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ezdotjpg · 4 hours

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Hi!!! Sorry if you've been asked this before but is it possible for you to summarize the Bonus Links' personalities? Just asking because I'd like to get a general idea, apologies if this is too much of a pain to answer 😭🫶🏻

hey! luckily I already wrote up character intros a while back that I never posted to tumblr lol, so I'll go ahead and post them now! under the cut since this is mega long lol

Loft

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Skyward Sword

Age: 22

Height: 5’3”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: World’s Nicest Man Pushed To His Limit. It’s his nature to be light-hearted and easy-going, but ever since the events of Skyward Sword he’s been unable to let the implications of Demise’s curse and Zelda’s connection to Hylia go. He’s usually mild, but he’s got a lot of suppressed anger in him that comes out at inopportune times. He tends towards being optimistic, but has lately been caught in a depressive spiral. As a result of all these conflicting emotions, he hasn’t felt like himself in a while. Before everything, he could have been described as a little bit lazy, but these days a better word would be lethargic. He’s got a mischievous and thrill-seeking streak that often surprises people. He knows he’s powerful, but he’s lost some confidence in the years since his quest. He’s wracked with guilt about the way everything ended.

Slate

Pronouns: tends to use he/him, but really any

Game: Breath of the Wild (ignoring TotK for now)

Age: 21

Height: 5’0”

Communication: Mainly signs, speaks occasionally

Personality: The Reviews Are In: Friendly Guy, Vaguely Off-Putting. He knows he’s not pre-calamity Link, but he’s not exactly sure what he is instead. He’s accepted this about himself, and it grinds his gears that other people refuse to. He’s not sure what to do with all these memories inside him that aren’t his, and that he feels nothing for. He’s become more expressive, but when he’s upset his face goes entirely blank. He has a tendency to be distracted, blunt, intense, impulsive, somewhat abrasive. But he’s not unkind, and can even be outright friendly. He’d offer his help to anyone who asks, and he makes it a point to know everyone in Hyrule. He’s happiest out in nature, and doesn’t mind the solitude. He only ever lies by omission, and otherwise says exactly what he means. There’s something a little otherworldly about him.

Mask

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask

Age: 15

Height: 5’2½”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Local Teen Needs Hug So Bad, Will Bite If You Try. He’s prickly, hot-tempered, moody. He’ll pick verbal battles he probably shouldn’t. Everything is a touchy subject. But he’s developed this behavior as a coping mechanism. He’s kind by nature, and it takes effort to lash out. The person he is with Malon- gentle, more soft-spoken, with a good sense of humor and a love for harmless mischief- is a lot closer to the person he’s comfortable being. He’s a scared kid. He feels out of place, both mature and immature, of this world and not. Sometimes, he gets scrambled between Termina, the Hyrule he’s in now, the Hyrule he left behind, and the Hyrule of the war. He has a lot of resentment for both the gods and the royal family, and all he wants is to be left alone.

Wolf

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Twilight Princess

Age: 23

Height: 5’5”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Thank God I’m A Country Boy. He’s a gentle soul, probably the gentlest out of all of them. He likes to be useful, and he has made being the problem solver of Ordon Village part of his identity. He’s a bit of a mother hen and likes to take care of people. Midna was good at bringing out a little bit of attitude and snark in him. He’s got a bad case of Resting Bitch Face, but he’s not an angry person. However, he’s had a hard time adjusting to life back in Ordon. He’s usually even-tempered, but lately he’s been irritable and easier to anger. He feels isolated by his experiences, and has been avoiding most of the villagers, including his loved ones, even though it makes him lonely. Mostly he just doesn’t want to take it out on them, but it’s also about his pride. He enjoys the company of animals far more these days. He wants a quiet life, and has been avoiding Zelda's attempts to make "Hero" a political role for him to fill.

War

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Hyrule Warriors

Age: 25

Height: 5’7”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally, had Proxi speak for him at one point during the war

Personality: Link “This Is My Jaeger, I Make The Tactical Decisions” Faron. He comes across as a very charming young man, witty, helpful, pleasant in conversation, well-adjusted. In reality, he is constantly doing complicated political 4D chess in his mind at all times, even when it’s not necessary. Many years of being subject to the whims of the Royal Court and pressure to be a perfect symbol have poisoned him: he’s become calculating, manipulative, superficially polite, two-faced. He has to be the one holding all the cards, considering all the variables, fixing all of the problems, because he can’t trust anyone else. If you were to strip him of all pretense, he'd actually be a dry, resigned person, perpetually annoyed with everyone around him. He values status and reputation, and he wants more power than he has. His appearance is important to him because he knows his pretty face is an asset. He holds deep respect for the gods and the mantle of the hero. He has a strong sense of duty, but one that often leads him to justify terrible actions. The ends justify the means.

Mirror

Pronouns: he/they

Game: A Link Between Worlds, Triforce Heroes

Age: 22

Height: 5’1”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Local Link Doing Pretty Well Actually, All Things Considered. He’s just living his life, having a mostly pleasant time. He used to be quiet and reserved when he was younger, but has come out of his shell in a big way. He’s a bit vain, and fond of doing things with a dramatic flair. They like to have an audience, they like to make people laugh, they like to have your attention. Rather than being poisoned by court politics, he thrives in them. He doesn’t pretend to be charming, he just is. They can be on the arrogant side. He’s interested in fashion and art more than fighting these days, but still keeps his skills up to date. He pretends the scar on his face doesn’t bother him, but it does. He’s particularly obsessed with the legend of the hero before him.

Mage

Pronouns: he/him

Game: A Link to the Past, Link’s Awakening, Oracle of Ages, Oracle of Seasons

Age: 32

Height: 5’3”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Weird Uncle You Just Stopped Hearing From One Day. He’s a difficult guy to get a read on. He comes off as deeply serious, imposing, no-nonsense. He is actually full of nonsense. The fact that no one can tell what is and isn’t part of the bit is part of the bit. He mostly ignores his own problems by dedicating his life to solving other people’s problems. He wanders from place to place, helping people and becoming a bit of a larger than life folk legend in his own right in the process. He’s leaned into learning magic more than the sword, and has built up quite the arsenal of spells. He doesn’t speak often, and is content to let other Links lead despite being the oldest and the most experienced. He’s difficult to rile and even more difficult to get a straight answer out of.

Spirit

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Spirit Tracks

Age: 16

Height: 4’11”

Communication: Mainly signs, speaks occasionally. He has a stutter when he speaks.

Personality: Wants To Be Anywhere But Here, Preferably On A Train. He’s fully given up swordfighting, and basically just wants to go back to being a Royal Engineer like nothing happened. He has no interest in gaining any kind of attention, authority, or power from the mantle of the hero, and would actually prefer that everyone stop looking at him. He’s quiet, sweet-natured and generally non-confrontational, but he’s not afraid to stand up for himself when pushed. It’s just that it’s easier to let Zelda stand up for him instead. He’s pretty mature and in-tune with his emotions for a 16 year old. Seeing spirits everywhere, he has a lot of private thoughts about grief and death that he doesn’t share with anyone. The gears in his brain are constantly turning, and once he’s stuck on an idea, it’s all he can focus on. He often doesn’t give himself enough credit for how capable he is. Please let him tell you about trains.

Mini

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Minish Cap

Age: 14

Height: 4’3”

Communication: Only signs, mute.

Personality: He’s Just A Little Guy, Only 2 Pixels Tall. Mini doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. He’s not very expressive in the face, and it can be hard to tell what he’s thinking or feeling. Mostly, he’s a little rascal. He likes to root around in the garbage and build strange little machines from what he finds. He spends a lot of time hanging out with the Minish, moreso than humans. It’s a little bit of an escapism thing. He hasn’t really processed what it meant to become the hero so young, and is actively trying to avoid doing so. He’s very independent, and simply doesn’t compute attempts to coddle him.

Wake

Pronouns: he/him

Game: Wind Waker, Phantom hourglass

Age: 20

Height: 5’5”

Communication: Mainly speaks, signs occasionally

Personality: Everyone’s Favorite Cousin At The Family Function. He’s a fun person to be around. Friendly, energetic, laid back, good-natured, outgoing. He is always up for a good shenanigan. But he can get serious when he needs to, and often plays the important role of mediator in group dynamics. He’s the glue that holds the team together! He seems to take everything in stride, and presents himself as unbothered by the things that have happened to him. Whether that’s actually true, or he’s just compartmentalized everything too well remains to be seen. He has a strange way of being very open, and yet a closed book at the same time. He’s sentimental, and family is important to him

#hope this helps #and that my summaries aren't too rambly #long post #astronomically so probably #all links #bonus lore #bonuslinksdotjpg

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rowanwithaz · 2 days

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The perfect end is near?

MHA 424 spoilers

Those new leaks were literally fucking perfect,like??? Not just for shipping (I'll get to that) but just for a conclusion of the series.

Simple ending?

(First of all,I personally wanted Hori to kinda send the kids back to school,y'know,to see how they'd be after the fact how this war really changed their mindsets,but to also give them so time to just be a class. Those kids deserve to be kids just for a little bit).

To me this just proves even more so how Hori loves and enjoys his characters,he loves the world he's built for them,I think he wants to explore this further,and all the power to him! I know we want stories that are mind blowing every step of the way,but that's just not realistic and that's not really fun.

Hori,in my opinion,has made a heartbreaking and inspiring story,but I appreciate that he can dile it back a notch. I appreciate stories that can just roll with the simplicity. I feel people have this negative connotation of simplicity,that simple is automatically bad,which isn't true in the slightest.

I am a big fan of deep and meaningful stories,but I think one of the deepest turns you can take is to simplicity. These kids have been fighting non-stop and have been experiencing tragedy after tragedy,I want to see them recover. I want to see them comfort one another.

Let's not forget Hori has given us plot twits,death,war,grief...so if MHA goes back to how it was in the beginning,by being a little more simple,then I'm in full support for that.

(Just making this argument before the dudebros start talking shit! As for Shigaraki and AFO's ending,and the war,I've already done a pretty long analysis for those two,so I kinda see no point in repeating something since my feelings on it haven't changed)

The gay ending???

ALRIGHT. Let's get to the shipping portion of this post.

(Izuku trying to reassure him is so fucking sweet,oh my fucking God, he's like, "Oh,Kacchan don't cry everything's okay :D" whilst trying not to cry himself,and Izuku being shocked to see him cry? Like,bitch,this man has cried to you like two times before this,but at the same time he's never openly sobbed I guess)

Guys,we're going to get the quirkless hand hold. GUYS,WE'RE GOING TO GET THE QUIRKLESS HAND HOLD.

And Katsuki being vulnerable with Izuku once again? Honestly this whole chapter hasn't been some dkbk/bkdk crumbs,it's been a full-course dinner.

Now let's get to the most important part...

THIS. This is so telling of the future in a sense.

Katsuki and Izuku being brought together by All Might's words once again,which Hori fucking HINTED at,

Something tells me he was super excited to do this whole scene. With All Might,once again,bringing these two together,it makes me think of Togachako,especially with Ochako at the end here.

If Ochako is the one holding her stomach at the end,then we can assume that's where Toga stabbed her and she's thinking of her,while dkbk/bkdk are having their moment. This is extremely important.

I've said Izuku is kinda like Togachako's All Might,and I stand by that. Throughout this series,Ochako has been growing to become a hero,her own hero. And,Izuku has been one of her biggest inspirations,so much so,she feel in love with him. But,as things change,and Izuku has grown away from her,she's grown away from him.

What I'm saying is: Ochako has fallen out of love with Izuku. I've said this a million times,but I cannot stress it enough. Izuku has brought Ochako and Toga together though,that's for sure.

I mean,if we really take a look at their recent romantic moments,who has Ochako been thinking of?

and the rooftop scene?

people please stop trying to make this about Izuku. This is about Ochako finally realizing what kind of hero she wants to be,and that's why she falls out of love with Izuku.

Ochako wanted to save the heroes (Izuku) but in the process she found out she wants to save the villains (Toga). This is her story of becoming a hero,and falling out of love with Izuku. Izuku brought them together,their shared feelings for him made them realize their feelings for each other. Sound familiar?

Izuku's and Katsuki's shared feelings for All Might caused their feelings for each other to bloom,then their conflicting ideals made it to where they couldn't be together. Sound familiar?

(And let's not forget they had two fights,each one of them.)

And,Katsuki said something this chapter that made me think: "Oh,Togachako vibes!"

Remember when Ochako says she wants to give Toga her blood for the rest of her life?

Or the lyrics in the mha season 2 ending theme about Izuku's feelings for Kacchan?

Dudes,these mfs just wanna be together.

Those are just some of my thoughts one the ending,dkbk/bkdk,Togachako,and all that. I'm super fucking excited for the rest of this series though!

(Let's cross our fingers for a Deku Vs Kacchan part 3 but it ends with them making out???)

#Mha #Bnha #Bnha 424 spoilers #Mha 424 spoilers #Bkdk #Dkbk #GreeNade #tgchk #chktg #bloodbubbles #dekucchan #katsudeku #togachako #ochatoga #deku x kacchan #toga x ochako

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i-like-media · 2 hours

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I was wondering when they were going to play with the fact the Doctor is black now. 13 being faced with how people think of women was one of my favourite things in her era, so I was curious how they were going to treat his skin colour this season, if at all.

And honestly, Dot And Bubble exceeded all my expectations on the matter!

What a lot of episodes about racism and bigotry do is coddle the viewer. They make clear early on "this is an episode about RACISM and why it's WRONG!" As if you've never heard of the concept before and don't know it's bad. The episode will often portray racism in an extreme sense and show the viewer the main characters are above that.

What Dot And Bubble did, for the entire episode, was letting the viewer figure it out on their own. There was no coddling, only racism as it silently existed. A perfectly pastel and white community with not a single person of colour and the only visible outlier being a goth white kid. And in this world, the first thing the character we follow did, was to block a black guy with a face of disgust.

The title screen rolls and you're left to rationalise it. Surely it was because he was not in her contact list/saying all kinds of mind blowing stuff... Right? Except when Ruby enters her feed and talks about it, she actually replies back... With an eye roll, but she replies... and keeps talking... and listening.

The episode continues, still not a single POC besides the Doctor. They reveal this is an exclusive place for rich people, and eventually the character in question even admits she thought the Doctor was a different person because "I thought you looked the same".

What this episode also does well, is portraying a character we wish to see change and find a better life behind that change. We see Lindy struggle to navigate the world without her bubble, calling herself stupid, and we genuinely hope she DOES learn to be better, even as you slowly pick up on what's been going on sofar. You are left to hope she'll thank him and realise the error of her ways, and maybe find a new drive to think for herself.

And then she doesn't.

She stays in her bubble, doubling down on how she feels about the Doctor, how they're excited to be like their settler ancestors, and finally CLEARLY revealing to the viewers what's been off this whole time... and the scene asks: did YOU notice the signs? Did you see what went wrong along the way, or did you only notice just now when it's explicitly shown to you? And why do you think that is?

It challenges the perspective of the viewer and tells you to reflect on why you didn't see it coming, and that is so so powerful.

The Doctor's reaction to this scene..... 👌👌👌👌

His mouth is ajar, stunned beyond belief that after all he's done and all he can offer, the offer to literally save their lives, he is reduced to someone who's nothing more than the hue of his skin. He yells at them, telling them he doesn't care what they think of him because he's still the same doctor he's always been, and to still get rejected with a dirty look... Which hits extra hard when you remember how much the Doctor loves being himself. He LOVES being the Doctor again! And he walks with such a pep in his step, celebrating his existence and sharing it with all he meets... and then he tries to save some rich white kids from certain death.

His performance in that moment was literally phenomenal. It's a narrative that's so powerful and so creative in its execution, my jaw was still on the floor throughout the credits.

This episode is definitely up there as one of my favourites sofar

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starsreminisce · 2 days

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SJM has a specific way of describing females when they meet their mate, often illustrated through the females staring at their mates unabashedly. This was particularly pronounced in the way she differentiated how Elain was when she first met Lucien and Azriel, and how Gwyn was the first time she met Azriel compared to the second time after her shellshock.

In regards to Elain, SJM made sure to show her fear towards the Illyrians, but with Lucien, she only cringed away once before allowing him to hold her while Nesta was under the cauldron and then staring at him when she was taken away from him.

In ACOMAF, Feyre's experience and Rhys's recounting of their initial meeting highlight this dynamic as well. Rhys described an underlying sense of fear and apprehension, yet there was an undeniable connection. This pattern suggests that SJM intentionally creates an initial sense of tension and unspoken attraction between mates.

Gwyn's encounters with Azriel, especially the second time after her shellshock, also emphasize this distinct dynamic. By having the females stare at their mates unabashedly, SJM underscores the unique connections and the deep, instinctual draw mates feel towards each other, showcasing this inexplicit yet powerful bond.

Feyre with Rhys

I stepped out of the shelter of my savior’s arm and turned to thank him. Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers, offsetting his pale skin and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me. For a moment, we said nothing. Thank you didn’t seem to cover what he’d done for me, but something about the way he stood with absolute stillness, the night seeming to press in closer around him, made me hesitate to speak—made me want to run in the other direction.

Nesta with Cassian

Then, Mother above, Nesta shifted her attention to Cassian, noticing that gleam—what it meant. She snarled softly, “What are you looking at?” Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall.” My face began heating, and I opened my mouth. To say what, I didn’t know. “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.” Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely.

Gwyn with Azriel at Sangravah

“The first had just unbuckled his belt when Azriel arrived.” Silent, unending tears streamed down Gwyn’s face. “Azriel slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn’t hesitate. But I could barely move, and when I tried to get up … He gave me his cloak and wrapped me in it. Morrigan arrived a few minutes later, and then Rhysand appeared, and it became clear some of the soldiers had gotten away with the piece of the Cauldron, so Azriel headed after them. Mor healed me as best she could, then brought me to the library. I couldn’t … I couldn’t bear to be at the temple, with the others. To see Catrin’s grave and know I failed her, to see that kitchen every day for the rest of my life.

Gwyn with Azriel two years later

Gwyn had been distracted today—one eye on the other side of the ring. Cassian could only assume she was watching his brother, who had given Gwyn a small smile of greeting upon arrival. Gwyn hadn’t returned it. Cassian cursed himself for a fool. He should have asked her if she’d be comfortable with Azriel here. Perhaps he should have asked all the priestesses about including another male, but especially Gwyn—whom Azriel had found that day in Sangravah. She’d said nothing about it during the lesson. Only glanced every now and then toward Az, who remained dutifully focused on his charges. Cassian couldn’t read the expression on her face.

Elain with Lucien

There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints. Tamlin remained leashed on the ground, a gag of white, iridescent magic in his mouth now. But his eyes were on Lucien as— As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him—Cassian again stirred—trying to rise, to answer Nesta’s voice as she held my sister and cried her name again and again. .... Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way. The bonds on Tamlin vanished, along with the gag. He was instantly on his feet, snarling at the king. Even the fist on my mind lightened to a mere caress. As if he knew he’d won. ... Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her!” Elain’s feet slipped against the floor, but Nesta gripped her upright, running her hands over Elain’s face, her shoulders, her hair— “Elain, Elain, Elain,” she sobbed. But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder. At Lucien—whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one eye of russet and one of metal. Nesta was still weeping, still raging, still inspecting Elain— Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”

Elain with Azriel

Nesta was waiting at the head of the table, a queen ready to hold court. Elain trembled in the upholstered, carved wood chair to her left. I did them all a favor and took the one to Nesta’s right. Cassian claimed the spot beside Elain, who clenched her fork as if she might wield it against him, and Rhys slid into the seat beside me, Azriel on his other side. A faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers whiteknuckled on that fork, but he kept silent, focusing instead, as Cassian was subtly trying to do, on adjusting his wings around a human chair.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #antie/riel #antielriel #gwynriel #pro gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #acotar mating bonds #nessian #feysand

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mcflymemes · 2 days

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STAR WARS: EPISODE I - THE PHANTOM MENACE PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the 1999 film, adjust as necessary

you can't stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting.

i can only protect you. i cannot fight a war for you.

you almost got us killed!

the ability to speak does not make you intelligent.

are you sure about this?

i want that treaty signed.

it's impossible to locate the ship.

he will find your lost ship.

this is getting out of hand. now there are two of them.

may the force be with you.

at last we will have revenge.

they will be no match for you.

i will not condone a course of action that will lead us to war.

wipe them out. all of them.

i beg your pardon, but what do you mean "naked?"

are you an angel?

they're the most beautiful creatures in the universe.

you're a funny little boy.

how do you know so much?

i listen to all the traders and star pilots who come through here.

you're a jedi knight, aren't you?

[name] says i should be mindful of the future.

be mindful of your feelings.

my place is here. my future is here.

tell them we wish to board at once.

i can't explain what happened.

there is no civility, only politics.

keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs.

this is your arena. i feel i must return to mine.

my fate will be no different to that of our people.

if we do not act quickly, all will be lost forever.

we are your humble servants. our fate is in your hands.

greed can be a very powerful ally.

what has that got to do with anything?

i sense much fear in you.

there's always a bigger fish.

no one can kill a jedi.

remember, concentrate on the moment.

feel, don't think. trust your instincts.

you said that the biggest problem in the universe is no one helps each other.

remember: your focus determines your reality.

why do i get the feeling that we've picked up another pathetic life form?

which one was destroyed, the master or the apprentice?

i'm a pilot, you know.

someday i'm going to fly away from this place.

i need something more real.

i don't have anything else.

no money, no parts, no deal!

they all sense it, why can't you?

don't do that again.

will i ever see you again?

what does your heart tell you?

i will come back and free you. i promise.

be brave and don't look back.

#rp meme #mcflymemes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #rp memes #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #star wars #the phantom menace

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atragicallycrispydude · 3 days

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SLAYER

SLAYER IS HERE AND HES AMAZING

a few quick notes:

-c.s>f.s>c.s>f.s is still a thing! the timing feels a bit different from xrd, but its there! no 5K link, though, just use 5H. (EDIT: 5K does link I just suck ass)

-if you can land 6H, you can land P Pile. you can confirm 6H from any hit c.s, air hit 5K, or most of the counter moves such as It's Late, 5H, or Master's Hammer.

-Super Mappa Hunch is a FULL SCREEN WHIFF PUNISH. It is preposterously fast, as well, but you can block it after the super freeze.

-CH Mappa still links into 5K, but ONLY K Mappa. P Mappa gives you nothing on counter hit. CH Mappa > 5K/c.s > 6H > P Pile is quite good, with a lot of corner carry and easy wallstick if you're close enough. use c.s if you're in the corner.

-Pilebunker only wallsticks on normal hit at close range (unless you've done enough damage to the wall, presumably), but counter hit pilebunker will stick from seemingly anywhere so long as your opponent touches the wall (i think? i havent actually tested it but from what i saw doing the arcade mode...)

-Bloodsucking Universe increases the damage Slayer's specials do (for example, Pilebunker goes from 80 to 100 dmg.)

-Slayer gets basically nothing on any Dandy Step followup normal hit without meter, they just result in a soft knockdown so you can reset pressure.

-if you manage to get a Chipp to 100 RISC, while you have 100 meter, and then land a CH Mappa, you can do this combo. It feels weirdly difficult? Last Horizon is not cancelled into here, just linked into, but it feels kinda tight. other than that its very practical, this will be an important bnb.

-He is INSANELY SLOW. His dash is not jump-cancellable and doesnt move him very far, which makes sense given his close range damage.

-Hand Of Doom is pretty whatever, i dont think its invincible the whole way through but i havent really experimented with it much yet.

-Last Horizon hits like 6 times but all of the hits are counted as one, so it scales decently, but be careful using it as it does not break the wall.

all in all hes super super fun and i cant wait to play him against actual people

Edit as I've had some time on Floor 10 with him:

-i don't know if I'm just using it wrong, but Hand of Doom kinda sucks? I think it is invincible but it's quite hard to land (I'm not used to backdashing on wakeup in this game though so it might just take some time to get used to)

-Super Mappa Hunch does NOT suck it's a really good move. Great whiff punish, great fireball punish, though very unsafe on block obviously. It also has a clean hit for some reason? And its, like, slightly longer than round start range? Very strange

-his pressure is pretty similar to Sol's where he just kinda has to fish for counterhits using his normals, and if he uses a special move other than Master's Hammer, you can take your turn back (probably)

-Speaking of Masters Hammer: plus TWENTY FUCKING SIX??? REALLY? I get that it's like 43 frames of startup but Jesus Christ. I'd be fine with it if the hitbox wasn't so obnoxious but it seems to be the size of a small car

-I genuinely cannot understate how horrible his movement is. It is genuinely garbage. Mappa Hunch can help you get in, but JESUS he's slow. He feels kinda like Pot now, actually, given that he has to get in to apply really good pressure

-Bloodsucking Universe is maybe active for a weirdly long time? I've seen the whiff come out and then the grab lands, but that could just be rollback shenanigans

-I miss Crosswise Heel. It was a good answer to jumping over Dandy Step but now you can just jump over Dandy Step. Yes I know it needs weaknesses Slayer is super super powerful but shhhhhhh

#guilty gear #slayer guilty gear #ggst #guilty gear strive #fuck his stage 9 arcade boss battle by the way it was bullshit

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cultmachine · 16 hours

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time for me to talk too much and take p1 too seriously. All of this is just my take on his character and my hcs

Starting off I wanna go over what I think his arsenal looks like pre-killing spree. He's got only his AR at the start of the game, but considering that a shotgun is right outside in his yard, I'm gonna say that gun is also his. The shotgun came first, an heirloom from his dad (who I believe was also a gun nut but that's for another time). The shotgun's manufacturer is lost to time, but it works well and that's what counts.

For a good while the shotgun is all he has. He feels safe enough with that kind of protection, but as the paranoia ramps up he starts longing for something that's easy to conceal and carry with him, a faster shot and holds more ammunition- like a pistol. It's probably safe to assume he didn't spend a ton of money on this (because he couldn't), and depending on when he bought this, he could have gotten it from Walmart.

That feels so Postal to me that I gotta go with it, but finding what kind of pistols were available there back in the day is kinda impossible. I have no idea what would have been affordable for him either, but that doesn't matter too much because for Postal purposes we could escalate it (if we even have to) and say his local supermarket sells anything you can think of. I'm gonna have to look around and see what guns would even be in his price range before I can decide on the one he buys, but I'm gonna talk about his first pistol more in our fic for sure because it marks the very start of his rapid decline into the mindset he has in '97 yayyyy

These two guns are all he keeps for a while, despite his growing fears, because on top of the fear of being attacked he is also wildly aware of what's going on with gun control laws. No matter his political stance on it, one thing is for sure and that's that if he owns too many guns, the cops are gonna start looking in his direction. Or at least he thinks they will, like they have some kind of sixth sense. He's at least partially convinced for a while that purchasing weapons makes him a target.

Now onto the AR-15 he buys. This gun is super important to everything. To his state of mind, to the commentary on politics and society and to his story as a whole. I've never held a rifle like that, I don't know what it's like to shoot one, but it doesn't take a lot of imagining to understand how powerful Dude would feel with something like that in his grip. I'm not sure where he would have gotten it realistically, but for Postal it's safe to say he popped into an ATF r Us or something like it and slapped some cash on the counter. No background check required, right? Right.

And this would be his first gun he bought to go on the offensive with, his other guns were meant to be defensive, but the AR is bought with the intent to kill. Not right away, though. He has his AR for a few years prior to the massacre in '97, dealing with his intrusive thoughts surrounding it, but finding it comforting to have that kind of firepower available to him. That comfort doesn't last forever, though........ We all know what happens.

As for the rest of the guns and knives and shit Dude owns, all of it was picked up or stolen, just like gameplay. He's like a crow and guns are his shiny quarters. He doesn't even use half of his collection regularly, he just wants to own them. Especially once we get to his P2 era, his interest in guns is 10% needing to protect himself and 90% guns sexy.

Ok I'm gonna shut up

#postal

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 days

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Datura Pt 14

Author's Note: If your read ACOSF and got to that part where Cassian is mind controlled and thought, hmm how could this hurt me more, look no further. Had to make it angsty before we get fluffy, right?

Warnings: Allusions to Assault, Character Death, Canon Typical Violence/Blood and Gore. A lot of angst; like a lot.

Masterlist/ Previous Chapter

There's a callback to Chapter 1 in here, but since it's been so long since I wrote it, here's the chapter again, just for a refresher ;)

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

Revenge had kept you warm all those nights in the dungeon, had kept your chin up during every humiliating thing that red headed bitch had put you through. You’d spent hours and hours dreaming up all the ways you would make her pay for turning your life upside down, for tearing the Courts apart, for laying a hand on your mate. In your dreams it was a swift, clean death that wiped away any chance of survival. But standing in the dark tunnels of the Mountain’s lowest levels, the blood of her men dripping from your claws, this is the last thing you want.

This is not swift justice, this is not satisfying revenge, it’s a bloodbath. Males reach for their swords and you tear them apart with your hands, claws cleaving through armor and flesh with little resistance, the splatter of it chilling against your changed skin. Every sense is heightened, every smell and sight changed and distorted, the splatter of blood stings like pin pricks, and yet the beast that has lived caged within your chest all these years delights in it. Your head screams at you to stop, yet your body moves as if it enjoys the hunt.

Hybern said all of them, and your collared body responds accordingly, leaving nothing left of the sentries that patrol the lower levels of the Mountain. There are beasts and monsters here too, hiding in the dark corners, huddling around fires to stay warm as autumn creeps in, all dispatched with a ruthless efficiency that makes your stomach churn, and yet you still can’t force yourself to stop.

The darkness of this place that had once felt so soul crushing and disorienting now makes the muscles in your shoulders relax. The beast within you chuckles as it slips into the dark shadows as if they’re a caress of a lover.

A sentry walks your direction, unawares. He’s dead before his next breath.

With no physical control of your body, you try desperately to call for your mate, to find whatever shred of a bond is left, if there even is one, but you feel it go nowhere. Before, it was like dropping a bit of water into a pond, the echo of your call disturbing the ether of the physic plane until something out there felt the ripple. But there is no ripple here. It is as if your calls bounce off a wall of steel. If there is a bond left, it is as much a prisoner to Hybern’s will as you are, no matter how much you mentally bash yourself against it.

Your body moves without your consent, deeper and deeper into the Mountain. Your hands move on their own volition, yanking previously locked doors off the hinges to allow you to tear apart whatever prisoner, guard, or beast lays within. Some of them are still sleeping when you come, completely unaware they’re being hunted until it’s too late. Some try to fight. None get far. These newly awakened powers leave little room for fighting, all you have to do is direct some of that ether between your fingers in their direction and they turn to a bloody mist. You are a far greater monster than anything in this Mountain has ever been, and there’s no chance that anyone will be warned you’re there until it’s too late.

Time is a concept that exists outside of you, however long it takes to clear the lower levels, the winding, endless tunnels filled with bodies, feels like both a blink and an eternity. It had been sunrise when you’d entered, it very well could have been evening already and you’d have no idea. All this body knows is the hunt, and it moves tirelessly through floors you’ve never seen, with soldiers and war bands and monsters you’d never known existed, until the halls start to look familiar. The prison first, your old cell still damaged. The training room, with its dust stained weapons and crumbling pillars. Every floor up is a new terror, a possibility to come across a face you know.

“Please,” you beg whatever entity will dare listen to you. “Please, let him be out. Let him be anywhere but here.” Everything you touch dies, if anything happens to Rhys…

Blood drips off your aching skin. Moving like this makes your muscles feel like they could pull away from your bones, this form too much for your mortal body to keep contained. It should be tiring, yet, your legs still move you forward as if you haven’t been tearing through an army for hours, unhindered by your discomfort.

“Please stop,” you whisper when you find sleeping quarters for Amarantha’s servants, fangs bared and claws swinging. “Please!”

A blue skinned fae with crooked wings drops to their knees before you, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Have mercy! Please!”

Stop this. Stop this. Stop this!

The collar hums at your hesitation, metal burning, it’s dark power pulsing through your veins like living flames. A growl of pain slips out of you as you extend your hand and mist the begging fae.

Others sprint from the room, screaming. None of them make it farther than the outside hallway.

You can feel blood and gore beneath your feet as you walk past, looking for anyone else on this floor. There’s a couple hiding in a closet, hands pressed over their mouths to keep quiet. A soldier drunk and stumbling with his pants around his ankles. A courtier slipping from a secret lover’s room. All gone.

You’d cry if you could, but nothing slows you, your body moving ever forward until it comes to a hall you recognize, your own claw marks dragged across the walls.

The more you try and fight it, the more the collar burns.

Most of the rooms around your old cell are empty, your own included. In all your revenge plans you’d always pictured yourself destroying it before leaving, but the collar doesn’t care what you want. It shuts the door and leaves the bed and the book written about you for the dust to once again claim as it begins its ascent to the Throne Room.

There are plenty of obstacles getting there, their faces all a blur of sudden terror and agony. No amount of bathing will ever cleanse the feeling of all this gore from your skin, from your soul.

The Throne Room doors finally come into view, the noise you’ve been making in the lower levels attracting the attention of the guards, who stand at the closed doors with their spears drawn. They’d been so imposing, that day the Attor had dragged you into Amarantha’s chambers, but now, they’re as dangerous as flies. You turn them to mist with the same blast of power that shatters the doors, the ancient rock around you screaming in protest. This draws some attention from the dancing crowd, but it’s not until you’ve misted a large chunk of them that the music finally stops playing.

No. No. No.

The crowd parts with a scream, pressing against the walls, scrambling for the exits as you step into that all too familiar room, dripping blood behind you.

“What is the meaning of-” Amarantha’s shrill voice echoes off the chamber walls, rattling the decaying bodies still pinned to the ruined stones of this once sacred hall. There had always been a strange energy to the Mountain, the magic that kept it alive, old and strange, always hidden beneath the surface, but with your new found powers, you feel the echo of it beneath your feet. This place is twisted, the once holy magic from the Cauldron itself rotten and decaying, you crinkle your nose at the smell of it.

The Queen still sits on her throne, the sheer fabric of her blood red dress clinging to her meager curves, as she takes you in. It takes her a minute to understand what she’s seeing, to process the magnitude of what you were and what you now are. Her gaze flicks to her side… where she keeps your mate chained to her throne.

The screaming of the crowd, the pounding of your heart, it’s all a dull, distant echo in your ears. Rhys is wearing a collar, his dark hair messy, knotted atop his head, violet eyes glassy, red streaked; he’s not wearing a shirt, or pants, stripped down to his boxers, his tattooed chest bruised and littered with claw marks.

Oh gods.

What had she done to him?

Mentally, you bash against the wall between the two of you, screaming for him, begging anybody who will listen to let you out, to let you save him.

If he can hear you, he gives no acknowledgment. Even if he could break through that wall between you, there’s no way he could do it in this state. It takes him a long time to process what he sees when his gaze finally drags to you, as if it’s an effort to move his head. His glassy eyes blinking too many times like he’s trying to clear the haze from them to ensure that what he’s seeing is real. He’s as much himself as you are, both of you locked behind a wall of someone else’s making. You’re sure your heart is breaking, if it works at all it’s a ragged, bleeding thing that sits uselessly in your chest.

Amarantha stands and Rhys sways on his knees, trying to get out of her way. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way he flinches away from her hand, the way he dips his chin to his chest.

“What is this?” She snarls. “Guards!”

If there are soldiers coming for you, or just the crowd scattering to let them pass, it doesn’t matter. You raise a hand and mist all of them, the rock above your head shuddering as your power obliterates everything from flesh to rock.

Amarantha’s red painted lips part in shock, a small gasp of surprise slipping out of her.

There are a dozen different things you want to say to her, a thousand different things you mean to make her pay for, but you can’t open your mouth to say anything. There are no words able to pass beyond the burning thrum of the collar fused to your throat.

“This is a new look for you, Little Mouse,” she croons as a ring of fire emerges to wreathe her hands. “Who’d you have to fuck to make that happen? Certainly not Rhysand.”

She’ll pay for every cut, every bruise, every damn hair out of place on his head. The carnage behind you, around you, the blood that drips from your body, it’ll stain your very soul for the rest of your life if you manage to escape this, you know that for certain, but her death? You and the monster that lives inside, will relish every last one of her agonizing breaths. You’ll make her beg for mercy, as you had begged on your knees before her in this room, and you’ll take your time doing it.

Amarantha assesses you with the surety of a seasoned warlord, every step closer intentional, getting in range to take a shot at you. You wait, letting her get close enough, and just when she’s sure of her place on this new battlefield, you lunge for her with a speed that shouldn’t be possible, even for a fae. She barely has time to blink before you slash your claws across her face. You go right for her eye, aiming to maim, to make it hurt. She screams as your claws tear through flesh and bone, body spinning to get away from you and your free hand comes up to grab her by the hair and hurl her back towards the dias. She stumbles, barely managing to catch herself on the steps leading to her throne.

Rhys scatters as far back as the chain will allow him to avoid her, but his gaze remains fully fixed on you. A familiar brush of night chilled power brushes over your mind, asking for entry and you try your best to throw a door open, to let him in, but that wall remains between the two of you. You can feel him there, on the other side, trying to reach you, but the wall won’t come down.

There’s no time to try another way to reach him either, not when Amarantha starts throwing fire balls at your head. “You stupid, little bitch!” She screams. “I take you in, I offer to train you, to befriend you and you thank me like this?”

The eye on her ring swivels to look at the damage you’ve made in its master’s face in a move that looks strangely… impressed.

You dodge the first couple of throws she makes, letting them hit old cushions and tables. The next throw, you reach out a hand and catch the ball of flame. The fire would have blistered your skin, should make you scream in agony, but in this form, like this? You draw that power inside you as easy as you draw a breath, the crackle of flames like a drug in your veins. It’s intoxicating. When she throws more, her anger becoming more and more tangible and her shots more wild then the last, you take those in too, savoring it until it bubbles up in the pit of your stomach and you have no other choice but to hurl it back at her in a blast she just barely manages to shield herself from.

Distracted with keeping the shield up, you rush her again, drawing in the power she expels from her shield with ease so that there is nothing stopping you from getting a hand around her throat, lifting her up into the air and slamming her down against the marble floors so hard they crack beneath her. Amarantha screams around the hand clamped down around her windpipe as you pick her up and slam her down two more times.

She is still a formidable opponent, she manages to summon an ice pick and jam it into your wrist to free herself as you reel away with a howl of pain.

Rhys is still trying to reach you, throwing all his mental energy into breaking through, even as you watch his body slump a little more and more next to Amarantha’s throne. You want to scream for him, tell him to stop before he hurts himself anymore, but the words get lost as the collar’s power burns through you in retaliation for not immediately killing Amarantha. The pain of her ice pick in your wrist is nothing to the heat that emanates from the collar, the pain the only thing in all this time to make your legs shake. The pain doesn’t dissipate until you land a punch in Amarantha’s face, her nose breaking under your knuckles. The collar demands blood and it will have it.

No one in the crowd moves to help her, those that remain stay pressed against the walls, watching in horror as the two of you fight it out. There’s a strange sort of glee in the air, as the oppressed relish in their oppressor’s certain demise. If there are any guards left, they don’t come to save her.

You swing for her head again, but she dodges at the last second, your fist cracking the marble beneath you a second time.

Spitting blood, she manages to get off the floor, fists raised to protect her ruined face.

You snarl at her, one of the few sounds the collar will allow, and she throws as much ice and snow at you as she can, mingling it with bits of fire. She lets her claws sharpen at her fingertips, trying to make herself into a beast as formidable as you, but it won’t save her. Her blows do little and you can take satisfaction in the fact that she can no longer hurt you in this form, at least. You absorb what you can and let the rest bounce off you as you stalk closer, pushing her further back until she stumbles on the steps leading to her throne. Fitting, that she die here at the base.

She throws a blast of darkness at you, a blast of your mate’s power, twisted and wrong in her hands and it’s the only thing she’s thrown thus far that makes your body tremble. The collar rattles at your throat, shaken but not loosened. You growl out a shuddering breath as you push through the waves of energy and push your hand right into her chest. Bones break and split beneath your hands, her blood warm as your hand sinks into her chest cavity.

Amarantha gasps in surprise, in pain, as your fingers wrap around her still beating heart. Her dark eyes widen with fear, mouth hanging open as blood pools in the corners of her lips.

“Please,” she gurgles. She knows she’s going to die either way, but now, for the first time, she’s powerless. As powerless as all the people she has harmed over the years.

Your fingers tighten, her body as resistant as her shields beneath your hands. All those powers she’s stolen lash against you: A bit of light and darkness, ice and fire and water in a last ditch effort to save herself. Yet, your body pulls it in greedily as you get a solid grip on her beating heart.

None of this feels real, possible. This is something out of your books back home.

“Please,” she rasps. As if she had ever shown any of you mercy, as if she had not demanded that you beg at her feet and then laughed in your face. “Please.”

And there, at the foot of her oh so precious throne, in front of her dark court, you rip the Queen’s heart right out of her chest, silencing that grating voice for eternity.

You don’t even get to relish in the victory, to appreciate for even a second that you are all finally free of her, not when all that power she’d stolen swirls around you. The void that makes up your skin draws it in, waves of ice and water and flame swirling like a tornado around your body. The collar hums gleefully in your ears, as if this was its plan all along. It’s too much at once, bringing you to your knees as the influx of power in your veins has your head pounding mercilessly in your skull. Spots dance around your vision, the world spinning and flipping. There is not enough air in Prythian to help you breath against the influx of power. This was why she was always smoking the mirthroot. No one person could hold this much power at once. It will tear up your insides, ruin your mind, your soul.

“Y/N?” Rhys reaches for you, despite his shackles, his voice slurred. Just like in the Pit, you think it will be horror you see on his face, but it is only concern for you, not of you.

Your mate, wearing a collar just as you are. Your mate who was punished for not keeping you beneath the Mountain. Your mate who’s powers now swirl around beneath your skin like the dark whisper of a shadow. Your mate now splattered with Amarantha’s blood as he reaches a hand out to you, as if he could somehow save you from this wild thing tearing up your insides. The Cauldron had been merciless, cold, and empty, but this is like being roasted alive, the fire too hot, making the water churning around you boil and steam. Ice pricks against your sensitive skin like a thousand tiny needles. It’s too much. It has to be released somewhere.

Rhys calls for you again, crawling towards you, body so much slower than it should be. Distantly, in that small part of you still aware of yourself, you know you need to give his powers back to him. His powers will speed his healing; his powers might just save him from you, but that wall is still there between you and your body. When you try to reach for him the collar pulses so intensely with heat you jerk back away from him, sliding down the steps with a whimper.

Rhys manages to get on his feet, swaying under all that mirthroot. “Y/N!”

His voice is so loud in your ears. Everything is too much. The brush of the throne’s steps against your feet, the swirl of water around your body, even the air in the room feels like it’s pressing against your skin. You throw out a hand, trying to make it stop, sending spikes of ice in all directions.

It must have hit the chain around Rhys’s neck because a moment later he’s stumbling down the steps to take your face in hand, the powers swirling around you be damned. “Focus on me,” he orders.

Your head is going to explode.

His strong hands grip your face, “Right here. Breathe. You’re ok. Just breathe.”

Why is he screaming? Your hands move despite yourself to shove him off you, to try and make the world quiet for five seconds. This is too much. You can’t bear it. You know you’re screaming because the collar retaliates against it, using the powers you’ve stolen to wound you further for the rebellion, but you can’t stop. The Mountain begins to shake and rumble, loose rock and debris falling in waves overhead.

Light and darkness pour out of you in blinding waves, the swaying movement in sync to your heartbeat. It’s a pulse that slams into the Mountain’s own magic, beating relentlessly until more chunks of the rock get hurled away, letting more light in. More people scatter, their screams mingling with your own.

“You can do this,” Rhys encourages, and when you finally manage to get your gaze to where he still kneels beside you. “Just breathe.”

“This is a new side of you Rhysand.” The world tilts. The pounding in your head makes the echo of approaching boots feel like every step has been made atop your skull. “I never would have thought you’d be offering up your services as a teacher, I thought you’d prefer to be on your back.”

Hybern walks into view, armor glinting, sword in hand.

No!

“Stop this,” Rhys begs and the sight of him like that, on his knees, makes you want to rip your father to shreds. “Let go of her! That collar will kill her.”

“Only if she fights it,” Hybern says with a shrug.

Blood trickles out your nose in inky black droplets, splattering the floor. When you lean forward and heave, more black goo comes out your mouth.

“I will give you anything,” Rhys pleads.

“Is this love?” Hybern sneers.

He does not wait for an answer as he turns to you and says, “Kill him, Y/N, I’ve waited long enough.”

No amount of mentally bashing yourself against the walls that cage you stop you from reaching out a hand and using a bit of Rhys’s own power to throw him across the room, his body bouncing off the marble.

It feels as if you’re lifting the Mountain just to get back on your feet, body swaying. Blood still drips from your nose. There might never be enough release of all this power to make the pain in your temples fade.

Rhys struggles to get to his feet, arms shaking beneath him. You’ve split open his cheek and temple. He’s barely managed to get up before you hurl more shadows at him, the dark mist lashing like a whip, cutting open his shoulder, his side.

Stop! Stop! Stop! By the Cauldron, he’s your mate! You can’t do this to him!

“Y/N,” Rhys slurs, voice breaking and you’re sure it’s the cracking of your own heart in your chest.

“Stop playing around,” Hybern orders.

Your body moves despite your efforts, lunging forward, fists flying. Rhys does his best to dodge, but he puts up no real effort, letting blow after blow land when he gets too tired to keep up.

Fight back. Please, by the Cauldron, fight back!

You manage to get a hand around his throat and you slam him so hard into the wall it cracks, his body nearly limp in your grip.

Stop. Stop. Stop!

“It’s ok,” he rasps. He’s not even trying to pry you off. “It’s not your fault.”

You’re going to die. If he dies, at your hand, you will not recover from this. Hybern might as well have killed you back at the Temple, there will be no saving you.

Violet eyes meet yours. There is no fear there, only understanding, only compassion.

You mentally throw yourself at the wall stopping you from regaining control over your body, bashing against it with everything you have. The collar’s power burns through you like boiling water in your veins. For your mate, your selfless, self-sacrificing mate, you’ll take whatever agony it can throw at you. It can’t end like this!

“I love you,” Rhys says, hands brushing over your claws. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

No. No. No!

Your claws tighten around his throat, drawing blood, as he gasps for air.

The collar rattles against your skin from how hard you’re fighting it, the metal hissing and screaming in your ears. You’re not going to let this happen. After everything you’ve been through, you can’t let Hybern win. He’s just a man. You’re a goddess, you will not be shackled to some mortal’s will. He will not take your mate from you, even if you have to fight Death yourself for him.

Darkness leaks from you. Your other fist slams into the wall next the Rhys’s head as your body spasms under the collar’s control.

“It’s ok,” Rhys whispers.

Spots swim across your vision, so damn fast they start to look like shadows. The world spins. The fire in your veins is unbearable. So much so that your body’s self-preservation finally kicks in and the hand around Rhys’s throat finally unlatches to let you grasp at the collar.

Rhys collapses, coughing at your feet as you tug at the metal fused to your skin, trying to pull it off. It’s not full control, but if you can keep pushing…

The room keeps spinning, end over end, the blood red marble at your feet now at the ceiling. Your stomach’s in your throat as your knees give out beneath you. You think you might be screaming again but the collar hums so loud you can’t hear anything over it. Still, you claw and yank at it with everything you’ve got.

“Stop fighting, Y/N,” Hybern orders.

Every breath feels like a battle. “Fuck…” the metal peels away from your skin like you’re ripping off a bandaid, skin coming with it. “You!” You snarl, voice ragged and gone.

He’s not going to beat you.

You get a claw beneath the metal, tearing through your own skin, it’s the only thing sharp enough to reach through the void.

“That’s enough!” Hybern screams.

The High Lord’s powers are yours, not Hybern’s, not the collar’s, not a product of the Cauldron. Yours. You push as much of Rhys’s darkness into your palms as you can, let that dark, glittering power slither its way beneath the collar.

Rhys manages to get up again, face bruised and bloodied. “Y/N!”

After everything, you’re not going to let him die, no matter what it costs you.

You get both hands around the collar, push whatever power you have into your palms until the heat of Autumn’s flames make the metal soft in your grip. Hybern is still yelling orders, but the don’t matter. If this kills you in the end, at least you’ll go knowing he didn’t get his precious Death Goddess. If you go, he looses.

With one last, rattling scream, you rip the collar off and the darkness pulsing from your body swallows you whole.

---

It’s all darkness. Not the Cauldron’s darkness. Not the Void that makes up your being. Not the darkness of your mate. It’s empty. Cold. Quiet. It has no beginning or ending, no borders or boundaries. It flows and ebbs like a tide, carrying your broken body along.

Broken. It’s a strange feeling, teetering along the edge of death itself, the pain a reminder that you’ve not fully topped over into nothingness yet, but it is there, pulling you closer and closer with no tether to the living on the other side of this dark veil.

And yet…

There, above your aching head, spins a single, glowing flower.

In this haze, it’s hard to remember where you’ve seen it before, yet you know, somehow that it’s meant for you.

“Come. Come and see.” It’s that phantom voice from your dreams again, always beckoning, tugging that tiny, little thread you feel blooming in your chest.

You reach for the flower, every muscle feeling like it might tear apart the more you move. It spins just out of reach, drawing you along, against the ebbing tide. Perhaps your eyes are playing tricks on you, but the darkness feels as if it’s getting lighter somehow.

The flower continues to beckon, further and further into the light until you have to shield your eyes against it…

---

Gaining consciousness feels suspiciously like being dropped from nothingness against the icy bite of the marble floors. Even being remade inside the Cauldron didn’t feel entirely as jarring as whatever that was.

Strong hands stroke your cheeks, moving your hair aside from your aching forehead. “Please, please, come back.” Rhys whispers, voice cracking.

His tears drip along your cheeks and it takes all your effort to drag an eye open to look at him. “I’m not…” it feels like you’re talking around a throatful of gravel. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your mate lets out a sob as he drags your aching body into his arms, chest heaving as he cries into your hair. Over his shoulder, you can see the destruction behind him, the Mountain in shambles, what’s left of Amarantha near her throne. But Hybern is nowhere to be found.

Rhys pulls away just enough to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, “I thought you were dead.”

“I am a goddess after all,” you grumble. You certainly don’t feel divine by any means. “Kinda hard to kill me.”

He laughs through his tears, as he holds you tighter.

You let yourself lean into his touch, eyes closing. The worst of it is over, and yet, it all hits you at once. “I’m sorry,” you rasp into his skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re safe,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “That’s all that matters.”

“Hybern-”

His arms tighten around you, “Don’t worry, Darling. We’re going to make sure he pays for everything he’s done.”

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

*Thank you all for sticking with this story, I know my posting times have been sporadic lately, rest assured I will see this through. =)*

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prince-liest · 1 day

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Dr Prince! You have very effectively infected my brainslug with ‘Lady’s First’ (fire name, btw. the meaning hit me in the face when typing this and you would only know when checking the spelling) I can’t stop thinking about it.

Sorry beforehand, this may bully your inbox with a wall of text.

There are so many things I want to write and analyse about this, but right now I’d like to focus on Vox:

(also: feel free to ignore this if my insane ramblings go off the rails, lol, they tend to do that)

So I find it fascinating how both of them interact in this. Clearly they were talking about emotional and personal things way more than male Alastor. It’s very hard for me to put into words, not gonna lie. Vox, I feel like, has experienced a very different kind of ‘hell-socialisation’ in this version. Since it’s not ‘my gender is eldritch monster’ Alastor he’s looked up to but Alastor the woman who also happens to be the mighty Radio Demon, things turned out very different.

We can all agree that friendships between men and friendships between men and women are different. We can’t forget that Vox is also playing a role here. His presentation is carefully crafted to be the ‘man’s man’. He is all ‘I’m going to present as toxic masculine as I have learned men to be during my lifetime’ -> probably very much imitating the way that his boss used to present. Because that’s what a man does, of course(lol)! The competitive edge, so to say, is missing that would be present between ‘old-boy’ male friends. This is laced with the fact that Vox is also queer as Hell and not immune to his own upbringing. So he was able to clock Alastor’s insecurity IMMEDIATELY and tried his best to dispel them (even though it was for different reasons than one might think initially). Because he’s probably been subject to the same thing when he was alive. (Again, ignore if I’m being stupid about this, it’s just my own interpretation and I’m INSANE)

Also it kinda feels like talking about feelings is something that comes more naturally to Vox and thus, things like him being transgender and them having talked about his vast collection of dildos beforehand is interesting but I also can’t quite put my finger on WHY, exactly. Is it because a male Alastor would have absolutely snooped around Vox’s room as well, taken note of the dildos and just not given a shit? I don’t know! And Vox being so soft and considerate throughout the whole thing hit me in the face out of left field, not gonna lie.

Now, coming over to Alastor for a moment. You can almost see the gears turning in her head that led to this decision. All the little hints beforehand and the interactions throughout. As you said: socialisation as a woman dictated to her that if she wants to have a meaningful friendship with a man, it is expected of her to give herself over. She clearly likes Vox enough but I think there are also other layers to this. There is also that “choosing a partner” vibe. She is just as curious and wanting to try things as her male counterpart. She also already knew she probably wouldn’t enjoy sex but she’s not above trying it out nevertheless -> combining all the things: Vox being a friend that is near and dear to her heart that she also doesn't feel ‘weaker’ to, if that makes sense. Vox can’t ‘take’ her power or perceived status away the same way a non-Overlord would in this scenario. I interpret/project a lot of “men sleeping around are heroes, women sleeping around are sluts” into this. Then there is Vox being trans and having had very similar socialisations during his lifetime. It almost created a safe space for Alastor. If it was going to be ANY man she was ever going to try this with, it would be Vox. (Of course that notion of ‘safety’ is a very flimsy and badly worded descriptor that goes out the window the second we bring hypnosis and the fact that they are DEMONS in HELL into the mix but I’m very bad at describing my thoughts in this otherwise)

Phew. ok, so that was so many words to say: I love this stuff!

Now I wish that it was a series but my brain already can’t comprehend how this masterpiece even saw the light of day so….

Thank you so much for this!

HENCHY THIS ASK WAS SO LOVELY <3 No apologies, I love long comments (though for continuous conversations I tend to start putting things under a cut, haha).

I think you're very on-point with a lot of this, especially with Vox feeling like a safe enough option that Alastor was able to get far enough as to try this in the first place. And it's not just because she thinks Vox understands where she's coming from, having experienced life "as a woman" (in Alastor's eyes, though that's not precisely actually true to the trans experience), but also because they're from similar enough time periods that she thinks Vox has a proper understanding of how things should be. Vox in this fic has been historically actively more respectful to Alastor in a very gendered way because he's socially canny enough to pick up on the fact that Alastor expects him to be, and he cares enough about what she thinks of him to continue behaving that way even decades after they met when it's not actually the 1950s anymore.

Chivalry is dead, but they're both in hell with it!

And talking about his feelings comes more naturally to Vox in this fic because he's talking about them to a woman rather than another man, so a lot of society's "men shouldn't have soft squishy feelings (unless it's to their mother or female significant other)" bullshit doesn't register, especially to a guy who, y'know, has a vested interest in performing masculinity "correctly." If that makes sense! >:D

Anyway, thank you so much! I didn't expect the sheer amount of interest and positive response that this fic would garner and it has brought me a lot of joy. I'm really happy that you enjoyed it!

#ask #personal #henchy5824 #t #my writing #long post #nsft #lady's first

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