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chaoticace2005 · 2 months

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Reasons the Mothman should die, collectively written by the residents of the Hazbin Hotel:

Coding for Characters: Vaggie, Charlie, Pentious, Alastor, Niffty, Husk, pretty much everyone

TW: References to abuse

He’s holding back Angel’s progress. (Vaggie, is killing really necessary?) (I am concerned about going after a Vee)

I’m hungry (ALASTOR!)

Ms. Angel gets nervous when on the phone with him.

His coat is tacky.

He’s a bug! And bugs must be DESTROYED!

So Angel stops feeling like he has to be so damn fake. This is getting on my fucking nerves.

HE LICKED CHARLIE!!! (Vaggie, wait it’s okay.)

Color scheme sucks. Purple AND red?!

He makes Angel sad, NOBODY should make Angel sad.

Those obnoxious glasses just make him look stupid.

He’s a manipulative, abusive prick.

ANGEL DIDN'T KNOW BOUNDARIES WERE A THING?!?!?!?!?!? (Honestly that explains a lot.)

NOBODY deserves to be in an abusive relationship.

Too many arms. Nobody needs that many. (...Angel has that many?) (Well maybe he shouldn't.)

Ms. Angel keeps coming home all messy!!

He’s ruining hearts for everyone. Me and Angel already have enough. At least those are on our bodies, what’s his excuse?

Hearts should not even be ASSOCIATED with Valentino, THIS IS NOT LOVE.

I can do without all the sexual depravity. While I am in Hell this is NOT one of the reasons.

If I have to hear that ringtone one more damn time-

The Eggies found some of his films. They should never be exposed to such horrors. Now I have to explain what “a sex” is.

Makes picture shows that are a disgrace to the idea of “entertainment.”

He’s making a bad name for Uncle Ozzie. This is NOT “lust.”

So we don’t have to listen to another one of Angel’s pornos. (Agreed, it’s quite horrifying!!)

So Ms. Angel isn’t tired when she gets home and can save the kinky stuff for then :) (Niff, really?)

So the kid stops coming home with bruises and cuts that I fix up at 3 am. (Husk, what the fuck?)

Because what the FUCK Valentino?

He keeps forcing Angel to do drugs. (HE WHAT?! Like crack??) (That but also I’m pretty sure whatever comes out of him is an aphrodisiac.)

I want to use his antenna as a backscratcher

Has that whole red color thing going on. Only I am allowed to wear red :) (Al, your text isn’t even red.) (My what?)

What is up with his red spit and smoke? Seriously disgusting.

The red stuff from him may be what allows Velvette to create her “Love Potions” which funds Vax’s stupid endeavors (Do you mean Vox?) (Who?)

FOR MY COLLECTION :D (…yeah okay.)

Really is making a bad name for Overlords. And not in the fun way.

Angel’s shown trauma signs of abuse in our meetings. Im pretty sure it’s Valentino.

Make a doll out of his fur so I have a main villain for roach puppet shows!!!

His only purpose is to keep Veks occupied but considering Vixen’s inane attempts to catch my attention it isn’t working.

So Angel can have his soul and he and Husk can run off into the sunset together like in a fanfiction!!! (Ah, yes that would be nice.) (WE WHAT?!) (Oh Husker, denial doesn’t suit you.)

So Angel can get a good boyfriend THAT’S NOT ME to stop these bullshit allegations.

So Angel can admit his feelings to Husker because our cat surely isn’t going to be the first to do it. (ALASTOR I SWEAR TO GOD!)

Who knows how many other people he’s abusing.

Seems to give Vicks confidence. He has enough of that as is. It much more fun to destroy him.

He makes Angel sad which makes Cherri sad!

HE HIT ANGEL!!!

Called my dear Rosie an "old hag" NOBODY CALLS ROSIE AN OLD HAG.

Angel is a good friend and deserves so much better.

I’ve forgotten what moths taste like.

He keeps trying to get Angel to move out :(

Told the kid he had to lose weight. What the actual FUCK. (Ill kill him.)

He’s annoying and looks quite stupid. How has this not been added yet?!

He’s making a bad name for Spanish speakers everywhere. (Yeah it’s embarrassing.) (Wait… what?)

He’s making a bad name for pansexuals everywhere.

He’s making a bad name for wing-holders everywhere. (HE HAS FUCKING WINGS?!) (Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you?)

Too tall. This is ridiculous.

Won’t admit he’s blind so he’s become even more of a public safety hazard.

If I get one more transmission of him and Box commiting lascivious acts someone will be eaten. I don’t care who. What the purpose of these are I don’t know. Advertisement? (I think it’s to make you jealous boss.) (Ha! Jealous of what? Mediocre sex with a pathetic excuse for a businessman with a TV as a head?)

Because Angel deserves fucking better.

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midnightsun-if · 8 months

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Hello!! Okay so ROs reaction to MC being asked out in front of them..? (crushing stage vs. relationship stage)

Crushing Stage

Koda: "What did that person want, Anon?" His eyes trail after the receding figure, the smallest of furrows to his brow. However, his expression easily slips into a fond smile when he turns back to you. "Did you have a nice chat? Did they need help with an assignment?"

When you shake your head, and tell him what had occurred, a rush of emotions tears through him, but he shakes them off. You were here with him after all, right? He had no reason to worry. Being at your side is more than enough for him.

Scarlett: Emerald eyes flash in the darkness, keen ears easily picking up inane chatter from drunk imbeciles, but she steadies herself to find one in particular. Perfect white teeth, and sharpened fangs on full display, make an appearance when crimson-painted lips pull back in a sneer. Moving through the party is easy, slipping through messily dancing bodies and swatches of too-strong perfume, Scarlett finds her target-- a familiar figure, one she'd recognize anywhere, now accompanied by another.

With ease, Scarlett settles by your side, noting, with some measure of glee, that the individual who had dared try to ask you out had stiffened in response to her presence. Good, her mind purrs. Maybe this will teach you a valuable lesson. Her instincts scream at her to growl, to make her claim, but she simply turns to you, with an unimpressed arch of her brow. "This is the company you keep, Anon? I thought I could expect more from you."

Cyrus/Cyra: The question, such a simple one in the grand scheme of things, whirls around in their mind: Will you go out with me? It shouldn't affect them the way that it did, especially not when you had stuttered out a brief, yet polite, no, but it did. A vice grip had surrounded their heart when the question had been poised, when your answer still hung in the silence after, and they didn't know what to do about it. Didn't know how they could explain it.

All they do know, is that, for the moment at least, you were here with them. And that the peace you brought them with such a simple action did more than you could ever possibly realize.

Quinn: Crossing their arms over their chest, Quinn is almost impressed by the bravado in which the person asked you out-- the key word being almost. They could feel their wolf rise to the newest challenger posed to them, but it's a reaction that's quickly stamped down. Anon isn't ours to claim. Their wolf thrashes in their chest at that, wholeheartedly disagreeing. Settle.

Quinn isn't sure if the command had worked, or if their wolf had simply quieted down due to you turning back to look at them-- the person who had asked you out completely forgotten. They know it's something they'll have to bring up with you, the bond their wolf has formed, but for now, in the face of your smile, they decide to simply live in the moment.

Caden: They've never wanted to be more invisible than they do right now-- wanting nothing more than to slip into the shadows and vanish. But, they couldn't leave you, no matter how much they may want to, and that's not something that'll ever change. However, when you turn back to them with a scoff, and a playful roll of your eyes, one that they had come to recognize as being a look solely meant for them, something settles within their chest once more.

Their hold on the mortal plain becomes stronger, more iron-clad in intensity, as they offer you a shy smile in return. It may hurt at times to see you get attention from others, especially when they slip under the radar, but knowing you'll always turn back to see them? That makes up for everything.

Sloane: "What did that asshole want?" They grunt, placing down the drinks you had requested they get-- trying to ignore the fact that they had heard the conversation that had just occurred perfectly. Stamping down the familiar flames of anger that lick at their heart, that wish to burn across their tongue and scorch the culprits that had caused it. It's not Anon's fault, fur-bag, they think. Who wouldn't want to ask them out? It's not their fault that you're too chickenshit to do anything about your feelings.

"Nothing of any substance." You take a sip of your drink. "Asked me out. Said no. That's all really."

Something settles within their chest then, Sloane and their wolf coming together in a way they hadn't in years, at the knowledge that you were still within grasp-- they just had to finally be brave enough to hold on.

Blake: A subtle frown furrows their brow at the scene unraveling in front of them, violet eyes flashing with varying emotions before they settle on amusement-- even if it's completely fake. Without putting much stock into the action, Blake shifts over to wrap an arm around your shoulders, body pressed firmly against your side. Their eyes don't shift from the other person's, although a softer emotion wells up within their chest when you lean into their touch, as they dare them to continue forward with their plan.

Blake may not be ready for a relationship yet, but that doesn't mean they want anyone coming in to fuck up their momentum.

Reginald/Regina: Unfamiliar pangs of varying emotions erupt in their chest at the conversation happening right in front of them, hands ball into fists on their lap. They don't know why it bothers them so much. Is it because the person asking you out is supernatural and I'm human? No. Despite what many might think, R doesn't think of their humanity as a hindrance or a curse. No, they muse, observing you and the smile on your lips. It's because I can see that person making them happy. Making them feel precisely how I wish to make them feel... The only difference is that I know I can do it better.

They don't say any of that, however. Don't feel the need as you quickly end the conversation and turn back to them, smile still in place, and R, just for a moment, believes that it's entirely because of them.

Relationship Stage

Koda: Without thought he wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. Whiskey brown eyes flash in warning, a deep rumble echoing from his chest. "Taken." It's all that needed to be said-- there was no arguing in the face of a protective shifter.

Scarlett: A chilling fire suffuses itself within her gaze, causing vibrant green to appear that much more luminescent. "Did you truly just ask out my beloved in front of me?" Fangs bared, Scarlett tugs you closer to her side, she envisions all the ways she could tear the person down. But, at the soft hand on her thigh, coupled with the tender kiss you place on her neck, she lets some of her growls die down, your message as clear as if you had spoken. "You're in luck. My heart has decided that you don't deserve what's coming to you for being so foolish." She waves her hands towards the exit. "So go, but make no mistake in thinking that if you ever come near us again that I'll be as forgiving."

Cyrus/Cyra: The gold vanishes from their eyes instantly, blood red taking its place. They could feel the heat growing in their palms, their beast thrashing against its proverbial cage to be let loose, but they reign it in-- they don't wish to accidentally harm you. "Leave," they snarl, voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "Or else I will show you personally what it means to make an enemy of a phoenix."

Quinn: "Dude," they say, completely unimpressed. Their arm, still slung over your shoulder, tightens imperceptibly. "I know you can clearly see that Anon is taken. Why the hell do you want to stir up trouble?" Their wolf burns to make its presence known, but Quinn holds out for now-- if silence doesn't work, nor the glare, then they'll let their inner animal out. Anything if it meant protecting you.

Caden: Ice runs through their veins, silver eyes flashing menacingly but they don't say anything-- there wasn't a need to. Not when they could see the fear of the unknown already sparked into life within the other person's eyes. And if you were simply going to ignore them? Then so would they. If needed, they'll handle the situation later.

Sloane: A threatening growl tears through their chest, eyes flashing in warning. Pressing closer into your side, snarl still in place, Sloane is soothed by your familiar scent, by the presence that always brings them a wave of peace. It's the perfect soothing balm for their aching soul, and it's not something they'll ever want to go without. Even if it means they have to fight jackasses.

Blake: Running a hand down your arm, Blake pulls you closer to their body, angled in such a way that your gaze would only be able to see them. Nimble fingers tangle into the fine strands of your hair, tugging hard enough to maintain your attention, but soft enough so it doesn't hurt, they press a fleeting kiss to your lips. Revealing in the fact that your attention was on them, and only them, not anyone else. "Want to get out of here, angel?"

Reginald/Regina: "Do you even know them?" They cross their arms over their chest. "Yeah, they're a pretty face, but they're so much more than that. Do you know their favorite color? Hobbies? What they like to eat for snacks? The fact that they already have a partner that does?"

#midnight sun #asks #ro: blake herrera #ro: koda kingston #ro: r presley #ro: caden randall #ro: quinn grant #ro: sloane addams #ro: c aurelia #ro: scarlett voltaire #scenario asks

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brabblesblog · 4 months

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Ch 5: I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

A small complication and a moment of weakness after a month and a half apart brings Astarion back into her orbit. She considers forgiveness; he will do what it takes to win her back.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

He’d promised it would be the last she’d see of him. So far, he'd held up to that promise rather well.

Astarion considered this thought with a humorless laugh, then threw his crystal goblet, watching it shatter on the wall. The servant polishing his boot flinched imperceptibly, used to these outbursts of rage and self-pity.

The past month had been spent burying himself in work, in drink, and in the company of people who meant nothing to him. He’d tried his best to move on, throwing himself into organizing party after party, scheme after scheme. It was harder without his right hand, without her helping behind the scenes, but his mind managed.

His heart however, did not. The days passed in a blur. He would at times find himself in a meeting, patriars asking him about some inane issue, and he’d realize he couldn’t even remember what the damn meeting was about. He’d suddenly snap back to the present, sitting on his throne, with some beautiful stranger riding his cock, realizing he was watching it happen as if from a distance, with a detached indifference he remembered all too well from the centuries before Ban. The wave of loathing and shame would follow quickly thereafter, and the illusion would be broken; he wouldn’t be able to bring Ban to mind anymore. He’d shove whoever it was off his lap at that point, sending them to the chamberlain for their payment and whatever else they might need. He’d then fuck his own fist, eyes squeezed shut, begging for his mind to sink back into memories so he could see her, if only for a moment. He’d come eventually, a cold, empty sensation of releasing into thin air - more temporary relief than any sort of bliss. He ached for the peace he’d felt when he could come in her, when his mind was cradled in the comfort of her presence and his cock held deep within her core. When she’d been here he’d never wanted to come anywhere else than in her or on her, to give her his seed as she deserved. It was when he’d felt closest to her these past months, the closest he could get to her heart, the closest he could find to contentment, and now it was gone.

The parties, the meetings, the decadence, the sex. None of it mattered without her.

The nights were the worst of all - that was when he was the least on guard. Before, Ban had held him through the night when he’d needed it, as rarely as it had happened. He had by and large refused to ask for it, but somehow she’d known anyway, wrapping her strong arms around his chest each time. Nowadays the bed was too large, too cold, and he still curled up on his side, imagining her there. These were the moments when he allowed himself to shed tears, let himself pour his anguish out onto the sheets and into the empty room. He begged the ghost of her, whispered pleas of please, come back, and I’m sorry repeated again and again.

Had he the courage to say these things to her face, things might have been better. But the Ascendant’s pride always won out in the light of day.

Godsdamned Ban, he thought, looking down at his half-polished boot. Already gone from his life, yet he was still working his hardest to keep her safe.

Word had spread amongst the Waterdeep covens that a vampire who could walk in the sun had been seen alongside Gale. The bride, no less, of the vampiric world’s newest member - the Vampire Ascendant. No one had yet reached out to Astarion, the other vampires seemingly weighing their options. They didn’t exactly know what to expect of the Ascendant - of his powers nor his predilections. All they knew was that Cazador Szarr’s palace had been usurped by his upstart spawn, with the help of the hero who he’d taken as his consort. But word had gotten back to him of their interest in his daywalking beloved, and the idea of them keeping tabs on her made him want to claw each and every one of their throats out.

The crown jewel of his collection. His most prized treasure. Just… out there, for anyone to hurt. To take. His skin crawled at the thought. He must have her back - not only for his sake, but hers.

“Out,” he ground out, and the room cleared, one servant quickly picking up the broken pieces of glass on his way to the door.

He knew Gale had formidable skill, perhaps enough to protect Ban - if he was prepared. But he wouldn’t expect the other covens. Gale’s wards presumably only worked against the Ascendant and his frankly unhelpful summons.

He sat silently on his throne for quite some time, hands wrapped around the carved armrests, considering his next move.

The next week, flowers started to appear outside Gale’s tower, carts and carts of them that befuddled the people of Waterdeep. They were filled with vibrant red roses, snow-white tulips, purple asters, and every other flower imaginable. Clothes, rings, and other items were also sent over, always with notes written in an elegant hand.

I think of you and wish you well. - A. A.

This was your favorite dress. I figured you might want to have it. - A. A.

Ban kept the letters, tucked them into a small box. She appreciated the gestures and the gifts, and in her heart there was a certain joy in knowing he was thinking of her, even if she refused to respond. She’d yet to decide what to do about anything - even the most pertinent topic of when she’d be moving out of Gale’s tower was a question without a definite answer. The wizard had told her to take as much time as she needed, and she had begun to ask herself if she could learn to love him. But then Astarion’s gifts had started to arrive.

Tonight she sat with Gale, a goblet in hand, drinking wine from his cellar’s stock mixed with some animal blood. It was a far cry from her usual fare of blood sourced from highly compensated donors amongst the staff, but it sufficed. The wizard sat with her, his own goblet almost empty. They looked like the picture of domesticity, except for the fact that Ban was bracing herself to tell Gale of her meager plans for the future.

“Thank you for your hospitality, but I think it’s finally time for me to find my own path,” she said, a line she had practiced a few times.

Gale bit his lip. He had known this was coming, of course. He downed the rest of his wine nervously, then fingered the filigree around the goblet’s neck.

“You can stay as long as you need, Ban. You know that,” he began; unable to hide the crestfallen expression on his face. He had been trying to win her over this entire time, and all Astarion had to do to derail everything was send trinkets with meaningless notes.

“I know. I just don’t want to overstay my welcome,” she answered. “And no. I’m not going back to him. I plan on going back to Baldur’s Gate and getting myself a place to stay.”

He nodded, watching her intently. Should I even say anything? He considered his options and the risks, but the wine told him to say damn the risks and try anyway. Gale moved to Ban; he didn’t think, forcing his brain to take a back seat for once. He cupped her cheek and before either of them were able to rethink it, his lips covered hers, asking permission to taste her mouth.

She realized she was more than a little drunk - an experience she’d thought lost to her when she’d turned - and Gale’s sloppy kiss wasn’t unwelcome. They hadn’t done anything physical since they’d kissed the last time, but they had developed a habit of holding each other’s hands when they were out and about.

For safety, Gale had said, a shy smile playing at his lips when he’d done it the first time in the markets of Waterdeep. She had taken it in stride, and squeezed his hand back, grateful for the kind gesture.

Ban parted her lips, allowing Gale access. He dove in hungrily while his hand took her goblet, placing it on the table before they spilled wine on the carpets. She stood, her arms wrapping around his neck, kissing him with just as much eagerness as he was showing.

“I would ask for more,” he whispered as the kiss broke. “I… I suppose I am asking. Before you go, at least.”

The wise response would be to refuse. But Ban had gone far too long without sex or any sort of release, and so she merely nodded. There was much appeal in not thinking for a little while, in not being responsible for one night.

She let Gale lead her to the bed and she laid down, watching as he slowly clambered up and over her. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling his heart pound as he nervously began to slip a hand from her cheek to her neck, then even lower to very delicately cup her breast. His hips bucked, his erection pressing against her through their clothes, making them both groan.

Gale leaned forward to mouth at the hollow of her throat, her eyes falling closed at the sensation. When he pressed his hand against her mound, she ground against his palm, biting her lip. But her mind provided a totally different image: white curls and crimson eyes, fangs nipping at her neck, words sweet and dangerous like poisoned honey. Gale found her clit and rubbed at it through her clothes; she almost moaned Astarion’s name.

She couldn’t do this to Gale.

She placed her hands on his shoulders with a gentle pressure that told him to stop. Gale immediately took a deep breath and sat back up. He met her gaze, but there was no anger or accusation there, merely a sadness that told her he wasn't surprised.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

She couldn’t do more than nod. It was always him.

Gale swallowed the lump in his throat. “I apologize. I should have known better. You’re not- of course you’re not-"

“No. I’m not. It’s… I don’t know if I’ll ever be,” she whispered, “And that isn’t fair to you. Or to anyone else I’ll ever consider being romantically involved with.”

Gale retreated to sit at the foot of the bed. “If you really wish to go back to Baldur’s Gate, Ban, I’m sure you’ll be alright. Just don’t… don’t go back to him. Don’t let the wards down. Not if he’s bound to treat you that way again.”

Ban sat beside him, squeezing his hand. “I won’t. I’ll leave in a tenday, I suppose. Get my plans in order. See Waterdeep a little more before then.”

“Will you visit again sometime?” Gale asked. His tone was light, masking his pain and apprehension; as much as it was a bitter consolation, he would like to see her again, even as only a friend.

“Of course, Gale. You’re still my best friend. You always were,” she reminded him, then leaned in to give him a hug.

When Gale finally left her room, Ban laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Gale's touch had left her wanting, and although she had been avoiding touching herself to avoid thinking of Astarion, she was a little drunk, and aching.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to indulge. She imagined him there, smiling down at her. Her Astarion, hand snaking up her thigh and between her legs, as her own hand mirrored the motion.

“Oh, gods. Astarion,” she breathed the moment her fingers pressed against herself through her trousers. I miss you.

The world spun, and all of a sudden she was in their bedroom. She saw herself on their bed, her legs splayed out in front of her. Her breathing was sharp and ragged, her hips desperately bucking up against her fist.

Her- no. His. His legs, splayed out. His breathing, ragged. His hips, furiously pumping and chasing his release.

His hand - their hand, as Ban saw through his eyes - stopped stroking his cock as he realized they were in each other’s heads.

You caught me at a bad time, pet.

And yet he made no effort to hide what he was doing. He could feel her begrudging arousal just as she could feel his; his was a raging, ravenous hunger blended with painful longing. He opened his hand; they could both see the thread of precum trailing from his tip to his palm, his cock, hard and flushed, throbbing insistently at her sudden presence.

He searched her thoughts for a moment, sensing her shock at seeing him taking care of himself. What? You’re not around. I have to make do, as undignified as this is. Wait. Don’t tell me-

No, Astarion. I haven’t done anything. Well, except Gale. But she wasn’t quite ready for him to know that yet.

Astarion couldn’t help but laugh. The taste of her arousal mixing with his was intoxicating, and his hand closed around himself again. He stroked his cock slowly, languidly, his hips rolling with each pass of his hand. As glorious as this was, the Ascendant couldn’t help but try to punish her for her absence.

Don’t hold back on my account, little love. I don’t. He flicked through memories of the various conquests he’d had since she’d left. He expected - hoped - to feel a wave of jealousy from her.

But what he didn’t realize was that she could see the emptiness in each memory. Always on the throne, and always with him not touching them, his gaze far away. Completely devoid of intimacy or even interest. He didn’t realize that he was an open book, so easily read; one merely had to pay attention.

Ban smirked to herself and decided to play his game, giving him a quick look at what had almost happened between her and Gale.

She instantly felt his raw, unbridled jealousy wash over her like the crest of a gigantic wave. The next, more subtle feeling, was one of deep loathing - for himself, she realized. Astarion didn’t speak for a moment, his hand stilling briefly as he regained his composure.

So that was a lie - not that it matters. His voice was smooth and level in her head, as if he was just discussing the weather. His hand resumed its steady rhythm.

It's the truth. That’s as far as we got.

She felt relief seep into him and saw his hand speed up in response.

Poor, poor Gale. He was never a match for me, was he, pet? That gave his ego a boost, and he moaned softly, just for her to hear. He kept his eyes locked onto his cock, letting her see and feel every stroke.

“Do you see what you’re doing to me?” He spoke into the empty room, using his voice this time. He could see her too, see her tugging her trousers down enough to touch herself. He wanted to tell her she could have this, have all of him, if she would just come home. But he held that thought back.

I do, she whispered into his mind.

Their thoughts mingled together in a blend of lust and longing that was almost suffocating in its intensity. Astarion’s mind was a whirlwind of heartache and yearning, and he greedily took in everything he saw through Ban’s eyes. His hips stuttered, slowly losing their rhythm as he approached his climax.

I need you. I want you. I ache for you.

Deeper in his mind, where he refused to dwell except in the darkest of moments, he whispered something else.

I love you. I’m sorry. Come back. Please. I’ll do anything.

These words did not reach her. These he kept tightly under lock and key.

Ban’s fingers gently rubbed her clit. The sight of his cock made her feel wonderfully wet, but also painfully empty. She helplessly slipped two fingers inside, groaning at the sensation. She remained silent, letting Astarion do the talking, but he could feel her approaching the edge, matching his pace.

“Can you imagine what we would be doing, pet, if you were here?” His hand moved faster, hips lifting off of the bed as he fucked himself relentlessly. He swiped at the tip with every pass, cock throbbing with every stroke, desperately wanting more than his own hand, wanting her heat and her tightness and that feeling of burying himself deep within her - wanting her. He’d had to make do with others and with his own hand for so long. Having her here in some way was exquisite.

He could feel her walls through her fingers, and it was all too easy to imagine that it was his cock inside her. The shared fantasy made her gasp; she focused on the velvet feel of his length, felt every throb and the sheer aching hardness of him as his hand moved ever faster.

They moved as one, the rhythm of their hands and hips matching one another. Despite being miles apart, this somehow felt more intimate than any other time they’d made love. His hand was hers, and her thoughts were his. They felt singular, and both felt their orgasms rip through both of their bodies, the white-hot explosion of pleasure from each feeding and intensifying the other’s.

Astarion groaned her name as he came, forcing his eyes to stay open so Ban could see him spilling onto his hand and the muscled plane of his abdomen. It was still the hollow feeling of coming into nothing, but her presence and seeing her come against her hand made it far more satisfying than anything he’d had in months.

He shuddered as he came down from the high. “All this should have been in you,” he said, holding his hand up for her to see. “Only you deserve this. No one else can have it.”

She watched his hand hungrily, but regret was starting to set in. She’d been too drunk, too aroused to end the connection before they’d gone too far. This would only complicate their - well - whatever it was they were.

“We shouldn’t have done this.” It was the first time she’d actually spoken aloud since they’d joined minds, not trusting her voice not to crack.

And yet here we are. Astarion was quiet for a moment, considering how much to tell her. He was sure he could get the covens to back down if he talked to the most influential one, but what if they went after her regardless? He was too far away to help. And if his pride got in the way of her safety, he'd never forgive himself. My treasure. Do one thing for me - always try to be somewhere safe by nightfall. Promise me.

He sensed confusion in Ban and provided answers before she had to ask. The local covens in Waterdeep aren’t happy about your presence.

Ban rolled her eyes at this, immediately assuming this to either be a lie, or a tactic to get her to run to him for safety.

“Let me guess,” she scoffed, her voice tinged with anger. “You let it slip that your bride is here, and that you’d like to visit Waterdeep more often because of me - or that you’ll even consider expanding your influence here to protect me. Am I wrong?”

Astarion sighed. He moved off the bed to head to their - no, just his now, he reminded himself sadly - bathroom.

No. He made sure to say this mentally, allowing his emotions to bleed through the connection so that it brooked no doubt. The covens talk. You’re a vampire walking around in the daylight. What else did you expect?

“Just be careful,” he added, as he prepared his bath.

She held back a curse. She didn’t want to let Astarion know that she planned on moving back to Baldur’s Gate, but not informing him could possibly endanger Gale. If the covens had seen her, they had seen who she’d been with; Gale was well known in Waterdeep.

“Let them know I’m moving back to Baldur’s Gate in a tenday. And before you say anything - I’m getting my own place.”

Astarion stilled, hand frozen on the tap he'd been about to turn. She’s moving back?

There was a palpable feeling of joy that passed from his mind to hers. Then he forced himself to calm, and the feeling receded like the tide.

“That’s… wonderful,” he said lamely. His hand resumed its task, and the water turned on.

“You’ll always be welcome here, Ban. Even as a guest. I…” he trailed off, realizing he was about to say that this was her house as much as it was his. But was it, really, when she had already chosen to close that chapter of her life? When she seemed to have come to regret the life they’d tried to make together?

“I would greatly appreciate seeing you again,” was what he finally ended up saying.

She tugged up her trousers, choosing her words carefully.

“We can still be civil, I suppose. If you behave. Maybe one day I’ll even pay you a visit.”

The Ascendant didn’t like that she had the upper hand, didn’t like how desperate he was for any scrap of her attention. But what could he do? He was painfully aware of how bereft he’d been without her. The Ascendant told himself he was just maneuvering the situation, allowing her to feel like he was willing to be vulnerable, giving her reasons to consider coming back, but even he had trouble believing it.

“Then I’ll endeavor to win your trust enough for you to want to do so.” He sank into the bathwater, a small sigh of relief escaping him as the water warmed him.

She was silent for a heartbeat. The distance between them made her feel safe, knowing he couldn’t reach her; not that he was likely to drag her back to the palace, but it had always remained a niggling fear in her mind. “I appreciate the gifts, by the way. But we both know that gifts are not what I want from you.”

He sighed again. “Then we should also both know that I cannot be what you wish to see in me. I’m not that cuddly, sweet spawn anymore. I can never be that again.”

She felt a small taste of his anguish as he said those words, the mental link providing her with a glimpse before he quickly shielded it away.

For that split second she’d seen his hatred for his past self, how insecure he was of that spawn. Because for all of that man’s weaknesses, he'd been brave enough to lay bare his heart to her. To allow himself to be seen and loved, and to be open to loving and being hurt as a result.

The Ascendant saw that, and longed to be that for her, but was terrified. Control was the name of his game, and the idea of giving that up, even to her, was almost unconscionable.

She pretended not to have seen it to save his dignity. She wasn’t really sure what to make of it just yet, anyway.

“I know.” Ban settled on that for now. She decided to give him a little bit of grace. “I don’t mind us talking, I suppose. You can always reach for me, and I’ll try to be there,” she offered.

There was an overpowering feeling of elation that reached her before it was abruptly silenced.

I shall keep that in mind, came his reply.

As she tugged up her blankets to sleep, a final thought was sent from the Ascendant as he bathed. It was a small rumination that he sent just before the mental link disappeared, and he shifted his attention onto dealing with the possible threat of the Waterdeep covens.

Sleep well. I’ll be here when you need me.

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blurredcolour · 1 month

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So I’ve been doing some thinking, none of it very chaste and much of it illogical, and not a bit of it remotely profound but hear me out:

If we were to assume that the Trust Universe shared the same multi-verse as Parting Gifts…

…that would mean we’ve got two men in the 100th, Brady and Bucky, who (at least for a time in the case of Egan) kept it in their pants while being very generous to their crushes.

Which brings me to the entirely inane conclusion that such a fact makes these two particular men at Thorpe Abbots really eager for the damn showers to clear out for some alone time. One reminiscing of honeyed stateside indulgences and the other of more recent stargazing.

And I just wanna imagine the hilarity of running into each other just when they plot and plan and scheme for the showers to be all theirs.

Marina!!!! I still am not over how you dropped this in my inbox in the middle of the night 🫠

Mature/explicit answer under the cut - 18+ only

I feel like Brady had the shower routine down first. After all he’d been fighting his urges with his sweetheart for weeks and then was wrenched from her arms and drowning in memories.

And slipping into the tiled space at odd hours worked great in Nebraska, in Utah. All the other boys were happily getting their rocks off in warm-blooded women while he’d relegated himself to his fist from the start. Ah that damn Catholic self-deprivation!!!

While Egan favours a one-handed style, I see Brady preferring to get both hands in on the action? Leaving no part of his nether reaches neglected, particularly those remarkable balls.

When he’s alone, he’s alright at being quiet, he has yet to discover just how loud you can make him. That’s a treat for his victorious return stateside after the war 😉

But after arrival at Thorpe Abbotts, there’s new ground to learn, and then all of a sudden that womanizer Egan with his voracious appetite isn’t just taking what he wants, he’s trying to take over Brady’s sanctuary?!

He’s on his way to a mid-evening shower, a time that’s rarely been a conflict before, only to see all 6’2” of Egan casting surreptitious glances about and not at all subtly sliding into the shower hut before the thunk of the lock sounds.

A major pivot is required and utilizing his knowledge of the Major, Brady settles on morning trips down memory lane. Those days he’s not on missions, when everyone else is at breakfast and Egan’s either in the air, operations room, or still in bed - that’s how he avoids what would surely be an awkward encounter for them both.

Would be rather adorable to see their bright red cheeks and ears though….🤭

#answered asks #trust universe #ladies who brady #thinking brady thots #thinking bucky thoughts

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artbyblastweave · 2 years

Text

Gideon The Ninth Liveread, Ch. 2

Enter Harrowhark. We’ve got some extremely tragicomic visuals on the social dynamics of this place. Harrowhark with her herd of geriatric, wailing nuns following her around, tripping underfoot, constantly stopping to pray and exult her, a greek chorus adjacent to her loony-toons bit against Gideon's escape attempts A veritable flock of Penguins. But the absurdity of the image is undercut by the facts implied by it. Harrow is actually a big deal. Actually one of the last of the three humans-with-potential on the rock. Step outside Gideon’s wrathful POV for two seconds and it’s not hard to understand the provenance of the deluge of wet-rat meow meow Harrowhark art saturating this site; she’s got gifted kid burnout AND religious trauma AND near-complete social isolation from the word go.

Also fuck me I keep typing her name Harrowhawk. Like the bird. Hark makes more sense. religious connotations. Fuck

So Harrow apparently dug all night in order to execute her dragons-teeth trap. Mean, forward-thinking, meticulous, absurd willpower. Question for the class, though- Gideon (and with her the audience) realize her gambit a split-second before she springs it because she takes her gloves off and her hands are split and dirty from working. Did she deliberately abrade and dirty her hands, just to create that moment of dawning horror? Or did they just wipe out their shovel supply digging the big hole.

So here’s the big takeaway. This sequence, the start-of-book status-quo, feels to me like it’s doing fun things with genre. It feels specifically like a sitcom or a Tom-and-Jerry style of cartoon. I’m getting the increasingly clear picture of the Ninth House as a place that’s fundamentally devoid of stuff to do besides this inane scheme-of-the-week runaround. Gideon tries to escape, Harrow tries to stop her, the humans besides Harrow and Gideon are barely above the necromantic constructs in terms of agency and individuality, bishops instead of pawns, spear carriers and human props. 86 episodes of Harrow’s Zany Schemes. A little over three seasons.

But there’s also something really dark undergirding this; The reference to the mass dieoff of children that resulted in such a manageable main cast and such a paired down, interference-free rivalry; and there’s the allusion to something Gideon knows, some piece of powerful leverage that keeps the cycle relatively light and airy without Harrow ever just truly dropping the hammer on her. This is where we hit the first big point of comparison with Worm; Worm starts with a setting that maps to recognizable superhero genre tropes, and then works backwards to explore the material pressures, culture and incentive that caused those tropes to happen. Gideon feels like it’s doing the same thing; starting with a decent sitcom setup, but simultaneously working backwards to show how the greater context enabling all of this is not, in fact, all that funny.

(The other point of comparison that jumped to mind- dead-enders on a dead-end planet, wrapped up in a zealotry-tinged, hateful but low-stakes battle forever and ever, which escalates from dumb fun to horror and tragedy as you start to get context for how the current set-up was arrived at- is Red Vs. Blue.)

#gideon the ninth #gtn #tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth liveread #blastweave livereads #gideon nav #harrowhawk nonagesimus #thank fuck the tags fill that out automatically #thoughts #meta

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beansidhebumbling · 6 months

Text

Warning: Creep Behaviour

Part I

Their first encounter is picture perfect, rom-com goodness, after all Cassian plans it that way.

Cassian loves planning, scheming, morphing himself to be exactly what people want to see. Learned quickly that when you look the part people don’t see the bastard orphan beneath.

So everything is curated, from his defined musculature, stemming from 4.30am gym sessions and a frankly insane amount of chicken breasts and creatine, to his calculatedly carefree personality. Everything from his polished wardrobe to his haplessly unpolished brand of charm is by design. Sometimes even his brothers forget this, despite working alongside him in his role as chief strategist, that behind the cheeriness and too-loud laugh is a man who never fails to get what he wants, not because the dominoes fall his way but because he is the one placing and knocking them over to begin with. Rhysand all nepo-baby power and dark charisma, Azriel with brooding good looks and an army of connections forget that whereas they gather power at night, Cassian accumulates it under the sun while everyone watches and no one sees, a master of his craft.

So gifted the mask is invisible to them. Once, cold like porcelain resting atop his features, its removal in the safety of solitude an incomparable relief, the pain of no one ever noticing him, the hidden face beneath, a constant insecurity. Now it is soft as silk and moulds to his features, leaves him searching for the seams, his skin consuming it like a tree encasing a corpse. He waits for the day it can’t be ripped off, the day they are one, a shared vessel, his heart quickens at the thought, but in excitement or fear, he does not know.

His mask is flawless, or so he thinks, until a beautiful woman in a ghastly jumper at an inane party, looks at him with a smile that’s all teeth and says,

‘Do you always pretend to be this happy and stupid for them?’, gesturing to his family, his circle, ensconced in a leather booth nearby, ‘or do you do it for yourself? I won’t waste my time with a liar and merry sycophant to boot’

They are drunk words designed to cut, to hurt him and he has no doubt she’d be facing fire if Mor or Rhys overheard. But all he can see are the remnants of his mask falling like snow to the ground, shred with sour words from a sweet mouth. Before she spoke to him he knew he’d chase her, watched with pleasure and anticipation as she rent Rhys limb from limb. Now that she has seen him, seen him the way his family in all but blood have failed to for nearly three decades, in thirty seconds of meeting him taken his measure and found him wanting, he knows he is hers and she is his, golden string tied between them. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. He’ll stop at nothing to have her.

I’d be happy and stupid with you, no need to pretend.

That’s what he wants to say in hindsight. But at the time he is a man who has never felt the triumph of winning her or the agony of losing her and so, for the first time in years, he is struck dumb. He retreats to the bathroom, to compose himself, to regain control, to come up with some combination of words that will coax her number from her. A fool who thinks women like Nesta stay put. When he returns she is gone, disappeared into the night.

If the lights seem dimmer, if he has to leave early from disappointment, if he pockets the glass she was drinking from, falls asleep looking at the red lipstick print embedded on it and wishes to be marked just the same, well, no one is any the wiser.

They meet at a coffee shop. Artisanal lattes with lavender, fresh oat milk, and frothy designs for eight dollars, inhaled in seconds. The air is fragranced with coffee and rose and romance. The ideal meet-cute.

After the Christmas party he searches for an in. Nesta still hasn’t accepted his follow on Instagram some 14 hours later, and won’t he later learns until their third date, so he resorts to Feyre’s and Elain’s feeds. The pictures of her are rare, usually bearing a stiff half-smile and looking like Aphrodite. Those are saved to a private album he visits daily. Some cute coffee shop with flowers drawn in foamed milk seems to be a common meeting place. Knowing Feyre’s strained relationship with Nesta he targets Elain.

Of course, they don’t know each other, outside of a few greetings here and there, so he finds an excuse visit her flower shop. He saunters through the periwinkle door dropping a salmon pink lipstick, a copy of one seen in a September Instashot of her vanity, on the distressed wooden counter Elain stands behind. Claims he found it in Azriel’s car, all teasing grins and bright eyes as the receipt crinkles in his pocket. She blushes until she matches the red zinnias she is wrapping in a bouquet for him, fiddling with the pearl bracelets adorning her wrists. Her refusal of his waggling eyebrows and taunting is vehement and enthusiastic, murmuring about dropping it after a lift home, ignorant to the fact Cassian has known about their secret rendezvous for months. All flustered, delicate fingers fumbling over tape to hold the wax paper enclosing the lily of the valley, baby’s breath and zinnias, he takes his chance,

‘So illicit affairs aside, Mor has been talking my ear off about going to some coffee spot you’re always going to with your sisters. I owe her one and am going to surprise her. You can buy my silence by telling me what drinks yourself and your sisters recommend?’

He keeps his tone easy, fiddling with some daisies in a metal pot near the register, like he is not a man who feels his pulse quicken at the thought of learning someone’s coffee order. Mother save him.

Elain reply is hurried, her light voice slightly squeaky,

‘Deal. Even though I don’t have to buy your silence… or anything’, she tugs at one of the tiny plaits in her hair frustratedly, ‘Ugh, deal, deal. It’s just off High Street, opposite that crummy bookstore Nes likes. I’ll drop you a pin. As far as coffee you’re safe no matter what you choose. My personal recommendation is the rose and hibiscus tea, but Feyre likes their mochas and inhales their shortbread, and Nes likes…. well everything. She probably keeps their lights on buying chai lattes and blueberry scones.’

He is only mildly annoyed when the bell at the door rings as a customer enters and Elain practically throws the bouquet at him while shooing him out, calling him a nosy menace. He has already gained so much more information than he expected. The café, a bookstore she likes, chai lattes and blueberry scones, he will sew the threads he uncovers, one by one, until her character lies before him as a rich tapestry.

They will meet in line to order. He will charm her to sit with him, give him her number, sparks will fly and souls will mesh. As Cassian learns with Nesta, no matter the scheme, things rarely go according to plan with her.

Their perfectly planned and terribly executed beginning is no different.

He works remotely for three days from the café. Hidden in a nook in the corner, laptop open, a handy prop, headphones discouraging any flirtatious overtures, he watches as Nesta pops in promptly at 11 each morning to order a chai latte and a blueberry scone, sits for fifteen minutes to read before departing, crumbs, an empty cup, and a starstruck man left in her wake.

He decides they will bump into each other on Thursday. It’s set to rain so hopefully that will motivate Nesta to stay a little longer, not be in such a hurry to rush off. He takes the day off, just to be safe and dresses in his best suit, tailored like a glove to his broad shoulders and thick thighs, brushes his hair into a low bun but leaves a few curls to hang, framing his defined jaw. He has his driver idle at the kerb until five to eleven, his large umbrella an effective shield against the steady rain that pounds in the few steps he takes to enter the café. Pretending to fiddle with his umbrella while placing it the oak coat stand by the door, he avoids entering the queue until he spies Nesta running by the large glass window with ‘Velaris Café’ painted onto it. She enters the warmth of the café with a bang, the door slamming from the strong wind outside. She is drenched from head to toe and cursing up a storm under her breath, mascara slightly running and hair dripping. She is resplendent and meant for him.

This is his moment, steeling himself, letting a cheeky grin fall into place he calls out, voice a deep timbre amidst spoons clinking and steam hissing,

‘Nesta Archeron as I live and breathe’

She looks up, amber meets ice. Eyes narrowing, she bites,

‘Cassian. Somehow still living and breathing after all the whiskey you drank last I saw you.’

She joins the queue as they near the register, back stiff. He wants to wrap her in his arms, wants to ask why her coat is so thin, why she went out without a hood or hat in this weather, wants to know what else she noticed about him at the party. As it stands he lets out a heavy breath of air as his smile widens,

‘Concerned for my health sweetheart?’

Her voice is dry and flat when she replies without a seconds hesitation,

‘Trying to figure out how one takes a beast like yourself out.’

‘If you wanted to take me out on a date you just say the word Nes.’

The muscles in his jaw are starting to ache from smiling so hard but he’s saved the joy of Nesta’s response, who now looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel, by Maria calling him forward.

‘I’d like a Mexican hot chocolate and every blueberry scone you have please.’

He keeps his voice sugar sweet, flashing the blue-haired server he’s gotten to know over the last few days a quick smile.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

Her voice is shrill and the poke in his back, a brand he’ll feel like phantom pleasure for the next week.

‘What’s wrong sweetheart? I’m sorry, I was rude. What do you want to drink?’

He sounds so syrupy and simpering even Maria raises her thin eyebrows at him.

‘I want a blueberry scone Cassian but some brute has just ordered all fourteen of them.’

She is apoplectic, voice low and hissed, flushing as nearby patrons turn their heads for the chance at some drama.

‘That brute would be more than happy to share Nes’, he sees her posture relax marginally, ‘for a price.’

She straightens back up to stone, looking down her nose at him despite how he looms so much taller than her. He feels like a live wire when she glares at him. She looks about ready to slap him. Why does that excite something in him? Turning to throw an embarrassed grin cum grimace towards the register she says,

‘I’m sorry about this Maria. I’ll have my usual, just let me deal with this bozo first.’

As Nesta drags him by the arm towards the pickup area he manages to throw some cash towards a snickering Maria, indicating she keep the change, as she tots up his purchases.

Once they reach the plastic cup lids and paper straws stored in dinky baskets at the far end of the sleek, silver coffee machine, she turns on him with the ferocity of a bulldog.

‘For the love of God Cassian give me the scone. My morning has already been a shitshow without having to deal with one of my sister’s innumerable, insufferable friends.’

A shitshow? He’ll try and do some digging on that later. Maybe if he can get her number he can ask her, to so he needs to regain some hold of this rapidly unraveling situation and focus on his plan, one quickly being torn asunder by hurricane Nesta.

‘Well as you said the other day Nes, I am a sycophant to a heartless tyrant sitting on a throne of inherited, ill-gotten wealth, or as his insufferable friends call him, Rhys. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my brother it's that nothing comes free. So you can have your scone but at a price.’

His reply is meant to provoke. He eyes are attached to how she’s biting her full lips in vexation. He wants to be the one doing the biting.

‘Name your price, you overgrown prick.’

‘Your number.’

‘Try again.’

Her voice is flinty and uncompromising. He can’t give up now, refuses to abandon his goal, so he re-joins coolly,

‘I don’t haggle.’

‘And I don’t negotiate with pastry terrorists.’

The quip is thrown out as she picks up her backpack from the floor. Fuck, she’s leaving. He’s still gawking like a dodo when Maria calls them over to collect their coffees.

‘Keep it for yourself, Maria. Cassian here has said he’ll pay for it. I’ll see you soon once you sort out the pest problem.’

Her voice is bright and cheery. Her beam, directed towards the barista, positively blinding. It stuns him. When will she smile at him like that? Who does he need to be? What does he need to do? Who does he have to kill? She’s already making her way towards the door when he manages to shout,

‘Wait, Nes’, his burly frame struggling to get by wicker chairs as she dances around them like a ballerina, ‘Fuck, sorry, excuse me. Nes, please I’m sorry. Take the scones. I just wanted to talk to you.’

She takes one long look at him from the door, and says,

‘It’s Nesta.’,

before shaking her head and disappearing into the bustling crowds of the city.

His walk back to where Maria stands, to collect his consolation prizes, is a slow, defeated one. He lays an extra tenner on the counter for the scene he caused, even if Maria and Oscar, her co-worker, only seem to find some sick comedy in his romantic misery.

Like his mask before, his best-laid plans lie in strips like confetti at his feet.

Beneath the heavy disappointment lies a thrill stirring the blood in his veins. He’s learnt more than one lesson from Rhys. Anything worth obtaining is worth the chase.

* He is left sitting with fourteen scones and a tepid drink to mull over how spectacularly his plan imploded but how it still felt like winning to spar with her in an overpriced coffee shop over baked goods. He starts to plan his next strike fuelled by sweet pastry and the memory of burning, steel eyes fixated wholly on him, the way he intends to keep them for the rest of his life. This is the first chapter of their forever.

#nessian #cassian #nesta #nesta archeron deserves better #this is unhealthy #acotar fanfic #gemwrites

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messysketchyobeyme · 1 year

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HII! could you please write for the #10 prompt "I think... I'm in love with (Name)" || "Congrats on being the last one to find out" with one of the obey me brothers? I want Lucifer but i think it would be hard to fit in with his character<//3

Lucifer was usually great at holding his Demonus. With six younger brothers to babysit care for, he had to be the responsible one, usually only allowing himself a sip or two in their presence to get the edge off. Who knew what kind of nefarious deeds his brothers would get up to if they ever caught him so much so as tipsy? It was better not to risk it.

Fortunately, or maybe, unfortunately, Diavolo had the ability to rid Lucifer of most of his inhibitions, especially on quiet nights like these. He often found himself indulging a little too much whenever he was in his presence.

“Would you like me to pour you some more Demonus, Lucifer?” Diavolo’s speech was slurred, but he still took care to enunciate every word, “You still have some left in your bottle. You might actually lose this competition at this rate.”

The room swam in front of him, and Lucifer struggled to keep himself upright. He rested his chin against the palm of his hand to prevent himself from toppling over. “In your dreams.” Lucifer held out his glass. He was the one who suggested this competition in the first place, and he had no intention of losing.

Diavolo’s hand wobbled as he poured the Demonus, causing some of the blue liquid to splash out of the glass. Lucifer paid no mind to it and downed the drink in one gulp, allowing the bubbly taste to numb the back of his throat. He put down the glass with more force than necessary, causing a clinking sound to emanate in the air.

“How have they been faring so far?” Diavolo took a considerably smaller sip from his own glass.

“Who?” Lucifer squinted, racking his brain as to who Diavolo could be referring to. He did tie Mammon to the ceiling this morning, so maybe that was it. He seemed fine when Lucifer was leaving, but he did spend the entire afternoon shouting complaints at the top of his lungs.

Lucifer thought it was ludicrous that Mammon had the audacity to claim that it wasn’t his fault, especially considering how Lucifer was punishing him for his newest money-laundering scheme. Though, he did think it was kind of impressive how Mammon managed to–

“The human exchange student?” Diavolo laughed, “I haven’t had the time to catch up with them recently, so I was just curious.” Another sip.

Oh, yes. He should have known. “They’re doing fine, I suppose.” Lucifer sat up in his seat. “They’ve been busy with RAD as of late, so I hadn’t had the time to talk much with them, either.”

“Does that upset you?”

Lucifer gave Diavolo a deadpan glare, who silently looked back with a wide smile. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, and Lucifer was certain that his own gaze did not fare any better. “No, it doesn’t,” Lucifer said, “In fact, I’m proud of them for taking their work seriously. My brothers could follow their lead in that regard.”

“They’re quite intelligent, aren’t they?” Diavolo swirled the Demonus in his glass, causing the blue liquid to sparkle and shine against the warm light of the fire quietly crackling in the fireplace.

Lucifer poured himself another drink. “You don’t know half of it.” He hiccuped and played it off as a cough. “I offered to tutor them in Devildom History once, and during the session, they ended up correcting me on some inane fact that I had apparently forgotten.”

Diavolo tossed his head back and cackled, slapping his thigh for good measure. “I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall during that conversation!” He continued to giggle, “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I simply corrected myself and moved on. They kept bringing it up the entire session and afterward, though. It was annoying having to deal with their incessant bragging to anyone who would listen.” Lucifer sighed when Diavolo let out another peal of laughter. A smile threatened to tug on his lips, but he fought the urge. “I didn’t tell them, but I was really impressed. Not only by their grades but by how easily they’ve acclimated to the Devildom.”

“Go on…”

Lucifer had no idea why Diavolo was egging him on like this, but his mouth started to move on its own. “I don’t know.” He stared at the ceiling to look for answers that weren’t there. “I just think it’s nice how they’ve started making Devilom meals during their dinner duty or listening to our music.” Diavolo gave him a questioning look, so he clarified, “I caught them listening to one of my cursed records in my office. I was about to scold them for sneaking inside, but they looked so…” Lucifer struggled to find the right words. “...happy. Their eyes were closed and they were singing along to the music. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I sat outside and listened in.”

Diavolo nodded along to his story…and kept nodding a tad longer than what was socially acceptable. “Wow, Lucifer, that’s–”

“They had a nice singing voice, too. A little loud but melodic. I’ve never heard them sing before, so it caught me off guard.” Lucifer hadn’t meant to cut Diavolo off, but the words kept tumbling out. “You know, at one point, I closed my eyes and pretended that they were singing just for me.” His cheeks immediately flushed when he realized what he had just said. Lucifer massaged his forehead with his forefinger and thumb, mumbling a swear under his breath.

Diavolo laughed again, but it was louder this time. While wheezing, he jerked his hand and spilled some of his Demonus on his shirt. When Diavolo noticed what he had done, he calmed himself down and placed his glass in the center of the table. He dabbed the liquid off with a napkin.

“Well.” The corners of Diavolo’s lips quirked up. “I’m glad that our human exchange student has found themselves right at home.”

Lucifer’s chest warmed up at the word ‘our’ and almost exploded when he heard ‘home.’ He knew that their true home was in the human world, but he genuinely hoped that they considered the Devildom home, too. At the very least, he wished that they were as happy spending time with him as he was being with them. They were always off getting themself into trouble or doing something else insane, and as much as Lucifer pretended to be annoyed, he was extremely endeared to it. They were exciting and fun, and he hadn’t been this happy since–

Lucifer’s stomach dropped, and a wave of cold rushed over him. It was almost enough to be sobering. Almost. He buried his head in his hands and gave a long, shuddering sigh.

“Lucifer?” Diavolo placed a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I think…” Lucifer took a deep breath and sat up. Diavolo took his hand away from him, but it still remained hovering in the air. “I’m in love with them.”

He stared at the table, trying to digest this information himself. The engravings in the wood kept wiggling around, making it hard to focus on one thing at a time. He wasn’t sure how Diavolo was going to react. A human and a demon? Together? The mere idea was absurd.

“Congratulations on being the last one to find out!” Diavolo slapped Lucifer’s back.

“Diavolo!” he hissed.

Diavolo rubbed the spot where he had slapped Lucifer. “I’m sorry about that,” he apologized, “I’m just so happy that you’ve finally realized. It’s been a long time coming.”

Lucifer scowled at his lap. What did he mean by ‘last one’?

“So, when are you going to tell them?”

“What?” Lucifer jerked his head up. “No, no, I can’t.” The room started to spin again, but it was dizzying and uncomfortable this time. Not at all bubbly and warm.

“And why not?”

“I’m Lucifer, and they’re just some measly human. The three worlds still haven’t taken kindly to the idea of a human getting with someone who…isn’t.” Lucifer said, his lips twisting into a pinched frown, “You of all people should know that.”

Diavolo sighed. A wistful look gleamed in his eye. “Of course, I know, but I believe this could be what we’re looking for. A chance to bridge our worlds with the power of–” He waggled his shoulders. “Love.”

“This isn’t some fairytale,” Lucifer groaned, “Besides, all of my brothers are already in love with them. They’d all throw themselves at the wall at the chance to date them.”

Diavolo smiled in that same exact way that Lucifer hated. “Alright. I won’t press any further. You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to.”

Lucifer bit his tongue to prevent himself from shouting that he did want to. He wanted to tell them that he loved them, but, most importantly, he wanted them to wholeheartedly return his feelings. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if they didn’t like him back or viewed him the same way they did with the rest of his brothers. He wanted to be special in their eyes, even if he wasn’t ready to admit the same.

He didn’t say any of that. Instead, he thanked Diavolo and bid him farewell.

As Diavolo walked Lucifer to the entrance, he asked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like Barbatos to escort you home?” He tripped over his shoes and chuckled at himself.

Lucifer stumbled over and leaned against the door, opening it with his weight. “No. The House of Lamentation isn’t too far. I’ll be fine.” He shivered, pulling his coat together over his body when the air hit him.

“Okay,” Diavolo said. After a brief pause, he asked, “Same time next week?”

Lucifer nodded. As much as he wasn’t fond of the sudden revelation he had today, this time with Diavolo was the only time he had to let off steam with one of the closest people to him. Diavolo patted him on the arm, gave him a bottle of Demonus for the road, and sent him on his way.

As Lucifer staggered along the path home, thoughts of you swirled in his head. Your laugh, your smile, the smug look you get whenever you try to one-up him…

He couldn’t wait to get home to see you again and was yearning for your company on this chilly night. Right now, you would probably be complaining about how cold your fingers were while sneakily trying to stuff them down his shirt. He would never give you the satisfaction, but the thought made him smile.

It eventually got to be too much. Lucifer had to see you now, so he pulled out his D.D.D. and scrolled to your contact. Upon seeing your profile picture, his chest warmed in the same way it had earlier. It was too late to call you, so he started texting. His heart skipped a beat when you responded, and he had forgotten all about the chilly night air.

#Obey Me #Obey Me Lucifer #Obey Me Diavolo #Obey Me MC #Lucifer/MC #Fanfic #I don't need to say that this is based on that one daily chat with Lucifer #do I?#Anything can fit in with Lucfier's character if he's drunk enough lol

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idw-sonic-fan-blog · 1 year

Text

The worst scene in IDW

I hate this scene. I hate this fight. I hate how it paints Sonic and Eggman.

I think what bothers me about this is that Starline was too successful. This is when he started showing too much competence for no real reason. Look, if Metal Sonic, Shadow, Blaze, an entire military, two gods, and temporal anomaly couldn’t stop Sonic, a bomb in a building Damn sure can’t either. But this scene, somehow, Starline nearly managed just that.

This is where I started resenting Starline. Because he made Sonic look weak, Eggman look incompetent and stupid, and every villain that ever opposed Sonic look weak sauce. It’s the fact that Starline just conveniently had a bomb in the facility that he was taking things out of and Silver, for some reason, decided to just go in said facility this creating this scenario.

But what happens next makes it so much worse.

This is where I get pissed with this depiction of Eggman. Eggman has tried to carpet bomb Sonic multiple times. And it didn’t work. Now you can say that Eggman is puffing himself up and downplaying Sonic for the sake of his own ego, but this scene isn’t treated as that. It’s treated like Eggman has a complexity addiction. Like he is the Riddler or some shit. And we get stupid and inane questions like “why doesn’t Eggman just shoot Sonic?” like he hasn’t already tried that with his multiple endless armies of robots. Like GUN hasn’t tried that already. “Well, I don’t know, Charlie. Maybe because he runs at the speed of Mach 1 and can and frequently has broken the sound barrier, run on water, routed entire civilizations’ worth of armies.”

Starline should not have been allowed to succeed as much as he did. He should not have been able to get an upper hand on Sonic at all. In fact, the same could be said when he faced Shadow. No way in hell should Starline ‘beaten’ Shadow even with his dinky Tricore just to get Hulk smashed by Eggman.

I am glad Starline is gone. Because we can relish in the fact that he is wrong, was wrong, and has been wrong. Sonic is that powerful and warrants elaborate schemes to defeat him. The only justification for his easy success was luck. Pure and simple. He got lucky. The real tragedy is that Sonic didn’t get a chance to really go up against Starline, but I’ll settle on Sonic handedly defeating Surge, his magnum opus.

#dr. starline #sonic the hedgehog #idw sonic #idw sonic the hedgehog #surge the tenrec #dr. robotnik #dr. eggman #Eggman

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mr-president · 5 months

Note

heyo, may i ask for your full-ass marxist critique on the funger series? you mentioning it in your levi answer made me surper curious!

CW for spoilers and if i get things wrong. lmk, it’s been a while.

My main concern with Funger with regards to Marx is in how it tells its history because Fear & Hunger lore canonizes the “Great Man” narrative of history. For those who don’t know, “Great Man” theory posits that history is lead by exceedingly extraordinary individuals whose “great ideas,” “great personalities,” and other such characteristics were/are so impactful that major historical eras/events that would take centuries or millennia occur suddenly, often merely in the span of decades, and Fundamentally Change Society.

In the real world, these are your Beethovens, your Julius Caesars, your Ghengis Khans, your Marilyn Monroes, your George Washingtons, your Thomas Edisons, and what-have-you. They are people of such excellence that they Created Change that would otherwise not exist without them. They altered the course of history forever, but more importantly, they are rare and exceptional. These “Great Men” are not individuals, they are deities among everyone else.

See where the similarities lie to Funger’s gods? The lore of the New Gods is that by having the excellence, the inane and inherent will and exceptional soul to sit on the Golden Throne and ascend, then a new era of a New God is able to completely alter the course of history to their whim.

When you ascend to New Godhood in Funger 1, you literally have the option to determine how you want history to go. Do you want to crush all opposition and rule with an iron fist? You can do that. Do you want to enforce a new ideology by religion? Done. When you are a New God—another “Great Man”—historical events are not necessarily mere results of circumstance, they are things that would have happened anyway but are coalesced, expedited by the whim of a Great One.

And Funger shows with the Hall of New Gods that this has happened for all that history has existed, for millennia and beyond. History has always, always been written by the chosen “New Gods” of an era. A new era of history is because of a new pantheon of New Gods, is merely a result of their existence. Thus, in Fear & Hunger, “Great Man” are literal arbiters of history.

This is all in contrast to the Marxist framework of history, where rather than “great individuals” and their “great ideas” defining historical events and eras, history is determined by the class structures/systems within an era and how those class systems interact with one another. Who can access the Modes of Production? Who or what are the Forces of Production? How do those groups interact? What establishes or enforces those class structures?

The reactions to these questions, or if there is even one at all, is how history “progresses,” so to speak. In the Marxist framework, history is viewed in the collective action, the circumstances that can lead to major historical changes or events, rather than just Great People and their Great Ideas.

In the real world, it is arguable that this framework is a more accurate narrative of history, but my personal opinion on this matter aside, this is not how history canonically works in Funger.

However, Funger does this weird thing in that it somewhat posits that should be Like That.

For one, it is clear that the New God system does not inspire permanent societal change, and the influence of a New God peters out so drastically after their era of relevance that they are completely forgotten by society, now forever trapped in a Maha’bre where they once ruled. It’s depressing, being immortal and fighting so hard for change because inevitably, you won’t matter anymore. And what you did won’t matter either, in the grand scheme of things.

The illusion of individual action, of individual greatness forcing events to occur to their own whim, won’t change anything in the long run. Individual action is important, but it can also be easily erased once that individual is removed from relevancy, which is the primary problem.

Additionally, Funger makes it evident that the New God struggle is still a struggle in fidelity to the Old Gods, who remain powerful, remain the ultimate arbiters of reality and thus history, for everyone. The New Gods are ultimately incapable of inspiring true change because their individual actions are an illusion of change because the order of the Old Gods will always prevail.

It is only in the birth of new Gods whose power rivals that of the Old Gods—the Girl and Logic/Reina—that humans truly begin to shift the social order in favor of their own interests by relying on themselves and each other. In essence, Funger actually does follow the Marxist framework because true change, a true dissolution of the bourgeois (the Old Gods) must come from the result of collective change creating the circumstances for that overthrowing to occur.

However, while the birth of Logic at the end of Termina very clearly falls within this reading, I can’t necessarily say the same for the Girl. Actually, I’m not entirely sure I can say that for either of ‘em. Because, I mean, things still haven’t changed in the sense that humans are finally free from the overwhelming power of the Old Gods—the hands of who commanded the Old Gods’ power merely changed hands.

Still, there are those with overwhelming power and those who are subject to it. Nothing has changed. Yes, a new era of history has begun and with it more innovation and societal “progress” (at least in the technological/informatics side), but still, people are subject to the law of the Old Gods.

And for me, that’s kind of a shame. But I’m an idealistic person, and Funger’s not exactly an idyllic series so, what can you do.

Ugh, the reason why I hesitated to give this reading is because I don’t think Funger is Marxist. But I do think it’s an interesting analysis for what happens when you canonize a Great Man view of history, but while Marx posits that there is a theoretical end to oppression, Funger kind of says that oppression is a necessity of human existence.

Which, is somewhat true. After all, nature and the natural aren’t exactly things humans can logic away, and humans themselves are not so perfect as to devise and live in a utopia.

The ultimate thesis of Funger is that suffering is a fact of reality, that will always exist in some form. Suffering is the human condition, and that is both a tragedy that should be acknowledged and ruminated upon as it is a reality we cannot run away from.

Levi, as I had said in the prior analysis, suffers and his suffering is unnecessary and cruel. However, it exists, must be acknowledged, and is a point of empathy with other peoples that connects him to society.

And that’s not necessarily Marxist as it is just the primary theme of Funger. Marxism may be an avenue to minimize suffering and oppression, but that’s not what Funger wants to argue or say at all. I mean, the fact that it canonized the antithesis of Marx’s framework of history in favor of Libertarian “Great Man” theory should say enough as to the series’ stance on Marxist ideology.

But, I still write all this because it’s interesting to see what happens when you take “Great Man” theory to its logical extreme, what a society of history guided by “Great Men” would look like. And Funger’s conclusion is that it sucks balls.

So, Funger isn’t exactly Marxist. But it is Humanist, and it is anti-capitalist and critical of liberalism and individualism.

tldr; great man theory is stupid, funger is still a depressing game, and i’ve been shoving a square peg into a round hole (these games aren’t marxist)

#mr president interviews #fear and hunger #fear and hunger termina

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mechkarok · 25 days

Text

this part is longer than i intended errr

previous parts: part 1 | prev

@fiowersfield

#lethal company #lethal company ocs #lethal company employee #lethal company hoarding bug #Inane schemes at work #< - new tag bc typing their name kills me (accidentally mistyped risiko's name a few times)#also bc one tag for all three of em (real)#moots ocs

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foulbearobservation · 11 months

Note

i wonder how killer duo camlil met and became a thing. maybe they met while camila spent most of her time in streets, stealing money to live? -🌑

glad you asked :)

When Lilith breaks into Mother Superion’s kitchen, a little drunk and more than a little stabbed, the last thing she expects is to get held at gunpoint.

She’s halfway through gathering up supplies to stitch up the stab wound in her side when she hears the creak of the floor. In a moment, she has her gun out and pointed at the intruder in the kitchen. She’s faced with a waif of a girl, barely a ghost in the doorway. Dark, angry eyes stare at Lilith from underneath a mess of dark curls.

“Who are you?” The girl asks.

“Who the fuck are you?” Lilith throws back at her. The gun in the other girls hand shakes slightly, and she’s a good few inches shorter than Lilith herself. Lilith, even while stabbed, would have no problem taking her out.

“What are you doing in this house?” The girl asks, taking a step further into the kitchen.

“Are we just going to sit here asking each other questions all evening, or are you going to shoot me already?”

“I—I will shoot you, tell me who you are!”

“Oh yeah I’m real scared.” Lilith puts her gun down, keeping a wary eye on the girl. “Lilith. Is Superion home?”

The girl shakes her head, lowering the gun slightly. “She’s out, her wife is in town.”

Lilith leans her head back to hit the cabinet. “Great. Grab me the lighter from the bathroom, I need to sterilize the needle.”

The gun wavers again. “How do you know Mother Superion?”

“Again with the questions kid, Jesus, I’m bleeding out over here.”

The girl lowers the gun and glances between Lilith and the living room.

“Today, please!” Lilith prompts and the girl skitters away towards the lighter. While she’s gone, Lilith grabs the first aid kit from under the sink and her half empty bottle of vodka and preps herself for the pain.

The girl returns with a candle and lighter. “You never answered my question.” She offers them to Lilith, eyes still wary.

“I’m still bleeding, I’m not in the mood to answer your inane questions.” Lilith mumbles. “Do me a favor and stop talking until I’m done.”

The girl steps back, miming zipping her lips as she drags a chair across the kitchen and sits there, the gun still aimed at Lilith.

She watches in barely disguised fascination as Lilith sterilizes the needle and stitches herself up. The stitching itself isn’t difficult, keep the needle hot, keep the stitches close, keep your face blank to not show weakness.

“Does it hurt?” The girl asks, once Lilith’s mostly finished.

“What did I fucking say about talking?” Lilith barks harshly.

The girl looks chastised and Lilith hates that she feels slightly bad about it.

She sighs. “Yes. It hurts like a fucking bitch. But the alternative is actively bleeding, so…” Lilith trails off awkwardly. “What’s your name? How do you know Superion?”

The girl smiles. “Thought you hated questions.”

Lilith realizes that the girl is rather pretty when she smiles, and even more so when she’s still pointing that gun at her. “I sit through plenty of things I hate. Humor me.”

“I’m Camila, I’m working with Superion on something.”

“The boring computer thing she keeps trying to tell me about? The math stuff?” Lilith asks, taking a long swig of her half empty vodka bottle. She’s been in the habit of ignoring Superion every time she attempted to talk about the computer scheme they’ve cooked up. Lilith is good with a knife, not a keyboard.

Camila giggles. “Yeah, the boring computer thing. I won’t bore you with the details since you obviously don't wanna hear it.”

Lilith glances down at the line of sloppy stitches and back at Camila. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.” She lifts the bottle in a halfhearted salute. "The floor is yours, sweetheart."

#slasher au

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wet-towel-socrates · 1 year

Text

Compilation of Ch 7 Thoughts and Ideas

I’ve been meaning to put this together for the longest time and now that Ch 7 is on the horizon I feel like I gotta get this out.

First off, I know that a lot of people assume that Silver will have a really big role mostly based off the fact that is like an amalgamation of Aurora, Prince Phillip, and maybe the Sword of Truth, and while I don’t doubt that, a lot of people either don’t realize or fail to mention that the first-years in previous chapters play a pivotal role in their dorm’s respective chapters not only as foils, but as conduits for character development and story progression.

Ace and Riddle were pretty much foils from the start, each being on one end of the spectrum in terms of their view on rules. Riddle upholds rules for their own sake, no matter how inane or useless it is. Ace has a more moderate take on rules but once Riddle collars him and tries (and fails) to make it up to Riddle, his attitude drives him to disrespect Heartslabyul’s rules almost entirely. Their clash is ENTIRELY the reason why chapter 1 exists. The same can be said for Deuce though on a lesser scale.

Jack and Leona can also be seen as foils in terms of personality. Jack is incredibly rigid with his moral compass. He has a strong sense of what is fair, not to mention that his rigidness goes hand-in-hand with his own work out regimen. Despite being a freshmen, it’s made clear from others in Savanaclaw that Jack is incredibly athletic and applies himself fully when it comes to any physical activity. Leona on the other hand couldn’t be bothered to apply himself in anything to the point of flunking a grade. He is also not above playing dirty to get what he wants, something Jack has acknowledged is not his style. Leona is also the type to rely on his intelligence and strategic prowess to gain the upper hand in a given situation compared to Jack who would much rather face it head-on. Jack’s conflict with being complicit in Leona’s scheme in chapter 2 is what drives him to confront Leona with the help of Yuu and gang, and address his discrepancy of holding Leona in such high regard only to see how much of an underhanded dog he can be.

Epel and Vil’s situation is more like Riddle and Ace’s where their relationship is pretty much the reason why story progresses. Epel also gets to indulge in some character development because of what Vil put him through. Vil’s obsession with Neige is precisely the reason why Epel is heavily involved in the story: because he is the weapon that Vil will use against him, and seeing Epel practice his singing for the competition he had no choice but to participate in is how Yuu and the gang get involved, thus starting chapter 5

I have no doubt that Sebek with play a pivotal role in chapter 7. How that it will manifest? I have some ideas.

1. This one heavily ties with Silver. Assuming that Silver will be the one to break Malleus’s spell or at least be able to hold his own against whatever Malleus casts in his Overblot, Sebek will have this epiphany here. I don’t see Sebek as a foil to Malleus, nor as a conduit for story progression. I see him as having a huge character arc mainly because he so ripe for it. His attitude towards humans and anyone who isn’t Malleus comically stands out even amongst the cast of villain-based characters, especially when it comes to Silver. It’s clear from his parents’s story that fae and human relations are rocky at best. Lilia is a veteran to a war we can only assume involved humans and fae which has led him to become a pacifist in his sunset years.

Malleus, while not maliciously so, has shown to have commit what could be considered microaggressions against humans, namely infantilizing the human students who are younger than him even though he is arguably the most sheltered and naive person amongst them.

There’s no doubt that Silver sticks out like a sore thumb among them, which is why I believe he will be the one to break Sebek out of his bigotry. Him standing his ground as (possibly) the break out hero of chapter 7 will cause Sebek not only to reevaluate his rivalry with Silver but also his thoughts about humans in general. By then he will be aware of Yuu’s prowess against the overblots (Jamil remarks in chapter 4 that there isn’t anyone in NRC who doesn’t know the prefect for braving the OBs and even if he was buttering up the prefect, it still must be true for him to even know about it) and to see this magicless person and his human rival since childhood both end Malleus’s OB/episode will get him to reconsider and maybe even apologize to Silver for all the abuse he put him through and well as thank him for saving his master.

2. The next idea has him as the story conduit this time. Here, he progressively gets more and more possessive over Malleus after word gets out that the prefect and Malleus are friends following the events of chapter 5 after he and the prefect greet each other in front of the VDC crew. From what I’ve seen (I’ve been trying to avoid chapter 6 spoilers with little avail) Diasomnia is aware of what has transpired with Idia, so we can infer that the dorm is not as isolated as it seems and they are just as involved in NRC as any other dorm, and thus the idea of them being aware of Malleus and Yuu’s relationship by now is probable.

Coupled with what happened in chapter 6 and we could see Sebek starting to legitimately interfere with Malleus’s life even more, urging him to focus on school or his duties as prince instead of hanging out with the prefect or trying to get invited to events (after all, he isn’t convinced that the prefect is as well-meaning as they seem if they’ve managed to survive 6 OBs so far). Malleus already being isolated and struggling to find people who he can genuinely connect with who aren’t afraid of him is now beyond angry that Sebek won’t let him out of him sight, thus lead to his eventual OB.

3. This last idea for Sebek’s role I feel could be it’s own thing or possibly merge with the first one. This idea comes from the fandom’s consensus that Malleus will most likely spring some sort sleeping spell in order to preserve Lilia, the prefect, or all of NRC’s lives like a time capsule. Here he simply becomes an accessory to Malleus’s scheme, perhaps willingly at first, but then realize that his master is doing something incredibly wrong and either sit out the battle or reluctantly join Silver, Yuu and the gang in stopping Malleus.

Many people are jumping to the conclusion that Lilia’s comments in Ch 6 about the star mean he is going to die. I think it’s a valid conclusion to draw, but we must also entertain other possibilities. One theory I have stems from comments he made to Sebek and Silver, where he wishes that they can assure him they’ll be fine on their own. Assuming his wish on the star is connected to Silver, it could be his last wish on that star not because he's at death's door (he’s old but he’s still lots of spring in his step), but because it’ll be the last time before Silver becomes of age.

Why does that matter? Well if we assume that Silver is based off of Aurora, then their backstories must overlap somehow. I covered this in my post on Silver, but basically there is a chance that Lilia is keeping Silver’s true identity from him (the way the good fairies did with Aurora) and only when he reaches a certain age will the truth be revealed and Silver returned to whence he came. So, Lilia’s remark could allude that his final wish is for Silver to be happy and healthy (after all, when you’ve lived a life as full as Lilia’s, what else could you possibly wish for) before that fateful day comes and they have to say goodbye.

That’s the way I interpreted his wish since I know he won’t die (Disney wouldn’t kill off a profitable character in a profitable game, I'll bet on it). This is just how I rationalized that remark about wishing on the star. I also think Malleus will misinterpret that remark as well. or perhaps take it too literal, and thus lead him to cast the sleeping spell so that he doesn’t have to suffer any losses.

There’s lots more to mention like how the Shroud brothers will help Yuu, but there’s still lots of Ch 6 I don’t know about, so I can’t really predict much other than Idia finally meeting his online buddy irl. Otherwise I’m gonna cut it off here, maybe continue my ramblings on another post where we focus on Malleus and what might happen to him in Ch 7

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #silver twisted wonderland #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia #Lilia Vanrouge #twisted wonderland malleus #twst #disney twst #theory #twst wonderland

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optiwashere · 19 days

Note

I stopped reading Gardens of the Moon after 250~ pages because frequent character switches got confusing and I couldn't get a solid idea of the magic system. Does it ever get better?

I liked the the prologue, but I feel like they just dropped me into middle of 50 different powers scheming against each other after that. Also the coin is spinning.

TL;DR — This is a series that I love but really struggle to recommend.

Anon, it took me... ten years (?) to finish that book. I still think it's pretty terrible even having read the whole main series. So, I get where you're coming from lol.

That said, the writing quality immediately skyrockets when you hit Deadhouse Gates due to the fact that he wrote that book so many years after the first. But the books fly around a massive world and constantly switch around POVs, so...

If you don't like frequent POV switches, then you won't like the series. Flat out. There's something like 450 POV characters, but some of those brief POVs are some of the most powerful. Some of the characters are really high up in my faves of all time. Onos T'oolan, Tavore & Felisin Paran, Beak... Samar Dev??? Korlat!!! Itkovian, my beloved... there's some amazing characters mixed in with some truly awful ones.

And if you're someone that likes hard magic systems, you won't like Warrens. I don't like hard magic — when a book touts its "magic system" first, I'm immediately negatively biased towards it through no fault of the writer in 99% of cases — so it worked for me.

Pros:

Really broad worldbuilding with lots of cultural influences that aren't Western blended in with traditional Western fantasy.

Erikson has an excellent prose style later on (yeah, I know, it's very difficult to believe considering Gardens) and he has a very elegant way of expressing postmodernist ideas.

Extremely varied women characters (hell, Tattersail in Book 1 is already pretty unusual, sadly, in fantasy for being a fat character who's noted as extremely attractive — and Erikson doesn't stop at her when it comes to hot fat women, what a king.)

My favorite withdrawn, depressed, badass, ruthless lesbian commander character of all time, Tavore Paran.

Very strong messages about compassion and what it means to do "the right thing" in the face of overwhelming adversity.

Despite largely dealing with militaries and soldiers, the books are really about kindness, loss, and love, as well as finding the space within oneself to reject the notion of unconquerable despair.

Cons:

Erikson has, like, four character archetypes and they all blend together (barring a few standout characters.)

The worldbuilding is so broad that it sometimes feels pretty shallow.

Erikson loves using excessive epithets (the soldier, the ex-priest, etc.) and it's wild that those made it through professional editing.

Sometimes, Erikson likes his own prose style so much that we have to listen to identical characters internally monologue over identical woes and dramas. I love the Tiste Andii, but holy shit...

There are so many cases of plotting being hidden from the reader in transparent ways. Conversations where two people will refuse to elaborate their thoughts where they often cut off one another with inane, oblique reasons so that the reader is left in the lurch in a way that is often personally unsatisfying.

Possibly neutral or possibly a con, but there's a trillion content warnings scattered all through the books that are actually really, really serious (lots of sexual assault, and in several of those cases it's either completely unnecessary or actively detrimental to the story IMO.)

Having said all of that, I'll leave you with some quotes for why I still love the series despite its (to me) many flaws:

Open to them your hand to the shore, watch them walk into the sea. Press upon them all they need, see them yearn for all they want. Gift to them the calm pool of words, watch them draw the sword. Bless upon them the satiation of peace, see them starve for war. Grant them darkness and they will lust for light. Deliver to them death and hear them beg for life. Beget life and they will murder your kin. Be as they are and they see you different. Show wisdom and you are a fool. The shore gives way to the sea. And the sea, my friends, Does not dream of you. —Reaper's Gale

"No tyrant could thrive where every subject says no. The tyrant thrives when the first fucking fool salutes." —Toll the Hounds

Against a broken heart, even absurdity falters. Because words fall away. A dialogue of silence. That deafens. & The failure of hope has a name: it is called suffering. —The Crippled God

#hey you can ask me things!#malazan posting??? it's more likely than you think #the conclusion to the main series still sits with me to this day #even if I CANNOT stand book 9 (it's literally an Act 1 in ~380k words)

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aravas-writing · 1 month

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A venture through the Realms

The Elven folk

Ah, the elves. A wondrous and mysterious people since time immemorial, even Fradeo Mellys does not dare speak overly ill of them. They are humanity's oldest allies, even if the bonds were often frayed.

Once, the elves ruled over an empire that, if we take the elves' word for it, far surpassed any other empire in the world in its splendor and greatness. Indeed, independent sources state that it expanded throughout most of the continent, both aboveground and subterranean. Its riches are, at least in part, owed to the legendary art of gem-weaving.

This begs the question: How did it come to this? How was the greatest empire of the continent reduced into three factions, its power so vastly diminished one could not believe it had ever been this expansive?

Mellys has a handwave for an explanation here: He cites an "innate ineptitude of any non-human race at maintaining an empire". This line of thinking is, naturally, so inane that I refuse to entertain it.

As an unintended consequence of me taking a copy of Mellys' own work with me, I may have ended up overzealous. The leading thought was to show why my travels and inquiries were necessary.

Instead, Fradeo Mellys has ended up on a Wanted list. For that, I believe I owe an apology.

Regardless: the elves have splintered into three subfactions after their empire shattered. The reason for this, I will elaborate on shortly, as it has only been revealed to me after I had visited all three people.

The Lorekeepers

The most traditional and isolationist of the three factions. They are often referred to as High Elves, due to "their noses sticking up so high", according to some. Much as Diranis may try to deny it, the elves are magically superior, in part due to an innate affinity towards magic. This, coupled with the fact that their culture existed before most others, has given them a sense of arrogance, displaced as it may seem now.

Their former capital city, Eldnahal, has been walled off by an impenetrable barrier. This much is known to any adventurer foolhardy enough to brave the travel through the Greenhouse Woods, though the origin of the barrier has been unknown to most other races.

The Lorekeepers are immensely isolationist: I have only been granted one brief conversation with one of their number. She told me in no uncertain terms that humans cannot comprehend the way of life of their kind.

As far as I am aware, they behave like particularly obsessive librarians.

The Communists

This faction calls the far reaches of the Greenhouse Woods its home. Rather than a central governing body, its entire way of life is the realized way of existence as postulated by Lamarck the Dreamer: There is no political body whatsoever. Rather, the entire existence of these elves is limited to self-sustaining communes where they grow everything they need to live.

The Communists themselves do not mind the moniker "Wood Elf".

My host, Sanista, could not tell me the reason for the Empire's fall but was much more interested in telling me a different story over a pipe of starleaf. While illegal contraband in Diranis, wood elves have naturally no such scruples, as "it is natural".

Regarding the story: their people had ventured into the woods during the Splintering of the Empire, determined to erect their own utopian way of life. To organise their first steps, the wood elves elected a council of their best, to lead them towards their utopia. This council of greats swore an oath: to lead them well and to lay down power when the communes were done.

However, one of their number had great ambitions and did not want to relinquish power. They schemed and conspired, to become the sole ruler of the wood elves. However, their comrades were not idle, nor were they stupid. The conspirator was found out and promptly killed.

It is unthinkable what could have happened, if history took a different turn.

The Reformists

Commonly known as dark elves, their appearance has changed in comparison to the other factions. This is in part due to their majorly subterranean life near magical crystals the size of a grown dragon as a light source. However, some of their number have also settled on the Sun-kissed Islands. As such, their skin colouration ranges from an aesthetically pleasing chocolate brown to an eerily fascinating ash grey.

This faction disavows the Old Ways and is the most antagonistic towards the Lorekeepers, who they consider to be absurd and backwards-minded. This is also the reason why I managed to find out the reason for the Splintering in the first place: the Reformists see little shame in admitting to mistakes of the past and prefer looking towards the future.

The cause for the Splintering is simple: everyone went collectively insane for a bit.

The last elven empress had eloped, leaving the throne vacant. In an attempt at legitimising themselves, a variety of elves simulated the blessings of the gods upon themselves. This "era of idiocy", as my gracious host Emesilla had described it, was compounded by a brief and embarrassing war against the Megathera, a diplomatic incident involving the goblins as well as a variety of inanities that remind the historically savvy of the Diranian Donkey War.

Of all things to finally trigger the Splintering, it was the gods themselves. They came down upon the world to chastise the elves and drive them out of their city, leaving the Blessed City of Eldnahal sealed.

It appears natural that the Lorekeepers prefer to keep this knowledge hidden and it seems counterproductive of me to reveal this here. However, at the risk of appearing eccentric, I must confess: I want to be on the Lorekeepers' Wanted list.

Regarding the general culture of the Reformists: they are intensely xenophilic, adapting anything they seem even remotely beneficial. Independent of this, it is "in style" to "partner" with someone of a different race for sexual and romantic relations.

My host certainly attempted to tempt me into staying, though I knew that if I had given in even once, I would not have been able to leave. This quality, perhaps, is the most dangerous aspect of visiting the Reformists.

Without a doubt, it delayed my own departure from Hornwood by a few weeks.

(the savvy reader may have noticed that the communists here have successfully reached Stage 2 of the Communist Way. This is because they killed their Stalin/Pol Pot/ Ho Chi Minh/whoever the fuck communist dictator, you get the idea. And even then, it was pure dumb luck)

#a venture through the Realms #original story #original work #fantasy

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