#Every reference out there is just from old hags

[bloodyarn]

Baby hag Babsi ?

The earlier appearance is still canon, she just looked way too old in those so I yassified her to look more her age as a fresh hag :)

[theres-a-body-here]

I Luv Halloween

Frank Morrison x Reader

Can anyone recognize the reference?

The cold air bit at your nose as you leaned on the picket fence belonging to Frank's place. You swirled a lollipop in your mouth as you waited for Frank. You played with the strings on your hoodie. A red hoodie with horns, your makeshift devil costume for tonight.

He sure was taking his time getting ready. The sun was already setting and you wanted an early start. You rub your shoulders absentmindedly. Ormond was pretty freezing this time of year; however, that doesn't mean squat to the kids who would stop at nothing for some candy. Some real sugar fiends.

You turned your head when you heard footsteps. Frank walked towards you in his legion mask and hoodie. Risky, but you doubt anyone would notice in a sea of other costumed kids. He stopped in front of you and looked around. "Where are the others?"

You took the lollipop out of your mouth. "Joey's sick with aids or some shit, and Jules and Susie are off scissoring each other."

Frank lets out a long playful groan. "So I'm stuck with you for tonight?"

"Ouch," you say in a deadpan voice. You raise your hand to show off your pumpkin-shaped pail. "Where's your candy bucket?"

Frank rolls his eyes before taking a paper bag from his jacket pocket. He holds it up so you can see inside; there's nothing but crinkling noise coming from within.

"Here's my candy bucket." He said quite proudly. "Now, let's get going already!"

You nod and start walking toward the first house, with Frank keeping pace beside you. "let's see if old Ms. Richards has anything good," you suggest as you see her house up ahead. Frank gives you a nod in agreement. You toss your lollipop away, expecting something better to replace it.

As You approach her house, You notice she doesn't have any Halloween decorations outside. It makes you wonder why someone wouldn't want to join in on all the fun. You and Frank walk up to her porch and ring the bell. After waiting for a few moments, no one answers.

"Seriously?" groaned Frank as he shifted impatiently.

Before you can ring the door bell again she opens the door. The old crone adjusts her glasses as she scans the two of you over, holding a bowl of....oh god.

"Trick or treat..." you and frank say in a bored tone.

She gives the both of you an apple before slamming the door in your faces.

Rude rotting bitch.

You wait until you're back on the sidewalk to start complaining.

Frank looks disappointed with the first haul. "An apple? Seriously? That's just fucking stupid."

"Did you see the look she gave us? Maybe she thinks we're getting too old for Halloween," You muse as you inspect the apple in your hand. It's a Red Delicious. The old hag couldn't even bother to get the good stuff, like a Fuji or something.

Frank rolls his eyes. "We're barely nineteen! Besides, I still love dressing up like a psycho killer every year."

He lifts his mask up a bit to take a bite out of his apple. You see his lips curl into disgust before spitting it back out immediately. "Ugh, these things taste gross."

"Maybe Ms. Richards needs a trick to set her straight," You suggest casually as you put the apple into your pail.

"What did you have in mind?" Frank asks curiously while tossing his apple over his shoulder and into some bushes behind him.

"Just follow me," you reply as you turn to walk down the street. Frank follows closely behind you, his curiosity piqued by whatever plan you might have cooked up.

Together, you make your way through town. Frank begins to recognize the path as he remembers you live around this part of town. It's confirmed when he sees your house down the street.

You stop in front of your house and walk up to your door to open it, motioning for frank to follow you inside. Frank hesitantly enters your home, looking around suspiciously. He notices how tidy everything is compared to his own messy abode.

"Alright, what's this big plan of yours?" He impatiently asks once you close the door behind him.

"Wait at the table," You point at your kitchen counter as you head to the bathroom. Frank waits as he hears you open cabinets. He glances around to take in your decor.

You come out of the bathroom with a box of razor blades and sit at table with him. You take out the apple from your pail.

"Watch and learn from a master," you say, smiling as you open the box and begin to carefully push razor after razor into the apple's flesh.

Frank watches intently as you stuff more than five razors into the fruit. His face twists into pride under his mask when you finish and hold it up triumphantly. It looks normal and unsuspecting enough.

"Shit, you really went all out on this thing..." Frank comments.

"What a beauty. Some of my best work to be honest," you declare as you put the apple back into your plastic pail.

"Well done," Frank congratulates you. "But now comes the tricky part – actually giving it back to her without getting caught."

You smirk. "It's not for her," you reveal as make your way out your front door, waiting for frank to follow.

Frank raises an eyebrow but goes along with you anyway after locking the door behind him. Once outside, he realizes you aren't heading towards Ms. Richard's house anymore. Instead, you seem to be going in the opposite direction entirely.

"Hang on, where are we going?" he asks curiously.

"That bakery near Elm street, where all the pigs hang out at," you say nonchalantly as you keep walking.

"Oh, right...that place." Frank remembers seeing several police officers frequent that particular establishment during their nightly patrols. Nodding to himself, he continues following you.

Together, you arrive at the bakery just as a group of officers enter the shop themselves. They exchange friendly greetings with the owner before ordering various pastries and treats.

"Wait out here, most of these uniforms have your case worker on speed dial," you say chuckling.

Frank grumbles something under his breath about crooked cops but agrees to stay outside. Meanwhile, you confidently march into the bakery and walk up to the counter. The owner recognizes you and waves hello while setting down menus for everyone else.

You put on your best smile. "Trick or treat!" you exclaim as you hold the plastic pail out.

The owner smiles warmly and begins filling your pail with some candy from a bowl she has placed to her side. After she goes back to taking orders at a different table. While she works, you glance over at the officers who are busy chatting amongst themselves and paying no attention to you whatsoever.

You walk up to the table of cops and smile. "having a nice night officers?" you ask, trying to sound as polite and bootlicking as possible.

One officer turns to address you directly. "Yes, we've had a quiet evening thus far. How about yourself?"

You fake a sigh and a look of disappointment. "Not good. This Halloween is already starting out pretty bad," you lament, pulling out the seemingly normal apple from your candy bucket. "That cheap Ms. Richards, always giving out apples year after year."

The officer chuckles. "Ah yes, we know her pretty well ourselves. Always keeping tabs on those pesky teens causing trouble. We get a call from her every day about kids running around her yard."

"Well I don't want this. Do any of you want it?" You remark casually as you hold the apple out to the table of cops. "It'd be a shame to waste a perfectly good fruit."

At first, none of them seem interested in accepting your gift. But then one of them glances over to his coworkers and shrugs. "Sure, why not? Give it 'ere." he says as he holds his hand out.

You gently drop the apple into his open palm as you say a polite goodbye before walking out and standing next to frank. You nudge his side and motion for him to watch. You can barely hold in your smile as you see the cop bring the razor filled apple to his mouth.

As soon as the officer takes a large bite, his expression immediately changes to pained horror. Blood starts pouring out of his mouth as he drops the fruit onto the floor and grabs at his throat in pain. Everyone else in the bakery jumps up and rushes over to help him, including the remaining officers, screaming and yelling as they call for help.

"Wicked," Frank says as he lets out a low whistle.

"Alright, let's head back and watch shit unfold," you say as you grab his hand before pulling him along. He gives your hand a squeeze as he follows you.

You and Frank stood side by side within the crowd that had formed around Ms. Richards's house as the police broke her door down and stormed her house.

Frank chuckles under his breath. "Damn, she's really taking the fall for this one."

The two of you watch silently as the police lead Mrs. Richards away in handcuffs, protesting her innocence all the while. It seems they believe her story about not knowing anything about the incident involving the deadly apple.

You and Frank watch as the car drives away with the old hag in the backseat.

"Well now I'm bored," you sigh as you look at your wristwatch. "And it's late. Houses are already starting to turn their lights off."

Frank glances around, noticing houses have in fact begun putting out their lanterns and lights. "Looks like we'd better call it quits for tonight then. Wanna head back to my place?"

"Are your fosters home?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Frank snorts derisively. "No, thank god. They're probably passed out drunk somewhere."

"Alright, but first let's get some candy from the store," you suggest, not wanting this night to be a total waste.

"Fine by me." Frank replies. Together, the two of you leave the scene and make your way to the local convenience store. Franks take off his mask and stuffs it into his hoodie before entering the store.

Once inside, you grab a couple of large bags of assorted candies and approach the register. As expected, most people have gone home for the night, so there's only one clerk working tonight. She rings up your purchase quickly and hands you a receipt without saying a word.

As you step outside, you notice that the streets are eerily quiet. Most houses have shut off their porch lights, signaling an end to trick or treating festivities. Feeling satisfied with your loot, you hold Frank's hand and begin walking back towards his place.

"Hey frank," you whisper as a few giddy chuckles leave your lips.

"Hmm?" Frank asks absentmindedly, distracted with thoughts of devouring candy with you at home.

You reach into your pocket to show him you shoplifted some condoms and lube. Your lips curve into a sly smirk.

Frank's eyes widen in surprise before turning into a mischievous grin. "Is that so? Well then, I guess we're having sugar fueled sex tonight."

"It's gonna be a real frenzy," you retort.

He laughs before gripping your hand tighter and pulls you along as he picks up the pace.

It seems that this Halloween night won't be as bad as you first thought it to be.

[team-avia]

Okay so my insomnia is really bad so I’m going to force you to listen to my raving and rambling about RL theories because I saw some old promotional stuff and now my mind is galaxy braining right now

SO HERE IT GOES

(Sorry if this has been brought up before btw and is old news)

Obvious potential spoilers!!! Beware everyone else!!!

This motherfucking promo image is the source of my thoughts, especially after playing Cass’s and Bella’s demo. Particularly the symbols used for every character:

Cassandra: obviously an prodigy actress and star of the department but the further we get into her demo we realize there’s more behind the diva persona than meets the eye— hence the symbol, while classic in theater, can also reflect her emotional state and her need to cover it up with smiles and arrogance. Her nightmares and sense of commitment to potential romantic lovers maybe be a symptom of a more deep reason.

Bela: THE HEART like bruh obviously it in reference to whatever Miranda did to her before the game started—being heartless and what not. And how she’ll eventually regain her ‘heart’ if we go down the route right.

Daniela: so far she’s seems normal, well adjusted, and tame in comparison to her sisters. Key world being SEEMS. There’s definitely something broiling beneath the surface with her and I bet it has to do with her family troubles and her always putting on a brave face. Hence the rose but the notable thorns beneath it. Every rose has its thorns and what not. Idk if it has anything to do with the rowdy crowd she associates with.

Angie: the doll obviously fitting her RE origin and over all her personality, sweet, kind, and maybe bombastic. But look closely—there’s a tear on the doll’s face. Like Cass (and maybe Dani) she has a mask—aka being a party animal and overall alcoholic. It may have something to do with being Donna’s niece and I’m assuming Claudia’s daughter. But where’s the latter???? I’m sensing a dark back story here and her maladapting to her mother’s death.

The last three are the hardest to theorize because we haven’t seen much of them in the Demos but I’ll slightly theorize here:

Donna: the recluse of the campus is pictured with a syringe. Could be a nod to her RE origin being with her pollen/hallucinations but could also have to do with why she’s so shy and introverted. Maybe in the similar vein to Angie’s, what with her sister and what not.

Alcina: Wine is an obvious choose to use for her. Bitch loves her red. Idk what else to pull from this. Again hard to speculate with no demo introducing her. It’s giving wine mom energy and not in the fun way.

Miranda: this bitch has some fucking powers or something—giving hag in the swamp vibes and doing shit to people. Bela with her heartlessness (and maybe Cass’s nightmares?). Also Mia being a witchy gal and giving Miranda a gift that’s warm? Hella sus. The Corvus skull is obvious to her RE origins but also a nod to witchcraft and supernatural things. Also a symbol of death. Bitch be brewing shit idk.

Anyways those are my thoughts. Idk how accurate this is and, based on how old the pic is, could be completely wrong. I’ve spent too many hours thinking on the Demo for it to be healthy so this was a long time coming.

Feel free to cuss me out for how wrong I am. I just needed to get my thoughts out there.

Make sure you take care of yourselves! Love you guys! Stay safe and healthy!

I DONT KNOW HOW TO RESPOND TO THIS WITHOUT SPOILING ANYTHING BUT

thank you for noticing the little details 😭 ❤️ ive been waiting for someone to notice HAHAHAHA

finch

[justageneralsimpindeed]

I JUST HAD TO WITH THIS PIC

Shigaraki Hc with a U.A Teacher !SO whos a big sweetheart to everybody but isn't a hero.

He hates you.

You being associated with heroes makes him hate you.Being sweet confuses him therefore pisses him off.

Of course you meet at U.S.J and he immediately thinks your a student because of how you're freaking out .Annoys the hell out of him.

Doesn't really care that you're a teacher he wants to kill you.

Oh your not a hero why are you here?He is the meanest motherfucker ever known.

HOWEVER,you flip a switch when you realise your students in danger,flinging yourself into dangers route the moment it sets its eyes on one of your students.

Villains,tied and struggling considering the blow to their ego that you only tied their hands and nothing else.

Literally not a kick or a punch or even a block,just a weave, tie ,sit down.

Shigaraki quickly directs nomu towards you after taking note of how many villains were being taken out by you and you start bawling.Daki tea kettle style.

Is dumbfounded,even more so when you reject help from your far superior students.

Bakugou is screaming old hag from where he is Izuku is charging at nomu trying to break his hand again,Aizawa is barely conscious trying to get grab you by the throat with his scarf because your currently being a heroic dumbass.

Shigaraki is laughing his ass off makes some game reference and you stop crying.

'Wait.You play that too?What's your user?'

Man is Flabbergasted with a capital F.

Not only did someone just ask him for his user to play with him( as he played alone ) ,but you asked him as Nomu was about to turn you into a pancake.

'Idiot.Your about to die,how can you play.'

'I don't die,I respawn.'

Congrats you've unlocked obsessed shigaraki.

After the USJ incident since All might arrived he wasn't able to give you his user aswell as being completely shooked.He stalked you.

To just when you've left U.A 'territory' as he likes to call, To just outside your bathroom as you bathe.

Nothing about him is not perverted when it comes to you.

Taking picture to jerk off to.✔

Panties thief maxed out level.✔

Pillow humping.✔

Mattress humping.✔

You bite pencils,expect to have an indirect kiss from shigaraki.

You have a controller and don't just play PC games and you've recently just touched it,expect him to use it as a vibrator.

To which he gains access to your user and he uses to play games with you as if he's a random guy and not guy whose been stalking you

Finally you two bump into each other as you try to get the latest game which the one you were reaching for was the very last copy.

'Oh sorry.You can take it.'You were mentally screaming as you agonizingly took your hand away from the game.

Shigaraki pauses getting awkardly hard at your voice mentally cussing himself out at his lack of restrain.

You instantly recognize him his name leaving your lips quietly striking shigaraki in the heart.He is a wanted man. Gotta keep the simps away

Just because you game on league of legends together doesn't mean he stops stalking you if anything its more frequent.

Sometimes he will jerk off while gaming with you.You've asked him a couple times if hes alright as he's breathing a little loud.

Other times he will cower in the corner from your sudden tantrum at your sides lag.

Games don't make you violent,lag does. Finds it slightly funny and cute after a few seconds,but mostly petrified .

He still steals your panties, jerks off to you when your in the shower or even sleeping.

However that prooves to be his down fall as one night he is just watching you sleep,admiring every inch of you when he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

You shot up like a rocket.

He runs so fast you can't even call out to him in time to wait.

More or less ghosts you out of pure embarrassment, refuses to even look at messages you sent to his DMs.And that is the last time you meet him.

That is until the forest training camp arc.

Your gonna be there. kidnap you aswell as the kid.

Gives specific instructions to not harm you making it seem you were top priority merchandise.

Purposely has you put in the other room because he knows you will start talking and people will know that you've met more than once,after you wake up.

'Shigaraki!Why weren't you responding to my texts!'

Is a little suprised how your not adressing the elephant in the room about how he stalked you.But he did exepct the unexpected so it doesn't count.

'Your not gonna talk about how I was literally in your house'

'I don't mind.If you wanted to come over you could of just asked.'

His jaw is dropped .Are you that dense?

'I don't think you understand.I literally came on your pillow'

Your simply shrug and he just leaves face red as he just told you he had been humping your pillow and you couldn't care less.

But before he can get back in the room to converse again he is yet again blocked by All might.

But this time he actually responds to his DMs and is playing games with you again.

He wonders if you've just forgetten until one day you ask him.

'Does it hurt?You know.What you said back then'

Oh MY GOD.

Gets a hard on instantly,gets flustered and he feels he's already back to his old ways.

Sensing his lack of experience and just general struggle you ask him out.

Arcade. your first date has to be an Arcade or a fun fair ,anywhere with games.

Is very awkward but he does bring you flowers,hes trying.Theyll probably be either ruined or ash because of how quick and eager he was to show up.

Very protective still. Anyone looking at you in the wrong way,will have his arm around your shoulder + deathglare.

You're the only reason why there isn't a body.well dust

Walks you home just fine case if anything happens,your too innocent in his eye7s.

Literally stands there expecting a kiss,but will never say.

You will catch on pretty quickly and a kiss is delivered.

He is shocked that he actually got one,heavily inexperienced so just ends up kissing like a puffer fish after the first few seconds of freaking out.

Movie nights,gaming sessions at your house,cafe dates are regular.Has to keep a low profile since he a villain.

You start cuddling and over time his kisses get better,ranging from forehead kisses to neck and shoulder kisses.

Hugs you from behind.and you get him gloves to ease his fear of him accidentally disintegrating you.

Don't think its all wholesome he will still grab onto your tits/chest and slighty rut his hips into you.

Is very insecure but generally gets more comfortable as your praise goes on.

If you have tits he will use them as a pillow no matter how small, if you have pecs or none will still use your chest as a pillow.Your presence and heartbeat is enough to knock him out cold.

Dating this man didn't have a apperance recommendation as anything is prettier than him thats what he thinks.

Worships you,he will either hide you from the public eye or brag and put you on display showing how he is the luckiest man in the world.

Your students have now caught on to something going on due to hickeys literally everywhere,Eri just thinks its bruises and gets concerned.

You came back crying from a cuteness overload and it somewhat indirectly fuels shigaraki want to take overhauls arms and then play 'if your happy and you know it clap your hands' in front of him.

He refuses to let you do any work when it comes to sex because to him he is undeserving.

He will rut his hips against you for your stimulation and eat you out and all other types of teasing but showing you his body is a no go.

White hair shigaraki though is a completely different library.

If he wants to fuck you he will pull you aside and blow out your back.

In a way he was completely on the giving side and now your in debt to him and that is currently costing you your spine and sooner or later he will turn you into Joe Swanson .

Oh your a virgin?Corruption kink boost.

Does like taking risks but if anyone sees you in that state it is punishable by death and it will happen.

His libido is nothing to mess with he is stressed more than he was .won't always fuck you but he will hump you or have you suck.If not he'll do it.

Oral with this man is heavenly,he can try to be soft but with those lips not happening both shigaraki's will get drunk on you.

Your game was left unattended several minutes ago.Begging was futile as shigaraki dove his tounge into your hole, absolutely ravaging you with the wet muscle."such a pretty lover"he moans as your flavour is left on his tounge when he retracts his tounge before lunging in for another taste.The vibrations of his moans and roughness of his lips has you in ecstacy as he eats you from behind. He devours you,gliding his slender thumbs along your inner thigh before a harsh slap meets your ass.A yelp escapes your lips as you quickly turn your head to face him with a pleading look.'Instead of moaning,moan my name ,it's a good use of your lovely mouth,Player 2'. You moan out his name as he begins to glip your ass with a gloved finger,his tounges pace picking up with it.How did you end up like this?All of this from a simple kiss.

If your giving it to him he will either grab your head and shove you down to gag on his cock or thrust his hips so needily into your jaw.

Foreplay is your part still slightly nervous with his quirk despite the fact he controlled it so if you like being choked,spanked,having your nips fondled, fingering and deepthroatinh his fingers he'll have atleast one finger covered.

Make out sessions are one way to die from a broken back.He gets so hooked up on your taste you would probably die from suffocation by how fast he moves his lips to your neck back to your lips and so.

Now sexy time,oh dear god after his upgrades he's got a lot of stamina if not for him being busy he would of dicked you down through the floor.

Likes missionary or any position that he can see your gorgeous face.

Bondage is on the table.

So it a pain kink and a little but of blood.

Marking,Edging ,Overstimulating definitely.

Oh you thought it was just him,nope it goes on both of your asses.

Its not just because your into it but because you want shigaraki to enjoy it even if its not your preference.

If you have a dick or are into pegging he'll probably stalk you until he is certain your going to your shared room and then sprint there.Strip,tie himself up,ass in the air with a gag,waiting for you to get home.

If you are doing this unless its your first time or you haven't had sex in a long time...

Throw the lube out the window with the condom, and just violate this man.

Pull his hair,while slightly condescending him right before praise.

He will come in seconds.

Play with his nips they are sensitive af.

Call him Baby boy,Shiggy,Babe,Player 1 or anything and he will melt in your embrace

Aftercare with shigaraki isn't the best as he cant be seen with you and is very busy but he will check if you are ok,give you a few kisses,bring a water bottle if your thirst and get the bath atleast running by the time he has to leave.

Its not the best but its sweet.

Pets,yes.

Especially small,fluffy dogs.

Any pet you have will be his therapy animal.

You once came home to see your pet sleeping on his chest with him.Cute blackmail obtained.

Babies however is complicated not the best time and your pet is basically his child.

But shigaraki doesn't like to use condoms so if you can become pregnant he will be shocked,confused,and then bolt you into a cargo ship to god knows where as long as nobody can find you.

He still isn't sure but if you want it he will try his best for you,its all for you.

Anybody who hurts you during this time is finished no matter what you say,will personally kidnap them and torture them until they give out.

It was an accident?

'There are no accidents'

-Tomura Shigaraki

[cant-get-no-worse]

I mean Messi and Ronaldo both won lots of ballon d'or young but wasn't it just because there wasn't any other good player around? like Messi was good, but not a young prodigy like Erling or Mbappé. He became very good after a few years though. Ronaldo too he was alright in United but only became really good at Real Madrid, meanwhile Erling for his first season at City broke every record and Mbappé is considered amongst the best while still in PSG. He won the world cup at 18 I mean!!

Why... are we having this debate, again? It makes it seem like I have a beef with these players when in fact I don't. Love Erling, like Kylian as persons. But buckle up because I won't stand for career revisionism of the two grandads, even Ronaldo, cause ain't no fucking way the football world held ten years of obsessional, insufferable rivalry for youngsters to barge in and say oh, actually, were they that good?

I don't know a whole lot about Ronaldo because I only followed him through the Clasicos/RM era. But he wasn't "alright" in United. He was, at 18, compared to G. Best, David Beckham, etc. Was already decisive in finals. Won his first Ballon d'Or there at 23. There's a reason his transfer to Real was costly and such a show; he was way more than "alright". As much as I despise the guy's guts — I liked him alright when he was younger, but the traits that irked me at that time that I could dismiss as youth are now still present and even worse as a grown ass man, and I can't stand it — he was a fantastic football player. Will of winning, his work ethic, his football. He was absolutely lethal to play against.

Messi, well. I won't ramble on it because you can find that anywhere, really. Before he reached 20 years old, he was considered amidst the world best players. At 18 years old, Maradona said of him he was "the player who will inherit my place in Argentinian football". Ronaldinho (at the time ballon d'or winner and viewed as best player in the world) said he "wasn't even the best at Barcelona", refering to then 18 years old teammate Leo. He was seen as one of the key players carrying a failing Barcelona team while being fucking 18/20 years old or something. I haven't got words for him. Genuinely. He's a magician, a genius with the ball, he embodied football. At 18 just like as 25 or 33 he was making you shake your head in disbelief at the sheer insanity of his goals, assists or playmaking.

Both Messi and Ronaldo being 36/38 now kind of make new football fans think they're just those washed versions of themselves and overrated. I assure you. Those fanboys, medias, pundits, coaches and ex-players were not obnoxiously talking about them h/24 for nothing. 18 - 28 years old versions of Ronaldo and Messi would make an utter mockery of any current player in the world, and I'm weighting my words.

Those two hags both embody the exact meaning of young prodigy, and I'd say Messi even more so. Personal preference, I leave it up to people. The fact that they were considered as such before they won any international trophy such as the world cup as, as you pointed out, Mbappé won with the French NT at 18, answers your own question and tells you stricly everything you need to know. They were the best players in the world all seasons long, from when they were 18/20 to more than ten years. They were absolutely ridiculous. Hope we can enjoy such rivalry with Erling and Kylian, but it's not the same, since it's all about stats and awards now, football is taking airs of NBA. It's different. It's not style versus style. That 2007 - 2020 decade was wild, and as much as I dislike this saying, you just had to be there.

So yeah, they were that good. They were even better than that.

[gentleeclipsey]

Hmmm, I've been listening to music again, I have thoughts about Jackie's fluffy trollish family, fair warning, it's long and things may change:

Ancient family curse, they're all fluffy, every generation or so there's always one that looks familiar to the ancient root ancestor, mostly referred to as Shardback

Shardback is called that because heartstone chunks rooted into her back, she only lived about 10,000 years but it was enough to have a few secret whelps which carried the family line from ancient times to modern times

The Shardback and Blackthroat families hated each other, but Penn, Jack's mom, is half Blackthroat, he's essentially merged the family trees and forced mercy between the two lines

Monsoon is Penn's late sister, now he only has his brother Haverwrath, but he's also got other relatives from his mom, Jack's grandma, that have kids his age, so the Shardback family tree is far from dying out, especially now that Blackthroats are involved

Those cursed, like Jack and her Grandma Jax, all look the same when young but as they age they all become different, new main and coat patterns arise around their mid 450s to 500s

On average they tend to live to about 1000 to 2000, of course there's outliers in every generation, Gran Jax is only about 900 herself so her marks have expressed themselves

Generally speaking a family reunion is the cutest thing to witness because they're a bunch of playful idiots big cats, and most are pettable if you ask nicely, and yes almost all of them purr and get happy taps

I have no idea who sired Penn or Jackie yet, only that Penn loves his stupid fluffy baby and genuinely did not expect her to marry into royalty, he's proud of all of his kids either way and is just happy Jackie will be taken care of if he dies young

While Gran Jax is only 900, Penn is about 600 himself, I believe Jackie to be around 400 to 500, just before she gets her marks, and yes Penn had her young

When born, they have a fever coat, a funky layer of miscolored fluff along the top of their pelts, generally it falls out before they turn 100, but it returns when they're sick for prolonged periods

They greet each other by nuzzling heads, they also peep, chirp, and squeak at each other frequently

The fluffiness is a highly dominant gene, in hundreds if not thousands of generations it hasn't faded and every new child born to the line is fluffy, even if they're a changeling, volcanic troll, sea troll, doesn't matter, they're getting fluff whether they like it or not

Things like scales, horns, and spikes aren't common in the family but they're not rare either, however when present they're usually not too large, for instance Kanjigar's horns may be possible but something like Draal's is highly unlikely, if they do have them it's likely these will show up later in life rather than immediately

Gran Jax should've had a black/grey coat with white marks or white fading, Jackie is hoping her real coat is pretty

All of them get heavier in winter and will grow out their coats, family snow beans are also common

Often they have different pawpads depending on what species sired them, however the heart Jackie has is new, it's likely a new mutation

Sal fucking cries seeing her family because he physically cannot withstand that amount of poof in one room, this idiot king will die because he finds them so fucking cute

I love to imagine in the afterlife Shardback terrorizing the Blackthroat ancestor who's absolutely PISSED the old hag's line finally won into their own, it's like a damn soap opera episode and it's hilarious

That's all I have thank you

Comfort combat, they fuckin invented it

They can have crunchy mews, like a funky or old cat, also, scraggly whiskers when they sleep too hard

[ficbrish]

Chapter 2 - A Proper Introduction

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[Ao3 link] | [Previous chapter]

[[TW/CW: Alcohol, suicide ideation, cptsd, domestic violence references, public embarrassment, sexism]]

Summary: They said goodbye forever. But who knows? They could meet again.

“I got lost in the woods and fell.”

Vistri lied without any guilt, meeting the stern expression of her housekeeper with tepid nonchalance.

“I don’t believe you.”

Old cunt.

“Well,” she cleared her throat in preparation for violence, “Maybe next time some jewelry goes missing, I won’t believe you either.”

Her housekeeper guffawed, as if she hadn’t already been overstepping enough, “Hah! I changed your diapers when you were a babe! You will never be rid of me until one of us is buried in the dirt.”

“Or both of us,” Vistri rolled her eyes, “If you continue on with these impertinences.”

“I am only concerned!” her accent grew thicker with her frustration, and her hands flailed about with her accusations, “Just look at the state of you!”

“What of it?”

“What of it?!”

Vistri was caked in dirt. Her dress had been so ruined that now she stood only in her underclothes. There were sticks in her hair. Sticks from bushes and trees!

And she’d been gone, in no one’s watchful company, for hours.

Well, not no one. Unless that man had been some figment of her imagination. Vistri didn’t want to rule out the possibility that she was going mad. That would certainly be a sensible explanation for these past few fortnights. If she’d acted like this when the baron was still living, surely he would have beaten her to death.

She scoffed, “You are being ridiculous.”

“You are acting worrisome."

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again, and then again the next time you ask. I fell in the woods and got lost.”

Crossing her arms, the housekeeper teased, “Ah, I thought it was that you got lost in the woods and then fell.”

“What does my phrasing matter?” Vistri stomped rather immaturely.

“It matters because you are lying to me.”

“I am not! I got lost in the woods and I fell.”

“I don’t believe you,” she repeated with casual stubbornness.

“I said it right this time!”

“And I still don’t believe you.”

“Hag!”

Jaheira took that as her cue to exit, leaving her mistress alone to stew in her sour mood. Maybe a little time would gather a guilty conscience.

But for once, the woman who’d been by her side since birth was wrong. There would be no guilt over her tryst in the woods.

How could there be any when it was the only time she’d ever truly felt alive? If every day was like that for other people, no wonder it seemed no one else constantly wanted to kill themselves! There was life in this world after all.

Who would have thought?

With her housekeeper finally gone, Vistri finished undressing and sunk into her warm bath. Descending into fantasy, she relived every experience in as much detail as she could. Replaying it over and over. His face. His voice. His touch.

They would never meet again.

This person, frozen in time, could never disappoint her. For who he was in that moment, was all he ever would be.

Even so, she couldn’t quite resist the urge to flesh out his mysterious character; guessing at all the little details she never wanted the real answer to. She started with a reexamination of her previous assumptions. Vistri was beginning to think the man was perhaps more actor than vagabond. He’d certainly played the part of seducer very well. So well she could still feel his stare dancing across her skin.

Unless, of course, he was exactly what he’d denied being; a gentleman. Vistri laughed a private laugh. What a ridiculous sentiment! Men like that didn’t exist in her social class. They desperately wanted to be like her stranger; claimed they were to their friends, pretended that it was a secret everyone else shared, but the truth was that rich men couldn’t even please themselves.

“I aim to please.”

“Do you?”

The very memory sent such shivers.

A few days later, Vistri stood firm in her decision to go to a ball. She brought up the matter to her housekeeper at breakfast. Although most sensible ladies ate later in the privacy of their rooms, she’d taken to the habit of having a man’s breakfast—despite all objections—since the very first morning of her husband’s passing.

“Darling,” she started, lazily taking a bite of toast, “I believe we are due for a reintroduction.”

Jaheira pinched the space between her brow like she had a headache, “What?”

Vistri held out her hand like she was greeting an old school mate, “The baroness you knew is dead. My name has not changed, but everything else has.”

It would be easier if she just went along with it, so instead of sighing and asking her mistress to explain, the housekeeper took her offered hand, “Nice to meet you. Again. I am Tired.”

“Hello, Tired,” Vistri smiled, “Anyone ever tell you that your face matches your namesake?”

Jaheira rolled her eyes, and left the room mumbling, “Ha ha, you are so funny. You’ve got all the zingers. Never quite lost your touch.”

One of the footmen let out a snicker, and she met him with a glare before exiting that made him turn a stark white.

“I will be going to a ball tonight!” Vistri called after her, slamming her fist against the table like some petulant child.

Vistri was serious. She would not be put off it like last time. That baroness was dead, and with that old self died the side of her that existed to be molded, which had already robbed her of all the life she’d ever known. Every day minus a few precious hours stolen by a stranger, that is.

With utter disgust, Vistri realized she’d just sighed like a lovesick maiden.

She really needed to get out of this house!

In her most rebellious fantasies, Vistri would turn up to a ball in full color, shedding her mourning cocoon like a sultry butterfly. But this new baroness still carried some of her predecessor’s old habits. Thus, her defiant gesture in showing up at the Shadowheart’s ball was tempered by a black dress.

The hostess for the evening greeted her warmly. Although technically she wasn’t the hostess, her mother was. Sadly, Viscountess Shadowheart of Phandalin was reported to be in a perpetual state of ill health that kept her tucked away for most events; and while the viscount was a pleasant enough fellow and by no means a dullard, he was not the most gregarious. Therefore, the responsibility always fell upon their daughter, and Vistri’s dearest friend, Lady Jenevelle Hallowleaf to maintain every function.

“I did not invite you!” she squealed with beaming affection, pulling Vistri into a tight, ruffled embrace.

The lack of invitation was not a slight to Vistri, but rather out of a dreary acceptance that any widow had to wait a while before they were free. Vistri’s presence at the Shadowheart’s ball was therefore a surprise. A happy one at that.

“No one invites me anywhere these days,” she teased, kissing both cheeks, “You’d think someone had died!”

The laugh Lady Hallowleaf let out was almost shrill, she was so delighted, “Oh! You wicked thing!”

The Shadowheart’s had one of the grandest ballrooms in the country. It was a standard size, but the height of the ceiling was particularly impressive and made completely of a stained-glass atrium. Demigods fought with devils above their heads.

How very fitting.

As she surveyed the crowd, Vistri noticed an abundance of eyes and whispers, all pointed in her direction. She told herself they were in regards to their hostess, not her. After all, they were standing side by side, and she was just a silly widow. No one paid any mind to those.

Unless they were supposedly in mourning and breaking its confines.

As she drifted from her friend’s much-needed company, Vistri found herself shunned from almost every conversation. The longer she went without easing into a welcome group, the more that a sense of foreboding grew in her stomach.

When she settled for speaking to those whom she usually avoided, Vistri finally found her place. Slowly, she was coming to terms with the fact that her misguided act of defiance was never going to go the way she’d hoped.

“Surely, dear, you must come visit our darling, little trees,” croaked Lady Muffington.

A woman who, Vistri was beginning to learn, may not be as atrocious as everyone always twittered about. In fact, she was quite pleasant! A welcome surprise. Perhaps her status of social pariah was due more to her unfortunate name than any defect in manners or personality.

Too bad she’d never found a way to be rid of that surname though. Lady Muffington was around the same age as Vistri, but considering she’d never been married, Muffington would never be anything more than a thornback. Virginity was only popular through one’s mid-twenties, after which point, it apparently soured a woman for life. At least widows stood a chance to remarry.

“Did I tell you the late baron once graced us with a visit? Oh, but that was way back! Yeeeaaaaars, darling! Before he was married to you,” she started ranting.

Vistri didn’t quite like the look in her eyes, which was a shame considering they were Muffington’s best feature; a brown so light they were almost yellow.

“Which is a very good thing, considering he’d been calling to ask the Lord’s permission for my hand, you see—Too bad you were never able to have any children, you know, before he… You know.”

Perhaps those yellow eyes were her only redeemable feature. Vistri couldn’t tell if Lady Muffington was mentioning this to get a rise out of her, but sensing a sort of sadistic self-satisfaction under her tone, she grew determined not to give her the reaction she wanted. Which was really just any reaction at all.

So, she simply blinked.

And Lady Muffington took that as her cue to continue, “Perhaps if I had agreed to marry him back then, the baron would not have left this world with no heir. Oh, but I just could not stand the thought of it! He had such a… ghastly quality about him, did he not? Oh, but I do not mean to cause any offense! I just figured that, well… since you’re here, you may not have held him in very high regard.”

Was Lady Muffington actually trying to empathize with her? Or insult her? Or perhaps eek out a bit of risqué information in which to ingratiate herself to the others with?

It didn’t matter. Vistri had already thrown out all previously kind thoughts and decided the dreadful woman’s pariah status had been hard earned after all.

“Oh, look there! It’s Mr.—” except she didn’t see anyone she could point to who would currently welcome her, “I-I think I see someone. Excuse me a moment.”

With that flimsy excuse, Vistri fled her wretched company.

Thankfully, she was able to easily join another conversation, having happened upon some visiting city dwellers, residents of the capitol, Baldur’s Gate. It wasn’t as though social conventions changed whether one was in the city or county, rather that Upper City patriars found the scandal of a mourning widow at a provincial ball much more entertaining than typical provincial chatter.

“—some Outer City nitwit who expected me to actually pay for that flimsy excuse for art!” one of them scoffed at the end of his wildly offensive tale.

Gods! These people were horrible!

Vistri giggled the way ladies at balls were expected to giggle. She then bit her lip, hating herself for it. Why couldn’t the old baroness stay dead?

Why couldn’t her late husband stay in the grave where he belonged?

Seeing as no one was rescuing her from this conversation, and that she could not slight a new acquaintance, Vistri was stuck. It was better to just dissociate and occasionally answer with, “How absolutely droll-dreadful-delightful!”

She needed a fucking drink. No one had offered her one yet, and she was not going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing the ungrieving, recent widow ladling her own punch!

Slowly, the reality of her life dawned on Vistri, coming into full view. Death was nothing in the face of generations of tradition. It lived on, and suddenly she became hyper aware of being the only partygoer dressed head to toe in black. She looked like some hybrid of guest and servant—Ridiculous!

She’d lost Lady Hallowleaf in the chaos of hosting, and almost burst into tears when her dear friend came into full view again—Only to then be reluctantly dragged away from wallowing in her new black thoughts.

Her friend took her by the hand and said, “Come, there’s someone I’ve been longing for you to meet!”

Vistri chuckled bitterly, “You know I still cannot be courted? Showing up to one ball doesn’t suddenly do away with centuries of mourning conduct.”

“Hush! You are allowed to make acquaintance with new people.”

For a moment, she decided to let go and be open to the possibility that there were nice things in store. Then her heart dropped when Lady Hallowleaf stopped cheerfully in front of a man with silver hair.

His back was turned to them at first, but there was no mistaking those curls. They were in her dreams every night. Behind her eyelids as soon as she shut them.

“This is the lady I haven’t been able to stop blathering about,” she explained to this new acquaintance.

Vistri’s heart was in her throat.

“Baroness Vistri Harper of Reithwin, it is time you’ve met my disreputable cousin, Mr. Astarion Ancunín.”

He bowed his head with a secret air of delighting in her misery, “It is my greatest pleasure to make your acquaintance, Baroness.”

She decided right then and there that she would never like him.

With no other choice but to hold out a gloved hand and allow him to kiss it, Vistri stood determined to match his audacity and make Mr. Ancunín fight a blush of his own.

But when he took her hand, lifting it briefly to those lips of his, she lost her words. Even though this time they met glove on glove instead of skin to skin, his touch still burned.

It was only once he let go that Vistri was able to resume her thought, “I see you are quite the gentleman after all.”

He shrugged through his tone more than any movement of his shoulders, saying in a droll cadence, “Well, who can tell between charlatans and gentry these days anyway?”

“I find they’re often one and the same.”

Mr. Ancunín winked at her and nudged his cousin, “Oh, I think I like this one.”

Vistri was raging inside, but she smiled through it like a champion.

Because she was a champion! That little silver-haired twink of a rake, who was apparently Jenevelle’s relation, wasn’t going to win at any game he played, so long as she was playing it too.

She would die rather than allow him such satisfaction! Maybe a woman would be allowed to fight a duel on her own behalf, that is, if duels were still legal. In that case, if his gloating smirk got too loud, she could shoot him dead. That would surely wipe that disgusting confidence off his—No! Don’t look at his mouth!

Feigning a pitying look, Vistri held up a hand to her heart, “Oh, poor dear! My heart simply breaks for you, for I do not think I return the sentiment.”

“Vistri!” Lady Hallowleaf scolded, hoping her bold friend was only attempting to be funny again.

“I’ve only met the man a moment ago!” she protested, saving face, “Am I expected to have already formed an attachment?”

“Perhaps we’ve met before,” Mr. Ancunín suggested sneakily, forcing Vistri’s heart to throb again with rising anxious dread.

“In another lifetime, that is,” he continued with a secret smile, “And have only just now been reunited to meet again at my cousin’s benevolent introduction.”

“How fortunate,” she sighed flatly.

Lady Hallowleaf excused her friend’s poor manners and lack of enthusiasm, “I swear she’s usually a delight at parties! But perhaps we are learning in real time why it is that we don’t add those who are still in mourning to the guest list.”

Vistri could take a hint. In fact, anyone could take a hint that obvious.

“Subtlety has ever been your forte, dearest.”

Ignoring the insult, Lady Hallowleaf said, “We could toast to that if we had drinks. Cousin, go fetch us something!”

“Go fetch?! Am I a dog in a kennel?”

Lady Hallowleaf raised a knowing eyebrow, “Shall I answer that the way I want to? Or the way you want me to answer it?”

Vistri practically howled, and the look on Mr. Ancunín's face made her worry that he might return with punch a la spit.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lady Hallowleaf asked, “Well, what do you think?”

Raising a judgmental brow, she quipped, “Surely, he’s not a first cousin?”

Lady Hallowleaf couldn’t help but snort.

“Seriously, darling. You are the absolute diamond of your family, a cut above the rest!”

“Amazing how you manage to flatter me and insult me within the same sentence.”

“In the very same breath!” Vistri took hold of her friend’s arm in a warm, intimate gesture, and smiled placatingly, “It is why you love me so.”

Lady Hallowleaf could not disagree.

Instead, she gave Vistri’s arm a light squeeze and answered, “And believe it or not, he is. On the Hallowleaf side.”

“Gracious!”

By the time Mr. Ancunín returned with a servant carrying a plate of champagne, more had joined their company. So eager for the attention of their hostess that they were willing to coldly and politely acknowledge the shunned baroness.

Mr. Ancunín flashed a bright smile but said nothing. Vistri hated the way his very presence managed to get a rise out of her.

After all the champagne was rightly distributed, he raised his glass.

“From the nameless to the named,” he toasted, confounding all the others with his choice of words, aside from the blushing, completely horrified baroness.

“How… poetic,” Lady Hallowleaf said, trying to save the situation.

“I made my own attempt at poetry. Once… Back in the day. Loooong, long ago. Or just yesterday really,” rambled Lord Jannath, going down an incomprehensible path of memory at everyone’s expense.

“Oh?”

Lord Jannath was largely renowned for being so dull that Vistri couldn’t help but give voice to her shock that a man, known to be less interesting than a pile of bricks, could even recognize, let alone possess talent for, any artform.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to catch the utterly bewildered look on her face and took her query for a kinder curiosity.

“I can attempt it now, if you’d like,” he offered, puffing out his chest with ruffled pride.

It reminded one of a big chicken. Gods! It’s like the man lacked all capacity for self-awareness!

“Only if you’d like to witness mine shortly after.” My suicide attempt, she thought bitterly, downing the rest of her champagne.

Mr. Ancunín seemed to have grasped her meaning, for he choked a little upon his own final sip. Then, as if the night couldn’t get any worse, he held out his hand and asked for a dance.

She looked up at him as if he’d just told her that the sky was green and there was an army of kobolds armed with clay ducks outside.

“But I have no dance card, Mr. Ancunín?”

“Perhaps because you were not invited,” he smirked, “But seeing as you’ve already crashed the party, why not crash the dancefloor as well?”

Lady Hallowleaf clapped her hands together delightedly, “Oh yay! Now that would be such a sight! Both of you make such excellent dancers.”

Judging by her dear friend’s level of gaiety, it seemed she was at least a bottle deep.

Vistri was ready to refuse, but then a strange feeling, which surprisingly wasn’t obligation, took hold of her at the sight of Mr. Acunin’s offered hand. A chance to defy tradition. To be bad.

Her face flushed with sudden flashes of memory, of letting him be the ruin under her skirts—feeling him be her ruin through the current swooping of her belly—and she cleared her throat before nodding, “Quite right. All right.”

Funny thing, how when he took her hand, she lost all feeling in her feet. All eyes burrowed into the back of their necks, but she was flying above all their stares. Here it was, the moment of defiance she’d fantasized about for weeks, unmarred by cold-shoulder consequences. Right now, she stood out, whereas before she was made invisible.

And then her stomach dropped, realizing it was all probably due to Mr. Ancunín’s company. Now that she had male attention, she was suddenly somehow worthy enough to notice. Scandal turned from a bone-deep, frozen void into a hot blaze of whispers.

They claimed a spot on the floor, despite the harassed looks of pushed-aside couples. Then, along with everyone else, he bowed and she curtsied. Their eyes stayed locked in an unbroken stare that harkened back to those woods.

The music played. Dancers started to move in tune.

Within the first moment that Mr. Ancunín swayed her in his arms, he asked, “Are you unwell? You look a bit peaked.”

“I am fine,” she insisted, narrowly avoiding tripping over his foot.

Before he could respond, the dance parted them for a turn, and they glared over the shoulders of other partners before meeting again.

Then hand to hand, they circled each other like vultures.

“Do warn me if you feel a swoon coming on. I know someone who lost a tooth that way.”

“From swooning?”

“Rather a swooning lady,” he nodded, and his story was delayed as the dance took them away once more.

Mr. Ancunín continued when they rejoined arms as if there had been no pause, “Mate of mine was dancing, just like this, blissfully unaware of his partner’s struggle to stand—”

Look at how you tremble. Weak from pleasure.

Vistri tried to untangle the sound of his voice then from the words she heard him speak now.

“—suddenly she collapsed. Smacked right into his shit-eating grin!” he laughed.

“And lost a tooth?”

He kept laughing as though it were a very happy memory, then said, “Which is why I ask that you let me know if—”

Back to other partners.

Back to each other.

“If you feel like you might faint,” he finished.

His eyes, red like wine, seemed to convey a warning hint. If she didn’t quickly gain hold of her panicked expression, people were like to assume something rather nefarious had passed between them.

“As long as you do the same, sir.”

[Next Chapter]

[women-of-malevolent]

All references to women in Part 44 - The Deliverance

Brief mention to the witch because she's the reason Arthur is swinging between life and death right now

Arthur is sleeping in the witch's bed. He's not happy about it. The three boys are trapped in her home/labyrinth.

The witch stole some clothes from her victims so they're gonna wear those

Looking through the clothes... Yorick says "my breastplate is in there", like, the prince, so, hooray, glad that The Vanguard can empathize with its male hosts and feel like those were part of him. It's exclusively women that it doesn't care about. Samantha was too rotted. The Prince was fresh! It's only good sense. It's not like every choice in the entire story is made by one single person who keeps choosing not to write women as anything except scary, servants, or dead

Maybe the talisman prevented ARthur from going to the Dark Wrold. Faroe must be there, right>>>

witch reference in the dithering

Maybe Mother Darkness is mad at us. For killing her daughter. Well, we'll just kill her, too, by shooting her with the literal gun. Dragging my hands down my face

I can't believe how many words we're using to say "the witch trapped us here with magic"

Blah blah blah getting out of the witch hole

They're solving the maze puzzle and I don't care. Pretty sure Arthur says "I love you" to John for the first time here lmao, borderline gaslighting and during an argument. Is this the beautiful platonic bond everyone has been gushing over

Gonna use the witch's corpse as a key to get out of the maze. She's in her object era. All women in Malevolent enter this era eventually

More dithering about witch and magic and getting out. Yorick wants to take her left hand, as the key. Left hand of darkness, her unwedded ring finger, John's left hand

Why her left hand? Yorick is vague, says "a hag's left hand can be a powerful object". 2024! Hooray! We've come so far! Independent media with zero creative restraints that can say whatever it fucking wants to, and it wants to say "a hag's left hand can be a powerful object" in the year 2024. Anyways, they've got to fish the hag witch's bloated corpse out of the water so they can break out of her home with the treasure they stole from her. (she *did* escalate to murder first) (i don't blame them for killing her i just blame the story for being this fucking obnoxious in 2024)

Anyways, Yorick wants the hand, and refuses to say why. That's weird, I adore Yorick

Fishin in the water for hag-corpse

Corpse descriptions. Cutting off her wrist. Yuck how icky. Her eyes seem to move in the moonlight, watching them, studying the ones who killed her. Is this meeee I hope she has podcasts too. I'm coming to hang out with you, you horrible old lady. I'll introduce you to *my* maggot children (compost heap) (Listen... My maggot spawn eat so much junk. Their frass feeds my plants... the hatched flies are pollinators, among other ecosystem functions... it's good stuff. Maggots can be friends in controlled and mutually beneficial ways. It's shown as horror here; so was an old lady who giggled too much)

They get her hand and get out. Now they're free. They see Castle Kerringford, no one thinks about Castle ChildRape aka the French Benedictine monastery, wtf I guess that was just a one-off character's backstory flavor (and as of writing, it's not even trigger warned far lol unlike literally every abused boy), fuck this story. Fuck this story.

Castle Kerringford is the place with the guys who allegedly worship the King in Yellow. Everyone celebrate

They're avoiding populated areas because Yorick says Mother Darkness's children will have a harder time seeing them in the woods. Arthur and John are annoyed by the fact that Yorick didn't lead with this info

They briefly forget about the witch's hand, then remember it again. There's like 15 different characters who sheepishly realize that they've forgotten about a woman (or woman's object, for women who have entered their object era) in this story. It's really weird.

Yorick *does* have Prince info. The Prince has an appointment at the John Worship Castle Kerringford. According to Yorick: the Prince was on his way to Castle Kerringford, and the Witch killed him to compost him for her maggot children. Naughty witch. Whatever maybe she had her reasons idk

Honestly I feel bad for talking shit about Yorick's trustworthiness... considering the rest of the party is Arthur "the woman I loved (don't regret leaving to die alone and betrayed as she bled out birthing my child)" Lester and a literal former deity of manipulation and lies. The whole thing is very "what even IS truth" and there's no reason to single out Yorick.

The Prince had not been to Castle Kerringford before, and he wasn't sure what he was being invited there for, but he was curious. The Magic Bullshit and the Plot Itself are pointing the boys at Castle Kerringford, so they're going there. It's half a day's travel (by foot? cart? horse? wheelbarrow?) away.

Yorick wants the hag hand, and he refuses to explain what he's going to do with it. Naughty vanguard, keep your secrets

im not clipping it out but i want to throw down that owls are associated with Lillith according to the Wikipedia page

[liminally-charged]

Time to ramble about D&D character concepts, because every other DM I know never has any free seats in their campaign.

A rogue who's small, even for the standards of their own race. At a young age they were kidnapped and indoctrinated into a cult centered around a hag coven worshipping some old forsaken god-thing. Throughout their life the character is treated as the runt of the litter, the absolute lowest thing of the cult; so much so that they lose their sense of personhood entirely and refer to themselves as "this" or "it". Inevitably the ritual meant to summon the god-thing into reality goes tits up and explodes the hag coven, allowing the character to escape from the cult and wander somewhere in the wider world. The theme I wanted to go for with this character was 'failure'. A half-feral character with such a substantial lack of social ability/ self-respect/ common sense/ etc., only good at sneaking and backstabbing and spitting poison words - how can such a character grow into something more? How much does it take to reform them? How much internalized failure can be undone?

Another one is more of a comic relief character. A gnome rogue who used to be at the head of a powerful mob organization. She calls herself Brittlebones, but her former lackeys called her "Mom". Turns out that being nice and making homecooked meals for the goons that work for you can ensure their undying loyalty. But after 30-something years of organized crime, Brittlebones decided to turn her back on that life and start new as an adventurer - except her former lackeys are trying to convince her to come back and run the business again, because it's so much nicer when she's around.

Another one is Mool, loxodon barbarian. This one is pretty simple, he's a barbarian with such a low intelligence modifier that he's unable to grasp the concept of evil. He knows how to feel good or bad about things, but beyond that any abstract understanding of morality are lost on him. This was much to the frustration of the wheelchair-bound hag that tried to raise him as her agent of evil. He doesn't get the implications of why she's telling him to kill, he just does it because she cooks dinner and that's why he has to do it, because she told him so. Mool is such a gentle soul, a precious giant bean; he just needs a better wrangler.

The opposite end of the spectrum is Kazh. A barbarian with intelligence as his highest stat, who is frighteningly sharp-witted. He makes the plans of attack, he figures out what the next step should be for the party. But beyond a thin veneer of civility, there's a ravenous beast waiting to pounce and devour. He's especially brutal in combat and has no qualms with abandoning any sense of morality if it can further his bloodlust. Unlike Mool, he's fully aware of the evil he commits, and he revels in it.

Gonna close this post with another martial class (yes it's a theme with me, I don't like using spells all that much), a rogue who's gotten the raw end of a bad deal. Callaghan Black, former son of a noble family invested in the occult, was a bystander to a ritual which opened a rift to the Far Realms, where he bore witness to something mindbreaking: a god being devoured alive. He escaped with his life, but his sanity was shot full of holes. Callaghan used the last of his money on a wizard who promised him to get rid of these memories. Surprise, the wizard majored in necromancy, and used his body as a vessel for an experiment instead. The outcome was a success: Five souls merged into the body of one person, fighting over control of the body. Unfortunately for the wizard and the general population, the soul who won control over the body was a serial killer. I think it would be fun to play five different personalities switiching back and forth, each with their own agenda.

That's all I want to write here. Steal whatever you like if you want to, these characters probably won't ever see actual play otherwise.

[adarkrainbow]

The Yaga journal: The road to the otherworld

Baba Yaga as depicted in Mike Mignolia’s “Hellboy”

The first article of this journal was written by Natacha Rimasson-Fertin, and its full title is (when hastily translated by me): “The Baba Yaga on the road to the other world: a crucial meeting for the hero of the fairytale”. As I said previously, I will merely summarize the article and recap some of its important points. 

Every reader of Russian fairytales is familiar with the famous chicken-legged isba, the home of the Baba Yaga. But where exactly this home is located is however quite unclear - its position seemingly changing from tale to tale. This article relies on the fairytales collected by Afanassiev to study the places typical of the fairy tales, the travel the hero must undergo to reach the hag, all to try to locate the mysterious but iconic lair of Baba Yaga - which, in hope, will help clarify her “true function and identity”. 

It should be mentioned that, while the article focuses on tales about “travelling heroes”, it does mention the existence of another handful of tales where it is the Baba Yaga that invades the world of the humans - it is tales such as “Ivachka” (NRS 108-111) or “The wild geese” (NRS 113). [Note: NRS is the name used to refer to Afanassiev’s classification of Russian fairytales, the same way there is the ATU Index]. And in these tales, the house of the Baba Yaga is not actually located in the “otherworld”, but rather right next to where humans live: by a river side, or in the forest where the heroes regularly go fetch mushrooms. In fact, in these tales, the house of the Baba Yaga misses its chicken legs, and seems to be just a regular isba.

While the reasons for the quests of the heroes in Russian fairytales are varied and multiple, there is a general tendency: heroines usually seek to be set free from something, while the heroes either seek this same “deliverance” or actually seek a wife. In fairytales, space is organized by two oppositions: known and unknown, familiar and foreign/alien. In this context, as Propp highlighted, “the farytale is built around the hero moving in space” - so travel means the breaking of the order of things, and thus a journey is already something extraordinary. In russian fairytales, according to Tatiana Ščepanskaja (in her “The culture of the road in Northern Russia), the road is actually “outside of the divine order” and even opposes this divine order. Traditionally “the road is the world of the non-being, where the custom doesn’t work. By taking the road, the individual is out of the community, he escapes the world of social workings - there is punishment, no public pressure, but also no encouragment and no glory. On the road, one is alone and free, outside of community and its norms.” So the man who travels lose all status - he doesn’t belong to the human society, but to the “other world”. On the road, one leaves the protection of their ancestors behind, and open themselves to numerous dangers - this is why many heroes of Russian fairytales always ask the blessing of their parent before going on the road. 

The road itself, as an “open space” is the world of all possibilities. In the last verson given by Afanassiev of the fairytale “Go I don’t know where, bring back I don’t know what” (NRS 212-215), the hero, after hearing that the Baba Yaga wants to eat him, mentions his status as a traveller “Why, you old devil! How could you eat a traveller? A traveller is bony and black, first heat up the tub and bathe me - then you’ll eat me!”. The bathing ritual itself is also a rite of passage. 

The frontier of the otherworld is of various natures, depending on the tale. Usually it is a clearing in the woods, which forms a typical liminal space. The Baba Yaga is closely tied to forest, her house often being at the heart of the woods, which isolates her from the world of the men. On top of living in a deep wood, fear also forms a “circle” around the Baba Yaga, as she kills anyone that comes near her house and people avoid it - sometimes the forest even has additional obstacles, such as a deep pit, or a mountain. 

In “Ilia of Mourom and the dragon” (NRS 310), we actually do not have a forest, but a mountain, forming a vast plateau. The hero needs to climb a very tall and very steep mountain made of sand - in order to go to the palace of the tsar whose daughter is harassed by a dragon. At the top of said mountain, the hero encounters not one but two Baba Yagas, who tell them how to reach their elder sister, and then the “Nightingale Robber”, whose whistling is so deafening it kills who hears it. The rest of the story seems to happen on the same plateau, since the hero is never said to go back down. The demultiplication of the Baba Yaga, turned into a trio of sisters, each older and more powerful than the next, and the presence of the Nightingale-Robber, embodiment of absolute evil and enemy of the Russian land, expands the “frontier of the otherworld” into a true no man’s land.  

A similar phenomenon of “expansion of the liminal area” can also be found in the second version of “The feather of Finist, the fair falcon” (NRS 235), where the heroine has to walk into a deep and dark forest until iron slippers and an iron bonet are “worn out” - only then does she found a “small house made of lead, constantly turning around on chicken legs”. Sometimes the house is said to be found “beyond the three times nine countries, in the three-times-tenth kingdom, on the other side of the fire river” (Maria Morevna, NRS 159). As in the previous tale, the river of fire plays the role of a “last limit” between the world of the humans and the other world - and when Ivan returns, as the Baba Yaga finds herself deprived of her magical scarf, she burns in the flames. 

The isba of the Baba Yaga has so many different descriptions that Vladimir Propp used it as the perfect illustration for his “Transformations of the fairytale”. Only two elements stay the same: the house is located near a forest, and has chicken legs. And even then, sometimes the chicken legs are replaced by other animal parts, such as “goat horns” in “Ivan the small bull”. In the second version of “The feather of Finist, the fair falcon” (NRS 235), the heroine finds a “little house of lead, on chicken legs, that was constantly spinning”. Propp explained that actually, the descriptions of the house constantly spinning on itself are oral deformations of what the house could originally do - turn on itself whenever it was commanded to. From “turning back”, the house simply started “turning”, until came the image of a house constantly spinning. In one of the seven versions of “The sea-tsar and Vassilissa the very wise” (NRS 224), the house is not described (”a small lonely isba”) and only two elements allow to identify it as the house of the “Baba Yaga with the bone-leg”. One is the dark, empty forest surrounding the house, and the second is the fact that when Ivan-son-of-merchant tells it “Small house, small house, turn your back to the forest, and turn you door towards me!” the house obeys and moves. And inside waits the Baba Yaga, her body going from one corner of the house to another, and her chest sagging to yet another part of the house.There is one particular case, the one of the NRS 141-142, “The brave Bear, Mustache, Hill and Oak”, in which the Baba Yaga and her daughters live in an underground world, with no mention of the isba. 

But what happens inside this house, with this house? Propp did wonder, upon looking at the fairytales - why does the house needs to turn around for one to enter? It is true that Ivan finds himself in front of a wall “without windows or doors”, but why doesn’t he just go around the house, instead of telling it to turn? It seems to be forbidden to go around the house... The house seems to be on a frontier that Ivan cannot cross - one has to go through the house to pass, as it is impossible to cross otherwise. The open side of the house is usually turned towards the “three-times-tenth kingdom” that Ivan must reach, while the closed side is turned towards the realms Ivan comes from - Propp linked this with the Scandinavian custom of never having a door facing the north, because the house of Hel, goddess of the afterlife (Nastrand, the “beach of corpses”), had its door located towards the north. With this element, Propp concludes that the house of the Baba Yaga is actually the limit of the world of the dead - and crossing the house allows to “select” who passes and who doesn’t pass into the afterlife. Thus the meeting of the Baba Yaga is a trial in itself. 

Propp sees in the chicken legs a remnant of the pillars on which stood the initiation-cabin, which seems to feed into this idea of the Baba Yaga’s isba being a rite of passage towards death. In his book about ancient Slavic paganism, Boris Rybakov mentions a type of malevolent undeads called the nav’i (nav’ in singular), who are the dead without baptism and that we must appease through offerings. He says that they appear like enormous birds, or feartherless roosters the size of eagles - they leave the footprints of a chicken, and attack pregnant women and children to drink their blood. These elements clearly evoke the myth of the Baba Yaga: is she one of those “wrongly-dead”, turned hostile towards humanity? 

If we read the dialogue between the Baba Yaga and the hero of the tale, we understand better the trial that the Yaga is. In the tale “Ivan Bykovic” (NRS 137), Ivan-small-bull enters the “chicken-legged, goat-horned house”, and sees the Baba Yaga with her bone leg, laying on her stove, stretching from one corner of the house to another, her nose reaching the ceiling. She exclaims that up to this day she never smelled or saw a Russian man, but today she has one “rolling on my spoon, rolling in my maw”. Ivan answers “Hey, old woman, don’t get angry, come down from your stove and sit on the bench. Ask us where we are going, and I’ll answer you kindly.” The Baba Yaga has a similar dialogue to the heroine of the second version of “The feather of Finist, fair falcon” (NRS 234-235), but there she is less aggressive, probably because the maiden calls her tenderly “babusja”, “small grandmother”, to which the Yaga answers with affection “maljutka”, “little one”. These examples prove us that the heroes and heroines have to find the rights word to either intimidate or appease the Baba Yaga, to make her an auxiliary. For a male hero, it is courage that is put to the test, when it a female hero, it is politeness that needs to be used. But always, it transforms the Baba Yaga, from a guardian and an adversary, to a guide and auxliary.

In some tales, the Baba Yaga is much less aggressive, and is immediately a guide to the hero, and even shows some tenderness - like in the first version of the tale “The sea-tsar and Vassilissa the very-wise” (NRS 219-226) where she tells everything the hero needs to know for his quest, and calls him “ditjatko”, “my child”. This role of auxliary and guide is especially present in the tales where the hag is depicted as the mistress of the animals, or of the winds. For example in “The enchanted princess” (NRS 271-272), the hero, a soldier, uses a flying carpet to find where his fiancée is located. He visits successively three Baba Yagas, all sisters. The last one lives “at the end of the world”, in a small house beyond which there is only pitch-black darkness. Beyond the end of the world, there is nothing, the void. This last Baba Yaga is the ruler of all winds, and helps the soldier by summoning them - the south wind ends up revealed to the hero where he will find his bride. 

However these are the tales where the stay at the Yaga’s house is brief. Other times, the hero has to stay for a long time at the house, and then the nature of the trial changes: the hero has to fight to keep their life. In “Maria Morevna” (NRS 159), the hero goes to Baba Yaga to obtain a magical horse able to rival the one of Kochtcheï-the-Immortal. The Baba Yaga agrees, but only if he serves her for three days - if he succeeds, he’ll have the horse, if he fails, she will place his head at the top of a pole. The hero manages to overcome the various imposed chores thanks to the help of animals he spared previously in the tale.

Another very interesting example is in the very famous fairytale, Vassilissa-the-very-beautiful (NRS 104), which is also the one where the house of the Baba Yaga is described in the more details - including the spikes covered in human skulls that Ivan Bilibine famously illustrated. After letting purposefully the fire go out in her house, Vassilissa’s wicked stepmother sends her fetch some fire at Baba Yaga’s house. Instead of being devoured, the heroine returns safely, and on top of that, this travel to the otherworld acts as a “reparation” - since justice is re-established through the deserved punishment of the wicked stepmother. The fire Vassilissa brings back destroys the wicked woman, reducing her to ashes. We should also note that, unlike in other tales, there is no need to ask for the house to turn, Vassilissa simply waits for the return of the Baba Yaga by the entrace gate. And on top of overcoming her fear, the girl is faced with much more complex tasks. The first is to do the house chores, but which are impossible by their enormous scope - however Vassilissa manages thanks to a magical doll and her mother’s blessing (the first being the manifestation of the second). The second trial is when the Baba Yaga has a discussion with the girl: she encourages Vassilissa to ask question, while warning her not to ask too much, because “not all questions are good to ask”. This is because the implicit taboo is to not ask the old woman about what is going on INSIDE her house. Vassilissa is victorious, because she knows when she should just observe - she doesn’t ask about the mysterious disembodied pair of hands working inside the house, but about the horsemen riding around the house, in the woods, and the Baba Yaga is very glad she asked about “only what was in the courtyard” - but, as some commentators noted, this is also perhaps the last trial because it is the only one that Vassilissa manages to overcome without the help of her magical doll. Once she saw what she had to saw, and overcame her fear, Vassilisa was initiated to typically feminine tasks of the patriarchal society - cleaning the house, preparing the meal, weaving... But this serves to actually fulfll her destiny - as in the second part of the tale, she arrives at an old woman who creates shirts, and the shirts she makes for the old woman are so good the tsar itself will summon Vassilissa and marry her, thus fulfilling the prophecy of her name (Vassilissa coming from the Greek “basileus”, “king”). The hero becomes a hero because they manage to perform the imposed task - these are “elective trials”.

Russian fairytales contain numerous other characters merely called “old women”, “hags” or “crones”, but that some elements associate with the Baba Yaga and the role of the “initiation-master”. Their old age, the fact they live in a house near the woods, and especially their way of speaking to the hero. We even meet a genderbent Baba Yaga in “ivan-of-the-bitch and the White Faun/Sylvan” (NRS 139) - an old man in a mortar, who pushed himself around with a pestle. Though this character’s behavior does not evoke the Baba Yaga at all. 

With all of that being said, again the Baba Yaga is provent to be a deeply ambivalent character. Many different searchers provided many different explanations, but always ended up confronted by the contradictions that made her. According to the author of the article, the most pertinent theory would be the one of Anna-Natalya Malakhovskaya, who sees in Baba Yaga not just “an archaic mother-goddess in a world of good and evil dichotomy”, but rather a “goddess whose many roles fulfill the three functions of Dumezl”. That is to say, 1) wisdom and the link to the sacred, the magical divinities 2) the warrior function and 3) the fertility/fecundity function that is interwoven with death.

So... What sense should one give to these tales about a travel to the other world, to the afterlife, to the world of the dead? Beyond the entertaining nature of fairytales, is there an initiation in these tales? We can remember that Vassilissa the very beautiful, in her tale (NRS 104) is banished by Baba Yaga once she reveals to her the nature of her magical helper - when she speaks of the blessing of her mother, Baba Yaga tells her to leave the house, since she doesn’t want anyone blessed in her house. There seems to be something dadactic at work here - especially when we consider the virtues embodied by Vassilissa: piety (in the traditional sense, religious piety) and filial piety (as she stays faithful to the words of her mother), as well as docility, serviability, and bravery or rather trust. Trust in her mother’s blessing that even the all-powerful Baba Yaga cannot contradict. This last motif, of which the Vassilissa tale is the most emblematic example, highlights how the Baba Yaga is tied to archaid, pre-Christian concepts. We see here the tie to the protecting ancestor-spirits, through the mean of the mother’s blessing, which saves the heroine. This tale maybe illustrates the “double faith” so typical of the folk-Christianity of Russia. 

Now, if we return to the tales evoked briefly at the top of the article - the ones where the hero doesn’t visit Baba Yaga’s home, but rather those where Baba Yaga invades our world to kidnap a child. How to explain the appearance of the witch in the world of the humans, either directly, or through intermediaries (the wild geese). If we look at “The wild geese” (NRS 113), we notice that the little brother is actually quite safe in the Baba Yaga’s house - he plays there with golden apples. What causes fear and trouble is the fact that he was kidnapped, more than where he stays. The disturbance in the order comes from the ravishing - and the girl is worried that she will be punished for to not having watched over her brother well enough. It seems here that the appearance of the sinster Baba Yaga, or of her winged servants the wild geese, is here bringing an answer to the phenomenon that reason refused to explain - in this case infant mortality. These “wild geese” that “ravish little childrens” might be agents of death. 

In conclusion, the Baba Yaga is at the same time the guardian of the frontier to the other world, but also the ferryman (or ferrywoman) leading to it, the guide to this other place - for she is a liminal being between the world, half-living, half-dead, half-animal, half-human. It seems that layers and layers of cultural meanings, symbolism and interpretations have accumulated themselves onto the Baba Yaga more than on any fairytale character, resulting in a complex and tangled knot creating a divinity as spiritual as chtonic, ruling over the fate of mortals. 

As for the geography of the fairytales, we can clearly have a three-part map with the Baba Yaga tales: our world, the other world, and the in-between-world. In the in-between world, passage can go either way. Under the aspect of simple, entertaining stories, these tales are initiation rites, describing through images and pictures the changes happening when one “passes” into the adult age, as much on an individual level as on a social one. 

[fieryjeannearchives]

Some ideas for DCST x Romance Killer AU

(because there’s no way I’d watch that and not think of Senku in that situation 😂)

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“Hm? Oh, what is that, Senku-chan?” asked Gen, who had come over for an impromptu slumber party after her parents decided to go out on what Gen referred to as an ‘emergency romantic night out'.

Confused by her words, Senku looked away from her desk to stare incredulously as Gen picked up Medusa from the bedside table.

Since when was Gen able to see them? As far as Senku knew, no one but her could.

“Unhand me, you damned–!”

“It’s so cute~!”

“We-Well, that’s true but…”

“Are you kidding me?!"

“It doesn’t matter what she says! I still don’t like her!" Medusa pointed out before turning their attention back to Gen: "And you! Stop getting in the way of my plans!!” Medusa continued to complain, but it was clear that Gen couldn’t hear them, just see them. They would later explain that was what happened when they were low in magic and didn't have the proper time to recharge.

"There’s nothing ‘cute’ about that thing!” Senku continued, incredulous both at Gen’s words and Medusa’s reaction.

“Come on, Senku-chan! It’s so adorable! Where did you even get it? I’d love to get one for myself~,” Senku frowned at Gen’s words.

“Believe me, you wouldn’t… And stop hugging that thing!”

How could Gen find her tormentor cute?!

“Mm? Jealous?”

“I-I-,” why would she even be jealous of Medusa getting closer to Gen? It’s not as if she liked her!

“It’s a nice toy, Senku-chan, but I’m not going to steal it from you... Even if you refuse to tell me from where you got it,” she pointed out with a pout at the end.

“It’s not–!” right, she couldn’t tell her the truth. “It’s not like that… Um… the old hag gave it to me.”

“Aww!!”

“Stop it!”

“I knew you were a softie deep down!” She said, putting Medusa away (finally!) to pinch Senku’s cheeks instead.

“Ugh… Leave me alone…” She groaned but otherwise, didn’t make any attempt to push Gen away. It would be a waste of energy. 

She did ignore Medusa’s intense stare.

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“You know? I think I’m starting to like Gen. She thinks I’m cute and doesn’t try to throw me out the window every time she sees me. Maybe I should do as you suggested and just go with her–”

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

What the hell was she doing?! That was exactly what she had been looking for, a chance to get her old life back!

“Why? Gen needs to get a boyfriend too! I know I said she could solve it by herself, but I might as well help her out. I’m sure she would appreciate it.”

“No, leave her alone.”

What would Medusa even threaten Gen with? Taking away her magic props? Gen could do magic with pretty much anything! Her psychology stuff, then? She probably had it all memorized by now…

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I wouldn’t threaten her, Senku. Gen would appreciate my help, remember? I’m sure she’ll be more than excited to have all those ikemen surrounding her~!”

“I said no. Stay away from her.”

“Why?”

Why indeed.

[F/N: Funny how it went from a “haha anime” to a quite unnerving one in the last two episodes. I still liked it, but I went there blindly x’D

They also gave me hope with my random ship only to kill it in the same episode. Rude!]

[viscountessevie]

I wasn't going to say anything because Nicola had taken down the video and all I had to say on that was a summary of whatever has already been said about her on this blog.

And to be clear this isn't to talk about that video but the harassment I've been getting on Twitter just because I pointed out the contradictions NC said in her video with how she's been conducting herself online and in interviews. Nothing was false or misinformation. Simply stating things she's done and how as fan of colour they all have come across as micoraggressions.

Yet I've been labelled a liar, told to shove it up my ass and to kill myself. Apparently now I'm stupid and need to be reported dor "spreading hate" Also I'm "justifying the hate" against her. They really saw my very first tweet and went all:

Like please read the whole thread. I literally start the tweet acknowledging that Nicola DOES probably get hate from a gross minority of the fandom (no particular subfandom just general haters) about Pen's weight and what not. Besides, hate is very much different from the criticism that most of the fandom has against Pen's actions against Marina and Eloise.

I also say that Nicola had really fair points and shed light on the PR of it all which I have always blamed for the most part. I believe I gave Nicola points and agreed with her where it counts while also disagreeing with some of the false statements she has made. Then I literally end the thread on a note saying that there's a difference between criticism and hate. Guess who ends up getting hate against them anyway?

All I did was call out how her actions throughout her Bridgerton tenture is harmful. Turns out the worst thing you can call a white celebrity with intense stans a racist. And instead of listening to us, fans of colour who feel hurt by her actions, they send us death threats.

The Polin fandom can say it's not all of them. But where are you all telling your fellow stans to back off when you see vile tweets like this:

TW: Intense virtrol hate and suicide baiting

I don't know how I am "rewriting history" by sharing liked shady tweets against Regé and comments on Ruby and Newts' BTS vids that (indirectly) encouraged her stans to attack Ruby on her IG to the point of Ruby's hospitalization. But go off I guess

This is the main one I referring to when listing how I was attacked. I am okay right now but reminder that you never know what people may be going through and no matter what it IS NEVER OKAY to tell ANYONE to kill themselves.

Again pretty mild because also inaccurate. The difference between their fandom's reaction to attack and hate on Kathonys unprompted when it was a comment by an Eloise fan featured on Nicola's video and slut shaming Simone vs every other fandom calling them out on their bigotry. I don't think I'm the hater here.

[These ones below are pretty old but just more examples of how I've been verbally abused on Tumblr as well and they don't even specify what exactly got them so mad?? It feels like they just hate me for existing]:

It's always really classy to call someone the c word, ugly and a hag. Also the person who said I was ugly because they saw my picture wtf you creep where are you seeing them?

Again all I've ever done on this blog is call out racist actions that are harmful to those in direct line of it and it hurts us as fans to see our escapism show turn into something ugly and hateful that we already deal with on a real life basis and now we gotta deal with it in our safe space too. Didn't realise calling bigotry out made ME the hateful one and deserving of being sent stuff like these.

And I understand that you can't call out everything - hell even sometimes I can't keep up in the Kathony fandom cos I just keep to my small circle but even then when I'm told shit is going to down, I evalaute the situation and act accordingly.

But I just can't respect you all for STILL staying a part of that group and by being silent, you're being implicit in this hate and abuse against fellow fans of the show. Yes, we may dislike each other but the least you can do is not send threats and hate. It's common decency and Internet etiquette.

I only know one or two Polins and they are mostly Book Polins who have called this shit out. They're in the minority so they can only do so much and I am thankful for them for doing so. But the rest of yall are just happy to sit by while a large majority of the fandom (not only Polins but mostly from you guys) sends racist, homophobic and now sexist and slut shaming insults and death threats to every other subfandom until we shut and just take it.

I can have easily taken all the shit thrown at me yesterday in stride and I really thought I did. And I was only ever going to make a post telling yall to stop slutshaming Simone (definitely still making that post) but I am my rope's end. I never let this shit get to me because I know better than to believe these lies so you must understand how intense it is and how upset I must be feeling to make this post. Again I don't want to indulge more but you never fucking know what anyone is going through.

This is the last thing I'm saying on this issue (alongside the post about Polins slutshaming Simone) and honestly on Bridgerton.

I was going to make a separate and most likely will for anyone who missed it but this alongside that Nicola interview where she puts down S2 for not having enough sex while propping up her own season was the final push for me to put this fandom behind me. This blog will still be active but it is no longer going to be a Bton blog after I clear my asks. This shit is just not worth my mental health or risking my life.

Anyways with that I'm logging off. Thank you in advance to everyone who will inevitability check up on me - I love you my moots and lovely anons/followers and I'll check in tomorrow!

If this prompts hate, Imma just assume yall didn't read the whole thing, just not going to read any of it and will report, block and delete! So don't bother you're not getting any attention.

[do-easy-art]

Sparkle and Substance

Both the movie’s two protagonists shine in their roles: Qualley as young, bright-eyed rising star Sue and Moore as slowly spiraling, aging Elizabeth Sparkle. The motivations for their combined goal of staying relevant in the spotlight hit home for any woman who has insecurities about their aging bodies and faces.

Sparkle (Moore) is a still-sexy middle-aged star of many hit exercise shows who overhears her producer (Quaid) planning to replace her with someone younger and sexier. Shocked by this dawning revelation that her career might be tapering off, she seeks help from an anonymously placed card in her coat pocket, advertising “The Substance”, which leads her down a dirty alleyway garage into a safety-deposit locker room. She retrieves the welcome set from her locker and thus begins her foray into identity and cellular rejuvenation - with a twist. Her newer, better, younger self is birthed through her back through a violent gash and her newborn personality is just as ambitious and wily as she would have been had she been re-birthed as a 20-year old version of herself. Her younger parallel self takes on the name “Sue” and begins auditioning around town, immediately gaining the main spot on an exercise show. The only catch being they must revert back to the other self every seven days. 

Elizabeth’s producer becomes enamored with Sue, giving her more and more attention and air-time. Quaid’s over-acting hamminess is perfect as a sleazy agent-producer of big TV network show days - judging by the hair and attitude, most likely at the zenith of jazzercise in the 1980’s. His references to viewership numbers and ratings give us a peek behind the high-budget, high-advertising dollars of broadcast TV and more overtly in scenes when he congratulates male colleagues on good weekends. 

Nothing ever lasts forever, unfortunately, as we find when Sue begins stealing more and more time away from Elizabeth’s body. The more time-debt Sue incurs, the more misshapen and rotten Elizabeth’s body parts become. Driven to a point of monstrous aging to the likes of medieval-baroque witch/hag paintings, Elizabeth finally tries to cut the cord by terminating the program. She fails to go through with it completely, giving us the only sincere nugget of character development in the entire movie, where she admits she hates herself and Sue is the only part of herself worth saving, worth loving. Sue is revived and tries to kill Elizabeth out of pure rage, followed by an extremely gratuitous and bloody fight scene between hag Elizabeth and Sue. The third part of this movie feels more like a fever dream afterthought than any real closure or ending, and writing about it would be spoiling the show. Go see it if you can stomach all the visceral and auditory excess of the Hollywood machine.  

[wiptw]

Banjo-Tooie

Nintendo 64 - Rare Ltd. - 2000

                Okay so I swear I play games other than Nintendo 64/Nintendo games in general and I play games made after 2003 for sure, but I the worms in my head chant the games I want to rant about online and until I do as they say I can’t progress forward with anything else like some sort of Ratatouille situation.  Except instead of an adorable cartoon rat, it’s my own ADHD riddled brain

                So, video game culture is fun because you could be a dyed-in-the-wool Gamer™ like myself, spend decades of your life playing video games, keep up with whatever gaming rag is sold at the local news stand, and you’ll still be blindsided by the most out of pocket weird ass bullshit you’ve ever seen.  And I’m not talking about things that are considered culturally weird here in the states like the Katamari series or Cubivore, I’m talking about those weird rental store finds and obscure games that leave you wondering who could’ve thought up this one.  Like ‘Mr. Mosquito’, a game about harassing a Japanese family as a small flying insect until they all mentally break or ‘Hide and Sneak’, a Disney game developed by Capcom (Specifically Capcom Production Studio 3, makers of Clocktower 3 and several Resi games) for the Gamecube.

                Which means that little baby me in the Hollywood Video grabbing ‘Banjo-Tooie’ with the bright box art and bear/bird combo front and center could be forgiven for not knowing somehow that the game was a sequel to ‘Banjo-Kazooie’ despite the fact the box clearly states “The bear and bird are BACK!” on it in big violet letters.

                It's not even really subtle about it

Yes, I will spend three paragraphs of preamble and apologetics to say roughly that I didn’t play Game 1 first.  Banjo-Tooie, the sequel to Banjo-Kazooie, is a collect-a-thon platformer developed by British studio Rare about anthropomorphic bear Banjo and less Anthro bird Kazooie embarking on a journey to defeat Gruntilda after she’s saved by her sisters (neither of whom are the pink fairy one from Kazooie) and zombifies Jinjo royalty in an attempt to become more than just the grungiest skeleton of the 2000s.  Traversing the Isle O’ Hags and its eight main stages you’ll find a wide cast of characters new and old, levels distinctly unique from Kazooie, and new abilities that will further build upon the ones established in Kazooie

                That’s right, as anyone who has even tangentially heard of this game may already be aware of you start the game with every ability from Banjo-Kazooie unlocked.  One of the main features that gets brought up anytime this game is dissected in articles or video essays, but with good reason; as to this day it’s not exactly a common practice in the industry. Metroid, Zelda, many other franchises either contrive ways to deprive you of the gear you got in previous games or just plain pretended they don’t exist since these upgrades typically act as keys to puzzles.

Some powers let you slay fierce bosses, some let you play the game like it's Goldeneye, this one lets you do both.

                This is true for Banjo-Kazooie as well.  Getting the ability to fire eggs unlocks the ability to solve any challenge that requires eggs; likewise getting the ability to fly, run up steep slopes, or wear different types of shoes will solve puzzles with those required materials so how do you keep the game interesting? Easy, you just make more locks and keys.

                Really that just describes Tooie overall.  More moves which leads to more eggs, more spacious worlds with more sub-areas and more collectibles. It’s more refined than Kazooie sure, but it’s also much larger in ways that make me wonder how much space Kazooie takes up on a game cartridge vs Tooie given how radically different the games are.

More references! Rare hid references to many different properties throughout the game, like this Donkey Kong plushie!

                The larger size, however, doesn’t wholly work to the games benefit. The two most commonly brought up negatives for the game are the size of the levels and game world, and backtracking (exacerbated by the size of the game worlds). These are both valid criticisms, almost every level from Mayahem Temple to (especially) Grunty Industries has at least one jiggy that requires you to come back when you’ve unlocked a gate or earned a new power in a future stage. In the case of Grunty Industries, you need to even enter the level to hit a switch, then leave and come back through one of the game’s fast travels ‘Chuffy the Train’ to actually play the level.

                I can’t argue against either point really, the backtracking is inoffensive at best and infuriatingly tedious at worst and the stages all at least feel substantially larger than any stage in Kazooie, but that feel is why I don’t mind it too much.  Because in Kazooie, the smaller stages and Grunty’s Lair overall feel like a theme park; like I’m wandering through a more dangerous but still family friendly amusement park, a deranged witchy version of Disney world.

Despite having a literal theme park, the worlds of Banjo-Tooie feel like part of a large, actual world.

                In Kazooie, I don’t feel like I’m on an epic quest to free my sister from a witch obsessed with the beauty of someone worryingly young; I feel like I’m on a journey through Epcot. I’m wandering from point to point in a witch themed thoroughfare until I end up at Beach Zone or Christmas Zone or Halloween Zone, with each level wrapped around a central weenie (large prop usable as a landmark for orienting yourself).  The worlds of Tooie while no less cartoony are not only larger but interconnected through trains and tunnels except for Cloud Cuckooland; which itself is still connected by being the location for two different backtrack jiggies in the game.

                Worlds and the game overall also feel darker than Kazooie.  From the start exploring the destroyed remains of Spiral Mountain and Grunty’s old lair and all throughout the game events are tinged with more death and sour notes.  Even the very start of the game features Bottles the mole, your mentor in Kazooie, getting blasted and remaining a ghost throughout the game. Death is mentioned several times, you even get to murder a side character (don’t worry, it’s funny!) creating a more dour mood than the previous game, while not being so gloomy it becomes unenjoyable. After all, one of the levels is set in a wacky cloud world with giant garbage cans and jello buildings.

Rated E, because even if he talks he's still just a pile of coal.

                As annoying as those flaws are though, I feel that the benefits vastly outweigh even the worst levels. My least favorite world in the game is Terrydactyland as it’s overly large, empty for it’s size, and has some of the worst backtrack jiggies in the game; but the distaste I feel for this world is overwhelmed by my love for all the refinements Rare put into this game versus the previous one.  Best Note Score (BNS) is removed, with notes now being a grand total carried across all worlds.  Eggs, feathers, and notes are all in bundles now instead of being scattered individually; with eggs and feathers cycling through their different types (allowing you to just wait patiently for whatever you need instead of hunting for them).

                Sure things are bigger, but the controls are just as tight if not tighter than they were in Kazooie and the additions of Mumbo (the first games shaman) as a playable character for some parts and the transformations being in every level now thanks to Humba Wumba (It was 2000, it was a different time) the Native American shaman keep things feeling fresh.  The new moves bring on new challenges, and the inclusion of minigames (while sometimes overplayed) allowed the developers at Rare to have jiggies that were different and fresh (except kickball, fuck kickball).

Humba Wumba takes over the role of transformations from Mumbo Jumbo, while he transforms aspects of the game world instead.

                Overall, Banjo-Tooie was a gem.  It’s one of the few games I’ll replay on a semi-regular basis and one of the even fewer games I’ve 100%’d.  It’s a great platformer that didn’t try to copy Super Mario 64’s homework too closely, has plenty of charm, built upon the previous game’s foundation expertly, and offered so much new content compared to the previous game that I’m still baffled both games came out on the same 64-bit console. 

Every collectible collected, every world scene, at least one night where I forgot to exit the emulator before bed.

                It’s an evergreen platformer in my eyes, and with ports to the Xbox consoles it’s one of the few retro platformers you can still play easily to this day. Definitely no Tonic Trouble or Earthworm Jim 3D on Nintendo Switch Online. But unlike those games, if you haven’t played this and you have an interest in game design or level design you should at some point.

Overall Score: 10/10 Memorable Moment: Destroying Grunty once and for all after about six tries.

[wetbloodworm]

doing a merripen run in bg3 so some notes on that. not spoiler-free!!

technically i started a run and lost it to patch/mod fuckery so i had to start over but i'm not too mad about that. i used a masc body and voice for him in the first run before realizing i don't have to do that just because he's a man. body 1 and one of the fem voices fit him better. he doesn't have to look or sound any particular way to unequivocally be a man. this is so freeing and when i remade him i was like YES this is IT that's MY BOY!! and ty larian for just letting me select his gender separately from these factors, unlike some games [makes direct eye contact with cp77]

went with great old one for his pact bc fathomless isn't an option. there's one on nexus but from what i can tell it doesn't utilize any dialogue tags, so great old one is good enough. they've both got tentacles it's fine

i'm gonna do something fun with this, which is decide when beul would be likely to try to take over and then use their lvl 10 character sheets to do a wisdom contest to see who wins. if beul wins, i'm playing it either until it would decide to pull back or at the start of the next long rest. this could have... consequences, considering beul is deeply homicidal. it's most likely to take over if it feels like the body is in danger and merri isn't handling the situation to its satisfaction, or if there’s an opportunity to gain power, or if there's an irresistible opportunity to kill people that merri isn't acting on. also if there's water nearby that it wants to jump into. the two can negotiate sometimes so it won't be EVERY time, but the two also don't get along great and beul can be spiteful. so we'll see how it goes.

merri really won't care about the tiefling/druid situation, like he gets feeling anxious about outsiders considering his upbringing but he also thinks the druids are being dicks. but it's also so not his problem. please just tell me where your healer is my brain is getting so crowded. since he's there he'll relay some info back and forth but he's not interested until zevlor implies someone should get rid of kagha. merri like well hang on now, THIS i can help with, if you can pay. i just have to figure out if merri would do his research first to minimize damage or if he's gonna just go after her immediately. might uh. might wait to level up some first if i'm turning the whole grove against me. because merri was not trained to minimize damage.

during the first run i was really not expecting him to go for laezel, but it turns out he really likes how direct and intense she is! when you agree to hook up she says something like 'i will come to your tent tonight and take you' and merri was just like

during her sex scene she also directs you and if you follow you're referred to as a lapdog and, yeah. yeah. merri's into being bossed around apparently.

i made a joke later on about him worrying about taking credit for something laezel did and wondering if she'd beat him up over it, but also is that actually a deterrent for him

i don't know if he'll do the full romance but we'll see

he does let astarion bite him though he makes him stop quick, and there's a war in his head because beul HATES this while merri is just yelling WE NEED HIM WE NEED HIM THERE'S A WORM IN MY BRAIN WE NEED OUR ALLIES DO NOT STAKE OUR ALLY!!!

merri is interested in power but not as much as beul. for instance, he would be on the fence about letting the hag take mayrina but beul might try to shove forward and agree to the deal. merri has NO interest in becoming the absolute but beul is super down for it. stuff like that. it'll be fun to see who wins out.

i just want wyll and merri to have warlock chats. oh your patron fucking sucks and took advantage of you in a dire situation? bro same. like the magic's great, but oof! the cost!

that's all i got for now except for this: a boy

tattoos are the closest i'm getting lmao. he should be bluer tbh i'll tweak that

[hangingfrommylips]

The over-headcanonization of things. Pt I: Remus

Being immersed on internet fandom since the ripe age of 12 (not something I’m proud of, perhaps on another ranting sessions we can talk about that), I’ve definitely seen some weird things when it comes to fanfiction. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love it, think it’s a beautifully creative way of interacting with a piece of media (when it’s inherently fictional and not based of real people or events, and, of course, when it’s well written and thoughtful), but it can also be very damaging on the ones consuming it.

Taking the Marauders fandom as an example, the amount of actual canon information we have on them is infimal. The ability an entire community had to create a very complicated backstory and practically entirely new characters out of thin air is amazing, especially once its main source is a racist transphobic hag, and the fandom is so detached from it that it's composed of the very people she claims to hate. We took literal 0 information from old and plot-hole-full books and made it our own.

For another, since there’s no actual foundation on what the characters originally were like, it’s very hard to sort wrong from right when it comes to characterizations and creating material for the stories (I refuse to talk about shifting here cmh). There are also very bad headcanons, in which completely change the essence of the character to satisfy some personal goal or even comes from some intrinsic fetishizing. A perfect example of this is Remus Lupin, who ever since 2005 was a very recluse, shy, lanky and depressed character, turned into this breathtakingly beautiful, horrifyingly tall, toxic-angry jock. A roadman, really? At first it was ok, only a different POV on a widely loved character. But then it became the only thing about him, and when he wasn’t, people started complaining. What? When did being toxic to your boyfriend and treating him like an incapable and fragile human being (which is exactly what some fans are doing to Sirius nowadays btw) became the standard? We used to be so much better than that. Not to mention when, just by being bookish, people treat him like some sort of all-knowing god that nothing goes past. C’mon!

Talking about the role “All The Young Dudes” by MsKingsBean89 had in the modern generation of the fandom, it being really groundbreaking and a real work of art. I think this is where the current RJL vision came from. The difference, however, is when the lovely author put in the very beginning notes that his personality was heavily affected by growing up in a boys-only care home, not having a mom or dad or good authority figures to relate to. 

That‘s why, in that very specific scenario, Remus was sort of a douche. But he got better-ish, even as a traumatized grownup. People run with that through every treadmill ever, and, no backstory to build the character on, just took the specificity and banalized it to the fours. It’s actually an insult to MKB that people would read her hard work as such shallowness. 

To sum up, it’s very important to analyze and criticize the media you're interacting with, via reading, writing, reviewing or whatever. Is that really the healthiest this storyline can be? Do I feel compelled to that relationship and not wonder about the dynamic or the unintentional flaws in it? Why do I want my favorite character and the one I relate to to be toxic? Is this really the way said person would react to the situation? And in the end, when you don’t recognize that chr. anymore is when you know you lost them to the deep filth of the internet. I’m not saying every character or world build should be flawless and almighty, far from that actually, just that sometimes you need to know when things have gone too far. It’s very hard to want realism when referring to Harry Potter fanfiction of all things, but even fantastic worlds have their batch of decency and, in the human side of things, reaching a byline.