#I am a mad scientist - fear me

[inquisimer]

welp. fix it fic in my notes draft on my phone 😭😭😭

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) Summary: Steddie Canon compliant/fix-it fic paired with a corresponding story in Steve’s POV, each chapter happens in tandem with the other. Eddie wakes up alone in the Upside Down, not knowing how he survived, and unable to reach anyone topside in Hawkins. Wounded and alone, he finds shelter at the Harrington’s house (the place is a damn fortress after all), and while hiding out there discovers that he has gained the ability to walk into other people’s dreams.

((Content warnings in tags))

(un-beta’d snippet of Chapter 2; Eddie made it to the Harrington’s house in one piece last chapter, and hasn’t tried to step outside of it ever since. It’s safe, he has room and food and endless supplies (make-shift or otherwise), and he’s still pretty injured and needs to rest. But idle hands and all that, plus adjusting to living in the Upside Down isn’t exactly a walk in the park.)

--

It takes over a week before Eddie leaves Steve’s house.

To be fair, he sleeps a lot of it. (Still healing, and all that; blood loss is no fucking joke.) He doesn’t dream of Steve, or with Steve, in that time. In fact, he’s not dreaming much at all, thank Jesus, because when he does… it always ends with the bats. 

Gnawing, swarming, rows and rows of teeth digging into his sides, going for vital organs. A tail around his neck, more pulling at each limb, like he’s being drawn and quartered. Screaming as teeth sunk into him over and over again. Being disemboweled alive – sounds metal as fuck. Actually sucks balls. 

He wakes up far too many times to a double tap of paralyzing fear. First shot – being eaten alive in his dreams, not knowing if it’s real or if it’ll stop. Second shot – not knowing if he’d screamed when he woke up, and what might have heard him if he did. It’s enough to make anyone curl up in the fetal position and shake.

But then Eddie focuses on trying to contact Steve. After a few days of rest, his head no longer swimming, and his wounds in the gross, early stages of healing and scarring, Eddie realizes he needs out. No one was going to come looking for him here, at Harrington Manor (now Casa de Munson), so if he wants the rescue party to locate him he’d have to send up some flares. Discreetly. 

He tries the lights. He tries the doors. He tries the TV (à la Poltergeist), and the stereo system in Steve’s room. The walkie-talkie radio that is obviously Henderson’s handiwork. He even tries Harrington’s fucking hair dryer. God knows he’d noticed that thing on the fritz. He lets his hand pass through the drifting bits of tickling light whenever Steve actually deigns to be home and turn something on, but half the lights are too high for him to reach (damn rich people’s homes and their fucking vaulted ceilings) and the rest don’t seem to have any kind of impact on the guy.  

Eddie calls Steve many unflattering names this particular morning, specifically after the hair dryer incident. He messed with it until the damn thing blew a fuse, and it yielded results he never in a million years would have predicted. It seems Steve did in fact notice this, and then? Then Eddie could hear Steve, loud and clear. Just like they had with Henderson when they were stuck over spring break, as if he was trapped in the walls. Steve yells right back at him, or to God or whoever, some choice words very similar to Eddie's own a moment ago. And it was so dramatic and so… good to hear a voice again in the pulsating nothingness of the Upside Down that Eddie laughs until he cries. 

Sometimes in the mornings (when he can’t bother to pull himself out of bed) he could hear Steve and Buckley talking in the kitchen, but he hasn’t heard Steve’s parents and most of the time Steve doesn’t talk at all when he’s home. It gets to the point where Eddie starts to worry he might have to make the trip to Henderson or Sinclair's house. If any of those little brats has the intelligence to count on in a dire situation like this, it’s Sinclair’s 11-year-old sister. (Heaven help him.)

The biggest problem with that plan is… there are things out there. The bats swarm daily; when they pass over the house it sounds like a tornado is about to take off the roof. There’s creatures that stalk about between the trees, taller than a normal man, and scavenging creatures of all sizes. Dog-sized, rat-sized, more he can’t even make out. The vines creep and move, try to wiggle under the doors of the house sometimes but can’t make it past the weather seals. And there’s something huge, vaguely Jabba The Hut shaped, that slithers about and Eddie is fucking terrified it might move faster than it looks.

There’s more, too, he knows this. He hears the cries and shrieks in the night of the creatures hunting each other. If that’s not a terrifying enough scenario for you, imagine how Eddie felt the moment he realized they eat each other and are still a hive mind. They are starving. No wonder they are so hostile and ravenous for human flesh. It’s food that doesn’t hurt to eat. 

It’s about this time that Eddie starts to take notes. A day or two before he makes his first venture outside the house. His mind is a maddening buzz of information and fears and observations and questions. He can’t think, he can’t put anything in order, it makes him want to knock himself out just for a moment of peace. But the risk of nightmares starts to deter that. So he finally does the one thing he swore he would never do; he takes the long suffering advice of his old middle school guidance counselor. The one he was too full of anger to hear properly, at the time.

He writes it all down.

It starts as stream of consciousness, dumping all the chatter and words in his head onto paper just to put it somewhere. To save his dwindling sanity. And soon his brain, trained and honed like a broadsword blade by his DM campaigns, begins to group information on instinct. Ideas. Categories. Plans.

Ten hours and a hell of a cramp in his hand later, he actually has a plan. He might have… started to lose it a little by then, too, because the layout sounds a bit like the intro monologue to one of his campaigns:

Eddie the Banished has been left behind; not out of hate or convenience, but out of circumstance. He doesn’t blame his party for doing so. They are at war with a fearful, deadly foe. They thought he’d been vanquished. Defeated. 

Alas, he endured.

He survived.

Eddie the Banished was now in hiding, behind enemy lines.

He found himself in quite an advantageous position — and if this were a D&D campaign, he knew just what he would do. He’d do reconnaissance. He’d make maps and creature dossiers, stash weapons and provisions, he'd be the best ‘presumed dead’ spy a campaign had ever asked for. He could do so much good, getting everything ready.

So what was stopping him doing the same, here?

Easy:

Fear.

The very real reality that he could be eaten by a monster.

The fact he’s a storyteller, not a fighter.

The pros and cons list literally began to write itself, filling pages in Steve’s (very worryingly unused) high school notebooks that Eddie had commandeered. But the pros are a lot longer than the cons.

In summary: 

Pros = prepare everyone for what comes next. (If his brief glimpse of downtown was anything to go by. They still had a boss battle to fight.)

Cons = he’s a coward at heart, who knows how to keep himself alive first and foremost.

… It takes him rereading his own notes until the wee hours of the morning to realize… that may be a skill, and not a flaw. The ability to keep himself alive. At least here, it was. In the Upside Down. And wasn’t that the coolest adaptive mindset ever, enough that it propelled him into preparatory action. All the way to the following morning, where he stood just inside the interior door of the Harrington’s garage, working up the nerve to step outside.

—

tbc

—

Series Snippets:

- Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

- Subconscious (Steve’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

[sam-out-of-energy]

OKAY OKAY IM NO WRITER BUT

This AU has consumed me, ok ok slay

Again @keferon 's mecha pilot jazz au

I thought about prowl and jazz on earth and Prowl being captured by humans and yeah yeah okay okay SO IMAGINE

Jazz wasnt fast enough to realize what the others had done with prowl

Prowl frees himself, prowl escapes by himself because Jazz comes in just. Too. Late.

Thats what i wrote lmao-

__

Prowls optic flickered in a dim light. Well, the one he had left anyway. A gaping hole now where his left optic had been before, circuits and wires exposed and tangled in a human scientists pathetic attempt at gouging out Prowls eye.

TacNet had been screaming error in his audials for the past few kliks, a blur of scenarios in his processor and a whirr of his engine told him he wasnt dead. Not yet.

"-because with this technology, we will be able to not only improve our mechas, but to create our own army." A frustrating, squeaky voice came to Prowl once he regained his sense.

Technology. That was all he was to them, to Jazz. A machine.

The organic was boasting about their achievements, about how with this technology they would create the perfect self-thinking robot. Ha.

A loud crunch rang out in the hall. Then another. Prowl lifted himself to sit where he had once been pinned down by metal, now torn off and dropping to the floor with a loud clatter.

"What in the-"

The general, or any of his subordinates had barely any time to react as Prowl whipped around, slamming his arm into the scaffolding they stood upon and bringing it down in a moments notice.

"I am not-"

He tore himself out of the restraints, standing. His arm plate would shift and move to make way for a blaster. Prowl aimed it up at the suprised organics.

"-your technology."

_______

Jazz had been running around frantically. Where's prowl, where's prowl, he'd asked everyone. They'd all told him no clue.

No clue his aft! It wasn't exactly like Prowl looked alike to any of the other mechas!

Did he run away? Why would Prowl do that??

Jazz had stopped in the hangar when it happened. A loud boom echoed out in the entire base. And another, and another. The floor trembled, concrete cracked the walls above.

He saw his comrades rushing for weapons.

No, no. It was exactly what he had feared.

Jazz was too late.

He'd arrive to a mess of metal, steel bars and concrete. Injured soldiers and bodies littering the floor where he stood, at the entrance of the hall.

"Prowl! Stop!" He'd yell.

Prowl would turn, looking over his shoulder and down at Jazz.

Well, down in the literal sense too, but down in a way Jazz had never seen him look before.

His optics- optic- was glazed over with a look that frightened Jazz to his core. Parts unreadable, like Prowl always was, but his lip curled down into a frown. Betrayal. His stare screamed betrayal and...

Anger.

Fury like Jazz had never experienced before. Not from Prowl. Never from Prowl. He'd been mad at the other before, sure, but it was always more like frustration, not pure hatred.

Now, Prowl looked at him like he looked at Jazz's comrades. Full of hatred for what they'd done, for what Jazz had done.

Jazz felt his own brain slow for a few minutes, but when he came back to Prowl had gone and he and any other surviving pilots were rushing for the mechas to give chase.

______

Jazz caught up to Prowl, late behind his brothers-in-mechas, staggering. This was all so sudden, he found his connection to the mecha a struggle at best.

"Halt! Put your weapons down and surrender!"

A mecha called out. Four- maybe five of them were stood on a highway in the desert, surrounding Prowl.

He can't put it down you dunce, it's attached to his arm, Jazz found himself thinking.

He saw Prowl's heavy venting, the drip of bright pink liquid from a surgery not-well-done, coming down from the underside of his face plate where it had been torn open.

It hurt him bad. If Jazz wasn't already struggling to keep it together, seeing the other looking like this didn't help him in staying connected.

Prowl's battlemask closed over the rest of his visible face with a sshink! and clearly, he was not coming easy.

Jazz watched, all he could do, as the other mechas charged in, trading blow for blow with Prowl, trying to grab or hit what they could to restrain him or to injure him beyond battle-condition.

Prowl grabbed one mecha, throwing them over his shoulder pad before another was already at his side. He turned and shot at them with his blaster, a blast through the underside of the right chest plate.

His optic frantically searched for the next target.

TacNet was still faulty, confusing and unintelligible gibberish ran circles in his processor as he tried to focus on keeping himself from being overtaken.

Unfortunately, Prowl now had a blind spot. A mecha came and swung around his left side when he was turned, grabbing onto his wing and with a loud wrUNCH-noise bent and tore half of it almost completely off.

Jazz's gut turned. The sound of everything else faded out when he heard Prowl scream in what Jazz could only imagine was fraggin' agony, ringing in his ear long and hard.

Jazz felt frozen. He watched the other curl in on himself and the opposing mechs surround him.

But that wasnt the end. A quick, muffled out communication between the boss and the other pilots, one Jazz wasn't paying enough attention to until he saw his fellow mechas begin to tear prowl apart.

Prowl had already been forced down into supine before the others began taking and pulling. First his blaster came ripping off his arm, his armour plates cracking as pieces snapped off in mechanic hands. His screams quickly became struggling, violent and heavy croaks of pain.

Something blasted through one of the mechas.

Then another.

"Gwen! What the fuc-"

The mechas turned as Jazz charged them, swinging his fist into the underside of ones chest, tearing out wires when he pulled back, to make sure he damaged something. He swung back at the next one and fired on the third.

"Dont touch him!"

Jazz yelled to the mechas lying on the ground, before flipping around and promptly rushing to Prowls side.

Jazz bent down and looked at Prowl, calling out his name as he did.

Prowl's optic was barely lit. His face engraved by his pain, straining to keep his systems running while barely avoiding an overload on his spark.

Jazz's mecha's chest opened and he crawled out, climbing down and landing on Prowl's chest.

"Prowl, prowler"

He called, leaning down and watching the other, eyes wide in desperation.

"Prowl! Y'gotta- y'gotta open up"

He was yelling, even if he didn't realize, slamming his palm against the others chest plates.

"Please! Please, Prowler, I'm gonna get you outta here-"

He watched the others unmoving face. Prowl's optic wouldn't even glance his way.

Jazz bit his lip so hard it bled before he dug his fingers into the crevices of the others chest, starting to pull, kick and struggle to open one of the latches.

He heard Prowl's venting get more rapid when the other finally looked his way, only to grimace from the ache Jazz was causing.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry Prowl! I ain't gonna leave ya-"

Jazz kept pulling, starting to dig into his pocket to see if he could use a torch and melt the locks open.

He heard a click and a fshhh as the latch he had been tugging on began to crack open.

Jazz didn't have time to thank Prowl for his co-operation, cramming his way inside the others cockpit. He heard Prowl's ventilation whirring fast and uncontrollably, noting also the spark and crackle of broken mechanisms in the cockpit.

He magnetized himself to the floor, dropping down to sit in the pilot seat, turning the controls on manually since everything else was basically fragged.

Prowl lurched up a little bit, letting out a loud yelp as he did.

"Sorry! Work with me here-"

Jazz pulled, fighting Prowl's failing systems together with him.

Prowl staggered, but slowly managed to get up on his feet, Jazz's control pushing him to move through the pain.

"I know where to go, follow me."

Jazz barely spoke out loud, focusing intensely on keeping Prowl moving so they could escape the other mechas before reinforcements would arrive.

________

Thats all teehee

[galactic-magick]

here i come with arcane prompts bestie >:3

but this one might hurt ;-;

also SPOILERS FOR S1 IF ANYONE HASNT SEEN IT YET

/////

how about a reader's reaction to the council getting bombed O_O

their frantic attempts to find their lover(Viktor ofc :3), but who they find may not be the man they once knew TwT

I got a little carried away with this one bestie...

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I Thought You Were Dead: Viktor x Reader

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Smut about halfway through. I put a *** before the smut starts in case anyone doesn't want to read that part. Reader has afab anatomy but no pronouns or feminine specific endearments are used. Also LORE SPOILERS, if you don't know what happens to Viktor in the League of Legends lore then don't read this!!

Author's Notes: This could be read as a part 2 to my other Viktor fic Nights Like This, which takes place in Act 1 whereas this takes place after season 1.

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The explosion was deafening.

You can feel your soul sink as soon as you step outside your house, watching the smoke surround the council building. Your feet start running before you’ve processed anything, pushing through the gasping crowds in the streets with their eyes glued to the same devastating spectacle.

Tears stream down your face against the dusty wind, praying to anyone who will listen that your worst fear hasn’t happened. Running as if getting there faster might change the outcome.

It can’t end like this. Not when you haven’t said everything you want to say. Not when you have so much left to do together.

Not when you haven’t said goodbye.

The truth is, you haven’t even seen your husband in several days, maybe even a whole week. He’s been distant lately, so consumed by his experiments that he rarely comes home anymore. You knew what you were getting into marrying a scientist, especially the finest scientist in Piltover, but it still hurts. It hurts to see him driving himself mad and getting sicker, refusing to let you take care of him like he used to. He doesn’t like when you come to visit him at the lab because it’s too dangerous, and he doesn’t come home because he wants to be in the lab—so you’ve stopped trying. You can’t bear to see him hardly eat or sleep for days. You know he loves you, and you still love him, but right now there’s no getting through to him, and all you can do is wait it out until he either comes to his senses or succumbs to his torturous research.

Your mind flashes back to all the fights you had, begging him to come home, begging him to let you stay by his side. You both said things you shouldn’t have, hearts torn apart in mourning of a marriage that once was so perfect. You miss the nights where you were each other's safe space, where the world didn’t feel so grand and overwhelming. You wonder when it was exactly that you stopped fighting, when you gave up on begging and simply loved him as much as you could whenever you finally saw him.

A large battalion of enforcers encircle the scene, pushing back civilians as they attempt to view what happened. The rubble has fallen into mountains, several of them on fire.

You know he was in there. He must’ve been.

“Where are the survivors?!” you demand, shoving against the enforcers.

“We have not found any yet. Please return to your home-”

You pull out the knife you keep in your pocket for emergencies, pressing it against the enforcer’s throat, “My husband was in there. I am not leaving until I find him.”

The other enforcers turn their weapons towards you, and you quickly realize you’ll never beat them with nothing but a dagger and deep rooted rage.

You drop the knife to the ground and put your hands up, awaiting your fate. Would they kill you? Send you home with a warning? Trial you?

Well, not without a council.

“Please…” the sobs return, their weapons still pointing at you. “I just want to know if he’s alive. Just let me look for his body-”

You’re cut off by hands on your wrists and mouth, handcuffing you and knocking you out.

Several months later...

You should’ve known any retaliation against an enforcer could get you thrown in here.

Back against the stone wall of your cell in Stillwater, you envision that day once again, hating yourself for being so stupid. Without the council, the enforcers have started throwing literally anyone in here. In an attempt to contain the chaos of no longer having a government, even the smallest crime or protest is equivalent to murder. All you did was threaten an officer for information on your husband, but that was enough to banish you from any possibility of ever seeing him again.

If he was alive, would he know to come find you? Or would he go back home to find you gone and assume you died? Would he throw himself back into his research regardless of the tragic accident, not even noticing you haven’t tried to visit him in months?

Most days it’s easier to just tell yourself he’s dead. The man you loved so deeply no longer exists, and you’ll never love again. This is your life now, cold and dark and hopeless.

You sink to the floor, leaning on your side in an effort to get some sleep.

Though your slumber is awakened not long after by terrifying noises down the hall.

A collection of screams, an alarm bell, and loud clanging fill your ears. You jump up, looking through the bars of your cell to get a glimpse. You see nothing, but then begin to hear stomping footsteps thundering towards your end of the hall.

You stumble back to the far wall, shaking as the footsteps get closer.

The first thing you see is a pair of glowing orange eyes staring at you through the bars, and your breath leaves your lungs.

Is this really how you’re fated to die?

With ease, the mysterious figure rips off the door with what looks like a mechanical arm. The dim light hits him, and your entire body trembles. He’s covered in metal plating and armor, his face covered with a thick mask. He doesn’t strike you as human, except for what looks like human hair falling around his head.

He walks towards you, and you cower in his shadow. What does this machine want from you? You have nothing.

He says your name, and you freeze. It’s modulated and echoed from the mask, but you are certain that’s what he said.

And you’re also certain you’ve heard that voice before.

The figure reaches his hand towards you, the cold metal of his fingers touching your face. It tingles, as if there’s energy sparking through. His other hand lifts off his mask and drops it to the floor.

“Viktor?”

Parts of his face are covered with metal plating, but it’s undoubtedly him. Same eyes, same nose, same cheekbones. His hair swooping down the sides of his forehead and the small gap between his teeth.

You throw your arms around him and kiss him, your body hitting his metal torso hard enough to leave a bruise, but you don’t care. You kiss him until there’s not a single atom of oxygen left in your lungs, and even then you risk a few seconds more, his lips worthy of causing suffocation. Your fingers slide into his hair, just as soft as your remember. He gently embraces you back, wary of hurting you with how tightly he wishes to hold you.

“Viktor—I went to find you that day—“ you pant for air. “I thought you were dead—“

“I know, darling, I know,” he kisses your forehead before fervently returning to your lips. “I thought you were dead too before I heard word of people being sent here.”

He breaks apart from you and you let out a soft whine, “Vik-”

“I have to get you out of here now, okay?”

You nod in understanding and grab onto him as he puts his mask back on. He races back down the hall, pushing any leftover guards out of his way. You cling onto him, in disbelief that he moves so fast with ease. So many questions run through your mind, but you know you’ll have to wait for answers.

He carries and holds you in silence until you both get to safety. You don’t recognize the place he’s taken you to, but it’s undoubtedly his space. The tools and gadgets all over the tables and walls, the dim light you don’t understand how anyone could work under, the journals with different equations written barely legibly. You wonder if your old home is still standing or has been taken by someone else. Either way, this is your home now.

With him.

He takes off his mask and you’re once again met with his beautiful face. Scarred and tired, but still more beautiful than you’ve ever seen him.

“I’m so sorry. For everything,” he says. “I know I will never be able to make it up to you, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I am never letting you leave my sight again.”

Your bodies instinctively wrap around each-other, him picking you up and setting you down on one of his desks. The sensation is so new, since he’s never been strong enough to lift you before. Despite the novelty though, it feels as if no time has passed, as if this is a routine you’ve done every day, his hands all over you as soon as you’re alone.

You want to ignore the insanity of all this, how the love of your life has returned to you encased in metal. You want to forego all the questions, letting him continue his kisses on your neck and the wandering fingers on your thigh. You wonder what he feels like now—if it’s different—if what he can do to you now will make you forget every tear you ever shed for him.

You sigh, completely drunk on his touches.

“Viktor…” You look into his eyes, tracing your thumbs along his now metallic jaw. “I want to know what happened to you. Please.”

His caresses slow, his focus shifting to your words, “I will tell you everything, I promise,”

You grasp his hands, “Then tell me.”

He exhales, looking down at himself. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the truth. He doesn’t want to risk you thinking of him differently or not loving him the same. Without you, he’d have nothing left to stay human for.

After all, he’s more machine than man now.

“I was as good as dead,” he finally says. “My injuries should’ve killed me, but an old…” he hesitates, “...friend found me. He helped me use hextech and shimmer to fix and augment my body. I’m stronger now, I can help more people now, I can protect you now. I’ve evolved beyond my human ailments-”

“Viktor,” you interrupt him. “Who helped you?”

He falls silent, fully aware you already know the answer.

“How could you?” you scold him. “How could you go back to that horrid, vile man? Who knows what he really did to you?”

“Singed may have unethical methods, but I assure you I’d be dead right now without him. You wouldn’t understand-”

“I understand that he sees you as nothing more than an experiment! What’s going to happen when this new body starts to break down? He’ll replace you with more mechanical parts until there’s nothing left of you. He does anything to make his specimens survive, and you know that!”

“So you’d rather me be dead? You’d rather still be in Stillwater, rotting your days away in misery?”

The floodgates of your glassy eyes break, and you let out the ugliest of sobs that have been building up for too long. No, you don’t want him dead, of course you don’t.

But there are fates worse than death.

You clumsily grab for him, pulling him between your legs and surrounding him with your limbs. Your lips crash together once more, this time more carnal and aggressive. Regardless of how angry you are, you can’t deny that you need him desperately. He cradles your face, wiping your tears away as they fall.

“Just promise me…” you beg into his mouth. “Promise me you won’t go back there again. Stay with me.”

“I promise,” he hums. “But you have to promise me something too.”

“What?” your eyes are already fluttering deliriously.

“You have to promise you’ll let me apologize every day of the rest of our lives,” he brushes his lips against your ear while his hands wander up your shirt, “And I think I know how you want me to do it.”

Your eyes widen, shivers already running down your spine.

***

It’s been so long, your body yearning for his as if you’ve been deprived from him for an eternity. You want to feel his new hands everywhere, his new fingers inside you…

Viktor wastes no time stripping you down, your shirt and bra flung across the room. He buries his face between your breasts for a moment before hoisting you up again, carrying you to the mattress in the corner.

“Since when do you ever have a proper place to sleep in your labs?” you laugh, sinking into the unexpected comfort.

“I didn’t get it for sleeping,” he smirks, placing kisses across your chest and shoulders, “I knew what I wanted to do as soon as I rescued you.”

“You’re telling me you got this bed just to fuck me?”

“Of course,” he shrugs, completely matter-of-factually.

You chuckle, a genuine smile stretching across your face so wide it almost hurts. You haven’t laughed or felt the pure joy and bliss of being in love in so long.

“I…” Viktor speaks again, hovering over you. “I don’t know fully what this new body can do. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” you smile, intertwining your fingers with his. “Is it...different?”

“Everything’s different,” he leans down to kiss you again. “Let’s just hope it’s in a good way.”

You nod enthusiastically, pulling him down to you. His cold metal torso presses against yours, a surprisingly pleasant sensation. You quickly acclimate to the new textures of his figure, wondering if any skin still exists.

He remembers all the places you like to be touched and kissed, and you grow more impatient by the minute. You’ve needed him—ached for him. You want him in any way he can give you.

He pulls off the rest of your clothes, teasing his mechanical fingers in circles around your clit.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” you moan, slithering your own fingers into his hair.

Viktor’s always been good with his hands, being an inventor and all. He’s never once failed to satisfy you with his hands alone since you’ve been together, and he certainly wasn’t stopping now. He goes slowly, constantly needing reassurance that you’re alright. There’s nothing sharp about his fingers, a relief to both of you. They move just like his old flesh did, pulsing in and out with the finest precision. There’s moments where you feel a slight vibration, although you’re unsure if he’s doing that purposefully. Either way, he keeps you in ecstasy until you eventually come undone.

You pull his lips back up to yours immediately, craving his taste. His hands run down your body once again before returning back to the same spot.

You yelp his name as he works more fingers inside you. This is unheard of, him going back for more so soon. You had grown accustomed to his low stamina from before, and you never minded multiple rounds being a rarity. But now there’s not a single hint of exhaustion on his face, his augments freeing him from much of the pain that used to plague him. Instead there’s determination in his eyes, a drive to make love to you until you can’t take it anymore.

He builds you up to your second orgasm of the night, kissing and holding you softly as you come down from it.

“Viktor…” you sigh, completely out of breath. “I want to make you feel good too.”

He shakes his head, watching as your hands slide down his body, “Darling, I...I’m not sure if everything works the same. You don’t have to worry about me—“

“Let me try,” you plead. “Does any of this come off?”

He nods, removing the outer layers of metal with clicks and hisses. It was hard for you to tell where the armor ended and his body began, but the more he takes off, the more you recognize his familiar silhouette. There’s still patches of flesh here and there—warm skin to your fingertips, fused with the augmentations flawlessly.

And it seems the area you’ve wanted to see is one of the places untouched.

Well, not completely untouched. It’s covered in glowing purple veins, throbbing like they’ll explode any second. Viktor looks into your eyes nervously, and you reassure him with a kiss.

“It’ll be okay,” your breaths are hot, hovering over his lips. “Now tell me what you want, darling.”

“You.” he moans as your hand takes hold of his hardness.

“Everything seems to be working fine to me,” you smile, lining him up with your entrance. “I’m ready when you are.”

He’s shaking, for the first time since all his enhancements. He’s been so strong��no—indestructible, yet one look at you and the vulnerability returns in crashing waves. He’s still the same man you fell in love with, but now he could too easily hurt you.

He presses in slowly, eyes locked on your expressions for any sign of discomfort, but they never come. Instead, the noises and faces you make could be enough for him to finish right then and there if he didn’t have such control.

“Viktor…” you sigh, pulling him towards you as he bottoms out. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

He stamps kisses on your jaw, then nuzzles his nose into your neck, “You feel even better than I remembered.”

“Do I now?” you chuckle, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes as he looks back up at you.

“Mmhmm,” he begins to thrust in and out slowly, earning more luscious sounds from your lips.

There’s so much of him that feels the same, but the sensation is so new. Is he bigger than before? Is it just the different texture from the shimmer experiments? You’re not sure, all you truly care about is that he feels divine.

You’re both getting close, whispering “I love you’s” until the long awaited release. He holds you tightly afterwards, refusing to let go until you both catch your breath.

“Viktor,” you ruffle his hair. “As amazing as that was, I don’t think I can handle a round four.”

He chuckles, “That’s alright. I’ll only go as long as you want me to. There’s always tomorrow.”

You giggle, kissing the top of his head. You push yourself up on your elbows, looking at the mess you both made, “I think we ruined your new mattress.”

He glances as well, noticing the cum stains, some of them a light purple color, a supposed side effect of the shimmer, “We’ll get a new one. For now lets get you cleaned up.”

He picks you up in one swift motion, carrying you outside. His new lab is conveniently next to the river, and far away enough from other houses to protect your decency. The water is cold, but not unbearably so. The stickiness rinses off, and you’re left to admire your lover once again in the moonlight.

He glistens under the stars, his gaze soft and sweet, just as it’s always been. His hands never leave you, caressing your wet skin gently and adoringly.

He’s still everything you’ve ever wanted. He’s still the man you’d die and kill for.

He’s still the one you’ll spend the rest of your days with, no matter what he becomes.

[exhaslo]

Hii idk if you’re taking requests or not but I’m sorry if you aren’t!! I just wanted to see if u could maybe do a small smut story that still takes place in puzzle pieces and it’s basically where Miguel got really pissed & in sm stress because of some idiot and he accidentally hurts his shy wifey :,(( so he decides to make it up to her by literally giving her one of the best nights of her life and just gives her his baby yk 🤗

*TAGS ENTIRE PUZZLE PIECES TAGLIST*

Now, I won't ever say no to some extra Puzzle Pieces content, hehe.

Warning: MINORS DNI, smut, p in v, mentions of abuse, language, soft sex, oral (f receiving) , rough sex, creampie, overstimulation, praise, fluff

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It had been a very rough day for Miguel. From Alchemax to his mafia, there had been nothing but a slew of bad news. It had been two months since the Venom incident, yet for some reason the accursed drug still tormented the streets.

Come to find out that one of Eddie's followers took on his role, giving a new gang to rise called Carnage. Miguel was furious at the situation given to him. Especially since Carnage had gone out of his way to kill one of his trusted men.

"¡Mierda! ¡Cuántas tonterías tengo que soportar! (Fuck! The amount of bullshit I have to deal with!)" Miguel roared at the top of his lungs.

Then, Alchemax had to put some icing on the cake, and get a lab blown up. Several idiot scientists were in the hospital all because they decided to take a risk Miguel told them not too. The worst part was that Miguel couldn't fire them yet. He had to wait until all of the legal bullshit flew over.

"Miguel?" You whispered.

Miguel was consumed with rage that he didn't even hear his poor little fiancé. You were standing in the corner, watching Miguel's fit. This was the not the first time you've seen him mad, but at the same time, he had never gotten this mad before.

"Fuck! Those fucking-"

Miguel yelled once more as he grabbed the closest thing to him and tossed it. He needed to let out his anger somehow.

"Ah!" You cried.

Upon hearing your terrified yelp, Miguel snapped out of his state of anger. He quickly rushed to your side, seeing you bend down and shaking. His eyes widen towards your fear. Immediately scooping you up, Miguel whispered apologizes.

"Mi conejita, (My bunny), I'm so so sorry," He whispered, kissing your head as he brought you to the couch, "Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell and-"

Miguel's eyes soften as he saw a small cut on your shoulder. He glanced back towards the glass he threw. Cussing quietly, Miguel kissed your cut repeatedly.

"Mi amor (my love), I won't ask for you to forgive me-"

"I-It's...o-okay," You whimpered softly. Miguel frowned as he kissed your tears away,

"It's not. I hurt you in my fit of rage."

"B-But y-you weren't...m-mad at m-me," You tried to reassure him. Miguel gently bit your hand before kissing it,

"I promise I'll take my rage elsewhere." He whispered, kissing you once more then your cut, "I never, ever, want you to be afraid of me. You don't ever need to be afraid again."

"Miggy,"

You were still trembling, but knew Miguel meant well. He had never hurt you before and will never. This was just an accident that he was taking to heart. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled as you felt him kiss your cut more.

"M-Miguel..." You whispered, getting cozy.

Miguel picked you up and took you to your shared bedroom. His kisses were nonstop as he laid you against the bed. His large grip, holding you gently as you spread you legs for him. Miguel inhaled deeply to your gesture.

"Such a good girl for me," He groaned, kissing your neck, "Let me make up for my foolish behavior. Give my precious wife the best night of her life."

"M-Miguel!" You squeaked, feeling his hands take off your sweatpants, "I-I-I..." You covered your face, feeling flustered.

"Am the best? Am too good for me?" Miguel filled in your words as he placed his head under your shirt, kissing up your stomach.

"Ah~ M-Mig~"

You trembled as Miguel took off your shirt. His kisses leading up to your breasts, back to the small cut on your shoulder. Miguel's hands were all over you, stroking each part of your body until you stopped shaking.

The warmth of his hands, begging your body for forgiveness. Miguel inhaled to the soft sound of your moans as he grinded his bulge against your panties. Your body arching against his hips, whimpering and whining for more friction.

"I'm sorry, Mi conejita (my bunny). I won't ever harm you," Miguel whispered as he groped your breasts.

"Mhpm~ I-I know....y-you didn't mean it," You cried, feeling your core burning up, desperate for release, "I-I-I'll a-always, ah~ ah~ M-Miguel~"

You arched your back, crying out your first of many orgasms. Taking a moment to catch your breathe, you squirmed and whimpered as Miguel took your damp panties off. He kissed your nipples, humming lowly as he bend down.

You tried to stop Miguel, wanting to hold him, but gasped loudly as you already felt his tongue against your clit. You gripped against the bedsheets, moaning his name as Miguel feasted. This was always his way of spoiling you after a rough day.

Though you had to question if it was more enjoyable for you or him.

Your body was shaking as Miguel held your hips in place. His tongue ravishing your pour clit and pussy. Your vision had begun to blur once more as you felt your high returning. With a curl of your toes and another grip against the bedsheets, you cam once more.

"Good girl," Miguel blew against your cunt, watching you twitch, "My precious good girl."

You shuddered and whined as Miguel returned to licking your clit. His tongue lapping up the mess you made. You were already overstimulated, unable to handle the amount of pleasure you were receiving now.

"M-Mig! M-Miggy!" You whined, riding his face, "P-Please..."

"Anything,"

Miguel hummed as he gave your pussy a break to give you a deep kiss. Your adorable fucked out expression just eager for more. With swift movement, Miguel slowly pressed his dick inside your tight gummy walls.

"Ah~"

"See how hard you make me?" Miguel hummed, kissing your small wound once more, "I am yours and you are mine."

"Mhm~ Y-Yes~" You gasped, holding onto Miguel as he rested his hips against yours.

"My beautiful wife," Miguel grunted as he pulled out slowly before hitting you deep, "Taking me in so well."

You gasped and moaned as Miguel took his time. Your pussy fluttering and gushing around his cock with each slow and rough thrust. Miguel kept kissing your body, whispering nothing but praises as he took you nice and slow.

"Such a good girl. Does my little bunny enjoy this? Shall I keep going slow?" Miguel asked with a tease, enjoying your blissed out expression.

"Y-Yes~ Ah~ Hah~ F-Fill me, p-please." You begged, babbling your moans like a cock drunk mess.

"Fill you? Do you want to make me a daddy?" Miguel said with a light chuckle as he got hard at the thought, "Wanna be a mommy, mi amor?"

"Ah~ Y-Yes! Yes!" You cried another orgasm, feeling your mind doze off.

Miguel felt a shiver run down his spine. His grin widen as he held your hips and placed your on your knees. Miguel kissed your back as he started to pound your pussy from behind. The loud slapping noises of your juices against his dick and your moans were consuming the room.

"My wife wants a baby. I shall give it to you," Miguel chuckled, nibbling against your ear as he ravished your hole.

"Ah~ Ah~"

Your face was pressed into the pillow as you moaned to each thrust. His hot seed filling your womb, causing you to gush and cum against his dick. Drool rolled down your mouth as Miguel kept his ruthless pace, praising you constantly.

"Awe, look your womb is swallowing my cum. Now this is a way to end such a shitty day," Miguel groaned as he placed you on your back, "Giving my wife a baby."

You arched your back, your mouth forming an 'o' as you felt Miguel's dick rub against your sweet spot. Words unable to form as you just whimpered and moaned to his thrusts. Miguel pulled you into his embrace as he held you in mating position, fucking you senselessly,

"I love you, (Y/N). I love you so much,"

You would repeat, but you were so cock drunk that you weren't paying attention. With another orgasm, you fell unconscious.

--------

You awoke the next day, sore and exhausted. Miguel had washed you up and put on your most comfortable pajamas-his clothes. You smiled weakly towards the water and pain killers on the side table. There was also a note and you felt a bandage on your shoulder.

"Hehe, Miggy," You cooed, finding your soon to be husband so overprotective.

As you laid on your back, you started to recall last night's passionate sex. Your face turned bright red as you started to remember begging Miguel to fill you and him assuming you wanting a baby. You covered your face into the pillow, squealing lowly.

"M-Maybe....we....we could....k-keep trying...f-for one."

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

@migueloharacumslut @18lkpeters @deputy-videogamer @leahnicole1219 @synamonthy @thedevax @jolynesposts @thraetor @freehentai @2099hitmylineyline @vvampir3s @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @secretadmirerisnowonline @jadeloverxd @bunnibitez @oharasfilipinawife @randomgoosegame @lilbanas @daisy-artfield @axi-moore @mimiemie @darkfairy102190 @jazzyj1011 @mcmiracles @innercreationflower @spoderssimp @thel0velykey190 @moonvoidpng @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @scaleniusrm @love4saturn @nyxgoddessofchaos13 @slutty-chronicles @ghstypaint @migueloharastruelove @brainmatterdump @a060403 @trendyharold @yannauauau @kimivixen @angel-xx-1 @nxrdamp @miguelzslvtz @lynxslokley @wafflefries786 @pochapo @what-the-jams @flaps200 @ii-angelsrolltheireyes-ii @nakimushiohime @tojishugetiddies @aya-world @supercowgirl04 @mysteris-things @daisy-artfield @mcmiracles @alexa4040 @llama--drama @kpopscoups17130000 @havkjhdecs @ruexvn @tojishugetiddi @openup-yourmind @black-swan-blog27 @xstarsdiary @kiddisquacking @gachagator @yujyujj @emmyrxx @blackteamint @sockears @black-swan-blog27 @soraya-daydreams @byjessicalotufo @nanoinn @bunnibitez @aockskcw @l3laze @dimitri-needs-therapy

[thesensteawitch]

IF YOU WERE A MUSE TO A POET 🍁💌

~This Is What They Would Tell You!

Pick A Pile Reading

(Left To Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hello, Senstea Souls!💖

I hope you're doing well. Here's a collective reading about what a poet would tell you if you were their muse! ✨

TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND PICK YOUR PILE INTUITIVELY.

In case you would like to BOOK A READING with me then I am sharing the links below for the same.

BOOKING FORM 💌

RATE CARD $$$

You can also DM me in case of any query.🫶🏻

***

Pile 1

You have so many sides to you, and yet you hold space for more. I am directionless. Where should I lead this poem about you? Or where are you leading me? There’s so much to you that I want to express, but I fear I’ll end up looking like a fool. You’re like the universe—mesmerizing, intriguing, and frightening, with layers and layers of mysteries. You are divine to me. Being a poet feels like a boon when I look at you. Only fated souls get to write about someone so infinitely charming. I sense the never-ending wisdom you hold. I’d forever be your devotee if you’d let me drink just one drop of what keeps you glowing like you do. You’re sharp, kind, wild, and a dream that only slips away. Where are you looking? What inspiration do you need? Come on! You walk to your own rhythm, your shadows delightfully dancing to your beat. The sound of your steps tells me stories of places you’ve been and people you’ve met. You hold no regret, no grudge—only lessons. You think, reflect, and cry for being mistreated. But when it’s your turn, you choose to destroy the weapons that bruised you so deeply, instead of hurting others with them. The venom couldn’t kill you but made you wise. Following your footprints, I find the earth swallowing the shed skin of your old self. How can I define you when you’re constantly transforming? Every time I think I have finally known you, I find something new revealed. My hands fall short of holding your grace, my mind loses the words to portray it. As I said, you’re sharp—you’ll never let me read you. You take me to the end only to throw me into a new beginning. It’s not your fault; I understand that’s who you truly are. Sometimes, while falling asleep, I wonder who would be so lucky to fall in love with you? Or who would you fall in love with? But then again, I don’t feel you’re deprived of love, because YOU ARE love. I look at you the way others look at stars. Everyone attempts to count them at least once in their lifetime but eventually gives up, knowing it’s an attempt they will fail. But I am not tired; I am taking a break. I would like to admire you for now, knowing that maybe I too will never fully know you, but I’ll keep exploring who you are, just like scientists cannot give up on SPACE! Ah! See, I cracked something! Your lover must be someone like you—infinitely charming and holding mysteries as vast.

***

Pile 2

You know what? I am mad at you! Because either you attack or you run away. See? You just revolted back. Or perhaps hid in your closet, knowing that someone knows your little secret. You’re that 22° in astrology. Kill or be killed? You’re neither a prey nor do you need to triumph over someone or something else to keep yourself safe. All I am trying to say is that you’re not meant to just survive; you’re meant to thrive. But hey, I do see your heart. The life around it has withered, and you’re surviving on memories. For how long, may I ask? You’re not a coward; you’re afraid. I heard someone say, “The one who is capable of love is capable of being saved.” At this point, all the love is leaking from the corners of your heart. Make the best use of it, or it’ll go to waste. Life isn’t at the extremes; it’s in the middle. That’s where you find your balance. That’s where you will shine bright. I see you singing to yourself, making stories in your heart but never writing them down for the world to taste. You don’t need to say ‘NO’ to something you want. Openly say what you want and to the person who can give it to you. Don’t keep whispering your wishes into the ears of God. He’s even giving you a side-eye now, haha. You’re the leader! If you don’t take the lead, you’ll never have your pack. Do you get it? Why am I even writing about you? It seems to me that you’re an artist too. You know the depths of your pain better than I do. Gosh, you need a hug! Whoever you’ve lost in this physical world doesn’t like to see those tears rolling down your cheeks. Every time you try to make sense of your emotions, you only make your heart heavier. Love keeps dripping and draining into the river of unexpressed emotions. You’re about to be granted a new life, a restart. But this won’t be handed to you until you decide and do what you’re supposed to do. The pain demands to be felt and yada yada yada! We’ve all watched *The Fault in Our Stars*. But come on, there’s an expiry date to feeling it too. I told you, you’re an extreme case. Pain won’t leave you until you leave it. YOU DESERVE THE WORLD. And I know you don’t believe it, but from where I am seeing, all your wishes are about to come true. You’re just ONE decision away. And I am here watching and waiting for you to make that move. Go where your heart is; that’s where you’re supposed to be. Don’t run away from your destiny. Remember, you’re not the same kid who froze at the point of a horrifying sight and couldn’t do anything about it. You’re grown up now. You can HEAL yourself. You’re not hopeless or helpless. You don’t even need to find your potential; it’s just there, waiting for you to see it and accept it.

***

Pile 3

Excuse me, miss/mister? Do you even have time to read what I have to say? You’re too busy figuring things out. Huff! The amount of mental and physical work you do is commendable. Are you waiting for something or someone? I am not surprised to see your spiritual side. What side, huh? You’re SPIRITUAL—IN & OUT! You’re wise, extremely intuitive, and resourceful but haven’t learned how to avoid burnouts. Can something ever be hidden from you? From where I see, it seems you’re new here but not naive. You’ve completed a tough journey filled with passion, rage, excitement, and burnouts (again!). Life has been preparing you for something bigger than your destiny! You’re heavily protected from the forces that don’t want you to be where God is taking you. But we all know who’s more powerful, don’t we? I see you bumping into your past sometimes, but you quickly realize that’s not where you’re supposed to be. The price you would have to pay to return to the same place or people is quite heavy. You don’t feel comfortable in the old stories anymore. You’re grateful but not greedy to go back. I laugh at those who think they can lure you with temptations! Lol! You are ten steps ahead of them. Stay where you are. All this silence around you is a blessing. You’re about to win. You’re meant to win in this lifetime. This is not your first time around. I have seen you somewhere—not here, but in a different lifetime. You’ve lived all those lives to WIN in this one! The smoke of your burned karmas surrounds you. You’ve cleansed! You’re not in the dark; you’re rising from the ashes. I see the wings of a phoenix on your back. YOU’RE THE CREATOR OF YOUR OWN DESTINY. Evidence of your faith and intuition follows you in the forms of birds, butterflies, feathers, and angel numbers. One day, you may share your story, but you know that day is not today. God, you’re mysterious, and all those stories are tattooed on your skin in a language no one can decipher. Your presence is enough for people to turn around, pause, and reflect. You raise the temperature of the room and melt the ice away. People open up to you naturally. Everyone just wants to experience a drop of you. But you’re not easily accessible. Your magic is sacred and can’t be put on sale. You’re magic. The path you’ve walked on shines so bright. That’s how I trace your past life because you leave glitters behind.

[nothingenoughao3]

Why we wanna transition to Mad Scientist (or, revulsion and queerness in horror)

(Hi, @ash-eats-film! This is the thing I mentioned!)

Horror has a few baseline emotions it tries to inflict on the audience. This has been written about for decades, most famously by Stephen King, but the baseline elements most writers agree on are as follows.

Dread: Anxiety over what is about to happen

Terror: The fear of what is occurring right this second

Revulsion: Being forced to interact directly with what's happening right now

Black comedy: Being tricked into laughing at either the terror or the revulsion

Horror: The trauma response to what just happened

A great example of this can be seen in The Evil Dead II (YT link that doesn't include the full context, but does have the, uh, money shot). There's the dread of realizing there's something in the root cellar; the terror of when the Deadite pops up in the trapdoor; the combined revulsion and black comedy of Ash jumping on the Deadite's skull/the door, popping out its eyeball which shoots into Bobby Joe's mouth, and then the horror of what just went down rolling over Ash and his current companions.

Often, revulsion and black comedy go hand in hand. That's because they're tension relievers. The revolting thing becomes ridiculous, and you laugh at how ridiculous it is. This lets you settle down in the midst of the gore and death, just slightly, just enough to get through it... so the horror can fully set in for you, too, once it's over.

You also, often, question your own stability if you laugh in the middle of a gross-out horror scene: "Am I sick? Is there something wrong with me for laughing at X?" This is even worse if the villain starts laughing--now you're questioning whether you're IDing with the monster. Are you okay? Is something wrong with you?

Revulsion is often framed as the slutty member of the good, proper, morally-upright brigade of horror. We have a name for folks who seek out gross-out horror--they're gore-hounds, a term that is virtually always pejorative when applied to other people. We call certain types of horror "torture porn" or "gore porn", as though it is inherently sleazy and sexual to rely on this specific emotional reaction. (Note that we don't have "black comedy-porn", or "dread hounds", even though a dread hound sounds really fucking cool.)

Not to go off on a huge tangent, but I think the issue with media that overly relies on revulsion is that it's unbalanced, not that it's bad. A movie that's nothing but dread never has any emotional payoff. A movie that's nothing but terror never lets the audience relax back into their seats and, paradoxically, will become boring (imagine two hours of jumpscares).

So forth and so on: all aspects of horror rely on each other to survive. That includes scenes that make you go "Awww, sick" while nervously cackling.

Here's the thing: in previous generations, revulsion was similarly understood to be an essential part of horror, but what led to a revolted reaction was very different.

Lovecraft (boo this man! BOOOOO) understood the power of revulsion, which was the source of a lot of his strangest and most vivid descriptions. It was also the source of some of his most bigoted ideas working into his stories. The undercurrent of "non-WASPs are evil because they are repulsive" is as pervasive in his work as "the universe is incomprehensibly vast". You kind of can't get around that.

But there's another thing Lovecraft did to generate revulsion. He wrote a number of stories where an unhealthy focus on corpses, graveyards, graverobbing, and the like is, indirectly or directly, associated with sexual perversion. 

How many, you may ask? Off the top of my head, there's "The Loved Dead", "In the Vault", "The Disinterment", "Pickman's Model", The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, "The Hound" and "Herbert West: Re-Animator". All of these tales share certain themes, which don't repeat beat-for-beat in each tale but do overlap:

Male character becomes obsessed with dead bodies--whether that's stealing them, having sex with them, desecrating them, or resurrecting them.

He is comfortable around death and the dead to a degree that is unusual, sometimes explicitly stating that he prefers the smells/sights of death to those of life.

Terms like "fiendish", "hellish", "abnormal" and "perverse" are used to describe him; his gaze towards dead bodies or to experiments may be framed as "leering" or "speculative".

He is frequently a twink; often described as being frail, if not noticeably beautiful; he may recall being mocked for being "bookish" or "weak" as a child.

He is superficially charming in a way that gets him by in polite society, but not long-term nor in-depth.

He often ensnares an otherwise "normal" man to share his obsessions, effectively recruiting him as an assistant... until the "normal" guy realizes he's about to go on the chopping block (or, in at least one story, already was on the chopping block).

Their crimes involve a lot of sneaking around late at night, locked doors, whispering so they don't get caught (or they'll be killed), secretiveness, glee at getting away with it, and frequently, sharing the same living space.

The Unrepentant Evil Dude is often killed at the end of his tale in a way that implies vigilante/mob justice is at hand. 

The other may be allowed to live if he's very sorry and frames the whole story as being the fault of the other guy, or he may die too while affirming his horrible demise as just, even if it terrifies him.

(One could make an argument that Wilbur Whateley fits into some of these tropes. It's me I'm one)

If this all sounds very gay, Lovecraft probably would have agreed. He had as dim a view of homosexuality as he did on most other things that were Outside The Norm. In other words, we were supposed to see Richard Upton Pickman with his ghouls and think, "Ah, yes, this is a metaphor for queerness", only we were supposed to be revolted by that revelation.

This same attempt at revulsion can be easily read into Victor Frankenstein, and probably more Mad Scientists than I can name offhand (but feel free to in reblogs). Frankenstein's "crimes against nature" were connected to dead bodies as well, and likewise involved a lot of sneaking around, locked doors, and worry about what would happen were he caught with this naked man-thing he's keeping in his dorm. His crime, as with his parody character Herbert West, is creating life outside the bounds of heterosexual cisgender sex. This was meant to revolt readers' sensibilities as much as the whole cutting-up-corpses-and-stitching-them-back-together thing would.

This is why, if we're being honest, "Re-Animator" and "Bride of Re-Animator" are not necessarily gay… they're homophobic. This might be controversial, but stick with me.

I feel like Gordon and Yuzna were tapping into that old-fashioned Revulsion Handbook, including from the source material, which thematically linked Herbert West with queerness. (I'm using "queer" a lot here, but I would personally include trans-friendly readings under that rubric; I'm using "queer" in the analytical sense and not solely in the identity sense.) This means that, ironically, a lot of what we could point to as queer subtext is actually homophobic text.

This is reinforced by the novelization of the first film, written by a homophobe who got Trumpist brainworms later in life. He wanted to make West repulsive to the reader, and therefore, he tried to make West more gay. And IT WORKED. 

To be clear, I'm not accusing anybody, other than the novelist, of being a homophobe. There's a difference between possessing internalized bigoted beliefs which express themselves in writing, versus utilizing tropes originating in bigotry because That's What's Done Around Here. (I can understand why others might not perceive a meaningful difference.) Like the Cuzco lizards, this queerness-as-villainy is definitely a stupid thing ported in from the source material.

I do think that this is why everybody but Our Queen Barbara Crampton seems embarrassed or nonplussed by all the transfags pestering them about fellatio tapes. It's because they don't get why this thing appeals so much to us. It shouldn't. If anything, they should be canceled for having yet another queer-coded villain, along with a number of other plot choices of questionable taste (I'm looking at you, The Head Scene, and I don't like what I see).

Only, uh, it didn't work out that way long-term, did it?

I thank Cronenberg and venereal horror for this, in part. Brutally queer despite not being explicitly gay, venereal horror is what happens when the characters should be revolted, but aren't. 

This kind of thing is horrifying for crossing the line twice: first by being disgusting, then by having characters respond as though it is exciting, or sexually stimulating, or if nothing else, normal. They are perverse. They leer at the dead and the subjects of their experiments. And the disgusting monsters at the center of these narratives are celebrated. Their twisted sexualities are explored with the same brave frankness other filmmakers give to milquetoast cishet missionary nonsense. Their political views are given life and air, and usually, they're right. Their deaths, if they come at all, are framed as tragedies brought on by society's sick rejection of the flesh their brave experimentation.

Cronenberg's the dude who unironically thinks that Shivers (trigger warning for literally everything) has a happy ending. My man David's got subscriptions where others have issues.

Venereal horror has given us a new metaframework for looking at the repulsive, the monstrous, and the problematic and responding to it… differently.

Now here's another thing: Lovecraft likewise provided a structure for embracing the grotesque and the queer.

Pickman, the Decadent artist, paints photorealistic, enormous portraits of ghouls. Literal flesh-eaters. He is fascinated by them, comfortable with them. "Model" heavily implies that Pickman is a ghoul changeling--switched at birth with a human child. This leans into Lovecraft's ideas about heritability being a major source of horror, of course, and seems run of the mill until you get to The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath.

In there, Pickman appears again, but this time as a ghoul. He has cast off his human social shackles and joined the beings he loves, beings who understand him and support him. Kadath is notable in that the ghouls are actually... like... reliable, loyal, and morally good? Carter's opinion pretty much is, "They do eat human corpses and they smell awful, but they're all very nice and want to help me on my quest, so maybe they're not so bad (if not as good as the cat army)".

This feels like Lovecraft acknowledging that his entire approach of linking queerness, death, and revulsion is fundamentally flawed. Once you become familiar with the repulsive, it becomes not-really-that-repulsive-at-all. You can find beauty in it, and amusement, and love. Pickman embracing his ghoulish nature isn't all that different from Seth Brundle's overall lack of revulsion at his body's transformation. And it's not that different from what a lot of transmasculine folks go through, either.

It's not that transmascs, trans men, and/or transfags don't see what West does as crimes against nature. It's that we're all very fucking tired of being accused of crimes against nature. We're tired of not being able to look at socmed without finding accusations that we're disgusting perverts who sneak around behind closed doors to corrupt innocent, promising people to be our lackeys and partners in crime.

Hell, I refer to my wife as "my partner in crime" not because it's a cute way of acknowledging how well and how much we work together both in life and creativity. It's also because we could have been arrested for our relationship when we got together.

We were illegal.

There was a lot of sneaking around and whispering and trying not to get caught and "what if they call the cops on us if we're clocked". Can I tell my friends about this? Will they reject me or rat me out? Where am I safe? Nowhere. Best to lock the door and then check it again to be sure. Best to be very quiet.

Best to act like a graverobber trying to get their grisly wares back home before good, decent, Christian folk see them.

So when I hear "Blasphemy? Before what God?!", I read it as (whether he's ace or aro, gay or achillean, trans man or transmasc or genderfucked) a queer slogan of defiance, instead of a defense of graverobbing, corpse desecration, and non-consensual resurrection.

We're told we and our bodies are repulsive, so being told that Herbert is also repulsive makes him more relatable. Instead of wondering what the hell's wrong with him for shooting up reagent, we all theorize that it's actually T or has similar effects--because we're all told that T is a toxin that will horribly change and disfigure our bodies. He dresses in a three-piece suit for school, and instead of reading him as a stiff and overly-formal little freak, we assume he's layering up because he hasn't found a hoodie he likes yet. 

He cackles at his horrific creations, and instead of saying "What a fucking freak (anguished)", we say "What a fucking freak (affectionate)" and laugh along with him. Who among us hasn't taken apart our Barbies and tried to combine their parts with the Kens? What is a doll, or a human, but a collection of parts to be rearranged? Haven't we also been told we're freaks for rearranging our own parts?

We've already been told by society at large that we are Herbert West. We're just embracing it, in the proud tradition of venereal horror fans who are not revolted when they ought to be, and I think that's delightful.

[violetdawn001]

What is with the Dreamers' Houses?!?! Monomon's Archives

Okay, we can all agree that Team Cherry put a LOT of thought into crafting the backgrounds and environments of Hollow Knight. But why is nobody talking about the designs for the Dreamers' houses?! Especially compared with their base forms?  Well, let's start talking about it!

Behold! Monomon's Design!

Taken from Monomon-the-Teacher.jpeg (1280×720) (punishedbacklog.com)

Taken from: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Yn7QtF-wkSY/maxresdefault.jpg

When you meet the Teacher, the first reaction is either "She's beautiful…" or "WHAT IS A JELLYFISH DOING IN A KINGDOM OF BUGS????" If one isn't your first reaction, then it will most certainly be your second.

I could go on about how Monomon pairs her elegant beauty with her mysterious origins, but then I would be repeating words all day. Let us pause and consider how Monomon, as THE Teacher, would teach Physics…while defying them. It isn't too much of a stretch to say Monomon would float outside of her tank when the all the other Jellies in game do.

Next is her Archives that to my knowledge, lacks books.

We are immediately treated at the entrance of Monomon's Archives.  The only word that could sum it up would be awe: awestruck due to the beauty and the mystery. Looking at Monomon's house from the front can't help but remind one of how Jane Austen would describe a character's house…and how the house perfectly matched the character.

Entering the Archives, we quickly guess that no one has been here in a long time.

But walk in far enough…

And you can't help but guess what an awesome place this must have been.  Take a look at the detail!

The insane amount of knowledge stored here is amazing…and we're on the first floor!

Though we can't read most of it…and what we can read…

Why Monomon, why? Even STEM students need to be proficient in spelling. Source: my engineer brother.

Moving on, the pathway to Monomon's tank is very straight-forward. So much so that we never get a chance to see all of the Teacher's Archives. One point that strikes me is that we never get a chance to see any classrooms. We see Monomon as a researcher as noted by the Charged Lumafly tank and entry:

We know Monomon as a collector of information:

We even get glimpses of Monomon being a mad scientist by creating the Uomu, Oomu, and Uummu.

But the only sign of Monomon being a teacher is by her relationship with Quirrel and the name of her Archives. Unless I am missing something, (or we are simply not able to enter the classrooms) the Archives are more of a library and research center than a school. While I am of the mind that we simply do not see the whole Archives as we are so dead-set on getting to Monomon herself, it really says something about Monomon that we can only see the Madame as a Teacher in her relationships with others.

I would love to further this point, but this essay is for the Dreamers' houses, not necessarily the relationships the Dreamers had unless the relationships are implied in the housing designs themselves, such as the masks in Herrah's Den. Another essay would be required so the Dreamers' relationships can be given the focus and care they deserve.

Returning to Monomon's Archives, it is strange that of all the rooms we get access to, it is not ones that Monomon's students can enter. The pathway to Monomon's tank is blocked by acid.

Yet we are the ones able to see Monomon in her resting place.

Besides Quirrel. But Quirrel has a habit of getting into places most wouldn't dare enter. And it is fitting that Quirrel, Monomon's closest student, is the one to enter Monomon's inner sanctuary.

The Tech in the room is simply amazing and begs more study. Atlas, I fear I might have missed a great deal when it comes to the Teacher. If there is anything more, I hope another member of the Hollow Knight community will step up to fill the void, pun intended.

Now, let us discuss a resting place not for Monomon, but for the player.

Is not this place so elegant in its decay? The perfect symmetry and the framing of the moss ceiling…it is a terrible pity we could not see the Teacher's Archives in Hallownest's prime.

Moving past the pity, let me share a little detail. Team Cherry, when designing each location, placed signs of the ruler of said location in the framework of the place, usually in the fencing. For Teacher's Archives…

It's right at the bench! Which means Monomon is in charge!

The above statement, while made in good jest, possibly bears more weight than on a passing glance. We see no Hallownestian Seals or crests imbedded within the walls. There are also no King's idols or any item to be retrieved from the Archives. Everything in the Archives is centered around Monomon and her research.

This idea gives rise to a theory that perhaps the Teacher's Archives was not part of Hallownest, but rather neutral territory where ANYONE could come to learn about anything in peace. This would not be the first time in media where such a place existed. The TV show "Babylon 5" tells the story of a space station created as a place where the different alien races can learn about the other races in neutral territory for the purpose of creating peace.

 To answer some objections, yes, "The Pilgrams' Way" does pass through Fog Canyon, but it also passes through Greenpath which technically belongs to Unn, not the Pale King.  And the Archives is one of the few places that has its own, unique bench. 

If the Archives is not part of Hallownest, what does this neutrality tell us about Monomon? If the Teacher's Archives is indeed neutral territory, it shows how much emphasis Monomon puts on knowledge being open to everyone as the purpose of the Archives is a place to store all the knowledge she collected.

But if Monomon was neutral, how did she get involved with the Dreamer plan? Simple. Monomon cared about her students. Monomon welcomed everyone from anywhere, and everywhere was infected by the Radiance. To save her students, the majority of whom came from Hallownest, Monomon became a Dreamer. Unfortunately, it was all in vain as the world fell into stasis as one by one Monomon's students either died or fell to the Infection. The Archives, where you could find anyone from anywhere in Hallownest, now only holds jellyfish…

Before we wallow in sorrow, let us escape to the City of Tears and to the final Dreamer. Wait for part 3.0 coming soon!

This is a part series to see if I can fit everything in. I hope you enjoyed Monomon's Archives!

Part 1.0: Herrah's Den : Here

Part 2.0: Monomon's Archives (You are here)

Part 3.0: Lurien's Spire : Here

Part 3.25: More of Lurien's Spire: Here

Part 3.5: Lurien's Spire: Pillows and Patriotism: Here

Part 3.7 Lurien's Spire: What is wrong with Lurien's Office?! Here

Link to essay on Ao3: Here

[annoyinglandmagazine]

First Time Reading Girl Genius Novels!

Airship City just arrived!!!! So just to clarify, I have read and am entirely up to date on the webcomic so don’t worry about spoiling anything! I’m also only really reacting to things that stick out to me while I’m reading the novels specifically, I already know the story. So without further ado let’s get into it:

Heterodyne Boys content! Hell yes!

Bill silently cleaning his weapons while Barry worries about him is so wholesome and sad at the same time. It is a tragedy that we never really get to see much of this sibling dynamic because it seems really sweet.

The thumbs up signal too, just a little snapshot of how they were before all this.

Damn the Other is terrifying, just picking all the main players off one by one until no one’s even being accused anymore because it’s so clearly something on another level.

‘It was the most Bill had spoken this week.’ This is just too depressing

It’s kind of weird to be reminded that the Heterodynes did actually win against the Other; the end to their story is just so far from triumphant it feels like a loss.

Actual descriptions of the way the locket and the Spark impacts Agatha’s mind!

The atmosphere of Beetleburg is really fleshed out which is nice.

‘Jägermonsters found everything amusing. Except when people tried to beg for mercy. That they found downright hilarious.’ Ha!

The implications that ordinary household appliances have kill modes installed that are only activated in the presence of a strong Mechanicsburg accent should surprise me more than it does

There is so much irony in Agatha hiding the fact she reads Heterodyne Boy novels from her adoptive parents Punch and Judy.

‘If a mad scientist wasn’t at war with at least two of his neighbours it was because he had his back to the sea and even then he had to watch out for an invasion of intelligent sea urchins.’ Europa really is just Like That

The fact the Heterodynes represented hope to the average people because they actually tried gives me so many emotions

Moloch’s narration is a lot more sympathetic than he comes across in the comic at the start.

The general populace automatically getting worried at Sparky tones even with no context is a nice touch

Jägers and their terrible pick up lines make a first appearance

Beetle was really very sweet to Agatha and meant well which I tend to forget because of the whole Hive Engine first impression

‘Glassvitch’s specialty was chemical engineering which minimised his experience with hysterically sobbing young ladies.’

Something, something, “science is better than emotions or people” is both extremely autistic and a very common take in Girl Genius which I love.

Klaus’ backstory is once again so depressing.

Also the fact no one took him seriously because he was an adventurer who let Bill and Barry take the spotlight and then he just came back out of nowhere, challenged anyone to try and take him on and ended up taking over a significant part of the continent, is kind of badass.

Oh Agatha, assassination attempts since he was revealed are nothing in the wide array of shit going on to make Gil the way he is; that is so far from the problem that to call it the tip of the iceberg would be assigning it too much importance

Boris being known and feared almost as much as the Baron, hell yes, that long suffering man deserves respect for his efforts.

‘He clutched the fishbowl to his chest protectively’ Gil, I love you

Klaus swinging an arm around Gil’s shoulder and patting it while smiling and calling him his son non critically might be the most affection we’ve ever seen him express.

Why do I feel like this is peak healthiness for their relationship, the bar is in the fucking basement

Klaus and Gil ‘eyed each other, as if each were embarrassed at the thought of speaking first. Finally the Baron cleared his throat and said, “Yes, Gil, what do you think of that?”

The description makes that already hilarious interaction so much better. Their whole role in this confrontation reads as second hand embarrassment at the poor planning of their enemies and awkwardness at being remotely associated with this disaster of an coup

‘Klaus looked disgusted’ yep that’s definitely it.

The Wulfenbach Empire understanding that most Sparks really only want praise, a space to work, something to challenge them and someone to make sure they eat is hilarious.

Worldbuilding in the form of universe specific bigotry is my jam. The way constructs get portrayed as comic relief in pop culture due to a culture of discrimination is ingenious. I also appreciate the touch that Klaus has strong and public opinions on this though I suppose it’s not that surprising considering he himself is one in some sense.

I think Lilith teaching music and dance is a new detail and it’s nice to flesh their lives out more, it fits what little we know about her really well.

They are such good parents and this is just adorable

That’s all for now, I’ll pick it up again later!

[valentine-cafe]

May I have a croissant and red velvet cheesecake please?!?

[Gn reader]

Just thinking about them going on another business trip again!! But this time they actually leave and come back later that same day they left!! You didn't know they were coming back though!! Ofc you had to send them pictures of you and the animals while they were gone! And you called them crying so many times asking when they'll be back, hoping for a different answer each time!! When they come back later that night, you'd just throw yourself at them too, because that was so mean and cruel, and you don't ever wanna be separated from them ever again!!! And you're in their arms crying and crying and crying about how you really thought they were gonna leave this time!!! They'd soak up every second of it.

-🍄

˖⁺. ﹙ yandere naga mad doctor x gn reader x yandere hybrid mad scientist. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . you've such beautiful cries dear !! 🍒 :  mad doctor ˖ yandere ˖ snake monster ˖ grim reaper character & spider-moth-mantis hybrid ˖ mad scientist ˖ yandere character ﹙ verse 209 jingyi & rishen. ﹚

your husbands did not tell you how long they would be away this coming bussiness trip

they heard your crying the second they stepped inside of the mansion. grins forming on both faces.

oh indeed, your cries were so very delightful. a pleasure to soak in and keep only to themselves — all of this just because they told you they were gonna be away for a bit. not telling you much on how long they will be away.

the dogs whine at your sobbing, while beatrice tries her best to make you forget about the lonliness that riddles you when your husbands are gone. the siamese cat meowing at you quietly, as if telling you to cheer up.

you were lonely, they knew it. they took advantage of it too, it made you truly believe that without them, you would have nobody to be there for you.

it was necsessary, otherwise you’d run away or be with people they did not wish for you to be with.

in your somberness, pooling across the floor, you only registered the feel of strong arms wrapping around you after the small croon in your ear: “oh cariño don’t cry.”

with a quick shift in your seat, the mad scientist moves you onto his lap, and instinctively you hug onto him, sobbing out loudly. while dogs and a cat circle around the three of you.

jìngyí places his cold hand on your face to wipe and kiss away the tears, smiling down at you gently.

“you are the most precious thing.” he chuckles in delight. and in response, a smile can’t help but make it’s way upon your face. you are their pretty little darling, even when you are weeping all of your sorrows.

“please don’t do that again! please tell me when you come back, so that i am not thrown into turmoil and fear!” you cry into his hands, while rishen hushes you with a grin you do not see.

“we will. . . we will, you are alright cariño, let us get some dessert, hm?”

[witchofsparkles]

Soap groaned in front of the mirror while scrubbing his bloody face with a dampaned rag because washing it with handful of water would make his bathroom look like a murder scene. Which he just came from. And he wasn’t in the mood for more of it.

This time the mission was especially bloodier. Merchaneries popping out of everywhere and bullets flying, only the glint of a very fast knife seen and gurgling voices mixed with screams. They successfully obtained the data they went for, but the cost of it was more nightmares and horror – like always.

After freeing his face from dirt and blood, Soap showered before treating the small cuts on his face and the bullet graze on his left bicep which the meds told him to care for. Soap was already out of the infirmary when he didn’t hear anything about his life being in danger and run for the comfort of his room instead. He could care for it in solitude of the four walls of his bathroom.

He left the shower with a sour mood, nothing he would do now were to solve his post-duty problem. Not before sleeping like a dead man in a coffin for at least 8 hours. With that in mind, he mindlessly stepped towards to the mirror again, to see his face. But he had to bit down on his lips to stop himself from screaming his head off and probably gather every soldier on the base with guns ready in his room. Between the foggy surface of his mirror and the reflection of his face, he could’ve sweared he saw someone else. It was a faint shadow of a white skull, with very alive and brown eyes. When Soap blinked, it was gone.

“I’m losing it this time, ain’t I?” Soap took a step back from the mirror but his hands were gripping the sink like it was the reason why his life was a miserable mess and his brain was going out of it. “What the fuck?”

After the jump scare of his life, Soap intented to act as if nothing happened and he cleaned his injuries before going to bed. But everytime he closed his eyes, a pair of brown eyes were looking at him througha skull -a skull probably belonged to a very, very dead man. Soap shook his head and sighed into his pillow. If he were not to sleep in twenty minutes maximum, everybody in the base were gonna be in need of a psych eval because Soap was about to start making his own problems everybody’s bussiness.

At the morning, Soap run into Gaz. Gaz eyed him like he saw a ghost. “Man, what the hell? You gonna carry groceries in those bags under your eyes?”

Soap, who couldn’t sleep because of a mind so fucked up that kept showing him skulls and eyes and blood and everything bad, felt his eyebrow twitching. “No, it’s for your dead body if you don’t shut up and let me eat in peace and silence.”

Gaz made him a face while sitting across the table and put his tray on it. “I mean, we all had hell of a fight yesterday but it’s nothing new after 5 years in it and I sure hell am not looking like a mad scientist. And this is probably the first time you wanted peace and silence. Did something happen?”

Soap sighed into his breakfast. He didn’t know why a simple illusion threw him off like that. It was just for a millisecond and his mind was most llikely playing him games after a long day of fighting for his life. But something in that millisecond was keeping his mind busy and his heart heavy. After the first shock of a seeing… ‘someone’ in his mirror, that fear changed into discomfort. Like he had to do something but he couldn’t and it kept him awake at night. He was feeling very dumb for it. Also saying shit like ‘I saw someone in my mirror last night’ in army was a sure way of kicked out.

“Nothing happened. Just tired. Couldn’t sleep.” Gaz didn’t buy it, Soap could see but he couldn’t care less. Before any of them even breathed, they heard Price’s call for them. “Soap, Gaz. Follow me.”

Soap’s mind was occupied but he finally finished what Price wanted –paperwork. And more paperwork. He was actually glad for it, he finally let his thoughts scatter around and picked them up back when he was done. Soap gathered the papers and head for the door but something on the window stopped him. He faced the window, the sun was setting and the orange sky was reflecting on the glass. But it was not the scenery that caused him to stop and look. It was something on the glass -someone. That same face he saw the night before on his mirror was there again and this time he actually stared at it. Then the image disappeared like it came, in no more than a second he was looking at an ordinary window again. Soap’s fists was clenched around the papers. This time the face was there longer than before and he actually stared at the skull. Hell, they locked eyes. In his brain, there was a war going on now: He was seeing things because he was going mad or he was seeing things… because. And he didn’t know which one was worse.

Soap went straight for the bed after that, didn’t even waved back to his friends. His mind was somewhere else and his eyes were unfocused, he only realized he was back at his room when he reached to the door. He muttered to himself. “What is my problem?”

“Me?”

[thepenultimateword]

A Little Bit of Madness

CW: serious Injury, surgery, implied needles, body modification

Supervillain awoke with a start, a sort of ghastly, gasping awakening that even startled them. They blinked hard, slowly taking in their position, prostrate on a cold table. Three things struck all at once: one, they had no idea where they were or how they got here. Two, they couldn't move. Three, they couldn't feel. From the thick feeling in their head, they thought that things should be hurting, but the only sensation they were getting was a strange numbness from head to toe.

They made some effort to lift their lifeless arms but only managed a tired grunt.

"Don't move, my love," came a familiar, reedy voice near their head.

"Scientist?" Supervillain mumbled. It came out croaky, but at least that was one part of their body they could move.

In answer, cool hands began stroking down their temples. "Those horrible heroes tried to kill your beautiful self."

"Kill me?"

"Yes." Scientist stooped down, the sharp diamond cut of their bones coming into view as their long hair tickled Supervillain's cheek. Supervillain searched their sterile gray eyes, more like doomsday cloud today than their usual steady steel. "They completely ignored our treaty and decided to take their chances and blow you up. Not good chances. You know, I think they underestimate me."

"Scientist..." Supervillain strained to move an arm, a finger, a muscle, anything to hold them. Their lover was sensitive, always double, triple, quadruple checking, fearing the worst, overprotecting. This injury must have devastated them. Well, if they couldn't comfort them with touch, they could manage some words. "I'm here. It's ok. I'm ok."

"They still haven't realized that I'm the boss in the relationship," Scientist laughed flatly, hysteria rising. "They think it's you with your powers and your voice and your big shoulders. They think if you're out of the picture everything will be solved. But I gave you those powers and I made those plans." Scientist pounded their chest, suddenly roaring, "If they wanted you dead, they should have killed me first!"

Supervillain's insides washed cold. Something was wrong. Very very wrong. This wasn't stress from a regular injury. This didn't even feel like a regular patch job.

"Scientist...what do you mean by "blown up"? How..." Supervillain winced as they tried to summon their latest memory and came up with nothing but heat and blinding light. "How am I here? What did you do?"

Scientist brushed at Supervillain's short hair, pinching at strands and smoothing them back. "You're stable. But some of the pieces still need to take."

"Pieces?" Supervillain's voice went up an octave. "What did you do?"

"I saved you, my love." They pressed a soft kiss to their forehead. "And maybe made you a little bit better. So that you'll stay safe."

"Scientist? Scientist what did you do? What exactly did you do? What happened."

"All in good time, love." Scientist moved out of Supervillain's line of sight. "For now, sleep. It's too early for you to be awake. You could hurt yourself."

There was some light clattering to Supervillain's right, and suddenly a sharp pinch in Supervillain's neck. Almost immediately all the lights and colors and sounds blurred together into pitch black.

The next time they woke, they were in a bed instead of a table. It was one of those wheeled hospital beds with an IV drip hooked up to it, but still a bed. Things still felt a little strange--courtesy of whatever was in that drip they were sure--but at least a few small kicks under the covers proved they could move again.

"There you are," came Scientist's voice, first distant and all at once right next to their head. "There's my favorite villain. Hey, love."

Supervillain took them in in slow blinks.

"How are you feeling?"

Another blink. "You did something to me."

It slipped off their tongue before they even recalled the night before. They didn't intend it to come out so much like an accusation.

Scientist's expression tightened, if only to keep themselves together. "You were in pieces. Even when I got most of you on life support, I had to go scrounging around the city for whatever parts those disgusting heroes didn't steal."

"Steal?"

"DNA, darling. Of course, they have their own scientific team assigned to cloning it. Their own army of supers. Fortunately, when I gave you those powers they weren't meant to alter you on a genetic level. I don't think they'll find much." Maybe Scientist saw the sickened look on their face because they dropped the topic. "No matter. All that's important is you're alright now. Do you want some jello? Or pudding? Oh, I got that swirl kind you like."

"I want a mirror."

"Not yet, darling. It'll be too much of a shock all at once. Give yourself time to get used to the feel first."

"I want a mirror," Supervillain repeated more firmly.

Scientist’s lips tightened, but they nodded. “As you wish."

They shuffled out of the room. Supervillain watched after them for a moment but quickly their eyelids began to droop. The next thing they knew Scientist was gently shaking their shoulder. Their lover pointed to the other side of the room before stepping away and biting the back of their knuckle.

Supervillain’s eyes flicked to the floor length mirror propped on the barren wall in front of them. For a moment they couldn’t find themselves. Only…metal.

An arm, a chest plate, a panel in their head where the hair cut short. As they straightened a sharp clicking sound resonated over their shoulder and their reflection showed a sort of long metal rod beginning at the base of their neck and followed the curve of their back like an outer spine.

“I can attach other prosthetics to that,” Scientist said quickly. “Wings, tail, whatever. It’s meant to connect the rest of these pieces to your nervous system but that’s the bonus.”

Nervous system. Suddenly Supervillain didn’t trust their earlier movement. They tossed back the blanket as best they could and, as they feared, found two completely new legs underneath.

They couldn’t breathe.

“I-I’m going to figure out how to synthesize a sort of skin to cover over it all,” Scientist said. “That way you won’t feel so strange.”

“So I won’t feel strange?” Supervillain murmured. “Everything left of me is burned, and the rest…” They scoffed, clenching their fists. “You don’t want me to feel strange? I am strange! You made me strange! That’s what you do! You push and prod and break and put back together! You think it’s fun making monsters? Experimenting like the rest of us are just lab rats in your world? You’re not Frankenstein! You’re not Dr. Jekyll! You’re just a villain who always takes it too far! You weren’t supposed to do this to me! I trusted you! You weren’t supped to…”

Supervillain turned their hands back and forth in front of them. A loud sob forced its way up their throat.

"I know." Scientist slid into the bed beside them and wrapped them in their arms. "I know. But I could not lose you. I would not."

Supervillain buried their face into Scientist’s neck, fury overshadowed by their need for comfort. A monster in the hands of their creator.

[thedepressedjuggalette]

Arcane is a GOTHIC Show.

No, not Goth like Goth music, I mean GOTHIC as in Gothic Literature like Mary Shelly's Frankenstein, Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or literally anything written by Edgar Allen Poe.

I am dead ass serious. Or maybe I'm just insane.(Spoilers ahead!!!)

Now it is okay if you didn't pick up on this, I am just one of those extremely weird kids that grew up reading Gothic Literature so much that it was almost an unhealthy obsession so I kind of spotted this within the first 6 episodes of the first season.

Now if you don't believe me when I say that Arcane is Gothic in nature I need to ask you this:

Did Arcane ask these simple questions:

What does it mean to be human?

What defines humanity?

When is a person too far gone?

Can grief ruin a person?

Can trying to help others turn to destroying others?

And can obsession turn to madness?

These specific questions are the very questions I've noticed pop up a LOT in OLD SCHOOL Gothic literature.

For instance Viktor is a lot like Viktor Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll (more so Dr. Jekyll) in the sense that he slowly loses his humanity the further he pushes his research before finally falling to a destructive path. He quite literally loses himself to his own research and by his own research subject.

Singed (Dr. Ravick) is more Viktor Frankenstein than anything else. So obsessed with bringing the dead back to life. But whereas Frankenstein was obsessed with the idea of it that he never thought if he should. Singed found it merely to be nothing more than an illness needing to be cured because he couldn't stand the idea of losing his daughter.

Gothic Literature came out after the Romantic Literature Era, however in the Romantic Literature Era a lot of writers were protesting workplace mistreatment such as forcing children into working in coal mines and cleaning chimneys, along with the obsession of nature, Gothic Literature focused on the morality of Humanity, what it meant to be human and what defines us and how quickly a person can fall into insanity (aka mental health issues).

The first to start this was Mary Shelley over a small bet with her husband and several other authors. Her work was mortifying in comparison to the others because of what it forced the reader to think about.

Her work took place during the Enlightened Era where scientists were obsessed with Progress (Riot I fucking saw this shit coming, fuck you guys), and how if as a species can we become like god and make something from our own deaths and if we even should?

Shelley doesn't directly answer this but we actively see through her writing the death of a god -- Viktor Frankenstein -- because Adam (the monster) views his creator with contempt and disgust and thus demands his Eve despite Frankenstein's reluctance.

Can you imagine what Vander would've thought of Singed?

Can we really say that Vander would not view Singed as both his Savior and Destroyer. Can we even call Vander human? Or is he something else entirely? We can't call him a werewolf in the traditional sense, so what truly is he? He is the Adam of a species not meant to exist. Is he even Vander anymore or is he truly Warwick?

A lot of Poe's writing is very much about madness and grief. Well... To me anyways, it could just be my obsession with his poem The Raven (it reminds me of my great grandmother).

And I've personally in my own life seen how grief can destroy a person physically -- their despair destroying their physical health because that person feels their life died with that person. And I fear every day for my grandma to head down the same path that her sisters are when they pass.

But it's the mentality that the more subtle and at the same time the most extravagant thing to be destroyed through grief.

We see this repeatedly with Jinx and Vi.

They lost their stability the moment that their brothers and Vander died, and when Jinx thought Vi was dead.

They had already lost their bio parents, so this was another nail in their coffins. However Vi had no idea if Jinx was alive or dead and thus had that to hold onto despite being beaten bloody in an unstable environment that is prison.

Jinx however had her grief and trauma constantly lectured into her and had to form her personality around it. She even comments on it in episode 9 of season 1. Silco didn't know how to be a dad, but he was trying his best but he was a grown ass man when he had his personality reformation unlike Jinx who was like 10.

Her grief was haunting her and ruining her mental health.

I had recently learned that psychotic depression is a thing.

With her guilt and grief and PTSD eating her alive she was bound to go the road she went down. But what truly killed Jinx was the death of Isha.

I want to make it clear that I don't view Jinx and Isha's relationship as sisterly. I view it as maternal due to the comparisons between her and Silco and Isha to Powder.

However the point still stands.

She, like Silco, could not stand the mere idea of their child being in any sort of life threatening situation -- especially dealing with enforcers -- and thus would jump to protect them. But they both fail at the end in many ways.

Vi literally stopping Jinx from getting Isha out of there, and Silco being unable to stop Vi from triggering Jinx's PTSD.

And there's one more thing about Jinx we need to address...

If there is one thing I know about bullying and brainwashing is that if you keep telling someone they're worthless etc. one day they're going to believe you, and you cannot be surprised they do and when they act accordingly. Especially when the victim is a child. This is why suicide in children and teens is so devastating and cannot be fixed with religion or weird as hell wrestlers or stupid manosphere podcasts.

We don't know how long Powder had to put up with Mylo's bullying of her, but telling by her reaction to and how the loudest and most negative voice she hears from her hallucinations is his voice... I'd have to say that it started from the moment they met up to his death and it was sealed when Vi hit her and called her a Jinx.

"Who truly made Jinx?" is a question that has been brought up by everyone and their mother by this point. Some agree with the character herself when she said that it was Vi. Others agree with Silco when Jinx stated that Silco thinks he made Jinx.

Some reading this might say "Oh my god was it Mylo???"

I disagree on all fronts.

There is one video essay I keep coming back to because anyone with any sense of media literacy will outright point this same shit out but not as... Artfully as the essay itself.

It is called "Arcane, a Monster Factory" and it starts out with a single statement:

"Piltover breaks people."

And ends with a terrifying statement:

"Sometimes when I can't sleep at night, I start to think that maybe Piltover is more realistic than I'd like to think..."

It wasn't a single person that made Jinx. It was the entire city.

I want to point to Episode 7 to show you what I mean.

Without the death of Grayson but instead the death of Vi and without the creation of Hextech and Silco choosing to forgive Vander, Powder herself changed for the better and never needed to become Jinx. Rather she focused her energy on helping everyone around her -- and not taking time for herself in the process but we've always seen this even in Jinx. She focused on helping Silco then jumped to just trying to destroy for the sake of destroying only to end up helping the under city without meaning to, only to help Isha, and never really helping herself.

No matter what she'd have liked to think, she could've done wonders. Viktor even said so himself. She could do a lot to help his commune with her talents.

Even said it when he was looking at her bomb for the first time, calling her work "inspired".

She is talented but her talents never got the chance to truly shine.

Imagine what she and Ekko could've done if they were able to attend Piltover's academy.

But as stated before, Piltover breaks people.

Piltover made Jinx.

And in a cruel twist of fate it made the two people who cared about her the most hold the blame for the city's actions.

The ending of Arcane was fumbled when it came to Jayce's speech to Viktor and I'll stand by that because it was the fault of Piltover for Viktor having a preventable disease and thus leading to his obsession with avoiding death and avoiding needless suffering.

But in this ending these two science husbands did ask the one question that truly defines Gothic Literature.

What does it mean to be human?

And it's answer is one that I am unsure about because no one can truly define the human experience. The experience of life. The grief. The pain. The love. The joy. All of it.

In my own fanfic for a completely different fandom I had two characters talk about emotions. One couldn't truly feel emotions while another could. It took me a long while to try to figure out how to answer the question of "What is it like to feel emotions?"

It's hard to answer, isn't it?

I did figure it out though, having to take a page out of Kindred's playbook. But it was one I was very satisfied with.

It is questions like these be them asked through subtle writing cues, or blatantly asked by the characters themselves, they define Gothic Literature to me.

Arcane is the beautiful marriage of Greek Tragedy and Gothic Literature.

[azurlily]

Hange zoe DATING headcannons (your choice on sfw or nsfw or both if you’d like!) -🐢

Dating Hange Zoe would be like:

Hange is a scientist, so of course they need to gather research on you before "jumping to conclusions".

She'll watch you when out on missions just in case a titan gets a bit too close. Cant have her lover getting hurt, right?

Depending on wether you are a cadet or not, she will either show too much or little amounts to PDA.

If you are a cadet(18 OR OVER), well she'll keep your relationship a secret until she feels comfortable. If not, be prepared they love to show you off.

Hange keeps you close in a secret fear of never seeing you again. What if you're out on a mission and DIE? They wouldn't be able to bear it.

Hange sometimes uses their rank to get you things. Extra food, water, anything she can find.

Will start thinking about you when they are pulling an all nighter and cant stop. They wonder where you are, if you're asleep, if you're awake... if you're cheating on them

Hange is very self conscious about herself. She thinks that she isn't good enough sometimes and doesn't know what to do.

You, of course squash these thoughts by kissing her and showing her you love her. You show her how important she is to you.

Hanges kisses are gentle and sweet. She can get a little overwhelming due to the fact that shes just so happy to see you.

Dont ever let her sweet demeanor fool you though. They could very easily hurt someone or something if mad enough.

Example: Levi had made a comment about you being unprofessional because he believes your relationship(all relationships not just the gay ones) should be kept private. He berated you and told you to this is the military your could die any day.

You told Hange, and by the gods. You have never seen her so mad. They told you it was okay, and that they would "talk" to Levi.

The talking that she did ended up in her blowing up about how rude it was and how Levi wouldn't understand because his lover is dead. She slapped Levi and told him, "When you understand how afraid I am for her safety, you can talk about relationships."

You never thought she'd get mad enough to mention them(no real lover I'm just using this). Levi didn't say anything, he should have, but he didn't. Hange is the commander now, Hange is in control.

When Hange came back to you she promised it was handled nicely and neatly.

You never had a problem with anyone talking about your relationship ever again.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

Hard, fast, rough. Maybe a bit sweet.(not maybe definitely) Hange gets quite needy after overworking and needs some help. You'll help her right?

They like being in control. With losing everyone and becoming commander she needs a form of stress relief.

They like when you call them daddy, seeing as they feel more masculine in bed. The first time you called them daddy. Well, your thighs hurt with how good she fucked you.

They love to eat you out. She prefers you not eat her, but if you convince her to let you. You'll have them wrapped tight around your finger.

She eat you for hours, she loves when you cry, and whine, and beg. She loves hearing you please for mercy while you both know she ain't giving you none.

"Aww, yes, I know it hurts. I know, but you'll take it, you'll take me. Now open those pretty thighs up again, I wasn't done."

Dont try bratting with them, it only makes things worse for you. They are the definition of fuck around and find out in bed. The madder she is the rougher she gets.

If you're sweet though, she'll treat you like the pretty little slut you are. She'll tell you, you're a good little slut and fuck you till you're both numb.

She has high stamina during the day. Why wouldn't she at night too?

"Fuckk, such a dumb little slut. You sure know how to eat me out. Maybe I'll reward you if you're good. You wanna be a good slut for me?

Dont worry she'll reward you, she melts when you eat her. Dont let her try and fool you.

As you can see she has a praise and degradation kink. They'll bully you in bed, make you cry(tears of pleasure), while fucking you so hard it should hurt.

Then again, you are her slut. So why does it matter if it hurts, you're here to feel good, to be overstimulated til you can't move, much less talk.

Aftercare is something out of this world. She'll bring you food, water, and will help you clean up.

She constantly reassures you she isn't mad, that she loves you, that you're hers. Shes so gentle with you.

She'll help you fall asleep and lay there for a while playing with your hair/drawing shapes on your skin with her hand.

Hii 🐢! I'm so glad someone has put in a request. It's not the best hit I'm working on my writing skills! I use a mixture of she/they for Hange seeing as I dont know if they are nonbinary or if that's a rumor. Anyway thank you for reading!

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

Could you give your top 5 Scarecrow quotes of all time?

Not in any order: and I'm doing ten.

He's more than just scrawny Jonathan Crane, more than just the Scarecrow. He's s scientist, too. A trained psychologist who made fear the center of all his research. The gas was just a tool, one of many. He will show them, these doubters and bullies. These small men. He will show them and then all gotham (and yes, even that other manipulator of fear, The Batman!) that he doesn't need his special gas to strike terror in others. He will show them what real fear is all about

Fear is primal. Raw. Blood pressure increases. Veins in your skin contract. Your immune system shuts down. Even if you attempt to steel against fear, ... it is undeniable. Fear makes us human. That was the conclusion of Charles Darwin. Who am I to argue? I'm a man of science, too. A psychologist. But few know my academic achievements. If you know me at all, you know me as ... the Scarecrow!

But fear reveals the truth, erodes your self-control. Soon you will kill and become that which you hate the most. Soon, the Bat will be broken!

It's gone, Dark Knight-the grip you had on Gotham. Your long reign of fear. I'm sovereign now.

It's not fear that drives the Batman, not exactly. It's loss. The man behind that striking cowl lost something dear to him--something that made him afraid. Something that made him refuse to ever be afraid again. But he is afraid. Of losing Robin. Of losing Gotham. Of you.

I made this just for you. I admit I'm anxious to see what you think. When I work, you're the audience I'm trying to please. I hope you're flattered by that. You should be.

The sinister Scarecrow is free once more -- a living heart attack loose in the dark!

Your fears got the better of you I see. How fitting that I will win and Batman's life will be over... not because of what I have done to your precious city, but because you are scared of what I will do to your friends, your family. They are your weakness, hiding just below the surface. I'm sure that you're scared of what will happen when I tear that mask from your face. What will we find? Your true identity, or proof that without your mask you are nothing. Impotent. Powerless, Afraid.

I was a professor of psychology, specializing in phobias. Inducing terror has always intrigued me. Even, as a boy, I liked to frighten things. People, animals, it was all the same. I became obsessed with fear's crippling power. Later, when I became their leading professor of subliminal psychology at the university, I began performing experiments on fear and its subsequent effects. Dr. Long thought I went too far. He called me a lunatic. So now, they will learn the true nature of horror!

I fear nothing and no one. Not even you -- the biggest and worst bully of all, the one who shattered my confidence and buried the pieces in that dark pit of madness -- locked me fast in the grim stone of Arkham. But I'm out now! Risen again! And I am a strong-willed, single-minded, bat-hating machine! I've spent years honing my violent dance -- endless hours mastering the Crane style of martial arts. I am a new Scarecrow -- the invincible agent of your doom... I am the vengeance reaper!

[atlasscrumpit]

Dark Tony Stark

Tony is bored so he starts doing experiments on humans secretly. He always kidnaps people with body problems. One day he kidnaps the reader (the reader had just had an accident and lost her voice). He fixes her vocal cords. During his experiment on her he falls in love with her and wants her for himself. He keeps her in his bedroom. His experiment on her worked (not perfect but it does work. She can talk but has a very robotic voice).

The Lonely Scientist

Tony entered the hospital and walked around the room, it was quiet and everyone was practically asleep.

He walked up to your bed and read your file.

"Lost your voice, huh? No family, no friends... Perfect." He whispered looking at you sleeping peacefully.

"You poor thing... You're so young." He whispered as he ran his hand through your hair.

"I don't think anyone will miss you anyway, sweetheart."

--

Tony looked down at your pale skin as he performed surgery on you.

After all the Avengers had left Tony he went...slightly, just a little bit insane.

"If this works you'll be very thankful... And if it doesn't work, something tells me you'll be thankful to be dead anyway." He muttered to himself as he continued the surgery.

--

You began to wake up, your throat hurting, all you wanted to do was scream in pain but you couldn't.

Suddenly a loud ringing noise began and you quickly blocked your ears.

Tony rushed forward and turned off a device that was attached to your neck.

"Woah, easy there." He said as he gently ran his hand through your hair.

You tried to speak but nothing came out as you looked at him in fear, he couldn't imagine how confusing this was for you.

Not only did you have no voice but Tony Stark was in front of you.

"Don't try to speak just yet, you were in a bad accident. You didn't have anyone in the hospital, no family, no friends, no partner." He said as he continued to play with you hair.

You began to cry as he sat down beside your bed.

"I know it's hard, but that's why I took you. Watch." He said before turning the device back on.

"Now, try to talk." He said as you stared at him.

"How?" You said in a robotic voice as your eyes widened.

Tony looked at you with excitement.

"Yes! Yes, perfect!" He shouted as you stared at him in shock.

"What the hell did you do to me!?" You shouted as his smile faded.

"I fixed you!" He shouted back, standing up causing the chair to fall back and create a loud sound.

You flinched and closed your eyes.

"I am dozing everyone, and no one is ever thankful!" He screamed as you opened your eyes and looked around, you saw a hand hanging out from a sheet.

"What the hell have you been doing?" You asked, if your voice wasn't a robot it would've been laced with fear.

"They don't have families, I gave them a chance." He said as your eyes widened.

"You're killing people!" You shouted as he reached down and gripped your arm roughly.

"I am saving them!" He screamed in your face as you stared at him in fear.

He slowly let go of your shoulder before he reached up and held your face.

"You're the only one I've succeeded with. I know it seems cruel... But, I've given your voice back." He said, you could practically see the madness in his eyes.

"I want to go home." You said as he sighed.

"No... No, I don't want you to go. It's just me here, you can stay, alright? There's so many rooms and I have so much money, I can just spoil you, okay? What, you'd rather go back to your studio apartment and be all alone?" He asked as you just continued to stare at him.

"No..." You muttered in response, making him smile softly.

"Good... Good, perfect. You can stay here, you'll have everything you'll ever need." He said playing with your hair.

You weren't sure this was the best idea but...it was either live alone in a shitty apartment after having experiments done on you, or live with a rich psychopath.

Easy choice.