#I would kill her if given the chance

[clickerflight]

Aight. So I'mma sit here in my corner and cry then.

Initials

[masterlist]

CW: whumper pov, pet whump, dehumanisation, cutting (NOT self-harm), gore

Mireille hadn’t put too much thought into it, not really. But she didn’t need to. The moment she lay eyes upon the initials carved into the jewelled perfume bottle in the home of one of her suitors, it was decided. 

Henri was a good man, certainly as good as he could get, though not without some imperfections. He was of good stature, broad shoulders, though unaware of how to present them, always slouching slightly, as if the weight of his own frame was too much. And really, that wasn’t acceptable in the eyes of perfection. Maybe Mireille could make him great, could make him her own and teach him how to be proper, but maybe this was the best he could get and she’d just waste her time. Honestly, she’d rather be certain of her efforts, but he didn’t need to know, for his presents still made lovely decor. 

He did have good taste, otherwise she wouldn’t have entertained him for so long. 

All that matters now though, is the sunlight catching in the glass carvings of the bottle, the image replaying in her mind. She wants it too, and she wants it now, and Mireille knows just the possession perfectly suited for this:

Her little ashtray.

There is no thought in her mind of where to do this, who to ask. None of them would see the vision in her mind, the exact way it’s supposed to look. They’d all mess it up, ignorant of the gracefulness she lent to her ashtray. No, this is a personal project.

It is too easy to acquire a proper knife without suspicion. These men –the useful ones– – would bend over backwards just to get a chance at pleasing her. Sometimes she’d go as far as calling it boring, but what else was she supposed to do when all it took was the batting of her lashes, looking up at them with big, dumb doe eyes and slightly parted lips? Her body spoke a language none of them could resist, none of them were ever more than prey to fall in worship. 

And worship they did, falling to their knees to satisfy her in all the ways she allowed them. She was their queen in satin sheets and velvet dresses.

So here she sits, legs crossed elegantly on her precious couch, the fine knife not yet unpacked, resting in a silver case, embedded with diamonds.

No one else understands that not only does the result need to be flawless, but every single step needs to be immaculate, from the tools to the cutting to the one performing. An image has to be created, a scene, and none of those lowly things could ever understand her vision. That was what has always made her inherently different, inherently superior, and deserving of rightful worship. 

A servant rushes into the room, hitching breaths restricted by the working collar, eying the golden bell set carefully on the glass table in front of her. 

“You called, Mistress?” they ask, staring cautiously at the floor, not yet daring to raise their eyes to meet hers. Good. She wants them revering. 

“Yes. Fetch me my ashtray, won’t you?” Mireille drawls, her bubbling excitement hidden under layers of refined grace. “And bring me some strong dogs. They will be needed.”

The servant nods, not worrying their stupid little head about her meaning, teasing what's to come, and rushes out as quickly as they came. They look frail, purposeful like porcelain, probably why she bought them, though their name or number had left her mind long ago. An unimportant piece of information abandoned along the way, replaced with something of value. 

Only minutes later, the same servant returns, gripping the ashtray’s golden leash too tightly. It’s barely noticeable but nonetheless doesn’t escape her all-seeing eyes; the way their knuckles drain of colour disturbs the otherwise pristine scene. They are followed by two guard dogs, muscular and well rested, their posture straight and imposing, their gaze hard and cold like unmoving stone. 

The ashtray looks perfect as usual, the thought both pleasing and stinging in a way that does not fit her image. So Mireille pushes it aside, a worry for later or preferably for never. They can’t have taken long to get him ready. And yet…

“Undress the ashtray. I want his chest to be free” Mireille orders, snapping her fingers. The servant quickly complies, buttoning the fine blouse the ashtray was decorated with open, pulling up away from him and folding it with learned precision. 

It only takes a hand movement for the ashtray to step forward, for him to sink to his knees in front of her. The poor lamb doesn’t yet know what is coming.

“Hold him.”

The ashtray gasps and for a single, disobedient moment looks up at her with big panicked eyes. The way his blue eyes shine in the golden light of the chandelier does nothing but strengthen her resolve. Maybe, in another world, the view in front of her would be a painting she saw at an auction, a beautiful angel wrapped in gold captured by beasts of stone, unknowing of his fate. And like a painting, it is only natural for her to leave her mark.

He doesn’t struggle, even when she can’t imagine this was part of his training, he just looks at her pleadingly, unsure what he is even begging for. 

It’s a scene now and Mireille will be a perfect part of it. 

Slowly, she stands up, taking the silver case from the table as she passes it, positioning herself right in front of the ashtray. It opens with a satisfying click, revealing polished metal, sharp edges, red velvet and her initials finely engraved on the handle. Mireille can just about stop a laugh from bubbling up. 

She crouches down to the ashtray’s eye level, laying a hand on his cheek. He doesn’t even lean into it. “Don’t. Move.”

Mireille takes the knife, letting it gleam in the gentle light, and hands the case to the servant still watching. 

She can’t mess up now. It has to come from her heart.

Carefully, she traces her initials into the skin on his collarbone, making only slight cuts, letting her letters swirl around. 

M. A. B.

Holding the knife like a painter's brush, with meticulous, perfected movements. It comes to her like second nature and the first step is completed. 

In a final decision, she lays the knife’s edge on the first line of the M, watching the ashtray’s breath hitch in horrible anticipation. Not even a wince has broken through his training and Mireille is more than curious to test how far she can take it. 

Were he any cheaper, she’d love to test what would get him to break his training. If she could get him to speak after all. But that wouldn’t be graceful, now would it? It would be a waste.

Instead, she presses it into his flesh, cutting down slowly, precisely. Once, then twice. The ashtray’s breath gets laboured and it only fuels her. She knows what she wants; an ornate engraving, decor on his skin, a signature on her masterpiece.

Fresh, richly red blood pours from the cuts, running down his bare chest like tiny rivers, connecting and separating, getting caught in raised scar tissue.

Mireille moves carefully, taking her sweet time, her lips opened slightly, imitating an artist. Position, press, slide. His flesh parts beautifully, like he was made for this. For a moment, she looks over to the servant, who is pressing the case against their chest, their face showing sloppily concealed horror, and it makes her smile. They would probably call it brutal, ignoring the gentle way her knife slides through his skin, not meeting any resistance. They’d call it violent, not comprehending the second artwork the rivulets of blood form through the hand of fate itself. They lack the mind of an artist and the nature of a human.

By the time she reaches the A, the ashtray is barely holding back sobs, letting out silent, crooked whimpers –a sound so ugly she should punish him for it–, as she etches her mark deep enough to hit the bone. Still, he doesn’t move, doesn’t strain against the unforgiving grip holding his arms, against her carving following the twirls and flourishes. 

She doesn’t admit to herself that it is more challenging than she thought, to follow the rounded lines with a tool that craves sharp edges and straight incisions. The curves of the B make the knife catch on the bone and the ashtray lets out a soundless gasping scream, blue eyes nearly rolling back in his head. The tears he could barely hold back before now run down his face in a disobedient river, mixing with the blood on his chest, destroying her artwork. 

He lifts his head upwards, in a last attempt to stop the flow of the tears, but it only makes them drip from his chin into the gashes and he is destroying everything–

A slap echoes through the room, loud enough to make his pathetic sobbing stop in an instant.

“Get your act together.” Mireille hisses, grabbing his chin and letting her manicured nails dig into his pretty face. “Or I will rip you apart, you worthless piece of trash.”

Only the word Worthless seems to get through to his stupid fucking pet brain. There is a reason he was made into a thoughtless object instead of anything else. His beauty is his only strength, the only reason they didn’t mercy-kill him, punish him for stealing space and air and atoms from anything with more use. 

He is an ashtray or he is Nothing. And if he keeps ruining her attempts to make Something out of him, he will wish she had let him keep his voice to beg for death.

At last, the ashtray doesn’t act up any more, stays motionless and silent as she finishes the B. When she pulls his skin taut, she can feel him tremble with the effort to keep still. Seems like his training had some use after all. 

Finally satisfied, Mireille lays the bloody knife aside, giving herself some time to analyze her work. Briefly, she turns to the servant to order a towel, before devoting her attention back to the signature, quickly overflowing with blood. It’s beautiful, but her interest lies somewhere else. 

She digs two fingers into a line of the A, pulling the incision apart. The ashtray only manages a whimper that she gives no regard to, as she digs deeper and deeper through the tissue, against the continuous blood flow. Then, against the intense red, her own personal gold shines through. 

Bone. 

A pleased giggle escapes her.

It is done. 

Whatever will happen, whoever will lay their eyes upon them, it will be eternally clear who he belongs to. There are nicks in his bone that her knife and her hands caused and he will forever know. 

And when her stupid little ashtray comes back to his senses and remembers his silent purpose, he will thank her for it tenfold.

Taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @sowhumpshaped, @clickerflight, @itsawhumpsideblog, @piniatafullofblood let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! if you did, i would be very thankful if you considered donating to @whumpcloud's gofundme for their top surgery (of course only if you are financially able to!!!). it would mean the world to us both <3

[cloverrallover]

ok I’m really not trying to act like I hate other interpretations of Anya and curly but omfggggg I’m like sitting here biting my fist at some of these posts dude. what do you mean Anya and curly could be a happy family. what do you mean she seems like she’d keep the baby. what do you mean she seemed like she forgave curly ?!?!?!???!??!?! what !?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? girlie they r not healing together I’m sorry he’s literally half the reason their asses ended up dead in the middle of space 😭😭😭😭

[kooki914]

I AM HERE

More incorrect quotes except there’s a few more characters! A few are from me and my friends

~~~

Spade: Never eat the ashes of the dead

Queen: I will

Spade: Nuh uh. I already did. I used them as popcorn seasoning

Queen: FORBIDDEN PEPPER

—

Asgore: Hey guys what should I eat?

Spade: Newborns

—

Spade: Go fuck yourself.

Asgore, smugly (and also probly drunkly): Sure, but only if you watch

—

Toriel: You're a lying piece of shit!

Asgore: Oh yeah? You're the idiot that thinks you can get away with everything you do, WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!

Spade: I'm leaving and I'm taking Queen with me!

Rudy, gathering cards: Aaaaand that's enough Monopoly for today.

—

Asgore: Team A will consist of myself, Spade, Toriel, and Rudy.

Asgore: Team B will consist of Queen.

—

Toriel: If you put a milkshake in one yard and crack open a cold one in another yard, which yard would the boys go to?

Asgore: Schrödinger's boys.

Spade: FUCK!

Rudy: What about cracking open a cold milkshake?

Queen: As we all know, the milkshake brings the boys to the yard. The presence of the boys is a prerequisite for the cracking open of a cold one, but cold ones do not have any inherent boy-attracting abilities. Milkshakes, however, do.

Queen: All else being equal, the boys would proceed to the milkshake yard. While it is possible to announce the presence of cold ones in the hope of attracting some boys, the pull of the milkshake is much more powerful by comparison.

Toriel: ...

Asgore: ...

Spade: ...

Rudy: ...

Queen: Mind you, all of this nonsense hinges on whether or not the boys are back in town.

—

Queen: What makes you all smile?

Toriel: Friends and Family.

Rudy: Snacks.

Spade: Victory and success.

Asgore: Face muscles.

~~

He needs help

~~

Queen: What did you guys get in your yearbook?

Rudy: 'Prettiest Smile'

Toriel: 'Nicest Personality'

Spade: 'Most likely to start a bar fight'

Asgore: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

—

Toriel: If you took a shot for every time you made a bad decision, how drunk would you be?

Rudy: Maybe a bit tipsy?

Queen: Drunk.

Spade: Wasted.

Asgore: Dead.

I actually got a bunch of ideas for the monopoly one so I feel the need to expand on it: Rudy takes the role of banker out of necessity, as no one else wants it, not even Queen, who can do all the necessary math in less than a second. Spade tries to cheat at multiple points in time but Rudy and Toriel keep catching him, Asgore is none the wiser. Because of this, Asgore is the first out of the game due to bankruptcy. While Queen's busy laughing at him, she ends up getting ousted from the game too, betrayed by her fellow queen Toriel. Rudy is just playing to survive while Toriel and Spade are at each others throats. Neither of them are letting up. Spade's been in jail more times than he can count but somehow it's not slowing him down. Toriel is beyond pissed. Insults start getting thrown, mostly by Spade. Queen and Asgore get caught in the crossfire. Rudy's the only one still staying at least Somewhat lighthearted with all of this. Then Toriel and Spade start screaming at each other:

In other news here's the yearbook shitpost that I included someone else into as well whom i will post about in the near future I Hope.

And last but not least:

[strange-doll-child]

I don't know???

More Alicia, plus Hatchet Lady ig

[pulchrasilva]

Nobody fucking talk to me i just finished rewatching arcane and it was DEVASTATING I need to KILL

[bayofwolves]

I’ve been obsessed, obsessed, obsessed with Raisha for a while now. I know you’ve said little things about her in the past and i want to know what’s up with her/Gerathon if you’d be willing to talk about it.

I really like Raisha as a character, too! We know so little about her, but in my opinion, she's one of the most fascinating characters in the series. Unfortunately, she meets a sad end in A Revised History of Erdas.

All we know about Raisha post-infection is that she was present at the final battle in The Burning Tide, still under Zerif's control and in pretty bad shape. She vanishes off the grid after that, never mentioned again, not even in the concluding montage of Great Beast summoners reuniting with their fallen spirit animals. My retelling offers some closure, but not the good kind.

In my version of events, Raisha is flanking Zerif when he emerges from the ship with his Great Beasts. Zerif, in an act of cruel irony, saw fit to keep Raisha by his side even in her mindless, infected state. Shane, up in the archers' keep with Abeke, hardly recognizes the girl who helped steal Halawir months earlier. Later, she reappears to restrain Abeke when Zerif brings the defeated Redcloak forces to the Wyrm. When the Wyrm is killed and the parasites lose their power, though, Raisha collapses to the ground and doesn't get back up. The Wyrm had pushed her finite body to an extent that it couldn't recover from. Many people and animals in Zerif's army are the same; their possession eventually killed them. The Wyrm was a child playing with toys, the mechanics of which it couldn't possibly understand. Thankfully for it, its parasites could go on controlling a body in the event of an untimely death. Indeed, Stead raises the possibility that Raisha had been dead for some time, and the parasite was only animating a corpse.

Like I've said before, I didn't do this out of dislike for Raisha or anything like that. She was ultimately another victim of Zerif -- a young, lonely, impressionable girl he took advantage of -- and didn't deserve anything that happened to her. I'll always support AUs where she is alive and well. In my eyes, though, her story was always meant to end in tragedy. By the time she realized her mistake and reached for the light, it was too late.

Gerathon, after reemerging in Southern Zhong and feeling the loss of her human partner, disappeared into the brush and is currently at large. She is only an adolescent cobra at the moment, hardly a threat... but the Great Beasts are growing, and Gerathon's time will inevitably come again. (I like the idea of her becoming a maneater as she slowly regains her former size and power, terrorizing the locals and gaining a place in their legends.) Who knows how she feels about losing Raisha. I expect, under the excruciating pain that may one day drive her to madness, there is a sweet sense of relief.

[howldean]

with every genuine bone in my body i hope my mutuals who look forward to new music are excited to have new music. the absolute most love and light to you. furthermore keep that evil wretch far far away from me

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

just watched One Day on netflix….not okay 😭😭 made me think of demonrry and angel 😭😭😭

DONT!!!!!!!! SAY THAT!!!!!!!!!!!

[thefirstknife]

I saw some confusion among people thinking that Eramis' appearance was random and that she had no business being on the station with access to the Warsats. I'd like to try and clarify some stuff about that.

Eramis was a constant presence this season; more so than Xivu Arath. It has been explained that Xivu Arath cannot invade with her army until the specifics of a ritual are fulfilled and that moving her army through the ascendant plane takes an extraordinary amount of energy and resources.

Some of Xivu's forces were here and acting on her behalf, yes, but largely the main enemy this season was Eramis. Eramis is already in the system and was very explicitly used by the Witness as the one who would act often and faster. The Witness spent a lot of time turning Eramis' friends and soldiers into Scorn for this purpose.

These Scorn are the ones that had the Seraph Station under constant siege. Every time we attack Seraph Station, it's canon because Scorn come back to life so every time we clear it, we have to do it anew. They've been digging in the Station for months, trying to gain access to the Warsat network and preparing for the final assault.

Eramis was not randomly on the Seraph Station; she was there because she's been trying to get there for months. We were fighting their attempts by uploading a virus into the network each time we're there, but that's never been a certain way of stopping Eramis and the Scorn army from wrestling control over the network away. Which is the point of us having to do it multiple times.

I know the Seraph's Shield mission only played dialogue once so if anyone needs a refresher:

Elsie Bray: I've gained remote access to the launch facility's subsystems, but someone is already in here. House Salvation Splicers are hacking the launch mainframe.

Eramis had splicers working on hacking into the station. As a matter of fact, they gained access to the station first.

Ana Bray: She's here? Of course. That must be how Xivu Arath plans of co-opting the Warsat network. The Hive can't do it on their own, so the Witness sends Eramis and her Splicers in to assist.

Ana explaining how Eramis being there makes sense because Xivu cannot gain access to the Warsats on her own, she needs Eramis to assist.

The whole seasonal story hinges on Eramis hacking the station to get to the Warsats and the Seraph's Shield mission was explicitly about us trying to stop her week by week. It just so happens that she succeeded hacking it at the end, before Rasputin was fully operational and ready to be uploaded without negative consequences.

Is the setup a little bit clunky? I think so, yeah, because the whole season is doomed from the start. We have to stop our enemies but it's the nature of the end-of-the-year story for enemies to win in some capacity. I also think that we didn't really have to kill Rasputin for the same effect and for the enemies to somehow get the upper hand; I think it would've been fine if Rasputin simply had to destroy the Warmind stuff but that he could've remained with us as an Exo.

But Eramis having access to Seraph Station and the Warsat network is not random or out of nowhere nor is it nonsensical. That was her entire plan the whole season. Actually her first big win, possibly also saved her life. Not sure how many failures from Eramis the Witness would've tolerated.

I guess the issue is that with the current seasonal structure, we expect the seasonal goal to be fulfilled and for us to walk happily into the sunset until the next season because that's how it worked so far. It can feel like we've been fighting our enemies for 3 months for nothing given that we've essentially failed and it almost caused a catastrophe. But I'm not sure how else to create a story (seasonal or otherwise) where things don't go as planned or where we fail.

There were multiple fronts to fight on this season and there's one where we dodged a massive bullet; Xivu Arath. We lost to Eramis because we had to think about the bigger picture and that is Xivu's invasion. Our loss to Eramis also took the Warsats out of the equation now so that's also a loss to Xivu. It's what we needed; a stalemate. It's not flashy or happy, but it's better than the alternative which is Xivu Arath's portal over Earth. So in that regard we succeeded. We lost the Warsats and Rasputin and almost the Traveler, but all of that was to prevent Xivu Arath from invading which we managed. For now.

[lordkingsmith]

I see we have entered into a new phase of aesthetics. Which comes with the addition of my pointing at the background boys thinking "COTTAGE CORE!!!!" while lying on the floor pointing at the girlies in your icon whispering "babies...precious babies..."

Which really all just amounts to:

the background is cottagecore handsome boys that are both unbelievably pro-murder and then my icon are sweeties who are trying to be far tougher than they are but should still be handled carefully. in short, I am ushering in my 'I am kind, I am good, but I am not nice and don't mix those up :)'

thank you ^-^

half the reason I wanna make a movie; so I can promptly crossover everyone and make them queer af. and then marah and kapri are just a mood. gotta combine the moods somehow lolololol

[runawayfuture]

concept art for my AU where the church lets House Gautier hold on to the dragon sign in case they didn't have a kid with a Crest and so Miklan doesn't get kicked out and he loves his little brother and everything is Fine Actually

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

✨ someone ✨ broke their oath the other night

[frostise]

motorcyclist louise preforming her own stunts and tricks so she can show off how much better she is when it comes to other professional racers trying to upstage her performance. motorcyclist louise taking off her helmet and out comes her messy, fluffy hair. she'll run her fingers through it just to fix it up. motorcyclist louise will always ride solo unless she's taking her favourite person out on rides across the highway and always looking a little too good in that riding gear. she's already the queen of motorcycle racing but there's still many competitors out there trying to snatch her crown to this day!

[badgetfowles]

the one thing I don't understand about how they wrote jackie's character is the first scene they show us of her. if she's meant to be a doomed character, representing the last grip of society (which i'm usually against writing characters who are meant to only exist as a metaphor) before they can all dive head-first into horror; why does she clearly despise so much of the pretense? why is the first scene of jackie one that shows us she actually doesn't enjoy her role, she doesn't like Jeff.

[foreveranevilregal]

Remember last season when everyone was gunning for Kate even though she was a faithful and now that she’s a traitor she didn’t even ping anyone’s radar till a minute before the finale? Yeah, feels good.

[mrbonsaibones]

I think it's really funny when people make posts about Jinx being hot or a badass or a tortured genius or whatever because like. I just. Can't. Like, yeah, she is a badass, and she is a tortured genius and I can see why some people might think she's hot, but like. Jinx just gives off such Little Sister Vibes to me that I literally can't feel anything towards her other than a vague fond annoyance.

Like, I love her as a character, she's very interesting and tragic and I feel very bad for her but my only thought whenever she's on screen is like "god you need so much help and you need a hug so bad but also for gods sake stop blowing stuff up or I will call your dead mom and tell her what you're doing"