#ESPECIALLY POST VERSE

[psychomusic]

induced to me by my contemporary art exam AND a rewatch of rebels after years that. got me into sabezra unexpectedly AND i updated krita and there were many new brushes i wanted to try

refs (IF U CAN PLS HELP ME FIND THE ORIGINAL COSPLAYERS i can't find anything EDIT: found them!! they're starwars_irl on insta and @rebelartistwren / lionesscosplay on insta. thank you guys <3) and ✨colored version✨ under the cut

i can't find themmmmm I've been looking for 2 days but all i found were uncredited reposts

anyway they look amazing

i really wanted to try greyscaling but I'm not sure it looks good. idk. + while i was making it i was listening to i love you by fontaines d.c. (GREAT SONG FROM A GREAT UNDERRATED BAND) and. the grey fit into that mood much better

also two versions without the sketch lines. where ezra looks happier even if they're uglier

[blindmagdalena]

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

[fortjester]

i think that tlt fic writers (myself included) are sleeping on matthias nonius. i think we should be making more use of him! walk w me for a second, okay? this bitch became a name that readers associated with groaning and complaining and "boring" verse - only for him to come out swinging when he actually hit the page, thereby rending us all asunder. he saved the fucking day, against all odds, and he did it while speaking in meter!!! is that not sick as hell? is that not actually fucking hilarious?? this man is so powerful, he's so cool, he's got immense swag, and i think that if you play it right, having nonius fix whatever plot drama you have going oddly makes sense (the way it did in htn). using deus ex nonius in your fics is an option, and i think we could all benefit from it

[all54321]

Wildcards!

Session 1: Shifting shrinks you, jumping grows you

Session 2: Constant Hunger III. You can eat everything, but food restores no hunger (instead increasing the hunger potion effect), and each item gives a different effect. It changed twice more during the session.

Session 3: Immortal snails. Everyone has an immortal snail that chases them down, it can mine, fly, teleport, and it speeds up when further away. Nothing can stop it. (It can also rebound TNT, and it drowns the player if it is drowning itself)

Session 4: Time starts moving extremely slowly then speeds up over the session to being extremely fast.

Session 5: Robots parachute in from the sky to a random player to give them a life series related trivia question. Answering the question right rewards them positive potion effects, weapons, useful items, etc. Answering them wrong results in consequences like making their voice not understandable, the snail returns, they get negative potion effects, etc.

Session 6: All mobs get killed and replaced with a random mob every so often. An increasing amount of passive mobs spawn before as well to increase the overall effect. The mobs can be anything from cows/sheep/pigs all the way to a warden. Evokers no longer drop totems of undying, but wardens do.

Session 7: Everyone has their own/unique superpower that can be activated/deactivated with a hotkey

Deaths From The Wildcards

Session 1: 1 Death (Out of 2)

Session 2: 6 Deaths + 1 Assist (Out of 11)

Session 3: 27 deaths (Out of 37)

Session 4: 0 Deaths (Out of 10)

Session 5: 5 Deaths (Out of 20)

Session 6: 4 Deaths (Out of 12)

Session 7: 11 Deaths (Out of 17) (and an additional 36 for the zombies)

[smiley-mcdoggington]

Alpha Constance and Omega Ford teen parents AU???

Dear god what would Filbrick think

-Andy

Hi Andy!!!!! <3

Ford would be devistated because what few future prospects he would have would dry up immediately with a pregnancy, he would lose his few chances for scholarships and he would be demeaned as just another omega that couldn't keep their legs closed. He doesn't want a baby, he doesn't want to be pregnant.

Constance was kind of excited at first - she always wanted to be a mom or an aunt, she already loves baby Shermie to bits, and she thought it would be so nice to start a little family with Ford, just the two of them raising a kid better than their parents raised them. But Ford didn't want that, he wanted to go to school and when she tried to suggest that she could look after the kid while he was at school - maybe take them to work with her or something - a vague plan to figure it out, because Constance was always sure they would make it okay if they stuck together. But Ford didn't want that, didn't want a kid, didn't want her near him for even thinking he would have a child with for her. He refused to put his life on hold for something he didn't want, but of course he didn't talk to Stan about this because communication is for the weak. Instead he tanked his own health until he miscarried on the floor of their tiny shower while Stan held him as he cried. Stan thought it was just stress, and Ford wouldn't tell her otherwise. Stan would have understood it Ford had told her but he didn't because it was a terrible situation for both of them. But Ford grows distant, starts talking about moving across the country, making it clear he doesn't want Constance to follow him, and Constance is so confused because she thought they were going to be a little family not 1 month ago and now Ford wanted to be as far from her as he could get, and then it comes out that Ford let Stan get attached to a baby he didn't want, let her think they were going to try raising a kid of their own when his real plan was to be rid of it and sit through beers on the hood of Stan's car as the only funeral they could give and then leave his sister in jersey while he pretended he didn't even have a twin and Stan mourned a life and a family she didn't know she was never gonna have.

(if Filbrick found out both the stans would be Gone, Out Of His House, but be can pretend he doesn't know for a long time before that happens)

[kcandylicious]

I just came to the realization that Flynn rider reminds me of Guy

[fictionadventurer]

Malaise

Here's the rain again Dripping distant drizzle In another blank-eyed day Not washed but wet Not doused but damp Lukewarm wetness For my puddle-deep heart

Wash me in waterfalls Drown me in downpours Crystallize my coldness Into lovely White Snow

Make me pure Clean and living But don't leave me Lifeless In the unholy Rain

[elcucurucho]

obviously you can do whatever you want but there’s nothing that immediately turns me off a piece of fan content faster than a complete refusal to engage with the source material

[fiepige]

Guys we need to talk about the deleted scene!

A deleted scene called "Miguel Calling" has been released and even though he doesn't physically appear in this scene, we still get some pretty interesting information about Hobie (that may or may not be canon).

In the clip above we hear a rather interesting conversation between Gwen and Miguel. Gwen wants to call Hobie for backup for the Spot mission, but Miguel says that Hobie quit!

What we learn from this scene:

Hobie quit the spider-society (because he doesn't believe in institutions or teams- at least that's why Miguel thinks he quit)

Even LYLA can't find him!!!! I find this VERY interesting cause she was able to track the Spot as he was dimension hopping (and he didn't wear a watch or anything they could use to track him). So Hobie somehow KNOWS how to completely avoid detection from the spider-society, which again must mean that he has a pretty good idea as to how the society works! (Also does this mean he wasn't hiding in his own dimension? Cause that feels like a pretty obvious place to hide and I feel Like LYLA would be able to find him there? OR: Does this mean he'd already made a watch for himself at this point and was using it to dimension hop or maybe he can use it to somehow avoid detection from LYLA? Or maybe he was hiding in his own dimension cause it would be too obvious and thus the last place they'd look for him).

Hobie gave Gwen a way to contact him! (maybe he'd already made a watch for her too in this version?)

Miguel thinks Hobie is unrelieable and erratic, I wonder if that's why he wanted Hobie to come with the others to HQ? So that he could have a serious talk with Hobie after he was done with Miles? Is that why Miguel acts so annoyed by Hobie's presence when he first meets Miles at HQ?

I know this is a deleted scene and thus technically isn't canon, but I still think it gives us some very interesting (and possibly canon?) information about Hobie and how the other characters view him!

This post turned out to be longer than I expected but I just get so many new ideas and thoughts when I watch this scene! Please let me know what you guys think of all this!

Thank you for reading!

[mercymaker]

do you think that considering astarion is a walking corpse, a vampire spawn destined to live in the shadows (even if he finds a way around the sunlight sensitivity), someone with insatiable hunger for blood and two centuries of brutal trauma, someone whose place in the society according to most norms is to be skewered by a monster hunter... is there a part of him, somewhere deep down that craves normalcy? i don't think that's his stance on this on most days, as he strikes me as someone who doesn't particularly mind being a vampire and tends to deal with whatever uncomfortable and painful thoughts he has by deflecting and repressing that shit, telling himself he's above it. voicing out loud how utterly dull his life would be if he was still just a high elf, a magistrate in the city, with some pretty husband or wife, a marriage likely arranged to advance his status. scoffing at the idea of a house full of children, little elflings with silver hair. and, ah, he would be mortal. but..

i can't help but wonder if he'd have moments where he'd find himself thinking about it. thinking about the life he lost. about astarion without the scars on his back. the one who enjoys bouillabaisse and a variety of expensive wines instead of blood in whatever form he can get. the man that has a home, a place to return to, a comfy bed, and above all.. astarion who has a family. who would be distraught if something happened to him. who would go out of their way to find him... where was his family when cazador took him? was he truly so utterly alone even before??

and that would sever the thread of his thought, pain and anger replacing it like a hot wave. he was stupid to even think about it. of course, he's better off now, as a vampire spawn, an immortal. he doesn't have whatever responsibilities that would weigh the pretty, breathing magistrate astarion down. he's better off drenched in blood, out on numerous adventures than whatever boring affair a simple life in the city would give him... of course!!

[peachie-bun]

the amount of time i spend with american history by waterparks stuck in my head is too much time i think. it plays on loop up there.

[uvher]

// something something dump of my own headcanons about the crows something something vax's unhealthy coping mechanisms something something nobody is actually okay, trauma is cyclical something something.

so, like, here's a big long post about vax's background

warnings for: graphic depiction of death, drug use

You ask anyone not living under a rock who the most successful, prestigious guild of assassins in Thedas is and they'll tell you it's the Crows. What they won't tell you and what they probably don't know is that the Crows don't make their real money killing people for hire. That their reputation for being master assassins is just for that: the reputation.

What the Crows really are is a coalition of Houses running a criminal empire from the shadows. They have investments in everything: logistics, produce, manufacturing, casinos, brothels, weapons. You name it, they have one of their little talons hooked into it.

Fifth Talon Viago de Riva has a special knack for poisons. He knows how they mix and how they taste and in what wines. He knows what kills and in what way and how long it takes. But just as importantly, he knows what doesn't kill. This is how he makes his real money.

House de Riva is the biggest supplier of designer drugs in Thedas. A noble all the way in Orlais will spend exorbitant amounts of money just to get their hands on an ounce of Viago's specialty opiates. Additionally, they're one of the major dealers in street drugs north of the Waking Sea. They even dabble in lyrium dust.

When you're a fledgling, you do two things: you train, and you run errands for any Crow that tells you to. Vax is Viago's hand-fed fledgling, so they do almost all of their errands for him. That means doing a lot of face-time with the pushers. Vax runs drugs, and that's decent work. All she has to do is move product from one place to the other and make sure Viago is getting his cut.

If a pusher starts giving some push-back, she'll pull out her knives or bring in a leg-breaker to make sure the message sinks in. At 17, this is how Vax witnesses her first kill.

Vax has seen death before: death claimed both of her parents slowly in a sickbed, and death claimed her grandma quietly in sleep one night. Death isn't new. But killing? Killing is different.

Killing is sudden and violent and brutal. It's sound and color, light and air. It's a cold blast to the system and a kind of tar that gets under your nails and won't come out. The street dealer she'd brought her colleague in to work over had given her problems before and so this was gonna be the final warning. It turns out to be more final than Vax had planned. The dealer gets choked out by his own belt, despite Vax telling her muscle to lay off and let the guy breathe. But the dealer had a smart mouth and had said some things the goon didn't like. That smart mouth winds up purple and swollen beneath two bugged out eyes with the stink of shit everywhere.

That's something they forget to tell you about dying: all the ugly things the body does as it dies. The first things to go are always the bowels, and with piss and shit in your pants the brain shuts down and the heart forgets to pump blood around. The body goes cold and everything else goes limp. Everyone's eyes go differently, but they all end up the same kind of dull in the end.

Afterwards, blood pools and blotches up under the skin as it starts to sag, the lips go hard and blue. The body gets stiff as a board, and then slowly goes limp again as rot begins to set in. Vax never stays long enough to watch that happen.

Vax's first kill is at 19 years old. She's at the point of training where she's being sent to shadow select contract jobs. Nothing crazy, but maybe they need a second pair of hands to cause a distraction or a second set of eyes to keep lookout. Little things like that. Sometimes they use these shadow jobs as a test to see how ready a fledgling is for the big leagues.

They have a snitch on their hands: an associate who's been selling information on Crow movements to anyone buying. Viago has her shadowing the mission to track him down and shut him up for good. The Crow she's with has him gagged and tied to a chair when he brings her in and tells her to do the honors. Vax goes for clean: a slice to the neck. She hadn't counted on how long it actually takes a person to bleed out. The guy sobs and bleeds for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes. Vax just watches and watches until the light leaves his eyes, his whole front soaked in his own blood. Afterwards, she goes outside and vomits in the alleyway.

The Crows call this "popping your cherry."

-

At 21, Vax gets their first contract. A Crow's first contract is always another Crow: it's the ultimate test to see if you're capable enough to do the job. Vax's mark had been embezzling money and now had to answer for pissing Viago off. This guy's wily, but Vax is wilier.

She catches up with him in some bolthole in Rialto. He's dogged and desperate and no match for her. She makes it quick— she's good at that by now— and shoves some coin in his mouth to show that he'd been greedy. When she comes home Viago gives her a cape. She pricks her finger, makes a vow, and it's official: Vax is a Crow of House de Riva. If she finds a quiet place to throw up later, no one needs to know.

As a Crow, Vax can take on contracts. It's prestigious, being a part of the deadly reputation of the organization. And they do make some of their money doing it; the contracts aren't cheap. Vax earns their place as someone who can take on a weird job and still come out with a clean kill.

And she's used to killing by now; she doesn't feel nauseous or spend an hour afterwards trying to flush the stink of shit out of her nose anymore. No more vacant eyes haunting her at night; no nighttime visions of reaching, decaying fingers grasping at her skin. Her hands are steady. Her mind is clear. For a few years, she's golden; Viago's little protégé.

All this time, of course, Vax is still moving drugs. She even gets to manage some of the bigger accounts by herself. Viago trusts her on this because he knows she's loyal as a dog and will get him his cut and then some. And she deals it all: uppers, downers, screamers, leapers. Stuff you put in your lungs and stuff you put under your tongue. A real choice selection.

A lot can happen in a few years. Qunari can start putting pressure on the borders, for one. A big hole can get torn in the sky that only some unlucky bastard picked by chance can close up, for another. But life goes on, contracts go on, the job goes on; and sometime during these intervening years Viago walks into a room to find Vax passed out on the floor with a bloody nose and a bag of poppy powder he'd clocked as missing sitting open on her side table.

See, Viago does trust Vax. He trusts her like one trusts their dog not to bite them: anything well trained enough is going to do exactly what you expect them to when you expect it. When Viago discovers that some of his product is going missing— not a lot, not enough that anyone less pedantic would have noticed— Viago knows that it's his dog getting into the pantry.

It starts small: just a taste, a bit of opium rubbed onto the gums to see how it works. It's good to know your product, isn't it? They take a little more the next time. They try it a few different ways. Smoking it, drinking it, you name it. Vax's favorite method is to take the powder right up into the nose. It's quick, easy, clean. They take a bump in the morning and maybe two in the afternoon. More if they need it. Smoking it's a close second; they'll take a long hour of drawing what they call "black dragon" into their lungs after a contract is done. They always take the street stuff. It hits heavier.

This is how they keep their hands steady. How they push the visions of death away. How they stave off memories and keep their lunch in their belly instead of heaved out into a bucket somewhere. Viago thinks he probably should have seen this coming.

Vax wakes up full of shakes in a different room with just a bed, a basin with water, and a chamber pot in it. No windows, one door that's locked; Viago, on the other side, tells her what's happening. You're getting clean, he says. He'd dropped something into her mouth earlier to flush out the drugs she'd overdosed on. He can't have her tweaked out on him, he says. It's bad for business.

He ignores her cursing him out through the door, banging her fists against the wood and calling him every filthy name she knows. He ignores her sobbing and begging for just a bit of relief: a bump, a taste, a puff on a pipe. Anything to make the pain stop. It hurts, coming off everything. The entire body is reaching for something that's not there anymore and just won't come again. She starts hallucinating: reaching hands, blood-filled mouths, the stench of shit that always accompanies death. It's too much, it's too much. She can't do it, Vi, please, please just let me have something.

This goes on for days. Viago delivers her food himself through a flap at the bottom of the door. He empties her chamber pot, too, passed to him under the same flap. Vax is a boneless, shivering mess through most of this. She throws herself into the walls when she's not. She's covered in bruises and scratch-marks by the end, when her body is flushed out and the shivers have dwindled to a minor chill. The headache is mostly gone and all that's left is hunger for something meatier than bread and soup when Viago finally lets her out.

Nobody else knows about Vax's little faux pas. Viago made sure of that. And he makes it clear to Vax that this won't be happening again. He's taking her off the drug running, he says. She's going to be doing more contracts instead. Vax takes it. She knows better than to put her nose into things she shouldn't now. She's a good dog.

[toxintouch]

so I found your post about what if the cult that raised Unnamed MC was one of Vere's old cults and I just had a few thoughts. a Deicide Vere flavored thoughts.

(also I apologize in advance because this was a lot longer than I planned on it being lmao)

what if MC was meant to eventually be sacrificed? like, in an attempt to bring Vere back or something along those lines. and the MC knew they were going to be sacrificed; it probably played a decent factor in why they ran.

so how would MC react to finding out that Vere was the very deity that they grew up worshipping, had grown up knowing that they would eventually be sacrificed to him in a vain attempt to bring him back?

maybe the Devout Follower part of them hadn't been snuffed out by the time they met Vere. maybe all the old habits they tried to leave behind started to come back after being face-to-face with their god. maybe, in a scenario where something, or someone, would have to be sacrificed in order to remove the collar, they would decide to be almost exactly what the cult raised them to be: a sacrifice, but to free him instead of bringing him back?

or, alternatively, the Devout Follower part of them had been completely snuffed out by the time they met Vere. how would they react to finding out that, after all that running, they somehow managed to end up within arms reach of the very thing they had been running from? what if they choose to run again because of it, just up and leaving Eridia, leaving Vere still chained to the Senobium?

and of course: how would Vere react? MC being an ex-follower of his is one thing, but them being an ex-follower and an eventual sacrifice? someone who once fervently worshipped him and was, at least at some point in their life, fully willing to lay down their life for him with no guarantee it would even lead to anything?

(or how would he react to the "MC just fucking leaves" scenario specifically? sure, Normal/Canon Vere would be going through it, especially if him and MC were close, but Deicide Vere? yeah I think that would be his breaking point)

I don't mind the length at all!! I'm the last person who would ever complain, many ppl will attest to my long DMs, etc. In fact, thank you for taking the time to write out your ask and tysm taking an interest in my beloved Deicide Flavored Vere! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Sorry it took all day to respond, I wanted to be able to set aside proper time to read your message and consider! :3 You're picking up what I was thinking abt for sure with your sacrifice train of thought! Though I'll admit I was thinking more of MC being a less literal sacrifice - chosen as the conduit or the one who is supposed to find Vere and bring him back to his people now that he has disappeared.

Oh, but the literal sacrifice angle is juicy. And less convoluted/more clear than how I was trying to make the pieces fit, when I made that post? I let myself get stuck on the thought that I wanted MC to feel...fashioned for Vere, but I was thinking, perhaps, too logically & not cult-y enough, lol.

✦ Perhaps MC thought - when they were a child? - that they would be alive to meet Vere when he came back, but once they became older they realized that: no, they were to be a sacrifice to bring him back. They had to be ready to die for him. And they are only acting as Oracle in stead of their deity until they become strong enough to divine his return, which they (via the cult's teachings) believe will require them to sacrifice themself to him, to die...

But once they realize that their curse is a curse and not a god-given ability that's been granted to them... What else isn't true?

✦ Or perhaps they realize that to be a sacrifice is to die for their god at the same time they realize the truth about their hands, like you suggested, and they knew that they had to flee for the sake of their life and for the sake of finding freedom. They finally saw the gilded cage they had been kept in.

I definitely want to further explore the branching thoughts & paths of Sacrifice!Unnamed grappling with their Devotion vs Apostasy, but I don't want to keep you waiting too long for an answer so I will just resolve to make relevant posts as I consider more/write more! Until then:

✦ I think, even if they want to say that they have left all of their devotion to their god behind...old habits die hard. Things slip through the cracks. No matter how tightly you think you've closed the door, a sliver of a shadow can still find its way into the room where you thought you were safe and alone.

✦ In this MC's mind, they have always been Vere's.

✦ And Vere... [incoming POV shift to match the original Deicide fic]

His own autonomy is important to him, yes, but he's a hypocrite at heart. He's a glutton. He craves power. And he craves you.

He didn't put the collar on his own neck.

But you did.

You belong to him; you were made for him.

You devoted yourself to him, chained yourself willingly and he's not about to allow you to take all the oaths and prayers and the sweet, secret whispers you've given to him back.

(Oh, but he’d have been a kind god to you. Eventually. In that other time, that fictional reality where life is fair. You can earn his kindness, but never his mercy. It isn't in him to be merciful.)

You can't take your devotion back. He has a taste for it now. The only way he's letting it die is if he devours it whole.

And how had he not recognized the taste of himself already on you? How had he failed to notice, so distracted by your enticing promise, that he'd already laid claim? He's been woven into your life from the very start. He didn't even have to go to your town to demand you. You came to him.

(He'll reward them, still, the dregs of his followers – a quick death when he kills them for leaving their hand prints all over what they knew was his, for the suffering they inflicted on you that was his to mete out – suffering that was his to bless you will, as punishment or otherwise.)

And the depth of your devotion? That presses into him, something tender and cutting, unfamiliar or at least long forgotten. He'll reward you once he's satisfied with your repentance. Once you've renewed your faith in all the ways he sees fit.

(How shall be react to your willingness to die for him? It's been so long since he's had something to lose...)

✦ Deicide!Vere is such a mess of feelings. I think he would have a lot of trouble deciding what to do about Sacrifice!MC being willing (currently or previously) to die for him.

✦ The complexity of the matter is that: Were it anyone else, he wouldn't hesitate. He'd be pleased to throw them into harm's way if it meant being free. But Deicide!Vere has been lonely, searching for something - someone - like him for so long. I think he sees the potential of Sacrifice!MC as the one person outside of himself that he could really treasure. (AKA love) They're the "thing" he wanted most, before he lost his freedom. Being confronted with a situation where he may have to sacrifice one of his greatest desires for the other? Even he's not sure what he would do, if the situation arose as such. So he pushes that thought and that feeling away. My vision of Vere is that, though he is somewhat scheming, he is also impulsive and driven by hedonism. For regular Vere, I'm sure he pushes it away until it has to be an impulse decision. For Deicide Vere? This is the shittiest, no-win scenario. Low luck stat really comin' thru.

✦ Re: MC just fucking leaves scenario: I think you're right that something about that breaks him. The rejection. The idea that they've found him unworthy, not the other way around. But most of all: the abandonment. That they would leave him to suffer, presumably forever.

He's their god, yet it's them who's sentenced him to hell.

✦ Another thought I often consider: MC succeeds in removing his collar and even manages to survive doing it. But they don't chose to stay with him. He's been mistrusting of them, too cold and harsh and unwilling to see them as an equal (or at least: unwilling to admit that he does). And so, they lay the collar at his feet and leave. One last supplication, the final prayer from their lips being: "Goodbye, Vere." And the door is firmly shut, this time. He's free but he's back where he started. Searching. Alone. (He knows they're out there somewhere, but they've surpassed him in order to free him. If he hides in the shadow, they hide - they live in the places that match their golden veins, and he can't find them there.)

✦ He thought he could find them anywhere. But he's lost their scent....

I know my reply was a little bit messy, but hopefully I've answered in a way that was fun to read! and maybe even scratched some of the Deicide!Vere itch for anyone who, like me, is constantly infected. Ty again for joining me in my little brainrot corner!

p.s. lmk if i didn't answer/can answer anything more specific that u were hoping for an answer to, it's been kinda a week for my brain!

[spiderman2-99]

Mr. O'Hara?

...

Did you ever get bullied in school?

Nobody ever teach you not to ask personal questions like that to random strangers?

[calculatorguitar]

so I just watched across the spider-verse for the second time (woohoo!) and I would just like to list some things that I noticed/loved about this movie!

SPOILERS!!!! 

- During the gorgeously animated Spot sequence (the first one in black and white), when the Spot is explaining to Miles that his spider came from univere 42, we can see a kid with two braids in a classroom. It’s very likely that this is the Miles we saw later on in the movie.

- Gwen’s whole world! ugh it’s just visually stunning! The way the background also factors i the emotions at play quite literally reduced me to tears. Muah muah chef’s kiss!

- I’ve seen a lot of people talking about how Miguel is different from other spider-people and I would jus like to add my two cents. Miguel IS Spider-man, but he became him in such a different way to the others. This is why he basically has to inject the spider venom (?) into himself. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have the spider sense either? In the scene where he, Gwen and Jess are fighting against the Leonardo Da Vinci Vulture, Miguel is just standing there, preaching to Gwen, while the Vulture is LITERALLY STANDING RIGHT THERE??? RIGHT BEHIND HIM??? Gwen just... doesn’t alert him about it and instead makes it a quippy joke, but it seems to me like he either doesn’t have a spider sense (a pretty significant part of being a spider-person) or it just decided not to work at that moment. Also interesting about Miguel is that his trauma has skewed his view so much that he is barely even recognisable as a Spider-man anymore. For example: he makes a giant mistake resulting in a whole universe being wiped out. Teenager unknowingly makes a mistake that could have the same result if not handled correctly. Now. How would your average run-of-the-mill Spider-man handle this? You know how he would NOT usually handle it? By BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF SAID TEENAGER AT MULTIPLE DIFFERENT POINTS IN TIME. Miguel also genuinely believes that there’s a certain structure to being Spider-man. There’s certain trauma-checkpoints you have to hit in order to be Spider-man. That’s... I don’t even know what to say except that that’s really messed up. The scene where he just CAGES Miles, presumably to wait there until his dad died? That’s not how you should go about any of this!!! I mean I shouldn’t even have to say that. It’s HOW you wear the mask that matters. 

- Okay enough about Miguel (didn’t know I had that much to say about him tbh). The characters in this movie were extremely strong! The ones we got to meet all had a clear, discernible personalities. I am definitely not immunce to the comic relief characters and I have gained new favourite characters in Hobie and Pavitr (like p much everyone else lol)

- Miles. Miles I’m so. Wow. He’s not eve real but I’m so proud of him. I nearly bawled when he tried to “come out” as Spider-man, while I had already figured out that he was in the wrong universe. Just. God. This poor boy. He was lierally going to study quantum physics so he could see his friends again only to find out that they had the chance to do exactly that this whole time and just chose not to. It was a gutpunch when it was revealed they knew that his dad was going to die this whole time. My heart was audibly beating for him the entire last 50 minutes of the movie, that’s how anxious it all made me.

I have so much more to say about all of it, but this post is already the longest I’ve ever made so I’m just gonna cut it short for now. I would love to hear all of your thoughts on this! This is just what I got from the movie, but I’m sire I could have misinterpreted some thing, so please do tell me what you all think!

[five-nights-at-artsys]

okay can we as a fandom for the love of all that is holy cool down on how we treat the kids. stop demonising them for fucks sake