#<- my horror thoughts/reviews tag

[owlbelly]

found an 80s hardcover of Cabal in the thrift store & grabbed it because i had completely forgotten i'd ever read it (which tells you something!!!) & thought "oh yeah i love Nightbreed, i should really read this one"

truly incredible how much the movie is just exactly the book, except you get a little more interiority for Lori & more interesting descriptions of the monsters - i love the practical effects & costuming in the movie but they just couldn't pull off what Barker actually wrote. but oh man this story in either form just epitomizes my love/hate relationship with the dude's work. it's got so much potential. it's so, so bad. Cabal (1988) / Nightbreed (1990) spoilers ahead

i mean come on: queer monster misfit sanctuary vs. the "real monsters" of policing & carceral mental health systems (that enable & provide cover for sadistic humans)? fuck yes. vivid descriptions of wild genderfucky polyamorous kinky mystical creatures living in their huge necropolis? all day long please

but Clive's brilliance is only matched by how much he sucks so we get an incredibly bullshit portrayal of mental illness (what's Boone's deal? we'll never know. it doesn't matter, it only matters that he's Beautiful and Tortured) & a fairly confused sense of the moral standing of various characters/systems. like. are at least some of the Breed not also sadistic killers? what exactly makes them better than Decker or the cops - is it just that they admit to what they do & they're more sexually liberated? would Decker have been accepted if he came to them looking for belonging? also are we meant to think Decker is "mentally ill" - and what does that mean for the narrative - or is the Mask literally a separate entity & does that make him/it a Breed-type monster too?

Boone calls Ashberry a monster (non-pejoratively?) for being secretly some kind of trans ("a crossdresser" but there are some other vague gestures towards gender stuff, Clive doesn't know or care) & then Ashberry, who has been trying to stop the massacre, appears to genuinely want to accept himself & join the Breed, but when he comes into contact with Baphomet (who should recognize his gender stuff!) he gets rejected & fucked all the way up instead. why?

the queerness in this story is all over the place but critics seem weirdly obsessed with a queer reading of Boone/Decker, which i just don't see at all - in the movie there's NOTHING backing that up, in the book there's some bits of narration around them being "like lovers" in terms of their mutual dependence/obsession - but Boone & Lori's very straight relationship is pretty centered! i would be super interested in a queer and/or trans reading of Lori, who actually has some dysphoria (around looking "sweet") & thinks about herself when she's jacking off (iconic...), i just don't think there's anything interesting going on with Boone. obviously the Breed as a whole are a queer allegory & in the movie & background of the book, there are some obviously queer people/relationships, but honestly why tell this queers vs. the straight world story by focusing on an apparently straight, extremely lackluster "tortured man & devoted woman" romance??

and good lord the sex scene. the reason i remembered i HAD read it is that the phrase "he threw his fuck up into her" was burned into my mind & activated me like a sleeper agent when i read it again. honey no. also Boone ejaculating on Baphomet's severed head...oh Clive.

the funniest thing i'm taking away is that i forgot that Boone is supposed to be a bewitchingly gorgeous man with a face no one can resist & the guy playing him in the movie looks like THIS

[always-a-joyful-note]

All right. Time to ramble about a new thing that grabbed me by the neck and didn't let me go until I finished all available episodes.

That new thing, my friends, would be the Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality. And despite being terrible at writing proper reviews and hardly ever doing it, I'm gonna do my best to give a semi-coherent review of why you should listen to this funky little Australian podcast.

So! I see a lot of people comparing Mistholme to Magnus Archives. ..and while that definitely works, I also want to both compare it to Welcome to Night Vale and Wolf 359 for its at times very cavalier attitude towards the unexplained and its exploration on personhood and humanity.

Seriously, though. What I LOVE about this podcast, asides from the philosophical and discoursey tidbits that make the nerd in me go absolutely bonkers, is the way that while it is very much horror and mystery, it's just not that.

Like...it's a museum about supernatural occurrences and terrors, and while a lot of stories do end in creepy, bone-chilling ways, there's also stories that end ambiguously or happily. It's just people living in a world that happens to have alternatural items in it, and while many of the times things go horribly wrong, a lot of times things also can go right...or leave something good to think about. It's just...the best part about this podcast for me is how it's almost slice of life, but a slice of life that happens in a world of magic through the lens of a museum (literally ;)).

Moving on, though, I also seriously love how sometimes it gives off the feel of those educational shows where the characters talk to the audience. There's definitely some great meta moments (and y'all know how much I am wild over those), some stuff I DEARLY want to say about the second person voice but won't for coherence/spoilers. It blends genres - from sci-fi to horror to fantasy, etc. - and has an amazing meta mystery plot thread that just gets better and better as the show progresses.

More than that, though, I seriously just love the focus on worldbuilding. Ironically, this podcast is a MASTER at the show don't tell rule (with reasonable and very seamlessly woven ways of telling, too), and we gradually get to know of this world similar to our own but noooot quite right as the show progresses in a very organic way. And I'm also gonna seriously express the joy I feel in the ambiguity of the year in which the show is unraveling, as well as the ambiguity of how much the common public is aware of the alternatural and so many other things like that. Enough that you're not toooo curious about it but it still adds just another amazing element of story and FUN to this world.

The characters in this podcast - STARS THE CHARACTERS IN THIS PODCAST!! ATG (what I call the Audio Tour Guide)....well, other people have said it better than me but you WILL want to die for it and treasure it and protect it. The other characters that appear? Phenomenal, complex, just...people. And the VOICE ACTING IN THIS. I am....not a good judge of VAs, I'll admit, but just the voice acting in here. The subtle emotion and RANGE they give to their characters. How I'm able to almost SEE them all just from the way they speak. And the way they all develop, both silent AND speaking characters - I don't know how but Dom somehow made me love the mute or nonspeaking characters...or...just feel certain things for them ;)).

Just....plotwise, characterwise WORLDBUILDINGWISE (I am very much a fan of excellent, incredible worlds), performancewise, the themes and discourse on humanity and nature it invites, everything - solid 1000/10. It's really and seriously ranking up there with W359 as one of my favorite podcasts so far....

Now, of course, there will be some stuff that you may personally not find to taste like I did (what with the diverse stories and so on) but I don't think they belong in this review as they're more subjective opinions those up there were all objectively true despite my gushing I don't take arguments so we don't need that. I think the show really does its best in being respectful to all mythologies, religion, sociopitical issues, etc. that may crop up, and it keeps such an...objective? more hopeful? stance on almost every person narrated about (despite in-show opinions) that's kind of...well, refreshing I suppose? to hear? (Maybe the best way to explain it is that its neutral tone allows people, evil and good, to be people without betraying its show's own ethical code.)

Anyway, yeah....I love Mistholme. I love ATG and co. I love the VA and their voice and all other voices once again I ask why are podcaster voices so nice to hear? I love LOVE the individual stories and their unique way of just...revealing the world of Mistholme. And yes, again, I really love all its themes and the Thoughts(tm) they invite or that invade your brain space.

Anyway, with that, I'm still not forgiving the creator for s4 despite being on s5, how DARE -

And secondly, if I had a nickel for everytime an Aussie creator made an urban fantasy world with some of the best worldbuilding and character arcing and plot twisting I've seen, I'd have 2 nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice...

Comparisons and jokes asides, though, you really WILL love this world on its own. And maybe scream a little in wounded agony. But that's just the fun of visiting a museum of mystery, morbidoty, and mortality right?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up. 

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around. 

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready. 

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.  

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl. 

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite. 

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head. 

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you. 

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window. 

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off. 

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated. 

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.” 

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order! 

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers! 

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out. 

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all. 

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders. 

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.” 

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you? 

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.” 

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it. 

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you. 

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.” 

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks. 

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter. 

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you. 

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual. 

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.  

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him. 

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests. 

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that. 

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers. 

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise. 

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?” 

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again. 

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces. 

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.  

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.  

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone. 

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime. 

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks. 

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.” 

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way. 

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you. 

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic. 

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger. 

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner. 

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway. 

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him. 

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.  

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way. 

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week. 

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier. 

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks. 

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman. 

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment. 

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.” 

“No--” 

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button. 

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat. 

“I don--” 

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--” 

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery? 

“I’m not expecting a delivery.” 

“Are you...” he says your name again. 

“... yes.” 

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?” 

“Uh, I guess.” 

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation. 

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole. 

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.  

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real. 

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame. 

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.” 

[ecoterrorist-katara]

Hey bestie any zutara fic recs. I feel like I’ve read all the classics.

Hello anon! Oh boy have you come to the right place because I have read several million words of these two dorks falling in love and though I plan to read several million more, I am always down to screech about talented fanfic writers!!! Here are most of my faves, some of which you’ve probably read but my enthusiasm simply needs an outlet. No WIPs to minimize heartbreak.

In the spirit of not recommending too many classics, I’m not including anything from the first page of the Katara/Zuko tag on AO3 sorted by kudos, with one exception. Same rule does not apply to FF.net because nobody visits that site anymore, yet we mustn’t forget our roots!!! 

TL;DR of my Zutara Fic Recs: 

Half Asleep for a Miyazaki-esque adventure romance 

Southern Lights for a sweeping epic where A Song of Ice and Fire meets Middlemarch

Refraction for a swoon-worthy post-war political romance ft. Katara learning how to politick in a patriarchal world 

Stormbenders for a fun undercover romance that is a ZK classic for a very good reason 

Another Word for Alchemy and The Slow Path for hilarious yet emotionally compelling adventures with found family themes 

The Undying Fire for world-building, more Gaang shenanigans, and super satisfying slow canon divergence 

Katara Alone for our fave girl’s post-war Bildungsroman/travelogue/heroic tour

Simple Misunderstanding for a hilarious rendition of Ponytail Zuko capturing Katara and trying to not be a creep

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow for a mostly canon-compliant (so, v angsty) story about the different ways that love can evolve 

And some one-shots and modern AUs I feel like deserve some more love 

Summaries, reviews, and general fangirling under the cut because holy shit this post is long lmao 

Long fics / series: 

Half Asleep, by crushinator | Rating: T | Word Count: 82,335

Summary: Five years after the Hundred-Year War, Fire Lord Zuko is hit with an assassin's dart, and falls into a coma from which he cannot wake. A week passes, and his prognosis is grim. But Katara could swear she hears him in her dreams.

My thoughts: this fic, in many ways, is novel quality. The pacing? Immaculate. The action scenes? Exciting and interesting yet super easy to visualize. The characterization? On point. Katara is peak Miyazaki heroine in this, setting out on a quest to the Spirit World to save her boy (who’s not really her boy) from whichever Eldritch horror has him in its clutches. I love the little glimpses we have of the mutual pining between Katara and Zuko, and there are no words to describe how much I love the resolution of Katara and Aang’s relationship in this story. And oh boy, is the climax of the fic super romantic. This is just a really well written, emotionally compelling, tight fic. Deserves to be a fandom classic. 

Southern Lights, by colourwhirled | Rating: M | Word Count: 769,274

Summary: A world where the Avatar has disappeared from memory. Where Sozin’s Conquest was successful. Where the unsteady order of the empire is threatened as members of the royal family are picked off one by one and lines are slowly drawn in the sand One last chance for peace forces an unlikely alliance between a homesick waterbender, a carefree Air Nomad, a runaway Earth Kingdom heiress, and the fire lord's inscrutable son. Together they must learn to shed old enmities and become the balance they seek to restore to the world.

OR:

The avatar has four heads.

My thoughts: Is it a Bildungsroman? Is it a war story? Is it a politics story? Is it a love story? Is it a friendship story? Is it a story about colonial violence and well-meaning complicity and finding justice in a world where it simply doesn’t seem to exist? Yes to all of the above, because at 700k+ words YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL. You know how Virginia Woolf once said that Middlemarch is one of the few novels written for grownups? Well, Southern Lights feels adult, not because of violence or sex or general grimness (looking at you, HBO), but because it’s fundamentally about having the courage to make choices, live with the consequences, and make more choices, and repeat that over and over again. If Katara is a Miyazaki heroine in Half Asleep, she is full on Daenarys (pre-character assassination) in Southern Lights, a heroine who gets put through her paces yet retains her unwavering resilience to find her place in the world. Katara can be pretty frustrating in this and I know a lot of the commenters on this fic wanted to smack her up the head halfway through, but I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs and her decisions make sense to me even when I also want to smack her for them, and isn’t that a symptom of good writing? I count my lucky stars that I joined the ATLA fandom after this fic is finished (which was only last year!) because I got to binge it in a few days and I have not been the same person since. Deserves classic status. 

Refraction, by caroe3725 | Rating: E | Word Count: 215,249

Summary: Making choices after the war was supposed to be the easy part. Her future decided and neatly packaged based on what everyone else wanted for her, what she should want, too. But Katara’s destiny had a funny way of being exactly what she wanted to run from. (As if anyone needed another Zutara post-finale slow burn after 15 years.)

My thoughts: YES WE DEFINITELY NEEDED ANOTHER POST-WAR ZK SLOWBURN OF SUCH IMMACULATE QUALITY. Both Katara and Zuko’s internal monologues are excellent in this, but I particularly love Zuko’s. The writer is so good at capturing his resolve, his earnestness, and his awkwardness. This is a very restrained fic — no great histrionics — but also incredibly romantic. The first kiss scene made me want to both sigh and screech. I’m also just a huge sucker for “Katara learns politics” which this fic has in spades, with a bonus of very thoughtful gender dynamics. Anyway, if you liked AJ Lenoire’s The Summit or andromeda13’s such selfish prayers, you’d probably like Refraction. Zuko and Katara are very much dumb teens in the beginning portions of this fic, which I personally like because it makes me nostalgic. Oh, and Katara is low key chaotic good in this, which is super in-character and hilarious.

Stormbenders, by Fandomme | Rating: T | Word Count: 171,000+ 

Summary: S3 AU from FBM. Deep in the Fire Nation jungle, the Gaang meets a group of rogue water ninja who send Zuko and Katara on a mission to retrieve Ozai's secret battle plans.

My thoughts: I’m aware that if you asked the average ZK shipper ten years ago what the ship classics are, the answers are probably Stormbenders, His Majesty Prefers Blue, and the Sparrowkeet series. The other classics are good (classics for a reason!), but Stormbenders remains my favourite. It’s funny. It’s exciting. It’s WELL PACED. The ZK relationship grows so organically, which is a huge feat considering this fic was started before we even got The Southern Raiders. The events are a little more adult than the show, but the tone remains very ATLA. There’s a lovely little animatic of the beginning of the scene on YouTube to show you exactly what I mean about the tone and the humour. I am always weak for a well-structured adventure romance, and Stormbenders stands the test of time because it’s just such a well-written fic. 

The Undying Fire, by Boogum | Rating: T | Word Count: 534,665

Summary: "He has the eyes, Princess Ursa." They were half-forgotten words, a whisper of fears never explained. Zuko had dismissed it all as nothing to worry about—until he somehow healed the Avatar. Fire healers weren't meant to exist, except he did. He'd saved the kid's life. Naturally, he wanted answers. Too bad finding them wasn't so simple...

My thoughts: This fic is mostly Gen, and Zutara shows up in the latter half of the series. Despite being a ZK shipper I like plenty of Gen fics too, and The Undying Fire gives me the best of both worlds. I love the world building, the humour, and the slow ramp up of the Gaang friendships. I absolutely love how the canon divergence is so subtle at first and gradually unfurls into something super different, yet retains much of its ATLA charm. Boogum’s written some other bangers too, and I have to give honorable mention to Zuko’s Tiny Dilemma (where a spirit transforms ponytail Zuko into his six-year-old self, and Uncle into a teapot, and somehow it becomes an emotionally compelling 100k word saga) and Following Blue (season 2 canon divergent Bluetara with a bigger focus on romance). 

Katara Alone & associated fics by cablesscutie | Rating: T | Word Count: 86,890

Summary: The war is over, and with it goes the only life she has ever known. In this era of love and peace, the world is becoming new, and Katara is unsure of her place in it. That's okay though. Katara has rebuilt her life from scratch before, and she will do it again.

My thoughts: I love post-war “Katara sets out to find herself and also finds Zuko” fics. Katara Alone is a fabulous coming-of-age story with some good old fashioned letter flirting during Katara’s solo travels. The sequel, Lady of the Tides, has some very thoughtful depictions of Katara’s place within the post-war Fire Nation, and the accompanying story from Zuko’s POV, The Fire Lord at Home, hits all my buttons. Like…Zuko is Fire Lord Good Boy! He passes legislation! There is political optimism! Swoon. 

Another Word for Alchemy, by FanPanda 13 | Rating: T | Word Count: 108,000+ 

Summary: Five years have passed since the Avatar defeated Fire Lord Ozai, and the members of the Gaang have all gone in their own direction. But when Aang invites them all to a Peace Summit at the North Pole and tells them of his new project, for which he will need their support, the group comes together again for adventure, fun and romance. AU. Zutara. COMPLETE.

My thoughts: Now this is a fic that thoroughly crept up on me. The first 3/4 is good old fashioned fluffy, funny, fourth wall-breaking Gaang shenanigans with plenty of Zutara. But the last quarter? Oh boy does it come right at you and slam you in the solar plexus with the platonic love and found family feels and the complexities of those feelings when you’re a teenager. The impact of Aang’s loss of the Air Nomads is treated very thoughtfully here, way more so than in the show. 

The Slow Path, by TazmainianDevil | Rating: T | Word Count: 125,723 

Summary: Eight years after the fall of Ozai, Aang returns to the friends he left behind.

My thoughts: This is actually a Taang story with a great ZK subplot. But what I love about it is that the whole Gaang (including Suki ALWAYS INCLUDING SUKI) is superbly characterized. The ZK banter is top notch. I could actually hear their voices in my head in some of the scenes. Their relationship is playful but has plenty of emotional heft. And the plot is exciting and well-developed. My favourite thing, though, is how the author treats Toph’s POV: it’s very thoughtfully written, with consideration towards how she perceives the world.

Simple Misunderstanding, by ShamelessLiar | Rating: T | Word Count: 80,965 

Summary: Katara was captured by Zuko, but there was a lapse in communication. Takes place after The Fortuneteller. Fierce Katara, honorable Zuko, and meddlesome Iroh. Also, music night

My thoughts: Generally I don’t love fics where Katara gets captured, especially by Zuko (just a personal preference, not here to judge). But! I love this one, because…well, the circumstances of Katara’s capture by Ponytail Zuko are simply hilarious. Katara is suspicious and stubborn; Zuko has a one-track mind and doesn’t understand why Iroh is treating his prisoner so nicely; oh, and Aang gets into an amazing side quest with some spiritual animals. The only thing about this story is that it ends a little abruptly since the author was considering a sequel, but it still reads as a standalone fic. The author also wrote His Majesty Prefers Blue and Call Me Katto, two ZK classics, but Simple Misunderstanding is far and away my favourite work. 

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow, by sadladybug | Rating: T | Word Count: 62,026

Summary: It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been.

Review: sadladybug lives up to the username by creating a sadness so contagious that I have yet to recover from it, and I cope by recommending this fic to other Zutara shippers so that more may suffer like I did. (Stop the cycle? No.) Look — I think there’s something extremely beautiful and poetic about a love that changes in nature and form and expression, but not in intensity and devotion, and that’s what this fic is about. Loved it. Never reading it again. 

One shots: 

There’s a category of canon-compliant Zutara one-shots that are all extremely painful, and I cannot get enough of them: in the next life by we-were-angels, taking place right before Katara’s wedding to Aang; water can heal, water can break by crazyache, about why Katara didn’t attend Yakone’s trial. 

To combat the above, here’s a few funny, fluffy ones that make me cackle: i am older now by ama (who wrote the banger that is The Blackfish and the Dragon), an old!ZK fic that I read to counteract the emotional damage inflicted by psychedelic_aya’s we hold our hearts in silence; all good things start with tea by yodalorian, where Zuko’s hapless Disney sidekick-esque advisors try to get him a wife; And Half at One Another’s Throats by songofhopeandhonor (whose account is deleted), about Zuko’s harebrained proposals to Katara; The Dragon of the West’s Guide to Flirting by bluesunflower44, which is exactly what it says on the tin and the awkward disaster you’d expect. Waiting on a Steady Sun, by nire, is a long version of my favourite tropes: fake marriage + idiots to lovers ft. pining for your spouse. 

I generally don’t love modern AUs, but akaiiko’s talk is cheap (and i’ve got expensive taste), where Katara meets Zuko at a frat party, is a whole damn delight; my old aches become new again by jamesstruttingpotter is a wonderfully indulgent modern AU based on Our Beloved Summer. 

And finally, some season 3 character studies: don’t tell me how to feel by paintingcranes, ft Katara at the Western Air Temple being increasingly incensed at both Zuko trying to be helpful and how other people react to his helpfulness; the other side of mercy by crazyache, where Sokka calls Katara “high-strung and crazy” and that really makes Zuko think; The Silent Garden by romilley (whose WIP The Horizon is also fabulous), where Katara and Zuko avoid their feelings through a reluctant-allies-with-benefits arrangement (ft a way of depicting intimacy and sex that makes me think of Normal People); a deep delight of the blood by eruthros, where Zuko asks Katara to practice bloodbending on him out of pragmatism but also a little bit of guilt (it’s unrated, but that “Kink Without Sex” tag is there for a reason). 

Thank you for asking me for my recs, anon, because I needed an outlet to rave about fanfiction and my irl friends have heard enough. Feel free to ask me questions about specific fics that aren’t on this list: I always love talking to people about fic and I’m always looking for new ones to read!

[jellogram]

Okay I am ready. An actual longform review about I Saw the TV Glow, spoiler-free because I want people that haven't seen it to know what to expect.

I suggest reading this before you watch.

I think the shortest way to sum it up is that this is not a happy, uplifting, trans narrative, nor is it a Danish Girl-esque tragedy designed to tug at the heartstrings of cis people. This is a cautionary tale, designed for queer people (and particularly genderqueer people) about what can happen if you try to ignore who you are. Because most of Tumblr is queer, I am going to assume most of you guys will be entering with that perspective.

And it's worth noting that the director is nonbinary and has openly discussed this film as a trans narrative.

It's strange. It's uncomfortable. At times it feels like it's moving slow, but you need that time to sit in the emotions. This is not a fun movie to go see with your friends on a night out. This is more like doing powerful hallucinogens in a basement. Either nothing will happen and you won't click with it at all, or you will leave feeling like you just woke up from an incredibly vivid nightmare, wondering why no one around you seems as freaked out as you are.

This is why I recommend either waiting until you can watch it at home alone in the dark, or going to the theatre at a strange time of day when it won't be crowded. My theatre had lots of people laughing around me while I cried. When you are going through a really intense, painful, and emotional reaction to a film, and the people around you are laughing at the movie, it sucks.

So if you don't like the movie and don't get it at all, please be kind and do not laugh or say anything insulting in front of the other guests. If you go through the tags for this movie and many of the reviews, you can see how personally this film affects many people, and you are being very hurtful and dismissive by laughing in front of them while they're upset. This was not only my experience, but one I've seen echoed among many other viewers. So keep it to yourself until you are out of the theatre, please.

Yes, some lines are a little weird. There's things that feel a bit silly and cartoonish, and you just need to ride with it. The absurdity is not an accident on the part of the filmmakers and I think my fellow theatre-goers thought it was.

And as for the technical and artistic aspects, I only have good things to say. Phoebe Bridgers' cameo easily could have been cheesy but it was that song that first made me cry. Pay attention to the use of color. Pay attention to the music. The actors are excellent and it's very cool how many queer people were involved in the project. This is what happens when queer people get to tell our own stories.

tl;dr You will either walk out of that theatre confused and annoyed, or feeling like you just got home from a war. If you are in the first category, please be respectful to those in the second. This is not an easy watch but it's an incredible and highly unique film and it makes me excited about the future of horror and queer filmmaking.

[catcorsair]

How is a man to foresee what the Fates have in store for him? How can he predict when his world is to change? Of ever abandoning that lonely bachelor's existence to which I had long-ago grown accustomed, I harbored not a single hope—and then, as if by one thoughtless snip of a shear, I discovered myself no longer a bachelor. Sixty years I had spent in lack of the honest company of a woman and suddenly she was everywhere, in every thought, every action, every desire: I could see nothing past Sophia. Thus the warnings went unheeded, only spiders in dark corners, darting out where they cannot be seen, secrets concealing themselves in the shapes of other things; rarely do those Sisters cut their lines in absolutes. It is the slow unraveling of a thread by which the red strings shorten. But heat makes men mad, and summer is a mad season; despite my attempts to ignore them, the ghosts of Erik’s unsavory history crept up with the rising temperatures. Such specters, I have found, are not so easy to put to rest. The attempt to do so comes too late.

Like Pulling Teeth: Part Six

Read on AO3 HERE

18+ / Very Explicit / EC, EOC, E++ / 50K

Pre to post-Leroux canon. General tags: Gothic, Horror, Drama, Romance, Historical Fiction.

*(edited) cover art by Zhao Dalu

Enjoy!

Please Comment / Review :)

[devildom-moss]

Punishment (Lucifer)

What has Lucifer done wrong, and how will MC try to punish him?

(Lucifer x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (sub!Lucifer / dom!MC) (plot-heavy) (NSFW tags: degradation for Lucifer, "puppy/pet/good boy" used with varying descriptors, puppy/pet play, bondage, tail butt plug, use of aphrodisiacs, jealousy, mild cuckholding, neglect, leg humping)

Word Count: +2,900

It had been a long day. On top of your classes, you had just spent four hours reviewing for an exam with Satan in the library. Sure, you were prepared to do well when the test came around in a few days, and it was worth it to have the weekend free so you could relax, but the effort was draining. The last thing you wanted to deal with was one of the brothers’ stupid antics. Yet, you rushed to Mammon’s room the second you heard his blood-curdling scream just as you stepped foot in the entrance.

“Mammon! I’m coming into your room!” you shouted through the door before entering. His only reply was an agitated wail.

When you got in, Mammon was strung up from his ceiling, struggling and sobbing. He wouldn’t even acknowledge you. Instead, he muttered weakly, “go away. Make it stop, please. Please, stop it.”

The tears were flowing down – or rather, up – Mammon’s face, dropping onto the glass top table below. He looked so miserable and pitiful that you would have expected the entire house to be ablaze in order to justify this punishment. You dragged the table out of the way before throwing every pillow from the couch and all of Mammon’s bedding onto the floor below him.

“Mammon, can you hear me? I’m going to get you down with magic. I can’t reach the rope from here. Relax, don’t thrash around too much, and you’ll be fine,” you yelled up at him. He still ignored you, crying even harder in response. You felt a few tears hit your arm. What could he have done this time?

You released the rope from the ceiling and Mammon came crashing down – almost safely, barring a few bruises. Still, Mammon was sobbing and begging for some invisible threat to leave him alone. If he had appeared less horrified, you might have assumed he was telling you to go away, but Mammon wouldn’t look at you and had never seemed so afraid of you before. Something was horribly wrong. From this distance, you could sense a curse concentrated in that rope. Luckily, when you tried to untie him, no harm came to you.

The second the rope hit the floor and was removed from around Mammon’s body, he seemed to awaken from his previous state. Tears were still coating his face, but he was finally staring directly at you. With a few more seconds to process, Mammon wiped his face and jumped into your arms.

“Ya saved me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! That jerk, Lucifer, put a curse on me and everything I saw was right out of a horror movie. I was up there for three hours, MC. Why didn’t you come to my rescue sooner?”

Lucifer had strung Mammon up and cursed him with horror movie hallucinations for something as small as ditching one class – which was practically insignificant as far as Mammon’s antics are typically concerned. That was the last straw.

Admittedly, Lucifer had been acting like a little bitch all week. He was snippy and moody – an unrelenting and unforgiving presence that added to your stress instead of alleviating it as he often attempted to do. Maybe he would behave of his own accord, and you could have a relaxing weekend for once, but you weren’t chancing it. You headed to his room to squash the problem at its roots.

“Lucifer, are you in there?” you shouted through his door after a few harsh knocks. “Open up. I don’t want to kick your door in.”

Lucifer opened his door, flustered to see you. His brows were scrunched in confusion, “the door was unlocked, you know.”

“I,” you started. Fuck. “Well, I’m not in the habit of opening other people’s doors without permission.”

“My brothers are resistant to retraining,” Lucifer sighed and stepped aside for you to come in. No, fuck off, you do that too, asshole, you thought. However, that wasn’t your point of argument this time, so you decided to drop it.

“So, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you questioned him.

“What?”

“You’ve been so bitchy all week, and this stunt with Mammon – seriously? He ditched one class, and you’re torturing him for it. That was way too far. He’s been pretty normal all week. What kind of bullshit are you taking out on him? He’s not your punching bag.”

“That’s none of your business,” he retorted, failing to look at you. “Stay out of it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me with that?” You stepped forward. Now his eyes were on you – cautious and unblinking like some wary animal. “I live with you all. Every one of you drags me into your shit. How was I supposed to stay out of it? I had to heat up a pack of Mammon’s favorite noodles and hold him until he stopped crying. How is that an appropriate punishment?”

“I’ll repeat myself,” he adjusted his gaze and straightened his posture, “stay out of it.”

“That’s all you have to say?” It was as if his pride had blinded him to the pain he inflicted on others. His lack of explanation only cemented his wrongdoings. He knew he was in the wrong, and instead of apologizing and correcting himself, he dug his heels excruciatingly, irritatingly deeper. You grabbed the collar of his uniform roughly, inching yourself closer instead of pulling him in. Summoning all your annoyance, you spoke: “what the fuck? You come to me with so much, and now that I ask you directly when something is clearly wrong, you keep that mouth shut? For what? So you can cause me more trouble?”

No one else could pull those terrified doe eyes out of Lucifer like you could. When you glanced down at his offensively silent mouth, his lips were slightly parted, and his lower lip trembled ever so subtly that it appeared to be a trick of the eye. He shrank in the face of your anger – crumbled at your justice.

“I didn’t. . .” Lucifer trailed off as he averted his gaze – his voice lost in the short oblivion between your lips and his.

“What?”

“I didn’t mean to take it all out on him.” Lucifer admitted, slowly suffocating his pride.

“Why did you?”

“He was texting you when he ditched.”

“And?”

“I wanted to be the only one you paid attention to – not just then, but all week.”

“You were being a little bitch all week because you were jealous?” you scoffed at him. That was a poor excuse.

“And pent up. I keep touching myself to the thought of you – but it’s not the same.” Lucifer took one of the hands grasping at his collar and lowered it to the bulge in his pants. He lowered his gaze to the floor, face flushed pink, and muttered, “see?”

You only left your hand there long enough to feel how hard he had gotten in your presence before pulling back. “That’s a sorry excuse. I’d rather you just be sorry. I think a punishment is in order for you.”

“Me?” Lucifer hesitated, but the glint of hatred in your eyes – the kind of hatred that exists temporarily in moments of extreme annoyance that seems indistinguishable to participating parties – terrified him. He nodded cautiously. “Okay.”

You guided him to the foot of his bed and commanded him with a firm “sit and stay.” Lucifer obeyed while you left briefly to find a rope that Solomon had enchanted and gifted to you (don’t ask). You tied his hands together and instructed him to try and break free. He failed, much to his visible irritation.

“Solomon really is a talented man,” you chuckled. Lucifer let out a low growl in frustration.

You untied his hands, and he rubbed the mild rope burn from his escape attempt. Now that you had confirmed the strength of the enchantment, you could tie him up properly. With no display of lust of affection for him, you stripped Lucifer until he sat bare at the foot of his bed. You tied his hands behind his back prettily and transition that tie into a harness around his torso before securing the end of the rope to his bedframe with about 4 feet of slack for him to utilize. He couldn’t move far, but he could move.

“Isn’t this suitable: you sitting at the foot of the bed like a dog on a leash?” He looked so pretty with the deep red rope digging gently into his skin and his face flushed pink up to his ears, but Lucifer didn’t deserve to hear how gorgeous he was. “I already know you’re a thirsty little bitch, so I brought you something.”

When you left to retrieve the rope, you brought a few other items of interest, including a shallow bowl and a pastel pink moon milk with an aphrodisiac in it. Asmo had been gifted several cases of it and gave one to you with the (inevitably crushed) hope that it would work on humans. It would, however, work to toy with Lucifer a bit more. You placed the bowl in front of Lucifer and poured the milk in. Lucifer stared at you with the disbelief of someone who knows they are in no position to deny a request: frantic and submissive.

“Must I?” Lucifer questioned you.

“I’ll put a record on for you while you enjoy your drink.”

Lucifer crawled back towards the bed on his knees, so when he bent forward, he was face to face with the bowl. It was as if the tint in his cheeks was reflected in the soft pink surface of the milk. He felt humiliated and had no idea how to proceed and best please you. When Lucifer looked up at you for guidance, your back was turned to him as you perused his cursed album collection in search of the right one. He self-consciously tested lapping at the milk like a kitten before attempting to sip from the flat surface and accidentally dipping his nose in it. Neither was an ideal course of action, but he didn’t know what else to do.

You found what you had been looking for: the album with a deep crimson apple on the cover. Every time that album played, Lucifer became incredibly, uncontrollably horny. You both figured that somewhere along the cloudy history of the album, the magic imbued in the record had turned romance into lust and now served as an audible aphrodisiac. As the first few notes played, Lucifer became aware of what you were planning. He hesitated in his messy drinking, anticipating the overstimulation you would subject him to.

“Ass up,” you commanded as you grabbed the last item of interest. He obeyed, arching his back for you. With no other warning, you placed a pre-lubricated tail plug up his ass. He whimpered and looked over his shoulder to give you a half-angry look, as if reprimanding you for not giving him more notice. “Perfect, a little bitch with his tail between his legs. That went in so easily.”

“I told you I was pent up,” Lucifer remarked with the rough, matter-of-fact edge of a brat.

“Did you?” You teased. “Well, that’s that for now. I have to get ready. I have a date with Solomon planned, and after dealing with you, I only have 20 minutes left.”

“What?” Lucifer shot up. His eyes were wide and pleading, “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not rescheduling for your sake – especially not after the stunts you’ve pulled this week. I should be back at 9pm. That’s two hours from now. You’ll be fine.” You started towards the door.

Lucifer’s jealousy intensified and he tried to break himself free. He crawled towards you until the rope between him and his bed was pulled taut. The rope dug into his skin harshly, but any pain he felt was overshadowed on his face by a pitiful combination of despair and lust. “Please, don’t go. Not to him.”

“Be a good boy while I’m gone.” You ignored his pleas and reached out to pet his head. He savored the feeling of your touch, knowing that it would come to an immediate end. You heard a sniffle and a low groan – simultaneously pained and pleasured – before you shut the door behind you.

Cruelly (at least as far as Lucifer was concerned), you dragged your date with Solomon out so that by the time you entered the House of Lamentation, it was already half-past 9pm. You knew that Lucifer would have kept a keen eye on the clock regardless of how the aphrodisiacs and his innate lust ravaged his senses and control. When you walked into Lucifer’s room, you were pleased with the results of your punishment.

Lucifer looked up at you, his tear-stained face pressed against the floor next to his bowl. Pitiful moans escaped his mouth, low and strained as if they had been fighting their way back down his throat. He didn’t want you to see him like this: desperately grinding against the small bump he had managed to create in the area rug after well over an hour of repeated thrusting against it. His precum dripped and stained the rug, with some of it even dried into his tail plug, but he had failed to get enough friction for release. Despite the dejected look in his eyes and his ragged panting, he mustered up a cutting tone to tell you, “You’re late.”

What he meant was that he missed you, craving your touch in every second that he awaited your return like some despondent pet abandoned at the peak of its need for attention. If he was honest, he’d thank you for coming back and ask you to bring his punishment to an end, but he wasn’t, so you had no problem teasing him a bit further.

“Solomon held me up. That man can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“What?” He had intended to say it harshly, but the single word trembled out of his mouth – more of a whimper than a question. His hips halted their rhythm, his tail slowing from a mild rocking to still. A low growl escaped Lucifer from some deep, enraged pit in his chest whose emptiness you prodded mercilessly. Despite that rabid noise, fresh tears washed down his face along the dried trails as if they wished to make a pristine mess of him. “Why are you being so cruel? I’d rather you whip me all night than break my heart.”

You clicked your tongue at him before walking over. “Up.”

Lucifer followed your command with the lethargy of a defeated man, but you let the speed of his obedience go. He rose to his knees, still as hard as when you’d walked in on him. You wiped the tears off his cheek with a gentle touch, as if he were something fragile, and at that moment, he was – but not so fragile that he couldn’t take a bit more. He shuddered under that miniscule touch, leaning into it affectionately. You licked the tear from your finger and spoke in a honey-sweet voice that underscored your disapproval of him: “you really are so pathetic, Lucifer.”

“I know.”

“Good. Then, I suppose I can untie you, can’t I, my pretty little puppy?” Lucifer gasped softly at the nickname and nodded, slow and uncertain. “Stay perfectly still.”

Lucifer followed your command as you untied him. Even when he was finally free, Lucifer refused to move until you gave him permission. You leaned down towards his neck and before he could question your intentions, you sunk your teeth into his shoulder, biting down until an erotic groan filled the room. When you pulled back, deep marks were indented into his skin that glistened with saliva. You kissed over the mark sweetly, causing Lucifer’s face to turn pink up to his ears. He reacted so well to the smallest sign of affection.

“Now you’ve been marked as my slutty little puppy,” you cooed. “Would you like to cum, pet?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you should do something fitting a puppy. I’ll permit you to hump my leg. Will that be enough?”

“Yes, I think so.” It was pleasant to see him be so uncertain.

You sat at the edge of the bed and beckoned him to your side. Lucifer waited for a reassuring nod before touching you. He thrust himself against your leg slowly, rolling his hips deliberately and moaning like a bitch for you. Every inch of your skin that he could rub himself against was savored, but he still wanted more.

“Could you pet me?” Lucifer asked, uncharacteristically timid, as if you would continue to deny him.

“Greedy boy – marking your scent all over me and still asking for more.” You chastised him, but your hand still wandered down to his head so you could run your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp affectionately. The small show of adoration intensified his pleasure. Lucifer picked up his pace slightly and the sound of ragged panting weaved into his delicious moans. You could feel him twitching against your leg, and you moved your hand from his hair to under his chin. “Look at me, my pretty little puppy.”

You caught those dark red eyes, softened by pleasure and love and clouded with lust – dangerously beautiful, just seconds before he came. Admittedly, the comfort of staring at your face combined with your touch had pushed him over the edge more than the few thrusts that preceded his cum leaking down your leg.

Lucifer sighed a quiet “thank you” before sinking into a sitting position and resting his head on your knee. You felt a few tears drip onto you, so you stroked his hair and hushed him.

“There’s my good boy,” you hummed. When the tears stopped, you could take a nice, warm shower together, but for now, you just needed to be there and let Lucifer cry. He just needed you to love him again.

~

Punishment (others)

Belphegor | Barbatos | Asmodeus

A/N: I feel like I went a little feral on this one. I just want to make Lucifer cry and suffer. I'm still sick, and I still have one more fic to do this month, so... really misspelling trial because I'm putting the try in trial. Forgive me if the proofreading isn’t great on this one.

[d-8tober]

Announcing the D8Tober Dimension 20 fan event/prompt challenge!

Select 8 of the 31 prompts to make a fanwork based off of during the month of October! Prompts are each loosely inspired by a horror movie, for the spooky October vibes, but none of the prompts necessarily need to be horror based and many are on the sillier side.

The prompt list will be revealed in two separate posts tomorrow on Friday the 13th of September, because that's appropriate!

FAQ:

Q: Who's running this event?

A: Running is a STRONG word, but the person behind this account is @remidyal. I debated whether to make it a separate account or not but decided to split it out.

Q: Are the prompts associated with specific dates?

A: Nope! I just did 31 to have one for each date but do them in whatever order strikes your fancy. Creation often takes multiple days, and there shouldn't be the added stress to try to have it out on a specific date for this relatively light thing without feeling like you missed your shot. Wanna jam out all 8 on one sunday? You do you, bud!

Q: I want to do less than eight of the prompts. Or, alternatively, I want to do more than eight of the prompts. Or, alternatively, I thought of something that doesn't quite fit one of the prompts.

A: Go for it, I'm not your mom. The whole purpose of an event like this is to inspire some fun fanworks; this is a super casual thing and I'm not going to stop you from doing whatever suits you.

Q: Is there an event discord or anything?

A: No, but I'll be using the tag D8tober for my own postings, and as usual I'll be around on the fic discord server or a lot of the other community servers if you have questions.

Q: Do I need to watch a single one of the movies on the list in order to participate?

A: Absolutely not! The prompts are just, themselves, inspired by a selection of horror movies. The long-form version of the prompt list will include some information about and a brief review from me of each movie, but spoiler alert there are a couple on there I don't recommend to anyone to watch. Not because they're horrific or problematic or whatever - I'm not including anything very far off the beaten path, really - but because they're bad. (Don't watch the original Friday the 13th, for example. It's awful and you can do better with your limited time on this planet.)

Q: If you had to recommend a single movie on this list, which would it be?

A: If you've somehow never seen a single one of the movies on the lists, then I'm going to have to recommend one of the true classics not just of horror but of movies generally and tell you to watch Alien. Sometimes things are classics for a reason. If you've seen some of the really well-known stuff but not gone all that deep, I think I'd push you towards Ready or Not, which is a lot of fun and not that many people saw.

Q: Are these questions really frequently asked, or did you just try to cover things you thought people might ask with something you wrote in advance?

A: This press conference is over.

There will be two versions of the prompt list posted, one with just the prompts and one with some fun info and opinions on each of the movies on the list.

[queermania]

How do tags work? I'm newish to Tumblr and I don't really get the tags. Do I need to tag everything?

hello and welcome! tags serve four major purposes:

to let other people find your content: this is only applicable if you are the creator of the post, not if you reblog it. for example: if you make a post about dean you might want to add the tags "dean winchester" and "supernatural" or even "spn" so that other people who are interested in content about dean can see the post when they're searching for content on tumblr (if you want to find content and you're using desktop, you can search tumblr.com/tagged/supernatural [or whatever it is you're looking for] and you'll be able to see original posts that people tagged as "supernatural." if you're on mobile, frog speed, my friend.) also, friendly reminder not to over-tag things. if you tag a post that is just about dean with "sam winchester" "castiel" "john winchester" etc people are more likely to block you. spam tagging is really annoying.

organization on your own blog: adding tags to your posts lets you find them on your own blog later (again, this is really only useful on desktop, not mobile) and this goes for original posts and reblogged posts. for example: you may have noticed that i tag all of my posts about dean with "dw." that's the organizational tag i use for my own blog. i also have tags that probably don't mean anything to anyone else but that help me to organize certain ~genres of posts on my blog (like "hashtag family"). if you want to search your own blog or someone else's for all of the posts you/they have in a specific tag you can do that on desktop by going to blog.tumblr.com/tagged/tag. so for example if you wanted to search my blog for the dean content you would go to queermania.tumblr.com/tagged/dw

giving other people the ability to block/filter content: this is relevant for both original posts and reblogged posts. for example: someone might have followed you for doctor who content but they are not interested in seeing supernatural content. you tagging your supernatural posts with a "supernatural" tag lets them filter or blacklist it so they don't have to see it. this is also relevant for certain types of content like nsfw, body horror, etc. you may see tags like "tw body horror" or "body horror tw" or "body horror cw" or even "body horror for ts" (that one's an old relic from a time long ago when we had to use an extension called tumblr savior to filter content). content/trigger warnings are subjective. not everybody uses them. not everybody is willing to use them. it's not uncommon to ask people (politely!) to tag for something that might be upsetting to you, with the caveat that they might say no and then it's up to you to decide if you want to continue following them or not. (for example if you asked me to tag for alcohol, i would politely decline, simply because i do not think i would realistically remember to do it and i don't want to promise something i can't deliver and risk harming you.)

commentary that doesn't need to be a part of the post: you may have noticed that a lot of us put our thoughts on any given post in the tags. this is a way to leave commentary without muddying up the post. not all thoughts need to be on the post permanently. in fact, most don't haha. sometimes if you leave commentary in the tags, someone will copy and paste or screenshot them into the body of the post because they think your thoughts deserved permanent status and that other people should see them too. we like to call this getting peer reviewed because we are nothing if not a website full of nerds.

so those are the ways we use tags on this website. you can choose not to use tags at all, use them religiously, or use them only when you want. it's really up to you. you create your own experience. however, if you do opt out of tagging anything at all, people might be less likely to interact with you because it makes it harder for them to curate their own experience. but again, it's really up to you!

[lastoneout]

New Pinned/Intro Post!

Hi, I'm Loo(or Alex), I'm a disabled queer artist and writer as well as a furry vtuber who streams four days a week on twitch(mostly Minecraft but also Soulsborne games and a variety of other stuff).

You may know me from The Tuna Post, in which several thousand of you came together to "force" me to buy damn near 30 American Dollars worth of imported fancy canned tuna to eat and review live on stream. If you're here for it, said live review can be found on twitch and on my youtube channel. TL;DR: 10/10 would recommend.

I currently can't work, so if you like what I've got going on here and want to help me out, I take donations over on my ko-fi <3 Aside from that, follows on twitch help a lot, even if you never end up watching!

(Also, I sell my twitch emotes as stickers on redbubble!)

I don't have a proper BYF, but as a heads up I'm heavily introverted and have ADHD, and between those and my disabilities eating up my energy I often take a while to respond to messages/tags/reblogs/DMs and sometimes forget entirely. This isn't anything against you, and it's something I'm working on, but just something to keep in mind if you plan on interacting with me a lot.

FAQ:

Do you take commissions?

Not at the moment, but hopefully in the future!

What do you use for art?

Wacom Intuos tablet + Clip Studio Paint on the PC, though these days I mostly use CSP on a Samsung Galaxy Tab s6 since I can use it in bed on my low spoons days.

What do you want to go to school for?

Digital Art and American Sign Language!

You talk about being sick all the time/having health problems, what's wrong with you?

Too many things to list <3 but the most notable ones are chronic migraines, hEDS, and ADHD.

Queer?

I'm ace, bisexual, bigender, and butch. I'm also polyam but currently in a very happy monogamous relationship and don't have plans to change that. My pronouns are she/they, and while I would prefer to not have people use he/him with me you are highly encouraged to use masculine forms of address(sir, guy, dude, king, man, my guy, grandpa, dad, etc.) whenever appropriate. My assigned sex/gender at birth is none of your business.

Who's Yotsuba?

Yotsuba is an adorable little gremlin and the main character of my favorite manga, Yotsuba &!, and you should go read it right now seriously it's amazing go read it go read it GO READ IT-

What's "ask to tag"?

The tumblr equivalent of "author chose not to use archive warnings", I put it on anything that seems like it could use a trigger warning but where no one has specifically asked me to tag for that trigger yet. Things I currently (try to) tag for: flashing lights/eyestrain, insects, suicide, fatphobia/diet culture/disordered eating, my hero academia, gore/body horror, current events, us politics, politics, covid, cats, and anything nsfw goes under nsft.

I can't promise to be 100% consistent with these tho, between the ADHD and the migraines I am very forgetful, so slip ups are bound to happen.

Loo? Like the bathroom??

LOO is short for LastOneOut, I'm american and forgot people call it that, you can write it as Lou or just call me Alex if it makes you feel better.

LookingForLoo?? Like looking for the bathroom??

On websites where LastOneOut is taken I'm LookingForLoo because I'm literally looking for LOO, LastOneOut. I thought it was clever T_T

Sideblogs?

I have a nsfw alt @looafterdark (18+ only I swear to god I keep a loaded gun pointed at the follow list) and a writing inspo blog @last-scrapbook. I also once ran a couple of character ask blogs, though I don't plan on starting them up again, and I was the mod behind @pokeprofshowdown.

Who's Eugene/Ophelia/Sasha?

My ocs from an original story I'm working on. I get brainrot and post about them a lot. You are ALWAYS allowed to ask me about them!

What's your fursona/can I make art of you?

I'm a dog, kinda like a papillion but not really, and yes you may. My ref sheet is here.

Can I repost your funny text posts to twitter/insta/reddit?

Sure, all I ask is that you include the entire post and leave my username visible. You can also tag me if you want, I'm lookingforloo on twitter, insta, and reddit <3

Can I repost your art/writing?

Absolutely not.

Can I plug your art or writing into an AI program?

Absolutely not under any fucking circumstances.

Can I use your art in an amv/fandom board/as a cover for my playlist or fic/ect.?

Depends, DM me first.

Can I write fic/make fanart based on your fics/art/HCs/AUs?

Absolutely <3

Can I write fic/make fanart based on your OCs?

Art yes, fics no.

What's your stance on the discourse?

There is no amount of posting online about contentious topics that could ever match the sheer power of simply going out into your community and finding a project that helps other people that you can dedicate your time and energy to. Also wear a mask, vote(if you can), and listen to marginalized people when they speak about their experiences.

How old are you?

29

[johannestevans]

Crimson Peak: A Love Letter To Gothic Romance

Adoring thoughts on Guillermo Del Toro’s 2015 masterpiece.

On Patreon / / On Medium.

This review and bit of analysis is related to the talk I’ll be giving on Crimson Peak tomorrow, responses to misogyny and marginalisation in and around Gothic fiction, and how much of this social conservatism is mirrored in BookTok and modern retorts to problematic fiction.

All proceeds from the Romancing the Gothic Goths for Breakfast talks go to charity, feeding school children free breakfasts! You can sign up for tickets here.

Edith and Thomas in bed, via Cap-That.

Crimson Peak (2015) frustrated me when it came out, and often frustrates me today — I was desperately excited about it when it was released, loved it the first time I saw it, have loved it every time I’ve watched it since. What frustrated me was not the film itself, but its advertisements and the way it’s filed and tagged on sites even today is that Crimson Peak is not a horror film.

Crimson Peak is a Gothic romance.

Yes, Gothic fiction — Gothic horror — might be classified under traditional horror tags and descriptors, but gothic romance is a different and more complicated kettle of fish.

Gothic fiction is typified by its associations with the most visceral of human emotions — with fear and horror and terror; with disgust and anger and rage; with want and jealousy and envy; with lust and love… and grief.

We see in Gothic fiction what we see in the the Gothic architecture for which the genre is named, inspired by its traditional settings — the darkness that lingers thick and impenetrable amidst the ceiling arches, untouched no matter how many candles are lit; the long shadows cast by figures silhouetted against windows and fireplaces; the endless corridors, the haunted attics, the cold and shadowed cellars, the strange and troubling shapes of the house around us.

What do we find in Gothic romance, then?

In Gothic fiction we find the most macabre and grotesque of happenings, of settings, of events — in Gothic romance, we find those who love and lust for them.

Some of the most famous Gothic romances are Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre; Deaphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca; Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights (Stephenie Meyer’s favourite book, and an inspiration for Twilight, by all accounts: no more damning comment can be made of it).

When I was describing my affection for the genre to my partner the other day, I also mentioned Bram Stoker’s Dracula — Dracula lacks the female protagonist that these three classics have, but I would argue that the want and lust (and even love) between Dracula, Jonathan, and Mina (in each direction) more than amount to enough to fit the book into the genre.

It’s not as simple as desire or want or even love for another whilst horrific happenings go on around their heads — Gothic romance’s unique allure is in the darkness of people’s romantic desires, their sexual desires. Wanting what they should not want — wanting the pain and the grief and the fear as much as they want the sweetness, the comfort, the pleasure of love.

This stands out most of all in those Gothic works that delve into proto-feminist explorations of female empowerment — in Jane Eyre, in Wuthering Heights, in similar works that largely centre the horror of a young woman (or women) entering into marriage with a man that leads her to doom of one type or other, supernatural or mundane, what is ultimately being explored is the horror of these women’s lack of choices and agency.

If she will be terrorised either way, if she will live in fear, if she will be controlled no matter what she does and whom she’s married, why would she not seek out a controller, seek out a ghost or monster, whom excites her? To whom she is most deeply attracted? A man who she can — and will — terrorise in turn?

I think it’s why poor Jonathan Harker stands alongside these Gothic heroines in my mind, not merely in line with Mina because he’s her husband, but part of the line-up in his own right— he is desirous of Dracula and, like many of these women stumbling, or rushing headlong and passionately into, dangerous matches, he is heedless of every warning as he allows himself to be trapped in the faraway manse of this hypnotising man who will feed on him, and whom at the same time Harker feels a sort of hunger for even as his intentions and his nature become clear.

What is it, then, about Crimson Peak?

Here’s a Gothic romance that stands on its own two feet — like the best of pastiches, it near perfectly echoes the tone and the hypnotising ache of the best and most impactful stories in the genre, creating a story that could well have been penned centuries ago alongside contemporaries like Wuthering Heights.

In Crimson Peak, there are so many references to different staples of the genre — apart from the basic staples of the isolated manse in the middle of the dales, the strange and dark family with the sordid past, the young ingenue, intelligent and driven but at the same time naive, we see small references or direct mirrors to particular tropes or archetypes present in some famous Gothic tales.

Finlay, for example, the Sharpes’ elderly caretaker who seems confused and scatterbrained, is a mirror to the long-winded and sometimes incomprehensible Joseph of Wuthering Heights; Edith compares herself to Mary Shelley, a stalwart creator in the Gothic genre and one of its defining authors.

Like the best of pastiches, it is filled with its love for that which it’s imitating, delving into classic tropes of the genre — the sprawling and crumbling manse on the hill, apart from all the other houses, filled only with ghosts; the once rich and splendid family, now rendered impoverished and preying on others to survive; the aspects of natural horror, insects feasting on one another, the presence of this red in tooth and claw violence and the desperation to survive; the horrors of lonely, isolated children developing inappropriate and disgusting, incestuous intimacies with one another, those intimacies carried on into their adulthood; ghosts that at once horrify those they appear before and yet on some level crave to help them, to save them, or at least undo what has been done.

At the same time, every character but Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain) is desperate to escape the genre they’ve been born into.

Edith (Mia Wasikowsa), naturally, wants for a romance, but she also wants more for herself than her role as a woman in the society she’s in — much like the Brontë sisters did themselves, she wishes to disguise her gender so that her work is not immediately dismissed, exchanging her father’s gift of a pen for the machinised genderlessness of a typed hand, that she might be an author and create things for herself, just as her father built things before he owned them; Thomas (Tom Hiddleston) wants for a romance himself, craves the love and sweetness of a marriage whilst untangling himself from the horror it’s attached to with his sister, but he is also trying to drag himself out of the hole his house is creating with machinery designed to dredge out clay.

Edith and Thomas both reach for tools of the industrial age, reach with grasping hands for modernity, as if these can save them from the classic ghost story they’re trapped in.

And yet there are further depths to this gift — in giving Edith the gift of this pen, Carter (Jim Beaver) is giving her a sort of phallic symbol. He is a patriarch giving his daughter a metaphorical extension of masculinity and masculine power — in essence, he is saying to her: “Edith, you are not just my daughter, not just a woman as in the eyes of the patriarchal society around us, but you are my firstborn. Uncaring of the gendered nature of your position, and the ways in which this dispossesses you, I am giving you an appropriate tool for your trade.”

And what does Edith do? Immediately reject his pen, because his approval and his extension of this power to her is not enough — she exchanges the tool for the typewriter because she craves the anonymity it will give her, and its modernity.

Appropriate, that Carter Cushing should take such a dim view of Sharpe’s prototype and dismiss it as little more than a child’s toy, whilst talking about his own hard work leading to the empire he later built — talking about hardening his hands before he built larger structures, before he owned property himself.

This is the same opportunity he is attempting to offer Edith in giving her that pen: for her to have a tool to build with before she owns his empire, and yet she rejects it. In turning down this offer of power from Carter Cushing, representative of his allotting her more personhood than one might expect to be offered to a woman in this period, her head is then turned by Thomas Sharpe’s proposal.

She is, in a way, taken back to the past when she returns with him to England — social mores are not so flexible in England as they are for a woman like Edith in America, and even if they were, she is isolated from anybody but Thomas and Lucille (and the ghosts in their home), so she is robbed entirely of opportunities for self-empowerment or agency.

In Allerdale, it is Lucille that carries all the power, Lucille that holds the a ring of metaphorical phalluses on her belt, taken from all her victims — Lucille holds the keys to the house, and denies them immediately to Edith, who by all rights should now be lady of the house as Thomas’ new wife.

She holds power in her hands, wielding these keys, and of course, Edith takes the one that had belonged to Enola Schiotti to unlock her trunk — the same ghost who unlocks another door for her, no key needed, to give her some power within that home on the sly.

It’s appropriate that Edith finally wields her father’s pen when Lucille pushes her to sign the contract that will sign her life away — a concern Carter no doubt always had about Edith marrying any man, even were Thomas not so suspicious a character — and uses it as a weapon to attack Lucille and defend herself, to allow herself to reach once again for freedom.

There are so many layered meanings and ideas within the text, and it’s so richly written and developed compared to many contemporary films I might think of — it’s miserable to think of, but Crimson Peak really is one of those films where you feel that every part of the story has its place, where the whole thing has been wholly considered, carefully mixed and edited, where every scene, every line, every movement of the camera is for a reason, and adds to the greater narrative, elevates that narrative.

In the beginning, for example, we hear Edith say that her mother died of cholera, and that it was a closed casket, that her father begged her not to look — when Carter himself is on the block in the morgue, she is compelled to look although she doesn’t wish to, and seeing him dead there, she cannot conceive of the reality of the situation. She never sees her mother dead, but she understands she is dead, and then sees her as a ghost — never able to fully digest the death of her father, she denies it even as she touches his cold hand, and she is never haunted by him.

Edith mentions that she sees Thomas Sharpe as a parasite with a title before meeting him, and she is entirely right to think of him as such, because that is precisely what he is — there is a continuous and constant theme of living things feeding off one another. Lucille compares Edith to a butterfly, the two of them sitting side by side, one brightly yellow and the other dark and pale: Lucille tells Edith, distant and dreamy, that the moths she’s so familiar with eat butterflies (like her).

Edith and Lucille, via cap-that. “It’s a savage world of things dying or eating each other, right beneath our feet.”

Even the house itself at Allerdale is being consumed by the mountain below, being devoured by the red and bloody clay that had once given the family within it their fortune — having been fed upon by this family over generations, it now feeds on them in turn, both in the absorption of Allerdale House, and incidentally in the drowned victims of those the Sharpe siblings feed into the cellar vats.

Edith as a protagonist notes details — she’s keen and clever, investigates, considers; she notes that Alan keeps Arthur Conan Doyle on his shelves; she speaks on the specificities of Thomas Sharpe’s wardrobe and how its dated appearance reveals that his fortune is waning or has entirely waned; she follows clues, she researches, she deduces. Like her father, she reaches for information, arms herself with it.

We see her horrified again and again by the ghosts that plague her, and at the same time, she works so hard to understand them — she works hard at every opportunity to comprehend the incomprehensible, to know the unknown, to understand everything that cannot be understood.

There are so many other wonderful elements to the film — it’s beautifully shot, of course, and has some of my favourite costuming that I could name in any period piece. Every dress, every suit, is perfectly tailored, effortlessly lit, every piece moves and flows, every piece of jewellery or accessory is set to fit the period, the setting, each individual character.

Even the ghosts, with their smoky essence, with the unnatural shift and angularity to their movements embroiled in a constant and preternatural fog, seem so real, have such a texture to them that makes them so easy not only to visualise, but to imagine you can feel, that you can reach out and touch — or not touch, even as you reach.

And like any good Gothic piece, but especially a Gothic romance, Crimson Peak is a film that exudes sex.

Every glance between Edith and Thomas is full to the brim with want and lust and desire — Thomas’ gaze lingers on Edith’s face and her body, on her hands, on the movement of her skirts and the shift of her waist; Edith follows after Thomas where he moves, leans toward him like a candle flame drawn to a draught, and you can see her hold her breath whenever he draws closer.

Whenever there is a distance between the two of them it feels fraught with electric tension: when that distance is slowly closed, bit by bit, and yet repeatedly denied and interrupted — by Alan, by Carter, by Lucille, by everyone around them — it seems that it should crackle and pop, flash and burst into flames.

Lucille’s desperate control of Thomas is in part dependent on their sexual dynamic, on the older Lucille having groomed him into a partnership when she was only 14 and Thomas even younger at 12 — and Thomas’ soft murmurings, almost to himself, with Edith, are so revealing of his vulnerability.

“You’re so different,” he whispers in one scene, and quickly brushes off Edith’s bafflement at the comment; he is frightened to lay hands on Edith, even to be alone with her at times, for fear of Lucille’s wrath, and when finally permitted the opportunity to fall into bed with her, he’s desperate in his desire for her.

His most sympathetic moment is no doubt where he says to Alan through carefully gritted teeth that Alan is a doctor, that Alan knows where to direct Thomas’ blade, that he might finally do violence upon someone — what Lucille has always wanted from him — and yet still save himself from having committed a murder.

Lucille damns everyone she touches, kills everyone she can — her mother; Carter Cushing; the dog; each of her brother’s wives; Thomas Sharpe himself.

And yet she’s not unsympathetic.

We see Lucille’s desperation — under her cold demeanour is an agonisingly lonely woman, isolated and abused for the whole of her life, robbed of any real and obvious power of her own, and forced to wield power only through her brother’s name, her brother’s movements, her brother’s actual, legal power, which as a woman she cannot wield.

Lucille and Thomas were locked alone in their attic and denied access to anywhere else in the house, apparently denied any other companionship or loving contact — their mother was also an abuse victim, and became isolated after what their father did to her, but she just carried on the cycle in abusing her own children. Is it any wonder she should grapple so desperately for purchase in a world literally slipping out from under her, the sliding stone and brick stained red with crimson clay?

Is it any wonder that she should mix blood in with it, when she has nothing in the world, as far as she sees it, but her brother?

As cold and brutal and violent as Lucille is, she acts on instinct to protect herself and who she holds most dear — even in killing Thomas himself, it’s a desperate action in the hopes of keeping him bound up with her, terrified of his rejecting her when he has been the one constant she has ever been able to rely on.

God, what a film.

[urfavoritesecretadmirer]

╭──────────.★..─╮

Blog intro

╰─..★.──────────╯

System intro |

`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`--------------------------------------------`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`

ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴀᴍᴀʏᴀ

: ̗̀➛ I am a minor. I don’t want to give specifics for safety reasons, but my range is 14-16.

: ̗̀➛ Ask to Dm

`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`--------------------------------------------`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`

ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ & ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ

: ̗̀➛ I am panromantic, because of this this blog has no sexual content.

: ̗̀➛ I use Any/All pronouns. And when I say Any/Alll, I mean ANY/ALL. Literally go crazy and use any neopronouns you want because they are so cool.

`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`--------------------------------------------`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`

ʏᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏ’ꜱ

: ̗̀➛ Interact if/this is a safe space for: Yandere blogs, obsessive blogs, systems, witchcraft practitioners, all races religions sexualities, genders, etc. SFW blogs, agere, petre, all mental health, obsessive blogs.

: ̗̀➛ DNI if: General DNI, zoophiles, proshippers (sorry I don't want people who write r*pe about 6 year olds on my blog), NSFW blogs, rude bitches, support what Israel is doing, radqueer, transID (like transplural like bitch be so fr), anti-recovery, anti-self DX (from what I've seen y'all are actually so fucking rude).

: ̗̀➛ Be aware of: This blog will post triggering topics, and all triggering topics will be listed. You know what blog you are on, be cautious. We are endo neutral because we genuinely don't give a crap about that stuff. We used to be anti-endo sooo ignore that.

`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`--------------------------------------------`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ

: ̗̀➛ System of 120+, witchcraft practitioner, mixed BIPOC, queer, grunge/gothic style, questioning Yandere

: ̗̀➛ Likes: Writing reading paranormal stuff witchcraft horror nature baking cooking card games anything ocean related theatre food in general rain fashion candy lovecore grunge Y2k him obviously letters poetry

: ̗̀➛ boundaries: No flirting asks please, I already love someone! Reblogs and notes are okay! Adults, please be mindful I am a minor! This blog is fully SFW and adults and minors are allowed as long as it is!

Yandere MBti: RAHL

MBti: INFJ-T

`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`--------------------------------------------`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`

ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰ

: ̗̀➛ I’ll post my love letters, journal entries, etc if yall want inspiration!

: ̗̀➛ I DO NOT CONDONE ANY ACTIONS POSTED ON THIS BLOG. I would never act on these actions, this blog is a coping mechanism.

: ̗̀➛ I will refer to my darling as Him, love, darling, etc. I will not be posting names.

`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`--------------------------------------------`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`

ᴡʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙʟᴏɢ ꜰᴏʀ?

: ̗̀➛ It’s a coping mechanism for me to talk about my obsessive feelings and thoughts.

: ̗̀➛ To help others. Y’all want me to read over your love letters before sending them out? Bet! Gift ideas? Bet! Journal entry ideas? Gotcha! Wanna talk to me about your crush/partner? Go ahead, just please do it in asks/notes rather than DMs! I’m here to help y'all as well as myself!

: ̗̀➛ To talk about my crush because I’m scared everyone else is annoyed with me when I talk about him.

: ̗̀➛ To post about system stuff, positivity, love, poetry, etc.

`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`--------------------------------------------`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`

ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ꜰᴀɪʀɪᴇꜱ

: ̗̀➛ Anons: None yet!

: ̗̀➛ Tags:

･ ｡ﾟ ᴀᴍᴀʏᴀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ☽☆: For all my posts here on now

･ ｡ﾟᴀᴍᴀʏᴀ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇꜱ ✒️💌: For all things writing related (quotes, letters, etc).

･ ｡ﾟᴀᴍᴀʏᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ 💕❣️: When talking about my crush, will also be used a lot

･ ｡ﾟᴀᴍᴀʏᴀ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ 📼📔: Reblogs

･ ｡ﾟᴀᴍᴀʏᴀ ᴠᴇɴᴛꜱ 🔒🧷: Ventings

･ ｡ﾟᴀᴍᴀʏᴀ ʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡꜱ 📝🕶️: Where I review others’ works with their consent, you can use this tag if you want me to review any love letters or anything and I’ll use this tag when I make my response!

`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`--------------------------------------------`𓏲 ࣪₊♡`

ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ɪᴛ, ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ ᴅᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ᴛᴜʟɪᴘꜱ! /ᴘ

@lovinglyobsessed = vent account

[hexxedundead]

Hello creeps,

Welcome to my page for movies 🎥 (mainly horror / thriller related movies)

Give me a movie recommendation and let’s talk

I’ll try and give my review of movies if I feel up to it. Some will be in depth and others will just be simple. Feel free to tell me your thoughts on the movies as well. 🍿🖤

MASTER HORROR FILM LIST

Tags —

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 2

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: slept like crap last night but we got this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Sy is nice enough but you're still put off by your meeting. He carries a bag gallantly to a large black truck and pulls open the back door to place it on the seat. He turns to you to take the next. You hug it, wondering if you should settle for half your load and run for the hills.

Still, you can't help but feel beholden to him. The pin on his hat and the way he looks at you. He just seems a bit oblivious to how unsettling his approach Is.

He takes the bag and you just stare. You feel hollow and your ears are on fire. You just keep going along with this and that voice in your head is screaming at you to stop.

“Here,” he shuts the back door and pulls the passenger's open.

You look at him then into the truck. Are you crazy!? You can't just go with this man in his vehicle…

You grab onto the interior of the door and climb up into the truck. He touches your lower back gently as if to help you. You drop into the seat and thank him, trying not to let your fear bubble over.

He shuts the door and your stomach plummets. Are you being kidnapped? Are you letting yourself be abducted? Oh, you're gonna end up on a podcast.

He gets in the driver's side as you sink into the horror movie unfolding in your head. You look over at him as he unfolds a pair of dark sunglasses and puts them on to block out the sun's glare. He's so calm it's frightening. He knows exactly what's coming and you can't even begin to imagine the sheer terror awaiting you.

Maybe a nice basement cell. Worse, a field and a hole six feet deep. Your heart feels like it's stopped. Your vision is hazy and your ears are ringing.

The truck rolls backwards and lurches you back to reality. You blink and look over the hood. Sy pulls out of the spot smoothly and cranks the wheel to straighten out.

“Y'okay, sweetie?” He asks as he comes to the exit.

“Mmm, yeah,” you eke out as you grip the inside of the door. “I'm all good I just… I never expected to meet a follower.”

“Yeah, I uh… you know, I only ever dreamed it. Being over there, the days… well you don't know if you'll see the next, or even the night,” he lets out a deep breath, “I didn't put real thought into it til I got back and… it's so fu– so, er, lonely, you know? You're the only thing that was the same.”

“Oh,” your cheeks twitch as you attempt a smile, “that's very sweet. I… you know, I kinda just do the streams to get my thoughts out, it's not really… I don't know.”

“I like it. It's peaceful,” he drives down the street as the passing buildings spike your concern. “Don't get much of that.”

“Sure, I… I can imagine.”

“Hey, if it means keeping sweet things like you safe, I'll do it,” he chuckles. 

Before you can respond, he slams on the breaks and his tires skid. A car in front of him flashes their tail light. He snarls and you watch the fury furrow above his brows.

“You fu–” his booming voice catches and he bites down on his words, growling instead. “Ugh,” he exhales, “that guy… coulda got hurt…”

“Yeah,” you clasp your hands together.

"Or he coulda hurt us!" He throws a hand up.

“That was close," you mewl, "but we're okay, right?”

He inhales and looks at you. He closes his eyes and nods, “you're right, sweetie.”

You bite down, fighting not to show your fear. There's something in him that threatens to boil over. You can see it in the vein popping out along his forehead.

“So, I know a place, they got good bacon, probably some good french toast,” he leans on the pedal again, “get some whip cream on top?”

“Well, I appreciate it but I really should get home,” you say gently, “but maybe another time–”

“It's my treat, sweetie,” he insists, “it's been a long time since I got to sit down to eat with a pretty girl.”

“Oh,” is all you can muster. You don't want to push him. You know the tenuous tightrope walk. Just do what he wants, keep him happy.

“I didn't say… you look real nice today. That's my favourite of yours,” he keeps one hand on the wheel and points towards you, “the overalls.”

“Thank you,” you murmur and twist your fingers, letting out a rocky chuckle.

“So cute when you do that,” he rumbles and rests his hand on the corner of your seat, “that lil laugh.”

“Um, yeah, sorry, I… it's  a habit.”

“Nah, I like it,” he assures you and rescinds his hand to flip his signal on.

He turns into another plaza and you see the bright painted sign above a diner. A white cup on a teal banner. You've never been there but you pass it on the bus. He pulls up right at the front of the lot before the windows. You can see people inside as waitress carry trays between tables.

“I don't know about you but I'm starving,” he drawls and undoes his seat belt.

You sit in the seat, paralysed and helpless. He comes around your side and you click the button on your own belt. You turn and he offers his hand to help you get down. When you ignore it, he grabs your arm to ease your landing.

He swings the door shut and you shuffle past him. You have no choice but to keep going. Get through this and you'll go home and block him. Maybe even delete your whole account.

He reaches around you as you come up to the door and pulls it open. Be sweeps you inside with his arm and follows you through. A waitress in a black blouse greets you and you look to Sy over your shoulder.

“Table, thank you,” he says.

She leads you to a table for two and you sit, arms crossed as you rock nervously. He orders coffee as he slides off his sunglasses and the waitress turns to you. You push yourself straight. 

“Um, chocolate milk, please,” you request.

“Right away, hon,” she leaves you with the menus as you unfold your arms and pick at your thumbnail.

“So cute, chocolate milk,” he comments as he takes the laminated menu from the table, “oh, look,” he flicks it, “French toast. Can get berries with it.”

You look down and lean forward to see past the sheen of the plastic sheath. You narrow in on the French toast but your stomach rolls. You're too nervous to be hungry.

“Yeah, looks good,” you say, “um, I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Sure,” he smiles as he browses the menu.

You get up, wobbling slightly before you get your balance. You search for the sign to the restrooms and head down the short hall behind the kitchen. You dip inside and lock yourself in a stall.

You really can't afford to abandon your groceries. Worse, you don't dare anger him. He's nice but you don't know how nice he'd be if you ran out on him. Just get yourself together, it's just breakfast. You'll get through it then try to forget your stupidity.

You should've known better but you didn't have enough followers to worry  it never even occurred to you but it should be. It's your own fault.

You take a few minutes to mellow out. You don't quite get there but the longer you stay, the longer he has to get suspicious. No, you're not going to run. You don't think you'll get very far.

You come back out and return to the table. As you sit, he sips his coffee and his eyes crinkle at you. Your chocolate milk is waiting beside a wrapped straw. As you tear through the paper, you sense him watching you.

He clinks his cup down, "ordered your french toast. Extra sugar... since you're so sweet."

You issue a brittle chuckle. You stare at him. He's taken his cap off, revealing a shaved head above his thick beard. His shoulders are broad, all of him is. He's so thick and his arms are bulging with muscle beneath his tee shirt. His eyes are a brilliant shade of blue, a contrast to the rest of his rough exterior.

"You don't gotta be shy," his voice gristle in his throat as he leans forward, elbows on the table. "What do ya wanna know?"

"Pardon?" You croak.

"Well, I know everything about you," he grins, "you barely know me."

You gulp, wavering like you've been knocked upside the head. You part your lips and peer around. His self-awareness if almost there but not quite.

"I..." you don't know what to say or ask or do. He toys with the handle of his coffee cup. "What do you take.... in your, uh, coffee?"

He chuckles, "really? Why's that? You planning to bring me coffee in the mornings?"

You meet his eyes again and he winks. You giggle and move your lips like a gasping fish.

"Teasing, ya, sweetie, I don't wanna rush you," he says, "I take it black, but I don't mind some cream on Sundays."

You nod, embarrassed, and poke your straw into your cup, leaning forward to slurp up the chocolate milk. His eyes linger on your lips as you do. You pull back and take a napkin to wipe your mouth.

"Erm... well, what... how did you... find my page?"

He sits back, gripping the edges of the table as he sighs, "I was just scrolling around but I'm starting to think it's something bigger than us, you know? I was goin' through it. I needed something and there you were, showin' off those new boots you got with the flower."

Flowers? You got those boots over a year ago. You remember that stream. He's been watching you that long.

"Oh, ha, right," you murmur.

"There aren't many people out there like you left, you know? I've seen the worst in people but in you, I saw the best," he explains, "the way you just take everything in. Looking at the flowers and the birds and... you just know how to appreciate life."

You smile and nod. What else can you do as the world crashes down? He was there yesterday. That blurry figure behind you in the photo, the shadow creeping just beyond your sight. You don't doubt it was him.

“I try, er…”

You sit back as the waitress approaches. She puts a plate before you, French toast with a side of fruit salad, sugar and whip on top of the bread. She lays down Sy's plate, mounded in eggs, home fries, sausage, and two types of bacon, with rye toast. You would guess that is just barely enough to fill him up.

“Dig in,” he says as he grabs his cutlery.

You sit forward and take your fork and knife. You cut into the eggy bread and stab the small triangle of the corner. As you raise your fork, Sy growls, “get some cream too, sweetie.”

You flinch but do as he says. You swipe the bread through the dolloped cream and shove it through your lips. You stare at your plate as you chew. You wish he wouldn't watch you. You don't like eating in front of others.

“Is it good?” He asks.

“Very,” you swallow and cover your mouth.

“Don't worry, I think it's cute you got cream on your lips,” he plucks up a piece of bacon with his fingers, “didn't get good fixings like this in the sh– over there,” he bites into the strip and chews.

“Yeah, I wouldn't think…” you twirl your fork nervously, “do you have to go back?”

“Mmm, not anytime soon. They're tryna get me on a desk,” he shrugs, “might be a good change but I don't know if I'm suited to it…” he tosses back the rest of the bacon, chewing thoughtfully, “but I'm about that age. Gotta settle down, so I figure, makes sense.”

“Right, right, yeah, fair,” you garble mindlessly.

“Besides, when you got someone at home, you don't wanna run back into the bull– into war,” he smirks.

You take another bite, even as your stomach churns. You don't like how he's talking, as if you're together. As if he knows you. It's strange.

He scoops up a forkful of home fries and shovels them back. You can't fault his table manners, he was probably eating out of cans for the last few years. Not that you would say anything. You're much too scared for that.

You fall into a trance, focusing on the simple task of cutting into the toast, chewing but not tasting as your heart tamps behind your ears. You sense a shift and look up, your cheeks full of food as you make eye contact with Sy’s phone camera. You swallow painfully and nearly choke.

“What are you doing?” You squeak.

“For your Instagram,” he smiles, “I’ll send you the pics…” he frames his phone with both hands as he admires the screen, “you look so cute.”

You shudder and grip the knife and fork tight. You look back to the stack. You think you’ll ask for it to go. If you eat any more, you’re definitely going to be sick.

[beelsfridge]

My Eldest Brother (But He’s My Father)

Trigger Warnings/Tags:

Mentions of Child Neglect/Jealously/Hurt/Comfort/Hate/Depression/Father&Son/Thoughts of Death/NoMC/Panic Attacks/Some Flasbacks/Kid!SatanHeadCannons/Mammon is a good big bro/self deprecation/ identity crisis

1/2

Synopsis:

Satan can’t help but feel the rage boil in him during a school festival at the sight of Lucifer

But there’s another feeling lingering as he stares at the kindness and gentle expressions he shares with the someone so small.

Ones he never saw growing up.

Or

When Satan realizes that he yearns and longs for something he can never have

তততততততততততততততততততততততত

Why is it that he feels like he’s going to implode at any given moment.?

Thump Thump Thump

His heart beating so fast, his palms itching with pure wrath. this feeling .. one he’s not felt in quite a while. There’s other emotions there that he doesn’t comprehend…but the one emotion he does recognize—the feeling that makes him want to destroy everything around him.

Including himself.

____

“So let me get this straight,”Mammon says as he leans back into his chair in a such a mannerless way,”Ya want us to..organize a festival?…for what again?”

Scoffs and groans of annoyance echo the room as the brothers sit around the table.

“Really Mammon?” Asmo says with a huff.

“Were you seriously not listening to a single thing Lord Diavolo said?” Levi asks bewildered.

“Of course he wasn’t. He’s Mammon.” Belphie retorts as Beel hums in agreement.

Lucifer sighs and holds the temples of his head in annoyance,”I apologize Lord Diavolo, it seems my younger brother needs a reminder on his manners.”

“O-oi…”Mammon says with a hint of fear in his voice,”What ya mean by that Luci?”

Lucifer only shoots him a stern look making Mammon gulp in response.

Diavolo laughs in response shaking his head in a cheerful way,”No worries Lucifer, I’ll be able to review just to make sure you all understand your responsibilities. So to make things short, we’re going to be holding a school festival for both students and their families to enjoy.”

“If I may ask Lord Diavolo, is there a particular reason for wanting to hold this sort of festival?” Lucifer asks—unsure why Diavolo would suggest something so suddenly.

Diavolo smiles in response,”As you know, there are a lot of demons still hesitate on sending their kids to R.A.D as it is. I’m hoping if we open this event to the community we’ll see an increase in enrollments for all ages. But more towards the younger children especially.”

“I see.” Lucifer says looking down at the paper with the list of things needed for the festival.

“Which is why! I thought to ask none other than the Lords of the Underworld themselves!! Seeing that you all have such a familial bond!” Diavolo hums in excitement.

“Er…”Levi says,”I’m not sure if we’re the best people for the task.” He admits.

Lucifer doesn’t hesitate to agree much to everyone’s surprise ,”I agree, we’re as dysfunctional as one can get.”

“Which is precisely why I asked you all!” Diavolo says with another cheerful laugh.

“Er..is that a compliment or an insult?” Mammon asks unsure of what he really means.

Diavolo doesn’t answer the question,”I have full confidence that you will be able to create a memorable night for us all.”

“Well if you ask me, that sounds like a perfect opportunity to flaunt my looks to all of Devildom!” Asmo sighs with joy caressing his face delicately.

“I guess…. It sounds a little fun.” Belphie murmurs with Beel humming in agreement.

“There will be a lot of tasty food.” Beel says licking his lips.

Levi says shaking his head“I don’t know, sounds like a lot of people ..and socializing..” His face falls with horror before huffing out,”But maybe..someone there might like rui chan..like me.”

“Well I for one absolutely love the idea of a festival. A buncha people coming with tons of money- I mean tons of family. Sounds like an amazing thing if you ask me!” Mammon with a laugh.

Diavolo smiles with joy before turning to Satan,”You’ve been awfully quiet Satan. What are your thoughts?”

Satan stays quiet for a few moments longer before responding in a sigh,”I suppose I have nothing better to do.”

“Lord Diavolo-“ Lucifer says before getting cut off.

“Excellent! It’s decided then! I officially call this meeting adjourned!”

__

It’d been about a week since Diavolo announced the festival, everyone had been pretty busy working on it. They seemed pretty excited about it too.

Satan however was absolutely appalled by the idea when Diavolo first mentioned it.

But he only agreed because Lucifer seemed so against it.

There wasn’t anything wrong with the idea…but what exactly does someone get out of something like that?

The idea of parents coming with their children to a festival together and enjoying themselves isn’t exactly making any sense to Satan.

He feels like he’s missing something. Something he can’t put his finger on.

“ I mean- of course I can provide the reasonable entertainment for the festival. What kinda person does Lucifer think I am Yknow? Just wait til he sees who I got for that festival -“ Mammon says before noticing Satan’s continuous silence.

Usually he’d be calling Mammon irresponsible or something like that.

“Oi-“ Mammon whistles— stirring Satan out of his thoughts ,”You’re awfully quiet today Satan. Got sum on ya mind?”

Satan looks over at Mammon who so happens to be cutting some vegetables. After all, they were both on kitchen duty tonight.

Satan contemplates whether he should express his thoughts or not. Or well..whether he should express them to someone like Mammon.

“Not really..” Satan says as he furrows his eyebrows peeling some of devildoms finest potatoes.”

“Oi- don’t gimme any of that. I know you too well Satan,” Mammon crosses his arms, abandoning his duties,” If there’s something on yer mind tell me. That’s why yer big bro is here!” He smiles joyously.

“Mammon.” Satan says in a serious tone.

“Ya?”

”The Buffo Toad is on fire.”

Mammon squeals as he turns quickly to find the pan on fire. He attempts to save the dish from further damage.

Satan can’t help but chuckle at Mammons antics.

It’s so familiar to him.

“Ohhhhh Satan!” Mammon calls out from a distance,”Where’d ya go buddy?”

Satan wraps the blanket around him tighter, hiding himself away in a small closet space as he sniffles quietly to himself.

It’s not long before the darkness of the closet is overcome with light as the door opens behind him.

“There ya are…”Mammon says with a gentle tone,”What ya doing in here by yourself?..”

Satan attempts to wipe away his boogers and tears,”It’s none of your business. Leave me alone.”

“Nu uh. I know you too well to know when you’re upset.” Mammon tells him before stepping into the closet and closing the door behind him.

He crouched down and sits next to Satan, gently patting his head,” You can tell me anything. I’m your big bro for a reason!”

That’s when Mammon bumps the shelf behind him with his elbow on accident causing everything to fall on top of him.

He lets out a small yelp but instinctively shields Satan from getting hurt as he quickly hovers over him,”Man I told Levi not to put his stinkin junk in here!” He scowls.

Satan looks up at Mammon and let’s out a small laugh forgetting the reason why he was even crying to begin with

“Gah!” Mammon says with a sigh of relief,”I hope no one minds a bit of burned buffo toad.” He smiles before sulking immediately after at the thought of Lucifer scolding him.

Why did Satan remember that? Mammon is always getting into trouble.

Why was this time any different than before?

How weird. He doesn’t understand.

He decides to not think about it anymore for the time being. If he lets Mammon take control of preparing the food, chances are he’ll burn everything on accident.

——-

Dinner was manageable. But Satan still felt like something was troubling him. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Maybe he can look for a book that might have the answers he’s looking for.

“Where are you going Satan?” Asmo asks all his brothers (except for Lucifer) settle down in the living room for movie night.

“Back to my room.” Satan states.

“But it’s movie night!” Asmo exclaims.

“Well Mammons not here either-“ Satan points out.

“That’s because Lucifer got to him first.” Levi shivers in fear.

“What did he do this time?” Satan asks with a confused expression.

“Dunno. We all took off before he could process what was happening. Something about the festival I’m assuming” Asmo says.

Levi nods in agreement,”Anyways! If I get dragged out of my room every Thursday for this there’s no way you escaping that easily.”

“Well Belphie already sleeping-“Satan points out.

“Huh?” Levi looks to Belphie who’s snoring soundly ,”Oh that’s totally unfair!”

“Belphie! Wake up!” Asmo groans while shaking him to wake him up.

“I’m hungry…”Beel says.

“You’re always hungry!” Asmo huffs.

As they argue amongst each other Satan decides to sneak away while he still can. He can’t help but let out a small smile at their ridiculousness.

But that feeling… that feeling ..what is it?

“But how are you so sure he’s not gonna wreck everything again!” A voice rings from the living room. It’s Asmo.

“Yeah, last time he destroyed the TV. We couldn’t get a new one for weeks.” Levi states. There’s a hum of agreement from what is presumably Beel.

“Why don’t y’all go easier on him- he’s just a kid.” Mammom tells them,”I’ll watch him. I’ll take responsibility if anything happens. Just give him another chance-“

“That’s like letting a ticking time bomb in the room! No way! Besides last time you said the same thing but we all got scolded by Lucifer anyways!” Asmo tells him.

“I got nothing against the kid.” Belphie says,”But how can you control something like that?

“It’s not like he asked for his sin! You guys are total jerks Yknow that?!!” Mammon tells them off.

The door creaks slightly.

There’s a silence that falls between them all.

“Satan. We know you’re there.” Mammons voice calls out,”You can come out.”

Satan backs away from the door. When he sees it pushed open a bit more slightly he takes off running.

“I didn’t ask ..for this!” He heard his own voice echo through his head. His chest feels heavy. That itching feeling in his hands. That hot fire that spreads throughout his body.

“I can’t- I can’t control myself. I can’t help- I can’t help it-“ Satan says feeling overwhelmed.

He blacks out completely.

Satan stares into his room. It’s eerily quiet inside. How long was he just standing there?

He’s not particularly fond of that memory. So why did he remember it just now?

He feels his chest bubble in anger.

How annoying.

He picks up the flyer for the festival, one that Asmo made a few days ago that had already gotten approved by Diavolo…

Ever since they brought up the festival all that happens now is is these damn memories that keep resurfacing.

He knows his brothers do not behave that way toward him anymore. Nor is he a raging revenge driven like his younger self.

so why does he dwell on the feeling longer than he should?

And what feeling is he dwelling on exactly? It feels bitter. But in a different way as opposed to wrath.

He feels… he feels…

!

Satan places the now torn flyer on his desk and let’s out a sigh.

He doesn’t know.

___

With every passing day, Satan could feel his emotions spark into more dangerous thoughts which inevitably evolved into more a physical and verbal form.

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed this behavior. After all, it seemed as if the fourth born was intentionally avoiding his own family.

He’d go straight to his room after school, he’d go straight to his room after dinner. He wouldn’t stick around for events very long or at all.

And whenever someone asks him something— no matter what it was —he’d feel himself snap just like that.

Like the incident the other day at breakfast.

He was usually one of the firsts one to show up to breakfast. Always early.

But he was uncharacteristically late. And his appearance was no better, at least he thinks so. A bit disheveled and some baggy eyes.

But despite never being late like so. It still earned him a simple warning from Lucifer.

And that especially pissed him off.

While his brothers thought he was let off fairly easily, Satan could feel the fireworks attempting to go off inside.

Even so—breakfast continued. Each going on and on about their excitement for the festival. Each having contributed to its success as expected. Even Mammon who’s mainly known slacking off and putting half effort into something seemed pretty excited.

Everyone seemed. Excited. For this..family event.

He felt bitter again.

Satan had plenty of family nights before. This one should be no different.

…it shouldn’t feel so different..

So everyone continues breakfast, just as they normally would.

“Satan,” Lucifer says,”I’ve noticed you haven’t contributed as much as everyone else. Are you having trouble with coming up with an idea?”

He feels everyone’s eyes on him—awaiting his response.

It’s quiet for for a couple moments.

He feels their expressions change as he stares into his plate of food.

Worry glances between Lucifer and Satan flicker back and forth.

Was he quiet for too long?

He grits his teeth.

No witty remark.

No attempts at to hurt Lucifer’s pride.

Just pure rage.

“No.” He says bitterly as he glares in their direction.

Some worried expressions turn nervous, confused at their brothers sudden fowl mood.

Hell, even Lucifer seems confused by Satan’s state.

Satan doesn’t realize how tightly he’s holding the fork in his hand until it snaps in half causing Asmo and Belphie who are seated next to him to flinch.

Satan looks down. He opens his hand and sorrowfully stares at the broken fork laying in his palm.

After all, sorrow is not an expression you’ll see on the Avatar of Wrath so often. Especially in a room filled with people who’s eyes are on him.

He doesn’t say anything as he drops the fork pieces onto the table.

He doesn’t say anything when he gets up and walks out of the dining hall.

And no one says anything to him.

“I hate you all! I hate you - I hate you!” Satan claws at the walls as he flings the portraits off the walls and tears them to bits.

“Someone get Lucifer before he wrecks the whole place!” Asmo yells out doing nothing to stop Satan from releasing his wrath.

Beel nods and hurries off to get Lucifer

“He’s going crazy again-“ Levi sighing as he dodges the various things thrown his way.

“What’s with all the ruckus?!” Mammon rushes into the room before seeing the chaotic scene in front of him.

“He’s uncontrollable!” Asmo tells him.

“What happened?!” Mammon asks bewildered as a small Satan continues to ensue damage,”Satan buddy it’s time to calm down!”

Asmo gives Mammon a guilty look,”We may have…said a couple things …but how were we suppose to know he was listening in?!”

Mammon flashes them a dirty look as he stands behind Satan who’s currently smashing a bunch of things before standing before a statue of probably the Demon Lord.

“Satan.” Mammon tells him,”It’s time to stop. Lucifer is gonna get mad.”

Satan immediately tries to claw out Mammon,”Stop that! Stop pitying me!”

Mammon takes a step back and just barely misses Satan’s attack,”What are yer talking about I don’t pity ya! Your my little brother, and I care about you- But you need to calm down now before someone gets hurt.”

“Everyone here hates me!” Satan yells,”Everyone!”

“We don’t hate ya- they’re just scared of ya!” Mammon tells,”But I’m not- I promise ya-nothing is gonna happen to ya- so put the statue down bud.“

“I didn’t ask to be here!” Satan admits out loud as tears spill out his eyes. He chokes back sob,”I didn’t ask to be born- I didn’t ask- I don’t - I don’t want to be here- I don’t- I wish I could just die-“

Mammon’s face falls into despair as he stares at the boy with disbelief.

The other brothers sharing a look of guilt beyond measure.

Satan can’t help but sigh in his library. Yet another painful memory. But it can’t be helped. Satan struggled with identity problems for the longest.

It had to happen eventually. Despite it all, he was able to develop better relationships with his brothers afterwards.

However…

Why is it.. that Satan feels like he’s missing the true meaning behind the return of these memories?…

He’s missing something.

Something is missing.

Someone?

Its confusing. It’s been this way for a while now.

Whatever it is, it’s always missing.

And he wants it so badly

he yearns for whatever it is.

But what is that?

—

The day of the festival came sooner than he would’ve liked.

If he hadn’t been on edge, perhaps he could’ve taken in the breathtaking visual of the festival his brothers were shockingly able to conjure.

Everyone put in so much effort..

Satan..not so much..

He found himself uneasy the moment more and more families began to show up.

But he tried to push those feelings away.

He could feel his brothers keeping an eye on him.

Considering his actions lately, he couldn’t blame them since he couldn’t entirely explain them either.

He should at very least pretend to be enjoying himself.

“Satan.” Lucifer calls out from behind.

“What?” Satan asks.

“Are you…enjoying yourself at the festival?” Lucifer asks him.

Satan looks at him bewildered. What reason could he have for wanting to know Satan’s opinion?

It pisses him off.

“What do you think?” Satan replies in a bitter way. It seems this is the only way he’s been responding to anyone nowadays.

“Are you upset?” Lucifer asks genuinely curious.

“That doesn’t concern you.” He tells Lucifer.

“Well I’m your eldest brother. It does concern me to some extent.” Lucifer tells him,”Your behavior has been..quite abnormal these past few weeks.

“If you’re going to lecture me I’m not in the mood. ” Satan tells him,”So leave me alone.”

Why do his words strike him in such a negative way.

Lucifer let’s out a sigh,”Your brothers are worried about you-“

That’s when Lucifer’s D.D.D goes off. He excuses himself briefly but tells Satan to stay put before answering the call.

After a moment Lucifer hangs up the call.

“It seems that Mammon needs help with setting up the last tent.” Lucifer tells him.

Satan doesn’t know why he feels a burning tension. That same feeling. Itching away at him.

“Whatever.” Satan replies wanting to quickly escape from whatever the hell is happening to him.

“Satan-“Lucifer calls out to him but is ignored as Satan rushes through the crowd.

Why is he acting like this?

Why does his chest feel heavy?

Ugh, he needs to find something to do. Otherwise he might do something he regrets.

Soon enough Satan finds himself in a lonelier part of the festival. It’s much quieter, much to his delight.

He’s able to catch his breath as he leans against a the wall, just tucked between some booths.

He crosses his arms and let’s out another deep sigh as he watches families walk by with their children.

That feeling came back.

He watches as a kid is picked up in the air by his father and placed on his shoulders with a cheerful smile.

“This is like totally the best day ever!” The little boy says to his father.

His father smiles back at him,”I agree. It’s been a while since we’ve been able to hang out like this right bud? Well I promise from now on— we’ll hang out a lot more alright?”

“Alright!! Oh dad hey! that looks good! Can we try that??” The boy points to a nearby food stand.

“Of course we can. You can have whatever you’d like, I love you so much kiddo.”

“I love you too dad!”

And the voices fade away. Leaving Satan in a state of confusion and chaos.

The scene replays over and over in his head.

He could feel it, in the pit of stomach, along his chest, and around his heart. That feeling.

It’s not jealously ..it’s not.

He feels it with his brothers ..

And he feels it the most when he’s with Lucifer.

___

somehow he’s emptier than before.

He’s pretty sure his brothers are looking for him.

Considering that they were suppose to meet up an hour ago. It makes sense that they would be blowing up his phone nonstop.

The phone he’d put on silent to avoid seeing anyone.

Because if his brothers were to see the state he were in. He’s almost certain he’d explode.

And he’s trying really hard not to.

He runs his fingers through his hair anxiously tugging away to relieve tension.

His crazed state, making hyper aware of anyone who walks by or speaks near him.

The anxiety and sheer anger coursing through his veins.

Why is he overreacting to something he already knew?

Why was he feeling this way after so many years?

He knows the truth of his birth, he knows who he is.

He’s been through this before- he’s had this sort of meltdown before- but it’s different -why is it different?

Why does he keep asking the same damn questions -it’s pissing him.

It’s making him angry!

He doesn’t know- he doesn’t know!

Sooner or later his brothers are going to find him here, he should move from here.

He should probably leave the area entirely because if he doesn’t he’s afraid of what he might do.

So he gives himself a few moments to relax before he moves from his spot.

He walks by the crowd of people in a hurry, occasionally receiving a strange look or two. After all he looks like he just committed a crime.

He’s finding it really hard to keep his composure.

It’s getting harder to breathe

He feels himself claw slightly at his collar.

It’s suffocating.

“Satan! I found him guys!” He hears one of his brothers call out from a distance. He’s not sure which one it is. He can’t think properly.

He walks faster.

His breath quickens and his heart races. He needs to get ahold of himself.

He hears certain footsteps approach him in attempts to catch up to him but he refuses to turn their way.

Then he feels a hand on his grab ahold of his arm.

When he turns, he meets eyes with Asmo.

“H-Hey we’ve been looking for you ….” Asmo says as his own worry begins to grow more and more let’s out a small whisper,”What’s wrong?… you look like you’ve been-”

Satan pulls his arm away from Asmo in a harsh way.

“Leave me alone.” Satan let’s out in a threatening tone as he tries to walk again.

“No!” Asmo yells out as he grabs Satan’s arm again,”I’m not letting you go! I don’t know what’s going on with you but I won’t leave you! Not this time!” Asmo declares as more of his brothers begin to approach,”I don’t care if you hurt me you’re my brother - just watch the face -“

Satan stays silent for couple moments. Everything seems to move at a slower place rather than before.

All those feelings he had just now replaced by rage and disgust.

His brother is just trying to offer him some consultation.

So why does he hate it so much?

“Is that suppose to comfort me?” Satan asks him with a harsh expression causing the younger brother to flinch away.

“Hey what’s going on?” Belphie says with concern.

“Satan..you don’t look so good.” Levi tells him as Beel hums in agreement, looking at his brother with concern.

Satan grunts as he let out sound of annoyance,”I’m going back home.” He tells them as he crosses his arms ,”Not in the mood.”

Sure, as if he wasn’t just mere moments from destroying everything his brothers worked hard for.

“You can’t leave! Diavolo said we could have the rest of the night off- so we can have fun together as a family -“Belphie tells him.

For some reason, the word family lingered in Satan’s head.

He turns around and walks away from his brothers.

The last thing he hears is Levi let out a sigh

”Man..where’s Mammon or Lucifer when you need them.”

___

Satan is tired.

Exhausted?

To have so many feelings at once then feel nothing at all CONSTANTLY- is draining.

he just wants to go home.

Back to the library.

His room.

His comfort place.

Because believe it or not the Avatar of Wrath has a comfort place.

One where he was able to escape his daily life back in the day, even for a brief moment.

He finds himself walking through the crowds toward the exit.

He’s almost out of this god forsaken place.

He’d apologize later, after this damn festival ends.

Everything will be fine

It has to.

Everything will return to normal.

Because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it doesn’t.

And then.. the most damning thing happens.

He hears it.

A familiar sound, from a distance.

His heart begins to pound dramatically.

His skin crawls with disgust.

He figures out the cause of all his problems.

And Satan can’t stop himself from moving in its direction.

He’s breathing is heavy once again.

And then he sees him, he sees the man responsible for his distress.

And he sees that man kneeling to a young boy, the boy from before.

“Are you lost?” Lucifer asks him in a gentle voice.

“I-i don’t know where my dad went.” The little boy cries out.

“My name is Lucifer, I’m in charge of the event here. If you’d like we can go find him together. I was looking for someone as well.”

“My dad…he said not to trust strangers.” The boy says hesitatingly.

Lucifer only chuckles,”Your dad taught you well then. Yes it’s true, never trust a stranger wholeheartedly. So how about this,” Lucifer offers his hand out to the boy,”How about we look for him together. There’s plenty of people around and if you feel uncomfortable at any point we can just wait together.”

The boy looks at Lucifer, unsure if it’s the best decision.

And that’s when Lucifer does the most damning thing.

He smiles.

He smiles so fondly at the young boy. Satans not sure he’s seen that expression before.

He pats his head gently,”So how about that?”

The boy nods and takes Lucifer’s hand gently,”O-okay!”

Satan stays still as he watches the events unfold in front of him.

The feeling finding it’s way around his heart once more.

He finds himself holding his chest tightly.

Why is it that he feels like he’s going to implode at any given moment??

Thump Thump Thump

His heart beating so fast, his palms itching with pure wrath. this feeling .. one he’s not felt in quite a while. There’s other emotions there that he doesn’t comprehend…but the one emotion he does recognize—the feeling that makes him want to destroy everything around him.

Including himself.

Oh that feeling.. the one he wasn’t sure about.

He knows what it is now.

It’s resentment.

“Satan?” Lucifer asks from a distance, becoming aware of his younger brothers presence.

He’s aggrieved.

Lucifer is unsure of what to make of his younger brothers expression as he instinctively steps in front of the younger boy.

“Satan..”Lucifer warns.

Why are people starting to hurry away from the area?

When did Satan change into his demonic form?

He’s not sure.

But he doesn’t care.

Because all he feel now, is wrath.

He doesn’t remember anything after that.

তততততততততততততততততততততততত

Pt.2

Hi! It’s me! The author lolol. I didn’t expect this to be as long as it did but I have plans to write a PT.2 so don’t ya worry bout a thing! I just figured it’d be better to write a separate part as this became pretty lengthy.

Dunno if it’ll be as long as this one but I hope you enjoyed it either way< 3,

I’ll probably upload this on ao3 as well!

I haven’t written anything I’ve published in quite a long long time. Which includes other fandoms I’m in. So if I missed important tags feel free to let me know and I apologize for any mistakes I may have made!

I don’t plan to fix any errors until after I finish part 2. Should have it maybe by the end of the day or tomorrow! Who knows

OH AND IM OPENING REQUESTS IF YALL WANNA SLIDE THRU

Side note: do y’all think satan would listen to “What Was I Made For?” On blast ??? Or

[phlurrii]

Welcome! ;D

Hey nerds, welcome to my fluff pit! This is the home of myself and my fan comic “The Ancient Mew” about some goofy ass cats and their increasingly dark lil slice of life.

If you wanna support myself, my cat Moo, or my comics, feel free to DM about commissions or become a member of my patreon for extra and exclusive content! As well as early access to all the comics ;3

✨Patreon✨

Some content warnings for my comics and art: Explicit/Implied Violence, Heavy/Dark themes, Death, Gore, Horror, and… drawing inconsistencies. (Spoopy)

-

:Relevant Comic Links:

Comic Start : This is janky and breaks a lot, would recommend using the links on the comics to find recent ones to either catch up/double check things!

Ancient Mew Chrono Link : This link is the meat of this blog, if you wanna see the story, important asks/answers, explanations, lore, details, world building, doodles, interactions, extra comics/art, and overall all art/animatic/important ask content relating to this series, THIS is your link.

Grotto of the Ancients : If you JUST want the main comic, either to catch up, review, go back, or re-read, THIS is your link. First time viewers should see the above link in red.

Click read more for extra content, characters sheets, and links to get caught up on lore ;3

:Lore Related Posts:

Timeline : Documented timeline of all notable events available to readers currently.

Family Tree: Current relations between all characters, present and upcoming.

Missingno. Chrono Link : All asks, answers, and art relating Missingno. and their Lore.

Decamark Chrono Link : All asks, answers, and art relating Decamark and their Lore.

Meau Chrono Link : All asks, answers, and art relating to Meau and their Lore.

:Commonly Asked Questions:

“Can I make an Ancient Mew OC using your concept/design?”

No. I have a post here explaining my thoughts on it and what I’m ok with versus not.

“Are Fanart/interactions okay?”

Of course! I LOVE seeing what ya’ll get up too!! Please feel free to tag me or send an ask if I miss it aswell >;3c

“What is Noe’s and Meau’s relationship?”

Queer Platonic Relationship! QPR! Basically they are Aroace companions till the end of their days! Link to explanation here.

“Why did Meau’s eyes change?”

The comic starts off with Meau in a much weaker state then where she was after she took a long rest. Her phenotype related genome had corroded and she was forced to relay on different genes to make her up visual appearance. They were repaired during that nap.

Character References

Meau: They/She/It

Missingno. : They/He/It

Mewtwo: They/He/It

Circe: She/They/It

Decamark: They/Them/It

Mew: They/She/It

Qari: He/They/It

Periodically available for asks, currently travelling through dimensional portals.