#because he'd be acting strange because of the hunger

[ultimatemissadhd]

Sondam Week: Day 1 - Funhouse

@sondamweek

[powerpuffobsession]

Am I the only one who feels that Hazbin Hotel's overall vibe is far too naive and upbeat for an adult cartoon about hell and redemption of sinners?

I feel like before writing this cartoon, Vivzie and the other writers should have made a trip to unfortunate areas of the world and watch how the lifestyle there rolls. Because hell is said to be a place of misery, where there is no trust and a lot of hate, both internal and external... Adam is an object of pure unfiltered hartred (both from writers and fandom) because he dares to live in heaven, such a safe and friendly-natured place...

And yet the sinners who happen to be main characters act more like school kids on a field trip (even more carefree than those, lol) - their selfish and sinful motives are so artificial and are brought up only when these characters need to look like a victim, not like criminals who somehow deserved a place in hell

Obviously, it's a manipulative trope to put them in a better light than Heaven and Adam (who is forever silenced by the writers and not allowed to voice any thoughts and reflections other than "hurr durr murder I luuuv murdering and being evil because that's what I was since I was born, even though Lilith and Eve, born literally the same way as me, were innocent victims from the get go, and no logical explanation for that will be provided whatsoever - men bad, women good")

In the light of all that, the sinners are too eager to trust each other and form "da epic powar of friendship" mlp-sonic-style

In a society built on terror, anarchy and survival instincts, no one would ever bother wasting vital power on noticing someone's problems and helping them out. Everyone is focused on their own problems and desires, and that's what drives them to act. Well, the exception may be family members, and even that varies

That's why Husk's intent to comfort Angel after the later attacks him over nothing at the bar, looks really fake, considering the setting. At first I thought that "loser baby" where Husk insults Angel, was some sort of revenge and Husk laughing in the spider's face. But no, it actually turned out to be a comforting song that started their friendship. Husk literally had no motivation to want to help Angel, because he was annoyed by him all the time prior. If there was some kind of basis for their bonding, I would have believed it. But not like this.

And Angel had no reason to actually like that sort of comfort. I get it when your best friend or a family member cheers you up in a harsh way - you know them. And even when coming from people you trust that can hurt. Now imagine a complete stranger doing that to you. That's actually something that shouldn't be done - trying to playfully insult or jester a person you haven't communicated with for a long enough time to gain their trust. And to make this even more strange, Angel at first reacts negatively, but then suddenly snaps to liking that disrespectful way of comforting for no reason at all.

And why did Angel even vent his problems to Husk, a stranger bartender who he'd hurt before. Wasn't he actually afraid of being laughed at and of Husk using his trauma to spread gossip around or something?

Next, Sir Pentious. In the pilot (which is officially part of canon, mind you), he already felt like a joke sunday cartoon villain, but at least he had some edge to him that made him look like a sinner with some dark history. In the series however, he gets nerfed the very moment he steps into the hotel to the point where it's painful to look at

His tendency to abuse his henchmen, his physopathic demeanor, his hartred for Cherri (instead of embarrassing attempts to get blue balled by her), his sincere power hunger - where did all that go? Vanished in a blink of an eye. All that's left of a promising snake demon is a pile of fanservice. So morally unchallenging and harmless that a viewer theoretically simply cannot resist loving him

Well i'm kind disappointed. We don't even know in what way Sir Pentious had to improve, because the plot never focused on his past, his life goals, whatever made him want to lead turf wars and whatever awful things he did in life, what was the point where he started degrading... none of that. He just became a better person after one "sorry song" and acted perfectly innocent ever since and didnt put any effort into getting ready to sacrifice himself for other main characters

The sacrifice... to me it's baffling how fast the sinners, over the course of just 6 months, actually became Charlie's family figures and risked their lives for her hotel. Such pure child-cartoon-styled power of friendship, built in hell, with the aid of a princess who cant even think through her project of helping sinners without bringing them more trouble... realistically, Charlie would have had to fight angels alone (how convenient it is that no main characters died in that chaotic brawl, right?)

And Charlie herself is far too naiive and soft-natured for someone who is free to walk along the streets of hell looking at all the muder, rape and othe horrible stuff that's happening there. Given that she's 200, Charlie had more than enough time to built up her street smarts and guts and learn to be more practical and mindful, instead of staying with the mind of a 12 year old who needs other characters to do everything for her (Lucifer, Vaggie, Alastor) and then get praised for THEIR efforts. That's hell's royalty and our main character?

Aaand since sinners are portrayed as Charlie's "people" (as if they are a nationality), sweet babies who all deserve redemption and are called innocent by Emily (I can't believe how dumb the writers made angels be) - the true essence of exterminatons is never focused on. Adam and his exterminator army are seen in the wrong, like some kind of monsters who terrorize poor souls. However, think about this - child molesters, rapists, torturers, bullies, nazists, actual racists etc died in those exterminations. Doesnt that seem like something a lot of us would want? To have scum like this disappear as revenge for people they have hurt/driven to suicide?

Exterminations are not really an act of racism, bigotry or something like that. They are an excecution of criminals, which a lot of sinners are.

But the black and white writing is trying to conceal that rather prominent highlight of the rotten part of Charlie's plan (not all sinners deserve mercy or redemption). All that was needed was to make exterminators these icky "villains" who luuuv killing and are never willing to listen

All in all, a cartoon that has an ambitious premise that should be driven by psychological reasearch/analysis and dark serious themes... makes me roll my eyes with its cliche use of "power of friendship" and " strictly good main characters, strictly bad villains" tropes. Too bad such beautiful animation was wasted on such juvenile writing that never had any effort put into it

There shouldn't even be any villains or heroes in a setting like this. Allow the lead roles (sinners in hell) do something actually questionable and be unlikable, don't coddle the viewer in fear of making them even the slightest bit uncomfortable. Allow those, who opposes sinmers, have personalities and reasons, not cliche sociopathy for sociopathy's sake to cause forced sympathy for the main characters

Pristine "safe" writing should not have a place in adult cartoons. Or else they will stay a product that'd rather be watched by 7-14 year olds instead of adults (I can't picture a single adult over 22 who would unironically call hazbin hotel a show that tackles realistic issues in an observant way)

[dunmeshistash]

About what Laios's curse is—I saw a theory about how Laios still actually is his monstersona, but he doesn't look like it or feel like it. Basically, he has his ideal body but is incapable of perceiving that he does, so he never feels fulfilled in that aspect.

Supporting evidence:

One: monsters stay away from Laios; this could be because they can perceive his "true form". The way the monsters act (like the cockatrice in the Kensuke omake) act afraid, but aren't magically repelled like a "curse so that Laios can never come close to a monster" would imply.

Two: the poop thing lol

Three: Laios's insatiable hunger. I always wondered why in the ending when he finishes a giant plate/bowl of food, his stomach didn't burst or anything. If he'd just had the demon's desire of always being hungry (pretty much), then wouldn't it be that he doesn't FEEL hungry, but his body still feels the consequences of it? Maybe he's actually his giant chimera form, so he actually has the stomach of his monstersona, and he never feels full as a result.

Counter points:

It could be that Laios's mana is "tainted/marked" and the monsters can perceive that and stay away for the most part. Though how it's "tainted/marked" and how the monsters can perceive it from far away is still a question. With the Laios is still a chimera theory, it makes a little more sense because its size would be perceivable from afar, but also it's unclear in what way his chimera form would still exist or be perceivable. Is it like on the same plane of existence ghosts are on, so monsters can essentially see a giant chimera at all times? Maybe with the cokatrice in the Kensuke omake, it was in a dungeon so maybe it thought it was hiding sufficiently?

The poop thing doesn't seem to result in Melini just having random forests everywhere, unless they have a plumbing system which I don't think they do?

Laios gets fatter. He likely doesn't eat enough to get a giant monster chimera fat, so it's strange that he gets fatter at all. Maybe it's some top tier illusion magic but idk?

Anyway, I thought it was an interesting theory!

Well he's physically wearing his cast off skin after he turned human again so idk about that.

The pooping thing officially stopped having an effect after a while

It is an interesting theory tho. I still think the curse is that monsters avoid him, the unicorns and wargs were there during the feast but not on the post Melini rising bits right? Perhaps they weren't affected right away cause they had already been exposed to Laios idk.

But post king Laios basically cries he can't see real monsters, I doubt he would be so upset if he could still see some monsters. In the end the effect is the same tho, regardless of the reason why.

Also about the Wargs, here's the monster definition from the bible's glossary

I think they still count as monsters.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 37: Alexander's Housekeeper

Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: Captivity, mind control, mentions of abuse and murder

Just as Oliver had feared on his first night, it was far too easy to get used to living in a vampire's manor.

He'd spent the past few nights utterly engrossed in the books Alexander had picked out for him, primers on the supernatural world and its history. Oliver had always had a fascination for material like this, for horror stories and medieval descriptions of witchcraft and pictures of fairies at the bottoms of gardens, but he'd logically seen it all as just entertaining curiosities. Now he wanted to devour everything related to the strange new world he'd found himself in.

Naturally, he was focusing on information about vampires -- their strengths and weaknesses, their culture and habits. He learned that only blood taken fresh from live humans could truly sustain them -- bottled blood of the sort found in his master's icebox was at best a temporary salve to hunger, and animal blood did very little. It also was clear that very few vampires held moral objections to taking thralls. At least according to the vampiric author of the book he was reading, any vampire of means would have a handful of them in the household, usually taking the roles of servants and pets.

He remembered what Alexander had said in the auction house, that it had been months since he'd had a fresh human. If he were speaking the truth, he must have been starving and weak. That did track -- he had looked so utterly exhausted and spent when Oliver had arrived, and acted so much like a starving man when he'd fed. And now that he had fed, he was very obviously healthier and in better spirits.

The strange part was that a vampire that clearly had so much wealth went so long without sufficient blood.  His master had remarked several times now that he hadn't been prepared to take a thrall, and that Oliver's situation had forced his hand. Why not, though? If moral considerations and money were clearly no object, what reason did he have for depriving himself? Given his power, why hadn't he taken Oliver from his bookshop the moment he decided he wanted him?

And what had happened to his previous thralls?

Perhaps he might get a chance to ask his master himself.

"Well, now, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Oliver whipped around to see a complete stranger, a curly-haired man with a dusty blouse and a curious expression. He was grinning and baring her fangs. Oliver's heart raced -- what was another vampire doing here? Did his master know? He must, or so Oliver hoped, but he couldn't help but shrink himself against the shelves in fear.

"What a rich morsel Lord Alexander's found. Not every day I come across a thrall like you," he said, putting an arm on the shelves next to Oliver, blocking his means of escape. "Wonder if the lord of the house would mind me taking a taste."

"Please don't, sir," he said. Being fed on by his master was one thing, being fed on by a strange vampire with unknown intentions was quite another. "I think my Master -- I don't think you should --"

He laughed, loud and long, and backed off. "You know I'm just yanking your chain, right? I'm not going to eat you. Lord Alexander would fire me on the spot, if he didn't ram a stake straight through my heart."

Oliver let out his anxious breath as he remembered who this person must be, the vampire housekeeper that Alexander had mentioned. "So -- you're not going to --"

"I'm Kenny. I keep the place tidy and do the lord's laundry and such. And it looks like I'll be cleaning up for his pretty little thrall, now," he said, and Oliver wasn't sure how he felt about that designation. "Honestly, it's about time he got a new one. Whoever heard of a vampire lord who doesn't have any thrall? I think he was even drinking bottled blood."

"That's... bad, right, sir?"

"I mean... I drink bottled blood a lot, yeah, but that's because I've only been a vampire for a few years and I'm poor as dirt. Can't afford a fancy thrall, too much of a coward to go get my own and risk hunters. At least bottled blood sates the urge for a little bit," he said. "If I were a rich lord, I'd have a whole mansion full of thralls at my beck and call. A different flavor of blood for every day of the week, and they'd all be attractive, too."

"So do you know what happened to Master's last thrall, sir?" Oliver asked, before Kenny lost himself in his fantasy world, seizing on the opportunity to get some of his questions answered.

"Oh, yeah, Henry? Awful thing. Got killed by a jealous vampire, from what I heard." He leaned in a little too close to Oliver. "I assume that vampire's dead now. Lord Alexander's not a vampire I'd like to cross. Not a bad boss, though."

"How long have you --"

"I see you've met my new thrall," said a deep voice from behind Kenny.  "I hope you understand that his blood is not part of your compensation."

Alexander was barely taller than Kenny, and significantly scrawnier, but Kenny still was immediately cowed. "I'm not harming a hair on his delicious little head, sir," he said, bowing meekly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"See that you don't. And refrain from terrorizing him as well, in the future."

"Yes, sir."

"And make sure you do a thorough job of cleaning the main bed and bath on the second floor from now on, and do any laundry left out for you. I won't have my thrall living in squalor."

"Yes, sir, understood."

"...I'll increase your pay, to compensate for the additional time."

"Oh, thank you, sir," said Kenny, his face lighting up. "Between rent and saving up for a thrall of my own, I can always use the money. I'll go clean the new thrall's quarters right away, sir." 

He scurried away, and Alexander fell sideways into an overstuffed leather couch. "Are you doing well this evening, Oliver?"

Any of Oliver's unease melted away in his master's comforting presence. "I feel very well, sir. How are you? Is there any way I can be of service?" 

His master's smile was relaxed, and he looked so much more at ease than Oliver had ever remembered, even when he was patronizing the bookshop. "Not at all, you're doing quite enough, and I hate to interrupt your reading," he said. "But if you don't mind, I would appreciate your company by the fire. The nights are starting to grow chill, and it's quite agreeable to have one's thrall near."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver eagerly, sitting next to Alexander on the couch, and feeling a soft thrill as his master beckoned him closer, close enough that they were brushing up against each other. His master gently pet his hair before cracking open a book and settling in to read.

Oliver picked up his own book, relaxing with the warm fire and the proximity of his master. A perfect scene of contentment. 

Except for the one thing that had been worrying him and stealing his focus...

His master did seem like he was in a good mood. This might be a good time to press him.

"Excuse me, sir," said Oliver, "I don't mean to interrupt your reading, but could I ask you a question?"

Alexander's eyebrows raised, and the look on his face suggested that Oliver's request was about to be denied. "Very well," he said, after a long moment. "But I might advise against asking questions if you suspect you won't like the answers."

Oliver felt a small twist, a spark. "With all respect, Master, I prefer to know the truth regardless."

"That's admirable. Truly," said Alexander, looking surprised. "Lily really did do a fine job with you -- I appreciate that you can push back. I've been lacking that, lately. Too far up in my own head. She'd put it in much more vulgar terms, of course." He sat up. "Ask, then, but understand that many things are better kept private."

Oliver felt relieved that they had an understanding of sorts. "What happened to your last thrall, sir?" he said bluntly.

Alexander let out a sharp laugh. "Of course that's the first thing you'd ask. I can't say I blame you. I'd want to know the same in your shoes." He sat in silent thought for a moment. "He was killed by a vampire."

His heart pounded. "Why, sir?"

"It was the doing of my sire. Most of the misfortune that befalls me is," Alexander said. "I haven't been eager to have this conversation, but you should know about him."

Despite his curiosity, Oliver was getting the feeling once more that he was in over his head.

Previous >> Masterlist >> Next

The Bookseller parts have been getting longer and longer, so I've been splitting them up so I can return to a more regular posting schedule. 1-2K words a week was possible, 3-4K words a week was pushing it. Hopefully I'll be able to post a part a week along with asks and side stories!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader

[luridon]

Imago Dei

A story of zealotry and bugs.

Or: Could you love a worm?

♡characters: yandere!bug x  deity!reader

♡warnings: MINORS DNI, bugs, blood, cannibalism, murder, obsession, gore, animal death, eldritch themes where YOU are the incomprehensible horror, religious themes, body horror, suicidal thoughts in an I have no mouth and I must scream kinda way, no smut but this is probably worse than smut honestly,  MINORS DNI

♡notes: Buggy People. Bug themes. Fantasyish bug world. Arachnophobes and entomophobes beware. You guys know the adventure time episode with tiny people on a separate plane of reality/existence that's sort of the logic we're operating on. This is the inverse of the "would you love me if I was a worm" meme because the worm comes first here. Does this count as bestiality is that what this is?? Ehh this is xenofiction ish this is FINE everything's FINE we don't have to psychoanalyze this we're all FINE this is all in good fun wtf did I write this

♡w/c: 2k+ | ♡masterlist♡ |

You chose him from the swarm.

You were a thing he could not comprehend, a being so vast his kind's vision was simply incapable of perceiving them in their entirety. You, in comparison, had an eye was so great you saw all his kin at once. You saw the lands beyond, their deep caverns and glass-castled cities, their seas-

And you saw him, an insignificant creature among many. A weak worm writhing among his brethren in the dirt. Your silver claws descended, and you plucked his prone form from the slums of his nest.

The elders had whispered of godkin and cruelty, of their favored being fed the still-squirming flesh of his kind. It was of little concern to him, a young thing starved and cold. He thought only of hunger. If not that, then of an end. . .but that end did not come.

For a moment and an eternity, you tended to him. You brought fresh fruit to his maw, the pulp dripping with sweet nectar. Though hesitant, his hunger won, and he ravenously tore into the meal. He was cradled in flesh soft and warm as he fed, and he could feel your lifeblood pulse beneath the plane of it. Slowly, he had his fill of the nectar, and he regained his strength.

Your great eye gazed upon him through it all. A low sound murmured all about him, and the maw that could have so easily devoured everyone he knew in a bite bared strange ivory fangs. He could do nothing but bare his own black fangs, to try and understand-

And that was his mistake. 

The world fell.

Once again, he was upon the meager dirt, only now his belly was full. He shifted about, but your warm hold was gone, so too was your gaze.

Your favor had ended as quickly as it came. You had vanished from the skies beyond, from the everything in his small, lowly world.

No matter what he asked of the elders or his peers, none could say what had happened.

Why would godkin care for us?  they scoffed, if they even believed in gods to begin with. You imagined things in your delirium. Banish these strange dreams from you head, child. They will only plague you.

Plagued indeed. He was haunted by your strange act. Why had you done so? Why had you shown kindness to such an insignificant creature, a runt fit to only to be torn apart by the rest of his nest when he'd finally keel over and die?

He could not understand.

He wanted to understand.

He wanted to feel that warmth, that gaze that found him worthy, taste that nectar, sweet and cool, hear that soothing god-tongue, even if he could not discern a word. Nothing but a daydream, whispered the nest, but he knew-

You were real. The stories of godkin must have come from somewhere. He would seek you, and understand.

To do so required sacrifice.

To survive, one needed strength. For strength, one needed sustenance, and in the nest, there was no better fare than flesh still fresh and bleeding.

Those the godkin favored fed upon lower beings, so the stories went.

As he tore into the flesh of those he felled, he thought the tales true. The tenderness of their bodies filled him with strength, and he felt something stirring within him with every dripping mouthful.

There were whispers of the power to change. Even the weak could grow strong. Even worms could grow wings and horns and armor.

A vain hope, some would say, clicking their fangs with disdain, delighting in small, pitiful pleasures. We are all destined to die as we are. Is it not lovely, to die as we are?

You did not let him die. He must have been destined for more.

He grew larger, and braver. From the deceased he went to hunt weaklings, then the hale, than the strong. Their cries were heeded no more than their scorn. Their blood wet his maw, their flesh filled his stomach.

They must have believed in gods then. They must have believed in you, for they were within him, a part of him, and he believed in you. Gods like worship, no? Now a whole nest sought you as he did.

Still, you did not appear.

The offering must not have been grand enough. It was a gift so paltry, of course it was unworthy of your attention. What did you seek then? Is there anything you could desire? What would it take to win your favor once more?

He despaired in the ravaged nest, and full and a weary from the fight and the feast, he fell into a deep sleep.

There are rumors of a beast.

One that devoured towns, one that ruined kingdoms led even by the great queens of earth and nectar. Walls of crystal and mazes deep could not save their people. Claw and venom, stinger and wing- none could halt the monster.

It would come and conquer, feasting upon the fallen. It was horrible sight, a beast with armor, and wing, and venom- a creature that seemed to take into itself all the powers of those it fed upon. It persisted through cycles and seasons beyond those of mortal beings. It was unkillable, unstoppable.

Only those who spoke of godkin would live. Only those who proclaimed a devotion for the same entity it worshipped were spared.

The rumors spread until they ceased to be mere tales, because the beast was met, or the scoffers perished.

To survive, a cult rose in the monster's wake. Feigned following though it be, the masses were desperate to avoid the beast's wrath. The number of devoted grew, and grew, and grew, and fearing more power to the beast, fearing their own consumption by its fangs or its frenzied swarm, the rulers of nests gathered and one dared to ask the beast what it sought.

A fool's errand, a lover's folly, the ramblings of a lunatick. Still, cooperation was sworn, and scholars all across the soils and skies toiled to bring its god to the land. But how terrible a god it must be- for a such a zealot to be its first follower.

A spell of summoning was found, and alongside it. . . a spell of change. To bring god-kin to their lowly realm would only spell doom for them all. A fragile vessel then, to hold their mind, their essence. Something to placate its gluttonous fiend without ending everything as it did.

The beast knew nothing of the schemes of the fearful rulers. Through much sacrifice, at last the power to bring the god-kin was ammassed.

And so it was.

What a terrible thing it was, a god, or whatever portion was snatched of one, forced into the form of one of scaled winged and thin-limbed. Something so vast could not be made so small so easily. Wings twisted with flesh and fat, eyes all about it. It thrashed in its new form, it wept and bled-

But that mattered little.

A godkin was brought low, and the beast was appeased. There was peace in the realm, and the people rejoiced.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You wake in pain, with senses stolen and an inexplicable wrongness about you. You can move, but nothing moves right. You can see, but your sight is strange. You try to call for help-

There is nothing you can say. You cannot feel your tongue or teeth, or lips, or throat, or anything at all where your mouth should be. A nightmare, a bout of sleep paralysis, a terrible dream is all it is-

You hope that's all it is. You hope in vain.

The world trembles and so do you. You try to bring a hand to your face but find it wrong, find scales and segments over your skin and the color is wrong the texture is wrong everything is wrong-

Your joints feel too low, or too high, your body too light and too heavy. There are heavy masses at your back and like a reflex when they strike something, you lurched forward and they unfurl in a most uncomfortable, off-putting matter. New nerves, your limbs, what is happening to you-?

You feel claws spined and sharp take what should have been your hands. You hear things you could not comprehend yet do- chitters and shutterings, clicking sounds all about filtered through your head as whispers and meaning. The world is too dark yet you can't shut or open your eyes. You need to breathe but can't feel lungs, yet everything smelled. Too strong, too clear, of food, of flesh, of flowers, of soil-

Too much, it is too much-

Your new form grants you one small mercy.

You fall asleep.

You do not know how long you've been here.

A strange, dark place. A burrow, a nest, one with a bed strewn with leaves and petals and silks for a bed. You move little. You do not want to, when every movement reminds you of what you are now.

You hate the dark of it, the cloying scent of decay and earth, the silence.

But you hate the figure beside you more.

It has a terrifying visage, one barely human the way the other few faces you've seen are, the way your own feels like beneath your horrible clawed, scaled hands. It's more buglike than anything, mandibles and chitin and eyes too big and dark. You are one of them now, likely. You have not dared to look.

The figure hums. It's a soft thing, almost a soothing croon, but you loathe it all the same. It's no human sound. There is no human here, not even you.

It sounds pleased with itself, as it speaks of the world outside, of pleasant weather and a garden. You cannot tell what sort of insect it is, but it's held in high regard by the others, it has its own land where none bother it, and so none bother you. It says those who tried to slay you have been executed, and their heads, clean and shining, are piked among the foliage and blooms.

That draws tears from you, and you hate the revolting beast beside you as bows its head to lap up the fluid from all the eyes.

How relieved you must be, it says. I'm glad I could protect you.

You hate it, the creature that brought you here and keeps you here. The one time you felt hope was when those intruders swarmed in, and tried to take your head.

An abomination, they had hissed, raising something sharp, An affront to nature.

You only prayed that they knew where your neck was, if you had one in this body.

Your soft flesh was barely pierced when they were flung from you. The figure now at your side had returned, and it took them all away, slaying some, maiming others. Then it had kneeled beside you, murmuring apologies and begging for forgiveness as it tended to you.

You think you started truly hating it then.

Your captor never tires of muttering about how glad it is to have you here, your flesh and your warmth, your mere presence. It likes to lay beside you, or press its face or claws to your wings to feel the veins and arteries beneath your skin. It drinks of your tears and blood and thanks you for the blessing, and you have much to give as you weep from the pain of your new form, of being here, from the eyes upon your head and the ones upon your wings.

It is a monster that kneels beside you and keeps you here, and you are a monster as well.

You are an abomination, to your kind and its own. You hope others of its kin feel the same, and that they'll seek to finish what their fellows started.

You can only hope one day, one of them will succeed.

Tldr: A worm fell in love with something way beyond it so metamorphosed into an abomination of a beetle and dragged its god down to its plane even if that mean much murder and squishing a human into a horrible fleshy butterfly abomination thing. It is now happily malewifing while its god wants to die.

[spirk-trek]

I would love to hear your thoughts on kirk's backstory and what happened on tarsus iv, I feel like I've read so many conflicting takes on here and none of them actually match up with the episode (conscience of the king)

Hi anon! The way you worded this makes me think you were just looking for information and not a fic request. Forgive me if I was wrong!! 😅

I think the reason there are so many conflicting ideas is because of how vague it is in canon itself (which is cool, leaves a lot of room for interpretation). Because of this, when I recently wrote a thing about Tarsus IV I also struggled with "research" for it. Here's what I came up with:

!!! Disclaimer! I am not declaring any of this the One True Canon™! This is just my interpretation/speculation based on existing lore !!!

To me, it makes most sense for Jim to be sent to Tarsus IV with his mother, and for her to be a civilian scientist/researcher of some kind. I find it very hard to believe the massacre could have taken place if Starfleet were present, which would include George Kirk, Jim's father. George is said to have been absent often due to his work (SNW), so it wouldn’t be strange for him to be separated from his family (this is also just normal in Star Trek in general, i.e. Sulu [AOS] and like… everyone with children in TNG).

A more recent Trek book called Drastic Measures seems to back this exact idea up (depends who you ask which novels are canon, and this book was written for Discovery so take it with a grain of salt).

Sam would, in the TOS timeline, be 10 years older than Jim (~23). That would make it unlikely he'd be tailing after his mother to remote colonies. It's much more likely he was concerned with his own career/family/life.

So, in summary of those points, I think it was just Jim and Winona. Jim is between 12 and 14 years old, and his mother was a civilian researcher (the novel I mentioned earlier made her a xenobiologist, probably for plot reasons).

Something I do see exaggerated sometimes is the method of killing in the massacre. An antimatter chamber appears to be what was used, similar to A Taste of Armageddon, so it would not have been mass carnage or a big dramatic fight in the end. Just... zap. 

SPOCK: "He was certainly among the most ruthless, to decide arbitrarily who would survive and who would not [...] and then to implement his decision without mercy. Children watching their parents die. Whole families, destroyed. Over four thousand people. They died quickly, without pain, but they died.”

However, these are also quotes from the episode, so I can see why people might think the massacre itself was more violent: 

- JIM: “Four thousand people were needlessly butchered.” - LEIGHTON: “I remember him. That voice. The bloody thing he did.”  - JIM: “Are you sure you didn't act this role out in front of a captive audience whom you blasted out of existence without mercy?” - KARIDIAN/KODOS: “Murder, flight, suicide, madness. I never wanted the blood on my hands ever to stain you.” 

There was a revolution of some kind, probably brought about by people easily radicalized out of hunger and desperation.

- KARIDIAN/KODOS: [reading] "The revolution is successful…” - SPOCK: “There were over eight thousand colonists and virtually no food. And that was when Governor Kodos seized full power and declared emergency martial law.”

If Kodos already had his ideas about eugenics, which it sounds like he did, he would have seized this as an opportunity. This would make him an even more solid comparison to Hitler, which they were definitely going for to at least some extent (this was written two decades after WWII which many involved in the making of star trek were deeply affected by if not veterans themselves).

Because of the above quotes, I also think there’s merit to the idea of there being multiple formal executions where Kodos gave his infamous “speech” each time rather than just once (this would be another reason Jim would remember it enough to write it down), rather than one massive execution of 4,000 people. However, this quote could be interpreted to mean the opposite:

SPOCK: “Kodos began to separate the colonists. Some would live, be rationed whatever food was left; The remainder would be immediately put to death.”

Arguably, the even more traumatic suffering would be the period of starvation and upheaval leading up to the massacre. To me, a 3-6 month period of slowly worsening starvation as the food supply shrank and shrank to nothing would make the most sense.

One aspect I don't quite get is that Kodos's body was supposed to have been "burned beyond recognition.” Since we know from Conscience of the King his death was staged, then this fake death can’t have been pulled off in the midst of Starfleet intervention upon arrival (they would have taken him into custody to stand trial rather than kill him on sight anyway). Burning yourself to death is a highly unusual form of suicide, so I’m not sure if that’s supposed to allude to him being fake killed in the carnage following the execution when the people didn't react the way he wanted or expected? My only theory is that there was unrest and rioting for the period of time between the massacre and Starfleet arriving with relief, and he used that to fake his death once he knew he would be put on trial.

Anyway, this is super long so I'll cut myself off there. Hope that answered your question, sorry for being crazy! If anyone has anything to add, please do!

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 12

Lore!

We're dealing with living pictures this chapter. Just like the zombies and ghosts, no explanation about how they exist is given. It's just a "They exist. It's magic. Don't worry about it" type of thing. Still, it appears that only the pictures of a person looking at you are aware of the outside world. And you have to actually look at the painting for it to attack you.

When Laios jumped into paintings of scenes, the people in the painting acted like he was supposed to be there (with one notable exception). If he'd jumped into the portrait painting, would the person have been aware he was from outside and attacked him? I think the threat of a living painting has more to do with being trapped in the painting rather than whatever might be inside it.

So now Laios decides to dive into various paintings to try eating the food in the paintings. If he lived in the real world, Laios would be one of those biologists who would eagerly volunteer to explore the most terrifying areas just because there might be new critters to discover. He would totally hop in a small submarine to observe deep-sea creatures. And he'd totally try catching and eating a hagfish.

I want to point out that the elf girl isn't part of the first painting. The king and queen are also dressed differently from what they were wearing in the actual scene Laios saw.

I'm going to guess the world in the painting is the exact event depicted in the painting regardless of what the painting shows. Laios witnessed the actual birth and naming of the future king Delgal exactly as it happened.

That lady mistaking Laios for a guard because of his sword reintroduces all my questions about Living Armor that I thought had been answered. If Kensuke looks exactly like a sword the guards would use, then the Living Armors all may have looked like the armor the kingdom guards wore. So I'm going to guess Living Armor colonies are mimicking human armor.

The lion-head Living Armor was probably mimicking a suit of armor for a prominent member of the kingdom's military, maybe it was the king's personal armor. If so, then the kingdom probably used something like a winged lion as either a guardian deity or a symbol of the kingdom.

When Laios jumped into the second portrait, he landed on the table right in front of future king Delgal.

That short interaction between Laios and Delgal instantly endeared me to the future king. He's a kindly person who doesn't anger easily. He's easygoing enough that he won't let Laios's shenanigans bother him. I can't say whether or not he'd be a competent king, but he's definitely a king the people can love.

There's a great dissonance between what the painting depicts and the event within it. The painting is a scene from prince Delgal's wedding and overall seems to be a merry occasion. But then it turns out that someone had attempted to assassinate him and successfully assassinated the king on that day. Whoever commissioned it may have just wanted to skip over the tragedy of that day.

Living Paintings cannot solve world hunger. You cannot take anything out of them.

The third painting depicts Delgal's coronation. I think it takes place in the very hallway the party was in during this chapter.

No one questioned why a guy in armor was sitting at the table. No one except the elf girl who Laios has seen in all the other portraits.

During Delgal's birth, there was a particular moment where she may or may not have been looking at Laios. However, she was far more interested in celebrating Delgal's birth than keeping an eye on the strange man in armor.

During the wedding, she was definitely watching Laios until the king was killed. She was also holding a flute.

Speculation time: I think she may be the magician who cursed the kingdom. Something probably happened to Delgal and she cast some spell that turned the kingdom into a dungeon. Since souls are trapped in the dungeon, maybe her goal is to resurrect Delgal to have him lead the Golden Kingdom once more. That line he said during the coronation gave me some shivers about how things may have led to the kingdom becoming what it is.

But then who was the person from chapter 1 who told the world about the situation? I kind of think he looks more like Delgal's father (probably because an old man looks more like a dried corpse), but if that was actually Delgal, then he understandably is against whatever the elf girl is doing.

Assuming Living Pictures can be made non-hostile and there's a way to pull people out of them, they could make for an effective way to learn about history or uncover various mysteries. Like I said earlier, it seems that the world in the painting is the actual events the painting represents rather than an artistic interpretation.

If someone wanted to experience a historical event, they could get a painting of the event made, cast whatever spell turns it into a living picture, then jump in and experience it firsthand.

And I think that might be something the elf girl is doing. If her actions are out of genuine love for the kingdom/Delgal, maybe she's using the living pictures to relive her cherished memories with Delgal, hence why she's aware of Laios traveling through the paintings.

Alternatively - and I am just throwing this out as an impossible crackpot idea that I want to share - Laios actually time traveled when he jumped into the paintings. So he was actually historically there during Delgal's birth, wedding, and coronation. And the elf girl can tell he's not supposed to be there, either because he's a stranger or she can tell he's traveling through time. And there's a non-zero chance she might think Laios was responsible for the king's assassination in that case.

She did correctly pin Laios as someone after the throne. If that is the magician speaking to him, then she wants to kill Laios because he will interfere with whatever she is doing to preserve the kingdom in its current state. If that is her from the moment Delgal was crowned king, then she has mistakenly concluded Laios is plotting to kill Delgal and destroy the kingdom before whatever ruination eventually befalls it.

The third floor of the dungeon lacks any living monsters. It is just a maze-like passageway. Maybe this floor held precious memories for the magician and she decided to seal everything away so neither monsters nor adventurers would defile those places. And the high number of undead is because of people getting lost in the maze, dying, and never being found.

back

[mythpregftm]

thinking a lot about pregnant Anders and I think being pregnant would honestly ground him a little bit, and it’d be a healing thing for him since he’s surprised he can even have a child with the grey warden taint + the trauma of circle mage family separation.

Anyways, he’s taking loads in his cunt from anyone in dark town/his companions thinking nothing will come of it because nothing does. until his mind is quieter than it has been in years and justice is urging him to eat more and more when before he only ate the food necessary for survival and anything else had to go to his cause. and overtime the pudge around his hips won’t go away. Pregnancy is the physically healthiest he’s been in years.

I love this sooo much... Anders is my babygirl and he deserves the absolute world. And a baby!!

Imagine. He lands in Kirkwall thin as a twig, dirty, and sallow. He works himself to the bone in Darktown witnessing injustices and horrors every day, offering what help he can at his clinic but it's never, ever enough. His hands shake, his back aches, and Justice won't keep quiet. He works til his mana is exhausted and he doesn't even recognize the pangs of his hunger. But it's Anders, and he's always been a flirt, so he still manages to find a little fun with thankful patrons from his clinic and his newfound companions through Hawke. Using sex as a stress relief, fucking his companions after stressful missions, letting them cum in his pussy because he loves getting his tight cunt stuffed. And hey, he's a Warden, it was drilled into him that he's basically infertile.

Except things start feeling strange. Justice rears its ugly head less and starts encouraging Anders to care for himself more. He must be ill, because his days are dotted with intermittent nausea, but even when he improves his food intake and his sleep schedule, Anders still feels nauseous and tender and sore...

It's Merrill that tells him how good he's looked recently. His face is fuller, there's more energy in his step, and he must be doing something right, because she says he's practically glowing... not with Justice, she clarifies. It confuses Anders more than anything, who doesn't often look in the mirror. But she's right... at home, Anders strips down, looks at himself, and sees the weight he's accumulated. The tiny bump in his belly doesn't even register at first, too surprised that he almost looks normal again. He's so much less bony and has a healthy flush to him, even if there's a bit more fat settling around his hips than he's used to. Soreness be damned, he feels great.

It still takes a little bit for him to notice changes, though. There's a heaviness in his hips and he keeps gaining weight... looking in the mirror again, the distention of his belly doesn't remind him of fat, it reminds him of...

Oh. Pregnancy.

Anders realizes he's pregnant with an actual child and he's a mess of emotion but his heart swells. He never thought he'd be able to have a baby, between the cruelty of the Circles and his tainted blood. But he's pregnant and he's healthy and Justice is ringing in his head- this is exactly what he wants. This is what he needs, and this is what he's fighting for. He looks and feels the best he has in years, and he's determined to stay that way for his precious gift.

...his companions are surprised but take it quite well. Anders looks good with a belly and pair of growing tits. They're especially for it when Anders' libido picks up and he begging to take their cocks in his soaking, pregnant cunt. Maybe that's when Hawke invites him to the mansion, where Anders can have his fertile body worshipped every night and not worry about the dangers of Darktown. He may not know whose babe he's carrying, but he gets all the love and sex he could ever want, and Hawke is acting like a proud father already. Anders' pregnancy works out for everyone involved <3

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Experimentation Begins (Magician's Bait, Part 2)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 2: Starvation / Thirst / "Please…"

Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- previous part | next part ->

TW: tied up, starvation, thirst, headache, creepily intimate whumper

Context: Damian has been trapped for a few days now, probably. His captor hasn't given anything to eat or drink. But he thinks he's figured out who she's after.

-----

How long has it been?

Time was immeasurable in Damian’s prison of darkness. The only indication that he was still alive at all was his heart beating in his chest, the aching in his wrists and ankles, and the steady gnawing of hunger.

His captor rarely visited. When she did, it was only to undo his bonds for short bursts at a time so he could walk around the cell and relieve himself. The room he’d been imprisoned in was small, only a couple paces across. The walls and floor were cool, rough stone, acting like sandpaper whenever he ran his fingers over them.

But she hadn’t fed him.

Was this one of those “tests” she’d mentioned?

Starving him was a cruel form of torture.

The lack of water, however, would probably kill him first. 

Currently, Damian was back in the chair, the rough ropes continuously wearing away at the skin of his wrists as he tried to find a comfortable position to sleep. The muscles in his shoulders burned from the strain, and his neck and upper back were no better. The cut on the back of his head from the fall on his first day was slowly healing, and it was probably responsible for the dull ache in his head.

The Stalker wanted him alive, didn’t she?

That’s what she said, at least.

Damian ran his tongue over his cracked lips. It was surprisingly dry in the cell, considering he’d been abducted during the peak of the humid season. Or maybe it was another symptom of thirst. That was more likely.

He sighed heavily through his nose, anxiously curling and uncurling his fingers. Being bound in one spot for so long was strange. He’d never considered himself restless, but he'd never been forced to stay still in such a brutal way. 

Despite the headache, Damian had been doing a lot of thinking.

And he was pretty sure he’d figured out who the Stalker was after.

The resident magician in the Torrent Territories wasn’t a private woman. Her name was Caiya Ebony, and she was well-known for flashy performances and daring escapades. It was an open secret that the king paid her well to limit her excursions to Torrent and occasionally around Zariya.

It made perfect sense. Stalkers were once magicians, after all. Magicians who chased after the promise of power at the cost of the lives of those who were once their colleagues. They’d been named such because of the way they tended to track their targets, like a hunter stalking prey. Once a Stalker caught her target, she would consume the magician’s power… somehow… and become stronger.

And unlike magicians, Stalkers didn’t need to draw the runes to cast spells. They only needed to speak. Damian didn’t know how it worked, and it really didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was bait. Bait for Caiya.

His father would have sent his best soldiers and detectives on the case, but when it became clear the abduction was supernatural, he would turn to his magician. And that was what the Stalker wanted. And after that? Damian couldn’t guess. Certainly not a Draigo. The entire species had vanished almost overnight.

Whatever she wanted, Damian was smart enough to realize that he didn’t want her to get it. And if that meant he had to die here? Then so be it. Roland could have the throne.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the cell door opened. “Hello?” he whispered, the words scraping against his dry throat.

No response, only the gentle stirring of the air around him, disturbed by the open door and the Stalker’s movement. The only noise in the cell was her breathing.

“How long do you plan to starve me?” Damian demanded, voice raspy. He’d given up on screaming for help when it became glaringly obvious no one was around to hear him.

His captor still hadn’t closed the cell door. Instead, she moved from one side of the cell to the other. Despite the magical blindness, Damian’s eyes followed where he estimated her path to be, judging from the movement of the air and the sound of her footsteps and breathing.

“Please…” he murmured, “at least give me some water.”

The spell was jarring, the runes spoken with harsh tones. Damian flinched, expecting pain. 

Nothing happened.

Without warning, something touched his head. “There,” the Stalker said softly, running her fingers through his hair, “was that so hard?”

He tensed, waiting for her to tug and yank him back until she let him fall.

“You know,” she continued, “for an heir, you’re not a polite guest.”

“I’m not your guest,” he hissed.

The Stalker’s hand paused mid-stroke. Damian gritted his teeth in anticipation. Knowing what was about to happen still didn’t prepare him enough for when her fingers curled, the nails digging into his scalp. “Call it what you like,” she snarled, “guest, prisoner, whatever. It doesn’t change your situation. It doesn’t change how helpless I’ve made you.”

Damian wanted to respond, to shoot back a cutting remark. But it wouldn’t make matters better. And she was right. 

He was helpless.

And he hated the feeling more than anything.

As quickly as she’d appeared, the Stalker withdrew, slamming the cell door closed with such force the floor shook. Damian listened to her retreating footsteps as he fought to control his racing heart, the fear curling in his stomach like a parasite.

She was long gone when he realized he was no longer thirsty.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Waiting Game (Tower: Day 29)

For Angstpril, Day 7: Sleepless Nights

cw: imprisonment, isolation, mentions of violence, dehumanization

Masterlist ///// Next

•×•×•

His head hurt.

It was strange, after everything that had happened, that he could focus on something as small as a headache, but maybe that's why he did it.

He'd lost a fight. No big deal, he'd lost plenty of fights, but this one didn't end with a defeat or retreat or even just an arrest. Overkast hadn't stopped after a blow that knocked Lex senseless, after beating him until he could barely move, even after tearing off his fucking limbs when he'd tried to counterattack with his fire.

Lex hadn't been conscious for long after that. 

He'd woken up in a cell, if you could even call it waking up. Half-dead, unaware of anything but the pain and the fact that he'd been caught. He'd tried to fight his way out, ignoring how much it hurt to move, how weak he was, but his fire wouldn't come. His blows wouldn't connect. They must've sedated him after that, because he couldn't remember much else.

He didn't know how much time had passed since his arrest. All he knew was his freedom was lost, and his arms were gone.

And his head hurt.

Alexei's cell was small. He supposed all cells in the tower were; they were designed to contain, not offer comfort. The floor and walls were dense stone, and there were no windows; no light save for the scant amount that crept from the slots in the heavy metal door. 

One ankle was connected to the wall with a few feet of chain, the other was fitted with a power-dampening cuff. A metal cot lined with a thin mattress hung from one of the walls, and a metal toilet sat in the corner across from it, barely within the range the chain allowed him.

The idea that this might be the rest of his life was too big, too painful for him to swallow right now. It didn't feel real. One slip up, one fight he'd been just a hair outmatched in, and his world had ended. The weight of that reality would crush him if he let it.

So much of him didn't want to believe it. Surely, he'd find a way to escape, or his friends in the Underneath would come and free him, or some fucking natural disaster would turn the tide in his favor.

But of course that wouldn't happen. If he wanted things to return to any semblance of normalcy, it was entirely on his shoulders.

Meals came twice a day, as far as he could tell based on his sleep and hunger patterns. A cardboard tray filled with cold, shapeless food, pushed through one of the door slots, along with a shallow dish filled with water. Eating on his knees, face in the bowl like some kind of animal was a blow to his pride, but he'd take it over being fed by one of the guards.

He hadn't seen another person since coming fully into consciousness, when they'd finally brought in someone with healing powers to seal his wounds. That had been a few days ago. A week, at most.

He knew he shouldn't care if he saw guards or not, and he was used to spending plenty of time alone, but the emptiness, the quiet of the cell was starting to eat at him.

Whatever. He could use their inattention to his advantage. Based on the fragments of memory from his weeks spent half-conscious and healing, he knew he was imprisoned at the Tower, one of a handful of places in the city designed to hold criminals with powers. Staffed by powered guards, equipped with plenty of countermeasures… breaking out would've been a challenge before he'd lost his arms. Now it'd be all but impossible.

Lex could bide his time. Get stronger, act weaker. Catch them off guard, take a hostage through the damned door slot if he had to. Anything to get away. Anything to avoid the fate the city had chosen for him.

But he knew that even if he could manage it, (he would, he had to) it would take time to find an opening, to plan. And that time would be spent here, whether he liked it or not. He'd heard stories of the Tower from other Neath citizens. Horror stories designed to shock their listeners; tales of human experimentation and violence and removal of rights, of guards torturing or violating prisoners just because they could. All second-hand. Once someone was taken to the Tower, they were often never seen again. Strange to think he'd joined that number. Strange and terrifying. But he was determined to change the ending of his story.

If that meant suffering through whatever the Tower had to give, he'd bear it.

At least that's what Lex told himself as he lay flat on his back, staring up into the darkness of the cell. He'd bear it, but 'it' filled him with a smothering dread.

And there was nothing to do but wait through it. He felt helpless, an object waiting to be acted upon—a bitter, sickening notion. He had nothing but his own body—or what remained of it—and the ragged clothes on his back.

The cell was sanitized of anything he could make use of; even the water tray was tinfoil, and he'd learned quickly that if he tried to remove it from the reach of the slot, the guards simply wouldn't refill it. The single sheet on the cot was thin enough that it wouldn't see much use before tearing, and what could he do with that besides set it on fire, destroying one of the few comforts he'd been granted?

He had his teeth, his eyes, his mind.

And there was nothing to do but wait.

Lex lay on his back. Trying to sleep, failing to sleep. Reciting old poems under his breath just to hear a voice, to keep the darker thoughts at bay, keep the despair from consuming him.

He closed his eyes, and he waited.

•×•×•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing

[thedevilsmemes]

ASTARION ANCUNIN QUOTES ~ BALDUR'S GATE 3 SENTENCE MEME!

"Hello, darling. Don't be shy, I promise I not to bite until we've been formally introduced."

"The tadpole's influence broke his dominance over me, and now I can finally pursue the one thing I've hungered for these long dark years."

"I'll be the last thing the bastard ever sees."

"Given that my choices were 'eternal life' or 'bleed to death on the street', I took him up on the offer."

"It was only afterwards I realized just how long 'eternity' could be."

"By the Hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion."

"I'm out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice."

"And I wish I was drinking out of the skull of everyone who's ever wronged me. Life is tough."

"I've been waiting. Waiting since the moment I laid eyes on you. Waiting... to have you."

"Yes darling, that's what we call a lie."

"All I want is a little fun, is that so much to ask?"

"Why hello. Welcome to my humble party."

"Oh, we're lying to each other now? Excellent."

"But... you're no stranger now. Just strange."

"I hate it. This is awful."

"Wait! Don't interrupt them. Let me do it. They sound disgusting."

"I don't know, I'm sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your heart."

"My, My. Who knew our friend had so much blood in them?"

"Oh, you're such a sweetheart."

"I'm just glad you're being sensible about these revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks."

"Although, there's still time."

"I already apologised. What more do you want? Unless you're looking for another nibble?"

"Yes, darling? Do you need something?"

"What in the sweet hells were you THINKING activating that lance, I was right there!"

"Next time? No no no, if there is a 'next time' I'll be the one aiming the all-powerful weapon."

"Although, I do appreciate you trying to fix your mistake, just don't do it again!"

"It's just that I happen to be a... what's the best way to put this? A vampire?"

"Oh my honour, the only thing on my mind, is depraved carnal lust."

"You couldn't wait ten seconds before being an absolute freak."

"Oh, good, puns. Because clowns aren't enough of a horror already."

"What? Was it something I said?"

"Really? - Anything in particular?"

"Now, I can't help but notice that one of us is positively drenched in blood. So..."

"At least the smut peddlers of Sharass' Caress will have a field day writing erotic verse about us when we're both dead."

"Hundreds? Urgh, it'll take hours to kill them all. She/He's right, we should just go."

"Oh? Then what do you want?"

"Five seconds into this relationship and I already want to break up with you."

"Oh the one hand, killing Gortash will be fun. On the other, Halsin can be very annoying."

"The man can't stay quiet about 'enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts'. I bet he'd outlaw clothing if he could."

"Good Morning. Thank you for not killing me the other night."

"Of course, what fun! I'm going to fucking kill you."

"I am. And beautiful - not enough people mention that."

"Hmm. Hmm. Thank you for helping me. It was very kind."

"I can't even tell if any of you are acting strange because you've been replaced or because this group is full of weirdos!"

"So... I was wondering if maybe - perhaps - you might be able to..."

"Can you read what's on my damn back? Please?"

"Well, hello... Looking for a cuddle?"

"What are you? No. We are not jumping down there!"

"Oh - eh - Hello again?"

"Easy now. Let's not do anything Hilarious."

"You have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. I like it."

"I'd trust a devil over a vampire any day. I think he likes us."

"Oh, bravo! Encore!"

"Why she sounds positively demented."

"I love it! let's tell her everything!"

"Don't be touchy. I'm sure he meant 'better off dead' as a compliment."

"I'd shake her hand, but she can still snap me in two, so... probably safest to skip it."

"Anyway, it's a brand new day. I'm sure we'll find lots of people for you to kill."

"I must see this. Don't you dare say no."

"Well, this seems like a lovely little spot. The sense of impending doom aside."

"I suppose it was only a matter of time until [ insert name ] took vengeance."

"For the Lady/Lord of loss, She/He does not like losing."

"Come to kill me again, darling?"

"Guilty as charged. Sometimes literally."

"What? No! Don't you dare! This isn't funny!"

"Huh, thank goodness, I was almost worried."

"Nice as it is, she still doesn't have the best hair in the camp."

"Well, I mean... kind of? It's a long story, honestly."

"You'll get back to me? This is important, devil! When?"

"It's not enough we have a gallery of villains to look out for, but now we could be infiltrated by a shapechanger?"

"But you're serious about this? About... us?"

"Tailor's mannequins? I never figured [ insert name ] for a follower of fashion."

"Well done again on besting Baal and all that. It was very twee."

"You filthy devil. I'm shocked."

"Haha! That's - Oh, you're serious."

"Well, of course we can leave him, it's the easiest thing in the world. We just have to keep on walking."

"Well, at least you purr for me..."

"The thing that will decide my fate forevermore? Yes, it has been on my mind, why?"

"Who knows how long before the others go feral without us there to guide them?"

"Let. Me. Go! - Ah... Hello!"

"No, as much as I'd like to become a Lord, ruling over the Underdark's vampire spawn, we have unfinished business with the mind flayers."

"I'm glad you had your fun then. I am here to provide an endless array of delights."

[notthestarwar]

Snippet from: the sun will rise on us again

Against his better nature, Fox had run.

He'd run and it hadn't been enough. No matter how fast, no matter how clever, always one step ahead. His brothers are gone.

In the first days, he hadn't considered what that actually meant. He hadn't considered what losing control, what being forced to act against everything that you were, everything you always had been, would do to a person.

The war had taken Ponds from them before anything else could. That was a kindness, Fox knows that now.

He's been running and running and he's starting to think, that he's been carrying a torch in the hope of passing it on to people already dead and buried. She'd told him there would be nothing left if he didn't run. Well Fox had run, and anything that they ever had is long gone all the same.

In the first weeks of the empire, his brothers had fallen like dominoes. One by one, the empire burnt through them in a way that made the war, made Kamino, look like nothing. A week in and 3 of the guards men had survived. Thorn later fell at vaders hand. Friendly fire, nothing but a karking temper tantrum.

As the years passed and his brothers wretched back more control, a new foe plagued their ranks. Bly was the first he heard of, first chance he got; he put his blaster to his head just like he'd once done to his general.

From what he'd heard, Wolffe went the way of his jedi too, a ship exploding during a mission. It was a kindness Fox supposed, a quick death. Better than this leaden burden, this throne of nothing.

Fox had run because running might have saved them, it hadn't though, it wasn't enough. He hasn't stopped running but still, his brothers are lost to him, they lost to each other.

There is nothing left to go towards, he's just running on the spot, without them. Now there is just him. Now there is just the chase.

He finds himself sometimes, thinking of the prime. In his old age, Fox has begun to develop a strange affinity with the the shabuir, an understanding of what it means to be the heir to a dead legacy. How that feels, knowing that you can't quite put it down but you can't quite look at it all the same, how that pulls at you.

He still has no particular hunger to clone himself. To sell himself again and again, giving away any freedom he might have found to a master that would undoubtedly fuck him over. Selling himself in to a kind of slavery that would persevere long after his death.

Fox has never known freedom well enough to want to give it up for anything. Always just out of his reach. You can't give what you don't have.

Any claim the republic once had on him had died the day it burnt. But Fox now finds himself chained by his duty. By debts owed to members of a family long dead.

Fox can not rest while the empire lives. He'll burn it all down long before he lays his head to rest in whatever shallow grave his shitty attitude had more than earnt him by now.

That's the root of the problem. It's not the task itself weighing him down, it's that Fox has never been the person who should be carrying it.

Born to a galaxy that had already had enough of him, Fox has never been able to bring anything new to the table.

He's clever, but never as fast, as Cody. He's fierce, but without Wolffe's loyalty to balance it out, it serves as a disturbance rather than a asset. Bly saw the good in people, he made the most of what he had, lived each day to the fullest, but Fox has only ever been able to see the bad. It's why they stuck him on Coruscant in the first place. He's never struggled to recognise someone who's given in to their worst urges because Fox has more in common with those people than he does his brothers.

He's always known that there's something within him that's bad. Whatever was in Jango, that allowed him to be manipulated in to allowing something so terrible, that lives within Fox and he's always known it. It's deep inside him, festering as it bides its time, waiting for him to give in to it. To let it take over.

Fox isn't a good person, he came to terms with that long ago. Isn't good, but his brothers are. His brothers were good people who were made to do things they never could have done. That's why he can't stop. That's why he can't rest. He owes them this.

Even if nothing had shown him what kind of person he was before now, Fox would know it today. This is the kind of situation that can only be a punishment.

Bad things happen to good people every day, but this? This isn't just a bad thing. This is the kind of thing that only happens if you deserve it. He's sure of it.

Were Fox better, this wouldn't have happened. But Fox is bad, he's always known it, and so, rather than an every-day kind of tragic event, he's earnt himself this.

The empire are hunting him. The empire are always hunting him. But today, they have sent someone new.

Right now, Fox is being tracked by his brother, by Cody. They've primed him and pointed him in Fox's direction. He's close. He can smell Fox's blood, he can smell his fear.

Fox isn't scared of dying. He never has been. He regrets that he can't complete his mission, can't do this one thing for his brothers after everything that he's taken, but well, is it that surprising that he wasn't up to the job?

With every day that passes, when he looks in the mirror, he sees less of the vode in his face. What is left in front of him, staring back at him, calls to memory only one person. Fox looks like Jango more and more every day and he hates it.

He looks in the mirror and he sees someone cold. The kind of person that would sell children. That would let his genetic material be made in to people, people with hopes and dreams, people given no choice but to betray those hopes and dreams. People whose bodies would one day, be puppeted around like droids. Forced to watch as their hands betray them and all that they've ever loved again and again.

Fox wouldn't do that. But now, he knows how he might.

Maybe it's good that he dies here and now, at his brothers hand, before he can become the kind of person who would.

And that's the ultimate betrayal of his brothers really isn't it. The one person spared the chips control, the one person who gets to dance just outside of the empires reach, who gets to still be the person he always has been; never actually needed to be controlled to do awful things.

Here Fox is, outside of the empires reach and yet, he'll still do terrible things if he's allowed to carry on. Fox already understands why Jango did what he did. He doesn't want to know what he himself will do if he carries on living.

He'll never be at peace but maybe it's time to close his eyes all the same. To say goodnight.

He's scared but not of dying, not of pain, but of what this will do to Cody. Anything that's left of Cody anyway.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

omg!! tbh i was shy in sending you this because i wasn't sure if you'd like it, hence the anon ask. but yes... I have thoughts and ideas and feelings. hurt/comfort angsty shit is my thing. i think how he'd feel bittersweet of noticing changes in knight reader's behavior as time goes on, mostly in the beginning. and they get more used to it. violence has always been there, so why would they change? there's a difference when you're part of it as a victim and when you're the one responsible for it, he understands. he notices a certain darkness growing in them. stiff shoulders, scars and rougher hands from restless training. how their eyes are heavier, way darker than before, filled with a promise of harm. a silent warning. he'd take these little observations to himself quietly. like tragic events you can only watch and do nothing about because it isn't in your control. Prince Gojo knows the weight of the responsibility they've chosen. Knight reader has become so efficiently good at it, it's strange to him. the day he realizes what they're capable of unforgivable acts. red filling his sight, he could almost believe that the sky had changed colors as well. a warm atmosphere of thick blood that's difficult to breath in, uncomfortable, unnatural. for a second he saw no light in knight's eyes, which he's so fond of. duty. the promise of protection much louder in knight's ear than the scream of the men ahead that'll soon fall to the ground. those changes certainly make his heart ache. specially when knight reader, who's covered in dirt, sweat and blood denies touching him as to not stain his perfectly clean skin and clothes. or when knight reader says that it's too disgusting to touch and smell, so he should stay far from them. but we know Gojo would not care and indulge in his heart desires, in the hunger to comfort and clean them from such events. as if he could steal knight reader from everything and everyone. offer them all of his truly undying love. away from sharp edges. a place where there's nothing but softness and the brightness of gojo's smile.

@softgirlgonehaywire MICKEYYY COME LOOK COME LOOK WE ARE BEING FED

GOSH your brain!!!!!! your beautiful clever brain!!!!!! yes. just yes. u get them so well!!! i agree w literally everything u said……. U WROTE THIS SO BEAUTIFULLY TOO HHH THAT JUST MAKES IT HURT MORE….;;;;;;; T_T

first of all; im sorry to bring satosugu into literally everything (it will happen again) but like. i think what will always break me is the fact that suguru is canonically compared to a setting sun because all gojo could do was helplessly watch him fade away AND THATS JUST…… yeah. the idea of him failing to protect the One person he loves no matter the universe is so soulcrushing to me.

and the idea of him being forced to watch as his knight grows more cynical, as they start to become more and more infected by duty, duty, duty (if i ever finish the knight!sugu fic im cooking up ill definitely dissect this concept more but to me duty is like. almost a Disease in this world. something that corrupts.)… it’d break his heart a bit. he would definitely pull some strings to try and ease their duties and burdens but there’s only so much he can do :( (more motivation for him to become king so he can protect u properly!! tbh i think king!gojo would be twice as protective maybe a little manic… or maybe it would get him to relax a bit more… who knows who knows (<- thinking many thoughts))

but. gosh. the way u phrased this im literally going rabid……… ”violence has always been there, so why would they change?” / ”(…) filled with a promise of harm. a silent warning.” / ”the promise of protection much louder in knight's ear than the scream of the men ahead (…)” <- THIS ONE ESPECIALLY OHHH U GET IT U DO!!! placing satoru’s safety above everything else…. ruining themselves bc of that devotion…….. ur writing is so pretty btw im in awe

AND GODDDDD u know the way to my heart!! the guilt knight!reader feels, not wanting satoru to stain his own hands w the blood on theirs… they just see him as being so far above, like the sun in the sky, and thats also why i think they would feel some sort of urge to keep their distance… they’d rather die than dirty him, literally or figuratively. (but in reality i think prince!gojo is already a bit twisted and dirtied on his own and thats what knight!reader might not completely realize…) its literally just this:

if u listen closely u can hear the sound of me falling to my knees. both of them are a little sick in the head but they love each other so dearly, not even romantically, just as individuals…. they’re just in love w each other’s existence i think. it’s a very pure kind of love!!!

as if he could steal knight reader from everything and everyone. offer them all of his truly undying love. away from sharp edges. a place where there's nothing but softness and the brightness of gojo's smile.

^ AND FINALLY THISSSSS ohhh u r killing me…. this is exactly it too!!! that desire to just steal them away and make sure theyre safe. he wouldnt do it bc he knows they wouldnt want that, but he rlly does just want them to be happy and safe all the time…. i think gojo is kind and mature enough to realize that hes being selfish and he wouldnt act on those desires but theyre very much there. all he can do is keep smiling for them, trying to get them to realize that its okay to depend on him too 🥺🥺

its so funny bc they rlly do both have a severe hero/savior complex LMAO its like two people-pleasers trying to decide what to have for dinner… nono you choose, you choose, im fine with anything!! you want whatever i want? but i want whatever you want…. silly little geese. i love them!!

[hungergamesheadcanons]

Because I'm weak and anyone who follows me must suffer my immediate train of thought:

Behold some kpop artists that remind me of Hunger Games characters.

Katniss is a difficult one. I flitted between a couple of different artists, but ended up settling on Dreamcatcher. A lot of their songs are powerful, which shows the impact she has on people, but they also have some beautiful ballads which remind me of her softer side.

Songs that remind me of Katniss: Scream (Quarter Quell), You and I (relationship realisation), Polaris (singing for Rue)

Rosé from BLACKPINK has some solo songs, although anyone who listens to them is very aware of that. A lot of her songs really remind me of Peeta though, especially because she has an undeniably softer tone but still carries a lot of power, like how Peeta is physically weaker than Katniss but is incredibly skilled with his words and pinpointing weak spots in the Capitol's front. Special mention of Somi's Fast Forward though BC accurate.

Songs that remind me of Peeta: Hard To Love (hijacking), On The Ground (post first games), Gone (Peeta realising the first love was an act (even though Katniss wasn't sure herself))

Ok for Finnick we've got two, and that's because his personality in and out of the Capitol are two sides of a coin. In the Capitol, it would be a crime if I didn't say Taemin. Soft, sensual and sexy, Taemin's music makes me think that if Finnick had at any point sang, he would have been turned into a performer like Taemin. Outside of the Capitol though, I lean towards Red Velvet. The mix of upbeat pop that shows how fun and silly he can be, to slower more r&b songs, to emotional ballads, really just encompasses the main facets of his personality.

Songs that remind me of Finnick - Taemin: Guilty started this whole post, and I have to throw Slave and Thirsty in here too.

Songs that remind me of Finnick - Red Velvet: One Of These Nights (Annie in Capitol), Rose Scent Breeze (filming reveal propo), Red Flavor (can't pinpoint it but I can see him vibing to this idk)

I don't really think Johanna would listen to much music, but I will shoehorn her into liking kpop because this is my world now Suzanne (and Finnick survived). So Johanna I would say probably listens to Jessi? Jessi's music gives off bad bitch vibes and she's sometimes criticised for her attitude etc etc, so I think Johanna would resonate with that. Also, confidence is sexy y'all.

Songs that remind me of Johanna: Nunu Nana (idk just vibes man), What Kind Of X (interview), ZOOM (feels like she mocks Finnick with this song but jokes on her he vibes to it too)

I wanna say Twice, because I think it'd be really funny, but I'm gonna go with Lee Hi. She has a lot of easy listening music that wouldn't bungle his brain when he's drunk out of his skull, and also some jazzy tones that I think he'd appreciate.

Songs that remind me of Haymitch: Special (mourning his family), Am I Strange? (realising he's incredibly fucked up but also realising so is every other Victor), Scarecrow (joining the revolution and being hopeful for the first time in a while)

Twice, unironically this time. Young Prim in particular is so happy and hopeful, and I think that slightly-older-revolution Prim would hold onto those cheerful songs like a lifeline in the darkness of 13.

Songs that remind me of Prim: Cheer Up (when Katniss comes back alive), Dance The Night Away (vibing at Finnick's wedding), What Is Love? (Pure vibes again idk)

[brotherslayer]

Darkest derrick x og Penelope headcanon

I have a few

Penelope is attracted to men who resemble Derrick (dark haired, elder brother type, obsessive/possessive yandere) but isn't aware of it. Derrick is attracted to women who resemble Penelope and he is fucking aware of it.

she's a magnet to batshit crazy men

he never said "I love you" to her. The only time when he might have said it was when she left him behind to die. It was so out of character for him to say such a thing that she didn't turn around, because she didn't trust her ears and later she believes she might have misheard him because "I love you" are the words she yearned to hear the most.

I don't think there is any love between them. Not even a little bit. It's the relationship of an abuser with his victim. For Derrick it was only about power and control.

The strange thing about Derrick is that at times I can see him acting like he doesn't enjoy it. As if he is disgusted with Penelope even though he lusts after her. He'd wash his hands compulsively after having touched her, rinse his mouth after having kissed her, sometimes he doesn't even look at her and just looks at her reflection in the window. He'd throw away his handkerchief or any of his belongings that came into contact with her as if he was afraid he could catch an illness from her.

I don't think he likes being the one to initiate things either. He'd perceive the one who chases after love as the weaker person. So he would make her come to him. He'd give her affection in small doses just to make her realize how much she hungers for it and then turn cold and ignore her for days whenever she rejects any sexual advances. It's absolutely vile. He'd repeat that pattern until it gets to the point where she is the one knocking at his door and throwing herself at him and begging him not to tell father.

She'd have a really unhealthy view of sex. There is no association to love and intimacy. It has become something that you trade for other things. Once she has managed to escape from Derrick, when Penelope has found someone she really likes, there might be the possibility that she is truly horrified of the idea of having sex with them and thinks it could ruin their relationship. She'd push them away ("If I won't allow you to be close to me you can't be intimate with me/hurt me.") But there is also the possibility that she offers sex too quickly for basic acts of kindness. Basically she'd have very little self respect in these regards.

if Derrick gets her pregnant with a child she might try to abort it illegally (or die trying to self-abort because she has no medical knowledge) or, if it ended up looking like Derrick, murder her child after giving birth to it (and then she'd get sentenced to death for child murder or she would commits suicide beforehand shortly after she has regained her senses and regrets everything)

I can also imagine that she attempts to be a goods mother to her son or daughter and manages to raise them decently most of the time but when her child reaches a certain age (the age she was adopted into the Eckart duchy) she just can't be in the same room with them anymore because she is so so afraid that she might end up abusing them even though she never would

Derrick could be the type of yandere who keeps the corpse of their s/o and refuses to bury it

after Penelope's death Derrick starts treating Ivonne/Leila like Penelope as he gradually loses his mind and, if you want it even darker, he eventually ends up having sex with her to cope with Penelope's death. It'd be an ironic twist of fate if the original daughter of the duke in whose shadow Penelope stood, always unable to live up to her image no matter how much she tried, would turn into nothing but a fake and replacement for her. Leila would certainly have her fun to doom another soul to hell

[vaultdamned]

What can completely break your muse?

Variety of Headcanons to send (accepting)

triggers: suicide, cannibalism, graphic depictions of violence

coming face-to-face with a version of himself that wishes for death. not that shitty, selfishly misplaced god I wish I was dead right now, attitude, but rather that there is nothing left & nothing matters or ever will & not even death himself would mourn me if I stopped living persona.

he's been there once.

vault living didn't come as easily to some as it did vincent, which eventually led to him being a sort of ... counselor for the vault; not that he had the answers to solve everyone's problems, but he could listen, & he was strangely good at that; there were some incredibly brilliant minds that needed nurturing, & being stuck underground with the people he came to call his community, his family, watching babies be born & people marry --- mundane things he never wanted to experience broke through those cold defenses he'd spent years crafting, because he didn't know any other way to survive. it was either adapt or live with insanity.

the latter of which claimed him over the next seven months.

after the massacre of his vault, the death of the overseer, & the destruction of the vault's terminal, vincent's left with questions that seemingly have no answers. he manages to lower the overseers body down from the atrium's beams, takes his pipboy, & begins reading through confidential files -- the initial experiment detailed conspirators against vault tec housed as test subjects for an experimental serum ; created by fellow scientists who's names are left redacted, but the formula is all too familiar, dread pulling at his gut. his formula. with his team. years ago. a passion project left abandoned in favor of other vault-tec necessities. the formula's not exact, but he recognizes its base. remembers the night it was concocted --- 22 hours without sleep, a mix of cocaine & nicotine in his system to keep him awake, something vault-tec surely knew about, in retrospect. but they'd altered the solution drastically. if not for that formation of numbers, it was unrecognizably his.

they used his experiment to experiment on him and countless others who, at one point or another, spoke their mind against vault-tec, & those people he'd come to call family, were either dying or dead, because of him.

what follows over the next period of time is endless work to concoct a cure; he had the means to create chaos, surely he could destroy it. solution after solution, mixed numbers & compounds, failure after failure, nearly setting the vault on fire, the corpses of his friends laughing with each attempt as he made his way to the lab in the morning, if he hadn't fallen asleep at the desk. you're a fucking genius, figure this out Riffy.

the lab's running out of resources & the vault's hydroponic garden has stopped growing, leaving him with the sinking feel of constant hunger, & while the thought crosses his mind, he doesn't act upon it -- because if he can survive a gunshot with zero scar tissue, what would happen if he ate the bodies of his fellow scientists?

one night, after another failed test, he grabs a straight razor on his way to bed, & locks himself inside his living quarters. he begins cutting vital arteries; bleeding out pathetically as the fresh wounds close before he can even blink -- a pool of blood collecting around him as he slashes himself again, again, & again, with reckless abandon, as if allowing that rage & pain to drive him deeper & deeper with each slice, but it doesn't fucking matter. no matter how forceful, rapid, or slow he cuts, the result is the same. the floor's painted red by the time he passes out from exhaustion.

the next day, he starts again. thinks a little more creatively. night comes & he makes a noose, wraps the coil around his neck, jumps off the atrium beams, the impact breaking the rope, his body landing on the ground with a roaring thud across the vault, like a dummy dropped from a tower --- the snap of his leg bone alerts him first, then the pain, excruciating for those few seconds, pain dissipating before he registers what's happening -- like watching jelly mold itself over a crevasse of blood, muscle, bone, & tendon.

unsuccessful, he tries taking poison pills. drinking bleach. gauging out his eyeballs. chopping off his leg. bludgeoning himself with a hammer. jumping off high beams within the atrium. spilling acid onto his head, feeling it seep into his hair only for his skull to act like a force-field. anything. anything at all. becoming addicted to the quick & anticipated pain, because he deserves this, right? deserves this endless hell. what did it matter if he could hurt himself again & again, feeling ultimately, nothing but relief, until the next moment comes where he wishes nothing more than the cold hand of death.

then it hits him --- a thought so simple ... he's been going about this all wrong.

by blasting away his head -- detaching it from his body, there was no going back from that, was there? the thought brings a sick, twisted giddiness he can only describe as that first discovery on a long, complicated project, but the problem lies within his own hands, his own human hands --- he's too cowardice to try, because if it works & he falls dead, what does that leave unfinished? a whole world above radiated ground ... he had to see it. had to see vault-tec's failure, because life survived up there. he saw it in the reports nearly 20 years later. he had to at least live to see the last laugh --- even with his new, cursed ability, he couldn't pass up a chance to see the future. be living proof of vault-tec's monstrosity. of his own.

& maybe the cure was housed above. somewhere. waiting for him.