black hussie said ‘Because he’s a huge gross monster? I don’t what sort of answer would be meaningful.When the highbloods were setting up the judicial system, they said ok we’re going to need some judges for this thing. Then they said ok how about these massive brainless monsters, that would be so perfect.’ […] its a headcanon of mine that hht is technically the same species as the mother grub. same with the imperial drones. if the mother grub is a queen bee then the drones are…well, drones. and hht is, like, a drone foreman, or sergeant, or something. i imagine that trolls and the drones’ species evolved a reproductive symbiosis, but then the empire took advantage of it and co-opted the drones + hht as enforcers

There's such an interesting untold story here, about how the early trolls might have cyberized a formerly symbiotic species, and essentially made them its slaves.

I've always been interested in how, exactly, the trolls developed their symbioses, and what they might have looked like before Alternian civilization became what it is today.

Anonymous asked: terezi tries to play disc 2 on a gramophone because she literally doesn't know how a cd works - sgrub is all run via grubtech, and most of her humanning has been with mr turntables who even if asked would probably describe a cd through obtuse metaphor likening it to a vinyl record

Oh, good point. Terezi's from a civilization which left CDs behind a long, long time ago.

Hey, come to think of it, why does the Veil even have a…

...oh, right. The room isn't 'canon', so I probably shouldn't be trying to theorize too hard about its contents. It's not really part of the story.

@catlikeascendant asked: I had the impression that just like mindfang was vriska's FLARP character, Redglare was terezi's. That would explain terezi having the outfit and responding to the name, at least @somebody0214 asked: Terezi did roleplay a lot as the Redglare so it would make sense she would respond to Redglare. @dissonancies asked: I'm honestly not sure Terezi does know about her ancestor. […] Vriska had the journals, but she tries to keep her cards close to her chest- remember, "Mindfang" was Vriska's roleplay name. Who's to say she didn't just "casually" "suggest" Redglare for Terezi's character, without telling her why?

Vriska, just how many of your friends have you been molding into their ancestors?

I won't be mad - I just want to know.

Anonymous asked: Equius Sr being fit to Inherit the cueball due his passive Voidiness is another point to sharing classpects with Equius Jr, the Heir of Void. @cationicflood asked: now that youve met the Expatri8, you know now why Scratch didn’t know Vriska had the cue ball until Terezi told him — it’s spent untold centuries ensconced in Zahhak-flavored Void aura. Even when it was in Vriska’s possession, it so happened she was quite literally neighbors with Equius.

We've talked a lot about how I believe Scratch's 'dark pockets' represent information that Hussie hasn't decided on yet. It's admittedly a little difficult to reconcile that with the fact that Void, an in-universe Aspect, is strongly implied to be the source of at least some of these pockets.

Maybe Aspects can work on a meta level, as well as a literal one. Like, perhaps Void is the aspect of author uncertainty, and therefore, anything that Hussie hasn't decided on out-of-universe is canonically 'hidden by Void'.

Anonymous asked: Mindfang warning Vriska about looking into the cueball…. So what you're saying is that Mindfang warned Vriska about the *stares*

It literally keeps happening!

@wolygan asked: So based off of the troll Ancestors we have seen, what do you think the rest might be like? also what do you think of the ones we have seen, since we don't know much about them yet. @absinthe-and-alabaster asked: Hi! I'm wondering if you have any updated thoughts from your initial ancestor theory post about the ancestors we haven't seen yet, given we know a bit more about troll history now

Not a lot! I'm obviously curious about the others, particularly Karkat's, but it's hard to come up with any concrete theories, other than 'their experiences and personalities will parallel those of their descendants', which is a freebie, based on the Ancestors we already have.

Anonymous asked: To be fair to EQ,Nepeta was far and safe when Gamzee attacked, and she could easly hide out of harm way with her skills. He just miscalculated and didn't realise she would follow him and attack Gamzee after he died.

True - but at the same time, he knew that Gamzee would still remain at large after his death, and that he, Equius, would no longer be able to protect Nepeta.

Even if she hadn't attacked him immediately, Gamzee would have remained a significant danger to everyone else on the Veil, Nepeta included. Had Equius fought back, he could have ensured that Gamzee would never be able to harm her.

@martinkhall asked: It's obvious to us that's not Vriska's handwriting. But just because Terezi can smell what the words say doesn't nesisarily mean she can smell the difference in how they're writen.

Plus, would Terezi necessarily be familiar with Vriska's handwriting? After all, most of the trolls seemed to communicate exclusively through modern technology. Would they really have any cause to pass notes to each other while FLARPing?

Anonymous asked: I would push back on the assertion that Heroic and Just deaths are the only way stories can work. One can be slain by a villain but not be a hero, and that can still matter to the story. A certain event from A Song of Ice and Fire springs to mind.

Oh, for sure - that's definitely correct outside of Homestuck. But within the comic, they really might be the only ways to die that Sburb considers 'dramatic' enough to be permanent.

Outside of the God Tier system, though, anything goes. After all, Equius was slain by a villain, and he didn't exactly die a hero.

@flerponius asked: Not really relevant to anything that's going on right now, but I thought you might find it interesting. In the Homestuck physical books, AH comments that the 4 grist types unlocked by default at the beginning of the comic (not including build grist) are related to the players quests; specifically, each grist type is a blight on the land it's found on, and the players quest would involve removing it from the land. I don't think this was explained anywhere else in the comic.

Oh, interesting. I wonder what they were supposed to be for?

Like, how does Rose's chalk relate to bringing life back to her oceans? Did Hussie have different Quest in mind for her, back then?

@manorinthewoods asked: The human session is shaping up to have lasted for less than a week due to Jack's interference, while the trolls slogged through over 600 hours (probably 612, to be specific, or 25.5 days) of relationship drama, powerleveling, and the production of inane yet somehow powerful weapons. Which of these is a more 'normal' length for a session? Did the trolls take too long, or were they rushing? Do bigger sessions last for longer? ~LOSS (2/9/24)

I'm pretty sure the troll session was closer to a 'typical' length.

According to Karkat, the human Reckoning arrived significantly sooner than normal - I assume this was due to Jack's double regicide.

If the human session had gone more smoothly, I imagine that it, too, would have taken several weeks. Like the trolls, the kids would have been able to hang out in person - and unlike the trolls, it probably wouldn't have devolved into multiple homicides.

@cheyj05 asked: Hey, just so you know it's pretty much impossible to read your liveblog in order on mobile. Searching the act 1 tag doesn't work so you pretty much would just have to scroll ALL the way back, which is impossible @cheyj05 asked: Ignore my last ask, I figured out how to do it

Mind sharing how, actually? I've been assuming that this was impossible, due to the Tumblr app's, uh, unique issues. If there's a way to browse the tags properly on mobile, I should probably add it to the pinned.

Anonymous asked: What do you mean "barely wind-themed", John made a car fly with his wind powers, why is a boat less believable?

You're not wrong. I guess I meant more that the boat's Breath energy looked a lot less like actual wind, and more like the abstract idea of Breath. It might just be stylistic, though.

@wolygan asked: I read another liveblog for Homestuck, and they just got to meeting Jade and then wrote a short essay on how they are convinced that Jade is the seer of light, just thought you might find that funny to know.

I do find that funny to know! Hussie got 'em again!

[ab121500]

I tagged this as spoilers, but its really not. Theres no mention of anything that happens in veilguard but just in case lol

This is such a stupid idea, but it keeps making me making me go "👀👀 wait actually-"

The idea of my mage elf rook (her name is Aylewin) also being an abomination, but being possessed by a spirit of Righteousness and unlike Spite she's pretty chill but she fucking hates, and i mean HATES, Spite with a passion.

So while Rook and Lucanis end up having their wholesome slow burn romance, the two extra passengers are doing an enemies to lovers romance. But heres the thing, Spite likes Rook and Righteousness likes Lucanis, so its literally a miraculous ladybug love square, except its actually 4 people they just share bodies.

Anyway i made a visual for it to show my (extremely tired of my shit) friend if anyone else would like to see it.

I'm sorry my handwriting is awful

ideas I thought up involving this:

Aylewin did not summon Righteousness.

Righteousness was originally a Rage demon, but she changed upon seeing the lengths Aylewin went to in order to do the morally right thing (I.E. sacrificing herself by stabbing herself so that she killed the demon at the cost of her own life.)

No one knows of Righteousness' existence until Spite, living up to his fucking name, exposes her. And even then, no one believes him until Taash/Emmrich mentions the other spirit.

Righteousness calls Spite "Little Demon" this angers him deeply.

Spite tries to find a nickname that pisses Righteousness off as much as Little Demon does him. He doesn't succeed.

Righteousness knows that her name is long and not easy to spit out in danger, so she insists on being called Ria by friends (so all the veilguard except Spite.)

Much like how Spite is essentially Lucanis but purple, Righteousness is Aylewin but orange-y red.

Righteousness is more powerful than Spite, mainly due to Aylewin being a mage and also due to her having easier access to her body.

In terms of characters, Aylewin's possession is most like Wynne's, except she didn’t actually die. She did get mortally wounded, and Righteousness joining her saved her life.

Righteousness lives up to her namesake and is extremely soapbox-y at times, like every single time Aylewin helps the Crows.

Righteousness and Spite get into arguments all the time. It is especially weird to Aylewin/Lucanis because they only hear one half of the argument.

I just needed to yell this into the void, feel free to ignore lmaooo.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Incomplete Summonings (Demon Alastor x Living Reader)

CW: Creampie, temperature play, demon summoning, virginity, light blood, Sex with Alastor's shadow, Sex with Alastor, human Vox cameo Rated: Adult Summary: You summoned a demon to remove your romantic competition from the equation. When your sacrifice was far too little, earning you only the shadow of the demon you had called, you had to find something else to sacrifice to pay the price. Requested by: Not Red, @redvexillum

You were hurt. Bitter rage burned inside you. There was nothing that could soothe your rage. Meditation did nothing. Talking about your feelings was a waste of time. Time did nothing to dull the ache. 

You had given everything to Voxly. He had blurred the lines between professional lives and personal. Again and again, he promised more, that you would matter. The things you did for him. You had been on your knees, worshiping him under his desk just to find out he was seeing yet another new girl the following day. 

You hated him. 

It had been a year, and you hated him just as much as you did the day he told you ‘sure thing,’ when you told him you needed, wanted something more with him, something official. You knew the ‘sure thing’ was just to make you happy for the time and goddamn you, it did. 

Again and again you fell for his sugar-coated lies. 

Maybe, if you had given him your virginity, he would have wanted you.

You were supposed to be exclusive and yet you found out through the gossip of others that he asked someone to marry him. She was tall and elegant and everything you could never be. 

You hated her even more than you hated him. She took what was yours. He should have been yours. 

It was madness, you knew, as you crouched over the dirt in the clearing. Pesky morals wouldn’t do anything to stop you. Your heart ached for the life lost as you poured the dog’s blood into the designs and symbols needed for the spell. 

The more valuable the blood used, the stronger the power. That was what the book had said. Dogs were well loved and a family pet was a child’s first best friend. 

Your mind whispered that human blood would have been more powerful, but that thought was pushed away, banished. You wouldn’t kill a human. You were not a murderer. 

But if you could summon the soul of one to do it for you, that was alright. It kept your hands clean. You could have Voxly back. 

“Vox,” you whispered as you sat back, looking at your work. “For you, Vox. I’m doing this all for you.” 

Power radiated through the shadows, a quick flash of it. Alastor’s ear twitched absently as he looked up from his book.

“What a pathetic attempt,” Alastor murmured to himself as he turned the page.

Shadows moved around you, dancing in a ghoulish display of horrors. Wind threw the fall leaves into the air, sending them high only to land on your hair along with dirt and twigs. 

Instantly, you regretted everything you had done. This wasn’t supposed to work. 

A shadow rose from the center of the circle, humanoid in shape. The silhouette wore what looked to be a skirt or… no; it looked male. Perhaps it was a long coat it wore. Tall tufts of hair stood atop the shape of the head and between them, stretching out from the head, were wide antlers. 

“What are you?” You threw a rock at it only to watch it fly through the black body. 

He cocked his head to the side and pointed to himself. A question mark floated, black as void, atop his head. Red glowing eyes and a mouth that spread in a sharp grin broke the black of his face up. 

He held his hands up, long fingers curving into claws as he mimed being a monster. 

“You’re a demon?” 

The monster’s smile spread wider as he held his thumbs up in confirmation. 

“I- I summoned you?” 

The black void nodded eagerly, the motion large and exaggerated. 

“Right.” You took a deep breath, running your sweaty palms over your lap, wiping them on your skirt. “Right. I summoned you. You have to obey me.” 

The void held his hand out, rocking it back and forth as if to say, ‘kind of’. 

“I summoned you to kill the woman my boyfriend is to marry.” You felt dirty just saying it. 

A big X appeared above the void’s head. 

“Why not?” 

The void held out his hand, showing miniatures. A void man walked, a shadow stretching out at his feet. The void man pointed at the shadow and then at himself. 

“You’re just… the shadow of the demon I wanted to summon?” 

A black checkmark appeared over his head as he held his thumbs up in again. 

“Why?” Tears welled in your eyes. “Can’t you do it, anyway?” 

The shadow shook his head. The voids in the air changed into a series of animals, then people of different age. The shadow pointed to the shape of a dog, to you and then to himself. Then he pointed to the people and pointed to the silhouette of the man with a shadow, still walking in place through the air. 

The shadow then pointed to the circle he stood in, the dog, and then walked his fingers through the air. The fingers walked into his other hand, falling over as an X floated above the finger puppet man. 

“You can’t leave the circle.” 

The X became a check mark. 

“What if I sacrificed more?” you asked. I could get more dogs- I could-” 

The X returned at the mention of more dogs. 

“What could do it then?” Tears gathered in your eyes.

The shadow looked at you, grin spreading freakishly wide as he made a show of looking up and down your body. He made kissy faces toward you, little black hearts floating up from his head as he motioned for you to come closer. 

“A kiss?” Timid legs took you closer and closer to the edge of the circle. 

He made the seesaw motion with his hand again. 

“More?” Your knees were knocking together as the hand shifted into a thumbs up. 

“I’ve… I’ve never…. I’ve never done much more than that.” 

The shadow put up his second thumb. 

“If… If I let you do whatever you need to… to me, you’ll kill her?”

The red eyes closed, and he nodded his head. 

“Are… are you going to hurt me?” You toed the line of salt and blood, terrified of crossing over. 

The shadow man shook his head, signaling a negative answer. 

You didn’t want to do this. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t smart. But was any of this smart or safe?

One foot slowly crossed over the line, and then you were stepping over. Static tingled over your skin as you moved into the circle where two worlds could exist at once. 

The moment you crossed, cold limbs wrapped around you, shifting and slithering as he pulled you close. The wide red eyes and inhuman smile looked at you, a predator ready to take its prey. 

A shiver ran down your spine as black shadow claws cut through your dress as if it was nothing. He shredded your bra and panties with manic glee. His touch was cold, so cold as it ghosted over you. 

There was a shimmer of shadow for a moment and then the thing appeared, a black body without the trappings. The shadows reached up, wrapping around your limbs as he held you in his arms. They worked together to guide you down to the ground. 

Rocks and sticks bit into your skin. Leaves and dirt gathered in your hair as you trembled. The shadows wrapped around your wrists, pulling them up above your head. More shadows spread your legs. 

The man in control of it all knelt in front of you, eyes running up and down your naked body. You could see a rod protruding from his body. You shivered, the cold ground under you and the night air stealing the warmth from your body. 

Black hands ran up your skin, examining the smoothe expanse of your legs. He caressed higher and higher. You gasped as his fingers ran through your folds, ice cold. He ran his black claws through them again and again, each pass sparking more pleasure. 

A black tongue ran out of his mouth, licking lips you couldn’t see. The passes of his fingers came easier now, smoother. The pleasure was growing. 

Cold pressed into your core as he moved himself between your legs. He held the hand that had been working over your core up, spreading fingers covered with a clear slick. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, hips twitching as the blunt end of his icy cock pressed against your opening. 

He held up his hands, one making a circle with his fingers. He pushed his fingers through the circle in a lewd miming of penetration. Once his message was delivered, icy hands fell to rest on your waist. Gooseflesh ran across your body as he pressed forward slowly. 

Your virginal body resisted the intrusion. The cold of him had your body tightening up. That didn’t stop him from pushing forward. With the steady soft pressure, your body relented, spreading over the bulbus head of his cock. 

Your back arched as a cold fullness dominated your senses. Deeper and deeper he pressed, hands pulling your hips to him. The shadows held your arms steady; the ache settling in the joints as he stretched them. 

You were freezing, cold from the inside out, as he reached deeper and deeper until his hips pressed into you. Your walls ached around his shaft, cramping and quivering as the coldness sank into your cervix. 

Shivers ran down your body, tears running down your face. It wasn’t painful, but it felt wrong. There was no warmth. There was no love. The shadow looked down at you, greedy at the sight of your virginal body spread over his cock. 

Pulling back, he slammed into you again. The harsh thrust jolted your body in the constraints of shadow. Each thrust was harsh, claws digging into fat as he worked in and out of you. 

Cold touches ran up your ribs as the shadow man leaned forward, thrusting harder. Freezing palms enveloped your breasts, cold sinking into you. Your nipples pebbled under his touch painfully. 

His shadows pulled you up as he leaned back. A black heart floated over his head as he wrapped his arms around you. The shadows holding your wrists stretched your arms higher and higher until your knees struggled to touch the ground. The man thrust into you, torso slapping against your sensitive clit. 

“So cold.” You could see your breath as you spoke. 

The shadow ran his tongue over your painful nipple. The saliva froze on your skin, quickly melting as he moved on. It hurt. It felt good. You were going insane. He was driving you insane.

“Fuck,” you whispered as your body tightened around him. Each thrust wound your body tighter around him. “Too much. Too much.” 

The shadow man shook his head, running cold hands over your skin as he continued running his freezing tongue over sensitive skin. 

You came with a scream, cold muscles cramping from the power of the convulsions. The shadow man thrust into your body through it, each thrust bullying walls that wanted nothing more than to hold him in place and milk him. 

Shadows ripped your body from him, sending you spiraling through the air as they pushed and pulled your limbs. Landing hardly on your hands and knees, you tried to scramble away. 

Cold pushed into you again, sensitive body eagerly making way for his freezing cock. A hand made of nothing and everything wrapped in your hair, pulling you on your hands as he fucked into you. Each thrust was silent even as his hips slammed into your ass and knocked the air from your lungs. 

Alastor sat in his chair, book set aside, as he glared at his lap. His cock stood tall and proud from his open pants, painfully throbbing. He had already taken himself in his fist once, working himself to a quick completion, hoping to be rid of the annoying state. 

It didn’t do him any good. He could feel the way his shadow, the keeper of all his troublesome and distracting emotions, did something to his counterpart. 

“What are you up to?” Alastor murmured to himself, struggling to tuck his painfully erect cock into his pants before melting into the shadows. 

As he rose from a pool of shadows, Alastor realized he was in a clearing in the living world. The shadow must have answered the pathetic attempt at a summoning, he decided as his eyes scanned the small area. 

“And what are you doing?” Alastor’s eyes went wide at the sight in front of him. 

His shadow had you on your hands and knees, drool running down your chin and hair wrapped in his hand. Through his connection to his shadow, Alastor could feel the waves of your orgasm running through your body. By Alastor’s count, it would be your third. 

“Leave her.” Alastor ordered, sending his shadow cowering behind him. 

You looked over your shoulder, seeing the colored counterpart of the black void that had taken your virginity. He ran his red claws up the back of your thigh as he knelt behind you. 

“You summoned me?” His voice was smooth, static radiating through his words. “For what?” 

“To kill a woman.” His hand was so warm after feeling nothing but cold. It felt like you had been trapped in the cold of the shadows forever. “Have I… have I given enough? Please, say it’s enough. I’m so cold.” 

“Shh,” Alastor cooed, working his pants open. “Just a little more, doe, and I’ll warm you up during it.” 

The head of his cock felt like it was on fire as he pushed into you. You screamed at the contrast, body trembling as he sank into your sensitive walls. 

“Go,” Alastor said as he bottomed out inside you. The chill of your body had his cock twitching inside you. “See to our task.” 

The shadow man nodded eagerly and melted away. The red man turned his attention back to your trembling form, shifting you to your side. His searing hot hands gripped your leg, spreading your folds around him as he rested your calf against his chest. 

“What a troublesome girl you are,” Alastor cooed, running his hands up and down your cold leg as he thrust slowly into you, his cock burning your chilled core from the inside.

The smile he wore was far more frightening than that of the shadow man. This new man’s smile was a dangerous mask. The shadow wore his emotions on his sleeve, or rather in little designs that floated around his head. There was no part of this demon that you could trust. 

Large red clawed hands ran up your waist, chasing away the lingering cold on your skin. Burning trails of his touch ran along your sides, up your ribs as he thrust lazily into you. 

“Please,” you begged, back arching as his warm hands soothed your breasts, warming your painfully cold nipples. “So cold.” 

“I know,” Alastor cooed as his hand wrapped around your thigh again.

He used it and his hand on your hip as leverage, pinning you in place as his pace quickened. His hips pistoned into you, rough pants biting into your ass with each slap against it. What had been silent with the shadow man was loud and animalistic now.

Your cries filled the circle, joined by his panting. His cock pistoned into you, head slamming into your cervix as the angle allowed him deep access to your core. Your hands, no longer trapped by the cold shadows, scrambled for purchase as one of hell’s demons used your body for his pleasure. 

Nails dug into the ground, ripping dirt and grass up by the roots as you tried to turn onto your side, to crawl away. His grip was unrelenting, grunts of effort joining your moans as he worked his cock into you again and again. 

Each drag of his large cock through your sensitive, abused walls stole the breath from your lungs. Pleasure, fear and pain all mixed as you moaned. His claws punctured through your skin, hot blood running up your thigh and down your side. 

You didn’t know where the pleasure ended, and the pain began. Fear and lust became one. 

“Too much,” you moaned, “Please, I can’t.”

“You can,” the man, his voice sounding like it came from an old radio said, “And you must. It’s your payment to me.” 

His hand ran over your skin, finding your clit between your legs and rubbed over the slick nub. Each pass of his fingers had your hips thrashing as you were pushed closer and closer to your end. 

You were sure if you came again, it would kill you. There was no way you could survive another round. Your body was spent. 

“Please,” you sobbed as the coil tightened inside you. Each thrust into you felt like he was clashing against glass. It was just a matter of time until…

You broke, back arching, and a scream echoing off the trees, sending birds flying through the night sky. The force of your orgasm was blinding as your walls thrashed against the cock still pounding inside you. 

“There you go,” the demon cooed, folding over you. Your knee pressed into your shoulder as he pounded his hips into you. His pants sank lower as he changed position, balls now swinging into you with each thrust. “Good girl,” 

You couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air in the world when he looked at you, face so close and eyes so inhumanly red. Your walls continued their convulsions as your hands moved from the dirt to the man atop you, digging into the fabric of his red suit. 

“What a good little sinner you are,” the demon spoke as he moaned, hip stuttering with a broken rhythm. Hot ropes of his seed shot inside you. He painted your cervix with it with so much force you could feel each pulse of hit. He throbbed inside you as he wedged his cock as deep as it could reach, moans of praise on his lips. 

Only when his cock stilled, no longer twitching inside you, did he slowly pull from your body. He left you limp on the ground as he stood, tucking his softening member into his pants and straightening his clothes. 

You gasped for breath, left on the dirty ground as your leg fell without a thought. Alastor watched as his seed ran in a thick river from your used cunt. Could it take root here, in a living body? Wouldn’t that be a surprise! 

It would serve you right, having disturbed his evening. With one last look, he turned and stepped away, melting into the shadows as he left you. As the last traces of his form left the living world, the surrounding candles winked out of life. 

You lay naked in the clearing for over an hour before you stood and stumbled toward your home. You walked, naked and bleeding through the streets as a demon’s seed ran down your legs, reminding you of the sin that would have you damned to hell. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[spark-of-teal]

“How much do you hate me today, Gem?” Pearl asked, feeling the smile on her face as she adjusted her seat on the camel.

“A lot!” Gem snapped.

“Dang it, I was hoping to trick you,” Pearl said blithely, “and you’d say something like- you know-”

“Do you know why, though?”

Taken aback by the anger in her friend’s voice, Pearl asked, “What?”

“I have reasons today,” Gem said, signalling for the camel to start walking across the bridge. Pearl wrapped her arms around Gem’s waist, and for the first time in all the times she’d done it, it felt uncomfortable. “I’ve reflected.”

“You’ve reflected?” 

“Yeah!” Gem said, her voice surprisingly thick with hurt. “Do you remember last session, when you thought you put your eye into the portal?”

“We weren’t even there for-” Pearl began to protest, but Gem cut her off by stopping the camel and yanking Pearl’s arms off of her waist. She twisted around to face Pearl. 

“Did you even look me in the face during our- our murder camel…happenings?” Gem’s eyebrows twitched further down as she messed up her speech.

Pearl wanted to laugh at Gem tripping over her words, but the look on Gem’s face squashed any positive feelings she could’ve had. “Y-yeah! It was such a good time, it was-”

“And you remember what my face looked like?” Gem pointed with a trembling hand to her left eye. 

Pearl felt herself quickly falling into the hole she’d dug, and searched desperately for what Gem could be referring to. “Yeah!” She remembered Gem’s clothes turning yellow and then red, and…a left arm the color of the void, and… “Oh. I forgot about…”

“Okay.” Blinking rapidly, Gem turned around and began the camel’s walk again, faster this time. “And then other than that, you 2v1 me! And you- you know about holding grudges across seasons. You know about that.”

Now Pearl felt her own anger flare up. “I didn’t 2v1 you Gem, let’s put this straight. I let Scar do it, I watched.” She searched for something to hold onto that wasn’t Gem, and settled for the not-incredibly-optimal grip on the camel’s sides. She felt herself closing her eyes as the camel climbed up a hill.

“No no no. I remember specifically-”

“I hit you once!” Pearl raised her voice, heated with indignance.

“Hitting me once!” Gem raised her voice in return. “That’s enough! That set your dogs on me!”

“It was one little basic whack!”

“It was not a regen-based season!”

“And I sat the dogs down, Gem! You had so many hearts!”

“Once was enough!”

Pearl quickly calmed herself, trying to salvage the conversation. “You were gonna live. You were fine. You see? Look at that. We’re thriving.”

Pearl could hear the breath Gem took. She could hear the shakiness in it. “I’m just saying,” Gem said, turning the camel back to her base, “I’ll forgive you if you actually 1v1v1v-whatever me. And not 2v1.”

Pearl felt a laugh slip out, and she could see Gem’s arms tense in response. “Well at that point, that seems like we’re trying to kill each other. That seems against the point, no?”

“Yeah, we have to die, Pearl, that’s the game.” 

Pearl’s heart was racing as she stumbled over her words in response to that… morbid opinion. “That’s the- that’s not- that’s- that means I can only- that means there’s only resolution after the season ends, is what you’re saying!”

The exasperation in Gem’s voice made Pearl’s throat tighten. “We can die six times! We have time to die!”

“I can’t die six times!” Did Gem not care about Pearl’s life at all? Just for the sake of some morally correct 1v1?

“You can die once!”

Pearl reached for something to lighten the situation. She hated fighting, especially with Gem. In an attempt to make a joke, she went for, “1v1 me right now, Gem.” Terrible joke.

Gem appeared to be taking it seriously, stopping the camel to think. “Right now? … Alright.”

“Not really!” Pearl laughed nervously. “You were too- you were too all into that, you were like, ‘yeah let’s- let’s do it! Yeah, let’s get it!’”

“I mean…” Gem’s voice was calm and serious. Pearl never liked when it did that. “It’s high stakes for you, but I mean, we’ve PvP’d on Hermitcraft, it’s about 50/50 who wins and who loses.”

Pearl spluttered, and everything inside her was screaming run away. So she climbed off the camel and walked away. “Fine. I’m gonna go get on Impulse’s camel, because Impulse actually treats me right.” What was she saying?

“What, you don’t want to 1v1 me? You’re scared?” Gem called after her. Pearl turned around. Where a playful smirk would’ve usually been, a disappointed frown sat instead. “If you win, you go green!”

“I know.” Pearl looked at her feet. She couldn’t help the pit in her stomach whenever she imagined fighting Gem, imagined the disappointed look on Scott and Cleo’s faces if she would lose and go red. Looking up and forcing cheer into her tone, she continued, “But I’d rather catch you when you’re unawares!”

Gem’s face twisted. “You’re still not honorable!”

“I’m very honorable!” Pearl protested. “It’s all part of traps!”

Gem flipped her camel around and walked away. “You don’t want it.”

Want what? Her forgiveness? “I do!” Pearl ran after the camel. “Gem?”

But she kept walking.

Gem sank to the floor inside her rebuilt barn, leaning her back against the stone. She missed the wood. But nothing good on this server ever stayed, did it? That's how it worked. Things burn, and then get replaced by something else.

Even if Pearl didn't, Gem knew that. She knew to cherish the precious things. And even if Pearl couldn't, Gem could remember everything clearly. Very clearly. She remembered opening the portal.

She’d been digging down forever, ender eye clutched in her left hand. She’d built bridges above the silverfish to avoid them, she’d pictured the awe in everyone’s faces when she told them everything.

Gem lay on her front and reached down toward the portal. She stretched her arm as far as she could, and finally, finally set the eye where it belonged. There was a deep rumble, either heard or felt or both, and the lava beneath her slowly turned into a black abyss, with distant hints of green.

“I did it,” she breathed. “I did it! I opened the End gateway!”

Then her hand turned numb.

It started at the palm but quickly spread to her fingertips, then up to her wrist. It was a cold, empty shock. It felt like it was dissolving every bit of her, right down to her bones, until there was nothing but air left. She tried to pull away, but her hand was stuck on the eye. All she could do was watch as the void crawled up her arm, onto her shoulder, up her neck and into her eye. Her skin turned pale and purplish, then that same black abyss crept in, slowly spreading up and up until it reached her eye and she felt pain, burning pain.

Screaming, she wrenched her hand away from the eye and covered her face. Only her right eye was crying. 

It was probably only a few minutes she sat there, holding her face and rocking back and forth, but when the burning finally went away, it felt like hours. She looked down at her shaking hand. It was cold and lifeless and alien.

No one would be in awe anymore. They’d be scared.

But Gem had known someone who wasn’t scared. Pearl had treated her kindly, complimenting the “new look” and reveling in Gem’s tales of danger. Pearl was loyal to her. At least at the start.

Even if it meant everything to Gem that Pearl was by her side, apparently it meant nothing to Pearl. Gem meant nothing to Pearl.

So Gem sat lost in her thoughts, rubbing her left eye over and over again, until she heard Joel shriek for her help. Giving Pearl no more thought, she grabbed her sword and ran outside.

[rosie-read-that]

jamie dutton hot takes as someone watching yellowstone five seasons late*

*and having only seen 1.5 seasons

beth's s1 "you're only care about yourself" and s2 "you have no morality" speeches are more revealing about beth than jamie, and that is a hill i will die on as a beth and jamie enjoyer. he gets called out as someone with zero sense of self, but beth also has no idea who she is outside of "i killed my mom/i can't have children/i must live for my father until he dies." all of the duttons exhibit antisocial personality traits, actually, so beth bringing up jamie's selfishness and lack of morality is very pot calling kettle, and in fact, i would posit that beth hinges a lot of her identity on jamie and vice versa. that said, as much as they function as walking rorschach tests for each other and voids they can stare into and project the worst parts of themselves, i don't think beth has a single clue who jamie is as a person, neither does jamie know beth deep-down (the way rip does). they're too busy seeing themselves to see each other - therefore everything beth says about jamie and jamie says about beth is unreliable narration and i ain't no dummy, so i believe none of it.

i don't think taylor sheridan is this nuanced, but a lot of the fandom reaction to jamie and the response to him in-universe is because the world and also "the world of yellowstone" doesn't take kindly to weak men. jamie is incapable of pulling himself up by his bootstraps, he is the most emotional man on the show, he doesn't lose his shit in the rip way or the kayce way, the macho-adjacent "acceptable" way. he stares at himself in the mirror and ugly cries. he blubbers as he does a murder, then cowers when he has to tell his dad what he's done. he gets called a coward and a bitch and all sorts of emasculation-coded words, beth makes a lot of comments about him not having balls. in neo-western society, men like jamie are inferior, and actually the "acceptable" way to be a man is as narrow as evelyn dutton's "acceptable" way for beth to be a woman. sheridan isn't gonna do it, but i'm sure as hell looking those gender roles in the face and saying "not today, satan!"

kayce got to kill like half a dozen people in s1, he strung a man up from a tree, "disappearing" ranch hands is common practice at the yellowstone, so john saying he draws the line at jamie's one (1) murder makes absolutely no sense. if beth had been the one to strangle that reporter and yeet her into the river, john would've patted her on the back, handed her a drink, and said, "thank you, sweetheart."

knowing as i know that jamie is adopted kiiiinda gives me a lil bit of the ick in the way that some of the show's messaging is obviously conservative, and so john hating his adopted son puts a lot of emphasis on him not being a "real" dutton, not part of the bloodline, not pure. he's basically framed as another interloper, a changeling, someone who shouldn't be there and who the family would be better off without. this being taken off the table entirely when jamie is discussed is sus af. like, what loyalty does he owe john and beth (shhhh, lee and kayce, you don't come into this) when they've done nothing but heap on abuse? he didn't ask john and evelyn to adopt him. his education was paid for because john wanted a lawyer in his arsenal. so ?????

added to above: forget about being an accessory to the crime, if jamie dutton had decided to send john into the afterlife with his own two hands and a meat cleaver, it's what john would've deserved!!!!!

i'm obviously not excusing what jamie did to beth - being forcibly sterilized is horrific - but some of y'all act like he was a middle aged man when everything happened. i've seen age debates like "he was 17! probably 18!" and it makes me want to ben-affleck-smoke-a-cigarette if you think a 17-18 year old knows what the hell they're doing in a high-pressure, high-stress situation where you can't confide in a real adult, and also you're terrified of doing something that would create a headache for your abusive parent. beth shouldn't "be over" what he allowed to happen to her, but she deflects a lot of her feelings onto him because, mentally, she can't handle seeing her parents' faults. evelyn bears a lot of the blame here because using your last breaths to tell your daughter that she's at fault for your death is some fucked up shit, and also where was john????? where was the parent??? why was he not aware of his daughter's risky behavior!!! did he even bother giving her the sex talk? i think not!

take a shot every time someone snidely mentions that jamie cares soooo much what people think of him.... at john. take a shot at john, because there's a man upset that he's sliding into irrelevance and that his name doesn't open all the magic doors anymore, so if you think jamie is a big baby, well, he learned how to be a big baby from his dad.

i don't actually have an issue with jamie's emotionality or failson tendencies. moral failure? name one moral person on this show. i wish he had the strength of will to disown his family, gtfo of montana and be a lawyer somewhere else. my dream would be for beth, kayce, and jamie (and rip!) to realize what a bag of dicks their dad was and to burn the yellowstone to the ground before cashing in their land checks, but that's obviously not gonna happen, so i'll settle for none of the siblings dying, because having john and evelyn as parents was punishment enough, and in terms of crimes, i think they're all pretty much even.

yeah.... i guess it all boils down to "i hate john dutton." all the people who said "but i watched for him!" YOU WATCHED FOR WHO???? FOR HIM???? as a how-not-to-be-a-dad manual, right? ........right??

[murderenjoyer]

I'm tired of people arguing that allowing Astarion to merk those 7k spawn to ascend was an objectively bad decision.

If the spawn stay alive then what? Man then what??? Now you have 7000 bloodthirsty feral murdering freak monsters with no living master to compel them to behave running in the streets. How is that a good thing exactly?

"But they move to the underdark."

Dude. My man. There are people in the underdark. It's not an empty void!

Oh 7k vampires on the surface is a bad thing because it might affect me personally but if I drop them all down this hole it's fine (please ignore the fact that it's not an empty hole haha out of sight out of mind amirite it's no longer my personal problem so it's fine amirite haha).

"But sacrificing them sends them to hell forever." Okay and keeping them alive keeps them trapped in monster mode eternally-starving hell forever. If Astarion never had a chance to become a full vampire with Cazador alive, what chance do you think those spawn have now that Cazador, the guy whose blood they need to level up from spawnhood, got shanked 85x in the chest and is now rotting on the floor?

"But Astarion is going to handle and manage them." Care to explain how, exactly? He's going to ask them nicely? He's going to offer good-boy stickers to the spawn who don't drain every living thing in their path? Astarion has zero authority over those spawn. And he himself is also a spawn so he's not even able to force them to obey based on sheer powerlevel.

Is exploding 7000 people a morally good choice? Obviously not. But neither is releasing 7000 starving, blood-thirsty, uncontrollable monsters out into the world!

There is no good solution to this problem. Both outcomes are going to result in a LOT of death. That's like... the point. It shows the depths of Cazador's evil. It puts Astarion in a thematically tight spot. It forces the player to do a big ass cracked out version of the trolly problem. Don't act like not sacrificing them is somehow the morally upstanding decision in this situation simply because the blood is not on your personal hands.

Okay so you chose not to pull the trigger. 7000 people did not explode on your order. But now untold casualties will result from that decision to spare them. The underdark is now a dangerous hellish vampire-infested wasteland because you felt guilty about getting your hands dirty.

Choosing not to kill them does not make you morally pure. Sacrificing them does not make you morally pure. There is no decision you can make in that situation that let's you walk away clean.

[ro-bee]

KIRANDER / WOLF NARI THINGS FACTS STORY IDK

He's an albino gray wolf, he acts a lot more like a dog... Maybe millennia in the void tamed him or maybe is just his people pleaser nature. (Despite that he can be authoritarian I think)

Kiran is very old, the oldest of bishops, the first of them to find a crown.

He's not a big fan of fighting but is very good at it, he taught his siblings some techniques!

The relationship with the other bishops isn't really good, he loves them but they don't like him much because he's "too affectioned" and overall strange. They don't understand his vision of the world and I mean fair.

His morals are mostly pessimistic he believes in the concept of destroy and rebuild, his "excuse" is that he doesn't want to see people suffer so he comes to the conclusion that dying is better than living and that the world would be better without gods.

He's very impatient but doesn't show it... And he doesn't allow more than one (1) second chances, all his previous vessels were definitely killed by him after their first death againsts the bishops

He would come up with some bullshit like "I'm sorry, I won't prolong your pain any longer, I clearly was wrong you're not fit for this... Now rest" or "you tried but it wasn't enough" a bit evil... And not very productive from him since he can't free himself alone... Ironic because he's impatient lol his morals are very strong

So yeah basically goat killed all bishops without dying even once... That was hell

(Goat playing hardcore lmao)

Cal and Deb (kiran's Baal and aym) weren't given by the bishops but by they're mom did a ritual to gift them to their father (yes I'm gonna make Kiran x forneus (name need a change) canon here and make him the bio dad of the pups , how were they born? Idk immaculate conception probably), they are demigods, kiran loves them very much and they keept him "sane"

Also forneus is his most Loyal follower 🔥🔥🔥🥴

After goat kills all bishops Kiran uses his freedom to... Take care of the pups...

They knew this was going to happen and let him do it (like... Brainwashed behavior)

If the world was to be freed from gods then demigods shouldn't be here either, so he killed them. Fast and painless.

Ok ok relationship with goat :

Is always ups and downs but mostly it starts as just you help me and I help you kind of deal... After the first bishop down Kiran kinda start to catch feelings... Nobody went so far yet this goat was the one, goat never died again so they saw each other's only after the first chain got destroyed and Kiran was able to use a bit of his power to bring them to him as the pleased, they use those summonings to talk e know each other's better lol.

So after bishop one was down they were in a friendly mood? Relationship??? Positive?

After the second bishop goat started to be a bit confused about their big friend's plan... The bishop told them some stuff but they decided not to believe him still doubt started forming in their heart even if Kiran was always so affectionate

I think the crush start here

After bishop 3 was down the seed of doubt finally sprout and Kiran noticed that goat started to be more distant from him... After one day goat asked him "after you're free, What will you do to me? " and Kiran simply responded with "I'll free you too, from you're regrets and from all the pain, I'll free your soul and we will be together in peace" that didn't reassure goat one bit but they let it slide because they wanted to believe their god

At this point their relationship was a bit confused but I think there was love in there under all the doubts

After the fourth bishop was killed goat was scared, terrified even.

They finally knew what the real plan was, the last bishop told them, He told them everything and how that wolf would take their second life just for a crazy ideology. They won't let that happen, they are stronger than him anyway... This whole deal made them go a little mad and on a full rampage, it didn't help finally knowing that the stermination of their kin was basically kiran's fault, yes the bishops started it but it was all to stop the crazy plans of the wolf, a "little" price to pay to save everything else.

When they arrived to purgatory they noticed the pups were gone, not surprising considering everything they learned that day about their beloved wolf.

Their fight wasn't long, Kiran asked goat to just listen to him but they were not willing at all.

it all ends when they finally manage to pin him on the ground.

The relationship right now is divorce 😭😭

So Kiran dies, a very painful and slow death. Goat claims his place and they become the new God fo death.

That didn't satisfy them toh, now there was emptiness in their heart. They loved that wolf! They felt safe with him, he always attended their words wounds and now just like that he was gone. They killed him.

Goat would stop thinking about it for some years and would keep attending on their cult (in a very bad way) until one night they decided to bring the wolf back and make him pay and his actions again, like yes out of spite and to fill the emptiness.

Now can start the toxic yaoi

Bringing Kiran back will start this circle of love and hate, a desperate attempt from goat to fix the problems in their head??

Bro needs therapy (lamb is their therapist and will help them)

Every time Kiran would die goat would bring him back, bro doesn't deserve peace🔥🔥

Ok but with time goat calms down, realize that this is useless, Kiran realize that his actions were actually the problem, that he missed his siblings and his pups so much.

Sorry chat he changed a bit I think 😔