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

[applepixls]

please join me in imagining:

a sitcom starring the 4 Gs with their creaking neighbour as a frequent visitor and everyone else as side characters we see a lot. and they have super powers.

just imagine, cleo is a necromancer who on the daily has to deal with her sassy zombies and hide them to avoid dealing with the issues of them being undead (fitting 2 extra people in their already cramped flat, taxes, insurance,,, grown up things.) scott is supposed to be super powered but all he does is turn into random barn yard animals impulse can teleport but its not its all cracked up to be (once he sneezed and got accused of robbing a bank) pearl just has a tendency to do dolphin elytra hopping in the living room cause she never has enough room in their cramped flat. ft. their silly neighbour bigb (appears about as much as the landlord in one day at a time if you're familiar.) shows up for family breakfasts and dinners, helps fix things and brings his silly little creaky guys as enrichment for scott when he wants to be something other than a chicken

their neighbours include: 3 college aged guys (who mostly put up with each other and start gradually liking each other better as the show goes on.) who live in the flat below them, one sleeps at any time of day and tends to slow time down to be funny, one runs really fast and freezes water he steps on and the third bounces high with glorified farts and owns a really fancy meat tenderizer. (and is cousins with their other neighbours including a violent ginger girl, a guy obsessed with fast and furious and a guy who seems to be stuck as a 1910s carnival barker-) their 3 upstairs neighbours who more or less keep to themselves and have pet birds, one of them has been asking the landlord if they can build a rooftop rollercoaster (in lieu of a garden) and can.. sit on stuff.. and punches really hard and you ouch if you punch him, another one celebrates every day he lives and is able to go invisible. the third struggles to keep the other two alive and is able to blind others in a vicinity and briefly vanish making her effectively an enhanced cuttlefish. (she is married to their downstairs neighbour and therefore spends as much time as possible in their flat instead of her own. wise choice) then there's the 2 neighbours who are really into roleplay? one of them is nosy and peeps through peep holes cause he can hear everything he sees, the other one borrows peoples identities (no harm done tho mostly just to raid his neighbours fridges without getting yelled at by their roommates) the snooper accidentally trash compactors himself trying to escape the carnival barker and the identity thief is now looking to move in with someone- finally, the main 4's mortal enemies, a guy with a fancy car who can jump on air and a girl who frequently has out of body experiences in which she can talk to the dead. they've recently adopted a silly guy with a waffle who does all of the above but only one at a time on a 6 hour or so time frame. he recently lost his roommates (both in trash compactor incidents, tragic really. one got too close and got eaten the other was leaning out the window trying to see where it was and fell out. self defenestration. rumour has it it was actually one of his buddies but that guy's innocent until proven guilty. these two are ironically now cleo's goons) and couldn't pay the rent himself so he's had to move in with the torettos

i would watch it

[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.

[kandlewick]

Your janitor au is amazing. There’s the perfect amount of angst. How long do you think the janitor would stay working in NRC until they stop believing in Crowley and just leave?

Do you think they can get a citizenship anywhere despite having no records? (Highest chance is Briar Valley if the janitor asks Malleus to pull some strings.)

In order to leave, what they need most is money, basic knowledge about this world, and an identity, I think.

thank you sooo much!!! im so glad youre enjoying it!!!

i think the janitor would stay in NRC as long as possible because of those reasons. they have no identification, no citizenship, little money, and a lack of understanding of how this world functions. as much as they think theyre a rough and tough survivor, i also think their biggest weakness is an unwillingness to try new things. what theyve been doing works so theyll stick with it until it no longer does and when their luck eventually runs out, they will probably panic and have to start over from the beginning all over again.

a BIG issue with them 'post graduate' is if the janitor and co are able to either beat or avoid malleus' overblotting entirely. i believe it is possible to avoid it or at least lessen the severity of it because the janitor starts off pretty close to the diasomnia quad in comparison to the original yuu who stuck close to the other first years. while sebek is a difficult nut to crack for the janitor, malleus, lilia and silver are much easier to befriend and get close to.

malleus is an easy win. he was the janitor's first friend (other then grim) in twisted wonderland, so theyre both pretty close and have get togethers once a week.

lilia grew close to janitor fast because they will actually eat his food and hand him an empty tuperware container back for more. theyre also a bit wiser (and potentially, per the reader's judgement, older then yuu) so theyre probably able to vibe with lilia better then yuu could.

silver and janitor got pretty friendly when they had to help him in between classes due to his spelldrive injury due to ruggie's meddling.

and i think with how adamant the janitor would want to go home, the topic of leaving and loss would be an actual conversation and argument that would happen earlier on between malleus and the janitor and less something that gets bottled up until an overblot occurs. idk though! id never want to downplay lilia's role in malleus' overblot because its incredibly precious and sweet and ugh i love found family but i think it would help malleus out better if he wasn't like. bombarded with things that triggered his fear of abandonment during the same week lmao!!

i uh went on a tangent. but. depending on how close they get, i could see the janitor either leaving to the scalding sands with kalim, becoming a glorified cheka sitter with leona, or staying in briar valley with malleus. can you tell i have ships in my head? lol

[bonebeautyart]

Saint Just is definitely the Satan of politics.

But let me explain what I mean. Satan, of course, comes from the term "adversary" in ancient Hebrew, where it is first mentioned in the Torah. This term has been associated with negativity, or with villainy or inhumanity. But at the same time, it is something that attracts and terrifies us, so we think we are wrong, or we try to avoid it, because it is beyond human understanding, At the same time, the figure of Satan is a constant questioning of order, and a driver of human curiosity about what it fears, for the judgments that imprison the mind.

Well, Saint Just has a similar case. For two hundred years, a diabolical image has been constructed of him, a legend in which he is the archangel of death, ruthless, otherworldly, and therefore beyond human interpretation. This, curiously, makes a very profound noise in our hearts, historians constantly avoid crossing it: that's why he is mythologized. Thus, the new generation of readers, philosophers, writers, and historians are taught to admire him and fear him so that a Saint Just will never again set foot on earth. This evasion is repeated throughout the centuries, and every repeated action becomes a habit, whether it be a virtue or a vice. This, without a doubt, is the vice of history. Many historical figures are easy to digest; Napoleon is admired for the grandeur of his figure and his character on the battlefield, a glory that is constantly repeated (we can already see it from Alexander the Great, Khan, Mehmed II, Caesar, or Napoleon himself). This type of grandeur is tactile to human thought because of the cult of personality. They all have a standard to follow: great, brave, glorified, and with a need to leave a historical mark. There’s no more type of greatness than that, but suddenly appear Saint Just. A greatness that has no face, seeks no personal glory, no historical record, but a structural greatness. Saint Just does not build to impose his will, but to destroy inconsistent systems and thereby possibly build one of the most rigorous political architectures ever seen.

Then, this shadow he leaves raises questions about whether all the proposed systems are realistic enough to work. Create a model that, for the mental health of historians, they prefer to call utopian or unreal; however, when you want to specify what this is due to and you move away from all the ideologies that are imbued in our consciousness, you can denote one thing: the total congruence of his system. There is no room for error; it can be systematized under mathematical models. It is a rigid structure not because of dogma (it wouldn't be so if it were, if it were due to dogmatism, it would be easily collapsible) but because it is integral, where a typical hierarchy of representation is not proposed, but rather this representation is the cohesion of the entire political system: a living being. This not only intimidates, frightens, and terrifies, because if it were just an unprovable delusion, it would become unnecessary to reinterpret it over the years, but history does not absorb it, it remains there, latent. That's why many philosophers tend to distance themselves from his figure, but at the same time they observe him and wonder: is he right and is this possible? A dangerous question for conventional moral systems. It is precisely one of the reasons why Nietzsche writes this poem, he does not despise it, he admires something sublime, an architecture that imbues Saint Just not with personal or typical glory, but with a deeper, structural and at the same time eerie one. This makes him a Satan of politics.

This is a brief, somewhat rhetorical interpretation of his image, certainly intimidating for one reason: what if he was right? That would break with many moral and political frameworks that exist today, something that is unthinkable for the political order.

[crownpastelyellow]

Starkissed AU Pt. 1

Pairing: Tango/Jimmy

Summary: Tango is just trying to fix his tin can of a spaceship when he meets a charming young man.

Length: 2.5k

Read it on Ao3

---

Overview for the whole AU

Thanks to my buddy @chlmngo for beta reading this <3

Fic is sfw and under the cut!

Year XX96 - 4th Month

Tango really didn't like stopping on any of the planets or stations nearby, especially since he wasn't out of food or gas for another while. But he also knows better than to tempt fate when he hears something in the hull of his ship rattle while he's out in the vast nowhere that is space, hours and hours away from the nearest sign of life.

So, reluctantly, he makes his way to some place that looks like it hosts quite a friendly crowd.

The feeling of discomfort and being out of place hasn't quite left Tango in the past months and he doesn't really know if it ever will. But so far he has learned that sticking to the shady sides of the universe is going to make avoiding the lawmen, who are surely aware of him, a lot easier. And as long as he keeps his head down, he can avoid enough other unfriendly interactions.

Now, Tango is on his back, half crawled into a latch at the bottom of the hull, using the flame of his tail as a makeshift lantern. First to figure out what was wrong, and then, hopefully, find a way to fix this without having to break the bank on new parts. If he can even find anything suitable on this planet. There is a large market a bit of a walk away and at least Joel instructed him specifically how to spot a seller selling faulty parts. So just maybe, Tango could be in luck. 

It takes him longer than he'd hoped to locate the issue and an even longer time to figure out what was actually wrong and how it happened.

On top of all of that, it doesn't help that this planet is closer to the nearest sun than Tango is comfortable with and on top of being annoyed and covered in grease, he's also sweating and taking less breaks than necessary, trying to push through to get away from here again as soon as possible.

But the metal of the ship was heating up in the midday sun and, despite his affinity for heat, Tango needs to get out of there. Take a break, eat something, maybe even grab some spare parts already while he waits for the sun to go down, and the ship to cool off. He leans against the metal facing away from the sun, cool against his back, catching his breath, when he notices someone close by, clearly staring at him.

He fears for the worst as he glances up, because who even comes out to the far corner of this glorified parking lot, but relaxes when he sees a young man in surprisingly fancy clothing for this part of the universe. Doesn’t look like a cop or someone who’s looking for trouble. Tango relaxes, and rests his eyes slightly, just trying to cool off a bit, while eyeing the stranger. The guy is human, quite young looking and his clothes look more pristine than most other stuff on this planet.

"Not buying anything," he just rasps throat dry from working under the heat for hours. This just earns him a head tilt from the man, before a bottle of water is tossed at Tango.

"Saw that you've been working at it for quite a while. Your ship's broken?" The man asks. 

Tango is about to give the bottle back and tell him to leave him alone, not worth taking any risks for, but it's been a while since someone smiled at Tango like this. So he takes a sip, using the time to think of a reply that doesn't give too much away.

When he finally responds, all he manages is a quick, "Something like that." And when that feels too curt, Tango adds, "Wouldn't be out here otherwise, would I?"

And to his surprise the man laughs, eyes shut and his face undeniably handsome. Tango has to shake his head. The kid is probably not even past his mid 20s.

Banishing every thought about this he watches as the young man sits down, still smiling brightly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“If this is how you wanna spend your time, make yourself at home”, Tango shrugs with a laugh before scooting over, making some space in the shade of his spaceship.

“I'm Jimmy, by the way.” Again, big brown eyes stare at him and Tango forgets every fake identity he came up with over the last few weeks and just blurts out “Tango.” 

There are a million Tangos out there, right? Right… At least he had enough sense to not  give out his last name so freely too. But there is no spark of recognition of his name in Jimmy’s eyes so that is at least something.

“Well then, Jimmy, do you already know anything about these types of ships?”, he asks, trying to fill the silence and stir away from anything involving his identity. One look towards Jimmy gives him the answer he had already expected. 

Tango spends a while explaining the parts, what's broken, the general layout of the noodles – and he has to admit it feels good to finally be talking to people again. Especially about this. Mechanics he knows inside out because he helped invent some of this. In his head he can already see the way Jimmy would laugh and stare at him in disbelief, if he ever revealed that.

Instead, Tango smiles to himself, satisfied by watching Jimmy nod along, occasionally pointing at cables and parts asking, “And what's that?” while looking at Tango with his pretty eyes. Jimmy knows exactly what he is doing and Tango isn’t really sure he minds.

Sitting back he smiles at Jimmy, who now also has a grease stain on his otherwise perfect blue shirt, but the young man seems entirely unbothered by it. 

“You didn’t really get anything about this,” Tango gestures to the mess of cables and mechanisms in front of them. “Did you?” which only makes Jimmy laugh brighter. It is charmingly infectious and Tango catches himself chuckling. 

“Would you explain it again if I said I didn't?” Jimmy sticks his tongue out the slightest bit and Tango needs to look away, hoping his sigh masks the fondness that is quickly building. He's really been alone too long, huh? 

It takes Tango a lot longer to finish than it normally would have but this was nicer than any of the other times he needed to land to refuel or repair in the last seven months he’s been on the run.

Seven months of barely any contact with a living person, except for the occasional short call with Etho when he wasn't distracted by Joel, and now this? It's nearly too much. But only nearly. Which is why he doesn’t want this to end, him and Jimmy sitting on the floor in the shade his shuttle barely provides. 

A gentle back and forth of Jimmy talking about how he ended up here, and his friend that he's looking for. In return, Tango carefully evades talking too much about himself, but Jimmy makes it easy.

“I was traveling with another friend, just kinda seeing where it takes me. Been to nearly every planet this part of the solar system so far,” Jimmy explains. “But he had other plans so we split a while ago. Been hopping about alone for a few weeks now.” And if Tango didn’t know any better, he’d think Jimmy might actually consider him as more than just a means to an end.

Tango also doesn't miss how Jimmy has gotten closer during their conversation, arm brushing against his shoulder, fingers brushing against Tango's hand that's resting on the floor.It's obvious what Jimmy is doing but why can't Tango just pretend and ignore the weird feeling in his gut. 

With a sigh, he looks up at Jimmy, who of course has to be stupidly tall on top of very handsome, and plays right into what the blonde wants. Because maybe Tango can also have something nice, just for a little bit. “You wanna catch a ride to the next place on your list once I’ve got it all fixed up?”

Of course Jimmy eagerly nods.

“You wanna grab something to eat before we grab the parts I need? My treat.” Tango offers. He can spend his more than limited funds on something fun for once. 

“I'm not sure if there's anything fancy around here but-”, before he can finish, Jimmy interrupts. “Yes! I've been to this one place, not too far.” he's already up on his feet, holding a hand out to Tango.

The way he is smiling down at him, the firm grip and the ways his muscles work as he pulls Tango up  just affirms that this was a good idea.

Jimmy tugs him along and Tango dutifully pays for their food, a steaming bowl of something that has Jimmy singing high praise and doesn’t taste half bad. Especially not with company.

As they eat and Jimmy tells him more about this pink haired friend of his, Tango looks over various vendors' stalls and thankfully finds a part that should fit well enough. Normally he might attempt to steal it - or at least take some screws and other tiny bits he needs to replace often enough. But with Jimmy here, he can’t, not while he enjoys not feeling like a hunted criminal for one day.

So instead he pays for it, only grinding his sharp teeth slightly when the credits leave his digital wallet. 

While replacing the part, Tango is surprised by how willing Jimmy is to help, even if it only consists of him handing Tango wrenches and whatever else asked. And he has to admit, Jimmy is pleasant company.

Grease stained and happy to be finally done, after having to use his tail flame as a light inside the hull of the ship with the sun now entirely gone, Tango opens the door to the ship and finds himself hesitating. This tin can is barely enough for him, and from all that Jimmy told him, he’s clearly more used to the high life and not a ratty pull out couch and instant ramen. “It’s… a little rustic,” Tango delivers it with a chuckle, even if it is the understatement of the century.

Jimmy steps in after him, looking around the one whole room the ship has, cockpit, bedroom and living, all in one. 

“I know it’s a bit cramped so if-” Tango begins but Jimmy shakes his head, already guessing what he wants to say and instead declares, “I like it.” He lets himself fall onto the couch, a spring creaking. “It’s rustic.”

“Rustic? One way to say it.” But Tango can’t help the smile. “Here you see almost everything. Bed, fridge, bit of storage built into the walls. Bathroom is through there,” If one could even call the cabin with the only door that, “And the cockpit.”

Jimmy nods, following Tango’s description with his head, as if it wasn’t all within two steps reach.

“You, uh, can just sit back a bit. I’ll get us into orbit and then we can see where I can take you?” Tango’s proposal is met with Jimmy immediately making himself comfortable on the couch while Tango straps into the pilot's seat and he can practically feel Jimmy’s eyes on him, making him feel warmer than he already is but he resists the urge to look over his shoulder.

Only once they are stable and away from the gravitational pull of the planet does he take a deep breath and swivel the chair around. “So, where’s your next stop? I, uh, normally don’t land this thing unless I need to refuel.” A glance to the controls in front of him, “So for about a week or so? But I can drop you off somewhere.” Tango winces a little at how pragmatic his words sound even to himself. He doesn’t want to get rid of Jimmy, quite the opposite actually. 

“Hm, I’m not really in a hurry. And just wherever fits you best.” Jimmy is so carefree. Earlier he talked about this woman he was looking for and now he has all the time in the world.

“So you’re always up here? Not going anywhere?” The question pulls Tango out of his thoughts.

He could lie but instead settles for a vague truth, “Just kind of… getting by.”

Brown eyes study him before nodding, casually leaning back. “Right, right.”

“I used to work in engineering,” Tango offers after a moment of silence, unsure what to say. There’s millions of engineers out there, this is fine. “I made engines, designed some ancient ones all the way back on earth.” 

At the mention of Earth, Jimmy practically perks up. “You’ve been to earth?” He doesn’t even try to mask his excitement.

“Uh, yeah. I was born there. Shocker, I know with me being…” He trails off and gestures at himself; the flaming hair, his tail, the long ears.

“But yeah, I grew up there. You’ve ever been?” Tango asks, regretting it when Jimmy’s smile falters for a second. 

“No. Always wanted to but the laws changed long before I was born,” he admits, looking genuinely sad about it.

The tiny stab in Tango’s chest could be sympathy, but it’s more likely that it stems from the fact that Tango remembers when the laws changed, first prohibiting anyone who wasn’t from earth from landing, then banning even Earth’s own citizens from returning just about a year before Tango graduated from college. 

When Jimmy wasn’t even born yet.

With a cough, Tango tries to mask the brief lack of air, before threading onto safer ground and not thinking about how young the man sitting on his bed actually is. “So you’re just interested? It has a lot of good history, but trust me, you’re not missing out. Anything you can find on earth, you can also find out here. Most of the time even better. It’s really rather boring down there.” Tango gently kicks Jimmy’s foot, causing the young man to smile.

“But I want to go to the cinema. The ones with the cars.” Tango laughs at that.

“Those haven’t been a thing for like at least a hundred years. A buddy of mine tried finding one and the whole country didn’t have a single one. And besides, there are actually planets that do have those.”

He could’ve predicted Jimmy’s reply but hearing it still causes Tango’s flames to heat up, his tail coiling around his own ankle. “Then take me.” Jimmy’s expression is right between proud and goofy. “You did ask where I want to go.”

There are a million reasons why Tango shouldn’t agree to this. He is a terrorist, currently on the run from the whole galaxy. And here he finds himself agreeing to a date.

Racking his brain he thinks where to actually find one of these places but he’ll get Jimmy there. “Might take a bit longer than a week but yeah. I’ll take you.”

[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 :)

[rebrum-raven]

I love the idea that in the grand scheme of things humans are more like the cockroaches of the universe like no matter how hot or cold or utterly unforgiving a place is for life if there is the slightest possibility that life can survive in a place you will still find humans like imagine

Quib's log #46(today markes the fourth week of galactic cycle that I have been stranded I'm space with nothing pushing me forward but my auxiliary boosters and even they have started to give out. Though luckily for me this ship was packed for a much longer trip so I have ample food stocks,but unfortunately for me the power is barely hanging on and is just able to sustain life support so I will be forced to land on the closest planet "able" to support life. I say that but it isn't much more than a glorified blob of water with out a stable anything. The temperatures range from anywhere between cold enough to easly prevent water form boiling in direct heat to hot enough boil me in my shell with out the help of tools.)

Quib's log#47(due to me not having the proper gear to survive in the colder climate I have decided to land on a island separate from the majority of the land to avoid any predators that may exist and that stays almost permanently hot. I have yet to step foot outside of my ship as I still do not know of the air is breathable due to its high levels of co2 and the fact that some how LIFE EXISTS ON THIS PLANET and the fact the one life forming scanned held enough toxins to kill an entire warships crew at once and it DID NOT HAVE LEGS so I have made the decision to stay inside for the time being until I get a reading of the air and that abomination leaves)

Quib's log#48(WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK)

Quib's log#49(my sincerest apologies about the last log. I HAD THOUGHT that this ship was air tight but during the landing a hole was put in the lining into the vents witch means 2 things the air is Not deadly and horrible things could get in, so yesterday as I opened the console to record my log Something skitterd across my window ON THE INSIDE it was tiny but moved so much faster that anything it's size should with its 8 legs and after scanning it as well it turns out IT WAS MORE TOXIC THAN THAT LONG THING so I ran and hid in the air tight food storage where I now- wait what was that *incomprehensible screeching*)

Quib's log 50(i did not expect that twice In a row I would end a memo yelling but the last time I heard something more terrifying than the little thing being in the ship. There was a calm knocking on my ship door. At first I thought I was going insane with the isolation but then I listened closer and heard something quiet it was some sort of vocalization so I used the ships outside cameras to look and saw 2 weird fleshey things they were about a head shorter than me and had these things on them that seemed to take the place of what they lacked in terms of hair scales or shells but what scared me most about them was the fact they weren't running to hide form all the other monsters out there. After a while of poking about the left but I fear they will come back)

Quibs log #51(it appears my fears were true about those things have returned but I think my fears were some what unfounded as when I had my computer scan them it appears that there is nothing quite so terrifying about them besides there above average endurance and there use of primitive tools like cloth to substitute armor but so far they seem to be much less threatening than anything else I've seen so far)

Quibs log #52( I was wrong! I was so so so wrong!! After the fleshey things left I thought I was safe but they once again came back but they came again turns out that the ones who came last time were just the young of that species and they had returned with their parental unit and they proved my previous assumption about there technology wrong as they pulled up in a motorized vehicle and after they got out they used a interment that used PLASMA to cut to enter my ship luckily due to the airlock doors I had time to hide my self in the vents to escape but now they left full access to the out side meaning all the other horrifying things can now get in)

Quibs log #53(I managed to put together what broke my ship. It turns out on further investigation that this planet is basically screaming into the void with all the raido signals being sent out and those managed to interfere with my wireless signals to my thrusters preventing them to fire but this is a good thing for 2 reasons as I was able to decode those signals to create a rudimentary translator and found out thoes fleshy things are caled Humans and if I find a way to block toes signals I can get off this world)

Quibs log #54(thoes humans came back and I managed to try to communicate with them but as it turns out they have multiple languages and I had tried to talk to them in a mix luckily I know this as it still properly translated what they said and luckily for me it appears that other things have visited this planet before as they were unsurprised by my existence)

[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.

[chobbemoe-art]

Okay so about what you said, is your proposed solution to fixing the fandom situation to contribute to it more with healthy content instead of boycotting the fandom?

Which would make it morally correct and needed to contribute to it as much as you want and can?

I didn't know the fandom was being boycotted but if it is, it shows rn lmao. I feel that we as a fandom need to do something about the problems plaguing it and the material running rampant rather than abandoning it, we need to do various measures, some range from easily doable to more complex, but for what I know there are a lot to tackle, which have been affecting fandom culture for decades.

These I think are the main ones

1. Problematic materials

2. Harassment

3. Low media literacy and young audiences

4. Inattentive or enabling creators

5. Algorithm-rotted behaviors

☆Mind you these problems have been around in all types of fandoms before, and while I think compared to how those problems looked in other big fandoms that came before it we have evolved a lot, mouthwashing has become the prime example as to how a fandom can ruin a piece of media and its message. I don't fully blame the creators, since it's clear it's their first time handling such a big following, but I do think they have become complicit in some of the detrimental activities that occur even in their own server.☆

I will try giving out some solutions, but my main outlook is the following, problematic creators and fans will always exist, whether we like it or not, the only way to avoid them poisoning the content they interact with is by being more resilient than them.

1. Problematic materials:

I think it's important to state that handling and talking about taboo subjects shouldn't be problematic in itself, Mouthwashing is special because the game addressed hard topics like rape, misogyny, toxic relationships, violence, cannibalism and more, with its owed respect. Letting fans try to tackle those themes in their fan creations with respect is important because it opens dialogue and an exchange of perspectives.

It's possible people accidently glorify or mishandle subjects like that, and that shouldn't be a reason to allow harassment to run rampant, understanding that people have different visions that may go against your preconceived notions is important, and the first thing should be an open respectful dialogue with the creator if they did mishandle the subject. However, and I want to make this really clear, once that discourse is had and the person is still maliciously depicting those subjects with disrespect, then actions should be taken and the benefit of doubt given prior should be revoked.

What actions? This is when we have to be smart, harassing them will only give problematic creators an alley to make themselves the victim, which allows them to usually garner sympathy and get away with what they have done. Simple, we I.B.R depending on the degree of their actions in the platforms that allow it:

Ignore: usually reserved to minor behaviour but that you personally may find distasteful, for example to me the ship Daisuke×Swansea makes me gag, that's why I ignore creators that show it, because even if I don't like it, I do more by ignoring it when it appears and creating my own content than by spending the same time harassing the people that do create that.

For content that isn't explicitly problematic but it isn't clean either.

Block: this is for creators you don't want to see at all, people think blocking is extreme but genuinely, the peace of mind it grants is impressive. I usually use it for people that uwufy Jimmy, because although it isn't explicitly harmful to like Jimmy as a character, his fans tend to erase and even glorify his actions, and I find that really distasteful, so avoiding interaction is best. If enough people block problematic creators, their engagement drop and less people see them, it's a silent but app compliant way to ensure you don't accidentally participate in the spread of that content.

For purposeful mishandling heavy subjects and characters, glorifying terrible actions.

Report: it should encompass everything before it, and it should be used when real criminal behavior is being shown. If enough people do it when necessary, I bet a lit of the noncon material that sadly is available in this fandom, would dwindle.

For explicit noncon, abusive shipping (Anya and Jimmy) (Jimmy and Curly) (Just Jimmy with any of his victims).

2. Harassment

*Shudders remembering Voltron fandom* We have evolved, there aren't as many cases of big doxxing and harassment as old fandoms sadly had, but it doesn't mean it hasn't happened (Looks at the Joestatic situations).

Some people that are conscious of the game having septic tank levels of horrible in the fanbase, seem to try to overcompensate with overcorrective measures to the slightest misdemeanor (like with ocshipping for example), having that well deserved panic misdirected towards things that are frankly not that important, and usually shifting the attention away from truly problematic behaviour. (I have seen more people having backlash about Curlya [which isn't great yeah I know] than when some freak does ship art of Jimmy and Anya)

Again, we need to remember that being in the fandom should also mean having fun, and people being stressed to post their ocs kissing idk Daisuke in case they get backlash is detrimental to the health of the fandom. We need more people to be cringe, to create and learn from their mistakes if need be, because if we overpolice every aspect of the fandom, that just creates a sterile wasteland were nothing creative comes out because people fear harassment.

I will once more refer to the I.B rules, since curating your own fandom is crucial to make the experience your own, the important factor is allowing people that may be weird but not problematic to create, to nerd out and coexist. Always using dialogue first if need be, and respect first and foremost.

3. Low media literacy and young audiences

Here is where we might be in a pickle, fanbases have and always will have people of all ages interacting with the material, even if unintentionally. From MLP acquiring a big adult fandom to FNAF getting a lot of young children in the fandom (me included), if people like it, they will interact with it, even more if it becomes famous.

What does take me aback is that Mouthwashing, being a mature and even explicit game with mature subjects, has such a low bar of age interaction in the server (13+) I know minors won't stop interacting with mw content, but that doesn't mean we should ease access to them either.

I always believed that fandoms should have some divisions, because sometimes having it all so mix takes away from the experience and quality of discourse. I think creating adult only spaces that aren't NSFW is important, so talking about the subjects tackled, showing fanart and more without overcensoring for minor audiences is possible. I find it tiring that in a server for a game talking about sexual assault and violence I have to tiptoe about the same subjects because the unintended audience is there.

If Wrong organ doesn't want to keep all the minors out (even if I think it would be best), at least making it 16+ would be nice, nobody younger than that has any business seeing gore and other graphic topics.

Some division ideas:

- Mixed chatroom (all ages, just like it is now I guess)

- 16 and up chatroom (it can handle harsher topics but nothing explicit)

-Adult only chatroom (SFW) (all the topics can be handled without the need to oversee if it's adequate for minor audiences)

And because freaks will always exist, I know it you know it, we know it. (I'm not better, I love me a shirtless Swansea from time to time)

-Adult only chatroom (NSFW) **highly regulated plss I beg**

Now with the media literacy, part of it being low is kids not knowing what that is and running around like headless chickens with the first misinterpreting action they see instead of analysing the content. I think book recommendations, video analysis and genuine dialogue is the cure (God knows that helped me understand Curly’s character grayness so much better than on my first viewing of the game). Not much else can be done in that department.

4. Inattentive or enabling creators

Wrong organ, ily so much but please, yall are letting so much worrying content pass in the showoff chat that sometimes I don't even want to bother enter it. I know the devs and mods cannot control every fan, but at least a verbal denounce of proship (as in problematic) content would be nice. Or trying to hold accountable problematic creators that run around your server, at least enough as to not spit on the games message that enabling is just as bad as letting things rot in the name of the bigger picture.

Also I hope I don't need to clarify this but please don't harass the devs, let's be normal guys, this is constructive criticism not a brawl.

So yeah, let's start holding people accountable to their responsibilities just like the cautionary tale of the Tulpar warned us about!

5. Algorithm-rotted behaviours

Last but not least, imma curse out short form content based algorithms for making fandom lifespan shorten severely. Material that in times prior to tiktok could feed a fanbase for years now rot in a few months, and that is genuinely infuriating.

Creators cannot take time to curate long projects anymore in fear that leaving the algorithm alone for some time to do so will leave them out of the hype train, and I can't blame them, but that creation model is truly exhausting. Expecting people to create polished masterpieces everyday isn't only detrimental to the big creators but the the lil guys starting out too, since if from day 1 you don't post 500 post a week the algorithm can leave you talking to the void, and that as an artist sucks balls.

Let's go back to having patience for projects to come out, let's be fans of fans and their fan projects, if it takes time we fanart and theorise and talk until that voice dub does come, until that writer does post and until that singer does sing. Because being fans of fans feeds us past the original works and makes the bonds of the fandom stronger.

Give that smaller artist a like, redraw a silly post, engage in the comments of that post, we need to make the most of the social media outlet and make it last longer than a couple months.

☆In conclusion, let's create more, talk more, learn more (and block more), to make the fandom grow healthy☆

[steampunk-christians]

trigger warnings: rape, sexual abuse.

something quite unusual I do when trying to talk to Father is invite Him into my daydreams. basically, I create scenarios in my mind where He’s included, and I let Him narrate and act like a loving Father towards me. it’s a battlefield: if i’m not getting distracted mid-daydream, i’m dealing with intrusive thoughts or sudden flashes from all the porn i used to watch. this used to upset me a lot, but now I don’t really care that much. a part of me says: “Father, this is my mess. You don’t have to enter it if You don’t want to, but I won’t pretend I can control it. My heart means well.”

i have a lot of stories connected to these daydreams, but one of the most surprising happened yesterday at around 1 AM. Out of nowhere, I felt Him narrating a scene with this high-energy, almost fierce tone: “I will not stop reminding you how much you need Me—how much you must rely on Me. I am your God, which means I will respect your free will. But I am also your Father, and if I have to corner you into taking the right decision, I will—because you’ve spent too much time trying to do everything the hard way.” Obviously, every single daydream with Him brings up the same question:

Was that really Him, or did I just make it up?

at 5 AM, i woke up with a very intense cramp-like pain in my anus. I’ve had pain in that area for a week, so I wasn’t shocked at first—but this time it kept building until I started to feel really, really afraid. and yet, His words kept looping in my mind: “I will corner you into taking the right decisions if I have to.”

the truth: i was supposed to make an appointment with a sexual trauma therapist to consider the possibility that i might have been raped during my childhood, and kept procrastinating it. and it’s not that I was avoiding it… but I was. so I got up, i made the call, i went back to bed, and the pain left me a few minutes later.

i don’t want to be cliché. i hate how so many articles always seem to end with a polished one-liner about trusting His timing or glorifying Him, but this is the truth that keeps the tectonic plates of my soul from breaking: He’s not just my God. He’s my Father.

[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)

[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.

[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.

[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?”