#Trigger Warning: mentioned cannibalism

[asherisawkward]

Are there any headcanons that make Belos worse than he is on the show that you enjoy?

I headcanon that he went back and killed the Fang brothers after he got the Collector’s disk because they tried to burn his journal.

He overworks and keeps the scouts in poor conditions so they’ll be too exhausted and stressed to plan a revolt of any time.

There is an eighty percent chance that Coven Head Scooter Crane was murdered by other Coven Heads, Raine, or Philip himself. Regardless of this, Philip doesn’t care and actively encouraged infighting and competition between the Coven Heads, so they won’t notice what he’s planning.

Philip tormented Lilith in the Emperor’s Coven by giving her nearly impossible tasks and threatening to kick her from the coven if she failed before letting her stay if she did under the guise of mercy, but it’s really just so he can torment her more. This is because she broke his nose in the Deadwardian Era.

Philip is intentionally creating a Palistrom tree shortage so that witches are unable to make Palismen, which would make it easier to fight him.

To make Grimwalkers, Philip hunts baby Selkidomus instead of adult ones, because he doesn’t know how long scales keep before they go brittle, and he doesn’t want a lot of resources wasted. Baby Selkidomus are just sized better for his needs.

When the Grimwalkers find out about the truth, Philip often “attempts” to kill them but fails intentionally to see how they react. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but he’s pushing them to leave so he has a reason to kill that one and start again fresh.

Philip and the Collector had bingo cards for the way that the former kills the Grimwalkers. The latter of the pair has more bingos.

Philip re-uses Galderstones whenever he can’t find more of them for new Grimwalkers.

He was probably forced to cannibalize his brother’s corpse some time during his years living in a cave. It was a very low point for him.

[spymeister]

It's that time of year where I think about Bayverse Jazz surviving the whole incident with Megatron, and legit dragging his half-torn body out of the Mariana Trench. Granted, he would have survived by consuming what he could from the other frames dumped there with them.

The pain, abandonment and desolation would literally turn him into the worst version of himself.

[slashmeharderdaddy]

FREEZER POP

Aunt Flo’s in town and it gave me this idea. I only just now got around to writing it. Art’s s/o, Mal, is on her period and, knowing Art’s a cannibal, decides to give him a special treat.

TW: Blood, menstruation, periods, mention of cannibalism

Mallory winced as another sharp pain stabbed through her. Gritting her teeth, she sucked in a breath through her nose, held it for a few seconds, then let it out through her mouth. She’d always had hellish periods before going on the pill, but after switching to an IUD a couple years ago, her period cramps had returned. She had been tired for the last few days, so much so that she had called in sick the day before just so she could get some sleep. When her period started, she finally understood why.

“Fuck this shit,” Mal grumbled as she grabbed a square of toilet paper to keep the blood off her fingers. The tampon came out with a single yank. Just as she was about to drop it into the toilet, she paused, an idea springing to mind. “Hold on a second…”

Mal glanced down at the tampon. Art had been in her life long enough for her to know he had some…unique tastes when it came to food. He had already earned his red wings, and then some. He couldn’t get enough of her, and he had spent the rest of the night eating her pussy like a man half-starved. He never spent more than a night—maybe two—with her, but he had spent the entire week with her that week, disappearing during the day and returning at night to eat her out again.

Now, staring at the tampon in her hand, Mal wondered if he might want it. Never before had she considered keeping any of her used tampons. To her, it was disgusting, and they were meant to be thrown away. But her cannibal…whatever the hell Art was…might not think so. Maybe he’d want them. Maybe they’d be a treat for him.

Sighing, Mal tossed it into the sink and finished up. Wrapping the tampon in a paper towel, she stashed it in a Tupperware container in the back of the fridge.

~ ~ ~

I have a treat for you,” Mal said when Art inevitably returned. Ever since that night, he’d somehow learned her cycle. She didn’t want to know how—when it came to Art, some things were better left a mystery.

Art perked up, his mouth forming a surprised O as he gestured to himself.

“Yeah. It’s in the freezer if you want it. It’s in the Tupperware in the back.”

Art clapped his hands and skipped into the kitchen. Mal shook her head, still in awe of the way he could be so lethal yet so whimsical at the same time. She knew as soon as they’d gotten involved with each other that he would be her death.

Mal followed Art into the kitchen, where he was digging through the freezer. She smiled as he pulled out that morning’s Tupperware container. Several more used tampons had been added to it, wrapped in a paper towel. She had written Art’s name in glittery pink gel pen on each one. His eyes widened when he opened the container. Glancing up at her, he pointed excitedly at his name.

“Yeah. I wanted to surprise you.”

Art grinned and grabbed one of the tampons, tearing at the paper towel with his teeth. He paused, stunned, when he saw the tampon.

“It’s probably weird, but…I thought these could be a sort of…well, freezer pop. If you want them. If not I’ll throw them out—“

Art cut off Mal with a wave of his hand before popping the tampon into his mouth. If he were the type to ever make a sound, she knew he’d be letting out a moan of delight as his eyes fluttered shut. He replaced the lid and shoved the container back into the freezer.

Art opened his eyes and held out his arms with a beckoning motion. As Mal stepped forward, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I take it you like the freezer pop?” She said, chuckling. Art nodded. “Good. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

[teddyreblogslotf]

crimes that the lotf boys have been convicted for in my au:

jack: arson, murder, psychological abuse

ralph: murder and arson) from a confession in his trial against jack)

simon: dead, he’s dead sorry gang

piggy: also dead :(

roger: psychological trauma and abuse, murder

maurice: nothing. never faced conviction

eric: murder, stalking

sam: arson, murder

robert: stalking, cannibalism, murder, being a creepo

anyways if u wanna hear more abt this au i kinda wanna post it ….

[elementaskylos345]

Urik's Journal

A series of stone tablets that carry the weary words of one man isolated at the top of the Watcher's Spire, struggling to survive and struggling to keep his mind.

This is written specifically with a humanized au in mind, so don't freak out when things have bones

!!Trigger Warnings in tags!!

Higher beings these words are for you alone.

Not really, but it feels like only higher beings can survive this madness. For those that find this journal collection in the future I am Urik, assistant to Lurien the Watcher. So much has happened over the last few months and everything is so overwhelming right now. So. I've decided to begin journaling to gather my thoughts and keep myself sane.

So, day 1, I suppose. I'm trying to keep quiet so the husks outside don't claw at the door. Thankfully the stone of these tablets is soft enough to chisel and not make too much noise. I don't think I'm in any real danger but I hate that noise. Knowing they were once my friends and coworkers makes their shambling and mumbling and feral clawing utterly unbearable. I can't stand that I know it's them out there.

Despite everything the king has done, sacrificing so many, the infection remains. it was all in vain. I can only hope that this infection is not happening in other kingdoms.

•••

Day 2

With the telescope in this room I can watch the ground even from this great height… I hate it. I wish I could put an end to this. So many people die every day. I can't see fine details but I can see enough. I don't know if I can say I'm lucky, trapped at the peak of the tallest building in the city but at least I'm safe. I don't think I'll be watching the ground below.

On a vaguely related note I'm beginning to run low on food. Though this may only be the second day of the journal I have been stuck in Lurien's room for what I think is a few months now. I'm down to just a few bags of the rations that were handed out. Thankfully it's pretty nonperishable so I can stretch it out over a week or two I think but I need to figure something out quickly. Getting food last time nearly got me killed. I'm no fighter, I'm just a man.

•••

Day 4

I've skipped day 3 as nothing interesting occurred but I eat fresh meat today. I managed to lure a vengefly inside using some of the dried mushroom and managed to cage it. I still need to actually kill and prepare it but I still managed to catch something! Vengeflies don't fly this high up enough to make this method consistent but this is still progress.

I will need to venture outside of this room and possibly outside of the tower. If I keep my distance I might be able to get by without conflict but I don't count on it. The husks outside still seem to have some function of the mind left. They speak things on rare occasions, calling on Master Lurien or even myself.

•••

Day 5

By the king I miss seasoning. But I live another day and feel better than I have in weeks. Maybe it's in my bead but the fresh food feels good. However, I still need a consistent source of food. If I can get down to the bridge or just above I could set up a few traps there. I'd need to make traps and get past the guards but it seems a decent enough plan. I'll think of some back-up ideas but that one feels very plausible.

•••

Day 8

The plan did not work. I made a few traps that worked somewhat consistently in tests and caught one vengefly but when I made my journey down to the bridge I was attacked by one of Elite Guards. I lost the traps and now have a nasty gash across my back. I think I can treat this and prevent infection but this is bad. I'm sat against Lurien's resting podium. He cannot help me but his presence is comforting…

I dread what might happen in the coming days.

•••

Day 10

I am in a great deal of pain.

Day 11

I stepped out onto the balcony today. I intended to wash the wound on my back but I stood outside for a good while feeling the rain fall on me. I wept. My situation is bleak. I am alone, I have dwindling supplies, there is nothing but death, and there is no end in sight. I feel the infection swimming in the back of my mind, tempting me closer. I hate this. I hate it all. So much death and so much pain all from one angry and spiteful god. I can't help but ask why. Why us? What crime did we commit to warrant this violent reaction?

I think I'm going to sleep for a while. I'm so tired. I know it's risky to dream but I'm not sure what I live for at the moment.

•••

I've lost track of the days. The timer system in the tower broke down and I've not the skill to repair it. It has been at least 3. I am out of food. I've tried to trap a vengefly but with no luck. I'm not exactly sure what to do. I'm scared to leave the room. I'd pray to the Pale King but he won't answer. He can't help me. He's already failed his kingdom. What could he do to help me?

•••

I need to do something. The rainwater is plenty abundant and rich in minerals but it simply isn't enough. I could sneak into one of the floors below. I need to. I will bring one of the candle holders as a weapon. If I perish… oh well I suppose

A few hours later. I was unsuccessful but I did fend off a Lance Sentry and steal her weapon. It's not food but I guess I'm better prepared for a dangerous encounter? I'll try again soon. Maybe. I'm exhausted mentally so I might go hungry another day.

•••

I'm going out again. It is the next day I'm pretty sure. I'm going to get something.

I found some dried mushrooms near the Watcher Knights. It's not much but I'll take it. I'm beginning to regret hiding up in the tower and not attempting to flee while there were enough people between me and the husks to attempt to break past the walls. But I couldn't abandon Lurien. He may not need me now but I feel I have a moral obligation to remain at his side. I still need to hunt for food since I ate all I found. Hopefully I can lure in a vengefly or something.

••▪︎

Ask and you shall receive. Captured and cooked a vengefly. I feel energized so I might go down to try and retrieve the traps I dropped. In hindsight trying to set the traps up so far away was a poor decision. They might catch something but they're pointless if I can't reach them. It may not be the best source of food but I might set the traps up either by the telescope or balcony. I'll try the balcony. Hopefully the infection has made them less intelligent and they won't avoid this area after some time.

I have returned. One of them was destroyed and one was damaged. That leaves me one functioning trap. I think I can repair the trap but I'll do it later, I need to set the first one up

•••

Same day, different journal. Retrieved my broken traps and set up the one working trap. I have to admit writing and planning my survival has kept my mind busy. The infection whispers to me but I can mostly ignore it. The voice does grow louder and the light in my dreams brighter but I don't feel myself getting lost just yet. It's certainly inevitable that the infection will claim me but for now I survive. For who and for what sake I still can't say. Maybe I don't want to leave Master Lurien. He's all I have right now. I swore I'd watch over him… that's probably it. I live for him

I'm not sure if he's even aware in his eternal sleep but I will be here and I hope he knows that.

▪︎••

I've repaired the second trap and set it up. I've also scraped a bit of bone marrow out of the tiny bones of the vengefly and ate that. It tastes surprisingly good for being uncooked. The other bones have sat too long to be safe to eat but I'm taking note of this for the future.

Unrelated but I'm glad Lurien had so many stone tablets laying about. I was never a fan of the silk parchment. The humid air and wet conditions make keeping them maintained rather difficult, especially now. They may be easier to write on but they won't stand the test of time.

Back to my survival. The traps are set up and I can continue to scavenge. My wound is healing and I think I've grown used to the pain, it certainly makes getting around a bit easier. I can at least stand up straight again. I will go out and look for food and supplies after I sleep for a little bit. I have learned how to avoid the husks up here so they have become a non issue.

•▪︎•

A few scraps.

I shouldn't be surprised I'm struggling but I'm still frustrated. Food was tight before the infection got this bad so it's only logical food is tight now but this feels absurd. I know the other residents and guards had to eat and the places where the food was stored is behind danger. I'm just complaining. Of all the places to be trapped I feel like the city is probably the worst. Most of the food came from outside the city. But the king sealed the gates. He only trapped us all here. He sealed our fate.

I wish these fucking birds would just take the bait. I'm not eating nearly enough.

•▪︎▪︎

I apologize for my vulgarity in the last journal but I feel my frustration is justified. I've nibbled on one of the canvases just to lull the need to chew on something. It will not satiate my hunger and I think I just feel worse now but it felt good in the moment I think. I moved one of the traps to the telescope. Maybe them being farther apart will increase the chances I catch something - anything. I might need to do something drastic at this point

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Before I write on the subject of this journal I want to preface - I am ashamed of what I've done. I am desperate and in a situation most bleak but this does not make what I did any better.

I now have food for a few days. The way I acquired it is awful. His name was Elgor. He was in charge of overseeing the guards' scheduling in the spire. He was a kind but stern man before the infection claimed his mind. I often shared lunch with him when our schedules allowed it. I did not target his husk out of any hatred or any reason other than desperation.

I used the lance I acquired from the Sentry I fought a while ago and attacked him. He slapped me around with a surprising amount of strength but I ended the encounter as quickly as I could. I never thought I'd ever need to butcher a man let alone eat one. I had to cover his face with rags to not look at him while I did it. I question now if being a mindless husk would be better than this. At least the husks seem to be protecting each other.

▪︎▪▪︎

I am still reeling from what I've done. I hope to write a full biography for Elgor from this. I feel dirty. I feel as though I've defiled his corpse. I've noticed the husks up here seem more anxious in his absence which makes me feel worse. I'm questioning if I should've just starved. I've apologized to Elgor countless times and I can only hope some part of him somewhere knows I did not want to do this and that I regret it.

Despite my feelings I can't bring myself to ditch his body. I killed him to eat and at this point I should go through with it. I've already started. I'll give him as proper a burial as I can when I can.

•▪︎•

It has been several days. Elgor has sustained me and I've dedicated the energy he gave me to preserving his memory as best as I can. I've wrapped his body in cloth and hope I can bring him to ground level soon. I think I've made peace with what I've done, I'm not quite sure. I'm not sure I feel a whole lot right now.

I have caught one vengefly and have decided to wait until I kill and eat it. I have far more energy now so I can begin my search for a stable food source once again as I am NOT doing what I did to Elgor to someone else. I refuse to. I can't.

••▪︎

After a few more days I've finally made progress. I've gathered a few days worth of rations from one of the guards’ rest areas. This isn't anything sustainable but I'm so, so happy about this. I thank Elgor for giving me the energy I needed to get to this point. I'm also getting better at avoiding the husks.

Though the light is getting brighter, it's getting louder. She calls me by name. I'd almost forgotten my own name. I'm torn between hoping for my continued survival or giving Elgor the burial he needs. There's no way I'm getting to the resting grounds but perhaps I can send him off into one of the rivers that flow through the city. I doubt it would be the burial he'd want but I don't have much to offer.

•¤▪︎

The infection rings in my mind. I'm thinking about it more and more. So I risked it and took Elgor to the ground. It had been so long since I was on solid ground. I found a somewhat secluded area And watched his body disappear below the surface of the water. I stayed there for a while and wept for him. I feel terrible. Just a few days before the infection becomes a bigger issue I cannibalize what was left of him. The husks do not speak anymore, the only word I've heard is “attack” from the Flying Sentries, but this doesn't make things better.

I'm going to spend time with Lurien. I really need it right now.

¤•▪︎

My mind feels not my own. I fight to regain myself. All in vain. All in vain. The king failed. The king failed us all. He killed us all. I just want to go back to the way things were. I wish I could see my friends’ eyes full of life, I wish I could speak with Lurien again, I wish I could be happy again, I wish the light never descended upon this land. I miss the peace, I miss my friends, I miss my life. I'd give anything to go back to that.

פ¤

Lost all of them. Lost all. Lost. Master's given life for naught. Not worth. The cost too great cost too great. Lost all kingdom life light. None left left to grieve. Non left to give. How much more must we suffer?

¤¤¤

Master, light calls.

•°×

I'm not sure how but I still remain. This journal comes many days after the last. Maybe even weeks. Time eludes me. Reading over my last three journals and am astonished the infection didn't take me.

It is very hazy but I sat by Master Lurien and I think I was trying to fight it off. Perhaps I was thinking of what remains and how empty the future feels because I remember giving up. I so clearly remember it because that's when the infection backed off. It still rings like windchimes In my mind but it's less overbearing. I don't understand. Why am I still alive? I've never seen anyone get so close to the edge but pull themselves away.

Even as I write I don't fight it. I don't have anything to fight for. I'll update my journal series if I'm still aware and I deem it necessary I suppose.

×▪︎°

I ponder if being infected would be better than this. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing for anyone. This place is no better than the wasteland outside of the kingdom borders. At least with being a mindless husk I would not need to feel this pain. it's not even the physical pain it's the mental anguish. I cannot put into words the despair I feel

It's indescribable

I want revenge but seek revenge on a king that abandoned us. I want things to change but they will never change. I want to be happy but this hellish place will not allow that. Master Lurien, I'm sorry, but I don't know how much more I can endure. How much more I can despair. How much more I can hate. I crave a death deeper than that of the body - I don't want there to be an afterlife. The gods of this world are unbearable and I want naught for them to hold my soul. Let me fade. Let me become nothing.

*▪︎+

It has been a very long time since I've written in this specific series. My words are written elsewhere. I am in a much more stable position and state of mind. Still not a mindless husk. I acquired some edible fungus from the edge of the city and have started a small farm. I recently relocated the traps to a lower floor as I'm far more adept at navigating the spire and its dangers. I've also made more of them.

I've picked up many hobbies to keep myself occupied - painting, carving, crafting, singing. I've also explored some of the city. Most of what I've seen has been completely destroyed. I don't explore often. Not much to see unless I want to depress myself. I've fallen into a consistent routine and found a reason to continue living.

I swore myself to Master lurien. I'd be forever at his side. I think I've mentioned this in previous journals but I've decided my days will be spent preserving him and what he did for this fallen kingdom. The bastard king may have failed us and sacrificed so many, including Lurien, for nothing but Lurien was loyal to the end. He sacrificed his life for that fool. So I'll make sure his name, who he is, and what he did is not forgotten. I hope Herrah and Monomon have someone who would do the same for them as well.

×*●

Much time has passed and I once again return to my journal. I feel I need to on occasion to remember who I am and who I was before the infection became an issue. I had forgotten my name. Urik. It feels so foreign. Disconnected. I had to dig around for my first journal just to find it. This series of tablets has been discarded to a corner almost entirely. Perhaps I need to focus on myself some to reconnect with who I am.

But perhaps not. I don't think I'm that important anymore. I will live here, preserve here, and die here. Simple as that and I am at peace with and find comfort in that. There's nothing else for me so why concern myself with things that won't matter in the long run. For all I know I will be nothing more than a corpse in a month's time. It changes nothing. I've written all I can about Lurien. This will likely be the final entry in this series since I am not what matters here in this spire. What matters is my master.

@●¤

My past self is a damned fool for not realizing just how much time “the rest of my days” could be. The time gaps between these entries keeps getting longer and longer. I'm certain the time frame between the last two was almost a whole year. No clue how long it's been since I last wrote since it feels like eternity. I can only write, watch, and read and paint the same damn things over and over and over and over again until I need something new.

The infection has become something of a friend to me, one of the few constants of my life. It tells me things and I acknowledge them. Its influence over me fluctuates. Some time I am in a daze and some time I am barely affected by it. But despite everything it's done I can't see my life without it anymore. I'm definitely just lonely and borderline mad but I've nothing else to share to the no one that will read this, so.

@#■

Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above. Years alone. Years above.

●¤°

What the hell was I on last entry? I don't remember writing that and just stumbled upon it in Lurien's Journal room. Maybe I was having some kind of infected bout or something. Oh well I guess

#■•

I have not experienced fear this intense in an eternity. Someone entered the spire. Someone bested the Knights below. Someone sought to hurt HURT Lurien. I managed to convince them otherwise sending them off to a strange sight I found below the city. I've locked down spire from the Knights room to up here. If that THING BASTARD comes back they aren't getting to him. To one will hurt Lurien. The seals must remain. They cannot be broken. They will not break. Never break.

@◇>

The ground shook with a might I have not felt in forever. A deep bellowing roar from the waterways. At least we're safe up here. Never breaking seals. Lurien is safe. Forever safe. The light is gone and my mind is empty. It's quiet. Quiet. Too quiet. I hate this. Why is it gone? Gone from me? I can't stand the silence. Empty empty silence. Loud and far too quiet. I need to fill the void. I can start in darkness but I need the background noise I can't stand it can't stand it can't stand it CANT STAND IT

The anger has returned. DAMNED KING

He killed us all, trapped us all, doomed us all. Nothing left for us because of him. No more life no more light. No more. Nothing but empty. Empty. I can't understand why Lurien was so loyal to a fool. A fool that used him. Doomed him. Killed him. I suffer in silence. Silent. My mind is empty, my will is shaken, and my voice is meek. But I remain. Remain at Lurien's side. Never leave. Never forget. Never abandon.

[nomsfaultau]

Daily ask №29!

Murder edition!

I was bored so here's my attempts at figuring out the fastest and easiest way to murder or disable the fault crew. And you can give me the chances of that actually working and what would your best bet be at killing them?

1. The first one is Phil cause he's the easiest one. I'm just gonna show him the fic and your shitposts and have him turn into words. Also I specifically do that in some isolated (as in no cracks and only one entrance) barn or something like that. And I also put some pine needles in the room and light them on fire. You'll see why.

2. The second problem would be Tubbo since they would absolutely already know about me turning Phil to words. Luckily they're a pacifist. I'm not sure how far that pacifism goes exactly, but if I pretend that I turned Phil to words on accident, I'd probably get at least some time. I pretend that it was an accident and run to Tubbo like omg what happened help. And lead them to the barn. In the barn, the pine needles already produced a shit ton of smoke. So I then go ahead and say that Phil is in there and then close the door behind Tubbo, and then light the barn on fire. Even if some bees do escape, the main body would be gone.

3. Wilbur. I do not remember how his connection to the void works exactly, but I also haven't said that I have to keep the world from being destroyed so I'd just probably give the void access to the real world. Which would probably destroy both worlds, actually. I wonder if that counts as killing the whole fault crew or not.

4. Tommy. I shoot him. Like, he's not that dangerous. Not really. I don't gotta touch him to kill him. Or, ideally, I shoot him with the neutralising dart and use him to defeat the Blade.

5. The Blade. Sigh. My only ideas on how to kill him include just not being seen. At all. So that he doesn't even know who's doing the thing. You can't fight someone if there's noone to fight or challenge. The plan is to kidnap Tommy and get him into some metal container on the bottom of the ocean. And then cause him to summon The Blade in one way or another. (Ex. Drug him with some bad mix of drugs causing great distress and fear, insert speakers into the metal box, potentially actually have someone lethal there with him.). The Blade would most likely just tear the walls of the container apart. That would be a mistake. Did you know that some boars can hold their breath up to 20 seconds? Yeah that ain't nearly long enough so technically he'd just doom both himself and Tommy. And also infect the ocean with the red so that's fun.

I enjoyed thinking and strategizing about this more than I thought I would. Concerning.

Had a great time with this one, an invited a special guest to add his insight.

1.Ah trying to safeguard against Tubbo I see. However, while I rag on Philza, I think just handing him a blog would not have the concrete proof enough to believe his entire existence isn’t real. He’s the most mentally stable of the group, and much like when someone is confronted with a conspiracy theorist talking about how reality is an illusion and we live in a simulation, Phil would just roll his eyes and move on with his day. The fic would un-nerve him a bit…but this is a world with anomalies. There’s a thousand possible explanations for someone with partial omniscient (say, Tubbo), and though I think the chapters from his perspective would very much creep him out, Philza is DEFINITELY not making that far into the fic before he sets it down and goes to figure out if Tommy is okay. He might not entirely believe the fic reflects real experiences and thoughts, but he will investigate it, and then will be way too busy dad-moding to die. 

What I would try: I think the fastest way to kill Philza is to grab one Wilbur and Redify it, as seen in Fault Whumptober prompt 5. Philza physically can’t fight back, and ultimately is assuming even if he dies he’ll reform in a few minutes. Only, Wilbur can devour conceptual souls and gain power, so chomp chomp lizard boi! 

Problems: Philza just simply leaving, waiting for the Red to wear off, though he may be trying to protect the others. Bathe everything in godflame and scooping up wilbur in dragon mode and just leave, not minding that his hand is getting eaten. When mentally stable he usually needs time to become a dragon though, so that might not work. 

What my partner would try: Amnestics! Force him to forget his beef with the Foundation, then introduce him to a new Foundation Approved™ family. Then one week systematically have all important people in his life leave/say they hate him in rapid succession until he takes so much emotional damage that pure angst murders him, since he takes psychic damage literally. Okay on second thought you pump Phil full of amnestics to erase all of human history to revert him back to a non-person. Like he went insane after only 15-25 years erased but im suuuure you can do it. In 5 year increments. Okay maybe just have him snort Ranboo like cocaine. The Foundation is sure to nail it this time. Then kill him and have the Dovahkiin absorb his soul (me: how do you kill dragon or true form Phil) don’t worrryyy bout it.

2.Assuming step 1 worked….hell no they don’t believe it was an accident. Tubbo could’ve been reading over Phil’s shoulder and knows that what you gave him melted that sucker’s brain, even on accident, so there is absolutely zero trust. None whatsoever. But they aren’t going to attack you about it; actually they will give you a bee high five for killing Phil, even if they disprove of the whole murder thing. They would also see the smoke that you made in the barn, or try to go in and fall asleep so know that way that it’s super duper a trap. Especially since they’d have no reason to go to Phil, since there’s like not a lot that can be done for a pile of words. Tubbo just flies up like 6 feet to stand over your head and give a whole spiel about murder bad. 

What I would try: Pesticide BABYYYYYYY. Specifically consumable, since things that are consumed are shared with the rest of the Hive. I think the first time a trick would work but past that they’d be hella cautious. But enough constant exposure could really strip down the population. As numbers dwindled they’d get more concentrated at the body since they need a set amount of bees to carry it, and just carpet bombing the area with pesticide and smoke bombs would…still likely not kill all of Tubbo, especially since they’d know it was coming and could prepare/try to escape. Even The Blood God couldn’t manage to kill Tubbo. But with luck you could maybe kill the queens? But then they’d raise new ones…arg. Tubbo is invincible. 

What my partner would try: Use a lot of bullets. There is definitely no other better than using a full army armed with muskets. It's the best strategy every I have no idea what you're talking about. Alternatively smoke one (1) cigarette in the general vicinity. Or acme brand dynamite?

3…How are you giving the void access to the real world? Like that would definitely count as killing all the Fault guys don’t get me wrong. I just don’t know how you would do that. Bringing real world objects wouldn’t necessarily give access, just make you a target. My best sketch of how the void gets to devour the real world is by first devouring all of Fault so that nothing stands between. Potentially a hole could be ripped in Fault to the world beyond, you shove Wilbur out it, then make peace with your short life? But I don’t know how a human could make that hole in the first place. If you have an idea feel free to shoot that in the comments, because it would be very very effective. Still I think it would be easier to walk up to me in real life and just…shoot me. Here’s a hint to help you on this quest: something published in Fault doxxed me. Gooood luck! 

What I would try: Midday. Unexpected flashbang. Wilbur goes into a trauma response, meanwhile flood the area with helicopters with spotlights, the kind banned for causing permanent eye damage. Catch him from every angle, then get him with a high voltage taser. You’ll want a lot of people armed with this, because at this point Wilbur’s going to be going crazy with the cannibalism. In the few seconds while the entire void is screaming in agony (wherein most people in the radius experience things like instantly going mad, ear drums/skulls bursting) it won’t be able to fight back and Wilbur won’t be in enough sense to devour the bombs being dropped. 

Problems: Wilbur noticing the helicopters coming and booking it. The void eating the flashbang. Eldritch voice being employed quickly enough to prevent tasers (it’s not extreme when not in agony, but still has some potential to keep distance). Wilbur eating a hole through the ground in order to escape light/attacks, at which point the darkness will be enough for the void to fully retaliate. Wilbur tends to get extremely dangerous when cornered and not holding back, though that could potentially be mitigated by having friends in the area it doesn’t want as collateral damage? Potentially Tommy since otherwise you now are fighting two+ overpowered anomalies. But past a certain point he would be far too pained/scared and even that wouldn’t dampen retaliation. 

What my partner would try: Flashbangs. Or to stop him from attacking, throw tommy at him (no! Then it’ll get Red’d and cause more problem!) Solution: get someone weak to throw Tommy. Or use a lightning bolt for extra traumatic damage. To do so, ally with Thor the god of Thunder, who is sure to help you on your brave quest. Or wait for him to sleep and use a sledge hammer (me: he has insomnia dude) yeah but he has to sleep eventually! Eventually… 

4.Yeah just shoot that man lmao. In his own words:

“Well, no, obviously, like I’m pretty sure a bullet through the head would be a greater weakness. Or like if you blew me up or something. Boom. No more Tommy.” He made exploding gestures with his hands. He figured it would take a fast death to get rid of him, but the Foundation had always preferred slow ones. The crimson was sunk to his elbows and racing up his biceps. “Who’d have guessed a nuclear bomb would’ve taken care of him? Shocker.”

Of course, I would argue that Tommy could be extremely dangerous if he chose to be, but he’s mostly contact based. Well. Unless he starts coating bullets in Red and fighting armies so thick even he can’t miss…anyway like he’s killed more than The Blade at the very least, so, 

What my partner would try: Kill him with a tommy gun

5.Well the not being seen thing won’t work since The Blood God is physically drawn to challengers and battle luck can affect people halfway across the globe if they decided to beef with The Blade through indirect means. So you would hella not survive, but that doesn’t exclude his death as well. I think the ocean thing would deffo work and be very apt considering the ‘sea of voices’. Now I will say, Tommy is extremely used to being tortured, and anything nonlethal with minimal long term damage you can think of the Foundation has done. And, crucially, Tommy values his friend’s happiness over his own wellbeing and has been suicidal in the past. Basically the perfect recipe for a martyr. There’s a good chance he’ll kill himself just to ensure you can’t hurt The Blade. Past that…I mean I know Philza doesn’t change forms in doors, but I don’t know if that’s sense or because magically one can’t create a form where there isn’t physical space? Not something I ever considered. Potentially The Blade could be sliced in half just by trying to be summoned into a too small space, but I figure that would also be something the Foundation tested? Idk man. But assuming he can be summoned, either due to space or suicidal prevention, The Blade would drown. 

What I would try: First, do it when he’s hibernating post large battle, since while The Blood God will destroy people via twisting the universe while asleep, it does limit reaction on his end. Second, a challenger has to be alive for The Blood God's battle luck to be in play. So a suicide bomber could definitely take him. Or a score of them. One of the worst injuries The Blade receives is actually from shrapnel that occurs the second after a battle ends when The Blood God can’t use supernatural luck to avoid it. AI drones could also potentially do a lot of damage, though remote control won’t work at all. Or, get an enemy that’s undead! That one comes up much later :)

Or wait. Potentially has already come up. HOLY HELL DOES TUBBO COUNT AS AN UNDEAD CONSTRUCT- I think Tubbo has double defense against The Blood God omg..

What my partner would try: I think the moment Tommy wakes up in a metal box, even without the claustrophobia, would be bad. You don’t need the drugs. He’s already panicking. (I reminded him of the torture thing and he changed his mind) Actually Tommy has already been in a small metal box for a long time. Just put Jeff the killer in there with him. And watch him say his iconic line ‘im going to jeff the kill you’ 

As for The Blade, all you need is Loony Tunes level unrealistic focus fire from comically large automated weapons. Like the comically large gun from Despicable Me, or an entire wall of machine guns. Oh! I know! Go back in time to when he was a normal pig before he became vessel for The Blood God and kill him then. Also go back in time before the concepts of anger and fire existed, be the first to create those, and then have tiny Philza in your hand and crush. EZ.

[katyon18plus]

‼️‼️‼️TW: Gore, Blood, Implied Cannibalism, Implied Self-Harm, Implied CSA‼️‼️‼️

Goretober Day 3: Abuse

.......So this is horrible, if it makes y'all feel any better, she's a teenager....(I'm still going to hell...)

Inspired by "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" by Kikuo

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

Information about the Tav I ship with Rolan in my fics:

Figured I should describe the Tav that I envision when I'm writing about him and Rolan.

Unless otherwise stated, this Tav is the Tav who is in every one of my Rolan x Tav fics.

I used a mix of BG3 and DND 5e/ 5.5e mechanics to make this Tav.

This specific Tav isn't playable in BG3. But idgaf, horny brain go brrr.

I can't draw for shit, so I used the Tiefling Maker by Crowesn on Picrew to make the closest approximation of what this Tav looks likes in my mind. Please go check out the maker, it's amazing!

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

Epilogue stats:

Level: 12

Class: Bard 7, Monk 5

Subclass: College of Dance, Way of the Drunken Master

Ability scores:

Very high: 18 CHA, 17 DEX, 16 WIS High: 15 STR, 14 CON Low: 8 INT

Basic information:

Name: Tav Atarmin

Age: 27

Sex/Gender: Male

Species: 1/4 minotaur, 3/4 human

Build: Big and beefy (think of Dwayne Johnson/Jason Momoa)

Height: 6'7" (7'2" with horns)

Weight: 315 lbs.

Hair: Black, curly, long, luscious, mullet-esque, often in a low ponytail.

Facial hair: Black, balbo goatee (sans moustache)

Eyes: Bright lizard green irises, black pupils, white sclera.

Skin: Sepia brown skin that turns into short fur the further out from the center of his face.

Piercings: Seamless hoop septum/bull ring, 2 (parallel) vertical eyebrow rings/hoops on left eyebrow.

Voice: Warm rich bass, has a wide vocal range, sounds like Colm R. McGuinness when he sings. (Please check out his covers of Enemy and Hallelujah, he is waaaay too underrated for how talented he is.)

Other: Beauty mark on right cheek, light splattering of freckles, cow ears, hooves instead of feet, ivory colored horns, sharp canines and molars, no tail, 5 fingers on each hand, ambidextrous, fingernails are naturally black and claw-like (files/blunts them so he won't accidently hurt his instruments or bedpartners), nails are often painted.

Diet: Omnivore. Prefers meat and most vegetables raw, but will eat them cooked. He eats beef— he knows he's part beef, he does not care "because beef tastes good." Is pretty sure he won't get a prion disease from what could technically be considered partial-cannibalism.

Likes: Spicy food, music, playing instruments, dancing, performing, snapdragons (esp. red and purple), "verbal jousting", sex, being thirsted over, quality goods, gold, flirting, Rolan, cats, fun, lazy days, adventuring, tea (both the drink and the drama), jokes, exercising, dime novels copper novels.

Dislikes: Bland food, injustice, discrimination, watered down alcoholic drinks, blood oranges, anyone who hurts those he cares about or the innocent, hangovers, creepy porcelain dolls, imaginary numbers, the Absolute, being bored.

Personality: Laid back, easy going, humorous, playful, flirty, bold, forward, mischievous, silver-tongued, charming, adventurous, helpful, kind, stubborn, cunning, cocksure, slow to anger (rages like a barbarian when angered), full of wanderlust, distractible, himbo, caring, indulgent, somewhat pragmatic, (secretly a hopeless-)romantic, suave, horny, goofy, generally level headed, proud, diplomatic, smooth, jovial, faux-naïf (uses people's perception of him as a way to make them underestimate him— he acts like a stupid drunk bard to catch his enemies off guard. He is stupid, but he's smarter than he lets on— his WIS score is doing some real heavy lifting.)

Background information:

Alignment: Chaotic good

Personality Traits:

Nobody stays angry at me or around me for long, since I can defuse any amount of tension.

I love a good insult, even one directed at me.

I judge people by their actions, not their words.

I’m confident in my own abilities and do what I can to instill confidence in others.

Ideals:

Respect. People deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. (Good)

People. I like seeing the smiles on people’s faces when I perform. That’s all that matters. (Neutral)

Creativity. The world is in need of new ideas and bold action. (Chaotic)

Freedom. Chains are meant to be broken, as are those who would forge them. (Chaotic)

Bonds:

I protect those who cannot protect themselves.

I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

Those who fight beside me are those worth dying for.

Secretly— I am desperately searching for "the one", my soulmate.

Flaws:

Once I pick a goal, I become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life.

I can't resist a pretty face.

I'd rather eat my armor than admit when I'm wrong.

I have an insatiable desire for carnal pleasures.

Romantic information:

Sexual orientation: Pansexual, but has a strong preference for men/people who present or identify as masc.

Love Languages (G)iving/(R)eceiving: Words of affirmation (G,R), gift giving (R), physical touch (G,R), acts of service (G), quality time (G,R).

Type of lover: The "Get you a man who sexually dominates you but who also is caring and loving" meme.

His type: "Spicy", bratty, tsundere, smart, talented, tiefling, confident, easily flustered.

Relationship style: No strings attached/noncommittal until he finds "the one". After he finds his "true love" he'd be ethically non-monogamous or into swinging.

Other: Believes that lust and love are not intrinsically linked with one another. He is secretly a hopeless-romantic who believes he has one true love/a soul mate. His normally high charisma stat flies out the window when he tries to flirt with someone who he actually wants to date. Vacillates between cocksure and sheepish around Rolan, he's in love and doesn't know what to do about it. Lust, he can handle. But love? He's out of his depth. The dime novels copper novels he enjoys reading didn't prepare him for how overwhelming romantic feelings would be— he thought that love would feel like lust with a smidge more emotional intensity/intimacy, not a tsunami wave threatening to drown him.

NSFW information:

Genitals: 9", thick, veiny, semi-retractable minotaur penis. Big hairy breeder balls.

Piercings: Prince Albert, guiche, both nipples.

Sex drive: High, the horny bard trope exists for a reason.

Role: Prefers to top but is willing to bottom. Is a dom who will sub, albeit rarely.

Kinks: Breeding, daddy, brat-taming, spanking, shibari, size, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gaping, mild-humiliation, scent, piss, mirror sex, praise, tails, tail sex, oral, anal, belly bulge, light-degradation, edging, intimacy, overstimulation, body worship, begging, aural, dacryphilia, cross dressing, cucking (only when he is the stud/bull), BDSM.

Squicks: (Anything that's illegal irl), vomit, scat, prolapse, under-negotiated kinks/scenes, actual bestiality (he's down to fuck Halsin in bear form lmao), farting, burping, cake farting (he doesn't want to talk about why cake farting has a separate, independent listing), grapefruiting.

[raayllum]

& i will say as someone who has always liked the gothic / earned my degree in english... there is something to be said for “never say never” if you actually want to analyze media and/or expand your horizons. 

not only are pieces of media that discuss violation and taboos interesting (in many ways from a literary standpoint, incest and cannibalism are the same thing - a violent consumption and one sided ownership - but one is sexual and the other is physical, and bringing them together can be Fascinating in terms of how we can talk about the human condition, the harm we can do to one another & have done to one another, etc) but are also just useful, because how those things have been seen and treated have varied (somewhat) over history? 

cannibalism and kinslaying was a massive no-no in ancient grecian society, in spite of or maybe even in response to both of those things happening one by one in their primordial myths (kronos literally has children with his sister - like all gods - then eats his children, only for his children to later ‘kill’ him by chopping him into pieces. his dick formed aphrodite)

and to a certain degree, watching people go through terrible things or inflict terrible things on one another in the realm of fiction is the crux of tragedy. there’s emotional catharsis in tragedy, of course, of just expelling emotions in a safe setting where terrible things are not happening to you, but then there’s also the reaffirmation of agency and security that you have, because they’re not happening to you - that characters do not have free will, their stories are written for them, but you do have free will (which is its own burden, but mostly not). 

like you may say “i’ll never ship anything that falls into [x thing here]” and that could very well be true (although bad news if it’s incest and you’ve enjoyed literally Anything based off mythology in your life like PJO or hadestown, etc), there are definitely squicks for me i’ll never really be into but like. i also don’t totally know? there could always be the right story at the right time and place that makes me intrigued or interested in something i wasn’t before. 

having that openness also means allowing for different interpretations. i can ship past viren/harrow, and even in the present day portion of the show, while acknowledging and being fully aware that narratively / thematically (and canonically, if we wanna go that far) they’re supposed to have a brother-like bond. but to stuff characters and ships and moral rules into stuffy little cubbies and ignoring all the grey areas, and where people (fiction or otherwise) have always existed in those grey spaces has just... never sat right with me?

perhaps it’s because i’m nonbinary, so i exist in a grey and outside of a binary. maybe it’s because i lean towards not needing definitive answers, thanks to the reading i’ve done on judaism and religions other than my own (cultural & religious) christian background. maybe it’s because as an aro person, my own form of attraction is incredibly blurred between romantic and platonic. maybe it’s because i am Very good at recognizing anti (anti sex work, anti kink, anti shipping, anti queer, anti trans) rhetoric because it all comes from a place of “this exists and i think it shouldn’t, even though it’s not harming me” not only from my existence as a queer person, but also from my perspective (and from others like me) of being a minor harassed by adults in the name of ‘protecting the children,’ because they thought i was shipping a minor/adult. i wasn’t, for the record (canon ages were extremely ambiguous) but even if i had been, that’s still totally okay?? and not worth harassment?? just be Normal about it??

so yeah, i block liberally about it to protect myself, and i don’t blame other people who do too, because if someone falls into one of those anti camps, it’s very hard to tell which other ones they may fall into

and idk, i just think it’s Good for people to read things that make them uncomfortable, fiction wise. it pushes you past your own cultural understandings. it can lead to growth or reaffirm your own worldviews for the better. the more you overtly moralize (and demonize), dividing things into categories of “this is always bad or irredeemable” the more you make it harder for people to discuss the full complexities of their lives, because something can be always bad, yes, but that doesn’t mean there was never any good (or reasoning behind it that, right or wrong, appealed to the best or worst of people) in it either. if you deeply moralize racism, you give ‘nice whites’ a shield to hold up. if you deeply demonize age gaps, you make people who are actually vulnerable to them less likely to listen, rather than giving young adults better tools and concepts to learn when a relationship - any kind of relationship - is healthy for them.

and i’d say it’s fiction’s responsibility to challenge, but not to unilaterally teach, ethical and moral norms, anyway (which also aren’t defined principles, but you get my drift). what’s that quote? “Art Should Comfort the Disturbed and Disturb the Comfortable” by la cruz. Yeah

anyway all this to say go read the perks of being a wallflower or kiss of the fur queen or the book thief or things fall apart and come back to me about prioritizing your personal comfort over letting people just live their lives in fandom without moralizing everything. modern day sanitation will not help you in the long run

[hauntsect]

⚔️ 👻 🖤 heh.

❥ ❝ why remember the moth? ❞

⚔️ CROSSED SWORDS — do you have any skills that you are absolutely grateful you have and that mean a lot to you? how do you usually use these skills? would they come in handy if someone you cared about was in trouble?

"Indeed! Being able to conduct surgery, mostly being able to efficiently use a scalpel. It's one of the earlier things I got to learn, I've been using it for a while now, too. I use it a lot in my laboratory... So many of my projects require some kind of exposure, extirpation, the works. ...If someone I cared for were to be in danger and I had a scalpel in hand, per usual, yes... it would definitely come in handy. I wouldn't let anyone touch them, but I cannot guarantee that their components will not touch my loved ones accidentally... Ah, maybe I need a more practical approach."

👻 GHOST — is there someone or something that you feel is missing from your life? do you know if there's any way to find it/them?

"Yes, there is... So many things feel missing. Pieces of the puzzle I cannot truly see. I feel complete, I think of myself as complete and yet... There is a longing, my... being feels empty. A significant other, a soulmate, any other synonym they have for it... I've come to the conclusion that there is none for me, but I still look for it. I've been called stupid before, I believe it whenever I throw myself back into the thought of affection. I'm missing someone else, someone who understands me and I cannot find it, because it does not exist. There is no way to find it. On a lighter note, I am unsure if I am missing a protein, a part of my brain, something that could help me express emotion like my fellow companions and coworkers do. I was told children mimic what their surrounding humans do, I've done the same, but... it does not work for me. Something must be wrong, whether it is execution or a component inside me. Maybe, I should conduct a surgery on myself to find out!"

🖤 BLACK HEART — what would you say is the darkest thought you've ever experienced? what do you think caused you to have that thought? have you ever planned on or fantasized about acting on it?

"Darkest thought? Oh, do not be silly! I am not the type to have dark thoughts at all! Instead, I have gentle desires. You know the ones... Like when you look at a stranger you really like and you wonder: Wouldn't it be lovely to consume them – or a loved one – down to every minute detail? Rip off the ribcage hiding their heart from you just to watch it race as you take over them. Maybe with beastly thrusts against their holes, bites ripping off organs and skin, words of affirmation... To watch it react as you lay down the union of love... to be able to touch it right there, soothe it, alter it... Witness it. It's alive right there, it's all yours. If they asked you to eat them raw, would you be able to do it? Hyles, would you be able to please your loved one, bathing in their blood and drinking it? Basking on the taste of their body, bile and mucus. Would you savor it... or would you run away? Of course I fantasize about it... I fantasize about it so much, every single day, at every hour, every minute, with every twinkle of the dead stars above and the ones to come later. After all, it's love... All I think about is love."

[wizard-eater]

do you vore wizards.Are uou a Wizard Vorer

That's a good question! Now onto our next question

[teddyreblogslotf]

whats the bennu lore. estoy curioso

BENNU IS MY GUY

okay you've opened the can of worms

so bennu enlisted in the army during WW2 because almost all young men did that. he had an arranged marriage with Ebube (his wife) because her parents wanted her to get out of Nigeria and Nigeria and England had connections, yknow. So they forcefully got married. He joined the army.

He meets Arthur Merridew (Jack's dad), Henry Allebach (Ralph's dad) and Mikah Volkov (Roger's dad). He ends up becoming Lieutenant Colonel by the time his service is almost over. Early in his career, the army sees a cannibalistic attack on the soldiers spanning the course of two years. Bennu helps solve this, but he gets PTSD because he watched his friends and colleagues be EATEN, and he witnessed one of the attacks firsthand. Hard to erase that memory.

Okay so in his final battle, he serves under Arthur (Major General) and he gets sent on a suicide mission, essentially. Arthur knew it was a suicide mission and just didn't tell Bennu. However, Mikah is with him and figures it out quickly and sacrifices his life to save Bennu's. His last words to Bennu are 'Take care of Roger for me.' because roger's mom had died of cancer 3 years earlier.

So Bennu adopts Roger for about 8 years (ages 4-12) before Roger goes into foster care. He acts as Roger's caregiver, but when Roger gets back from the island, Bennu pretty much disowns him because he doesn't have the money or facilities to take care of Roger, who is extremely mentally ill. He doesn't want Roger to suffer, so he sends him to a hospital to get treatment. He doesn't hate Roger for killing Simon, because he knows it wasn't really Roger.

But Simon is still dead. Simon is like his only child btw because him and Ebube just aren't in love. So he is an alcoholic for about 4 years after the island.

Roger finds him again when he's 16. Bennu goes to rehab and sobers up and readopts Roger.

Roger eventually learns how to fake empathy from observing Bennu's behaviour. Bennu essentially teaches Roger indirectly how to have humanity. It isn't genuine, but it keeps Roger from being executed for murder.

[coreofgold]

Was that [JI LI]? Oh no no, that was just [SHI MEI/SHI MINGJING], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [ERHA/THE HUSKY AND HIS WHITE CAT SHIZUN]. They are [TWENTY-FOUR ] years old, use [HE/HIM], and [ARE NOT] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long

How long has your character been here Shi Mei thinks he's lived here since he was 8 but he's only been in D.C for a few weeks in actuality.

What is your character’s job He works as a blind travel doctor (like David Hartman), but instead of traveling to places worldwide, his focus is primarily on hospitals and clinics in D.C. that are understaffed and can't afford new doctors.

Where has your character been pulled from in their fandom Points to the end of the current timeline when he freed Chu Wanning, is blind and left as a traveling cultivator that heals all those who need it to atone; That traumatic and sad ending. He's taken from that, so even without his memories, he feels lost, unaccepted in all places and times, wondering why he is the way he is.

Has any magic affected your character It got rid of his memories and replaced it with a whole new life. He was adopted by an American family after being orphaned by his crazy father, killing and eating his mother. The adopted family fell through because they mistreated him, so he ran away and spent his life on the streets (open to found family plots). He already had a weak constitution, so he was weaker in terms of fighting, so he focused on healing and worked his butt off to get into med school and to get his job as a traveling doctor (though it's mostly interning now and working closely with a more experienced one just due to his age). Also, because he lived on the streets, he was used to manipulating others to survive and pave a place in a world that oppressed him (though in this place, instead of him following Hua Binan, Hua Binan is like the voice in the back of his head telling him what to do; Like an evil conscious that wants to survive. Though it's nothing like what happened in the novels; Just lying and playing up his innocence to get money and learn things to bring others down). He regretted everything once he got older, and while trying to atone, an accident occurred (he doesn't remember, but he knows his eyesight/eyes are gone from it a la Xiao Xingchen-like). That didn't stop him from wanting to atone, live a better life, and work as a travel doctor. Because he doesn't remember anything, he is depressed, he's lost, he doesn't know why, but he feels like he has regrets and pain that started centuries ago from a life he doesn't remember.

And any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know!! Wiki Here Birthday: November 2 Siblings: Mu Yanli (half-sister) Zodiac: Scorpio Species: Half demon/half human Eye Color: Has no eyes/has a white bandage around where his eyes should be Hair Color: Black Scars: Missing eyes, various ones strewn about his body both from his life in ancient China and from being homeless in D.C. (because he did end up getting hurt here as well) Personality: kind-hearted, polite, wanting to reason with people instead of fighting, sweet temper and doesn't hold grudges, mediator, diplomacy and submissive, has a hidden bloodthirsty essence, manipulative, morally dubious Romantic Orientation: homosexual Sexual Orientation: homosexual

I am open to plots so please don’t hesitate to message me for plots and to know about his past !

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[sxnburst]

Hourglass ⌛️ ⏳ forgot which one lol

✧ —𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄 (memories that Sun has)

@nobully

"So, you said you wished to speak with me? Are you worried about the after our mission?"

"Mmm....A little bit, yeah. What's going to happen to us? To all of us?"

"Well, we said you'd be free. All three of you from your crimes." Tang Sanzang seems to notice the concern on Sun Wukong's face. He leans forward to get a better look, concern NOW on his face, "What troubles you, Sun Wukong?"

"What's going to happen between you and me?" Sun Wukong asks, eyes avoidant in looking at the person he's spent SO much time with. In turn, this unspeakable thirst of wanting to be near him. "Where will you go? Will...." He doesn't allow himself to finish his sentence and without having to look at Tang Sanzang, he can tell the man is smiling.

Annoying. Him and his blasted smile.

"Sun Wukong...Would you like us to have our own little journey? Just the two of us?"

"Yes. I'd like that a lot."

@penitentbeggar

.......

The cage that the opponents fight in is busted. It's almost as if a beast had gone rampant and broke free from the metallic cages. There's a pool of blood EVERYWHERE and bodies littered all over the arena and chairs. Some hadn't even made it out of their chair to escape when whatever hell broke loose and others hadn't even made it out the door. How many people are here in this underground fight club? 500? No one's made it out. That's the assumption at least, but Sun knows. Sun knows ONE made it out. Bentley was alive for a reason. He let Bentley live.

Sun's entire body is drenched in blood and there is a body that he's crouched over, punching and HAMMERING both fists into the deceased face over and over and over again.

There's nothing left of this person's face, just like the many other victims that fell into his brutality of wrath. Some faces looks as if they had been chewed off, arms have been severed from people's bodies, fingers, ears, eyes missing on others. Sun bites into this crushed face and bites into what flesh he can and pulls this corpse's mouth right off. It strings, like mozzarella in breading---like a mozzarella stick and...Sun chews then swallows. The berserked Sun Wukong returns to mutilating this body more. So much wrath, so much malice and rage.

[lovetwist]

Veil of Deception (II)

SYNOPSIS: Forced into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, you must now consummate the union. A night of unsparing obscenity. His grip on you is deadly, perhaps worsening when you seek to escape him.

WARNINGS (R18+): dub-con, first time, biting, marking, sexual content, breeding, mentions of choking, power play, violence, weapons, cannibalism

Word count: 2.6k

PART 1

The night seemed excruciatingly long, your body overwhelmed by the sensations ruptured by your husband: pain, pleasure, pure agony.

Feyd-Rautha was transfixed on the way your hair sprawled out on the bedsheets, creating a halo around your body. You had found it to be a strange request when you were informed to keep your hair long for the wedding. Now you knew exactly who had made the order each time your husband pulled, scrunched, and ran his calloused hands through your locks.

“Please – ah – slower!” you gasped underneath him.

What a mistake to beg or plead. His pace seemed to only quicken with every whimper you released. It had been hours, he was entirely relentless in his pursuit of unraveling you. Every time you felt as though you’d die, he’d slow and make you wet once more.

You hated the way you would arch for him, your physical body betraying your moral dignity. You hated how he would smirk every time, calling you ‘pet’. Most profoundly, you hated the mirror above his bed exposing the shamefulness of every position he took you in and the wanton expression you wore during them.

Feyd-Rautha was a skilled lover, but he was greedy in chasing his own release – which seemed to never end.

Your mother couldn’t prepare you for this, the Bene Gesserit had very little information on the na-Baron’s likes and weaknesses aside from rumors. He had killed the previous Sister sent to seduce him and broken the neck of another Sister who attempted to plant a trigger word in his mind.

Perhaps it would be a miracle if you survived your wedding night.

It was almost animalistic the way he pounded into you with limitless stamina. His seed was still dripping down your legs as he flipped you over like a hound. Your cheeks flushed at this positioning, he was treating you like a beast in heat.

“Cry for me, pet,” he’d sneer every time tears stung your eyes.

“I-I’m not your pet,” you’d pant trying to adjust to his speed. Your defiance and spirit would only set him off further into lunacy.

You’d never forget the raptorial look in his eyes when you first bled. He had prepared you well with his fingers and tongue, but his extraordinary size still pierced your hymen painfully. Feyd-Rautha arrogantly reveled in the fact that he was the first man to claim your maidenhood – and subsequently subjected you to every single one of his primal desires.

His bites on your body ached initially, followed by thorough licks of every reddened wound with his hot tongue. During the brief intermissions, he traced the bruises marked on your hips and thighs smugly. Your husband was a paradox, torment and pleasure wrapped into one.

The experiences he gave you differed wildly from anything you had read upon the marital bed. Though you were disappointed in the lack of romance, you did enjoy his physicality. His allure was striking with chiseled facial features, piercing eyes, and a toned body.

You didn’t fail to notice the flex of his muscles with every thrust into you or how his voice would drop several octaves when he was close to release.

His hands were rough, but his fingers were beautiful – the masterful way they would tease your breasts and sadistically wrap around your throat. You’d shiver when he licked your ears and nipped at your swollen lips.

Feyd-Rautha didn’t kiss you often, but when he did it could only be described as an unearthly procession of dominance. He was aggressive and vicious in the way he forced his tongue down your throat, exploring every inch of your mouth while his large hand locked your face in place. You couldn’t deny that your body was in complete submission of his depravity.

He smirked each time you moaned and mewled into his kiss, flattering his ego. The way he overpowered you so easily made your head spin.

“No more…” you groaned as you gripped the sheets beneath you, already wet with sweat and cum.

He’d sneer and scoff as he denied you, further burrowing himself into your hair and savoring your scent. You couldn’t oppose this predatory creature on top of you, not when he held your entire being in the palm of his hand.

“You belong to me, we stop when I say so,” he growled every time you tried to turn away. He held your wrists down with both arms, caging you beneath him like prey.

The last thing you remember from your wedding night were the rays of sunlight pouring through the curtains when you finally lost consciousness.

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

The morning light filtered through gaps in the velvet curtains, casting a gentle glow over the chamber. You stirred, slowly emerging from the depths of sleep, your body still tingling from the intensity of the night before. Memories flooded back, mingling with sensations of arousal and embarrassment.

The bed was cold. Instead of your husband, you found a silver tray placed next to the nightstand with delectable plates of food.

‘Eat.’ was elegantly scripted on an adjacent card. You rolled your eyes at his overbearing personality but couldn’t deny the pangs of hunger.

After breakfast, you decided to take a bath. As you placed both feet on the ground to walk, your legs wobbled terribly. Sitting back down on the bed with a long sigh, you decided to wait for servants to eventually come fetch you.

Hours passed and no one came. When the sun rose high enough to be early noon, the doors burst open.

Your husband strode in, his presence commanding the entire room. His eyes, still burning with yesterday’s fire, swept over you. He took in your disheveled appearance with a hint of amusement.

"Good, you’re alive," he remarked, his voice laced with self-satisfaction.

"Apologies for the disappointment, but I don’t die so easily,” you retorted, unable to keep the edge out of your voice.

He ignored your comment, crossing the room in long strides until he stood before you, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers trailing along the marks on your chest in a gesture that was both possessive and intimate.

"You fainted,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I hope you’ve regained your strength.”

"Don’t touch me,” you shot back, unable to suppress the surge of defiance.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You are my possession. Mine to use, mine to break if necessary,” he reminded you, his voice a low growl. "And you will open your legs for me. If not, then I’ll have to use your pretty little mouth."

You bristled at his words, but beneath the anger, there was a flicker of something else— fear, perhaps, or maybe something more primal, a recognition of the power he held over you and a heat forming in your lower core.

For a moment, you were tempted to push him away, to fight or defy him once more. Not all battles were won in a day, you thought to yourself.

Thus you didn’t protest when he ripped the sheet exposing your naked form, and you stubbornly ignored the fact that you came three times underneath him that afternoon.

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

On the fourth day of your marriage, you become suspicious of why you never see servants. Every day you awake, and everything is remarkably already prepared.

“Why do I not have any servants to attend me,” you questioned.

“You do. Only, no one is allowed to enter my chambers without prior permission,” he replied flatly.

“Well then, I’d like to leave for my own chambers.” You weren’t confident if you even had chambers, but you guessed they must be storing your clothes and belongings somewhere.

“You will leave when I no longer require you here,” his voice boomed. “Aren’t you enjoying our honeymoon, pet?” he mocked.

“Do not call me pet, Feyd-Rautha. I am your wife, not an animal you can cage and entertain on a whim.”

“Right,” he drawled. “If you had been an animal, I would’ve already broken you a thousand times over,” his eyes glinted with interest. “Especially one that doesn’t know when to shut its barking, wife.”

As Feyd-Rautha's words hung heavy in the air, a tense silence enveloped the room. You could feel the weight of his brutal nature pressing down on you, suffocating any resistance that simmered to rise within you. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders, refusing to cower before him.

"I demand to know why I'm being kept prisoner in this room," you declared, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and determination.

Feyd-Rautha's eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening with anger. "Prisoner?" he scoffed.

"You are performing your marital duties, na-Baroness. Do not sour my mood. Lest you’ve forgotten the purpose of this union, I need to fuck you until your womb swells with my seed,” he gritted his teeth, “It’s been pleasurable so far, hasn’t it? You moan like a whore under me each night."

Speechless, your mouth gaped at his profanity.

"It would be a mistake to disobey me."

A surge of frustration bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over. "And if I refuse?" you challenged, daring to meet his gaze head-on.

His lips curled into a cruel smirk, a glint of malice dancing in his eyes. "Then you will suffer the consequences – which you would not be able to bear, little one" he replied, his voice dripping with menace. “Do you want me to show you?”

Before you could respond, he clapped his hands twice. The doors to the chamber burst open, entering a group of armed guards standing at attention. Feyd-Rautha's expression turned into a dark leer.

"Escort my wife to her personal chambers," he commanded, his tone deceptively calm. "And make sure she doesn’t go anywhere without a guard. From now on, she is not to enter nor stay in my rooms."

As the Harkonnens moved to seize you, you realized with a sinking feeling that you were truly trapped in this gilded cage, at the mercy of a man whose cruelty you had yet to understand.

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

Deep within you, a flicker of rebellion still burned bright, a willful resolve to reclaim your freedom and dignity, no matter the cost.

Your room, surprisingly luxurious, boasted a large balcony that offered an overhead view of the training grounds. It seemed purposeful, chosen to serve as a stark reminder of the life you had been thrust into: perpetual violence.

You weren’t alone in your room; servants flitted about, attending to your needs with a silent efficiency that bordered on eerie. They all looked the same, simple white garbs and shaven heads. Attendants moved like shadows, their presence barely felt and never acknowledged. It was as if they were part of the furniture, existing solely to serve.

As na-Baroness, you only had a few measly duties assigned to you: organize balls and events of state. This was laughable as events on Giedi Prime occurred only a few times per year, mostly none with consequence or importance.

There were two ways you could see your husband: on the training grounds or when he came to fuck you.

Feyd-Rautha was a formidable warrior with carefully honed skills and keen senses. However, he often flaunted his prowess to the point of showmanship. Having nothing else to do, you watched his sparring sessions sometimes.

Under the black sun of Giedi Prime, it all seemed like a colorless nightmare that you’d hallucinated. Blood, violence, and the never-ending screams haunted you even as you closed the balcony doors. This was no nightmare, it was reality.

Your husband was a disciplined man who adhered to a tight routine; training early each morning, proceeded by visits your room.

After your confrontation, he hardened towards you. There would be no conversation, Feyd-Rautha had the mind to only satisfy himself and left quickly afterwards. He always slept in his own his chambers.

His anger did not ever seem to dissipate, only replaced with lust temporarily.

The monotonous days left you feeling isolated and adrift in a sea of strangers. The only reprieve came in the form of letters you sent to your family. They’d ask you how you were faring and you’d carefully craft missives that painted a picture of marital contentment while concealing the ugly truth. Of course you couldn’t tell them, not when everything hinged upon the success of this union and the delivery of an heir.

On some lonely nights, as you lay by yourself in the large bed, you regretted asking to leave his side. After all, your golden cage hadn’t expanded and you still exercised no authority.

Four weeks later, you felt relieved that your blood came. True it was your purpose to bear a child, but there was a part of you that feared your husband would simply leave you alone for good once he confirmed a pregnancy.

That afternoon, you gently denied him access to your body. “My courses have come,” you explained, crawling off his lap.

He was shocked for a moment, but then slowly released his grasp on you. He left the room without a word.

Later in the evening, feeling brave or perhaps missing his touch – which you’d never outwardly admit – you decided to break one of the rules by visiting his chamber.

You thought of things to say to him.

I’d like to spend more time together as husband and wife.

I think it would help our marriage to get to know one another.

I want to explore the estate and Giedi Prime.

Your musings were interrupted by the synchrony of female voices and laughter coming out of your husband’s room.

In a momentary fit of shock and fury, you ignored the guards and pushed open the doors.

He was polishing his dagger leisurely with three naked Harkonnen women laying across his bed.

“How dare you enter my chambers without permission,” he hissed. You didn’t miss the way he angled the tip of the dagger towards you.

“Who are they?” you demanded, voice unable to conceal your disturbance and a hint of jealousy.

“My pets, they require special attention,” he replied coolly, at which the harpies giggled in unison.

You understood that they were pleasure slaves. It was common for noblemen to have concubines; you just hadn’t expected your husband would as well. Did he spend the night with them? Is that what he did after leaving your bedroom every day?

You stood frozen in place, humiliated at your naivete. You meant nothing to him, another whore but adorned with an empty title. A guard swiftly followed you inside the chamber, roughly grabbing your arm and beginning to drag you out.

“Na-Baroness, you do not have permission to be in here–”, the rest of his sentence could not be heard as Feyd-Rautha slit his throat and sliced his arm. The man fell where he stood.

“Perfect timing,” he growled. “My darling pets were getting hungry,” he squinted his eyes at the dead guard as though he was lowlier than filth.

None of the other guards dared to touch you after that display.

Monster. Traitor. Killer. 

When the three women ran down to divvy up the bits of his body, you had to fight the urge to puke. You stare at their markings, soulless ebony eyes, and sharp black teeth as they devour the man’s limbs, you’ve never felt more disgust or fear in your life.

Harkonnen. Monster. Traitor. Killer. 

Feyd-Rautha approaches you, expressionless and without any hint of remorse. “Go,” he commands. “Get out unless you want to become fodder for them as well.”

As you turned to walk away, tears fell like raindrops, marking the path of your departure with silent rage and hatred.