#and ample podcast

[thatskullinajar]

modern day Lockwood & Co.

Lockwood: When I get murdered can you make sure my case is unsolved for a moderate amount of time? Lucy:...I'm sorry what? Lockwood: I want to be the topic of a true crime podcast. George: I'm sorry, I'm still stuck on the fact you said *when* you get murdered?

[gyooza]

I know this is a whole plot point and arthur is stubborn as shit and gonna do his own thing, but you'd think after the last 50 times john was right about something being dangerous, arthur would start to maybe consider that his own gut instincts might just be wrong

[avrelia]

So… I’ve met another strange idea taking root in the AtlA fandom. I’ve seen it a couple of times around here, and I’ve head in on the Braving the Elements podcast from one of the guests.

The idea is that Aang has never seen a girl before Katara.

And at first I rolled my eyes and moved on, but after listened to it said aloud I decided to write a counterargument.

1) Aang was raised in the Southern Air Temple among monks and boys, but we have no evidence that he was locked there.

2) Aang is an Air Nomad. He traveled all over the world making friends everywhere. There is an ample evidence of this in the show: his familiarity with the different places in the world, his friendship with Bumi and Kuzon. He knows dances popular in the Fire Nation. He couldn’t possible have traveled the world and had not meet girls. Because you know, girls are not all locked down either.

3) we have seen in Appa’s memory young Aang at the Eastern Air temple with a grown Airbender nun who was overseeing sky bison babies meet Air nomad kids. Air Nomad men and women did mingle together.

4) we don’t know much about Air Nomad culture from the AtLA show, for obvious reasons. But if you are willing to accept supplementary evidence: in The Rift Comic Aang remembers Yangchen festival that brings all Air Nomads together; and in the Dawn of Yangchen novel we see young nuns hanging out in the Northern Air Temple where men live.

5) also don’t forget, it is from our point of view Katara is the first girl Aang sees in a century. From Aang’s POV, two days ago he was hanging out with his friends. And maybe a month ago he was playing a friendly air ball match with the girls’ teams. Katara is not special because she is a girl. Katara is special because she is Katara.

[eluminium]

Lately I've been seeing a lot of people doing new hermit speculations dismissing Skizz as an option for HC10, pointing to his statements about just not having a lot of time lately on the Imp and Skizz podcast. AND TO THAT CLAIM I SAY

Because Skizz is TOTALLY still an option for one of the two new hermits for Hermitcraft season 10!

Now I don't expect everyone to be as normal (read: insane) about Skizzleman as I am, HOWEVER! There are two clear contradictions in known facts that disprove this claim and I have the obscure-ish knowledge to prove it!

Proof number 1!: The Imp and Skizz podcast is recorded in sessions, not individually. This is done for efficiency considering both Impulse and Skizz do not have the time to meet up and record individual singular podcasts anymore. Instead, they record 2-3 podcasts in a row so that they have the next weeks covered. BUT! This means that there is a good 2-3 weeks of delay between a podcasts recording and its posting at a minimum! Which in turn means that both men have ample time to change situations or opinions, and any opinion shared on the podcast is not 1-1 relevant to the here and now! This means that yes, while Skizz says he has no time, this is based on what could be outdated data! ...now this isn't my strongest argument, but really, it's just setdressing for my main argument. WHICH IS PROOF NUMBER 2!: Skizz is going on a sabbatical from his work in the super near future to focus on content creation. Yes, you read that right! In a recent phasmo stream, Skizz made this very important claim that by itself puts him back on the radar for potential new hermits. Now I don't know how long Skizz's sabbatical would be, but traditionally they can last from 3 months up to a year. Even on the low estimate, that's 3 entire months. 3 months focused on content creation without the distraction of his irl work. Time he could use to, oh I don't know, establish himself as a new hermit perhaps? SO IN CONCLUSION. SKIZZLEMAN FOR HERMITCRAFT SEASON 10 IS STILL REAL GUYS. AND GOD DAMN DO I PRAY THAT HIS MAGIFICANT ASS GETS ON THAT SERVER. GO LOVE BOY GO

[kittyball23]

True Crime (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: Bruce hears something unexpected on the True Crime podcast he listens to

__________________________________________

Beach days were always the best.

It gave his wife Brandy the ample time she needed for a little R n R. It gave their 13 kids the fun they craved, hitting the waves and splashing about in the warm Vacay Island waters. And it gave Bruce the opportunity to kick back, tan, and listen in on the next episode of his True Crime podcast.

His kids were well-behaved for the most part (save for Bruce Jr. and his biting problem, and perhaps Freddy with his desire to stuff his body into whatever little cramped spaces there were). But, with a quick reminder to mind their manners and beware of any rough waves, he knew that they were well off.

As he settled down on the towel, he could hear the faint sounds of his children laughing and splashing, their mother floating on a surfboard nearby and watching over them. Bruce then removed his vest, rubbed tanning oil on his body, donned sunglasses, popped on his earbuds and began to play the podcast. The narrator's mysterious voice began to speak, introducing the story.

“In tonight's episode of True Crime, discover a true story about betrayal, deception, and greed, and the defeat of two nefarious villains who were finally dethroned from their treacherously influential reign…”

Bruce was already intrigued. Ooo, this is gonna be a GOOD one. He could tell. He tucked his arms behind his head and got comfortable.

“When one is a troll, there is no better way to live your life to the fullest than with hugging, dancing, and of course, singing. But for one troll, these harmless activities become the paramount of his nightmare for the next two months.”

Bruce scrunched his nose, skeptical. Singing and dancing that led to, as the narrator described, a ‘nightmare’ situation? He had to hear the rest of this.

“You never expect this sort of thing to happen to you, you know?” a new voice said, which Bruce could presume was the victim of the unfortunate scenario. “I sure didn't. They seemed like a nice pair of siblings. I never suspected anything malicious. They saw my performance, enjoyed it, and asked for some tips to boost their own careers. We had some drinks and… and the next thing I remember is waking up in a diamond bottle.”

Yikes, Bruce thought, pitying the victim. He sounded like a nice guy, too, with the calm, serene tone his voice had. Trapped in such a cramped space for so long sounded awful.

“And you won't believe who those said siblings were,” the narrator continued. He was very right in that, too. Because as soon as the podcast began to play a sample of the hit single ‘Watch Me Work,’ Bruce’s jaw practically dropped on the floor.

No way…

“Yes way. You heard correctly. Criminals in this case are none other than superstar sensations Velvet and Veneer, from the bedazzling city of Mount Rageous. But following them now, is a not-so-bedazzling record. (And we don't mean the musical kind.)”

A new female voice began to list off charges. “Troll-napping, Troll torture, not to mention tax evasion. You won't believe how many yachts, bling, and exotic PETS they illegally bought!”

Even if Bruce could believe it, he was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the initial news. Velvet and Veneer? The well-known household names that his kids - and himself for that matter - were fans of? Well, not anymore! Hearing such things that they did made him sick. Man… it’s gonna be hard separating the art from the artist.

“And today, just two months after the duo was turned in by their assistant, Crimp, they find that their names live on forever not in fame, but in INfamy,” the narrator said.

“Oh, I feel awful,” the distinct voice of Veneer said next. “I wanted nothing more than to be famous, and… Vel made me believe that it didn’t matter HOW we did it, as long as we DID it. Even… even if it meant KILLING a troll. It was real rough - I mean, sucking up his talent was easy enough, but we were literally sucking the LIFE out of him. His skin was turning pale - and, like, not in a stunning Victorian way, either - and that magenta hair of his was turning whiter and whiter by the minute…”

Magenta? Bruce wondered. He’d known a troll once with magenta hair. His own younger brother. Could it be…? No, it couldn’t… I mean, there’s PLENTY of Trolls that have magenta hair, don’t they?

“I didn’t say anything to Velvet though because, truly, I was too afraid to stand up to her. She’s my sister! My biggest inspiration… I didn’t wanna discourage her. But now, I see that what we did was wrong. Very, VERY wrong.”

Good, Bruce thought.

“But despite the change of heart, this Mount Rageon still has to serve at least another six months in juvenile imprisonment, alongside his sister,” the narrator said. “It comes as much relief to the now-free victim.”

“Jail can’t be fun,” the same serene voice from before admitted, “but I’m glad they’re serving their time. Everyone makes mistakes, and just like it’s important to learn from them, it’s also important to pay the repercussions for your actions.”

Well said, Bruce had to admit. He also had to admit something else.

That sounds a LOT like something Floyd would say…

And if his suspicions were not enough…

“While recovery has been successful for the troll and he has plans to return to singing, he still feels as though something is missing from his life…” the narrator continued.

“I was solo-ing around for quite a bit of time before I ran into Velvet and Veneer,” the Troll said. “But, really… I would LOVE if I could perform in the band I was in years ago… but, we kind of had a fight, and ever since that fight, we haven’t seen each other. If we could reunite - oh - that’d be a dream come true. It’s been too long.”

Bruce swallowed. Twenty years is a long time…

The next part was the real kicker, though.

“Until that day, 36-year-old Floyd still holds onto the hope that he will see his bandmembers - also known as the brothers who made up the band BroZone - someday,” the narrator said.

“John Dory, Clay, Branch, Spruce… if ANY of you are listening, I want you to know that I miss you. And I want us to be a family again…” the Troll - FLOYD - said.

Bruce’s thumb went to hit the pause button. He had to stop. This was a lot to process, all at once. He was flabbergasted. Bamboozled. Shocked. He broke down everything he had heard piece by piece, trying to make sense of it.

Velvet and Veneer were baddies.

They had taken Floyd.

His brother Floyd.

They’d used his talent.

They’d almost killed him.

He would’ve never had the option of seeing his brother again.

But now, he did.

“Daddy! Daddy!” one of his kids - Windy - was suddenly calling to him. “Bruce Jr. threw sand in my eye!”

“I said I was sorry!” Bruce Jr. protested.

“Only after Mom told you to!” LaBreezy pointed out.

“Did not!” Bruce Jr. countered.

“Did too!” Cove jumped into his sister’s defense.

“Well, Daddy, aren’t you gonna punish him??” Windy demanded to know. The way he saw it, it wouldn’t be fair to let him slide!

But the way Bruce saw it… well, he wasn’t seeing anything. His brain was still overloaded with what he’d learned.

Brandy had followed the kids, curiously noting her husband’s surprised expression. “Honey?” she questioned. “Are you all right?”

Bruce looked at her resolutely.

“I… I have to find my brother…”

[corvid-language-library]

JLPT Journal 25/07 (Countdown: 129 days)

Today I:

Watched 3x My Hero Academia episodes, 1x Pokemon episode and 1x Dungeon Meshi episode

~100 minutes of comprehensible input videos

Reviewed 30 kanji

N3 vocab from today:

腰（こし）lower back, hips, waist

叫ぶ（さけぶ）to shout, to cry, to scream, to shriek, to yell

協力（きょうりょく）cooperation, collaboration, help, support

ついに finally, at last

節約（せつやく）economising, saving, being frugal

吐く（はく）to vomit, to throw up

膝（ひざ）knee

影（かげ）shadow, silhouette, figure, shape

左右（さゆう）left and right

かご basket (shopping etc), hamper, cage

小屋（こや）hut, cabin, shed, (animal) pen

瓶（びん）bottle, jar, decanter, flagon, phial, vial

張る（はる）to stick, to paste, to affix

完成（かんせい）completion, perfection, accomplishment

長期（ちょうき）long-term

人混み（ひとごみ）crowd of people

豊か（ゆたか）abundant, plentiful, rich, ample; rich, wealthy, affluent, well-off

魅力（みりょく）charm, fascination, glamour, attraction, appeal

尊重（そんちょう）respect, esteem, regard

材料（ざいりょう）materials, ingredients

指す（さす）to point; to nominate, to select; to identify, to point out, to indicate

陽気（ようき）cheerful, jovial, merry, lively

鍋（なべ）pan, pot, saucepan

板（いた）board, plank; pane, slab; cutting board, chopping board; stage (theatre)

植物（しょくぶつ）plant, vegetation

一種（いっしゅ）a kind, a sort, a variety, a species

Thoughts

Nothing specific to report here. Sometimes I feel like my listening is improving and I can catch a lot more than I used to, sometimes I feel like a total beginner who understands nothing. But then, I felt like that about Norwegian for months (if not years).

I've just had a quick look on YT and realised there's probably enough JLPT listening material for me to do at least two practice tests a week, so I think that's what I'll do. Idk, maybe some of them are duplicates posted on different channels, but I'm willing to bet I'll benefit from attempting them twice anyway because it's probably the best way to learn the specific grammar & vocab I need to pass. I'm planning to try one on Saturday, then maybe one on Wednesday. The following Saturday I'm off travelling for a week so maybe if I get time I can do one before I leave? And then when I get back I can start doing them bi-weekly (thinking of doing them Mondays and then alternate Thursday or Friday each week)

I'm not planning to do much studying while I'm away as I don't want to lug my laptop around (plus I find time away from my laptop quite freeing). I'm thinking of just reviewing kanji, listening to podcasts and reading an NHK Easy article a day or something.

[mega-aulover]

I’m listening to a lot of PODCASTS who are talking about why not the 25th Quarter Quell or the other Hunger Games. They couldn’t understand why Suzanne chose the 50th Quarter Quell.

(pause breathes in and out…feeling…grr)LFG.

It struck me that the one district that mattered the most is District Twelve. It’s the least of all of the other districts. It’s the District that everyone thinks as the armpit of the nation yet it’s the district that has the most influence in the nation of Panem.

Snows’ power and life is tided to District 12.

Lucy Grey Baird

Haymitch Abernathy

Katniss Everdeen

The 3 Victors that helped make and break the Hunger Games and Snow. They came from the Rebellious district. It’s the place where they couldn’t get rid of the Mockingjay. The district where Hope grew like the unstoppable Dandelion.

It’s the only District that Snow wanted to obliterate. Think about it- the other districts had opportunities to create havoc but never did. For example- District 3 could have messed around with the technology- the dang force field! District 6 could have messed around with the Transportation! So many things they could have done and none of them did it- they had ample opportunity and resources. All of the districts had access to the some sort of thing that could be used as a weapon and the Capitol did not consider them a threat b/c they could be squashed.

But District Twelve it’s a dangerous powder keg. And Snow understands this - it’s why he threatens Katniss and killed Haymitch’s loved one.

I get the other Victors matter and I get that you’re curious about the other Hunger Games. But you have to understand- Suzanne is not about the Benjamins! She wants to make a point and this district represents the repressed. A social-economic comment on society and greed. The gargantuan battle of the have nots and the propaganda of the haves. She is a needle poking at the large gass filled ballon of the world we are living in. She’s got a major reason for every word and punctuation.

And the vehicle she chose is District Twelve and the mostly group of rebels.

[magpod-confessions]

I have significant grievances with the way The Magnus Protocol has been going. Before I get into that, I want to say that I love the new setting, recording medium with the computers, and the lore that’s been built up thus far. Now I am frankly disappointed by the quality of the dialogue outside of the statements, as it feels very unnatural (even for a fiction podcast) and poorly structured. Additionally the statements feel too short and often lack the compelling detail that TMA statements provided. Brevity, in this case, is not the soul of wit. My issues with the main characters themselves are written below.

Sam: too contradictory between naively curious and just plain scatterbrained. Also I see the intention of trying to make him kind/generous to a fault but it just comes across as sort of limited personality-wise. Making him boring might be the intention, though, who knows. (Dishonourable mention to Sam’s moment of vicious and inconsiderate mockery towards Gwen in ep 18).

Celia: also comes across as rather empty-headed. It’s obvious that she’s meant to be characterized as this resolute single mom who’s doing so well surviving the horrors. However 9 times out of 10, she appears profoundly useless and passive. Once again I cannot tell if this is intentional.

Alice: it is, in this case, very clear that Alice uses aggravating and antagonizing humour to prevent her insecurities from being known. This is interesting! However, Alice only embodies that point in the shallowest sense, with everything else about her being incensing, glib, and occasionally outright and intentionally cruel.

Lena: I don’t have many issues with lena. She appears to be a simple character on the surface level but the times we see her tease at something deeper. She ends up being genuinely compelling, rather than feeling like her characterization is trying to be interesting.

Gwen: as is with Lena, I don’t have many character issues with Gwen. We’ve been hinted at her backstory not only through her last name, but through many instances in the podcast. (Yes I know we’ve had ample hints towards other characters backstories as well). She’s got a vague and interesting motive for doing what she does, despite her lack of agency in a situation that she exercised her agency to put herself in.

That’s my two cents for now.

.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: How To Reset From A Toxic Work Environment

Give yourself ample time to reset and indulge in basic self-care. Get a full night's sleep every night, eat a balanced & nutritious diet (most of the time) with meals you enjoy, incorporate daily movement & a consistent exercise routine into your week, read books, listen to music and podcasts that inspire you, hang out with loved ones/people who energize you, indulge in beauty routines/"spa" days and movies/TV shows you love

Once you feel recharged/not burned out anymore, take a step back and reflect on what your values are, your interests, desired lifestyle/workplace environment that best suits your personality and work style. Consider what you want out of your next opportunity instead of letting hiring managers decide for you once your interviewing processes begin. Remember, a job at a company should feel like a mutual fit. Decide to work as an employee, not a corporate slave.

Reassess and decide on your future workplace boundaries ahead of time. Once you're more emotionally distant from your current toxic work environment, allow yourself to act as a neutral observer of the interpersonal dynamics that played out while you were working in your (soon-to-be previous) toxic work environment. Consider any warning signs/red flags you might've ignored early on or certain ways you allowed yourself to be a pushover/people-pleaser to keep the peace while getting to know your co-workers. Looking back, how would you have handled these situations if you had the clarity and self-confidence you have now? Use your answer to this question as a roadmap to decide how you can show up as your best self before/while working in your next role.

Determine ways you can forge workplace connections early on in your next role. Embrace the "new job, new you" mentality here and decide how you want to show up as a sociable co-worker from your first week onward. Greet your team in the morning, engage in some small talk over a break to get to know each other better – try to find mutual interest/express interest in what they're saying, make it a priority to schedule one-on-ones with all team members/close collaborators within your company over the first month, invite co-workers to get coffee/lunch with you a couple of days per week, etc.

[babygirlphil]

re socially conscious phil post:

not specifically instances where he corrects dan, but he also commonly mentions aro/ace ppl when he discusses relationship advice, etc. from what i remember phil also uses they/them for ppl of unknown pronouns more commonly than dan (eg. during phan prix of bday stream) but this can very much be a lapse in my memory lol. imo phil definitely seems as if not more socially conscious (at least in their online depictions) than dan in the way that he thinks his words through more when touching on sensitive subjects and recognizes how even his phrasing can be impactful (which probably is part of the reason why he refrains from lingering on these issues as a whole) whereas dan often makes comments on a whim for humour.

(which is why they should have a podcast where they would have ample time to fully discuss such issues and their thoughts) (i am begging)

(also sorry if this was long, just wanted to lay out my thoughts 🥲)

Yes! Thank you! These are great examples. Yeah Phil isn't perfect either, but he often thinks about how his words might come across more than Dan. some people seem to believe that he doesn't have strong political opinions which I don't think is true. He's said that he doesn't feel like it's his place to speak on things that he's not an expert on and I think that's a pretty smart move. Sometimes Dan will talk about something he only has a surface level understanding of and end up saying things that are a bit insensitive. Like how he keeps saying that the world will be better when all the old people die. There are a lot of old people who are trans, queer, poor or leftist who are just as marginalized by the current system as young people. And a lot of young people are bigoted capitalists who are contributing to the destruction of the planet.

There was also that time when he accidentally retweeted a carrd that had links to a fundraiser for a militant Russian extremist group, thinking it was for Ukraine. He took it down after an hr and then didn't bother to post a better one when Phil did. I'm still a bit annoyed at him for that ngl. It wouldn't have taken him very long to verify his sources before posting.

I also don't like how he keeps equating "woman" to boobs and vagina and "man" to penis. It seems a bit inconsiderate of trans people.

Before any dannies coming running to my inbox to defend him, I'm aware that he doesn't do it maliciously and that he genuinely does care and tries his best. I also know that he talks a lot of shit just to be funny. That doesn't mean he's above criticism. Especially when he's making himself out to be an activist and advocate for the LGBTQ+ community. No one is saying he needs to be perfect. He just needs to think more about how his words might impact others.

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We be Lonely together? Epilogue

a Homelander x Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader reader fic

Author's note: too self indulgent not to write an epilogue, thanks for reading and am looking forward to making more fics for this fandom, this is Bi Homelander content if y'all read this as fem or non male reader. prev. chapters in my blog under the my fic tag or can we be lonely together? tag will be making a masterlist fairly soon tho.

R18+ mild smut, exhibitionism kink, gore, murder, dub con, dirty talk, surprise butchlander, butcher x reader, 3-way?, amoral protagonist, unreality.

Epilogue

Breeze sang in the ample halls bringing whispers from the balearic sea, a top the mountain overseeing endless azure, greens and neighborhood roofs the world seemed so far away to him.

So many absent walls in this villa, the house was airy and open, blurring the idea of inside and outside with is design.

Cream coloured linen danced against the wind to the seas secret songs, the sun leaving no corner in the shadows, sandy granite warm under the sun, evergreens could be seen from all windows, cascades of green coloured the view, and a pair of cats slept in a guest room.

There was not a sight disturbed by ugly grey buildings, just mountains and sea– left him feeling as Zeus on the top of mount Olympus, inside the airy home only the dull sound of oak ceiling fans pushing the breeze disturbed the halls.

No longer did the steps of strangers disturbed the dull accismus of this temple by the hill, camera crews left most of the home untouched, it had been a busy and exhausting week for Homelander.

Walls had been sparsely decorated, remnants of a past life clung on smooth oatmeal walls and indigo blue wood beecher paneling accentuating one living room of three-- paintings he had grown attached to and the occasional marble statue laid around, but now there were photos of a man one could hardly recognize.

With each new image, time had eroded wounds off his face, there was a glimmer on his features that had never resided there.

Garden pots had been shuffled around for the perfect frame, now he would've had to move them much to his annoyance.

It was the most anticipated interview of the decade, it had gone smoothly, Oprah had been delightful, manly tears had been shed and hair raising stories were shared, she had found him approachable above all.

After a year of silence the whole world was kept on edge awaiting for his return.

The trial hadn’t even televised but they were plenty of updates by the hour circling around-- more than sufficient. Now he had a full schedule, he was to be in the cover of GQ magazine, had some big podcasts lined up for an appearance, and Vogue to model for… it would be so strange to do without his suit.

Homelander sat with his legs dipping into one of his infinity pools, his loosely fitted honeycomb shirt draped around his shoulders like a poor’s man cape, his hair had grown a tad longer, salty seas had turned his flaxen locks almost wavy and a dark thick stubble began adorning his face.

His tablet resting behind him buzzing with a new email, the wrinkles around his eyes sank as he squinted from the blinding wet mirror, distracting enough that your step barely registered.

“You looked quite handsome in the suit this morning…” You spoke gently– I think the people are gonna love your new look… between the tan and the beard you look… sumptuous.” 

“I should’ve shaved. They’ll think I look like a complete slob! I bet they’ll say I let myself go.”

You joined him by the pool as the hot Mediterranean sun stood above you, pulling his head closer to yours for a flurry of butterfly kisses.

“You look stunning, mi sol. Either way… lunch is ready… Ryan called and said him and Jaythaniel’s family just made it to Disneyland, don’t forget to pick him up tonite.” You said softly squeezing his thigh–  he said he’ll call after lunch.” 

He nodded absentmindedly.

“You don’t think Theodore is going to wake up?”

Worry clung to his tongue, his ears picking up the soft lull of his son’s snoring, Blender making biscuits on his sides but the child slept deeply, you could tell he had entered deep REM stage, you shook your head much to John’s relief.

“I can’t believe we are doing this… you spoil us too much.” He kissed your ear before lifting himself and dropping into the pool.

The sun sparkled harshly against the glass tiles, the sky more blue from below, your sinuous reflection watching him until he emerged, the tired breeze doing very little to dry him, you followed him giddy as his wet footprints led you to the wine cellar.

 It had been an expensive endeavor to have all of this installed… several 3x3 plastic acrylic panels of 32 mm thickness, a high tech locking mechanism plus humidity and temperature control systems had to be installed independently of a good enough contractor who could reinforce the flooring with a steel mesh and coat the cement flooring with resin just to make it impossible for their friends to dig, there had been many logistical nightmares from finding the right contractors to finding a spot for it, it was easy to sell the strange boxes as a sex thing– blaming having super-abled kids increasingly longer list of powers that made it hard for dear ol’ daddy to get off… especially when the word ‘soundproofing’ had been mentioned, or his super strengths which led to some nasty laughs and a bit of murder later down the track, the last thing that mattered had been costs.

No amount of sound ever escaped the wine cellar, the zinc plates coating the walls prevented Ryan and himself from seeing in or out, Theodore was young enough to listen to instructions, if not it was your turn to discipline the toddler.

Opening that door was always a surprise, bringing him almost as much joy as that first christmas day as a complete family.

As they took the stairs he could smell mullet wine and lebkuchen– the tension in his muscles still fresh as he entered a home that had only existed in childish fantasies, awkwardness that never seemed the fade as the strangers hounded him with questions, but he had had you, Ryan and now Theodore for much needed emotional support, it had been almost perfect as it had been intense, it had been strange to hear all these stories of a woman he had murdered, who had only suffered, it was stranger how her only sister had not blame him for the nature of his birth, still grateful that he had found her even if it took forty years, grateful that something more than a pristine corpse was left behind.

Her body refusing to decay inside that pine box.

The cellar door beeps, and cogs turn inside the heavy metal door, fluorescent lights sung awake by the entrance, bringing much needed light to the dark sub-basement, only the three small lights inside the boxes lighten the area for most of the day.

A woman shuddered, flinching as more light hit her eyes, hiding beneath the bolted desk, you walked past Homelander carrying today's menu, there was something enjoyable about the challenge of creating an ever changing menu that was nutritionally balance, delicious and required no cutlery. The disheveled woman approached eagerly at the floating box, awaiting for you to place her meal, intentionally keeping her starved, this had been his decision for this particular guest-- to see if she would go mad. Due to the lack of windows she had no concept of time after all while the lights were on a timer, they were programmed to be irregular enough to cause confusion. To visit at random intervals and feed her whenever he remembered.

Homelander and John wanted to watch her scoof down her meal, to see her choke and tear up as she filled her cheeks and swallowed greedily– but their attention was reserved for guest number two.

“If I knew I had you getting all wet and bothered for daddy, I would’ve worn something nicer” His voice dry, barely lifting his head from the bed.

Homelander helps himself to the mini bar cracking open some pale ale for the world’s largest paper cup, humming a tune as he prepped today's round of meds while you set his meal.

“Got you pale ale… unless you’d like some peach bellinis?” 

Homelander opened the cabinets, rows of neatly organized sex toys, booze and cleaning supplies were displayed– sex toys solely for decor, you both had committed to the bit, much of these had never been used nor did he want to, you had no need for vibrators when his hands did the job so perfectly. He took out a cattle prod, then pressed a code unto a small hidden panel making sure the guest couldn’t peek.

The inner latches came apart, the door hissed open.

There was no need to consider escaping, it was futile, the door upstairs was thicker than the glass, and no amount of yelling got anybody’s attention-- but he didn’t try killing himself either, for the last time he’d tried he had been here in no time, he had a chip monitoring his vitals at all times, and the camera on top of his room watched over him.

You also helped in that department.

Homelander entered first, you placed the food on the floor for Homelander to give Butcher his back.

Almost encouraging him to jump him.

“Would it kill you to wear pants?”

Homelander chuckled as he turned around with Butcher’s meal, wearing nothing but his wet shirt clinging to him tighter than his suit ever did, and black briefs.

“Would it kill you to agree to my offer?”

“Not going to play house with you, stupid cunt.”

Butcher didn’t argue with the meal, taking the food off his hand and sitting by the bolted table, the chair also bolted which made for an awkward fit.

“You got three months left William… these meds might get you one more… it's already been weeks… you want to spend the rest of your days here watching her starve to death or you want to be with Ryan? He wishes to see you. Be there for him… you just have to be with us.”

Butcher bared his teeth, mutterign curses under his breath as he gave him his back.

You entered the room taking the cattle prod  tucked under his arm, Butcher ate ignoring him, throwing the tray towards his face, forever amused as to how he never bothered to dodge it, John rolling his eyes as the plastic dropped around him.

“I’m being generous after what you did to Dolores… that was… well… you lived up to your name.” 

“Said I’ll get even.” 

He had made Dolores into the antithesis of her craft, it had stung, to witness her unrecognizable being-- a DNA test confirming its identity. Close casket was the only choice.

Homelander watched him eat as you prepared yourself, undressing in the corner, fresh bruises adorning your thighs, handprints where he had held you solidly against his mouth.

Closing the door behind, locking Homelander and Butcher inside one box, giddy he jumped into the thin futon.

“Here I thought we were having the world’s most disappointing threesome… all thirteen seconds of it.”

He took a sip of the ale, it was utterly delicious but he wouldn’t let Homelander hear it from his mouth, this his only joy while stuck in this box. He turned to you watching as you opened the door on guest number 1, then back at Homelander already squeezing himself, a wet suther escaped his lips as your nude frame approached her, Butcher buried his brow.

You had ignored her for weeks, fed her irregularly while feeding Butcher on schedule. She survived on saltines and peanut butter, only receiving proper meals on the occasion but never did either of you touched her, or spoke to her.

She squealed as the tip hit her breast, too weak to do more than just scream, he had been so distracted by Homelander he hadn’t noticed the crowbar by the entrance… he could’ve sworn it was his own.

“Families should always have a mommy and a daddy… grandpa and grandma… cousins… but I don’t have any uncles… nor does Ryan have uncles… ahhh” he tugged harder hand fondling the dripping tip of his hardened member– just like that pumpkin.”

His skin crawled at the sight of the awoken thick member as he pulled it out his tight underwear, with a wet snap.

He turned to you, watching her face split red as you smacked her face with the cattle prod, she clutched at her cheek, blood spilling from the sides of her fingers, a distressed mess tried escaping you. You grinned as you felt Homelander excitement, his chest flushed as you gave a parry of messy heavy swings, she cried and as she covered her face you shocked her hands off until your eyes met, turning limp while Butcher’s heart accelerated, craning her neck, she opened her mouth leaving it frozen mid-air as you took to the crowbar.

“Pick a number of teeth … or Pusher will take the whole jaw” he whispered as he laid long languid strokes on his cock, rubbing his thumb on the glistening tip– or you can say yes”

A curved tip pressed right behind her upper chompers.

“One…?” You muttered– that’s not going to excite you right, mi sol?” 

Homelander pouted, slowing down his hand, focusing on the base with short lived pumps.

“Break her jaw– let’s see how long she’ll last before she starves to death… she might dehydrate first, no?” He scoots patting the empty spot on the bed encouraging Butcher to join him— make it clean babe.”

You take the tip out her mouth and get in position to tap her jaw.

“We’ll visit in a week… hope you last my dear William.”

Butcher stood up, still with enough energy in him to fight, he might be dulled by the meds, exhaustion and his captor's cruel tactic.

“Kill her you wanker just bring some fucking fabreeze.”

You grinned mockingly, breaking more than her jaw, her body thud and her voice returned smashing her skull repeatedly caving into a pancake. Homelander groaned, edging himself as your vicious attacks drew your victim closer and closer to death, legs moving on their own, pressing his forehead against the wall, the sight of your bloody torso didn’t just titillate him, he craved the sight, knowing the glass stood between you two, knowing how far away you were and just how untouchable you were was better than any x-rated video, your ragged panting, the sweet sweat falling from the tip of your chin, blood specs bejeweled your body, was too much.

You had become more than he had ever imagined, you pressed your behind against the bloodied wall as you caught your breath.

Butcher could only try to ignore your sick kinks.

Homelander will bring as many innocent people he could and make him take part of their scenes, he whined as you got out the cage, walking painfully slow towards his– ignoring him in favor of the minibar, his hand stopped with a sneer, turning to see that Butcher had skulled down the last of his ale.

“You know he’s being nice asking you… I could just make you say yes…”

Butcher looked back at the mass, almost flinching as the woman was back on her feet, her face a torn mess but there she was still eating the last morsels of the chunky yiros with her torn jaws, for every bit of garlic sauce that dripped down her hands there was an equal amount of chunky blood spilling unto the ground.

Deepthroating the yiros more than eating it.

Her face just hanging by red ribbons, one eye swollen and bulging while the other just hung out of her socket, clumps of broken scalp swinging with the weight of her once straight hair, now dirty and matted.

She turned to see him sensing she had been watched and her face had no bruises.

He looked back at Homelander then back at the corpse now immobile, rotting, fluids escaping its bloated body, gangrenous pus seeping thru its sunken eyes while the skin darkened and dried, now his nose picked up on the revulsion, he looked at his drink and figure out that there was no drug in him– Homelander was back in his bed, his cock tucked in and not a sight that he had moved once, his toothy grin more real than the full cup fizzing in his hand, your breath warming Butcher’s ear.

Months, weeks, days, hours… he had no clue how long he actually been here, this was an illusion… some of it… tragically you two were disgustingly real.

“You want to break me into compliance?”

The white glow of your eyes not as menacing as Homelander's lasers, he took a short sip of his beer letting it dry his tongue, feeling the warm building in his stomach.

Hot fingers creep from around his hips, exploring the softened torso, he is still strong and firm under the weakened body, the illness making it hard to maintain his shape, hot water dampened his shirt, nails bruising trails as he trapped him, pressed tight against the leaner man, craning his neck to place his chin on the older man’s shoulder– no doubt floating to do so.

Before he could protest further, before he could do more than curse under his breath and wriggle, your teeth met the underside of his chin.

Intertwining your hands with his free one, no doubt he could snap your wrist but a little red light shone next to his head, telling it wouldn't be a good idea.

Homelander closed his iron grip around Butcher’s neck, leaving him gasping, feeling his pipe collapse slightly.

Your tongue licked his neck, your touch more gentle, more tender but to his shock Homelander only purred, you both stared at each other lovingly, Butcher’s neck nothing but a barrier between you two, you climbed to meet his lips, while your loved was manhandling Butcher lower so Homelander could give you wet, loud and messy kisses.

Arching him much to his displeasure, the beer spilling down his arm.

Squeezing harder on his neck, Homelander eyes are coloured a pretty dark pink, he grunts pressing Butcher into him, begging for friction.

You two kissed the older man missing his lips, feeling him shudder, kissing the blanket of goosebumps all over his body.

You loved him more than anything.

You would make him happy in all the ways that your body could.

And sometimes things are easier to do when he just communicated them, usually that would involve murder but now it was this.

Butcher had no idea what he had to say yes to. what exactly you two wanted out of him, and he had yet to spot the hidden vial of V in the cabinet.

John giggled as Butcher's hateful glare tried to burn him.

“Is okay… you’ll be the one fucking me…” he needily purrs– right, pumpkin?”

“Just let all that hatred out… make him cry…” you whispered into Butcher’s ear– make him your bitch.”

It had been his own mind that picture the blonde’s cock, that had been his own worst nightmare, but as he felt those needy kisses– be it the beer on an empty stomach, your powers or the tumor pressing on the smart sections of his brain he chortle at the thought, straining his neck to see the desperate flush on the blonde, his grip loosening, allowing him to turn just enough.

This could also be a part of this illusion.

“You just wanted to be daddy’s cute little slut?” he spat– my cum dump?”

Homelander let out the most obscene moan from within the depths of his core, you felt the heat rising from your own loins as you heard him.

Butcher tugged at your scalp, yanking you away from him.

“Both of you are such weird needy bitches… is okay… I’ll make you both into my good little whores.”

Breathy moans, both men eager to see this new game of yours play out, you would make him happy, please him, take care of all his needs… it was easier when you also felt just a tenth of that spark the first time you met William.

Unlike the last ones before these brother’s you would never grow out of love… you had so much to give after all… and he had so much to give you still.

What a bad thing you two were.

[copperbadge]

I've been procrastinating by reading all the books you published for the first time, I'm on like a 4th reread (well, re-listening, I'm having the robot in google play books read about loud to me) anyhow I walked past my old high school and was listening to the bit where the school children are at Eurovision and I'm thinking of what an experience it would have been to be a parent, looking at the field trip permission form where one of the listed chaperones is the King Emeritus himself. Like it may as well just happen.

Aw, that's a nice way to procrastinate! I hope you've been enjoying them :) Interested to know how they sound with the google play books reader, I'll have to check that out. For a while I was trying to set up so that I could listen to articles as well as podcasts on my phone but the tech is uh, still evolving.

As for the chaperoning issue, being fair, if your kid attends Maritime then likely you live in Fons-Askaz and if that's the case you have probably bumped into the King Emeritus like....grocery shopping or eating a doughnut or something. :D "Of course he can run a country, but will he make sure my kid wears sunscreen? I've seen him at the beach, he doesn't even wear a hat."

On the other hand there's ample evidence of him being an invested and mindful father. Almost certainly someone has by now put up a youtube video that's just a compilation of every interview, speech, and public appearance he made, 1990-1996, while holding a squirming child in his arms. And the kid's got his job now so he turned out ok....

I do think it must have been a little intimidating when Amani's parents realized that their kid was having afterschool snack-and-study at the home of the King Emeritus. Meanwhile Amani is much more impressed by the super cool and famous Jes Deimos, and thinks of Michaelis as the guy who makes dumb nautical puns and brings cookies home if he knows Noah has friends over.

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

There were a lot of instances, really, that could be considered their "first kiss." A look at some moments that might, depending on your perspective, count as Jon and Martin's first kiss. For the Jonmartin week day 1 prompt "First Kiss" - Updates one chapter a day, every day of Jonmartin Week.

For the last day of @jonmartinweek week, I'm posting what I intended to be the last chapter of the fic I wrote for the day 1 prompt, "First Kiss." However, someone in the comments of chapter 8 got me thinking about two additional chapters I could add to the end, if I wanted to turn this epilogue into an interlude. Please let me know (either here or on AO3) if you'd be interested in me writing two more chpaters exploring the end of the series, and what comes after. In the meantime, enjoy this quiet safehouse moment, and something that is definitely not Jon and Martin's first kiss.

They kissed quite a bit at the safehouse. Jon thought they had earned that right.

Cups of tea were always handed over with a kiss on the forehead. Jon lit a fire in the hearth and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. When the morning fog rolled in and Martin suddenly froze, eyes glazed over with bitter memory, Jon took his hand and pressed a kiss to each of his knuckles, murmuring soft, it’s alright ’s and stay with me’ s, and when Jon woke up from a nightmare with tears in his eyes and no breath in his lungs, Martin tugged him close, kissed the back of his neck, and told him it was just a dream.

They orbited each other like stranded satellites, never drifting far, always drawn back by the gravitational pull between them. Jon knew it wasn’t sustainable, this anxious, clinging codependency, but neither one of them was ready for anything else right now. That would have to come with time.

Jon stood up from where he’d been knelt in front of the hearth, tending the fire, and wiped the dust from his aching knees. Martin looked up from his knitting and stretched his arms out to Jon in obvious invitation. Jon did as he was bid, sinking into the cushions beside Martin and letting himself be pulled close until he was resting on Martin’s chest.

“How was your day, dear?”

Jon laughed. “You were here for most of it.” He cast his mind back, trying to think of something over which they could make conversation. “I’m coming around on this book,” he said, gesturing to the spy novel that was currently resting on the end table. “I think it might actually be a brilliant work of satire.”

“Oh? So you don’t think it’s ‘trite and overwritten, with clear overtones of misogyny’ anymore?”

“Oh, no, it definitely is,” Jon said. He sat up and stretched himself across the couch to grab the worn, cracked paperback. “Listen to this.” He flipped to the page he’d dogeared earlier, when Martin was in the shower and Jon had been buzzing with the urge to subject him to the passage. “Lindsey didn’t bother with a bra; she just slipped an old Yale tee shirt over her ample chest and bounced to the door. She regretted that decision a moment later when she saw the shredded, 6’4” bulk of Jack Masterson – That’s the protagonist’s name, Jack Masterson – on her doorstep. Her breasts perked up at the sight of him, and she was certain he could see her nipples standing at attention through the thin cotton of her shirt.”

“That’s– awful!” Martin exclaimed through wheezing laughter. “That can’t be real!”

“My point exactly!” Jon said. “It has to be a work of incisive self-parody, because no real human man could ever write that and expect it to be taken seriously.”

He settled back against Martin’s chest and rode the aftershocks of another wave of laughter. “You can borrow it if you like,” he offered. “I’m nearly finished.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

They laughed again, more softly, then fell into a comfortable silence. The fire popped and crackled beside them, and a log fell against the grate with a sharp crack. Outside the window, the crickets began to chirp. The lamplight and the fire cast a warm golden glow over the room, gilding the overstuffed armchair, the television set that didn’t get any channels, the axe that Martin used to chop firewood and that they both tried not to think of any other uses Daisy might have had for.

“It still feels like a dream,” Martin murmured eventually.

Jon twisted around so that he could look him in the eye while they spoke. “What does?”

“This? You? All of it,” Martin said. The reflection of the lamplight had flecked his eyes with gold as he stared at Jon in affectionate disbelief. “I’m… I’m glad we get to have this,” he admitted. “Even if Jonah kicks down the door tomorrow, drags us back to the Panopticon, plucks out our eyes – whatever he’s planning – we’ll always have had this. Nothing can change that.”

There were a thousand things Jon could have said to that, but in that moment, all of them felt insufficient, so instead he bowed his head and lowered his lips to Martin’s.

It wasn’t their first kiss, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was soft and sweet and languid. They weren’t in any hurry, anymore. After a moment, Jon pulled back and simply stared down at Martin, sprawled beneath him. His eyes had slipped closed and his lips were parted and his cheeks were growing pink. It might have been the most beautiful sight Jon had ever seen. When he opened his eyes, he looked dazed, and more than a little dazzled. Jon could sympathize.

“I love you,” Martin whispered, and that was a first.

“I love you, too,” Jon replied in a breathless rush. “God, Martin, I–” Once again, his words failed him, so he bent down for one more kiss. It seemed to get the message across.

[silverskye13]

Hello! I've been an avid RnS consumer for a good while now and was curious if I'm allowed to do a reading of it/record it semi-podcast style for YouTube videos?

Of course there'll be ample links and credit to you and the fic!

Oh! Yeah definitely that sounds awesome :D

My only condition for things like that is you please link me when it's up, so I can see it! That's so exciting to me and I would love to hear how you handle the voices and things :3

[emilyprenkissme]

Welcome, newbie.

Spencer woke up with a sinking feeling, fully aware that today held the promise of misery. His sleep was disrupted by the unmistakable sound of his neighbors clumsily maneuvering what must be bowling balls at an ungodly hour—6 am to be precise. Blinking his eyes open, he allowed the dim morning light to filter into the room, confirming his dread. Rain poured outside, not the picturesque kind, but the type that seemed to possess a magnetic force, coercing you to stay in bed all day.

In his groggy state, he reached for his phone, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, only to find a message from Hotch waiting for him.

We've got a case. Come in early.

Cursing Hotch under his breath, Spencer knew he had a mere 34.3 minutes to transition from his cozy bed to the front door of his apartment if he intended to avoid being late. Swiftly, he dressed himself, tossing a pre-made PB&J sandwich into his bag for lunch. Then, with a sense of urgency, he rushed out the door, practically sprinting. A personal best, it took him just 26.4 minutes to prepare.

Following his usual route, Spencer passed by numerous Starbucks outlets before reaching his favorite one, the one where a friendly barista affectionately referred to him as Spence. As he pulled up alongside it, he glanced at the time—luckily, he was on schedule. Entering the café, his disappointment was palpable; the barista he liked wasn't there. He let out a soft sigh as he placed his order for a cappuccino with light foam and a buttered croissant. Then he was on his way.

The drive remained uneventful, a familiar routine of passing cars and towering trees. This afforded him ample time to contemplate the impending case they were about to tackle and to immerse himself in the new podcast he had been engrossed in for the past week.

Meanwhile, Aj stirred beneath the cool sheets of her new apartment, a far cry from her old life in Manassas. The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting gentle stripes of light on the walls. She blinked sleep from her eyes and stretched her arms, feeling the excitement and trepidation of a new beginning.

The faint buzz of her alarm clock served as a reminder that her days as a detective in the Manassas police force were behind her. Today marked her first official day at the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, a comforting companion during her early mornings. Aj poured herself a cup, savoring the rich flavor, and contemplated the challenges that lay ahead. The cases she would investigate, the profiles she would build—these thoughts fueled her determination.

Her drive was short, a mere 35 minutes. The short time didn’t stop her from contemplating just quitting her new job and moving to Australia. Her nerves were at a high. Her feelings were muddled. On one hand, she was happy to be moving forward in her career, but on the other hand she wanted so badly to return to the familiarity of the police force. She sighed heavily, her grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Driving through the streets of Quantico, she marveled at the change in scenery. The quiet, tree-lined roads of this small Virginia town were a far cry from the bustling streets of Manassas. She passed quaint houses with well-tended gardens. It was a different world, but it was one she was determined to navigate. One she was determined to build her life in.

Pulling into the parking lot was surreal. She knew through the metal doors in front of her, was her future. She knew the BAU was expecting a courageous, well versed detective. She knew she had the capability to be that for them, but the familiar feeling of anxiety made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t enough.

“You’ve got this, Aj. You’ve got this.”

Her words of affirmation were enough to get her through the doors, but were they enough to get her through the trials of being in the BAU?

In the hushed corridors of the BAU, Spencer found himself in a moment of curiosity, he had heard the whispers of a new member of the team. As he stood at the coffee machine, he felt a large hand grip his shoulder. He jumped slightly, turning to see a sly, familiar smile.

“Relax, pretty boy, I’m just here to show the new girl how to use the coffee pot.” Spencer's eyes lit up when he heard ‘new girl’. He smiled widely and spun himself completely to face Derek. He’d been curious all day, and finally his thirst for curiosity was about to be quenched. His gaze immediately fell on the woman behind Morgan. Her dark hair and piercing gaze made him take a loud gulp of coffee.

Aj’s glance fell on him, her eyes lighting up with something neither of them could quite figure out.

“Amelia Hayle - er- Agent Hayle or AJ, but there's already JJ and I don't..”

She was rambling, and Spencer thought it was adorable. His smile was unmistakable and dopey as he watched her ramble on about things he couldn't care less about.

“Spencer, Dr. Reid if we’re doing formalities.” The both of them laughed, “Welcome to the BAU.”

“Formalities…” Derek chuckled out “what he means to say is welcome, newbie.”

(short ramble of a first chapter…getting back into writing and stuff!! but hopefully i can get this lil fic rolling)

[demonogeny]

If Secto had to leave his hosts body for anything (maybe a lil swim or something) where do you think he would store the Steef?

Do you think he'd have back up hosts incase the other escaped? I feel like he would idk.

This will be a long answer, I tried my best to rewrite it as concisely as possible. TW for abuse under the cut.*

OKTIGI HOST STORAGE. I remember Lorne stating in one of the Discodd chat podcasts that when Oktigis attend meetings at bathouses to discuss businesss and Magog Cartel matters, they get off their hosts and basically leave them in cryogenic storage, that much is canon at least in the podcasts. So I imagine Sekto, like other wealthy Oktigis, having his own cryogenic chambers for storing hosts in a similar way rich people have those fancy big closets. I imagine these storage units being a bit diverse, it's basically just more furniture to them. Some of these units could be singular pods, some may span a whole room, some may not be cryogenic and instead opt for suspension. The usage I imagine consists of the Oktigi entering the open chamber and leaving the host in there undressed and in a dazed state, then removing themselves from the host with the help of the unit's mechanism such as simply hoping onto a waiting platform, the chamber would then close and begin a temperature descent util it reaches the cryogenic effect without killing and while monitoring vitals and helping mantain functions, it would probably need to be adjusted per species or selected from a set catalogue. You can now find a drawing of this on my blog after this post.

BACKUP HOSTS. I do indeed think that is very common, especially with wealthier Oktigis, to have more than one host to choose from or as a backup, as well as there being a market to buy them and the practice to discard them, as one would do with outfits, Oktigis can have preferences and types they search after and they probably judge and compare eachother's hosts too, maybe Mike over there looks like a wimp compared to how big and strong Dave looks with his huge chad alpha male new host, maybe Becky is jealous that Maddie's host has huge bimbo bazongas, maybe Henry wants to have a secondary host with bazongas too. I do also think that Oktigis do have favorite and main hosts whenever they have many and that they have different preferences and behaviors towards them; some Oktigis could keep their hosts well groomed and healthy while others completely neglect and maim them, some may see them as no more than mere objects, or pets or form one sided bonds with them that could go from just a little endearment like a favorite shirt to romantic and lustful feelings or all the way to making them their main victim of abuse which I will elaborate on further in the case of Sekto because I think it's probably what he did

SEKTO AND THE OLDEN STEEF HOST. Going back to Sekto I would imagine that he does have or at least has had a couple of hosts to spare at the same time, he has the means for it, however I personally think that he is one of those Oktigis that have gotten too attached to a specific host, I say this because as far as I understand he has had the Old Steef as a host for quite a long while and that poor man is in such bad condition that he even looks to be blind and dying since a while ago, even if Sekto likes the build and strenght Steef have he had an ample supply of younger more suitable and healthy ones but he chose to keep this one who is specifically referred to as old even before he was his, to me it looks like that host just hasn't had any rest from being used since the beginning...

*TW starts here*

...and judging by what little is shown about Sekto throughout his limited screentime it would seem fitting, Sekto seems intensely and needlessly cruel, sadistic, hateful and vengeful, especially against this species. I personally think that Sekto took this Steef who seems to have been the local protector or leader of his local people and posibbly the biggest symbol of hope they had and really wanted to drive that cruelty in by turning him into nothing but a helpless and pityful victim, forcing his voice and his hands to directly be part of all the orders and actions that would direct the genocide of his people and the Grubbs as well as the stealing of the water and the lands he once protected. I like this idea because it would add much more weight to both Sekto and the Steef as characters as well as their relationship and background in the story, and of course to the ending where not only the water is free but so is the Olden Steef too. To me it would seem that Sekto hasn't made much use of other hosts ever since this one because of that, I personally imagine that he has formed a very strong negative attachment like this because he just seems to be fucked up like that and clearly obsessed with Steef, let alone this little living prize of his, he probably intended to terrorize, torture and violate the Olden Steef mentally and phisically as well as symbolically until he gave his very last breath, and he was almost able to. And I love that for them honestly, that's fucked up and tragic, that adds so much more to them and I enjoy it, gives me the feelz.