#cn // body horror

[artistictentacles]

An inktober piece from, I believe 2019. The prompt was overgrown and I just had to go all in with the ferns and the shrooms.

My favorite kind of horror, the body just becomes soil and transforms in abnormal ways to feed the rest of nature.

[muntadhir]

I don't know what the body horror pot enemies are called in the ER DLC (DDG says Pot Person? Pot People?) but I want to know their lore and I hope people do dives about them

I also want Pot People and Snail Women to somehow magically exist in the same universe, because that would please me

Pot Person/Snail Woman the real OTP

"What was your biggest takeaway from the DLC" There are spoopy lads in pots and they were endearingly obnoxious in one dungeon and I love them

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 22: Body Horror

cn: demonic possession, mind control, cannibalism mention

“You didn’t really think those symbols would stop me for long, did you?”

The words don’t come from inside her mind. The voice is similar but not the entirely the same, and not singular. Multiple mouths grin up at her from her arms, yet more tearing open all over her body like wounds filled with sharp teeth, some thin like hundreds of needles, some thick and sharp, some in multiple rows like the teeth of a shark. The mouths twist as they start a discordant laughter. As they open, they break apart the symbols on her body, just another mockery of her struggle.

“no” Esra’s voice is a whisper compared to the cacophony that is Str’vlthoqalkhrov – no, Steve. She can’t let it have power over her. She has to fight back. Like she did back then.

It blinks its eyes, one after the other. One on her cheek, one in the palm of her hand, many all the way down her spine, whose vision gets blocked by her sweater. The rest can see though, and in many different ways. Strange visions flood Esra’s brain, too much, too complicated. She closes her eyes – her own eyes – but it only makes the weird images flickering in colors she can’t name and dimensions her brain can’t grasp more prevalent.

She tries to focus inward, search for that seat of the otherworldly entity within herself, that strand of energy that is both the source of her magic and all her grievances, which she calls Steve and imagines as a purple string. Currently that string is running through her, and wherever it touches her skin, an eye or mouth appears, and wherever it touches her muscles, Steve gains just a little more control over her body, and wherever it touches a synapse, Steve can access her thoughts.

She tries to pull on the purple string and roll and knot it into a ball, which she can then lock away again in a piece of her brain where it can do the least amount of damage, and where her own mind can guard it day and night. It took all her energy the last time she did that, but this time, it is even more difficult. The string is longer, more resistant, she can’t even grasp it without Steve pulling itself away from her. And then it overpowers her completely, tying her up in itself.

It would be so easy to give in. Once upon a time, Esra fought back. But now she’s tired. So tired. She just wants to sleep. She feels like she hasn’t slept in ages. It's over. There’s no strength left to her, nobody left to help her. She wants to whisper an apology, but despite all the mouths covering her body, she can’t talk.

There’s a hunger deep inside in her, a hunger that doesn’t come from her. Insatiable, it demands for food, it wants living flesh, and psychic energy, it wants to devour rock and wood and land, it wants to gobble up this entire plane of existence. More mouths open and snap and chew, like they are already on their way to follow this need.

There’s something pulsating in her neck, something straining against her choker. And then the fabric breaks apart under the pressure, pieces of lead runes falling to the ground around her. Through the eyes on her arms, she can look at her neck, where her skin has become pale and translucent to show the vibrant purple piece of scale implanted there. It’s moving beneath her skin, beating like a second heart.

[annoyingheartenthusiast]

Learning with Pibby Monster Forms by Hotel-Room-CIII

[happy10thousandyears]

old kinokonun fanart

[rusanya-does-edits]

Yes we do in fact have a ZEPETO obsession, deal with it. We found a cool robot video and so we gif'ed it.

Remember: we source gifsets we made via the "source" link section of tumblr posts, on the bottom left of the post.

[bahoreal]

Isn’t Three Body supposed to come on Netflix? Or is that another adaptation?

(Mint or mint chip, anyway 😉)

theres an adaption coming to netflix yes, it is called 3 body and it is made by those game of thrones guys. the ones who fucked up game of thrones real bad. the ones with a really bad track record of racism. i am skeptical of how good it will be given that from what we can figure out, they removed the main character and recast him with a white guy. i will watch it to see if its any good, but the chinese version has the original author involved, and it is clearly done with a lot of care and love.

[pyrolitheus]

My brain is exhausted and loopy from being sick for a week so take this with that fair warning but the more I think about the word "sweetheart" used to refer to one's lovers or children the creepier it gets. What is sweet? My heart? Have you...have you tasted...the organ my body relies on to pump my blood? How? How did you do that? What makes mine taste sweeter than another person's? Is that why you keep me close? Are you farming me?

[demonic0angel]

More Jazz Forms (click for clarity)

TW: disturbing content, body horror

1) Head only Jazz

+ She is a head that walks on a bunch of mysterious tentacles. She’s inspired by a CN novel called “Let the Villain Go” in a chapter where a demon pops up and is described as a head that walks on tentacles (I may be delulu and remembered it wrong).

+ Around 900 feet tall. Most of the height is her tentacles, but her head is still around 100 feet tall.

+ Jason is a little obsessed with how huge she is. When he is away, she stays standing over his apartment like a creepy water storage tank. Nobody can see her except liminals and ghosts, so she remains undetected by Jason’s side.

+ She is generally peaceful and doesn’t move much. She is a relatively quiet being with no explicit ability to defend herself or attack. I imagine her to be very dreamy, despite her piercing stare.

2) Celestial Object Jazz

+ She is a quasi-stellar radio source, AKA a quasar :)

+ Impossibly large and infinite. She is so big that her gravitational pull is pulling apart a piece of the universe. Jason thinks that she’s beautiful, and he looks for her every night. He uses special technology to see her on Earth and when he can, he sneaks onto the Watchtower to look at her.

+ The mass of the black hole that she is made of is around 150 billion solar masses. She is located extremely far from the Milky Way within the largest galaxy of the universe. Since she is technically both the black hole and the gas that surrounds it, she won’t be fading for awhile.

+ Her origin is unknown in this idea (but is related to her siblings, who have all become celestial objects themselves). Her existence is extremely old and that is partially Clockwork’s fault.

3) Corrupted Jazz

+ She has become corrupted from years of ectoplasm, death, and generally instability. The tentacles that come from her stomach is actually just pieces of her soul that are trying to reach for others. She calls for help, but no one but Jason has been reaching out.

+ She cannot be around people for too long, or she causes insanity, violent mood swings, headaches, auditory and visual hallucinations, paranoia, nosebleeds, and general weakness, even if they cannot see her. Jason is somewhat resistant to her, but she heavily restrains herself so the effects of her existence won’t hurt him.

+ She tries to stay away from Jason, but bc she’s so clingy, she watches him from a distance. Her presence brings shadows and darkness, so he’s also been getting a reputation of scaring criminals to pissing themselves whenever he comes by.

+ Her body is covered in shadows, but she glows a little from the ectoplasm, so her silhouette can be vaguely seen.

4) Monochrome Jazz

+ Inspired by Lady Dimitrescu and Hachishakusama

+ She dresses in all black and her skin is pale as well. A hat and face mask cover all available skin on her face. Any skin below the neck is also covered.

+ She is around 9 feet tall. She stalks Jason whenever she can and always follows him around. She is extremely hostile and dangerous and does not hesitate to attack when she feels even the slightest bit threatened. She is also completely mute.

+ She is both a ghost and an urban legend, hence why she looks like that. Underneath her mask is a mouth of razor sharp teeth like a moray eel.

5) Wolf Jazz

+ Inspired by Jason’s Red Hood motif that is similar to Little Red Riding Hood. That’s also why I associate Jazz with so many canine themes :)

+ Black fur, several pairs of eyes, and two sets of deformed ears. I am debating whether or not she also has 3 pairs of legs.

+ She follows Jason around like a dog, but does not behave like a pet. As such, he can’t order her around unless she wants to listen to him. Thankfully, she likes cooperating with him and the two of them terrorize the criminals of Crime Alley.

+ She is around 5 feet tall when standing on all fours, but when she stands up on her hind legs, she is around 9 feet tall. She is very fluffy.

[itsagrimm]

He Who Comes from Under the Water

Chapter 7 - The Knife

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN  Pressure of having children, emotional midlife crisis of a dead woman (it sounds funny, but I made myself cry writing that part), grieving dead family members. Discussions of female* relationship issues in hetero relationships, implied talk of rape, implied forced pregnancy, talk of sexual assault and rape in relationships, talk of forced marriage, mentions of drowning and past trauma, pregnancy as body horror. Implications of potential abortions using herbs (don’t try this at home).

eventual smut.

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by @queenquazar. thanks having me despite my extreme questioning if this is actually good. I wrote half of this while having a slight fever and it shows.

5k words

Masterlist

You remembered your mother as a beautiful woman. The edge of life and age had polished her, making her shine brighter year by year, until the day she died. With her back to you, she stood in the kitchen, working on something as you entered the room as you had so many times before.

“Is it you, daughter?”

You missed her voice. She sounded so real, the memories coming back as those words rang bright and happy, while she turned to greet you.

“Dear, we haven’t seen each other for too long.”

Her face was like you remembered it. Maybe.

“Let me look at you. Are you eating well? Sleeping well? You need to take breaks in the sun. Soon, it will be too cold to stay out again.”

You nodded to the beautiful, kind, stranger called mother.

“Sit down, daughter. Tell me, have you found a husband? Is he treating you well? A good young man from the village or maybe from a bit further away?”

You let yourself get pushed onto one of the familiar chairs, the wood of the rest pushing into your back, and a cup of tea being placed before you.

“I’m about to be married. I… he… he is good to me.”

“And what does he do?” A friendly but practical look danced over ‘Mothers’ face.

Nervously, you fumbled with the tablecloth before placing your hands flat on the table, “Uhm- he is really good at fishing, and currently he is building a new home.”

'Mother' nodded.

“A fisherman and carpenter. Hm. Hm. It’s good to have a capable man in the family. He better give you beautiful children or I’ll haunt him.”

“Uhm- I’m not sure that will happen.”

“Of course, it will. You will love it,” The stranger chuckled. “Or more like you will be loved. For a while at least.”

“And then what?”

The stranger shrugged her shoulders.

“Then you turn older. And wiser, so you will know what you want. And stronger, so you will ask for it. And then you know how to move or dress to feel beautiful. And he will hate it. You will be loved no more, except by your children and the other women. So have children. And friends.” ‘Mother’ nodded. “That’s how it goes, daughter. You say he is a good man?”

“Yes?” A strange feeling weighed you down deep in your stomach. A feeling of doubt, despite your decision to stay with König. “Are you saying he isn’t?”

“How should I know? I am dead. Just do what I did. It wasn’t too bad. Right? I had you. And I loved you until I died.”

You looked across the table. ‘Mother’ smiled softly, looking down at her hands like a shy girl admitting a secret. She was a stranger. She had lived with you in this house, every day you could recall. And yet you had hardly known her. Was that what she had wanted? Staying in the house and watching her children grow, only to have them leave one day when they did not need her anymore? Or had she stayed because she could not imagine anything else? Because she did not dare to leave?

You could not help but reach over the table, taking your mothers’ hands.

There was not a thing in the world you would back down from to protect the woman that had given you a life. And your heart ached with the realisation that it was too late for her.

But maybe not for you.

“Right, mother. I love you too.”

You opened your eyes, staring at the familiar ceiling. Getting up was out of the question. Instead you laid there, tears filling up your eyes before slowly running down to the side of your face.

The dream felt too real to simply brush it aside. Instead, you wanted nothing more than to have your mother back, hold her, talk to her, and give her all the things she had ever wanted from life. It was unfair how she had given you so much and all you could give her was … what exactly? Your mother was dead. It mattered little what she had expected of you, wished for you… or herself. You could do how you pleased; the villagers had shunned you anyways. That freedom however, felt hollow without the woman who had sacrificed so much for you.

And was it wise to use that freedom for König?

Doubt crept up in you, the possibility of death and sadness, present once more.

Was there a life without marriage?

Where you could leave, live, and maybe love, how you wanted, without fear or fighting to survive?

A knock woke you from your melancholy thoughts.

“Who is it?” You called as you sat up and wiped away your tears while turning to the door.

“Wrong direction, darling. Check the window!” A stranger’s voice called out.

Confused, your head whipped around. A woman was before your window, staring directly at you.

How is that possible? You could not help yourself but wonder at the sight of someone peeking through your upstairs window.

The woman waved at you.

“Hi, People call me Baba Yaga but I prefer Farah. That no-good-wet-little-king-and-fiancé-of-yours asked me to come here to help.”

You rushed to get dressed while König, always on guard these days, waited for you downstairs. As you finished braiding your hair, you stumbled downwards. You knew of Baba Yaga. She was no one to anger or to leave waiting. There were guards and gods out there in the world, elders to be respected and traditions to be followed. And then there was her, putting all of them to shame.

She was the maiden, the mother, the old one to turn to when cursing a former lover or in need of help when slaying a monster. Baba Yaga was the knife - ready to make a pleasant meal or spill blood.

You did not know what to make of Königs decision to call Baba Yaga for help. Was it wise? Or was the price for her help higher than you could afford?

“I’m ready,” You called out as you entered the kitchen. “Oh, wait!” You grabbed a bowl of collected berries, “Can’t go into a house without a present,” You explained.

That would be rude. No one gets away with being rude to Baba Yaga.

König nodded before getting up from his seat, a chair this time.

For a brief moment you saw his eyes wander to his axe leaning at the wall, before he moved on.

He is nervous too.

“It’s gonna be fine.” You tried to reassure him. Or yourself.

König managed a smile before reaching for your hand and holding it, his large clawed hands clasping carefully around yours. 

“I know, Bride. We can do this.”

Together, you stepped out of your home only to see a wooden house on chicken legs in your garden trampling over your sorry attempts of growing buckwheat.

“Great,” You could not help but comment dryly. “How do we move it?”

“Allow me,” König declared before loudly calling out to the house. “Избушка, избушка, повернись ко мне передом, к лесу — задом!”

The house stilled in its light swaying, like a cat that got reprimanded for what it planned on doing.

“Пожалуйста!” König added pleadingly and the house trotted around and tilted forward, appearing oddly unwilling about it.

“Thank you for moving from the field,” you mumbled.

König stepped up to the Chicken-legged-house and knocked on the door while you lingered beside him.

“Honourable Elder, please let us in and hear our words.”

“You made it,” Was all the answer you got before the door flung open. “Finally. I hate waiting.”

In the doorway before you stood Baba Yaga, the woman who had waved at you in the window. Now you knew she had done it from her unusually high and walking house.

“Honourable Elder sounds lovely, but Farah is enough,” She noted and stepped aside. “Come on in. I made tea.”

Carefully you followed König’s soft tug as he helped you up to the high door, lifting you like you weighed as little as the logs he brought you.

Inside, it was just like any other house you had seen. There was a large oven, a table, jars with pickled contents and marmalade everywhere, and a beautiful tapestry with symmetrical flowers on the wall.

“Welcome to my home,” Farah declared and motioned to the table and a few chairs for you to sit.

“Thank you for having us,” You replied politely and passed her the bowl of berries. “I am sorry. It’s not much. But I hope our little gift pleases you.”

“It does. Sit, sister.” Farah gave you an approving nod.

 And so you did, taking a spot next to König, who had chosen one of the chairs which protested loudly, with troubling creaks as he sat down.

Waiting for Farah to finish setting the table, you studied her. She was beautiful and carried herself with confidence. Farah appeared maybe a bit older than you. But you felt like a child getting a visit from an aunt, not some years, but centuries between you two.

“Thank you for having us,” You said with a timid nod as Farah finally sat, intimidated by the powerful stranger. It had been so long since someone new was barely passing the threshold of being just nice to you.

König looked stoically like nothing was out of the ordinary, the little cup of tea looking ridiculously tiny in his massive hands. Being in the presence of powerful beings was nothing unusual for him, you reminded yourself, no matter what - he was one of them.

Farah tugged at her scarf as she sipped from her tea while eyeing the berries before finally releasing you from the awkward silence your words had left in the air.

“You are welcome. It’s a pleasure meeting you.” She  reached for a spoon to casually stir her tea, while avoiding your careful yet curious gaze. “So, you are König’s fiancé? The rumoured Bride of the Vodyanoy?”

“Yes,” You answered plainly.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

She looked up from her cup, her dark eyes finding yours and pinning you to your seat with unforgiving kindness before switching over to König, like a blade slashing around.

“Lovely. What business do I have with that?”

“Oh, none at all,” König interjected smoothly like an eel slipping over wet stones. “We want no trouble with you. Just your blessings.”

Farah leaned back and put down her cup, her eyes piercing through the air like you and König were made out of nothing but thin skin and brittle bone, ready to be dissected and studied. Under her gaze, that likely was true.

“Don’t waste daylight, slime king. I could have spent my time other than coming here.”

“My utmost apologies, honourable Farah,” König continued with a most charming smile. “There is just the issue of my bride's possible death by drowning when she becomes my wife and queen. Do you, by any chance, maybe, possibly-”

“Cut it, König. You want me to waterproof your bride like she is some kind of unsinkable boat. Got it.”

He stilled in his movements before replying, “Yes. Can you do that?”

The honourable Farah sighed as if she had heard that request several times this morning already.

“Is that all? What else do you want me to do, hm? Make the fish sing and dance at your wedding? Build that new palace of yours in one night? Make her a wedding dress while I’m at it?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” König snapped back, his charming smile now more frozen than friendly in his face.

“Listen, König. I never took you as wanting to marry. You always looked so content with splashing around the ponds on your own. You did not even care much for the company of your own kin. Why not marry a rusalka? At least they can not drown.”

Uncomfortably, you looked at the cup in your hands, trying to be as invisible from the conversation as possible while gathering as much as you could. The idea of König being with someone else, a beautiful watery creature like himself, shifted something inside you and you did not know where to put it.

“No. I want to marry her. She is my Bride. I promised it.”

His words pearled down like warm summer rain.

He was so sure of it.

“To whom did you promise that?” Farah inquired further.

“Her grandfather. He used to fish at my pond.”

For a brief moment it was silent as you stared into the dark liquid in your cup as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Then Farah broke out laughing.

“That sounds more like you, König.” She gasped. “Acquiring a bride from a fisherman. Alright, that sounds precisely how the King of everything From Under the Water would get married.”

Amused, Farah looked back at you. “Are you happy with that, dear?”

You blinked, like a deer that got stuck between two rivalling wolves. Your eyes wandered to König who had the most trying neutral expression on his face somewhere under all that tangled hair.

“Uhm. I suppose,” You answered, dumbfoundedly. Since when did your happiness and not just your survival matter?

Farah raised one of her eyebrows.

“You suppose…” She repeated and grabbed her cup and spoon. “Get out.”

It was on you to raise your eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?” You questioned, a little fire in you giving you strength. You might have been just a tiny little human with brittle bones and thin skin, but you had tasted kindness again and you weren’t ready to give up on that yet.

“Not you.” Farah waved at you dismissively, “You, yes you heard me, König. Get out before I turn you into a frog. I need to talk to her alone.”

For a moment König stared angrily at Farah to be kicked out of the house like an unwelcome guest.

Then he turned his head and looked at you.

It was terrifying to be alone with Baba Yaga, may she call herself Farah and talk like a pleasant relative coming by for a visit, or not. The woman was powerful. But she had treated you kindly so far. And you needed her. Maybe this was for the better? Perhaps you could convince the powerful Baba Yaga to help you on your own, where König was failing. You could do this.

Smiling the most reassuring smile you could muster, you nodded. 

“I will be fine, König. Can you stay close please?”

König grumbled a ‘of course’ before getting up and exiting the house, leaving you and the Baba Yaga alone.

“They say it’s magic what I do, but most of my craft is giving stern looks and straight words,” Farah smiled deviously.

“Tell you what, sister,” She paused. “You don’t sound unsure about this marriage. König might be a king, but I never paid attention to titles anyway. They are all the same sorry puffed up men to me. If you want to get away from him, I can help you. It would be fun to have someone willing to learn the craft from me. You could be like a sister to me. I will not do that unkempt king's bidding, enable or convince you to marry, if you don’t want to.”

You looked away. An offering to stay by the Baba Yaga herself.

She is a knife, you remembered, she cares but she cuts too. I do not want to be cut no more.

“That is kind of you, Farah. I am humbled by your offering. But even if it’s complicated, I want to stay.”

“Foolish girl,” She said with a tone that did not mean it. “How is it complicated, sister? Do you not love him then?”

You took a sip from the cup. The tea tasted like nothing in your mouth, but you hardly paid attention.

Would there be a point in lying? You knew the stories of the powerful and clever Baba Yaga. And you had met speaking animals and beings you only knew from tales. Farah would have her ways to find out if she truly wanted the truth. And she likely would not appreciate being lied to.

You swallowed and decided to play it safe.

“My family is dead. All of them. The village shunned me because they thought I was cursed, and one of them repeatedly berated and even attacked me,” You explained. “König is fine. I don’t know him very well, yet. But he looks out for me, he really does. And he does not expect me to do anything more … physically - He promised. And he never forced himself closer to me even if he certainly had the chance and strength to do so. He just needs a queen to show around. And I need a protector. It is … okay. I have made my peace with it… so I thought. But … I had a bad dream. And it confused me. And König told me I might be in danger from drowning because I am human, and he is not. I nearly drowned already. I fear the water since I know him. Can’t stand being deeper in it than to my ankles. That’s why he sent out for you to maybe help with that. So that I will not die in the water by being with him.”

Farah slowly blinked, inhaling and exhaling before leading back in her chair.

“That’s a lot,” Farah finally spoke. “And they say a maiden’s life is light.”

You huffed. “Do they?”

“Older men in taverns do - talk like they know of the world while sitting around.”

“If you say so. I have never been to a tavern. Never left the village.” You answered, feeling foolish now like you knew nothing of the world.

Farah only hummed, closing her eyes as if in deep thought.

“Tell you what, sister,” She opened her eyes. “I will give you knowledge to protect yourself from death by that wet boy of yours.”

Farah got up and started cutting and mixing dried herbs in a large mortar.

“Like most men out there, he probably never even considered that a suffering. Acting like his presence is a gift to the world. You say he does not touch you? Fine. Here, take this.”

You stretched out your hands over the table and she passed you a pouch of the herbal mixture.

“Have you paid attention to what and how much I put in it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. As long as you want, you shall be barren. There will be no child coming from your womb. Just drink a cup of tea made from this mixture every day. Even if that wet-rag-king breaks his promise or you two might change your mind, you shall choose your fate. Quite frankly, without some intervention and knowledge, his dick is more likely to cause you harm than any water ever could. Drowning is faster than carrying a child you don’t want. If your mother were still alive, I’m sure she would tell her beloved daughter all her secrets.”

You looked at the pouch in your hands.

A knife, you thought, a knife to care and cut. Is that a betrayal? To König? To my family? To Mother?

“I don’t know if my mother would have ever told me.”

Farah crossed her arms, grumbling disapprovingly.

“Who knows. But I did. Your choice now. You can always just not drink the tea, right?”

You thought about it. Your mother haunting your dreams and speaking as if having children was the only path to happiness out there. And then you thought of König, his careful act towards you, his hand holding yours, his chest pressing against you, and how observant he was of what you need. How he asked and listened to you. How he would be towards a child. And then you thought of his size and what kind of child from him could grow in your tiny body. If that even was possible. Instinctively your hand closed around the little pouch.

Maybe no one but me is truly looking out for me. Maybe that’s all I am doing? Since when is that a betrayal?

“Right. Thank you,” You mumbled.

“If he ever does break his promise, you are welcome to live with me, and I will boil that fishy king in one of his ponds,” Farah continued as she returned to her seat at the table, sipping from her tea and smiling with glee, “As a little sign of gratitude for my wisdom, entertain me and tell me all about that village of yours and what gossip came from it. I want to know about those who think they can recognize a curse where there is none.”

A knife to cut and care. But not me. Not today.

You leaned back and started telling the stories and lies about you.

And Baba Yaga listened.

You stepped out of Baba Yaga's door and the chicken legged house titled forward to help you walk down the steps to the ground. König was sitting there in the grass, waiting for you.

“Is everything alright, Bride?” He asked while he got up and helped you down.

“Yes.”

You nodded, the herbal pouch hidden between your fingers. It felt exciting to have it there, hold it in your fingers, scary to go against what you had been taught since you were a little girl, mischievous, guilty, fun, safe.

You did not know exactly how to feel about it yet, but you did not let go either. Farah might not have turned you into an unsinkable boat, but she did give you an anchor.

“Hey, walking puddle!” Farah called out behind you from her house. It straightened up again as you reached the grass, acting like a proud pet imitating its keeper.

“I gave your problem a bit of thought and I think you yourself can solve it, oh mighty king of smelly bogs.” She declared. “Sacrifice something you hold dear. Give it to your bride. Coming from a being so tied to the waters should do the job better than any curse or wisdom I could come up with.”

“And what exactly should that sacrifice be?” König grumbled.

“How should I know what you care about?” Farah hit back as her house started to turn away and back to the forest. “Give her your favourite frog? Share an algae salad? But be nice. I like her well enough to return and teach you a lesson if you are not, fish head.”

“That’s it!” König called over to Baba Yaga and her chicken legged house. “You are not invited to the wedding. What kind of help is that? And will you stop it with the names?!”

Farah laughed. “Now I definitely will show up. You will repay me for my wisdom then and give my home a good bath. So long!”

And with her house having finally turned away from you, it started walking off into the forest under Königs loud protests.

Finally, he gave up and sighed.

“Well, at least we have a clue now. Even if it is a riddle.” He turned to you. “Are you sure you are alright? She is a dangerous woman.”

“I am,” You grinned. “We talked about the villagers. I told her everything.”

Königs concerned look turned into a grin as well.

“You are a dangerous woman too, dear Bride.” He nodded approvingly while he giggled. “She hates people who lie and they tell a lot of lies about you.”

“They sure do.”

“I don’t even want to imagine what she will do to them.”

“I do.”

König laughed and took you by the hand. Quickly you hid the pouch in the other behind your back.

“Good thing I am not planning on getting on your bad side, Bride.”

A strange kind of relief washed over you, taking away a tension you did not know you had held. Baba Yaga had given you as many fears as she had given you assurances.

A knife. A knife. A knife.

“Are you afraid I will tell Farah if you did?” You teased, stepping closer into his reach and decided to leave all worry behind you for now.

“No.” He paused, his watery eyes wandering over your form and you suddenly felt very aware that no one, not even the Fox or Heron, was around. Just you and your fiancé. And day time left to explore what that could mean.

“Alright, maybe. A little bit. She is terrifying,” König admitted, breaking the spell that had captured you.

You smiled and stepped away from him. “She is. Next time, please tell me who you invite over so I can brace myself. I like her but she is a force to be reckoned with. Can’t wait for the wedding to see her again.”

“Can’t wait for the wedding too, my beloved Bride.”

You paused, considering telling König about the pouch in your fingers and what that could mean for you - both of you - on your wedding night.

He probably does not even want me like that. I am no powerful being, no rusalka, no Baba Yaga with eyes that pierce everything. Just me. You thought to yourself. Why even give me the pouch when it will never be used? I was foolish enough for a day. No more of it.

“When will we marry, König?” you asked instead.

“When the palace is finished,” He replied. “Come. There is much to be done today. While you tell me what you need, we can think of what Baba Yaga had meant by sacrifice.”

“Good idea. But for today, a sacrifice of fish for lunch will do it for me.”

König chuckled.

“Of course, dear.”

XXX

Cultural Context Notes

Maybe this is a very personal observation but the relationships and friendships among eastern European women* or the dynamic between mothers and daughters is much more important and closer than it is in central Europe or the US. Correct me if I am wrong.

Another more personal observation: I am very cut off from my Russian roots basically since the annexation of Crimea and lost on how queer joy and life can look like ‘back home’. This bleeds into the text, reading very hetero. Since queerphobia is rampant in Russia where my family is from, I’m lost on how to depict eastern european/slavic queerness in my stories. I did not want to replace those gaps by just making a central european take on queerness so this is how it is. But I am a queer writer. And the lack of queerness in my story steeped in eastern european/slavic culture in itself feels like an accidental metaphor and I wish I could change that.

Many are somewhat familiar with Baba Yaga as a powerful evil witch since that is her most present depiction in international media post-Christianisation. But that simplifies her complex character. Some stories hint at her being a goddess of the earth or a similarly powerful being. Other stories describe her as one of three immortal sisters: the maid, the mother, and the crone in which Baba Yaga tends to be the crone. That too makes her an immensely powerful sorceress who reigns over death, life, and rebirth. Depicting her as just an evil witch in the western-European tradition clashes with stories about her being wise and helpful even if she is dangerous and unpredictable. And unlike many classical images of witches from more western parts of Europe Baba Yaga originally had no pointy hat, no black cat, or a broom to ride on. Instead, Baba Yaga appears to have no unusual dress from her peers. Nor does she have a side-kick except for maybe the woodhouse on chicken legs she lives in. And depending on the story Baba Yaga rides an oven, a large mortar, or just walks incredibly fast, which stresses that she is not an old hag in all her depictions but can be of different age and agility depending on the story. Baba Yaga is also associated with bones and death. In some stories she is the mother of the царь кощей / кощей Бессмертный - (Translation from russian) “undead king”/ “The one of bones and who can not die”. I decided to place Farah in the story as Baba Yaga because (I can and) Farah comes off as a reasonable wild card in the CoD franchise which is parallel enough to some Baba Yaga interpretations. Since the character Farah and the creation of a fake middle eastern country just to have that Orientalist theme in the CoD MW plot reads incredibly insensitive and racist to me, I’m making Farah the most powerful being in my story just out of spite. Also, Eastern Europe and Russia is not just Christians but has a lot of other religious influences too, the biggest one being Islam. Farah my beloved and everyone who identifies with her, this is for you. <3

Baba Yaga’s house in many tales is a wooden house on chicken legs that can walk wherever it wishes. To enter the house one needs to call out for it and ask it to turn around. There are several versions on what to say and I’m sure there are other variants in other languages. I used this one because I grew up with it: “Избушка, избушка, повернись ко мне передом, к лесу — задом” - translation from Russian: “Hut, dear hut. Please turn around towards me and with your back to the forest.” The added “Пожалуйста” is also Russian and means “Please”. I wanted to write this phrase in Old Church Slavonic but could not find the right words for it in the dictionaries so I had to stick with what I could execute, sorry. If there is a motivated linguist out there to research this, I’m absolutely willing to edit it and learn more about Old Church Slavonic or other fitting phrases. The origin of this house tale might come from the practice of building stilted houses in swampy regions. To keep the houses from rotting they were built on stilts, which got charred to avoid mould and rot. In some tales Baba Yaga is bound to the house and can not leave. In others she is not. Obviously, I understand staying in such a cool house forever anyway.

Is it possible to use herbs as contraception and abortion remedies? Likely. And there is historical evidence that several remedies had been used in the past to do so with differing success. HOWEVER! Do not try to replicate this at home. This is a fictional story and not medical advice. I know abortion and access to contraceptives are under attack in several parts of the world. It’s important to fight that and guarantee everyone dignity and bodily autonomy. But playing around with herbs you just googled or heard from a friend, is not the solution and can kill you. This part of the story is vague for a reason. 

Buckwheat grows in colder climates and on poor soils. It’s a staple food in many eastern European and central Asian regions. 

Rusalka (singular), rusalki (Plural) don’t have a good translations. In some sense they are mermaids but for inland water, since there are a handful of stories that describe them as having fish tales. But I think the best translation to give a picture of the rusalki is that they are more akin to nymphs like those from Greek myths. Rusalkis are female. In some regions they are supposed to look like old women, in others they are tall and stern looking. I grew up with the Russian tales of Rusalkis being pretty girls or women, playing in or around the water. They can be benevolent, especially to kids and women by helping out with washing clothes, playing or just friendly chatting. But they also can be a threat, predominantly for men whom they trick, drown and eat. It’s fascinating how gendered that image of the rusalka is, as if it fits the same entity but from two binary gendered points of view with the “female” one seeing the rusalka as a free spirit who does as she pleases, and the patriarchal “male” being threatened by that. The stories I know of the rusalka associate her with maidenhood or at least younger women, which ties to the idea that rusalkis are young women who committed suicide by drowning due to being pregnant out wedlock, dying before / around her wedding night or while giving birth. Essentially there is a lot of sexuality coded in the figure of the rusalka. If anyone knows or writes a queer take on it, please tag me. I need a break from those harsh binaries. Also, in some stories Rusalkis serve the Vodyanoy. I don’t really buy that and interpret it as a possible later addition to the fairy tale canon to depict the rusalka as subservient to at least one male master to be honest. Rusalkis are as governable as a storm. 

XXX

@thesinsoflust @kdkj122920 @die-prophetin @lillianastuff @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @fatedeniedhope @queensidillasworld @agspgrwasb @silelda @unlikepoltergeist @matcha-flavored-cake @blvkwondaland @diamondnightdreamer @brooklyn-1918 @thorns-x @icepancakes @sizzlingsaladpeach @peachymonsters @blackrockshooter780 @cl3rks @king-thunderstorm @hosshihusshi

If you like to be tagged as well, shoot me a message.

[layzeal]

fellas, y'all know i'm a wwx stan and all, so because of that it's kind of an important thing i remind everyone that sunshot wwx did steal the bodies of people's grandma's. like, it's a whole thing how he did steal people's grandmas. he doesn't deny it!! he's actually quite ashamed of it!! it wasn't just wen soldiers, he specifically digged up the graves of innocent wen ancestors and made them fight their own descendants for the pure horror of it

like... the point of the story isn't that wwx didn't do messed up shit during the war. the point is that no one batted an eye when he did it back then, and even celebrated him for it. but after he defected to save innocent war prisioners, suddenly all those things he was admired for were used to demonize him.

mdzs is an elaborate commentary on mob mentality and hipocrisy that spans even beyond the protagonist. to cheapen it to some disney channel movie level of shallowness is insulting at best

(ExR and Simplified CN; chapter 66 of the webnovel)

[artistictentacles]

Waited until I had both of them to post them together. A pair of spooky illustrations I did over the last few weeks on and off.

On the left is @slgma's OC Leonard on the right is Cortez. Love the subject of knighthood and armors so you might see more of that soon.

[muntadhir]

Geppetto getting mad at P and regretting his design choices so he goes at him with ARSENIC SOAP....... I am going to cannibalize Giuseppe Geppetto, erotically

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Now that CN is over I need more fics to read (I say as if I'm not in the middle of rereading CN and plan to reread ITYSG(AINLY) again because I'm literally obsessed with your fics). Do you have an recs? Also what's your favorite fics/comfort fics (you can include your own)? I always find it interesting to know what the authors of my favorite fics like to read when they aren't writing.

other than my other fics (babysitting in the apocalypse is my other zhongchi fic), i do have a some zhongchi recomendations! sadly i cannot actually go to my bookmarks atm nor provide direct links. i also don't really remember the authors' names of most of them? and you'd have to like.... save them for later, what with ao3 being down and all;; but here are some off the top of my head if you want to get planning:

(once ao3 gets back up i'll update this list with proper links and the authors' names and maybe more recomendations since i do have many more i just can't remember,,)

○ entirely out of spite by Bgtea - i generally assume everyone's already reading this one given how big it is (and how it was kind of my inspiration for cyanide even tho i never said it), but if you're not, holy shit are you in for a good one. literally anything bgtea makes is wonderful. this one is an au based on the premise of a different story, but you don't need any knowledge whatsoever of it to enjoy and understand eoos (tho consider it if you like the premise, bc it's also really good). the rundown is- a mondern ajax dies and wakes up in the body of tartaglia, the antagonist of genshin impact, a game he'd been playing before kicking the bucket. he is tasked by a weird isekai-anime looking menu to fill in the shoes of the antagonist or else, but he's not technically stopped from altering the story just a tiny bit or being ooc, so he goes about trying to play the tartaglia role without meeting the same end as tartaglia (who dies ingame). it's such a good fic i cannot recommend it enough - it's not complete yet, but the wait for each chapter is more than worth it, and bgtea always does an insane amount of research for everything they post.

○ literally any other zhongchi fic by Bgtea. there's this short one about pulcinella or capitano (i can't remember, it might've been pantalone) selling pictures of childe to increase morale in the fatui (something something pr strategies), that one is hilarious. there's another one about zhongli getting stuck as a dragon and childe taking care of him as the world slowly goes to shit from rex lapis being missing (a comment pointed out it might be called "ajax' adventure with dog-lizard" and it sounds about right for me). another one they have is the autumn winds are sighing i think. that one was posted WAY back, some of the info is a bit outdated, but it's still so, so good. i can't remember what it was all about, but i do remember it involves zhongli going to snezhnaya to meet childe's siblings. the pining and tension on that one is off the roof. i should read it again,,,

○ after everything by Amanveth (i think that's how their username is written,,) - literally palate cleansing fluff. there's really good angst as well but it's overall just very sweet and soft, very much a feel-good fic. it's about zhongli and childe going back to being friends after the events of the archon quest and slowly realizing they're in love. it's still ongoing but it updates shockingly fast, and it's a nice little thing to read before going to sleep.

○ the white cicada society by clementinesgulag. still ongoing i think, but i have paused reading it for reasons unrelated to the fic itself, so i can only really atest to the frist arc of it? but holy fuck is the first arc good. the angst is godly in this one, and i'm always a sucker for a good horror mystery. this one is about the gritty and slow reconciliation of post-archon quest zhongli and childe as they investigate a series of awful murders and terrifying paranormal shit (i'm pretty sure) going on in the city. (it might be revealed to not be paranromal later in the fic as that partiuclar plotpoint hadn't yet resolved when i paused it at the end of the first arc, but i wouldn't know. wouldn't make it any less good if it wasn't tho)

○ death became him by Merianon. also still ongoing i think, but part of the many fics i have paused reading for reasons unrelated to them (i have... way too many saved,,,). this one is about childe going back in time after dying and waking up as a god, and the fic starts there, so it's about how the events of the game go with childe as a god and not in the fatui. i can't remember all that much about it tbh, but i remember i really liked it, the concept was so interesting. i'm waiting for it to end.

○ a sight for sore eyes by ToumeiKyoudai. still ongoing afaik, but i paused reading it as of very recently (again for reasons outside of the fic). this one is the events of the game except childe is legally blind. you have no idea how interesting and hilarious this fic is, the premise is so simple but it's so nicely executed. i can't really say all that much more about it since it's basically just that- it's a retelling but childe's blind. and he's so fucking funny. it's all so fucking funny, and the worldbuilding is stellar, and i just really really like it i can't explain why exactly. it's not a comedy! but fuck it's so entertaining.

i have so many more that i wish i could put here but i'm not 100% confident in their titles nor which fic was which (happens when you have a ton bookmarked but have paused reading a lot of them), so i don't want to risk saying this fic is one thing when in reality it's something else completely different,,,

these last two i put below for reasons i'll explain in each of their blurbs, but they're still as recomended as those above!

○ lungs full of roses, by SecretlyACatLady. if this is the title (and i'm 99% certain it is, but i can't check), then this is hands down the BEST hanahaki angst i've ever read. i'm not kidding. this one is very specific in its angst tho, and i gather likely not what everyone is looking for in a hanahaki fic, but holy fuck. basically childe gets hanahaki here but knows he cannot afford to have anyone find out he has it (bc fatui) and also not that he died from it, i think? might be mistaking that particular plotpoint for another fic. anyway- he leaves liyue but zhongli goes to look for him bc he's confused and just wants to apologize for the whole tsaritsa's contract and all. it gets out of hand real quick when the ppl of mondstadt try to help by acting as pushy wingmen and it's so GOOD holy fuck. i've never liked when other characters try to push the main pair together and act all 'just kiss already we all know!' around them, and seeing it backfire as horribly as it could if it were a realistic scenario (tho enhanced bc childe) is so incredibly satisfying. the reason why i put it down here is 1) i'm not 100% sure that's the title and 2) if it hasn't been abandoned, it's been in hiatus for a while now. which is hearbreaking, but it's also such a good fic that i'd honestly recommend it regardless if only for the angst at the start. but i understand not everyone is in for something like that if it doesn't resolve/likely won't resolve (idk if it's abandoned tho but i understand that if a fic takes too long to update, people will fear the worst). so yeah,,

○ non-playable character, by Jouicifer. this one is here exclusively because i'm a sucker for horror mystery - it doesn't mean the zhongchi isn't good, but it's not as prevalent in the plot as in white cicada (another horror mystery), so i can't exactly put it with the other more zhongchi-centric fics? not that the zhongchi isn't here, but. hard to explain. this one is also hard to explain in general, i'm not sure if it's based on the premise of another story or if this is a highly-secific trope/sub-genre in china (i think?), but the author refers to it as 'unlimited flow', so look it up if you want to be sure. either way, much like with eoos, it doesn't matter if you know anything about whatever that might be to enjoy and understand the story. the rundown is childe and a bunch of other people are players in this sort of virtual-reality scenario hopper, where they get put in 'games' with other players where they can die (tho idk if die die irl as well). basically, in the newest scenario they get thrown into, it's a horror murder mystery about a haunted mansion, and their guiding npc is zhongli, whom childe has met in another scenario and whom he is an absolute simp for. god idk how to explain it, it's just so good; but you need to be there for the plot first and the ship second. the ship is there! it's just the plot takes presedence. but holy fuck is the plot good. the reason why it's down here, like lungs full of roses, isn't bc of the plot or the ship being secondary, but... well, it's also been in hiatus for a long while now. to this fic's credit in particular, it was in a long hiatus before, but updated! out of nowhere! and then it went into its current hiatus, so. again, i understand people don't like that, but i'm a patient person so i'm willing to keep it in my bookmarks for as long as it takes (and forever if it gets abandoned). it's just THAT good. and since there's not much horror murder mystery in this fandom (or in fics in general), i'll take whatever i can get. the mystery is good in this one, so it helps.

(edit: added some authors and a fic title, thank you archon-of-chaos and redwormonastring!)

[whump-captain]

always down to see more captain writing if you're up for it ..! sentence for the five-sentence game: The wound kept trying to heal.

*emerges from the notes app covered in blood* where am i

Thank u so much anon bc i was genuinely expecting to write 5 sentences with incredible effort but this ended up being much longer and not only am i fairly happy with it but i also feel like i learned while writing it. And it has stabbing! I love stabbing!

---

CN: stabbing, chase, painful supernatural healing, trace amounts of body horror

---

The wound kept trying to heal. Ethan shivered, tasting blood from his lip that he bit to keep his voice in. They were just around the corner, they'd hear him if he screamed. With his shoulder pressed into the wall, he dragged himself another step forward. The knife in his ribcage shifted and he gasped soundlessly at the pain. His legs trembled.

The bleeding had stopped now, the veins hemmed by threads of gold inside his body. His desperate grip on the wound was now a futile attempt to stabilize the blade and keep it from slicing through the raw, slowly regenerating tissue. Ethan could feel it writhe, like roots growing through his flesh.

His glove was stiff with blood. The small, twitching motions of his fingers felt delayed, as if moving through liquid. Or as if not his own. He heard the whisper, both animal and horribly sapient. It told him to pull the knife out, take the burning heat of blood and tissue with it. The wound would heal then, the pain would stop, the flesh would change its owner, do it. Do it, do it, do it. Like a beast in a trap, gnaw off the leg and crawl to safety. He could barely stand now, every step felt like falling into darkness. Do it, the golden voice said, this body is failing and death is poison for both of us.

He wanted to. He'd pay his pound of flesh, whatever it took, for the pain to stop. He could no longer swallow the whimpers. But as much as that alien voice knew of him, it didn't understand the limits of a human body. Knitting together skin and muscle, weaving veins back into place, halting death - all of that was trivial to it. But Ethan's body bore the toll every time. The last time he'd healed, he'd gone into a coma for three days. Lucy had said he'd collapsed the moment the scar had settled.

And now, he had to keep going. Footsteps still chased him, echoing like the barking of hunting hounds. If he stopped, they'd find him. If he fainted, he stood no chance. A beast without a leg made easier prey. He had to run, with the trap still closed around him, until he found somewhere to hide.

Five more excruciating steps brought him through an archway, into a courtyard. He stumbled through, collided with a lamppost. He stood there for drawn out moment, coiled on himself, weeping quietly from the pain. Forward. Forward. Do it, do it, do it. Heat bloomed under his hand from a vein opened anew. His own blood burned him.

Something blocked out the light. Ethan flinched back but a strong hand caught him.

"Come on." Lucy helped him upright. "I found a way, they won't catch up."

When she pulled him forward, his knees buckled. Something in his chest tore and he groaned, high and ragged. Lucy fumbled, looked him up and down. "Fuck," she whispered.

Ethan clung to her on the way down, crumbling into her waiting arms. Every breath hurt now, he could barely get the words out.

"Help me up," he pleaded. "We have- to go. I- hear them."

Lucy lowered him to the ground. Her hands were like shackles on him, the touch made his stomach turn with fear and memory. She followed his arm to the wound and he heard her suck in a breath. He wanted to pull away but he couldn't let go. The knife twitched like a live wire with his trembling.

"Take it out," Lucy said. "Do your healing thing. I'll carry you."

Ethan couldn't speak but he shook his head. His blood burned and the knife felt like a shard of ice among it. His hand moved towards the handle; he couldn't tell by whose will.

"I'll carry you," Lucy repeated. "Just- Come on." She wanted to say "trust me" but she had no right.

Her hands on him felt like embers. She was holding his head up, somehow knowing exactly where he had to look. Towards the knife but not at it. He had no strength left to move his limbs, not even the golden fingers that didn't need him at all. Do it, they whispered. He was too afraid.

"You do it," he pleaded. Lucy met his eyes and in them he saw that he had no right either. That she hated being this to him. But there were footsteps coming and blood stuck his fingers together and he was so, so afraid.

She covered his mouth; gently, but it felt like she'd pushed his breath back into his lungs. She gave no warning. The knife came out in a lightning strike of pain and Ethan's choked scream followed. He shuddered, curled into Lucy's arms and she held him tight like the ropes of a lifejacket. The pain dimmed for a single heartbeat. Then his ribs and muscles twisted, grew out, then imploded back into misshapen facsimiles. He kept screaming, even after breath has left him, muffled by Lucy's hand and her whispers that dissloved before they reached him.

As the pain blurred away, so did his vision. He felt blindly around his chest and found the lazy motion of a golden scar weaving itself over the small, elongated wound. The last of the regenerating nerves send shocks through him like current but they barely felt like pain anymore. He was fading. His body reeled from the mutilation and it was shutting down to protect itself.

Ethan'd head lolled back and with a shred of fleeting consciousness he realized he was rising. Lucy's voice sounded closer when she said: "We gotta go. I've got you."

He tried to say her name. He couldn't feel anything now, not the pain, not her grip, not the rush of blood to his head. He'd never been so tired in his life.

"I'm faster than them." Now she sounded far away. The pause stretched for infinity or maybe for a single human heartbeat. She repeated: "I've got you."

Then, softly and with pain, she said: "Trust me."

He tried to say that he does.

He couldn't feel anything.

[heirsoftheveil]

Update! More on what happened to Eleven and Cort in the past!

CN for nudity (on website) and body horror

Read here!

First Current Tapas