#and something to be avoided and not glorified if at all possible

[mighty-meerkat]

out of all the video game to tv series adaptations, a bioshock infinite one is going to provoke the most discourse across the aisle, partly because holy shit, the vox populi storyline has not aged well if it was ever good in the first place, and partly because even if they don't change a line of elizabeth's dialogue i guarantee you the same culture war youtube critics that think she's their perfect buxom waifu will suddenly be screaming about the woke feminist agenda making all women mary sues

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Douma General Profile

Yandere! Douma x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, gore, breaking and entering, allusions to cannibalism/unknowing cannibalism, semi-graphic descriptions of an innocent animal being killed so fuck you Douma, mentions of physical and sexual harassment, physical violence towards reader, choking, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Stubborn

In general, Douma needs a darling who isn’t a pushover. He’s used to his followers blindly following his orders, nodding eagerly at his words and allowing him to do whatever he pleases with them. He’s used to lesser demons being petrified of his power, either entirely avoiding him or pleading for him to spare them, something that admittedly strokes his ego but grows boring at a certain point.

And so, while Douma is pleased that the people and creatures surrounding him so obviously understand his superiority, he yearns for something different – for something new, exciting, challenging. A darling that’s more stubborn and doesn’t blindly obey him would pique his interest, his mind reeling with all the possible ways he can get them to submit to him.

He’s giddy at the prospect of breaking down his darling, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet because oh, they’re just so very contrary to what he’s used to. He likes the idea of a darling who’s easy to fluster and embarrass, and a darling that will cling onto their beliefs and opinions presents Douma with an irresistible opportunity to slowly mold his darling into the perfect, responsive, sweet little human that he can tease and study, someone he can keep by his side like some sort of loyal pet.

(Though, as Douma’s obsession festers and only grows stronger and harder to control, he finds that he no longer thinks of his darling as some sort of glorified pet – they’re his, a possession, someone he feels strangely connected to, the barest hint of emotions dancing at the edge of his subconscious. The feeling is addictive, and with every denial of his charms and scoffed, irritated roll of their eyes, he only finds himself growing more desperate to be around them, fascination and intrigue and desire in more than a carnal way spurring him to spend every waking moment with them.)

Opinionated

Similarly, Douma enjoys a darling who has strong feelings. He understands the allure of a meeker woman – they’re easy to control and even easier to manipulate, making them the perfect follower and food supply. But for his darling, the woman he thinks he feels some sort of love for, they need to be someone with a little more backbone.

It excites him when his darling stands up to him – the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his shoulders tensing up and his breathing getting a bit heavy because yes, tell him again why he’s wrong – tell him again, now that he’s merely a foot away from you, close enough that you can feel his breath against the shell of your ear and his body – much stronger than you remember – is mere inches from yours.

He finds his darling to be an endless source of entertainment, and so they need to have strong opinions covering a wide variety of topics.

He likes surprising his darling with random questions: what are their thoughts on the afterlife and death? Should the weak have any sort of rights, and do they believe in nature’s power structure that puts demons unequivocally at the top?

Do they enjoy traditional human romantic customs, like kissing or holding hands?

Or do they prefer more intense displays of passion and devotion – would his darling enjoy it if he returned to them with the severed head of a man who’d spared them a passing glance, just as a show of how much he cares for them?

He wants to know the answers to each and every question, and one of the biggest aspects of him obsessing over his darling is the non-stop talking – always prompting them with a new question that’s almost as insane as the last, his eyes glittering and sparkling as he asks them what they think the most painful way to die is.

(If they were to answer being eaten alive, Douma would merely cock his head, blinking widely at them, before bursting into laughter, his eyes holding a glimmer of something that makes his darling freeze up in fear, a primitive instinct in them screaming to run away from this monster. Ah yes, I’d imagine it would be quite painful indeed, he’ll tell them, curling a sharp fingernail around their chin.)

Paranoid

This trait is less of a necessity and more of a perk – in general, Douma will absolutely destroy his darling. He cares for them in some twisted, strange way, but he’s not afraid to completely break his darling before rebuilding them just as he so desires.

Of course, he still wants the basic bones of their personality to remain intact, but having a darling with a propensity for anxiety and paranoia would make that job much, much simpler. He can instead divert his time and attention towards effectively corrupting them and slowly breaking them down rather than bothering with the initial stages of forcing them to doubt themselves.

The combination of his darling’s kidnapping and being held captive by a man-eating demon would force this character trait to become even more heightened, putting them in a position intensifying Douma’s poking and prodding and overwhelming them. And so, he can spend his time carefully choosing how he wants to approach them – which new insecurity should he prod at today?

He knows they’re a bit sensitive about their weight – something he doesn’t understand, really, because he absolutely loves their figure.

 He’ll lightly comment about their weight, making some remark with sugar-coated words and watching as his darling tenses up, their face twisting into that wonderful expression of hurt and sadness, the mere sight of their face changing because of him making a small, high sigh slip past his lips.

Once he thinks his darling has had enough, he’ll end the conversation with a small compliment, telling them that they’re too sensitive, we’re just having a bit of fun, aren’t we?

And really, watching the way his darling just shakily nods and tries to compose themselves leaves him feeling vindictive, satisfied, seen.

It’s selfish and horrible, but Douma is a selfish and horrible creature – so really, a paranoid darling would be absolutely perfect.

Talkative

However, despite Douma’s hobby of irritating his darling and embarrassing them, he still wants a darling who will actively engage with him. Of course, it’s very easy to force his darling into speaking with him, as just a flash of those nails, fangs, or a dismembered limb will often get them blubbering and frantically rambling and doing absolutely anything Douma requests of them.

But it’s different when his darling actively chooses to speak with him – perhaps it’s still out of fear, but at least this way Douma can indulge himself in the idea that they want to speak with him.

He can pretend that they actually enjoy hearing his voice, that they like the long, drawn-out conversations he frequently holds with them, that they actually like him – a concept that simultaneously displeases him and leaves something warm and scratchy and good settle in his chest.

Because really, while Douma’s feelings for his darling are questionable at best, he really does truly want them to like him – he craves a kind of connection that isn’t superficial and one-sided, and although it’s entirely new territory he wants them to fulfill this desire.

And so, while he annoys his darling and forces them into conversations because he likes to interact with them and study their reactions, there’s a deeper sense of desperation and neediness underlying his words and actions. A darling that is naturally more talkative will give him this desired connection, making it easier for him to feel wanted, needed, liked in a way that’s entirely foreign to him.

It’s just attractive, really, because while shy, quiet humans have their purposes, a life partner (as Douma thinks of his darling) needs to be someone who won’t shy away from his words, who will retain their voice around him. It’s just attractive, really – so please keep talking to him.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy

In general, Douma is overwhelming. He’s chatty, touchy, and has absolutely no respect for your boundaries.

You’re his sweet little human – weak and naïve and perfect to play with, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t enjoy having you around. And enjoying you means teasing you, pushing your buttons, irritating you until your face twists up into that scowl or grimace that he absolutely loves to see.

He’s always doing things just to see your reaction – he’ll place things on shelves you can’t reach just to watch you bite your lip and contemplate whether you want to ask him for help, internally swooning because aw, aren’t you just the cutest when you’re embarrassed?

He’ll make you say ‘please’ in order to eat the food he’s offering you, a smirk sitting on his lips as he tells that he didn’t quite hear that, could you say that again please?

(Of course, the food isn’t the food you think it is – it’s edible, sure, and it’s high quality, but as time passes Douma finds himself toying with the idea of turning you into a demon, knowing he could probably persuade Muzan into doing this because it makes the Upper Rank Two more productive. And so, while he’d fed you mostly animal meat when he’d initially stolen you away, he very slowly begins integrating less common meats, opting to mix the smallest amount of human flesh in with the beef he serves you, just a hair of a finger or a small bit of thigh. Just to get you familiar with the taste – and to watch your face freeze up and hear you gag as he tells that you’d just eaten the man who brought you afternoon tea yesterday. He loves the way you look at him with your eyes wide and your jaw dropped, shock and disgust and fear swimming in those pretty eyes of yours and making shivers erupt over his whole body, the sight absolutely delicious.)

He’ll lay his hand on your shoulder at random times, seeing your whole body jerk and jump as you whip your head back, surprise written all over your face because you hadn’t heard him enter the room.

(Silently, he’ll marvel at the warmth of your skin through your clothing – you feel soft, too, and Douma idly wonders if the rest of you is this warm and soft. If everything is this lovely, or if certain parts of you are warmer, more sensitive, wetter -)

His favorite way to bug you, however, is to fluster you. Douma is aware that by human standards he’s very attractive – perfectly clear skin, wavy and thick hair, a sharp jawline and a smile that makes most human women – and men – crumble instantly. And while you seem to be largely immune to his charms (much to his delight and chagrin), Douma makes it his mission to get you flustered at nearly every opportunity he can. There’s something about the way your face crinkles up, your brows growing taut and your eyes looking everywhere except him that makes him only want to push further, to say more provocative things, to get closer, to hear your sharp intake of breath again and again.

He’ll have you sit near him, your thighs just barely brushing, his inhuman hearing able to pick up your slightly increased heartbeat, his own heart racing in his chest as it does every time you get so close to him. He’ll be telling you something inconsequential, narrating what he’d done that day, and nonchalantly let his hand rest on the expanse of your thigh, not even pausing his words to acknowledge his action.

And hearing your heart begin beating even faster and smell the distinct smell of fear and even just the slightest, smallest twinge of arousal gets his nostrils flaring, excitement bleeding into his voice because oh, you like this, do you?

And he’ll capitalize on your well-hidden attraction – scotting closer to you so that you can smell him better (he’d tried a new cologne that morning – one he’d seen you eyeing in a shop many months before), increasing the pressure of his fingers so that he’s gripping your thigh (and trying not to lose his composure at just how squishy you are, your human flesh so pliable and pretty and the perfect thing to feel under the pads of his fingers), and asking you with the same tease in his voice (though it’s just a tad huskier, not even intentionally) if you’re enjoying yourself, hmm? If you tell me you like this I can give you more, you know.

He’ll lean in closely to your ear, tongue lolling out to lick up the shell while he finishes with a whispered I’m no stranger to the human female body…

He’ll listen for your breath to hitch, feeling your muscles tense underneath his grip, the audible rush of blood through your veins, letting the tension build and build before laughing and leaning back. He’ll take his hand off your thigh and shoot you that same smile that his followers gush over, telling you that you’re so cute when you’re flustered, bunny, you should’ve seen your face! He likes how you try to hide your face, your fists clenched as embarrassment eats you alive because god, he’s infuriating, and god, you hate that you’d almost wanted to take him up on his offer.

And really, that’s the way Douma will slowly break you down – he’s fascinated with you, like you’re some sort of pet project of his that he wants to study and understand, and as a result he needs to spend as much time around you as possible. You’ll hardly ever get a moment to yourself as his darling – he’s always lurking, invading your personal space and inserting himself into situations where he’s not wanted.

He’ll slip under the covers of the futon right beside you, those strangely colored eyes wide and bright as he tells you that you just looked too cute for him to not want to join you – and of course he has to be laying close enough to be sharing breaths. The futon’s not that big, so what did you expect? He’ll trail behind you as you walk into the restroom, smiling brightly at you as you ask him to leave so you can bathe in peace. He has the audacity to tilt his head to the side, that same smile on his face but seeming a little wider now as he asks you why should I do that? You can shower just fine with me right here, can’t you?

(He often joins you on your trips to relieve yourself, too, standing beside you and holding full conversations with you as you hesitantly seat yourself onto the toilet, trying to avoid the eye contact he’s very, very eager to maintain. It’s quality time, he says when you bring up how uncomfortable it makes you, and you’re really just too weak and irresponsible to be trusted alone in the bathroom – what if you slip and fall? What if you accidentally rub your skin raw with your towel? Douma wouldn’t want you to be hurt, now would he? The condescending tone of his voice will often leave you angry enough to not further the conversation, making Douma smug and giddy because oh, aren’t you adorable when you’re angry!)

He’s just needy, really, because the sick, twisted version of love that he feels for you is rooted in fascination, in wanting to see how you react to the things he does to you. He wants to see every emotion you’re capable of, and he wants to be the reason for all of them. Really, he just wants you to be looking at him, paying him attention, reacting to him and the things he does – just keep your eyes on him, and let him bother you every moment of every day.

Eventually you’ll grow to tolerate the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on your body, the embarrassment that eats you alive nearly every time you interact with him. It’ll get easier, really �� or perhaps you’ll just grow more complacent, and Douma will seem less like a thorn in your side and more like the only other person you ever interact with.

Just how he wants it.

Dependent

Douma is a creature that has lived for a very long time and has known only total and utter control – serving Muzan and letting everyone else serve him. He’s used to being the one in control, needing to feel the power and sense of total dominance over others in order to function correctly, to feel good.

And in most ways this applies to his obsession with you, too – he’s very aware that he’s stronger than you. He’s both physically and mentally stronger, smarter, faster, more capable, more powerful, just generally more. And in the beginning of his obsession, noticing this obvious difference in your strength and having you blatantly ignore it was enough to pique his interest.

Too many decades had passed by with humans cowering in fear and kneeling before him (as it should be), but it’s left him bored, aching for more, wanting something new and entertaining. And so once he meets you and sees that you aren’t one to submit quite as easily, Douma is immediately hooked, wanting to push you as far as he can just to see how much you can take before you crack.

And really, this is how the majority of his infatuation is presented to you – he’s an annoying, terrifying creature who metaphorically clings onto your every word and action, those colorful eyes of his always watching and staring and wanting.

You think he wants to kill you, really, and you’ll be left constantly on edge around him, terrified that he’ll hurt you or your loved ones for even a single step out of line. And in the beginning, Douma does nothing to dissolve this perception you have of him simply because it’s true. He doesn’t know if he wants to hurt you or not, if he wants to kill you, what he wants with you. You’re an enigma to him, and he’d kept you around because you intrigued him.

With every passing day, this interest and intrigue only seems to grow deeper, stronger, more difficult to disentangle himself out of. But his pride and staunch view that he’s better than all humans bars him from really realizing this early into his infatuation, firmly telling himself that it’s just curiosity that compels him to not sink his teeth into the fleshy expanse of your thigh. It’s just innocent fun that’s stopping him from ripping you apart limb by limb, feasting on what he’s absolutely sure is soft, supple flesh that would have the sweetest taste.

Though, as time passes, even Douma must admit that his feelings for his darling begin venturing into unknown, dangerous territory – no longer is it simply amusement, entertainment, and mild physical attraction that draws him to you. Instead, there’s something more – he’s desperate to see you at all times, growing addicted to having your attention, his body yearning for you in a way that simply fucking another female follower can’t satisfy.

He needs you – he’s grown too charmed by your stubbornness, your continued resistance to simply appeasing him making him more desperate to crush you and have you under his thumb. No longer is his obsession simply a desire to have you around to mess with and satisfy his boredom – no, now it’s about you and your place at his side. You’re certainly not his equal, but he sees you as a companion, a partner not in equalness but in terms of needing you.

Because really, as soon as Douma realizes that he’s toeing the line between mild interest and honest desperation, he panics a bit. This is totally new – something unknown and scary and something he can’t control, so he tries to pull back, forcing himself to give you distance because he simply can’t be allowing you to have such control over him.

You plague his every thought – when you’re apart, he’s imagining what you’re doing. Are you relaxing, enjoying the serenity that being away from your kidnapper brings you?

Are you lonely, wishing he was there to keep you company, even if the way he touches you makes your skin crawl?

Are you sleeping, hopefully dreaming about people with his face and eyes and hair?

Or perhaps you’re eating, maybe even finding yourself wishing that Douma was there to sit beside you, that sick grin on his face while he lifts the chopsticks, tells you to say ‘ah’ and places the sushi delicately on your tongue, something dark in his expression as he tells you to chew and swallow, don’t let it go to waste.

He’d only fed you once, and you’d fought it the whole time, trying to squirm away from him and being thoroughly difficult. It’d entertained Douma in the moment, the way you were so desperate to get away from him, but now, thinking back on it as he patiently waits for Gyokko to get to the meeting site for the joint mission Muzan had assigned them, he’s starting to wonder if perhaps the experience would be even more enjoyable if you obediently let him feed you, looking at him with those pretty eyes of yours and even thanking him, telling him how delicious the food is, how nice his company is, how you’re so very glad that he’s returned to you…

It’s sappy and stupid and ridiculous, and it makes Douma scowl to know that you’ve managed to snag such a hold on him, but every time he considers killing you, something sharp wedges its way into his heart and he finds himself dismissing the thought.

Because really, as pathetic as being obsessed with a weak human female like you is, the alternative is worse – returning to a life of monotony and apathy, seeking his thrills through the momentary high of a slaughter, desperately chasing after more power and more entertainment, trying to fill in the empty void in his chest where his heart should be.

You fix all of that – and so he decides to embrace these new feelings, deciding that if he feels so strongly for you, then he must keep you by his side. You aren’t allowed to ever leave – he would be a shell of a demon if you did, every ounce of joy and happiness stolen from him, and he’s simply too selfish to allow that to happen.

So you’d better prepare for Douma’s constant attention, the frantic way he looks to you, the way his fingers always grip onto you, his voice ringing in your ears over and over and over. He’s overwhelming you, his presence and the constant demands of your attention draining you and leaving you attached to him in a way that makes him sick, but Douma frankly doesn’t care.

How can he? Every moment he spends with you not only quells the constant ache to be around you and feel your eyes on him, but it also deepens your dependence on him, too. Because really, Douma is the only person you ever see with any real consistency – he’s incredibly strict on allowing his followers to come into contact with you, only allowing a small handful of his most devoted servants to drop off meals or change your bath water when he can’t be there to do it himself.

(Both of these activities he loathes missing, if only because you’re so cute when you’re eating, and bathing you? God, Douma likes to think he has decent self-control, but the way he pounces at you and bares his teeth, his eyes darkening and his voice getting noticeably deeper makes it obvious that his hold on himself is slipping, the sight of your nude body with water only barely covering your nipples and below your torso making him genuinely feral.)

 It’s in moments like these that Douma can only laugh at himself, embarrassed for having allowed himself to fall so strongly for a weak, pathetic thing like you. And yet, as time passes he finds himself not caring – after all, when he forces you to turn into a demon, some of that self-loathing will disappear, and then he can be as rough as he wants with you – an idea that makes him literally tremble with anticipation.

Possessive

Unlike his fellow demons, Douma is actually a bit sneaky with this aspect of his obsession – at least, in the beginning.

He’s not obviously possessive or territorial of you, or at least not more so than you’d expect. Frankly, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s kidnapped you and flirts with you just to fluster you, you’d have no idea that Douma is interested in you romantically. He’s touchy and pushy, sure, but he never showcases any traits of the traditional jealous partner. He doesn’t rant and rave about how you’re his, nor does he leave possessive bites or marks along your body to physically mark you as his.

He’s not that uncivilized – at least, he likes to think so. He’s not that terribly obsessed with you, he likes to believe, and by not being verbally territorial over your time, space, and attention, he feels that he’s maintaining this boundary between you where you can’t see just how truly dependent on you he’s become.

But the issue, really, is that while Douma thinks he isn’t easily jealous or possessive over you, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Really, he absolutely needs you to be looking at him and only him – he’s used to being revered and worshipped, both by his followers and many of his fellow demons, but there’s just something different about your attention.

There’s something warmer, something better, something that makes his fingers twitch and his neck feel hot because god, you look good when you’re looking at him, and when you say his name with that slight tremble of fear in your voice he wants to press you so tightly against him that you can’t breath.

You’re just different, really, and so Douma struggles with this internal dilemma. Particularly in the beginning of his obsession and your captivity, he doesn’t allow any signs of his true feelings to be seen – sure he’s flirting with you and teasing you just to see you squirm and get all embarrassed, but it’s just for fun. It’s all a big game, of course – you’re just so weak and endearing and strangely cute that Douma can’t help but belittle you and see that flustered, embarrassed expression on that pretty face of yours.

But then he notices you smiling and laughing at something else one day – something small, something stupid.

A small squirrel had managed to weasel its through the high window into the room he keeps you locked away in, the little brown animal curiously staring at you. On its hind legs, dark, beady eyes fixed on you while you lightly giggle and marvel at the bushiness of its tail, the liveliness of its presence – suddenly not feeling so horribly, horribly lonely.

And Douma’s immediately seeing red – your pretty face is all twisted up in a smile and your eyes are fucking sparkling – why the hell don’t you look like that when he’s talking to you? You’ve never looked this happy with him even once – you flustered and embarrassed is great, but this?

His hands are shaking, an ugly snarl ripping across his face, blond hair bristling as he sprints to grab the squirrel. Everything happens too fast for you to really comprehend – the squirrel is a few feet away from you one second, squeezed between his pale finger the next, something maniacal and scary and horrifying flicking through those rainbow eyes of his as he stares down at the small creature.

You’re immediately scrambling to your feet, begging him to not hurt the animal, and his head snaps to yours almost robotically, that look morphing into some deranged excuse of a smile as he tells you that you’re not allowed to be making friends, remember? I told you what would happen if you did. Do you remember what I told you?

And as you start sobbing, begging him to not kill the animal, Douma will only sigh wistfully, deciding that although he wants to see you smiling and laughing and loving him like the way you loved this squirrel, this is nice too. You, with tears streaming down your cheeks, snot dribbling from your nose, your eyes all glassy and red – you’re cute like this, really, and it makes him smile gleefully, squeezing at the squirrel just a hair tighter and oh god –

You’re still crying when he has the follower on their hands and knees scrubbing the blood from the pretty white flooring, your body wrapped in Douma’s arms while he coos at you and plays with your hair.

It’s only then that you’ll really begin to see just how truly devoted Douma is to you – his hands are all over you, those eyes staring holes through you, arms tugging you closer and closer to him, not leaving an inch of space between your bodies. He’ll grab your chin and force you to look at him, that same sick smile on his face while he tells you that you’re very pretty, you know, I like when you look like this. Now won’t you smile for me? C’mon, I deserve a smile, don’t I?

If you don’t, his grip tightens, surely leaving bruises against your dainty skin, pressing tighter until you shakily quirk up your lips, the smile pained and strained and absolutely divine in his eyes. It’s then that the possessiveness will start to rear its ugly head – he’s telling you in that same sing-song, fake voice that you’re so much better when you’re smiling… Hey, you know to only smile at me, right? You know what’ll happen to anyone or anything else you smile at and talk to. I’m the only one you need to look at – I’ll slaughter anything that dares to steal your attention from me, do you understand?

Meanwhile, he’s stroking your cheek, unblinking as he stares, his breath ice cold and making you shiver. After that incident, Douma doesn’t hold back on making it absolutely clear that you are not to speak with anyone else in the compound – you’d already been studiously avoided by all his followers, only coming into contact with someone when they were forced to bring you food or attend to your washroom needs. But now, everyone was actively afraid of you – running at the sight of you, one poor girl even shaking and breathing so heavily as she heated your bathwater that it hurt just to look at her.

And you know it’s all Douma’s doing, too – you’ve heard him telling his followers that you’re strictly off-limits, that you’re something that isn’t to be touched or looked at, that you’re a sin, that to interact with you without just cause would be an irrevocable offense worthy of death. And there’s something about his voice when he says it that makes you bite your lip, fear dancing through your chest because you’ve never heard him be so serious before, the rumble of his words and the way you can practically see the dead-eyed, apathetic face making something in your gut twist.

From then on, he’s even more clingy – constantly demanding your attention, touching you seemingly without restraint, his voice constantly ringing in your head as he bothers you day and night, never letting you go more than a few minutes without his presence at your side and rudely commanding your attention and time.

Really, he’s just awfully needy – you’re his. His favorite human, toy, thing, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone – or any thing – take that away from him. He’s a powerful demon, and you’re nothing compared to him. So just accept your place as his personal whore, really – because there’s nothing you can do about it. He’s needy and jealous and will become the only person you’ll see with any sort of remote consistency, and it’s all by design.

You’re not to speak with, look at, or think of anyone else – you really, really wouldn’t to see anyone get hurt over that rule, now would you?

Because as much as he likes your positive attention, seeing you scream and cry and hate him is almost as good – delicious in a way that makes him lick his teeth and giggle because ah, you’re just so adorable.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Quite honestly, despite Douma’s more possessive feelings over you, he doesn’t get jealous that often.

This is mostly due to the fact that he severely limits who he allows to interact with you – all your attendants must be female, and ideally rather weak-willed and soft-spoken. He wants you to be interacting with the most mild people he can, just so that you don’t grow too attached to anyone.

He’ll keep the attendants rotating, just so that you don’t develop any sort of comradery with anyone, and so that no one becomes hopelessly enthralled by you or becomes inspired to set you free from your obvious captivity. It’s all selfish and very, very purposefully orchestrated, because while Douma may be occasionally relaxed and not as rigid with his followers, anything involving you is meticulously thought out, planned with such a degree of obsessiveness that it nearly drives him crazy.

And so, you hardly ever get the chance to interact with a man, much less glance at him – which is very, very good news for the people of the compound, because otherwise all of their blood would be spilled and he’d  be touching your sweet body over their corpses.

Douma simply doesn’t get the opportunity to become jealous often – and even before all of his obsession has fully festered and established itself, this stands true. He kidnaps you very early on, and fully with the intention of killing you once his interest in you dries up.

As a result, there’s simply not much time between the formation of his obsession and your eventual relocation to his temple, seriously limiting his opportunities to grow jealous over you. And this pleases Douma – once he decides that he wants to keep you, the thought of you being unable to interact with anyone significant aside from himself is calming, a sense of possessiveness and ownership over you swimming through him that makes his smile almost real.

And so, for the first few weeks of your captivity, you’ll genuinely think that Douma won’t grow jealous over you, simply because the very, very few people you meet are nearly silent, only interacting with you when absolutely necessary and practically running out of the room before you even finish talking.

 But of course, not everything goes to plan – it only takes a single encounter for you to realize that your previous assumptions about him not growing jealous were painfully mistaken.

The new attendant is more talkative than the previous one. The last one had been mousy, a quiet little creature of a girl who couldn’t be older than fourteen, setting down your meal tray and immediately darting out of the room, the lock clicking loudly behind her. You hadn’t gotten much of a chance to speak with her, let alone ask her name or details about your location.

But this newer girl was a little bolder. Her gaze, while still averted, would occasionally dart back to you. And while the pity in her eyes made something ugly simmer in your chest, the acknowledgement of your poor situation by anyone other than him was still welcome.

She was still rather quiet, but you noticed that she stayed just a hair longer, and would even manage to crack the smallest of smiles in your presence.

But during one sunny afternoon, while Douma longues on your bed with an arm propped under his head and those eyes of his stuck on your figure, she comes by to drop off the food.

It’s a familiar knock at your door, and you perk up at the sound, something that Douma notices with a slight twitch of his eyebrow.

Come in, you call, watching as the locks click and the wooden door creaks open. The girl is there, and you watch as her eyes meet yours and she gives you a small nod of recognition. You smile ever so slightly back, on edge with Douma’s hawk eyes monitoring the entire interaction.

The girl sets the tray onto the ground before shuffling away, glancing up one more time only to suddenly notice Douma’s presence on the bed. She gasps, eyes blowing wide, before bowing her head against the ground, stuttering out a M-Master Douma!

He’s quiet, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly, before an easy smile settles onto his lips. Slowly he gets up, steps light and airy as he approaches the doorway. You’re still standing on the other side of the room, watching the interaction with every hair on your body standing at attention. There’s something about the way he feels, the predatory sense of dread hanging in the air that makes your every muscle desperate to run away, to get out before something terrible happens.

He squats down to her kneeling height once he reaches her, his eyes closing as he keeps up that smile. Do you know her?

The girl shakes her head quickly, her voice merely a whisper as she tells him no, I only serve her meals occasionally.

He nods, humming. So why are you looking at her then?

The girl parts her lips slightly, gaze wide as she stares at him. I – um, I don’t what you mean, Master. I’m sorry.

His eyes open, lids closing half-way and pupils fixed on her. Why are you staring at her so familiarly? Did I not explicitly tell you to avoid looking at what’s mine?

She gulps, her hands starting to shake. I – I’m  terribly sorry, I did not mean to –

Douma sighs, but his shoulders stay tight and tensed, the muscles in his arm visibly flexing underneath his shirt as he clenches his fist. Ah-ah-ah, don’t you know? I don’t care what you have to say. No one is to look at or speak to her. You knew this. And yet you went and did it anyways. Do you know what that makes you?

She’s crying now, tears slipping down her cheeks and her lip wobbling. You’re too frozen with fear to move, but you can hardly breath.

Douma smiles, tilting her chin up ever so slightly. He leans in closer, bunch hunched in a way that doesn’t look human.

Dead. He breathes out.

It happens too quickly for you to follow – his fist is plunging into her chest, her scream cut short by him ripping his hand back out, something red and wet and moving clutched in his palm. The sight makes you sick, bile rising up in the back of your throat and making you heave, forcing you to the ground.

Her body goes limp and slumps to the side, blood pouring around her body and leaving the pretty, wooden floors stained red.

Douma’s giggling, you hear, as he squeezes at her dismembered heart, clutching down tighter and tighter and tighter – until it explodes in a spray of red, getting all over his face and chest, staining the floor even more and making a fresh wave of nausea pass through you.

Your entire body is shaking, gaze unable to stop staring at her lifeless body, terror coursing through you and making it impossible to breath, to move, to think.

All too soon Douma’s standing up, wiping the blood staining his hand onto the already ruined white fabric of his pants, gaze settling on you and sighing once more. What a mess, he laments, but your gaze is still stuck on the girl.

He pouts at that, moving forward and physically blocking your view, getting close enough to you that you can smell the blood on him, see the little bits of tissue and muscle decorating the tight fabric of his shirt.

He’s smiling again, and you flinch as he clasps a strand of your hair between two fingers, rubbing it between them and smearing red all over.

Did you like that? His question makes your lips part, your gaze slowly moving to meet his, something in your gut screaming at you to hurt him, to hurt this creature that so cruelly ruins and steals the lives of others.

But as Douma presses in further, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as his eyes get wider, his voice a bit higher, excitement oozing off of him in waves, he only asks again did you like seeing that? Doesn’t it feel good to see her get what she deserves?

You have nothing to say to that, so you only stare, your own tears pooling down your cheeks.

Douma’s eyes sparkle at that, and he leans forward, tongue lolling out and licking a long strike up your cheek, the salty taste making him shiver.

He rests his forehead against yours, licking his lips and pressing wet, bloody hands against your arms. Hey, let’s go to bed. You’ll be good for me, right? You wouldn’t want to anger me, you know.

And really, what other choice do you have but to say yes, to let him drag you to the mattress and hold you, all the while you stare at the girl’s body? There’s blood staining every inch of your skin and smearing across the sheets, but you try to ignore the now cold, viscous feeling.

And does it make you a bad person for being grateful that it’s not you laying lifeless on the cold, hard ground?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

It’s inevitable, and it happens fast. Douma is simply a stranger to you at first – a friend of yours had been converted into the Paradise Cult, and at Douma’s urging, each follower had been required to drag in a new member.

You weren’t especially receptive to the idea, but your friend had tricked you into visiting the compound by telling you it was simply an alternative living community, leaving you unsure and suspicious but not wanting to doubt the friend who’d suddenly re-emerged into your life.

And after stepping foot into the compound, you immediately had a sense of what was happening – something was very, very wrong, and your friend seemed entirely dismissive and unaware of it. You’d stayed out of politeness (and your friend’s very thinly veiled threats of what would happen if you were to run), promising to meet the Master as your friend had begged, and upon meeting Douma (alongside a large group of people who seemed to be in varying states of fear and confusion, like yourself), you’d immediately wanted to turn-tail and leave.

He’d gone through each individual recruit, shaking their hand and whispering sweet words to them, and when he’d approached you, expecting the same kindness and reverence that all the other recruits were told to exhibit, he was sorely mistaken. After grabbing your hands (his hands were ice cold, freezing, and perfectly smooth), you’d smiled at him, trying to mirror the expression on his face.

Welcome to Paradise, won’t you join us? His voice had been smooth, calming, and layered with a sense of confidence that had your smile turning sour.

No, thank you, I’ll be leaving now. You’d ripped your hands out of his grasp and promptly turned on your heel, not sparing Douma a glance as he gaped at you, genuinely too stunned to make a move and follow you.

He’d meant to follow after you, anger at your disrespect making his eye twitch, but the other recruits had to be brought in before he could bother with a single disgruntled woman. You’d managed to leave the compound, ignoring your friend’s hysteria and desperate pleas to apologize to the Master, instead storming all the way back to your own home and vowing to never set foot on that property again. There was just something unnerving about the place, and that man – he’d made some primal sense of fear edge up into your throat, your body feeling feather light and your reflexes heightened.

But as you tried to adjust back into your life and essentially mourn the loss of your friend, Douma hadn’t forgotten about you. He’d tried to – you were inconsequential, a dirty, lowly human woman, utterly nothing. And yet, the days began to blend together, images of your naively brave face dancing behind his eyelids, thinking of the absolute gall you had to blatantly disrespect what your body could clearly sense was an apex predator.

(He’d been able to smell the fear wafting off of you in waves, hear the rapid pounding of your heart, see the tremor of your hands. You’d been petrified, truly, and yet you’d still been stupid enough to run away. It would be impressive, if it didn’t leave such a sour taste in his mouth.)

The anger prompted him to call in your friend, asking with a sickly sweet smile what your name was, where you lived, and to tell him a bit about you. Your friend was more than happy to oblige his request, apologizing profusely on your behalf and spilling every detail about you that they could. Douma had nodded at the end, flashing them one last smile before slicing their head off, licking a bloody finger afterwards and humming.

Immediately heading off towards the location of your home, Douma ran through all the possible ways he could punish you for your blatant disrespect – perhaps rip your toes and fingers off one by one, then devour you, or maybe even slice open your belly and let you suffer before death?

Deeply pondering, he’d stopped outside your home, staring into the windows and feeling his eyes brighten at the sight of you simply seated in your living area, reading out of a book. You were nothing special, truly – no particularly beautiful features, nothing that would catch his eye out of the hundreds of humans he’s met and devoured. You were utterly unremarkable, and weak, too; unable to fight, unable to defend yourself, just utterly, utterly pathetic.

And as he slips into your home, internally scoffing at how you don’t even notice his presence, Douma suddenly stops. You’re looking at him now, panic eating away at your features as you cling to the wall behind you, your voice shaking and rather thin as you scream at him that you’ll hurt you, don’t – don’t come any closer!

And really, it almost makes him laugh when you grab at the candlestick on the nearby table, pointing the stubby, wax bar at him with eyes wide enough to make him giggle.

It’s quiet for a long moment, before Douma’s lips quirk up into something vaguely resembling a smile, something in his eyes growing brighter as he realizes that oh, you might be a bit of fun.

And as he moves forward and has a hand striking against the pressure point in your neck before you can even blink, Douma finds himself nonchalantly leaning down to smell along the curve of your jaw.

You’re not wholly unappealing, now that he looks at you up close. You smell nice enough – a bit floral, a bit earthy, and he can hear the beating of your heart from this close. That same twisted smile sits on his lips as he brings you back to the compound, rainbow eyes dull as he unceremoniously drops you onto the rackety, spare mattress of a fellow cult member, ignoring their questions as he slices at their throat and hums.

You could be entertaining enough, at least for a day or two – it’s not often that people resist him, and he wants to know how long it’ll take before you break.

Despite Douma’s rather spontaneous kidnapping of you, it doesn’t take him long to fall into a rhythm with you. What he feels for you at first is slow-going and barely even there, but it’s something – and as time passes and he becomes aware that you’re inspiring an unknown emotion – any emotion, aside from a dull pleasure in seeing others suffering - inside of his chest, he becomes more and more attached.

And this is obvious in the way that he treats you – he’s absolutely suffocating, choosing to take up your every moment of the day because absolutely nothing compares to the sight of you scowling at him, or the way you flinch and scramble to get away from him every time he reaches out to touch you. It’s cute, even, the way you ardently try to escape him when you’re both painfully aware that it isn’t possible. It’s endearing, but even with your stubborn nature, you’ll eventually grow complacent in the lifestyle he’s forced upon you.

You’re kept in a set of bedchambers that very clearly belonged to another person before you – the bed is larger than you’d expected, with crisp white sheets and red silks hanging from the frame on all sides. The dark, mahogany wood is engraved with all sorts of geometric and floral patterns, and during the rare stretches of solitude that you’re afforded, you find yourself running your fingers over the shapes and committing them to memory.

The bed had actually not belonged to the room’s previous occupant – instead, the bed had been the one Douma designated as his own, before your arrival. It’d been the bed he’d lounge about in during the day, bedding nearly every woman and man in the compound between those very sheets. He’d had it moved into the room he keeps you in a week or so after your arrival, deciding that if he was to spend so much time in your space, he might as well be comfortable while doing so.

(And though it hadn’t been his intention, there’s something oddly pleasing about seeing the way you visibly sink into the mattress most evenings, your constant fearful expression and scowl slowly melting away at the sheer luxury of the bed. Pleasing, and satisfying, really, because something that almost resembles pride eats away at him when he thinks of how he’s the one providing you with such comforts, and is thus the reason for your joy.)

The room itself is rather small, with four plain white walls and a few decorations and trinkets left behind by the previous occupant. A select few photographs and letters had been left behind, and you’d placed them all in a small corner of the room, taking care to not damage them but unable to look at them without feeling ill.

You hardly ever leave the room – Douma doesn’t allow you to freely roam the compound, and you are strictly forbidden from having any visitors aside from himself and a select few trust cultists that he keeps very, very careful tabs on.

(There’s the small, ever-present sense of worry that you’ll find comradery or friendship among one of the attendees, so he’s careful to keep them uncomfortably aware of their purpose, of how they aren’t to speak to you unless absolutely necessary, how they aren’t to spend any time at all in your space unless ordered by Douma himself, how your life is much, much more precious than theirs.)

But truth be told, you’ll be grateful for any and every attendant that spends even a few seconds with you – because Douma will be an always present, unwavering presence in your life once you’re stolen away. He finds you fascinating, and there’s something addicting about the responses you give to him. It’s addictive enough that he finds himself by your side every moment he can spare, always staring at you with that odd, small smile that never seems to reach his eyes, his voice always chipper and cheery even as he tells you the most gut-wrenching, revolting things.

And as time passes, Douma becomes not only clingy, but touchy. His hands are freezing cold when they touch you, skin like ice as he cups your cheek or grasps your wrist or places his hand on the small of your back.

He has no concept of personal space; his breath (cold just like his fingers) fans against your skin as he stands behind you, your back pressed snugly against his chest as he murmurs in your ear that you’re shaking, are you afraid? Probably a good choice, considering how weak you are.

He’s making you sit in his lap as he forces you to tell him about your old life, listening to the shaky intake and exhale of your breath and tut-tutting at you, telling you to stop lying, pretty thing, I can hear your heartbeat soaring. We wouldn’t want poor Mimiko outside to pay for your deceptions, would we?

And once he begins getting truly needy for your time and attention, Douma is absolutely not afraid to escalate your relationship to something more physical, something more intimate. He absolutely will force himself onto you, that same devoid smile on his lips while his eyes shine with something that you can’t – and won’t – put a finger on.

He views you as his personal play thing, his personal human, and his clinginess and inability to leave you alone for more than an hour at a time is proof of it. And as he grows more and more attached, the desperation to be around you starting to cloud his mind and make him angry, irritable, enraged when something keeps him away from you, he’ll only become more suffocating, more desperate for your every thought, look, and feeling to revolve solely around him him him.

It’s the least you could do, really, considering he’s been kind enough to spare you.

(Though there’s always the lingering question of how sweet your blood tastes, if you’re as soft and tender as he expects, if when he sinks those teeth of his down into the sensitive flesh of your thigh you’d squeal his name like he hopes you would…)

PUNISHMENTS:

If you don’t count his constant, overwhelming presence, Douma doesn’t really punish you. He’s actually fairly lenient – he certainly doesn’t allow you to roam around the compound on your own, nor does he allow you to speak with anyone aside from himself, but you’re allowed to choose what clothing you wear, how you style your hair, when you wake up and when you go to bed.

And really, Douma likes to point out just how much freedom he gives you – when you’ve got an attitude, anger and irritation welling up in your chest and bubbling over, Douma will simply pout at you, telling you that you don’t get to be mean, you got breakfast this morning. And while he doesn’t explicitly say it, the tone of his voice and the way he’s looking at you are reminders that yes, he’s keeping you here against your wall, but he’s oh so generous and feeding you well. He’s giving you food, shelter, and attention from a being much superior to yourself – and frankly, you’re a spoiled little brat for not realizing exactly what a gift he’s giving you.

He’s not the biggest fan of actually saying those words to you though, if only because he likes to keep up the charade of being a happy-go-lucky man, wanting you to feel and acknowledge that yes, he's powerful, but he also treats you with kindness and a level of care and adoration that you should really be beyond grateful to be receiving.

It’s a matter of pride, more than anything else – and your ‘punishments’ are also a matter of pride. It takes quite a bit to anger Douma. This is because he lives for your responses – he’s teasing you and pushing you right to the edge on a constant basis, loving the way you grit your teeth or yell at him or try to ignore him. Though, he admittedly likes that last option significantly less. It’s entertaining for the first few minutes watching you clench your jaw and pretend like he’s not poking your stomach or kissing over the shell of your ear or threatening your family members, but if you hold out and remain silent and unresponsive, he’ll eventually just pout and give up, sighing dramatically and telling you fine, have it your way.

You won’t ever actually get your way, of course, but Douma will manage to finagle some variation of your request with his own touch to it.

You’re asking for your freedom? Absolutely not, but he will get you a pretty pair of binoculars so you can see outside the laughably small, iron-barred window in your room!

You want supplies for your hobbies because you’re going insane with boredom? A bit harsh considering he’s always keeping you company, but he’ll buy you whatever your little heart desires, no matter how expensive or difficult to find. You just have to teach him how to use them, okay? You’ll do your little hobbies with him, or not at all.

And so, Douma doesn’t automatically see you lashing out or being rude as a negative. Instead, it often only endears him more to you, enjoying the way you’re so very human in your inability to control your emotions.

But while he doesn’t respond negatively to your bad behavior, there are two things which truly do upset him.

The first upset is predictable – your attempts at escape. You talking about running away is one thing; lofty plans and ideals you talk about in front of him while he nods along and coos at you, pointing out each and every flaw in your thinking and explaining in detail the many ways he could stop you.

It’s mildly amusing when you’re just putting on a face and acting like you want to leave, but the moment you actually attempt it, that amusement is shifting to irritation, his eye twitching slightly because oh, how stupid could you really be? You obviously don’t realize that you’re stuck square in the center of a rather large compound filled with people who would absolutely kill for Douma, and would do anything he so desired even if it meant ignoring your screams and cries to return you back to their leader.

It’s frustrating to him, if only because it’s a mess he has to clean up, and there’s always the repercussions of having to figure out who helped you orchestrate the whole endeavor, because he knows you can’t escape out of this room on your own. And while killing the sympathizer is fun and leaves him stained in blood and shivering in delight, it’s precious time that he could be spending with you.

But really, the one thing that truly upsets him is when you hurt yourself. He can hurt you – he can drag his nails down your pretty skin and leave beads of blood in their wake. He can pull at your hair until you’re tearing up, the look on your face pained and sending blood directly between his legs, your expression delicious and oh so arousing. He can even bend you over and smack his hand against the smell of your ass over and over and over until your bruised, welts decorating the pretty skin and your eyes barely open.

He can do all that, but why the fuck do you think you can? You’re his toy – his. You aren’t your own person anymore; you’re his plaything, and as a result your body belongs to him. Injuring yourself is equivalent to damaging his personal property, and if there’s one thing Douma can’t stand, it’s others taking what’s his.

And so, to truly see him mad, you must purposefully injure yourself in some capacity – though you have to get creative, considering how little time you have for yourself.

It's late at night when you decide to do it. It’s one of the rare evenings where Douma isn’t caging you in his arms while he commands you to sleep, eyes wide open and staring straight at you as he patiently waits for you to fall into unconsciousness. He’d said he had business to attend to tonight – whatever that meant, though you had a good feeling you’d rather not know.

It’s strange without him, even as loathed as you are to admit it. The room – not your room, never your room – is oddly quiet without him, missing the ominous, overwhelming presence that he brings with him with every visit. Some part of you almost finds it lonely, though you can’t exactly say that you miss him. Just the contact with another person – if you can even call him that.

Shaking your head from the thoughts, you stand up and slowly pad your way over to the window. It’s high, too high for you to reach just on your own. Grabbing the chair sitting at the small, never-used desk in the corner of the room, you’re quick to place it under the window and climb up.

The view isn’t anything particularly special – just looking out onto the courtyard in what you’re guessing is the center of the complex, the array of traditional style houses sitting in even, neat rows along the sides. It’s pretty, in a suburban, monotonous way, and it makes you frown. This place feels like death, and the sight only resolves your desire to escape.

Sitting outside the hole cut into the wall as the window are iron bars, surely placed there to limit anything from coming inside. And, of course, to limit anything from going outside, too. With a small breath, you reached up and carefully clasped your fingers around the bar second from the right.

You’d noticed the last time you’d done this that the metal was incredibly loose – wiggling in its joint easily, and likely unsecure enough to complete pull off of its hinges. Biting your lip, you slowly increased shaking the metal, trying to dislodge it and create a space large enough for you to squeeze through.

You paused every so often, worried that the slight clanging noise would draw attention to your room and alert anyone outside of what you were doing. That wouldn’t do – this escape plan hinged entirely on your ability to get out undetected, as you had no doubts every follower would immediately report to Douma and you could kiss your chances of escape goodbye.

It’s difficult to hold back the small exclamation of relief when you finally feel the iron break free, the weight of it in your hand making you swallow thickly. Okay, now to just push myself through…

The opening looked just big enough, but it would still be a tight fit.

Pushing off with one leg, you manage to get your knee on the sill. Scrunching your brows, you shift your weight to push off the back leg, wobbling slightly as you find your balance on both knees. Now, for the difficult part.

Come on, you murmur as you inch forward, gingerly pushing your head through the opening and glancing around, eyes squinting in the darkness but not seeing anyone outside. With a deep breath, you pushed further, one hand coming up to reach through the railing, managing to get your shoulder outside, pushing yourself forward and letting the smallest smile grace your lips because oh god, you might actually make it-

You barely feel the cold hand wrapping around your ankle until it’s yanking you back. Harshly.

You fly backwards with a small scream, the iron of the next bar over scratching at your arm and warm, wet blood immediately trickling down your forearm. Your back hits the mattress and knocks the air out of you, making your vision dizzy for a moment before you see it. Him.

Normally Douma sports a small, rather nonchalant smile around you. It’s chilling because there’s so little emotion in his eyes, almost looking like two pretty voids in the center of his face. It’s disturbing, but if you don’t look at it it’s not too terrible.

This, though? The way he’s looking at you right now? It’s enough to have you scrambling to the back of the mattress, your lips parting and closing like a fish, fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins so quickly that it hurts.

He’s not smiling. No, instead his lips are completely, utterly flat – a straight line that has tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He doesn’t even look angry, really – just utterly emotionless, not a shred of anything on his face for you to read.

What are you doing? Even his voice is eerily neutral, completely monotone.

I-I was just – I – um, you can’t even think of a plausible excuse, the situation and Douma’s reaction leaving you too fried and afraid to form a coherent thought.

He’s not having that, though. He walks closer to the bed, each step sounding like a clap of thunder. His expression is still that same flat line, even as he crawls onto the bed, that hand once again wrapping around your ankle.

What are you doing? Say it, or I’ll slit your throat.

And you believe him – enough to start stuttering out apologies and slurred, panicked admissions of trying to escape. Your voice is raising an octave, fear palpable in the air, but it doesn’t slow Douma down as he drags your body closer to him by the ankle, seeming to have absolutely no difficult even as you claw at the sheets and writhe in his grasp.

Please, ‘m sorry, I just want to go home, I can’t – You’re scaring me Douma, please stop – You’re babbling, and apparently he’s decided he’s had enough as his grip moves from your ankle to your neck faster than you can see.

You’re pressed against the wall before you know it, strong, cold fingers pressing against your windpipe as he stares at you. He’s uncomfortably close, his body only an inch or so away from yours, those damn eyes of his the only thing you can see. He’s still expressionless, even as you gasp for air and claw at his fingers. He doesn’t budge though, seeming to not even notice your attempts at escape.

You must think I’m stupid, he starts, those eyes never looking away from yours. They don’t even seem to blink, even as you wheeze out his name.

You must think I’m an imbecile if you think you can escape me. I’m insulted.

His grip tightens.

You will never escape me. There is nowhere that you can go that I cannot follow.

His grip moves higher up, cutting off even more air.

There is nowhere that you can hide that I cannot find you.

Now the left side of his lip quirks up, ever so slightly.

There is no one who can help you that I cannot kill.

Suddenly he’s leaning in, head traveling down to your right arm, his inhale audible even though you can’t see his face.

Something wet and cold pokes at the still fresh scratch on your arm, and it makes you wince. You can’t feel much of anything now, though, as small dark spots in your vision form, desperation truly starting to take over.

Something akin to a groan fills your ears as Douma’s lips latch onto your skin, tongue poking and prodding at the cut, nudging its way inside and making the last bit of your air rush out of your throat as a scream, the pain starting to register even as the dots fill your entire vision, unconsciousness taking a hold of you as you go limp under his hand.

Douma pauses at the feeling of you passing out, eyes slowly looking up to your face, before removing his hand and letting you fall to the hard floor. Your body hits the ground with a deciding slump, and Douma pokes at your shin with the tip of his shoe.

Humming, he licks the remaining blood off of your lips. You’d been stupid, really, to think that he didn’t know about this escape plan of yours. You’re not nearly as good at pretending as you think you are, nor are you as subtle at glancing at the window as you seem to think. All those nights spent with you on his chest or spooned against him, the smell of your hair filling his nostrils again and again as he rutted against your ass, his breath tickling your neck, and you still thought he couldn’t tell that you kept glancing to the window, obviously wishing to crawl out and never return.

His fists clench, and he kicks, hard. Narrowly avoiding your leg and instead decimating the wooden nightstand next to it.

Stupid human, he growls out, swallowing the last bit of your blood.

And the next morning, when you awake with a splitting headache and bruises blossoming along your neck, Douma will be right there waiting for you. That fake, plastered-on smile sits on his lips again, and the hand he rests of your arm grows tighter.

Good morning, he starts, voice the usual chipper, overly saccharine tone. Thank me for not killing you. Go on.

And as you look towards the window – with fresh, gridlocking bars newly placed on both the inside and outside, you can only feel your eyes water, lips parting into the shape of thank you.

Douma’s smile grows for just a moment, something dancing behind his eyes.

Ah, there you go.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

As Douma’s darling, your biggest concern is really to keep Douma entertained and appeased. His obsession hinges on his amusement surrounding you, and although something that resembles the closest thing to love he can manage does form for you, there’s something deeply wrong with him.

He views you as an object – something he can possess and own, and the idea of having you all completely to himself is something that makes him giddy, eyes closing and something settling in the base of his gut because god, he wants you.

Your time with him will be characterized by his constant presence, those eyes of his always locked on you and you only. He can’t be away from you for long periods of time – he grows restless, his knee bouncing and his fingers fidgeting as he idly thinks of seeing you, missing the way you always look so sour when he pulls on your hair, how your eyes get all big and wide when he compliments you, the bashfulness obvious on your face even as you try to hide it. You’re endearing, really, a pet project of his that he slowly begins to feel more for, a creature that he finds himself holding in disturbingly high regard, despite your lowly status as a mere human.

But really, what makes Douma so dangerous is the fact that he is so detached from normal love and affection. This leads to him having no qualms about kidnapping you, isolating you, toying with you, and even hurting you when he sees fit.

Your existence becomes solely dictated by his whims – you’ll be what he wants you to be, and if you don’t, he doesn’t mind pushes and molding you into what he wants. Even if it means breaking a few bones, biting off a few chunks of flesh, or even turning you into a blood-thirsty demon, if he so desires.

Your life is no longer yours – it’s his, and the sooner you learn that, the better. After all, Douma can be almost sweet when he’s trying – so really, just let yourself be deluded into believing that this is what’s best for you.

It’ll be better for you that way, and who knows – maybe one day you’ll even find yourself grateful for his company, just as he so ardently reminds you. Just as he so frequently demands you to be.

[jovial-thunder]

Lancer Tactics devlog

I'm gonna try out posting my ~monthly devlog roundup here as well. These suckers are glorified changelogs with anecdotes and gifs galore. Let me know if this is something you like seeing show up on your dash?

Map Editor

Got units able to be placed/deleted/moved in the mission editor

Can paint/remove command zones in the editor

Can paint minecraft-like terrain blocks in the editor

Can paint/rotate multi-tile props in the editor

Can edit unit character sheets and portrait via the editor

3D maps

Did a bunch of art tests with 3D mech models, provided by GeneralChaos, which we ended up deciding not to go with to keep things simple.

To avoid the can of worms that is animation, we'd have to lean into a static "tabletop minatures" aesthetic which we decided is not a style we want to be stuck with. By sticking with 2D sprites, we avoid falling into a sort of uncanny valley; it's easier to get away with not animating a 2D sprite than it is for a 3D model.

 We also experimented with 3D terrain. We decided to make a rule that the visual style for a piece of terrain should match its mechanical effect: obstructing terrain that you can't move through, such as rocks or buildings, will be in 3D, while non-obstructing terrain like trees will stick with 2D sprites.

Hooking up the 3D camera to follow events like movement and attacks did a LOT for making it starting to feel like it's cohering into an Actual Game™

Implemented cover! And an attack preview! Cover works by aiming a ray from the target to the originator (technically to and from each voxel of each, respectively, to handle size 2s shooting above size 1 cover) and tracking all the terrain blocks it hits (how we'll handle non-terrain hard cover TBD). I think I have it working according to Perijove's cover rules manual, but I'm sure there'll be edge cases to work out. This is a case where things are significantly simplified by working in squares instead of hexes; hexes have a lot more possible weird angles you have to deal with.

Re-added what I'm stubbornly calling Combat Popcorn; little bits of text that pop out when you use abilities and attacks.

UI & game screens

Added ability for the engine to show UI that's anchored to the game world via a little word bubble line but also stay on screen as the camera moves around.

Got word bubbles working; you can now write dialogue in the mission editor, hit playtest, and see it work in a mission! (it does actually translate correctly now; this gif is just from a bug I thought was funny)

Got ability effects mostly behaving appropriately again, including muzzle flashes. The easiest way to handle them ended up being NOT billboarding them so they always face the camera (like all other 2D sprites in the game); instead, I put them on a plane parallel with the ground and just spin them around the unit to point at wherever their target is.

Did some work ironing out our tooltip system. The standard in CRPGs these days is this kind of nested labyrinth of tooltops that you see in Baldur's Gate 3:

I Did Not Want to try and figure out how to wrangle that much UI, so we're instead opting to cap the nested tooltips at the second layer. You can lock a general tooltip for e.g. an action and then mouseover various items within that tooltip to get glossary definitions...

...and then instead of having those glossary tips be lockable/mouse-overable themselves, I collect all related terms to that glossary definition and let you tab through them.

Added skin overlay functionality to the portrait maker, enabling textures like scars, tattoos, stubble, and vitiligo to be applied to just the skin and not extend off into space.

Midway through writing this update, Carpenter sent me this gif of the randomization button working! There's a still a bunch of skintones/assets missing and a few are a bit janky, but it was exciting to start seeing the range of these lil freaks (affectionate) that this editor can create.

Mourning cloak license!

This is the one I'm probably most excited about: I did a bit of a content dive and implemented a basic character sheet + all Mourning Cloak traits and equipment. They don't have fancy graphics yet, but the weapons and systems can be added via the character sheet and used in-game.

It took a little under a day, including adding soon-to-be common mechanisms like bonus damage. This is great news in that it means the engine we've been building for so long in the abstract seems to do a great job in handling comprehensive actual game content, and that it looks like we've set ourselves up for success when it comes time to buckle down on churning that out.

I'm sure other licenses will come with unique difficulties (I fear the day it comes time to do the Mule Harness // Goblin CP) but I'm feeling good about it!

Vertical slice?

Taking a step back, the pressing question on my mind has been "when will we have a playable early access build?"

I was originally hoping for Feb/March, but what we've internally been referring to as the "3D cataclysm" has pushed everything back by at least three months, so the target for the first alpha build is now in May. So, ah, thanks for your patience! Seeing things come together, I've become more and more convinced that moving to 3D was the right call.

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Rise Characterizations Pt. 5!!!!!

Okay I promised I'd share my Splinter reference notes, so here I am! Also wanna take a moment to thank everyone reblogging the prev. parts. All the tags/notes are so sweet!!! Anyway, here's our one and only Rat Man,

Splinter Character Notes

Language Habits:

Catchphrase: "HOOOOOT SOUP!!!"

Will yell "whoa/oh nelly!" when in a tight spot or stumbling around

Makes puns/dad jokes, and laughs at said jokes to himself

A poor liar, will skirt around the truth until you drop it

Penchant for interrupting people if he's not interested, devout user of "yada, yada", "ah, bup, bup, bup"

Verbalizes his attacks/moves, something his sons pick up on. Could be a habit picked up from his action star days, such moves include: lights off jitsu, and slow motion jitsu

Uses 2010's slang, (i.e. "totes", "chillaxed"), could see him incorrectly using up to date slang to embarrass his boys

In a group refers to his sons as "boys"

One by one will refer to his sons by their designated colors, but will pull out the full name (not nickname) if the situation is serious

Also refers to Donnie as "the funny one"

Personality:

A performer, well he is an actor after all. He knows how to captivate an audience. Splinter likes attention--something that may be connected to his strict childhood with high expectations--but he also performs for his boys. To keep them happy, but most importantly safe. This also means he keeps his true emotions tucked closely to his chest

Jovial. Despite his dark past and heavy responsibility thrust upon him at a young age, Splinter is always laughing. He finds the fun in everything

Secretive. As mentioned before, Splinter tends to keep things close to his chest. Despite this, he's a terrible liar. He'll just avoid the truth until it comes back to bite him in the ass. This makes him sometimes a little emotionally unavailable

Lazy. He always finds the easiest way to do something, and procrastinate on his responsibilities as long as possible

Vain. He's glory seeking for all the proper attention he lost in his youth. So the Lou Jitsu aspect of his life boosted his ego in irreparable ways. He also uses the identity of Lou Jitsu to escape from the idea of being stuck as a rat. Glorifying the past is way to find comfort for him

Adrenaline junkie. Part of that glory-seeking and glorification of the past manifests into him needing adrenaline to feel alive. (i.e. when he steals the tank)

Attentive and empathetic. He can be a little hare-brained when it comes to remembering the details, but he's always very attentive to his sons needs. In flashbacks he's shown to supply them with items needed for their interests (i.e. little Mikey gets art supplies), and always apologizes when he messes up (i.e. the conversation he had with Donnie). This empathy also extends to other people and animals, as he was sympathetic with Cassandra when she was lamenting about the foot clan and was immediately worried about the turtles Draxum had in his lab

Protective. He would sacrifice everything to save his sons, and he does

Miscellaneous:

His tail is Very expressive, and one of the most active parts of his body, so if you want to subtley show emotion I'd focus on that

Has a Lou Jitsu body pillow

Remembers all his stunt double's names

Snores loudly

Talented singer, can sing opera and lived next to a karaoke bar in Japan

The show he watches the most is called "Soapy Treadmill", a Japanese game show where they throw things like scorpions at people who are soapy on treadmills

Has a "do not touch!" cabinet, full of trophies, mystic artifacts, and mementos of his past

I have a List of all the mentioned Lou Jitsu movie names mentioned in S1, but I'm probably gonna wait till the end of my S2 rewatch and post it separately (it's also long too). Will link here!

I'm also gonna add a recommendation here at the end.

This is for the white and non East Asian folks. I'm not as well-versed in East Asian or Japanese culture, but Splinter is a first generation immigrant! He keeps a distance from his heritage because of the trauma of his youth, and the role Lou Jitsu probably also forced him to westernize his identity to make it more palpable to Hollywood. But it would be a disservice to sever parts of his identity, because one is uncomfortable or not knowledgeable in writing it.

For my white folks intimidated by writing a person of color because they want to get it right, research always helps. Research helps with everything!!! writingwithcolor here on tumblr actually has a lot of useful resources, here's their guideline, and a research chart one of their moderators created, which I personally found to be very helpful. I believe their ask box is closed right now, but if you ask questions in the future be nice!!!!

Anyway I'm gonna do April next :)

[theloganator101]

The Great BNHA Review: We Live in a Society

The world of fiction! The place where everything in the story happens. So when you're worldbuilding there are many things to take into consideration to make the world of your story feel alive.

From the people that inhabits it, the cities, towns, villages, and locations the characters live in. And even having a set of rules to follow to avoid plot holes and help the world they live in make sense.

Much like how despite technology being more advanced compared to real life, yet still not being able to have flying cars or advanced robots. Those kind of things can sometimes break immersion in the story, and as a writer you would want to avoid that as much as possible.

HOWEVER! The world BNHA takes place in doesn't make a lick of sense when you think about it for more than thirty seconds, and the foundation of the world breaks the more you think about it.

Case in point, UA!

I think at this point we all can agree that UA wasn't an actual school and instead a glorified boot camp to train child soldiers to fight. And for a series called MY HERO ACADEMIA!! There's hardly any academia in it at all.

Apparently Hori didn't wanna bother with that part of the series and being forced to write "boring" scenes and just get back to the exciting battles. Like where're the scenes of the class studying for their latest tests? Where're the scenes of the kids doing their favorite activities? Where're the scenes of them bonding with their superiors?

WHERE'S THE FUCKING ACADEMIA PART OF THIS GOD FORSAKEN SERIES!?!?!

You can't just name it My Hero Academia and only give us 20% of what the show is called! It just feels like false advertising at this point!

Also about the whole child soldier thing? Yeah let's go deeper into that.

Why are we relying on TEENAGERS to fight in these big battles and save the world when they've only been in hero school for a single year? That's literally like forcing teenagers to discover a cure of a disease when they've only taken a year of biology class!

And yeah, I get it, it's an anime so it's expecting you to suspend your disbelief, and they already had experience with fighting villains before so it would make sense to recruit them. But again, these are fucking teenagers and we shouldn't be relying on them to fight battles the adults should be able to handle!

This is one of the biggest problems of having your story take place in a world similar to modern real life, because here adults actually gives a shit as to what children go through and knows it would be fucked up to send them to fight in war! And the excuse of it taking place in Japan and thus how they do things is different compared to most countries is NOT GOING TO CUT IT!

These grown ass adults should KNOW bringing kids to fight in a war is fucked up and should NOT be encouraged! But since they're so desperate they choose to get them involved! The only exception to this is Rock Lock since he already knows this!

Okay, let's step away from the whole child soldier thing and focus on something the story never gave us introspection of... the fact that we never got to see how quirkless people are really treated.

It's explained that 20% of the population is quirkless, so almost a quarter are born without it. And from what we saw of Izuku's life with it, discrimination must be a common thing in their society. So it would make sense to explore that since it's tied to the main character's backstory and how he's going to make things better for others like him.

... Except that's not how it goes.

We never get to see how the life of a quirkless person is like, we never get to canonically see Izuku interacting with someone like him with the only exception being Melissa. But the thing about her is that she grew up on an island and her father a respected scientist, so it's kind of difficult to tell how the quirkless life is like if this is the only example we get... and it's not a good one.

But wait! There is a canon major character that was also quirkless like Izuku! And it's Yuga Aoyama. And how did the story treated him?

Oh it was revealed real late into the story with no awareness and treated him like shit for being an unwilling traitor, then replace him with Shinsou who whined and complained his way into the Hero Course.

Uhh, what the fuck?

And the worst part about all this is that Izuku has no reaction or acknowledgement whatsoever! He doesn't sympathize or feel less alone, he doesn't comment or say anything about this! So it's like what's even the point!?

Oh don't worry, we'll come back to this whole Izuku not acknowledging his past later in the review! But there's one more thing I wanna talk about in this world.

Is how blatantly biased society is to the Heroics occupation.

From what we've seen and learned, people are not allowed to use their quirks in public. And that the only way would be able to legally use them is to have a provisional license... which is only obtained if you're training to be a hero.

Uhh, but what if you don't wanna go into heroics? What if there is a person who wants to be a comedian? A layer? A construction worker? What if they have quirks that they think would help them in their jobs? Would they get in trouble if they tried using their quirks on the job? Is the Provisional License exam the only way to be able to use your quirk freely? Is there another test people can take to get one if they don't want to go into heroics?

Yeah you see what I'm trying to say here?

Since Hori's so focused on getting to the next big battle that he barely thinks about the world BNHA takes place in and leaves holes in the process. The world of BNHA feels more like a dystopia where heroics is all that matters and that anything else is boring and not as interesting. And since the world itself is so flawed, that I don't feel immersed into it at all and all I have are these questions on how things are run.

So in the next part, we'll be taking a look into the themes and messages the story tries to tell it's readers... but oh boy, did it really fumble with it's messages.

[durrtydawg]

Lump

(Sam Drake x F!Reader)

This is a lil love letter to those of you who feel like you’re not worthy of being loved in the same way as those in smaller bodies. Not expecting much traction on this, but it's self-indulgent and I'm just happy I wrote something. Though primarily written with chunky gals (me) in mind, I still hope this can soothe anyone who feels uncomfortable in their own skin. CW: There’s a subtle discussion of fat fetish subculture here (it is absolutely NOT glorified- Quite the opposite, in fact. No shame to those who dig that kind of thing, but it’s not my vibe which I’m sure you’ll be able to tell), so if that’s something you feel uncomfortable thinking about, pls move on. Of course, I wrote this with Sam in mind because I’m a whore, but honestly, this could just be anyone. I’m struggling big time, but this was a nice spoonful of medicine and a necessary moment of reflection. Not for everyone, but regardless, I hope you enjoy :) x

Masterlist

Sam’s hands are used to ‘rough’. To unforgiving iron bars. Crumbling stone. Splintered wood. The stippled rubber of weaponry grip. He’s got the callouses to prove it.

For a long time, it was all he knew. It was him. Rough. There was never a need for contrast.

He thought that it would demand caution. To have to sacrifice everything he’d started to reclaim and do for himself. He doesn’t want to be careful. So for a long time, he avoided anything ‘soft’.

But with her, he realised that not only did he want it, but he needed it. With her, he can indulge. With her, he’s able to grab and squeeze and tug with abandon. To soothe the soreness of his fingertips within her smooth, yielding ‘soft’. 

To him, she is everything, even when she saw herself as nothing.

She’s not a reflection of glossy front covers. Nor the proportionately sculpted forms that stand sentinel in the halls of museums or the centre of fountains. She doesn’t believe it, but to him, she has always been a masterpiece unto herself.

‘A lump’, she used to call herself. A playground insult. Not harmless, but on the surface, tame. “I’m a lump compared to all these girls.”

He was cooking— the first time he heard her say it. She was perched on the counter, traipsing from one online clothing store to the next, paying more attention to the models than the outfits. He laughed. “Ridiculous,” he replied, shaking his head as the wooden spoon in his hand cut through bubbling ragu- a specialty. A comfort. Reminiscent of his mother’s existence. He held the spoon up to her lips, prying her face away from blue light with a hand stretched over her thigh.

To him, the word ‘lump’ meant discomfort. An anomaly. A flaw. A slab of something undesirable that took up space much to the disdain of others in its proximity. In his eyes she was the furthest away from any of those things he thought possible.

“Here. It’s missing somethin’.” 

He lied.

He knew it was perfect. He just wanted to watch her eat. To pass his mother’s affection to her.

She hesitated, then shook her head.

He frowned, hand moving from thigh to soft jaw. “Open up f’me”, he urged, eyes narrowed.

A warm flush tinted her cheeks and eye contact broke. 

For a fleeting moment, she considered whether or not there there was a deep-rooted fetish involved in his attraction to her. So she asked him if that was the case.

When he realised what she was implying, for the first time, he saw the cracks ran deeper than just a childish nickname. She was so worn down that she truly believed the only way someone could find her attractive was if they reduced her to some sort of Machiavellian fixation.

He realised that the thought had crossed his mind once before. And he hated himself for it.

He’d read about it years ago- it was featured in some dirty contraband magazine whilst he was inside. He found himself reflecting on it again after he’d gotten hard from her licking cake batter off the spoon when he’d visited her apartment for the first time. But he had come to the conclusion the whole kink thing wasn’t him. This wasn’t objectification. Control. Coercion. He’d feel the same regardless of her size. 

It wasn't about the superficial aspects of her appearance or some strange fetishisation of consumption and weight, but rather about nourishing her in every sense of the word. Mind, body, soul.

She’d called herself a lump. This was merely his way of telling her that she was wrong. That she’s just as deserving of food and love and sex as anyone else.

And with that realisation, the fear that had momentarily gripped him slipped away as he swore there was nothing untoward about the way he felt about her.

He understood the depth of his feelings. For once, his words didn’t fail him, and he explained it plainly: he loved her. All of her. He’d found a sense of purpose and belonging he had never known before. He wanted her to feel cherished. Cared for. To make up for everyone who had ever done her wrong, and equally, showing that he was capable of nurturing in a way that he’d not been shown since his childhood. This was therapeutic for him.

Months later, he’d caught her crying in front of the mirror. An outfit not looking the way she wanted it to. And she did it again. Called herself a ‘lump’. This time, he didn’t laugh. She argued back at him when he told her not to call herself shit like that. That she was gorgeous just as she was. She called him a liar. Spat venom. But he kept on repeating it. That she’s beautiful. That she’s everything. Again and again, even as he fucked her against the mirror, kissing away tears and revering in every inch of her beauty that she despised.

She cried again that night. But this time it was because he had finally begun to turn her self perception on its sorry head.

He needs the soft, yes, but here she realised she needs the rough. The persistent reminders and the tough love.

Sam’s insomnia is a blessing now. He listens to her breathe and watches her eyelids twitch, smiling to himself as he wonders what she’s dreaming about, legs tangled, skin on skin. She hugs his arm into her chest as his other traverses over the curves and bumps and dimples she’s trying so hard to fall in love with the same way he has.

He whispers words of adoration, hoping they'll seep into those dreams, mending the cracks in her fragile self-esteem. And more. Kintsugi.

Sam sighs into her skin. Once upon a time the things he whispers to her would’ve been a front. Cheap flattery. Dive bar bait. Generic honey that drips off of the tongue and down into strangers’ ears so they get lured in just long enough for a moment of selfish pleasure.

But now the honey comes from his heart. The pit of his stomach. The deepest recesses of his mind. Genuine and raw. Just for her. 

It’s frightening. One day you’re single and proud of it, swearing never to shackle yourself down with commitment and societal expectations, and the next, you’re ready to lay down your entire life for the sake of helping someone realise their self-worth.

He knows that loving her isn't just about declaring shallow affection— it's about showing her, in every tender touch and lingering gaze, that she is worthy of worship, exactly as she is. And as he holds her close, thumb smoothing over her cheek as she sleeps, he vows to spend a lifetime proving it.

[hmshermitcraft]

Hels has never really seen this "rain" before having grown up in basically a glorified nether...what do you mean there's this liquid called "water" that falls from the sky and it isn't deadly? Preposterous...it has to have some sort of damaging properties, right-? Something he could possibly use against others...some fatal flaw...

EX just thinks it's funny and kinda cute and ends up dragging Hels out into the rain to play and have fun and cause some minor chaos maybe...do they both end up with colds-? Maybe- but it's not EX's fault, he just wanted to show his boyfriend how fun playing in the rain can be! ...plus even if they did end up catching colds, at least now they have an excuse to cuddle...right-?

Hels won't admit it, but he did find this whole "playing in the rain" thing to be rather fun...he is a bit mad EX got him sick though-

He'll just have to study this "rain" and figure out a way to avoid catching a cold next time...will he admit that he'd actually be OK with there being a next time? No, not out loud...but EX'll take him to make sure he has fun regardless...after all, EX may be a badguy, but that doesn't mean he's a bad guy! Even he knows when to loosen up a bit and have fun! And he'll drag Hels along to loosen up and have fun with him if it kills him!

Hels can see the ways rain could be dangerous. There's catching a cold, for one. But also threat it creates, altering the terrain and obstructing vision. Rain could be very deadly indeed, especially to those unfamiliar to it.

And yet... He doesn't think any of those thoughts. Instead he thinks about EX laughing and running around in the mud. He thinks about how excited he was to show Hels it. He thinks about how he wants to experience it again, illness or not, just to see EX that happy.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Human Again

How was it that one simple touch made him feel so different than he has for years?

Ghost was only good at two things, which was killing and getting the job done no matter what. He never touched someone unless it was to hurt them and get them out of the way, his way.

Sometimes he didn’t feel human. He was a machine, the best of the best because he had to be. One slip up and he’d could end up back on the end of torture. If he had to become something that made people afraid with one look to avoid more nightmares, then he’d do it. He’d do anything and that made him horrible, that made him a monster, a glorified killer in the name of keeping people and himself safe.

He wasn’t human, he didn’t feel human. Everyone joked about it, but he didn’t believe there was an ounce of that left in him. He didn’t feel anything half the time, he was numb to the pain he had and the pain he caused. All that was left of him was an angry killer.

Yet one touch, a simple, gentle touch, made him feel alive again.

He didn’t know why you held him with a gentleness that should be reserved for someone softer. He was crass. He was hardened and rough. Someone like him shouldn’t receive that type of treatment, but you didn’t care.

You caressed his masked face with softness. You smiled at him and pulled him into you, letting him feel the warmth from your body. You gently allowed yourself to be stuck to him so you could slowly watch him melt comfortably into you as you got rid of the icy exterior.

He couldn’t understand why you let him hold you back. Why you had him lay his head on your chest so he could hear your steady heartbeat and listen close to your voice. He didn’t believe he deserved to feel you caress his back and shoulders until you did, until he felt your touch lull him into security, into feeling again.

He loved that you made him feel this way. He wished it were possible to stay in your safety forever, he wanted to be in your arms because he could be human again. He was finally the person he wanted to be in your arms, he finally got to receive the love he deserved because of you.

Ghost loved you more than anything.

A/N: Tbh I have no idea what this is just something random hope you guys enjoyed

[bibliophilesince2003]

Virtuous Characters

I'm here with another post about what I want to see in literature, or what I find severely lacking, and that is virtuous characters, specifically virtuous main characters.

Uplifting a morally grey character for doing evil is considered attractive because "morally grey" is defined as neither good or bad. In other words... why attack morally grey characters if they have no concept of good or evil?

A morally grey character may have motivation, and they might not. An author can write up this sort of character without ever having to explain why the character is committing something wrong, because "wrong" and "right" is not clearly defined. That's just how they are, apparently.

Perhaps people avoid defining good and evil because it can be developed into something cliche. We've all seen the movies that clearly portray an evil character as evil because they wish to "take over the world" or sit alone in a dark room, brooding. We've all seen the movies that clearly portray a good character as a young, misunderstood person who simply loves everybody and wants everyone to get along.

Good and evil should be clearly defined. There is no such thing as "morally grey" characters in reality. Morals do not change, and most human beings abide by them. It is the one thing that provides structure and closure, and it is the border between good and evil.

So how are authors to define good and evil without being cliche or predictable?

A convincing evil character will have suffered through life, perhaps. They have motivation, and ambition that takes them too far. They have lost their morality, or a part of it. However, redemption is always possible, and no one is too far gone. Include those moments of vulnerability.

If you need inspiration, think of history. I will use the example of Adolf Hitler. Most people would consider him a very evil person, but why? He was manipulative and gained support. He introduced concentration camps and ignored moral boundaries, perfectly content with inflicting harm on innocent people.

Most importantly, a convincing good character is not "good" because they never make mistakes, or always do the right thing. A good character is refreshing because it represents young people who are, in fact, innocent and/or naïve. They see a brighter hope that we should all strive to see when times are tough. No, a good character doesn't always win. Break them, and introduce reality.

But do not break them completely.

We need wholesome moments, and we should see through the eyes of wholesome characters. What kind of resolve do they have that is so strong, you can feel the confidence radiating off of them as you read?

If you need inspiration, again, think of history. What sort of people stood up against those who committed great evil? Think of people in your life, even, that struggle but hold fast to the truth, which should always be guarded. Think of people who would give up their own life to save others.

Those are the sort of people that should be the focal point of a story, no matter how many mistakes they've made.

I'm sure many people would disagree with me, but there is real damage in books that glorify evil behavior. Evil should be present in all if not most stories, but excusing evil is something that should never be celebrated. What we consume truly affects lives, and any story should be critically evaluated.

[d3sertdream3r]

I’ve noticed a lot of rancid takes about Taliesin’s characters that are annoying me, so I’m going to rant for a minute. 

Tal has perfected the art of creating paradoxical characters, and I think a lot of people end up getting lost and confused in the layers. This is not a “if you don't get it, you’re dumb” type of thing. It’s just that I wish people would truly ponder his characters and why they’re the way they are because they’re not the stereotypical protagonists that North American entertainment focuses on. They’re not strictly kind and generous, intelligent and charming, or hateful and arrogant. They’re all of the above. 

A lot of western media features characters that are fairly cut and dry and easy to understand. There isn’t a ton of complexity happening, and from what I’ve seen, the majority of the people hating on his characters and role-play style are from areas where they aren't used to Tal’s type of character. They’re not used to characters having multiple characteristics that seem to contradict each other all at once (even though that’s how people are in real life). I’m guessing that’s part of why they don't like them, but who knows. 

Caduceus is the least paradoxical of his characters, which is why I think most people say he’s their favorite of Tal’s characters. He is the personification of a fluffy blanket and a warm hug. What’s not to love?? Percy, Molly/Kingsley, and Ashton on the other hand, are all much rougher around the edges. The point of them is to provide the opposite of comfort for the audience; they're meant to make people a little uncomfortable. They hold up a mirror to the audience and force us to look at the parts of humanity that we try to avoid. Not the pure evil of mankind that Matt’s villains often show, but something even more sad and hard to swallow. 

Audiences tend to like characters that deal with trauma through humor and/or charm. People benefit from these types of characters by laughing at them or lusting over them. There’s nothing wrong with this by any means; that’s all part of the fun of fandom! However, characters that deal with their trauma in ways that are more raw and painful tend to be disliked. 

Percy is filled with constant fear that his past will haunt his future. He is convinced that wherever he goes, the darkness will follow and the pain awaits. He has horrible nightmares and lives with incessant paranoia, yet faces the deadliest monsters, demons, gods, etc with nothing but his wit and a gun. He can't stop inventing, not just to glorify himself but to protect everyone. He’s so many things at once, which is what makes him so real and complex and fascinating. 

Molly/Kingsley’s story is about wondering who you truly are and not meeting expectations of those you care about. Imagine that you’re not the only one comparing yourself to someone else; all your friends are too. You’re trying to figure out what defines you while feeling like everyone you know wants you to be someone else. His story is also filled with questions about nihilism and whether or not anything truly matters, including identity. 

Ashton represents the endless loneliness of abandonment and feeling like no matter what you do, those you love will never care about you as much as you care about them. He pushes people away and acts like he doesn’t have a care in the world while simultaneously doing everything he can to grip onto his friends. He is jealous of Laudna for the way she died because it showed how loved she was, and how sick is that? To be jealous of someone’s death? To try and force someone to admit that they haven’t gotten over their issues because you can’t accept that it’s possible to overcome yours? What's wrong with you? If it’s possible for people to do that, why can't you? What’s wrong with you? Why is it so hard for you when it seems so easy for others? What’s wrong with you? They represent not just the physical, but the emotional chronic pain that most people don’t have to think about every day. 

I have so much more to say about these amazing characters, but that would take an entire novel. They emotionally bleed all over the place. While they can still be lighthearted and humorous at times, they’re often really messy in various ways. But that doesn’t stop them from being so loving and wonderful at the same time! 

TL;DR, Taliesin’s characters are incredible and I’m so grateful that he is willing to play them in such a raw and real way for those of us that aren’t always funny or charming enough about our trauma to make society like us. 

[nutterzebutters]

I have a take to share about cookie run kingdom, now that I've gone through the store and essentially analyzed everything that I can and I'd like to remind ppl of something very important (which means this post isn't a thesis about the update as a whole but a specific detail) when it comes to accepting the gravity of the story, and this is directed at "lily is dark enchantress" deniers.

I better not see another person say that Lily is not dark enchantress, to disassociate dark Enchantress from Lily as De does in the story

De does so bc she sees lily as weak and a failure to her own goals, there is a ton of self-loathing. I genuinely don't think that attitude about these two cookies is meant to be performed by us, the players. That is dark enchantress's job, our job is to recognize that dark enchantress may deny it all she wants but it's still an irrefutable truth. They truly are more similar than what meets the eye.

"you can't completely subscribe dark and chantress's actions to Lily" is something I see a lot and now that we have been presented with the evidence that dark enchantress is truly a vile person here and there's absolutely nothing to glorify about her savior speak I feel the need to remind us all that the entire concept of the perfect cookie stemmed from lily, the purpose of seeking power to use it for her goals stemmed from Lily, regardless of who it hurts even after a countless patterns being told that she shouldn't have continued. It does not take a genius to see that a lot of dark enchantress's actions have parallels to Lily's own, and it's perfectly understandable why somebody might label lily as horrible for this bc shes exactly where it started regardless.

There is no evidence that dark Enchantress was just something trapped inside Lily that seeked to get out (as if it was a completely different entity inside her that happened to take the opportunity of baking its own body in the ultimate dough)

There's only ever evidence that dark enchantress is Lily's "darkness" that has gotten out of control, that has been festering for however long and possibly the exact thing that pure vanilla feared way back in the academy. Which can create another reason that pure vanilla blames himself for dark enchantress's creation, because she proves all of his worst fears about Lily's method of actions true- I feel like we as a community need to remember that just because a character we like does something irredeemable doesn't mean we have to deny it. It's still ok to love them AND acknowledge that maybe they're a little whack and should not be encouraged whatsoever.

I'm speaking from the point of view of watching people at the time of the golden cheese Kingdom update switch up on "dark enchantress is lily" the second that they showed something she should be held accountable for. Conveniently forgetting that she did the same exact thing to vanilla's Kingdom prior and only ever reacting to cheeses bc it held more weight in detail. Yes, I agree that white lily is an excellent but accidental representation of what BPD can be, but I am finding that this is often used as an excuse for comfort more than it is acknowledged and actually looked at- it's perfectly okay to want to have a character appeal to a general audience a lot more, but I don't think we should be changing what makes the character the character in the first place - I will assume you never really liked the true character to begin with

On another note, when it comes to Lily's flaws a lot of them really do relate to silence, being complacent or even avoidant on matters that should have taken more priority or care. Being in her own little bubble all the time contributes to this, as it created such a disconnect between her and pure vanilla alone. Dark enchantress on the other hand, way more direct. This is a very key difference and something that should remind us that yes, there are very big differences. Just as there are very big similarities. The idea of building a perfect world was always something lily wanted, her life spent doing so will obviously shape the actions and thought process that dark enchantress has, aka the thought process of the cookie that was literally born from Lily's own dough and soul. This is not to say she's not on the path to redemption, because I do believe there is room for growth, it's only unfortunate that it happens after it's been too late to perform any harm reduction on the initial impact. I would like to believe her arc with silent salt will pave the way for a better Lily, perhaps even a better relationship with pure vanilla (possibly romantically if we get any substance on the two beforehand to build up to it, as her silence/bystander nature in ever responding to pure vanillas efforts to keep her safe is a big issue as well)

I'd like to believe the arc might bring her out of a lot of the self-pity attitude that she currently has, and make her more active in tackling more complex matters within herself. Remember, as evidence stands dark enchantress is a very current version of Lily, while the Lily that we have is a preserved shard reanimated that was saved from the past and now has the opportunity to deviate and make a new, different future than the one currently belonging to dark enchantress (which is another reason I think it's important to accept that DEs actions can be completely subscribed to lily, and at the very least do not deny that Lily is dark enchantress, because then it denies room for any growth on Lily's end)

When it comes to her relationship with someone like pv, It's possible she did not like her persistent and direct companion at first but whatever the case is he did eventually grow on her and that's an undeniable fact. It's also what happens to make the conflict of being dark enchantress so interesting- because she straight up wants to kill him. I have a small theory that dark enchantress could feel Lily's love even through the transformation, and she seeks to kill that. I believe it's also perfectly reasonable to say that for how strong Lily loved the traits for pure vanilla, is exactly how much dark Enchantress hates them as shown in ep 10. Like how she hates his smile the most, and yet Lily is extremely fond of it, his face and his nature.

That's all I just wanted to rant, the update reminded me that a lot of people can be very stubborn when it comes to their faves which is so damn understandable, but it's also extremely important to know that your fave can be problematic, they can be labeled toxic, and that's perfectly ok! Just like it's okay to like a character that can be all those things as long as you have a good understanding on what those things mean for the character. I love her writing, and because of that I have a love-hate relationship with pure lily as a ship, as I can separate her writing from who she is as a person, which is actually abysmal atm. Like she cares, and it's very clear that pure vanilla rubbed off on her and taught her a lot of the kindness she now demonstrates as she mimics him frequently (admiration ofc)

[stars-by-the-pocketfuls]

💫 21/04/24 💫 @jegulus-microfic 💫 prompt: run 💫 word count: 800 words

“Bloody James Potter,”

With a scowl, Regulus launched himself onto a sofa, narrowly avoiding Barty’s outstretched legs.

“He transfigured McGonagall’s table into a lion in what he calls true Gryffindor spirit, and she was in a right mood with our class,”

He shot a glare at Evan’s barely concealed snort.

“It really isn’t funny. I was convinced she was going to turn Lestrange into a teapot if he got the spells wrong one more time, and as funny as that would’ve been, I really wasn’t in the mood. It’s bad enough everyone thinks he’s a bloody god, he really doesn’t need any more ego boosts. I mean, he could run for minister if magic and with just one of his pompous pretty smiles, he’d suddenly be running the country,”

Barty let out a long suffering sigh and handed Dorcas, who was draped over a chair, 10 galleons. Her smug smile was lost on Regulus, who was completely immersed in his rant.

“And there’s a rumour going around that the Ravenclaw Nancy was dared to high five the Giant Squid, but nearly drowned. And guess who comes to the rescue? James bloody Potter. Of course he knows how to swim, is there anything he can’t do? He’s some sort of over glorified knight in shining armour, soon there’ll be posters with his stupid face plastered in people’s dorms. With the way some people say his name you’d think he was a celebrity, and at this rate he’ll become one. Could you imagine if he was famous? I don’t think I could bear it, he’d do that stupid thing where he thinks it’s cool when he pushes his hair back. He couldn’t look more stupid if he tried. Salazar, I can’t wait to say I told you so, when he grows old and has a receding hairline,”

This time Barty opened his mouth, probably to ask why Regulus would still be talking to James when they were older, but Pandora poked him sharply with her shoulder from where she sat on the floor, and he promptly shut up. Passing 20 galleons, Dorcas rolled her eyes, the exasperation flying straight over the intended recipient. The target in question was still going, hands gesturing wildly as if he couldn’t possibly contain all his thoughts about Potter in just his angry words.

“He’s not even stupid like everyone assumes, it takes a lot of difficult magic to turn an inanimate object into a living thing, clearly he’s quite smart. He’s just like Sirius, neither of them are as dumb as they pretend. It was quite a brilliant bit of magic actually, but he never uses it for something worthwhile of course it was stupid show for his Gryffindor pride. We get it, you're proud you were sorted red, but nobody else gives a toss. The other day he was pretend flirting with Lupin, and he was saying how well crimson suits his complexion as if everyone doesn’t already know. It’s just so attention seeking, needing to announce that in the great hall, everyone already puts him on this pedestal, he doesn’t need to announce his radiance to the whole student body. Nobody cares.”

The initial smug smile had slipped off Evan’s face the longer Regulus kept talking, eventually morphing into false ire. He pulled an extra ten galleons out of his pocket and wordlessly handed the whole collection of coins into Pandora’s outstretched palms. Her triumphant laugh broke Regulus out of the James induced trance, finally noticing his other friends somber faces.

“Really Reginald, I bestowed my faith in you,” Barty lamented.

“What?”

“We were all betting on how long your love ballad would go on this time, and I was sure you wouldn’t go over ten minutes. Dorcas bet 20, Evan bet under half an hour, but of course you had to let Pandora win,”

He rolled his eyes, “that was not 30 minutes,”

“No it wasn’t,” Dorcas sighed consulting her wand, “it was 31 minutes and 10 seconds,”

If it wasn’t for the dark flush, it would’ve appeared he hasn’t heard her at all.

“And that wasn’t a love ballad,”

This time he caught the disbelief on everyone’s faces.

“Are you telling me he doesn’t get on your nerves too? I mean I’ve never seen anyone with such an inflated ego, and I’ve been going to pureblood gathering as soon as I could walk, and he struts-“

“Oh Merlin’s sake,” Barty let out a melodramatic groan. “I’m going to be broke by the end of the week. Can we call the bet off?”

[ljf613]

Alright, been a while since I said anything really Problematiqué on here and I'm bored, so I'm going to stick my hand in the hornet's nest and say that this so-called Barbie/Oscars "controversy" is dumb and contrived and incredibly absurd.

For those of you who've been living under a rock for the past couple of days (or just avoid listening to anything about Barbie and/or the Oscars, which is very sensible of you), here's a Twitter post that summed up the situation:

In other words, the very fact that Ryan Gosling was nominated for Best Supporting Actor while Margo Robbie was passed over for Best Leading Actress and Greta Gerwig was passed over for Best Director is Terrible and Misogynistic and entirely the fault of the Patriarchy.

This has got to be the most absurd take I have seen this year. (Granted, "this year" has only been about four weeks, but the point stands.)

Let me explain some things to y'all:

Barbie received EIGHT Oscar nominations. (That is, in fact, a fairly impressive showing for a glorified toy commercial.)

One of those nominations was for America Ferrera as Best Supporting Actress.

Are you guys following? Eight nominations, and apparently none of it matters because the movie didn't happen to get the two specific nominations certain people wanted it to get. And not only that, but y'all want to tear down an actor who was nominated for an award that neither Greta nor Margo was even eligible for. Seriously? Don't you people have lives?

Now, I've heard that Ryan Gosling has come out and basically said that Margo should have gotten the nomination instead of him. (I haven't looked too deeply into this because I just Don't Really Care Enough.) If that's true, it's pathetic and nonsensical.

Ryan didn't take the nomination away from either of them. He was nominated for Best Supporting Actor. It's not like Margo or Greta would have been nominated for that award if not for him, and I am almost certain that nobody on the nomination committee (or whoever decides these things) was sitting there saying, "Well, we gave Ryan Gosling a nomination, and therefore we shouldn't give one to Margo Robbie or Greta Gerwig." (I am so tired of the "someone else has something I don't and that's Not Fair and therefore they must be oppressing me" narrative.)

(As someone who didn't actually watch the movie or follow it all that closely, I can tell you this much: I saw lots of people talking about how hard Ryan Gosling was working to get this part right, and how well he did. I don't remember a single post saying the same thing about Margo Robbie. Maybe, just maybe, he got a nomination because he did an above-and-beyond spectacular job and deserved it-- and she didn't? Just possibly?)

Also, an actress getting passed over for a Best Leading Actress nomination CAN'T be misogynistic. You know why? Because who gets that nomination instead? That's right-- some other woman. And as for Best Director, there is a woman who's been nominated for that award (Justine Triet for "Anatomy of a Fall"), so it's not like they were deliberately trying to make sure no woman got the award-- they just didn't feel that Greta Gerwig made the cut.

And even if you pretend we're living in some imaginary universe where the nomination committee deliberately snubbed Margo and Greta while nominating Ryan for Sexist Reasons, why would they have given a nomination to America Ferrera?

In short, whatever the reasons Margo Robbie didn't get nominated for Best Leading Actress and Greta Gerwig didn't get a Best Director nomination, they do not and cannot include:

The committee hated "Barbie" for unspecified Patriarchy Reasons.

Ryan Gosling stole the nomination away from them.

The committee liked "Barbie" but hated all of the women involved (for Patriarchy Reasons).

[umbran6]

What if... Leo got a Cult?

For those of you who have seen some of my previous posts, this one is based on the What if… Leo Became a God? For those of you who know liked, reblogged, or both, thank you very much. For those of you who may not know, please click on the underline. But for those who just want a quick TLDR about that: Leo burns away his mortality while fighting Gaea, which led to him becoming a god. 

Now, I know I’m jumping into possibly ridiculous territory. Leo just became a god. How the hell does he get a cult so quickly? However, I argue that this is one of the most vital components when considering any headcanon that involves one character becoming a god. Gods need domains, belief, memories to maintain their form in the real world. We see an active example of what happens when gods don’t have this through Pan — his domain had been defiled and belief in him had dwindled to the point he ceased to exist. You can't just have demigods like Percy reach godhood without explaining what's going to keep them around afterwards, so this is my attempt to explain as such.

Hera teaches this to Leo when she informs him of his newfound godhood. To truly become a god beyond the few years after his ascension, he needs to give people reason to believe in him. Hercules had his Twelve Labors which are still told to this day. Dionysus had his cult which actively praised him as the God of Wine, and his memory is associated with the twelve Olympians. More minor gods such as Triptolemus lean on a divine patron for their domains, becoming their lieutenants to help make up for a lack of belief. 

Leo needs something to latch him into the real world, because once his friends die and people start forgetting about him if he doesn’t do anything about it, he will cease to exist unless he decides to piggyback off Hephaestus or Hera. Yeah, that course of action is not going to fly - Leo still has a grudge against Hephaestus for ‘going out to get milk’ for nearly all his life, and while Hera is starting to make up for the Nanny-From-Hell Incidents, he still doesn’t trust her. 

Leo understands that but does not know how to achieve it. Nor does he know if he wants to achieve it. Aside from his own feat of destroying Gaea, he doesn’t see why someone would want to worship him. He hasn’t given anyone reason to. So, he decides to avoid doing so - if he was to be glorified, it would only be through ways he thought were right. Little did he forget a good portion of genre-savviness - A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.

Instead, he focuses on the benefits of becoming a minor god. Not the supreme power, but more on the practical benefits. Practical, as in, Leo has everything he needs to live. He easily erases records of his past from the public eye, allowing him to be among mortals without any issue, though he does slightly gaslight his mortal family by popping up in front of them when they least expect it, slowly driving them to insanity. He doesn’t have to worry about money because he can easily conjure it. Our boy got himself the upgrade and glow-up in ways that he could never imagine and doesn’t have to experience the hardship he went through in the streets anymore.

To put it bluntly, Leo knows the negatives of immortality, that everyone he loves will die eventually. But now he can, ironically enough, live. Being able to pop into a country with a snap of his fingers, be free of searching for food every day, having the time to study whatever he pleases and indulge when he never could. All of those are miracles he never takes for granted. Leo loves being a god because there are just so many benefits and so little loss to him on a personal level in the short term.

So, he travels the world, enjoying what he could never appreciate in his voyage in the Argo II, bringing his mom with him for the ride while Calypso adjusts to the modern world. They backpack or rest in luxury, but Leo is not blind as he travels the world — regardless of his newfound godhood, he still sees the poor, the hungry, the sick. The people they used to be before he was aware of his status as a demigod, and before he gave his mom a second chance at life. 

So, Leo helps. Out of empathy, he conjures food and builds shelters for those in need. He teaches what he can and offers resources that help people learn when he can’t teach while he quickly studies the subjects necessary to make their lives better. When violence breaks out, he is the first one to intervene, bringing order to bloody chaos. and crushing threats with the snap of his fingers. Normally the Mist hides the divine, but the world has become more open-minded as fantasy and the supernatural become more entrenched in popular culture. Mortals don’t recognize what he is, but they can understand that there was something more powerful hiding behind the face of a young boy. Children who are more open to the concept of the supernatural know his true nature.

The mortal world formally recognizes him when the media sees Leo put down a war between gangs with steel, fire, and blood, sparing the civilians caught in the crossfire and clutching the leaders by their neck in front of the press. Articles spring up and the rumors and videos lurking in the internet are given legitimacy by the public. They don’t know how to name Leo at first - and they initially draw on pop culture as a reference. Some call him The Boy on Fire, others more familiar with his philanthropy dub him The Architect. In the end, they settle for one title: The Ashborn, for his arrival was heralded by the ashes of those burnt by his flames.  Debates regarding what exactly Leo is are furious - some claim he’s a spirit, others claim he is the reincarnation of whichever spiritual figure they pray to. Some think he’s a devil, but even they can’t deny the good he does. The people he saved praise the god hidden among humans, and the Cult of Ash is formed, though Leo keeps a strict eye so that it does not cause harm, physical or mental, to anyone.

Inspired by his travels when he comes back home while keeping a laser focus on his growing cult, Leo builds. A lot. He makes the first demigod cellphones and starts distributing them around the world to demigods in need, allowing them to communicate with both their mortal and supernatural loved ones, though he partners with Iris so that it has more support among the gods. When he comes across the Waystation, he is inspired to create similar locations around the world so demigods can have temporary shelter. He builds smaller versions of the Argo II so that demigods can travel between camps with ease. He becomes practically a one-man industrial revolution for the demigods, and that resonates through most of the world. 

The demigods don’t know how to react to this. They’ve never had a god actively be interested in improving their lives before, much less so directly. To them, the gods have always been distant - important, of course, but not omnipresent and certainly never aiding them unless it was quid pro quo. But Leo is there. He’s talking to them, handing his inventions without charge. He’s helping, and they don’t know what to do because some of them feel they can do more than just say thank you. 

The demigods, in their confusion, go back to the ancient ways of their predecessors when treating the gods to show respect and praise. Sometimes it’s a simple ‘Thanks Leo’ when a demigod uses their phone to call their mortal friends and family. Sometimes it is food burnt in his honor. Some decide to take a more modern approach and make things in his image. Yes, that means the demigods make Leo merch, including a Mythomagic card and figurine that makes Nico choke on air.

But what stands out are the prayers. Demigods start praying to him for safety, for his intelligence and strength when facing the challenges they face in life. When an attempt to transport three demigods to Camp Half-Blood goes horribly wrong, the satyr prays to Leo for protection. Leo appears and slays the horde in a single motion while he guides the demigods to Camp. The demigods he saves sing his praises while getting a more positive outlook of the gods, for now they know there is someone among the divine that advocates for them. 

Much like the mortals, the demigods give him his own epithets, but they recognize the truth about his ascension. Those who focus on his work in improving the lives of the demigods call him Léon o Efevrétis - Leo the Inventor. For those who focus on the true power he wields, they call him as thus: Apocalypsis Leo. Leo of the Apocalypse, for he was the one that struck down the world when it dared to rise against the gods. 

Leo can sense these prayers. He doesn’t know how to react to them because he’s never had people… believe in him. He’s used to hiding his powers, hiding who he is. Now people are idolizing him (literally - someone’s already made an idol figurine of him, and it makes him look too hot than he really should be) for who he really is. It feels good, but he doesn’t know how to react towards them. He doesn’t know if he is doing the right thing by allowing them to worship him, or that he should encourage them to focus elsewhere. 

So, with a bit of advice from Hera, Leo turns towards the closest god to experience what he went through, Mr. D. Only he would be the one to understand the dilemma that Leo is going through, at least in passing for he himself was also idolized. Leo, with a bit of time, confides in him - mainly because he knows he can’t exactly go about spilling everything to the Olympian. But with time, he does bring up the problem - by allowing people to venerate him, was he doing the right thing? 

Mr. D. can’t answer that. Because Leo’s cult is still growing in numbers, and the results of their actions were yet to be seen. But he does give a nugget of wisdom. That how he treats his followers defines him as a god, but if he cares about the independence of his followers, or how they act, then he should lead by example. Do not encourage them to glorify him but guide them. Whether he was worth being treated as a deity, and if that was the right thing, was a decision the mortals would make among themselves. Thus, outside of Hera and Apollo, Leo makes his first friend among the gods. With this, Dionysus also begins his path as the Camp’s official psychiatric counselor. 

The Olympians' (and the other Pantheons) reactions are mixed. Zeus of course thinks that it should be put down, seeing it as possible threat against the gods. Those more reluctant to accept Leo think that if his cult keeps growing, Leo may gun for a throne among the council. His friends among the divine (his demigod friends are a mixed bag, but I'll get back to that later) see it as Leo getting the reverence he deserves as a god, the same reverence they went through during the times of Ancient Greece, Macedon, and Rome. Some just think the cult will devolve over time. The other Pantheons keep a close eye on both him and his cult, seeing him as a new and powerful player on the international stage of the gods.

However, Leo’s mortal friends are a mixed bag of responses. Reasonable, of course - they’re witnesses, and in some cases, unwitting conspirators to Leo’s ascension. They see their friend unknowingly shaping the world around him through his travels, the news articles and shrines being created in his name, and the legend that grows. And of course, each one has a different take on the cult that grows.

Annabeth is not worried about it. She is somewhat wary of the pace Leo is bringing innovation, for demigods never had to deal with modernization in the ways most mortals dream of. Oh, she loves all the new phones and the fact that she doesn’t have to constantly rely on more impractical methods for communicating with her friends. But she wants Leo to allow other inventors to grow, and for the cult not to persecute those who want to create and stand on their own two feet. 

 Percy sees Leo as his ‘what if’ — what could’ve happened if he chose godhood. He sees all the inventions that Leo makes and how he is making life so much easier for everyone, and he can’t help but compare himself to him, wondering if he could do more. Whenever some of Leo’s worshipers see their subject of worship, they radiate gratitude. He doesn’t know what to make of the cult, but he feels a bit envious when he sees the smiles on everyone’s faces whenever Leo shows up. 

Frank, Hazel, and Reyna, while trying to be friends with him, don’t know how to handle the cult. The cult is gaining influence in New Rome, and its slowly starting to show as more statuettes of Leo appear and more prayers are sung. It speaks volumes of the cult’s growth when New Rome's Senate officially pardons Leo about the Eidolon incident without any prompting. The best they can do is that Leo keeps his cult in check, which he is more than happy to do so. 

Unfortunately, and ironically enough, its Jason and Piper that cannot accept, or at least overcome the cult, but for two separate reasons. Regardless, it has a very devastating effect on their relationship because these two reasons are heavily linked to them as characters. 

For Jason, Leo has unknowingly made his job as Pontifex Maximus extremely more difficult. Leo has indirectly set a higher standard for the minor gods - minor gods aren’t just allowed to exist anymore. They should have influence on their lives, or they should somehow benefit the demigods. Gods such as Tyche/Fortuna and Nemesis still have their own domains that are seen day-to-day, but the more minor gods are heavily criticized for their inaction, with Jason bearing the brunt of said criticism. It’s a slap on the face for Jason when he has spent weeks trying to get a single minor god’s temple approved by the Senate and now must beg and grovel for funding, while the only reason Leo’s worshippers haven’t built him a temple is because they want the guy’s approval of it. 

Leo, although doing his best to maintain neutrality, knows the truth behind Jason’s oath — that he had done it to save his and Percy’s skin when they were at Kymopoleia’s mercy. When the minor gods try to blame Leo for the lack of the oath’s success, he argues in his own defense - the people chose to worship him out of their own free will and Jason was still doing his best to uphold the bargain. But when they ask Kymopoleia about the deal, they get a lot more context and see Jason as unwilling and selfish, seeing his lack of success as more him trying to find a loophole in the oath he swore. 

Jason doesn’t see the bigger picture. All he sees is that everyone is more than happy to sing Leo’s praises for being the hottest god on the block, while everyone is hating him for making sure that the minor gods get their moment in the sun. This slowly starts to build more resentment as the monopoly-board with all the minor gods' shrines seems to be just a dream. In an ironic twist, Jason is now resentful about Leo being the golden boy in the eyes of everyone while he’s the one being overlooked, which was the exact opposite situation when Leo was a demigod. 

Piper, in the meantime, is more resentful of Leo as a whole. Mainly because she sees Leo growing more famous, and more people are asking her about trying to speak with Leo rather than her. She’s reminded of a similar situation with her and her father - that she was seen more as a link to him rather than as a person overall. 

Furthermore, much like Jason, she is also feeling overshadowed. When people speak of their quests, they don't give her the respect that she deserves. They don't discuss Piper giving Festus sentience to fight Khione, because nobody else on the Argo II can’t really accept it —Piper’s charmspeak never showed such a degree of power before. Her role in defeating Gaea? She claims that she ‘put Gaea to sleep’ with her charmspeak, but the thing about an auditory power is that… you can’t exactly hear it from several stories high up, and Jason’s supporting claim is looked upon with suspicion because he is her boyfriend, of course he’ll speak on her behalf. Only Leo can testify otherwise, but outside of that she is given the ‘Princess Peach treatment’ (and no, not like the new Mario Movie), with most of her role being downplayed. 

It doesn’t help that her cognition of Leo is very much against the view his followers have of him. She and Jason always viewed Leo as… more of a jester than the inventor he always was. Good for jokes and getting along with, not exactly one she could see as engineering a plot to kill a goddess. She treats the cult’s viewpoint of Leo as a joke. In the meantime, the cult views him as the leader of innovation, the one who killed Gaea and brought an age of information to the demigods. This ends up in her getting involved in several arguments which leads to a nearly borderline fight with Leo’s followers. Either way, she’s convinced the cult needs to be shut down and Leo is ridiculous for allowing it to flourish. 

 It’s tragic, because they were the ones that cared the most about Leo, and they cannot accept the ways everything close to him changed. They, who should’ve accepted him unconditionally, are the least tolerant of him changing. They cannot accept the new status quo and want a return to normality that can never come back. 

When they confront Leo, it's not pretty. They never really argued, for Leo always held his tongue whenever he was frustrated, always willing to talk less and smile more when he wanted to lash out. It always was like that, him shutting up when he wanted to make a comment that would sting. Not anymore. 

Leo doesn’t have a good reason to shut down the cult, and neither does he want to. They haven't hurt anybody in his name, nor has he encouraged them to do so (and he’s been keeping a tight grip on that). He would advocate for Jason and Piper, but shutting down his entire group of worshipers just because his friends didn’t like them? Especially from Jason, who was supposed to honor all the gods, Leo himself now in that category? No.  

What occurs is an between friends that have completely different views of the future. Leo recognizes that there’s no returning back to ‘the good old days’ — in his point of view, there weren’t any. Jason and Piper believe they’ve lost their friend to his newfound godhood… but they never had him in the first place. They had the façade, the mask of jokes he put in front of the world, so they didn’t have to see his true reaction. Now that people seem to be appreciating him for his abilities, for what he has done and how he treats everybody, he finally decides to take it off and verbally starts swinging. It’s the first and last time they fight before we get into the Trials of Apollo. 

This cult doesn’t initially have any impact… until Trials of Apollo. And Leo’s presence, though subtle, is practically everywhere throughout most of the book. Rather than Apollo landing in a dumpster, Leo tweaks things slightly so that he ends up landing at a close mattress. When Apollo gets to the Jackson residence, there’s a small shrine Sally put up - not out of worship for Leo, but out of respect for what work he has done to protect demigods. Apollo stumbles upon a newspaper rambling about the Ash Cult.

Here’s the thing where things get ridiculously funny for those in the know. Apollo doesn’t remember that past six months, and therefore thinks Leo is dead. He unknowingly mutters a prayer to Leo, thinking Sally’s shrine is to honor his memory and not the god. When he gets to Camp Half-Blood, he’s shocked to see demigods using phones and thanking Leo. He sees the smaller versions of the Argo II, which just transported a bunch of demigods from Camp Jupiter.  He sees a temple with a statue of Leo which Apollo mistakes for a monument. The Triumvirate’s attempt to silence demigod communications through Harpocrates is shattered because Leo is several times stronger than the fading god with his vibrant worship in a world where the gods’ power remains in the memories they laid upon the human consciousness. 

Most interactions whenever Leo is name-dropped can be summarized as such: 

Apollo: I’m sorry for your loss. He was the greatest hero I’ve ever known.

The Campers: Eh, its ok. We’re sure he’s going to show up soon. 

It comes to a head when we get to the part of where Apollo is being forced to open the gates to the Grove of Dodona. During his attempts at stopping himself, he does his best to resist the command. He starts praying for somebody to stop him, because there was no way in Tartarus he would willingly cooperate with Nero. He prays to his sister, to his father no matter how much Apollo may hate him. He hopes that anybody will appear - Will and Nico, preferably with backup of a hundred demigods and Percy Jackson. He latches into a small hope the prayers the campers utter. He hopes that Leo shows up soon. 

It seems nothing happens. The gates still open. In the distance, Apollo sees the Colossus Neronis lumber towards Camp, showing up several minutes ahead of schedule. Nero still tosses that lighter and ignites the Greek fire, which spreads towards the hostages at the stake. And for the sake of drama, I’m going to switch it to Apollo’s first-person point of view.

For a second, everything’s falling apart. Nero starts to lug his guard like an oversized potato sack. The fire is starting to roar in its toxic green, burning through everything that it can touch with its bare hands. There’s no stopping it - unless magic’s used, Greek Fire will burn through everything it can consume. If I already felt enraged when Nero tossed the cigarette lighter to the ground, my heart is now sinking as I look into the distance, feeling the ground tremble at my feet. 

The Colossus Neronis. How did forget about it? The statue’s already marching forward, the hundred-foot-tall masterpiece hitting the magic barriers of Camp Half-Blood with a blade the size of a ship rudder. Though my legs are getting me to Austin, I don't know how the heck we were going to beat this thing and put out the fire in time. 

Then… I see something. For a second I think I'm going mad due to the smoke, but then my eyes focus, getting a picture that was crystal clear for just a few precious seconds. A figure soars across the sky, glowing gold that is tinged with red as it carves through the blue sky. It collides with the Colossus, and the statue staggers back at the sheer amount of force for a few seconds. 

I heard of Deus Ex Machina. I appreciated it, derided it, criticized it, and loved the trope when it occurred on mortal media. I loved being one when I really wanted a chance to shine. But I was never on the other side, witnessing it in action until now. I can’t help but freeze in awe as the figure stopped the enemy with a single motion. 

The Colossus stares at the figure for a few seconds, but that was all the figure needed. They unsheathe a sword which glows with the same aura that enshrouds its wielder and slices towards the machine. The blast it unleashed was thin, yet shined with the intensity of a laser, and the figure sheathes the blade.

Then the Colossus is split straight down the middle as soon as I blink, one half superheated to the point it was a mirror of the horizon before both sides fell towards the distant hill. A threat that would’ve stomped Camp Half-Blood is defeated in just a few seconds. Numbly I could hear someone shouting in frustration, but who it was, I didn’t pay attention. 

The figure turns, and it takes me a second to realize - somehow, they were facing me. Then in a second they fly where I’m at with the speed of a fighter jet, landing next to the flames. The figure’s still covered by that blinding light, but the shadow of their palm is visible, and it sucked in the Greek fire like a vacuum until there was nothing left. 

Loud clapping resonated across the grove, and it takes me a moment to register who its coming from - Nero. Nero’s clapping at the figure with a rare expression on his face - one of respect. 

“So, the rumors are true. A new Ascendant has reached the ranks of Olympus.” 

“And I heard rumors that the supposed dead are walking. Guess it’s time to confirm that they’re going to stay rumors.”

I don’t have a chance to react at the implications, and neither does Nero. The figure grasps the emperor by the collar and tosses him to the air in one smooth swing of their arm, too fast for Nero to defend himself. The figure unsheathes their sword once again and this time the motion is too fast for me to keep track of. When its done, only the blessing of immortality prevents a pink and red puree of organs and blood from spilling out out when the figure kicks Nero in the chest as a final coup de grace. Instead, Nero is shattered into a pile of golden blood and dust.

Meg screams. The hostages start to wake at the sound, shaking off their varying degrees of unconsciousness at the peal of the alarm. Austin’s the first to register his surroundings, and there’s a smile on my son’s face. “I knew you’d come. You’re always looking out for us.” 

Part of me wants to take the win. But I know Austin’s eyes aren’t focused on me. No, they’re focused on the figure, whose aura is slowly dimming with each passing second. Reverence. Respect. Worship. Emotions seen so rarely in demigods these days are plain to see in my son’s gaze. 

“Thank your father. His prayer wouldn’t have allowed me to pinpoint your location.” The figure’s aura vanishes completely, and suddenly everything makes sense in the most horribly right way. 

Austin did something that was akin to a chuckle. "But you are. Your temple wouldn't have been raised at Camp if you weren't."

My mind was still looking at him. Curly hair that was black like ashes. Light brown skin that sometimes reminded me of copper. A smile that radiated mischief in a way that would rival Hermes. All of those are staring right back at me, and now part of me wants to slap myself for being an utter idiot.

My mind flashes to Sally Jackson’s shrine, the picture and statuette surrounded by food. Then it moves towards the monument at Camp Half-Blood. The gratitude people showed whenever they made a call with the cellphone they used. Nico giving a weird look at the deck of Mythomagic cards that featured Leo. Harley’s confidence when I expressed my condolences at losing his half sibling. “It’s okay. He’ll be here soon.”

Leo never died. Or at least, he didn't die in the traditional sense of the word. Because the person in front of me isn't the same nervous boy who traded an impromptu masterpiece of an instrument for the Curse of Delos. He also very much isn't the demigod who slayed Gaea.

Leo Valdez is a god. The third Ascendant of Olympus. The thought passes through my brain like one of my father’s lightning bolts. My legs turn to jelly, and I barely see Leo catching me with a look of worry on his face before everything turns black. 

[altocat]

If Sephiroth had been enrolled in a normal public school instead of (assumedly) being privately tutored, what might have changed for him? Would he have been an outcast in school or might he have actually made some friends?

Honestly, and just knowing how public school mentality can be, Sephiroth would probably not be the glorified idolized popular person he is as an adult. With his strange appearance, unnatural strength, sheltered upbringing, and obvious insecurities, he'd definitely be an outcast.

Initially, he is bullied directly, with kids poking fun at his spooky eyes and making fun of him carrying around a picture of his mother. But when Sephiroth inevitably lashes out and ends up (unintentionally) hurting someone, they just avoid him altogether. With the exception of team sporting events in which Sephiroth's physical strength and skill comes in handy, he is ignored altogether, both by students and by teachers (who find him creepy and unnerving). Sephiroth spends most of his time hiding in the library, lost in his own head, making up imaginary stories and friends in order to cope with the incredible loneliness. It's better than the labs. But it's a different kind of torture--not physical, but emotional. He knows he is different. And weird. And not like all the others. He knows he could be good for something if he were to be given the chance. But alas, everyone wants to stay as far away from him as possible.

As Sephiroth gets older and blooms into a handsome young man, a few students begin to change their tune in hopes of flirting with him and catching his eye romantically. But anyone who gets too close is immediately turned off by his strange behaviors and naivete about the world, along with his natural ability to cause destruction wherever he goes. And by then, Sephiroth is so bitter and burnt out from people that he readily asks Hojo to go into combat. At least he's good at something there. It's the only thing he knows how to do. As a full adult, Sephiroth remains contemptuous and distrustful of people, wholly interested in self-preservation and having very little interest or compassion for them. He shuts people out without a second thought, actively looking for ways to avoid encounters his bitterness always leading him into imagining the worst possible scenario. He remains very much in his own head, without friends, angry at the world, and solely reliant on Hojo for company.

[featherlouise]

So what happens after Hollow attacks their father? How do their parents deal with it? How are they treated afterwards?

Also, is the whole vessel plan discarded? What does PK do about Radiance? Also, how would other people who were involved or knew about the plan (like the dreamers or five great knights) react to this turn of events?

Sorry for all the questions djdbfn I love your AU 🥺👉👈

Pls don't apologize for asking questions !!!

I love gushing about my characters/ AUs lmao

Okok so I'm gonna try my best to answer all ur qs

(also u are under no obligation to read all of this, it turned out a lot longer than I expected :D)

1. Basically, after the attack (I'm assuming u mean after Hollow stabs themself but if not I'd be happy to talk about the actual confrontation lol) there's a lot of panic regarding whether Hollow's going to survive or not, so there's not really any time to properly process the whole "holy fuck the thing I thought was a bastardisation of the corpse of my child is actually just my child," so it's only after Hollow's been stabilised that I can imagine PK and WL sitting down and coming to terms with it.

The infection REALLY does a number on u, both mind and body, so Hollow's basically just snoozing in some sort of (dreamless) healing coma while their parents have a breakdown at their bedside. I imagine PK and WL's relationship to have been pretty strained since the vessel plan was enacted, like they still love each other but they can't really seem to agree on anything anymore.

Ditching the vessel plan is the first thing they've wholly agreed on in 17 years.

2. So! Immediately after they wake up, I think there'd be a lot of overcompensation on WL's part. She was never a mother to Hollow and she feels IMMENSELY guilty about that fact, so she'd probably start trying to be super motherly to them, giving them food, being affectionate, trying to start conversations, etc, which freaks Hollow tf out bc it's a COMPLETE 180 to how she interacted with them before. Before the reveal, she was super detached, kind of like she is towards Ghost in the game, mostly in an attempt to remove herself from the entire situation?? Like if she doesn't acknowledge them she can't get lost in her grief?? Cuz I imagine she genuinely believed that the void had sucked out her child's soul and was piloting around their corpse (or something of the like) and then there's the GUILT of the whole situation, KNOWING that you had a part to play in the death of so many of your children, that you were complicit to something so cruel?? I don't think she'd be able to truly face it, so she basically just let herself ignore them. And the most she ever really saw of them was when they were sent to guard her gardens and Hornet dragged them from their post.

So. Now she's seizing the opportunity to finally get to know her child, but she's also not really taking their feelings into account on top of ignoring the very real trauma that Hollow has from being treated like a glorified roomba their entire life. Her main coping strategy seems to be to just. Ignore her problems lmao (she like me fr fr)

3. SO. Pk. Whooo boy.

At this point, I don't think he'd realise that Hollow was never hollow, bc then he'd have to face the possibility that none of the vessels were hollow, and if that's the case, how many of his children has he killed?? He knows a fair few of the vessels were stillborn, but how many hatched and died at the bottom of the abyss, cold and alone and scared??

(Yes the vessels hatched, yes this is a gijinka au where most people are born like humans. Higher beings are weird and also non human, moving on)

So PK at this point believes that at some point while growing up, Hollow had an idea instilled and,, gained consciousness?? Ig?? And he likely blames himself bc of course he does.

With PK there's a lot of guilt there, which I think would mostly lead to complete avoidance, bc "surely my child doesn't want to see me after how I've treated them, I'd better give them space,"

Meanwhile Hollow is wondering whether their fears truly have come true and their father does hate them for not being pure.

Just. A lot of miscommunication.

When they finally talk it out, there WILL be tears.

4. The Dreamers!!

With Herrah, I think she'd be a pretty big support for Hollow during their recovery. I don't think Herrah was ever truly convinced that Hollow was pure?? Like she witnessed a lot of small moments between them and her daughter while they thought nobody was looking, along with subtle mannerisms that just. Wouldn't be there if they were pure.

Like, Hornet once roped them into playing hide and seek with her, and as smart as her baby is, the Pure Vessel, were they completely hollow, would only be able to act when given orders, and there's no way a 5 year old managed to give complex enough orders for them to be able to follow. She probably just yelled at them to play with her and they did lmao (bc they can't say no to their bby sister duh)

Herrah was also on the outside, so there was no reason for her to go into denial or detach herself the way Hollow's parents did, so she'd be much more likely to notice them shifting on their feet, their ear flicking when they tune into a nearby conversation, the way they'd lean into any and all contact with other people, how reluctant they are to let Hornet down when she no longer wants to be carried by them, etc etc.

Herrah may be titled the Beast, but she's not stupid. However, at this point, she's seen them spar with the Knights, she knows that they would be able to escape unnoticed if they wanted to, they're definitely skilled enough. So that means that if they end up being sealed inside the temple, it's their decision, and she respects them for that.

She also notices how reverently they treat their little sister, so if nothing else, they can bond over their mutual adoration of her.

Herrah's a pretty abrasive woman, loud and unapologetic, so I figure she'd be a nice change to the coddling of their mother, and Herrah ends up promising them a place in deepnest if they ever feel the need to escape the palace.

Herrah's the only dreamer I've really thought about?? And since she was there when the incident happened, she's very present for pretty much the entirety of Hollow's recovery. The other 2 don't really come into it till later, so for now let's just say they're all probably pretty relieved that they don't have to sacrifice themselves anymore lmao.

5. The 5 Great Knights!!

I don't have anything super specific about these guys yet? But I imagine they'd be friendly to Hollow. Hollow looks up to them all quite a lot and they were probably the closest things they had to friends growing up?? But honestly not much really changed there except they start trying to bring them into conversations, and they're always willing to spar if Hollow ever wants to.

6. Finally, RADIANCE!!

So I imagine that after Hollow has stabilised, PK will immediately start trying to distract himself by basically preparing for war. If it wasn't personal before, it definitely is now. The Radiance discovered his child's sentience before anyone else and what's the first thing she does?? Turn them into a weapon to be used against him (slightly hypocritical of u there my guy)

There's probably a lot of feelingsy bullshit that everyone (ESPECIALLY the royal family) needs to work thru before any action can really be made against Radi, so for the most part she's just simmering in the background. Her who was probably bruised when Hollow managed to wrestle control away from her so she's probably licking her wounds in the dream realm, but after a few months, infection rates start to REALLY spike again, because she is PISSED.

I could make PK and Radi duke it out but I kinda wanna lean into Hollow’s empathy?? Like they’re hyper empathetic and I feel like after having Radi in their head for a while they’d come to understand her anger?? Like they still want her gone but they understand that she has every reason to be pissed at PK, at least from her pov. (I’ll get into Hollow’s feelings regarding Radi in a later post bc this is getting ridiculously long now lmao)

So maybe eventually they can come to an agreement with Radi?? I’m not sure on the details but I don’t think I wanna just kill her off.

WOW this was really long, sry if it’s super rambly I’m basically just word vomiting into my notes app lol

And if you’ve read this far, ty!! Glad u love my blorbos as much as I do （ ＾ν＾）