#cue me screaming into the abyss

[not-actually-human]

gonna krill myself. today was her birthday and she sent me a photo of her outfit and i almost fell off my bed bc shes so hot

[ckret2]

Bill having freaky sex with his girlfriend the howling void A.K.A Yvonne

Joke's on you I've already written Bill having freaky sex with the howling void!! Through sheer improbable luck I wrote Bill having freaky sex with the howling void before TBOB even came out!!!

In fact, the freaky sex is so freaky that it's not even nsfw. It has zero overlap with human carnal acts. ... except that it involves screaming.

So, here: Bill Cipher having "sex(?)" with Yvonne Torizon. Warning that this is atypically tender & earnest because it is 💕 Bill's First Girlfriend 💕 and he's still young, naive, not completely jaded, and thinks this sudden rush of giddy infatuation will last forever and possibly fix him. He's wrong.

"Okay," Yvonne whispered. She tugged him closer and he wrapped an arm around her wispy, ghostly back; and she pulled his embrace infinitely inward.

He had a voice that could be heard from every part of Dimension Zero; but he confessed what had truly happened to his home in a whisper pressed up to her event horizon. Where the words would fall into her dimensionless heart and never escape.

####

To anyone close enough to them to see what was happening, what they did looked like an infinitely-regenerating fractal solar panel sliding an eyeball across its surfaces as it infinitely folded up into an infinitely small origami singularity around an infinitely black core.

Nobody could possibly be close enough to see what was happening. The view was sucked into Yvonne's horizon, never to be witnessed by anyone but her. 

When a black hole consumes a star, it pulls it in a little bit at a time, in a string of light, like a hand unravelling a ball of yarn by winding the yarn around its fingers. Because of the way light bends in the vicinity of a black hole, no matter what angle you're looking from, the light seems to surround the black hole in a ring, like a halo.

From every point in Dimension Zero, it was possible to see a halo of golden-white light at the center of reality.

For six hours, the howl of the void echoed through the Nightmare Realm.

####

She was shivering; the optical illusion of distorted light surrounding her rippled like a heat mirage.

"Everything okay?"

"M'fine." Her voice was thick. "It's just— It's been a long time since anyone's been able to physically touch me."

"It's been a long time since anyone's been able to physically hurt me." He hadn't realized how badly he'd needed to hurt.

She terrified him. Nothing had ever shaken him to his core the way her voice did. When he gazed too long into her abyss, he could feel it gazing into him. It pulled him in. He wanted to fall into her and never come out. He wanted to be crushed into her core and...

He tried not to think about what he wanted to happen to him.

He loved her. He was going to spend the rest of eternity with her.

And cue the laughter from anybody who knows anything at all about Bill.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call the honeymoon period.

[desolatespring]

CW: yandere themes, threats of murder, dubcon/noncon, mentions of dacryphilia, overstimulation, and edging, oral sex (f receiving), dom Chrollo, 18+ Commission for @tomatop It took awhile to pick up on, but you eventually began to notice the subtle cues Chrollo inadvertently laid before you. In a way it almost humanized him, and that you thought, was even more unnerving than just accepting him as a monster. Viewing Chrollo as human was a cruel conclusion you struggled to come to. Despite the insurmountable power, and cold calculated behaviors, he was still a man. On rare occasions you came close to feeling bad for him, never true empathy, but pity.

Tonight was one of those instances. His usual methods of producing verbalized emotional turmoil, or as he liked to call it “banter” had ceased to work a few days ago. You remembered an article you read soon after graduating, and the term “stonewalling” stood out to you. It consisted of simply refusing to answer questions or responding to someone as an act of self preservation. Chrollo seemed to feed off your responses to him, you hoped by cutting him off from them he’d simply starve. Anything from a forced smile to you screaming in frustration was enough to temporarily satisfy him, providing him with enough material to psychoanalyze you for days, if not weeks on end. So, you decided to limit his resources.

You sat cross legged on the floor, back leaning against the bed, with a book in your hand. Under normal circumstances you loved reading, but alas, nothing with Chrollo could be considered normal. The only reading material you had he had supplied you with, was it really necessary for you to be reading “Fahrenheit 451” for the third time? You swore you’d go insane if he compared you Clarisse McClellan even once more.

When you first started reading Chrollo was at the head of the bed, reading his own novel, but after a few chapters he’d invited himself to lay down right behind you, his hand “accidentally” brushing your hair on occasion as he turned the page. Not long after this you could feel his eyes on you. The chill that tended to run up your spine under his scrutinizing gaze never came though. This is what told you something was off, even without turning your head you could almost feel emptiness radiating from him, threatening to swallow you into the abyss. That alone was almost enough to make you capitulate, ready to beg him for forgiveness for ignoring him.

Forcing yourself to focus on the pages in front of you, you successfully set these feelings aside. That was until the once sporadic brushes against your hair became more frequent. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that fingers that once touched you with an unspoken confidence became riddled with doubt. The touches were much more gentle, you could tell he was deep in thought.

That caused you yourself to think. Was he getting bored of you? If he was you considered yourself to be found guilty of treason, willing to receive capital punishment. No longer having an interest in you would surely be cause enough for him to kill you. You saw first hand the way he quickly disposed of his fortunes after heists. Once they served their purpose they were discarded and he moved onto his next target. Surely you’d meet the same fate if he no longer felt a need for you.

The realization had you speaking before you could stop yourself, “Did you finish your book?”

Just like that the emptiness you felt earlier was replaced with substance, you could practically feel the arrogant grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No. Is yours too difficult to understand? I could explain it to you.” Almost instantaneously you regretted opening your mouth, maybe death would be better than having this cretin belittle you.

Deciding you’ve already had enough of the conversation you begin to focus on your story again. Your escape is short lived as the book is snatched from your fingers.

“What made you speak to me again?”

You sigh before turning to face him. Of course he would ask. Maybe trying to seem like you had his best interest at heart would temporarily win him over.

“You seemed disappointed.”

He pauses before responding. “Elaborate, there’s more to it than that.”

You purse your lips. Shit. I should’ve thought that one through better. “I assumed if you were disappointed with my silence you’d grow bored and just kill me.”

He seems satisfied with your answer. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise the king of deceit saw through your original deception.

Rolling onto his back he faces the ceiling with his fingers intertwined below his chest. His breathing is steady and his eyelashes flutter shut, casting a small shadow on his cheeks. In this moment all you think is how unfair it is for someone so evil to possess such attractive features. Wasn’t it said Lucifer was the most beautiful of God’s angels? you muse.

“You’re right you know? I feel like we’re at a standstill lately. I could replace you.”

Your breath hitches as you freeze. “I-I’m sorry?” Your voice sounds hoarse as you stutter.

“There is a way you could make it up to me. Buy yourself some time at the very least.”

You look at him reproachfully, waiting for him to explain further.

“You hardly resist when I touch you now.” He opens his eyes and turns towards you, watching for your reaction before continuing, “you could indulge me in some of my other… fantasies. Unless of course, I have to find someone new.”

The implications of his words causes your blood to run cold. Not only would your life be cut short, at this point that might be your preferred alternative, but he’d also find someone new. Taking a shaky breath you accept his offer. Someone new? Jealousy didn’t fuel your readiness to agree; you couldn’t bare the thought of anyone else falling victim to this man, not due to your own selfishness.

Sensing your forfeit, a satisfied smile chisels itself onto his alabaster skin, “come here.”

You hesitate before standing. Once you’ve risen you look down at your feet, each step looking like it was recorded in slow motion and looped back on repeat. All too soon your shaking knees collide with the side of the bed and you climb on top to kneel in front of him.

His hand reaches out, tucking the hair covering your face behind you ear. It slides down to underneath your chin as he gently lifts your face towards him. “Good girl.”

Under any other circumstances the action would have you swooning, but the butterflies in your stomach have turned to bile and you force yourself to keep it down. Pestilence sat before you, touching you with the delicate hands of a lover, while you became riddled with the plague.

Pulling you closer his lips hover centimeters from yours, the fresh smell of mint and cologne stinging your nose. If you weren’t so stunned you might’ve pulled away, but now it was too late as he finishes closing the distance between the two of you.

His lips were warmer than you expected. Softer too. Although the soul in Chrollo may have died long ago, his body was still alive and breathing. With a start you feel his tongue grazing your lower lip, his silent plea for you to reciprocate his actions. Swallowing your pride you lightly part your lips, begrudgingly allowing him access.

Once again he surprises you, the restraint he exhibits in this moment is unparalleled. Nothing is too rough or too fast, if it were anyone else you might even find it pleasant.

The taste of mint spreads to your tongue and you hesitantly put more effort into pleasing him. The hand on your chin relocated to rest on the side of your face while the other grips your hip. There’s no real force behind it but you know pulling away just got rendered impossible.

He continues to deepen the kiss as he guided you to straddle his lap. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable he begins leaning back, coercing your body to be on top of his.

Both hands are now on your hips and his fingers begin creeping under the waistband of your shorts. Using a little more force he guides your hips lower and motions for them to roll against him. Despite the voice in your head telling you it’s wrong, you follow his lead and cautiously grind against him. Overtime it becomes more natural and you resist the pleasantry less.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the way his pants begin to stiffen, adding more pressure to your clit. You inhale sharply, abruptly breaking the kiss. Chrollo uses the opening to his advantage.

“Hm, it’s a wonder how you denied yourself for so long, look at how you’re taking charge.”

The mockery causes your cheeks to flush in anger. Before you have the chance to argue that he’s the one making you do this, his lips are back on yours.

Satisfied with your silence he pulls his mouth from yours, now beginning to trail kisses down your neck. As he reaches your collarbone he gives a light nip before easing your shirt off of you.

You curse yourself for not wearing a bra, now leaving yourself far more exposed than you’re comfortable with.

It seems to be spur of the moment decision as he flips you over onto your back, opting for himself to be the one on top. His fingers wrap around your wrists and he has the strength to easily hold both of your hands with one of his own.

He now freed hand begins to fondle your breasts before he gently begins sucking one of your nipples. He releases it with a pop and blows on the wet skin, the cool air causing you to shiver and arch your back.

He looks at you with a knowing smirk. You shoot him down with a glare. He clearly isn’t deterred since he’s now sliding your shorts off of you. He snaps the waistband of your panties against your hips before removing those too.

You being fully nude when he’s still in a button down and black trousers only reinstates the power imbalance you know exists. You’re completely vulnerable to him, and he’s just observing you. It’s hard to tell if his arousal is coming from you or the humiliating position he’s put you in.

“Unbutton my shirt.” Your glare softens to more of a pout as you listen to his instructions. You try unclasping the buttons as fast as possible to get the inevitable done and over with.

“I didn’t realize how badly you wanted this. Slow down.” You look back up to him and the expression on his face can only be described as taunting. He knows damn well why you’re in a rush, and it has nothing to do with excitement.

Nonetheless you slow your pace and maintain the eye contact with him, making your discontent as apparent as possible.

The moment his shirt is discarded he’s grabbing your hips with more intensity and pinning them down to the mattress. His grip is bordering on painful but you try not to show it, deciding to just take it in stride and lay there.

He slowly lowers himself between your thighs, making sure to keep his eyes on you. At this point your will starts to crumble and you look away, suddenly wanting to give him as little to work with as possible.

Chrollo seems unbothered by this, admittedly probably expecting it. The next thing you notice is the feeling of his warm tongue licking a long, sensual stripe up the length of your inner thigh. You subconsciously try closing your legs at the contact. But in an instant his hands are leaving your hips and moving to your legs to hold them open.

He continues to trail up your leg, occasionally leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses and bites. Every time he gets close to your pussy he switches to the other leg and starts the process over. After a few repetitions you lose count of how many times he’s done it.

Despite it being Chrollo, you start to desire more and the teasing is getting to you. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sickening realization. He wants you to beg him for it. You whine in frustration at the thought, temporarily forgetting he’s there to hear all your noises.

“Is something wrong, my dear?” His words slightly hushed by the way he spoke them into your leg.

“Stop teasing…” you mumble, hoping that’ll be enough to satisfy him. It wasn’t.

He stops altogether and props himself up on his left elbow to see you better. “I can’t understand you darling, please look at me when you’re speaking to me.”

You huff and sit up slightly. “I said stop teasing.” Your words are even quieter this time and you can tell by his grin that you’re blushing.

“What would you like me to do instead?”

You bite your lower lip to avoid screaming at him. He seems to have mistaken it as a sign of arousal though because he grin only grows bigger.

“I-I um, I want you to eat me out…”

You can practically see how the gears turn in his head. Thankfully, this half hearted attempt at dirty talk seemed to be enough for him.

Not giving you time to react, he drops his head back down and licks along your slit before taking you clit between his lips and sucking gently.

“Ah-” you yelp in surprise and tilt your head back, not wanting him to be able to see any of your expressions. As you lay back down he only doubles down on his endeavors. Your back arches and much to your chagrin you can’t hold back your soft moans.

His tongue swirls around and over your clit until he finds a rhythm that you clearly enjoy. You go to reach for his hair but last second your fingers opt for the satin sheets instead.

You’re to blissed out to think much of anything when he reaches up and sticks two fingers in your mouth. Assuming it’s just a kink of his you decide to indulge him.

As he pulls his fingers out of your mouth his thumb trails down your lower lip. Your eyes widen and your whimpers get louder as he abruptly begins to finger you. Taken aback by the bold gesture you cuss him out.

“Fuck you.”

“We’ll get there.”

You scoff in annoyance but it’s quickly silenced when you feel his fingers begin curling inside of you. Between this and the love letter he’s writing with his tongue your orgasm begins to build.

You’re fairly certain you can feel him smirk against you as he comes to the same conclusion. Your back arches of the mattress and you string together a mantra of words.

“Chrollo- I’m, fuck I’m close.”

And just like that his fingers are gone and his mouth is pulling away. You sit up, confused. Shame washes over you at the sight of him. He’s perfectly composed, leisurely pulling his cock from his pants, while you’re forehead is covered with a sheen of sweat, cheeks red, and your mouth is slightly agape.

He looks up and seems rather proud of himself for leaving you with such a dazed expression. Now freed from his pants he grabs your calves and yanks you to him, resulting in a nervous giggle leaving your lips.

“Lay back down.” His tone is softer now and he nudges your shoulder, motioning for you to recline back.

You give him one last hesitant glance before doing as you’re told. The sound of him spitting in his hand before lightly stroking himself causes you to grimace. How alluring.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as he leans over you, staring into your eyes as he lines himself up with your entrance. This is the most life you’ve seen in the empty sea of grey. His pupils are blown wide with lust and there’s a glimmer of something else in there but you can’t quite put your finger on it. If he was anyone else you might’ve mistaken it for love.

He’s careful as he enters you. Watching your face for any signs of discomfort. The sudden look of care throws you off guard and you feel almost dizzy as your emotions muddle together.

You let out a shaky breath once he’s fully inserted himself, forcing your muscles to relax despite the slight sting from how he stretches you out. Once you adjust to his size he sets a slow, steady pace, gradually picking up speed as you settle into it.

He brings himself closer to you, resting his face in the crook of your neck which he makes sure to mark. His breath tickles as his teeth graze along your earlobe.

Being too lost in the moment to care, your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. The low groan he lets in response causes a pleasurable shiver to run through your body. Clearly appreciating your submission his hand snakes up and his fingers curl around your throat, giving it a light squeeze. When he hears no protests and only a high pitched whimper in response his grip tightens.

He sits up straighter at this and tosses one of your legs over his shoulder. The change in position causes your eyes to roll back as he ruts himself deeper into you, making sure to hit every spot that makes your leg shake around him.

For the second time you feel your orgasm approaching but this time he shows no sign of stopping. Instead, opting to coax your through it.

“Mm, I knew you’d take me so well, sweetheart~” his voice is husky and his cheeks flushed a light pink. If you weren’t so close to cumming you’d probably laugh at the sight of Chrollo looking flustered.

Instead, his words send you over the edge and your hand latches onto his forearm. The grip of his hand around your throat once again tightens as the way your nails dig into his skin. He groans as your walls squeeze around him.

He continues fucking you throughout your high and by the end of it your babbling from the overstimulation. He removes his hand from you throat and delicately places it in your hair, his pace slightly slowing as he sees you growing overwhelmed.

They way you now spasm with each thrust as tears prick at the corners of your eyes is enough to bring him to his own release. His hips stutter and he waits a moment before pulling out, relishing at your final whines, a symphony you’ve orchestrated just for him.

After you’ve both cleaned up he ticks you into bed, laying down beside you. Despite your earlier actions you still stiffen when his arm wraps around your waist. The silken sheets that helped ground you earlier now holding you prisoner.

“You know, I was only bluffing earlier. I don’t think I could ever get tired of you. A day with you could supply me with a lifetime of musings.”

It takes a moment for his words to set in, but once they do you’re sitting upright, anger bubbling in your throat, ready to be released.

“You mean that was all just a ploy to sleep with me?” Your fists clench at your sides, eager to collide with him.

“Of course it was. Now go to bed.” He replies lazily, flicking off the lights.

[vasito-de-leche]

a little prompt, if you don’t mind

what about mercenary!reader and symbiote!Pavia? it’s just Pavia’s ult/wolves kinda remind me of Venom and i think it would be fun to imagine him being something like Venom

;R1999 PAVIA - "under your skin"

Symbiote!Pavia x Mercenary!Reader 2.5k words body horror What you and Pavia have is nothing more than transactional—you need him to make a living, and he needs you alive to ensure a comfortable life. It's taken some time to get used to these changes, to share everything you have with him for the sake of convenience: your home, your food, your job. And most importantly, your body. Perfect symbiosis, or dysfunctional parasitism? You've yet to figure out where you two stand. One thing is clear, though; he's the best at getting under your skin.

i just want you to know that this prompt speaks to MY SOUL bc i love venom and pavia so fucking much. you dont understand how hard i think about the concept of a symbiotic relationship between symbiote and host. so I went extremely self-indulgent with this one <3

as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!

Bang!

A clean kill.

The only reason you watch as the body drops to the ground is out of respect for the work you do, nothing else. You've done this a dozen times, and you will do it a dozen more -- the gun in your hand has become a reliable friend rather than a tool for mindless murder, its familiar weight a fleeting comfort in the tedious routine. A shame it came from the most annoying person you know.

Screaming ensues as everyone surrounding your target runs around in panic. You remain, eyes locked on the target. When someone moves their body, attempting to cradle that lifeless corpse, you see it; a bullet right between their eyebrows, the perfect shot.

You feel a tug, but it comes from within your chest cavity. Something squirms inside you, pulling you back, and you understand this as your cue to slide back into the shadows. It begins with a single step backwards, then another, until you feel the texture under your shoes shift -- what was once solid ground is now a dark, velvety mass, floating upwards and fading away like smoke. It licks at your ankles, providing an initially cold sensation that permeates your clothes, and then it continues upwards to your calves, your knees, your thighs. The gun slowly dissolves into slime, taking the shape of what you assume to be a hand, horrible and sticky fingers intertwined with yours, pulling you downwards.

By then, you feel that burning sensation, and then you're dragged into the abyss.

"That was a lousy shot."

A voice echoes in your mind, it is not your own. It feels like a thousand ants marching alongside your cranium. Or rather, what you assume to be your cranium -- in this current state, you can't separate yourself from the embrace of the void. The voice might as well reverberate all around you.

You scoff and insist. No, it was a perfect shot.

"Perfect my ass. You were off by 2 centimeters," the biting remark makes you clench your jaw. You don't reply. The voice does the same, it remains still, only a semblance of white noise, but you understand its silence as a smug victory.

Suddenly, vertigo takes hold of you. It only happens for a split second, always unannounced, but you know better than to brace yourself. Doing so, as you've learned, would only make you nauseous, dizzy and weak -- instead, you let go and the shadows gently coax you back into the light before dissipating in the air.

You find yourself in front of your apartment door, an odd and anticlimactic way of ending a productive day. What, no snack run today?

"Not feeling it today. So you either open the door on your own, or I'll do it myself. Get a move on."

Some of these threats tend to hold more water than others, but more often than not, they're just empty words and loud, useless barking. And so you've learned to ignore them all -- however, you feel a faint prodding inside your back pocket, like a tentacle in search of something. Right, your keys. The roll of your eyes and the slowness in your movements are the only means of rebellion you have against this annoying entity in your head, it continues to breathe down your neck, impatient as ever, until the door opens and you step into your safe haven.

"Finally! Guess there's some activity in that brain dead head of yours."

You're forced to make a bee-line for the kitchen and the fridge, puppeteered by a force much more stronger, much more ancient than every insignificant emotion you've ever felt: the damn parasite inside of you is hungry.

As you both scan the leftovers -- your leech of a roommate seeing through your eyes, smelling through your nose -- the voice returns, this time in a more playful tone, less grating than before.

"Scusi, what's with the silent treatment today?" You bite the inside of your cheek and it laughs at you. "Don't tell me, wolf got your tongue? Are you mad that I saw right through your poor, shitty technique?"

A suffocating presence crawls inside you, starting from somewhere below your rib cage and making its way upwards through your esophagus and trachea, shifting until you feel the prodding of cold, slimy fingers in your mouth. They are tasteless and you can still breathe, your body not even bothering to perceive this as an obstruction or an intruding force that must be coughed and spat out. They are careless in their movements, pinching the tip of your tongue and pushing against your clenched teeth in an attempt to get you to open up.

And the worst part is that this is nothing but a mocking gesture, you've come to understand this over the years. To you, this is no different than someone poking at your sides, childishly asking for your attention. You obediently open, enough for a single digit to slip out, one you recognize as the middle finger. It presses down on your lower lip.

And then you bite down, hard.

It dissipates instantly, it is absorbed back into your body through every inch of skin it makes contact with. There is a new sound in the back of your mind, one you weren't quite expecting. Your parasite laughs, amused, no trace of that usual condescending tone.

"Good, you still know how to use that petty mouth of yours. I don't have to worry about teaching you how to chew down your food."

This makes you stand up straight, turning your head and glaring at an empty space, where you assume this presence would manifest if it chose to stop taking residence in your body, "I'm not eating while you're still in there. If you want dinner, then get out."

There is a beat, a momentary silence. You don't give the parasite any time to bargain, "I'm serious. Use your own damn mouth if you're so hungry. I already have to do everything on my own, I'm not going to start spoon feeding you, too!"

The reply comes out faster than you expected.

"Fine."

For a moment, your vision doubles and your body feels like it's being painlessly torn apart. For a moment, you have two sets of eyes, two sets of arms, two sets of legs and two minds. You are both yourself and him, simultaneously. It is like someone is cutting your soul in half, shoving each part into two different bodies.

It is over in the blink of an eye, and there is a presence looming behind you, made from the same material that took you here, the same material that often travels in your veins and every other crevice, nook and cranny available between your organs and bones. The lights of your apartment flicker, and you take notice of his shadow cast over you.

His predatory gaze burns holes in the back of your head, and in the stillness of it all, you hear his steps, the sound his leather pants and the shifting of his shirt fabric as he steps closer -- until you feel his chest against your back. An arm slides into view, closing the door to the fridge and resting there, preventing you from escaping. It is decorated with all the useless, silver jewelry he's taken from your targets, a hand covered with tattoos you've often traced with your very own fingers in the past.

Oddly enough, you do not feel like prey. Not anymore. Your instinct tells you that you should, but truth be told, you could not care less. Especially when you feel his chin dig into the top of your head, his weight pressing lazily on you.

"…But in exchange, I'm cooking tonight. You got 10 seconds to get outta here." He shifts, and his cheek nuzzles into you as he yawns, like he's ready to move on from this conversation.

"Huh?" You slide from under him, finally looking at the parasite concealing as a man -- one you recognize as the bane of your existence, Pavia. "Uh, like hell I'm trusting you with the food! I've seen the stuff you put on your pizza."

"Like you're one to talk! You add too much salt to everything you make. If you wanted to ruin your liver, you should've just let me eat it from day one. 5 seconds left before I throw you out. C'mon."

"Do you even know how to cook? Any actual recipes that don't require winging everything?"

"Does pasta with a side of 'mind your fucking business or I'll make us eat rat poison' sound good to you?"

"I swear if you put anything funny in the food--…"

"Time's up. Out!" Pavia picks you up, manhandles you even, and tosses you out into the living room. As soon as you land on the couch, the door to the kitchen closes and you're left all alone.

It's easy to forget that you have no fucking clue as to who or what Pavia even is.

No last name, no records, no personal information at all. You've touched him before—he looks and feels just like any other person. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn he bleeds the same way you do. But there are times when that outer layer of normalcy is peeled back just enough to remind you what you're dealing with. Sometimes, the outline of his form darkens, as if the light around him couldn't affect him in any way, and his eyes go dark, so very dark.

You've seen him in this form, unhinging his jaw to uncomfortable degrees and revealing endless sets of saw-like fangs and teeth. His nails have grown longer, thicker and sharper than expected in many occasions. You would find those on the ground, like a wild dog who has never known, let alone needed, a trimmer.

And most importantly, you've allowed him entry to every pore of your body, every piece of cartilage, every muscle, every vein.

That's when you get a small glimpse into the eldritch monstrosity living under your roof—sometimes, he's a thick fog. Sometimes, he's an oozing pile of slime. Sometimes, he's the big, bad wolf. Sometimes, you can't even understand what you're looking at when he manifests in front of you. Regardless, you're certain of something.

Pavia is darkness, eternal and haunting as the night.

He is also a huge, ungrateful, bastard.

"Hey! Where'd you leave the gelato!? This freezer's a damn mess!" His voice is heard, muffled. It doesn't carry the same cadence and weight as it does when you hear it from within your mind. He sounds more annoying, in fact.

It's a strange experience, to have him coexist right beside you as if he weren't some sort of parasite, one hair away from eating your organs. But at least like this, he cannot read your mind nor attempt to puppet your body like a moron in broad daylight. You don't answer, fully aware that he's only trying to piss you off and lure you into another argument -- as if he'd ever lose sight of his precious dessert, anyway. Instead, you busy yourself with the usual routine; finishing what is left of your work, contact your employers and whatnot.

Soon enough, the kitchen door opens and Pavia slides into the room with a single plate of warm food. You look at him, eyes wide in indignation. Oh, he wouldn't …

"Huh? What, I thought you didn't trust me to cook, so I just made something for myself. There's some leftovers from your poor excuse of a lasagna, though." The smarmy expression plastered all over his face as he licks the sauce off his spoon is unbearable, and you rush to the kitchen either to find the biggest knife to drive into his chest or to resign yourself and eat those leftovers.

And then you see it, another plate resting by the counter. Full of delicious looking pasta.

Son of a bitch.

"Bring me some of that orange juice you bought yesterday while you're in there, yeah?" Pavia never gives you time to settle down, demanding your attention and your frustration time and time again, unable to form a single coherent thought nor opinion about him.

He's annoying, that's all you've been able to figure out so far.

He's annoying, and he's made a mess out of your kitchen to cook this meal for both of you. He's annoying, and stingy when it comes to sharing his favorite snacks and desserts, but he never attempts to steal your own. He's annoying, and he offers you a power beyond your wildest dreams, to get rid of inhibition and embrace the abilities of an eldritch beast. He's annoying, and he hogs all the fucking blankets at night, planting his cold feet against your legs or back to add insult to injury.

He's annoying, and he's calling out to you once more, telling you to hurry or else you'll miss "that one stupid show" you like, that he'll switch channels if you don't sit down with him to eat. You sigh. The nerve, the hypocrisy. You know the things he likes to watch -- he has no right to criticize your taste like this.

"I'm coming, calm down! Christ …"

You notice that he never lingers nor invades any of your usual places, always picking the same spots for himself, and this is ironic in every way possible given his fickle nature. There's no doubt that as soon as you two retire for the night, Pavia will make a show out of sliding back into your body, to rest with the warmth of your blood and the soothing rhythm of your heart. And you will tell him to fuck off and sleep on the couch, reminding him of that one time he got a little too comfortable, clutching your heart in his claws, causing you to believe you were having a heart attack. Then, morning will arrive, and you will find Pavia either sprawled out or gone, but never truly leaving you alone. You will feel him, that inky slime, both cold and warm in your veins. You will go to work, and you will return home to start all over again. This is the routine, one you stopped questioning a long time ago.

This parasite who gets under your skin, both figuratively and literally, is annoying. He's annoying when he teases you, forcing you to admit that he can cook a mean pasta. He's annoying when he laughs, loud and boisterous, at those stupid moments he often criticizes in all of your favorite shows. He's annoying when he gets clingy, using you as a pillow because he can't be bothered to reach out for one of the many other pillows scattered around.

He's so very annoying when he looks at you with a curious gleam in his eyes, obviously noticing the way you've chosen to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Time stands still as you simply look at each other, as you lose yourself in those bright, sharp eyes.

You stick out your tongue at him, and Pavia blows a raspberry at you. Sure, he might be plenty annoying on his own, but together you're both insufferable and unstoppable.

[amazingmsme]

this is the most random weird pairing but like just hear me out…

lee!richie with any ler!lord in black (maybe wiggly 👀)

MDGSMWJD I’M OBSESSED WITH THIS OMGGG WIGGLY WOULD THINK HE’S SO ANNOYING BECAUSE HE WON’T SHUT UP & HIS ENERGY IS JUST TOO MUCH TO DEAL WITH

Got a lil carried away so I’ll spare y’all’s dash

Like just imagine Richie walking through the Black & White & he’s all confused & scared & out of the abyss he sees The Onceler IRL & freaks out but in a good way. He’s the first life form he’s seen in this endless nothingness & it’s the fucking Onceler??? He doesn’t know what the hell is going on but he’s rolling with it!

Walks right up to him like “excuse me, Onceler sir?”

“Excuse you indeed”

“I like your cosplay! :D”

“… my what?”

Cue Richie launching into a tangent about cosplay & the Onceler & Wiggly snaps at him for even thinking he’s that technicolor abomination. So Richie apologizes like “sorry, my mistake… you’re like if the Onceler & Slenderman had a baby!” & let’s just say he really should not have said that because now Wiggly’s even more ticked off. But Richie is oblivious & just scrolling through pictures to show him & trying to convince him it’s not an insult, they’re both really cool!

But Wiggly is just not having any of it & is like “you’ve insulted me for the last time!” & busts out the tentacles & Richie’s like oh shit oh fuck please don’t kill me I’m sorry! & it’s like well damn, you’re already dead I can’t kill you even if I wanted to… I’ll just tickle you instead. So he just goes “no… I plan on doing something much worse”

& he grabs him with a tentacle & Richie screams cause he’s expecting the worst but then he feels something slip under his shirt & start tickling him? & he’s squirming in his hold & trying to wiggle away & is like “hey that tickles” & Wiggly just lets out an evil chuckle like “I know”

& then he realizes that’s what his plan was all along & he starts struggling even more & is like “I-I’m sorry I called you the Onceler! I’ll do anything you want, just let me go!” & that’s the last thing he should’ve said

“Anything?” 👀 “Yeah, anything!” “Okay Richie… laugh” & before he can even do or say anything else he’s laughing hysterically & already begging for mercy. & maybe Wiggly says something a little too close to one of the doll’s voice lines & Richie’s like WAIT A FUCKING SECOND! & he just blurts out “are you that damn tickle doll??” Cause he’s certain he is but also that’s just a silly little toy, he’s not real!

& Wiggly is all defensive like “it’s a vessel! A VESSEL!” Cause he’s used to hearing shit from his brothers but Richie just nods & goes along with it like mhm yep totally, a vessel, got it. But he’s still a little salty so he takes it out on poor Richie

& his laugh is so cute & infectious, Wiggly starts to have fun with it & teases him about his reactions & his squeaky laugh

Ok but also, since he’s dead, his asthma isn’t a think & Richie’s freaking out because shouldn’t he have had an asthma attack by now? Shouldn’t he be wheezing? He’s never been tickled for this long before wtf is happening? & also internally panicking because he shouldn’t be having this much fun

Ok but after Wiggly lets him go Richie just starts following him because he doesn’t know what else to do & Wiggly is so done but he just lets it happen

They’re walking in silence for a while & Richie’s been thinking it over & he just goes “so if you’re the doll… doesn’t that mean you’re ticklish too?” & Wiggly stops dead in his tracks & glares him down & says “do you ever shut the fuck up?” & Richie just goes quiet & Wiggly thinks that’s that & then he hears him mumble “I’ll take that as a resounding yes”

& then Richie’s running for his life (afterlife?) because Wiggly really didn’t appreciate that little quip

[nani-nonny]

*screams into the abyss* I need to interact with people and get out of my little bubble!

Anyways, a possible “LCD’s first impression of POB” that’s one of many i thought of :)

Leonardo often is met with silence when he enters the room with the others like him. At first there were a handful, intimidating in their own way and so, so very different from himself that it made him sick to his core to even dare attempt to speak to them. But as more and more came through those same doors, it just became a nuisance.

So he didn’t bother speaking to any of them. He couldn’t. They all could somewhat comfortably share their stories—share how it felt to meet their own respective counterparts. And to make it worse, a majority of these Leonardos were the polar opposites to himself. They showed care and compassion to their younger counterparts—became role models to these kids. Some even brought their counterparts into the room, flaunting their past selves like their own family.

But one in particular, noticed, was drastically different from the others. He wore a baby carrier—as if that wasn’t strange enough as is—a toddler strapped to his chest and one of the largest smiles he had ever seen on a Leonardo.

This Leonardo walked with a confidence he could only rival in his youth. And much to his surprise, the toddler shared the same red crescents as every other mutant in this room. Is that his counterpart?

This Leonardo tickles the small toddler’s plastron, cooing at the tiny hand that grabs at his finger. The child chirps, making just about every other elder slider perk up at the sound.

And suddenly, this Leonardo is surrounded. Other Leos coo and awe at the small child, smiling the largest smiles that didn’t seem possible for these elder sliders. And it didn’t even bother that all these Leonardos were bombarding the small turtle with affections—in fact, it looked welcomed.

The baby-carrier-wearing Leonardo pulls out his phone and starts showing off thousands and millions of photos. Laughing and smiling as he points out the little things his counterpart had been doing at the time of the photos.

It didn’t take a genius to know that this Leonardo absolutely adored and loved his past counterpart.

And this did nothing but sink deep into Leonardo’s gut, swirling and upsetting his stomach as his guilt begins to climb up his insides—reaching desperately with blackened tendrils for freedom through his mouth. This Leonardo saw his counterpart and saw a child—a child who needed love, but Leonardo saw his and…

He swallows his guilt and turns away.

But to this new Leonardo, no one can escape the baby pictures. No one is allowed to escape the small turtle in his baby harness.

Harness-wearing Leonardo takes a step toward the elder slider who’s back is turned but his shoulder is held back. He meets eyes with Blue, who shakes his head and says, “Don’t bother, Nardo. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others.”

Despite this, Nardo shakes his head and continues to smile, “I’ll be quick. And look, Bitty wants to say hi, too.”

On cue, the small turtle’s eyes flicker back and forth between Blue and Leonardo, eyes filled with burning excitement and tiny hands reaching for the elder slider.

Nardo cockily motions to the tiny hands and says, “I can’t deny what the little hands want, ‘thems the rules’.”

Without a moment to hesitate, Nardo rushes over to Leonardo, phone in hand and albums of photos ready to share. “Hey! Old guy! I’m new here—I’m Nardo and this is Bitty!”

Leonardo looks over his shoulder and immediately shakes his head, “No, it’s fine.”

In just a few seconds, Nardo has his arm thrown over Leonardo’s shoulder and phone practically shoved in the elder’s face. But before Nardo can attempt to share about the first photo, Leonardo slips out of the younger’s slung-over arm.

In a desperate attempt to distance himself, Leonardo glares at the younger, his disgust forming a bitter lump in his throat, “Don’t touch me.”

Nardo raises a brow, “Okay, touchy.”

The small turtle releases a chirp that makes Leonardo sick to his core—not because he, himself, is disgusted by this child. No, no, he is far from that. He is simply repulsed by his former actions.

As if haunted—his mind playing games in an attempt to suffocate him, he didn’t see the toddler chirp in the younger’s harness. He saw Leo, his own counterpart, standing before him with the scars he had inflicted upon their first meeting. His counterpart’s attempt to cry out for brothers that weren’t there, echoed in his mind instead of the child’s concerned chirp.

Leonardo swallows heavily, He has to leave. He has to get out of here. He can’t stay here any longer.

So, with jaw clenched tight and stomach churning, he holds tightly to his sword’s braided hilt and turns away.

POB: that’s too many Leos, put one back by @beeceit

(I didn’t forget to tag, you did /j)

[ms-katonic-of-tamriel]

The Man Called Uncle

Uncle Cicero as the Herald of Andraste. AU where Justinia brings him along to the Conclave... and he's the one who picks up the orb using telekinesis. The orb's power is already reversing Tranquillity, and Uncle gets a good look at the mysterious orb that's healing him, and starts going a little Gollum over it.

"Sacrifice the Divine if you want, Nine know I'm not putting myself out for the Chantry after what they did. I'm keeping this. Now, I'm no wizard but how does this work. Like this?"

Manages to trigger the explosion, but with a twist. No Anchor in his hand as he wasn't physically holding it... but the power activates his dormant dragon blood, and a Dragonborn can take the power like a dragon's soul. So here he is, in the Fade, newly Dragonborn, Tranquillity broken, and the Anchor's power has done two other noteworthy things: rejuvenate him physically and give him knowledge of the Shouts to open and close the Fade. And it's him they find sitting out in the Temple ruins, having just Shouted the Fade shut.

Leliana was not OK with him being here anyway. She was not coping with having him around, not OK with him being there every time she wanted to talk to Justinia, and then she saw the explosion and thought he'd died and felt horrible... and now he's prime suspect in the Fade explosion. Thankfully, no one else knows he's her father. He does though, and he's not Tranquil anymore and he's staring at her and...

Thankfully he's better able to control himself against Cassandra and snaps at her that they'd better not kill him, he's the only one who can seal Fade rifts. Which they saw him do, and so Cassandra ends up escorting him to the summit. Much against Leliana's wishes because he's an old man!

More suspicion because how are you suddenly so healthy, Cesaire.

"Perhaps Andraste healed me when she handed me out of the Fade and taught me the words to close Rifts."

Cassandra would have hit him if Leliana hadn't been right there. As it is, she's stuck with the mouthy little gobshite all the way up the Temple path. These two will never get on.

Solas can tell, just tell, he's absorbed the Anchor somehow. He just doesn't know how, and Cesaire's telling no one. So he pretends friendship and tries to get closer to find out, but unfortunately for him the one-time finest bard in Orlais can tell he's asking too many questions. Cue a lot of verbal fencing around each other, several dream sequences in which they visit each other, and much suspicion on both sides as they try to figure the other out. Cesaire's near certain Solas knows what was behind all this.

(If a Tamriel link is required, a certain other Dragonborn who can dream-walk might start sliding into both Solas and Cesaire's dreams. Whether it's the one from Cicero Dragonborn or Prodigal Dragonborn is unknown, but either might work rather well. We can assume Those Across The Sea are active and faithfully sending details on all this to the Ruby Throne which is Definitely Taking An Interest.)

Cesaire actually does remember what happened in the explosion, because the worst had already happened to him and he just plain wasn't scared, just hyped on adrenaline the whole time. Is he telling anyone? Hell no. (Leliana doesn't need to know about the abuse he might have screamed at Justinia in the Fade, or the stabbing threats.) Does this mean we can skip the Fade sequence in Here Lies The Abyss? Hell yes.

Varric gets on with him like a house on fire, as expected. They do actually have stuff to do other than write musicals, but the friendship is still there. Cesaire is extremely fond of the dwarf who didn't want to be there either. Varric's fascinated by the cheerful rogue who reminds him of Hawke. They both bond over complaining about Cassandra.

Cullen is far too easy for Cesaire to drive up the wall, and he does. Repeatedly. This will change once Cesaire's officially Inquisitor - Cesaire isn't about to make his life a misery once Cullen is officially his subordinate. He has some principles... and is surprisingly understanding about the lyrium addiction.

Josephine! Cesaire adores her. Cesaire is the epitome of charming gentleman from day one and flirts constantly. They bond over a shared hatred of the cold and taste for the finer things in life, and meet regularly to gossip about the Orlesian nobility. Leliana is horrified, needless to say.

Sera? Recruited immediately, Cesaire thinks she's hilarious. Vivienne... he's a bit suspicious of but recruits her anyway despite himself. They do actually start to get on. Shared sense of humour, it turns out, plus they're both skilled at the Game. Mutual respect does develop.

Blackwall - something is off there, but he doesn't suspect the truth about him until it happens and is livid he got blindsided by it. Despite that, they were friends once. Despite that, Blackwall gets liberated. Despite that, they end up still friends afterwards. Blackwall figures expecting the most disreputable rogue in Orlais to be a paragon of virtue and upholder of the law was too much.

Iron Bull - well, of course he's a spy. Of course! And he just... that is not how it works, Iron Bull. You're not meant to tell the organisation you're spying on that you're a spy. Sighs and agrees to the deal then has to face Leliana who... thinks it's a good idea and something they can use to maybe feed information back to the Qun. Cue bonding experience. As for Bull, he's very entertaining to have around, but Cesaire is always watching, watching, watching for the dumb merc mask to slip. (He tells Bull to save the Chargers. He saw enough to realise the whole thing was a setup, and decides he's seen enough of the Qun to reach a conclusion. It's in keeping of the general theme of the story that personal connections trump abstract principles.)

Dorian - DORIAN! Kindred spirit right there. If Cesaire wasn't straight, he'd have kissed him, as it is, Dorian is his son now. Witty comments all over the place, elaborate roasting before sharing a laugh over their purloined liqueurs, these two are having a fine old time.

Cole - Cole knows Too Much. Suspicion! All the same, he's young, sad-eyed, alone in the world, in need of guidance... Cesaire doesn't exactly trust him but doesn't dislike him either.

Sides with the mages. Offers them full allyship, flirts with Fiona even. She's not having it. He actually respects her more for that.

Cure for Tranquillity - he's not letting that one go. Pieces it together from what Cassandra's willing to share, discusses it with Dorian and reluctantly Solas, starts curing a few Tranquil in Skyhold. Mixed results, but overall they're ride or die for the Black Rose after and all hate the Chantry.

High Dragons - help, why do the High Dragons all seem to like him. One of them licked him. Do they think he's a baby dragon or something?

Halamshiral - Someone is having a Great Time! No, don't bother with secrecy, just have yourself announced as the Black Rose, get everyone's attention immediately, what do you mean now the entire ball wants to talk to me. Goodness, is that the Dowager, I haven't seen you for years, madame! How this goes is anyone's guess, but he always had a soft spot for elves, so perhaps he does go with his daughter's idea. Court approval is through the roof within five minutes of arriving, so basically he can do whatever he wants.

Cassandra's max disapproval scene might actually activate at the ball.

Of course, the real meat here is Cesaire and Leliana's relationship as father and daughter try to come to an understanding. It's not easy but he does love her. He doesn't stop trying. They do have conversations, both about spywork, the Game, Orlais past and present, Leliana's mother... and Leliana's pet nugs. Cesaire loves nugs, they're so stupid with their little hands and stupid little faces. Leliana promptly gets some of hers sent to Skyhold and gives him a pet one. She wasn't expecting to see the Black Rose cry over a nug, but he adores it.

The Unhardening of Leliana has been going on as a Thing all story, but it comes to a head at the Chantry, where we get a rerun of AoD and Cesaire telling her not to turn into him... and her hugging him and telling him a man who loves nugs cannot be all bad. Also he has been making the world a better place all this time, no?

"I have been trolling the Chantry out of spite. It is NOT the same thing!"

Leliana smiles and kisses him on the cheek. She tells him it needed it. He does end up supporting her for Divine, but only after a long discussion about her plans and does she really want this. Otherwise he'd have supported Vivienne because it would be funny.

If we go the Tamriel inclusive angle, Miraak may well turn up in person... or may just remain acting via dreams instead, but either way he'll figure out fairly quickly the link to Cicero the Younger, and an uncle-nephew reunion might happen too.

After it's all over, the Slayer of Corypheus who is also the Divine's beloved father could go anywhere he wants, but it's probably retirement to Antiva for him with Josephine. The Montilyets never in their wildest dreams expected the Divine's father to turn up and ask for their daughter's hand in marriage but they can hardly say he's not got standing. Also their financial status changes overnight what with half of Thedas wanting to curry favour.

Cesaire LaRose lives to nearly 120 years old and dies surrounded by Montilyet children and grandchildren. Just long enough for the elderly Divine Victoria to name the next age the Nug Age.

[sadkidwarexpert]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝

tw: generational trauma, mentions of sharp objects, mention of cancer and death (no specifics)

a/n: i promise i'll be writing more stuff, it's just that this year so far was a whole-ass circus, anyway, i want to write more so let's hope i deliver that. i appreciate you waiting for me if you have.

tags: @daisycheols @etherealyoungk @scarlet789 (if you wanna be tagged let me know)

"This is fucking useless," my mother spat through gritted teeth, as she threw the scissors away. "Give me the knife."

I slide the blade knife towards her, and myself back a couple inches away till I'm up against the wall, my tailbone aching as I sat on the hard floor. Cherry juice stains my fingertips, my eyes never leave her as clicks the blade open, and as I lick my fingers clean, I taste the sourness of her expression. So much fury in the way she's shredding the cardboard, the sound of the blade working through it like that of my grandfather's phelmy cough before lung cancer took him to greet death. Mother, with years of rage hiding in her every day actions, was making my little sister's school project, and I, not wanting to be victim to her blade, am staying well away, nibbling on my cherries.

Clock strikes midnight and as if on cue my thoughts rush in, a ritual known to womankind for ages: the act of overthinking till your mind bleeds and begs you to stop. Anxieties from every direction, some yours, some not, a whirlwind of silent screams about a timeline, the past, present and the future. It didn't matter if it was within your control or not, if it was yours to begin with or not. You're a woman therefore you must overthink, it's a built-in biorhythm that you can't escape.

Her hands quiet down and move less violently now that the project was slowly coming together, but the guilt inside me roars like those silent volcanoes that never erupt. I often wonder, what exactly was it that ignited such anger inside her and spread eggshells around the house, and if, by extension, our deliberate choices are a true reason to be angry. My mind always round it back to me, or more like us, and through her labored breathing, I'm still questioning if I was competing over air with her. But then again, I did not chose; she did.

Then again, if you uproot a human, strip away familiarity, dump her between four walls, with a bucket and a mop, and a swelling that breaks her back then cleaves her open over and over, wouldn't it be fair if there was anger?

I don't think anyone can expect what happens to them, no one is never prepared, yet they have to bear responsibility for it, the shocking consequences, the sudden upheaval, the dysrhythmia of being, the clocks that tick wrong, the foreign breaths into your skull, the change of face, of odor, of cloth, slipping into an abyss of different flavor. Misfortune you swallow every day that's dressed in summery silks with the lingering scent of hay. Happiness that tears your ribs far and wide and leaves them open for the wolves of misery to gnaw and gnaw and gnaw at the flesh of your heart like a door open in the dead of winter.

The red of cherries on my fingers makes me nauseous, it reminded me too much of my becoming womanhood. I still wonder as I throw the cherry seeds into the sink, if my mother every wanted to discard us like that, to reclaim her old self, and disrobe from this foreign being she'd become to herself. Maybe even nurture herself into something brighter. Maybe then she'll feel that she was enough. Maybe then she'll love us like she loved summer once.

It's two minutes past midnight, an anniversary has arrived, and for a moment I see a glint of tears at the corner of my mothers eyes, and I know that with one choice, one choice that was supposed to break her ribcage open for happiness, her wings got clipped instead, and the day that was supposed to be celebrated, was the day the butterfly died.

Three minutes into my eighteenth birthday, I realized I wanted to die too.

•

©2023 sadkidwarexpert, Eboni.

[the-mindless]

#1

tw// man burning to death, though not too graphic

The tall statures of buildings stretching across the horizon bleed together. Anger, savagery, brutality, it was as if the columns of fire that engulfed the cityscape itself had screamed in agony. The symphony of chaos gave way to the vast crater that laid in the midst of it all,

And the two gods that stood within it.

The man in red brandished his shitty katana against the callous ground, cracked his neck, and as the hot wind tugged on the oversized red cape hanged over his shoulder, he gave his long-life nemesis a blank staredown.

Gaze in the abyss, and the abyss will stare back, as they say.

Except this time, it isn't the abyss.

It's Dirk Strider, his ecto brother.

With a split second kick against the ground, he disappeared in a flash. The Knight laid privy as Dirk cocked his Unbreakable Katana behind his neck,

"Nothing personal, Dave."

However, hundreds of long, grueling time-traveling years did not dumb him down. He, too, knew the flash step, and teleported behind Dirk with his sword behind him.

"not so fast, bro."

But Dirk teleported behind him again.

And Dave did so, too.

Things quickly escalated.

The pair of brothers kept going at it, the inferno and the sun's scarlet vapor did precious little to keep them down. In fact, the heat and the sweat did the exact opposite; It fueled them, kept them going.

At first, they teleported a bit to the left side of the other's back, so that they would do a spiralling motion as they flash stepped each other. But, when things got heated and they were flash stepping every millisecond, they didn't have enough time to realize that they were practically bombrushing each other into the burning buildings.

That is, until Dave flash stepped into the flames.

"wait dirk i think--"

Luckily, the only part of him that was lit on fire was his cape, as he flash stepped out just quickly enough.

Dirk, on the other hand, wasn't very lucky.

He teleported straight into the burning column of fire.

Dave watched as his ecto-brother bellowed out in agony from within the flames. His entire figure was enveloped in it instantenously, and the Knight was forced to watch his silhouette crawl out of it, still burning.

This entire thing was a dud. The whole fight happened because Dirk insisted that he was a really good fighter, even without his God Tier powers, and that he had to show it off to everyone.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK FUCK FUCK SHIT FUCK THIS WAS A BAD IDEA I REPEAT THIS WAS A BAD IDEA"

Cue alchemizing a shit load of never extinguishing fire and buildings for the "metal atmosphere".

"DAVE PLEASE DO SOMETHING THIS ACTUALLY FUCKING HURTS A LOT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

Dave debated on whether he should do something or not. This was, mostly, Dirk's fault. Those fires will never extinguish, ever, until you hit it with like the convenient never extinguishing fire extinguisher, which is something he did not have in his Sylladex.

And considering the fact that there hasn't been any future selves popping in, probably not for a long time.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK IT'S GETTING TO MY DICK FUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

He felt bad, really bad, actually. The fact that he even had to think about it felt bad, but Dave decided that he didn't want to burn like that too, actually.

"hey uh dirk this was fun and all but ive got some things

to deal with tonight

plus it doesnt look like were about to continue with this fight anymore so i think im just gonna leave

okay"

"DAVE THE FUCK DON'T JUST LEAVE ME HERE MY DICK IS FUCKING BURNING AND I CAN FEEL THE SKIN PEELING OFF AND IT FUCKING HURTS--"

Dave captchalogued his shitty katana and the flying camera drone that was there from the start, definitely. Yep. This is a fact that was absolutely mentioned before, you just forgot about it. Don't look back up, we're moving on.

And so was Dave, as he blasted off into the sun like a big piece of shit.

The villain teleports behind the hero. “Nothing personal, kiddo”. The hero also knows flash step and teleports behind the villain. The villain teleports behind the hero again. The hero does the same…things escalate.

[gracegoodman]

Blog 2

                Had I never seen Inside Out and known nothing about it upon seeing the following image, I would assume it’s a comedy based in some type of fantasy world similar to our own based on the little slip of clothing visible. When I see so much green, my brain automatically thinks of broccoli. If I didn’t give myself time to analyze my thoughts and feelings about my immediate thoughts, I would assume broccoli was involved some way based on the colors and her facial expression. I personally don’t mind broccoli, but I feel like the ‘broccoli is gross’ narrative  is heavily forced in media as well as a characters face turning green when they’re disgusted or sick – broccoli is green; character is grossed out by broccoli; character turns green when sick. When I look more closely at the image, I notice her clothing that reminds me of women’s fashion in the 1960s which brings me to name the color scheme Moldy Business.

                I have never seen this film, but my mind immediately screams horror. Based on the muted colors like black, blue, and yellow, I feel uneasy and cold. The brighter colors surrounded by the black abyss give a sense of tension, discomfort, and bring me to feel a little claustrophobic. My initial emotional response of anxiety is supported by the characters not being able to see their surroundings, unaware of any threats. It’s almost like there’s something hiding in the black since the entire vehicle is illuminated against a backdrop filled with nothing. Because of the simple background, I get the feeling that the characters are being stalked by a monster rather than something supernatural or psychological. The choice of colors, the characters not paying attention, the empty space, and the smoke all imply that an invisible threat is lurking around the vulnerable characters in the car. Everything suggests that they’re not as unsafe as they think.

                Upon immediate an immediate glance, an assault of green is fighting off an army of silver and red. Green is commonly associated with nature, among other things. The green hulk fighting off the silver and red robots implies that he is battling something unnatural – something that is not meant to be. I tend to associate grey and silver with the future and technology which I don’t resent, but the splashes of red in the silver robot’s eyes suggest that they are up to no good. The high contrast colors fuel the feeling of the conflict. Based on the image alone, I would assume the genre is action with a focus on science fiction and superhero’s. The robots suggest this film takes place in the future where technology is heavily advanced, while the Hulk’s involvement indicates a battle for power. To me, the Hulk’s dynamic posture and the intensity of the fight imply that the film involves confrontation between man and technology.

                The brightness of this poster are contrasted by the earthy brown, muted yellows, and orange tones alongside darker shadows and highlights. The leopard print and the colors give a retro, 1960s vibe, reminiscent of the time period in which Jimi Hendrix rose to fame. The warm, earthy palette connects to the idea of music, culture, and personal struggle, while the dark contrasts in the poster create a sense of mystery and intensity. The use of warm hues may also suggest a more intimate, emotional tone, alluding to personal stories and moments of reflection. I haven’t seen this film, but based on the title and the layout of the poster, I assume it’s a drama based on a real person. The image of Jimi Hendrix prominently in the foreground and the use of muted tones seem to indicate a focus on his personal life, emotional journey, and his rise to fame.

                Crossmodal associations refer to the way different senses, like sight and sound, interact to create a more immersive experience. In different forms of media, like film and advertising, visual cues like color, shape, and movement often work in harmony with audio elements like pitch, volume, and rhythm to influence how we feel and process information. For example, in films, a scene with dark, muted colors and a slow, low-pitched sound creates a sense of tension or sadness. In contrast, bright colors paired with fast-paced, high-pitched music can make us feel excited or joyful. For example, horror films: a dimly lit room with eerie, high-pitched music and sudden, sharp movements can enhance feelings of fear and anxiety. The visual and audio cues work together to trigger our emotional responses, making the experience more real. Overall, the way visual and audio cues combine influences how we perceive and react to media. They help guide our understanding of the story and its message, making the experience more believable and entertaining.

                For individuals with synesthesia, the blending of senses leads to unique sensory experiences that shape their work. While doing some research, I found out that Kanye West and Lorde have synesthesia. According to Teen Vogue, Lorde has confirmed that her sound-to-color synesthesia largely contributes to her music. She told The New York Times “from the moment I start something, I can see the finished song, even if it’s far-off and foggy.” I was reading an article from the New York Daily News by Peter Sblendorio that covered one of Kanye’s rants where he credited his artistic ability to his neurological condition. He told the audience during his time on The Ellen Show “Everything I sonically make is a painting. I see it. I see the importance and the value of everyone being able to experience a more beautiful life.” Sblendorio later notes Carol Steen, an American Synesthesia Association cofounder, in his article who says that people with synesthesia are seven times more likely to go into the arts.

Based on my research from the previous paragraph, color associations play a significant role in how music is composed, performed, and received across various genres. These associations help convey emotional tones, enhance the audience's listening experience, and can even influence the interpretation of the music itself. Colors are often linked to specific musical elements like keys, tempos, or harmonies, creating a multisensory experience that enhances the emotional depth of the music. For example, classical music often links specific keys with particular colors, creating an emotional atmosphere that resonates with the listener. Contemporary music also relies on these associations, like using color to enhance the emotional impact of a song. Cultural and psychological factors, such as cultural symbolism and the inherent properties of colors, further shape these associations, making music a multisensory experience that goes beyond sound alone. How music is composed, performed, and experienced across various genres is deeply influenced by colors association.

Sources

Fasanella, Kaleigh. “Lorde Opens up about the Rare Neurological Condition That’s behind All Her Music.” Teen Vogue, Teen Vogue, 18 Apr. 2017, www.teenvogue.com/story/lorde-opens-up-about-synesthesia-hit-music#:~:text=In%20Lorde’s%20case%2C%20she%20has,to%20her%20music%2Dmaking%20process.

Sblendorio, Peter. “See/Hear It: Kanye West Sounds off on His Synesthesia, the Ability to See Sounds, in Latest Rant on ‘Ellen.’” New York Daily News, New York Daily News, 8 Apr. 2018, www.nydailynews.com/2016/05/19/seehear-it-kanye-west-sounds-off-on-his-synesthesia-the-ability-to-see-sounds-in-latest-rant-on-ellen/.

[und1agn0sed]

new years resolution / little me

I remember, as a kid, I really, genuinely believed that I was capable of anything. Not just in the way adults tell you at that age either; I knew I could be number one at everything just by thinking I already was. And it worked for a while - everyone told me how clever I was, I knew I had something extra going for me that the other kids didn't have. I had a bright future ahead of me, full of happiness and success and very little difficulty.

At 10, I started to realise this might not be the case. I had always known I wasn't like the rest of the kids - there was something intangible, alien inside me and I was aware of that. But I'd seen it as a sort of superpower. Being top of the class, feeling like I could match certain adult conversations, standing out and being praised for doing so. But I suppose there comes a point where it all starts to slow down and the older you get the less your quirks are endearing so much as they are irritating, strange, and unpleasant. And suddenly you are 24 and you can't so much as change your bedsheets without crying in a heap on the carpet.

I am still terrified to say aloud (or type) the phrase, "I think I might be autistic", because it's something that has only come to me within the past 8-9 months. I feel like I'm lying, like I'm making it up. All the dots connect, but I'm terrified of looking like I want attention, or that I'm jumping on some sort of mental health bandwagon (as if that is a bandwagon anyone realistically wants to jump on). I don't think I look autistic - whatever that means. I know people who have been diagnosed by professionals, tick more of the boxes, are open and unashamed of it. In fact, I'm unsure whether I'd be more scared finding out I'm autistic or finding out I'm not autistic. If I am, that means I have wasted so many years of my life thinking I'm useless, that I'm a failure for not being able to cope with mundane activities half the people I know wouldn't blink at. So much time spent self-loathing, struggling, not reaching out and thinking that is all I deserved. Time nobody noticed. Help and assistance I could have had, simply bypass me straight into the abyss with little remaining but memories of suffering and pushing through regardless. But if my diagnosis comes back negative, then...is this just me? Have I been right all along? Am I just useless and overly sensitive and immature, with little social skill and even less sense of self? I have reached out to doctors many a time pleading that they listen to me - it can't just be depression, there is something else here, something else going on! But if it isn't autism, what is it? I tick even less boxes for other disorders I have looked into. If this doesn't explain me, what does explain me?

Not being autistic wouldn't change the fact that this is the second time in my adult life I have had to quit a full-time job due to intense burnout. It wouldn't change the fact that I scream and cry my eyes out in the car almost every day on the way to work. It wouldn't change the fact that I haven't made a new friend, not really, without the help of alcohol since age 13. It wouldn't change the fact that I seem to be perpetually miserable, locked in a cycle of highs and lows. It wouldn't change the fact that in my adult life I slowly exhaust friendships. Why would you want an inexplicably miserable friend when you have plenty of happy friends? Friends who mesh well with your other friends, friends who don't drink too much, friends who understand how to be normal and not take things too far, friends who don't take their social cues from television shows and social media, friends who don't do silly things because they think that's what they're supposed to do, friends who understand that not everyone can be first place, friends who live closer and text more often, who can do the dishes and shower once a day and who are truthful about it when they can't.

I cry a lot thinking about kid me. I feel so bad for her, like I have failed her. In the space of 15 years I have gone from feeling like I could do anything, to feeling like I cannot do a single thing. I am trying my best, even if it doens't look like it. I cannot stress that enough. Despite everything,despite how I feel about myself now, I cannot give up on her. On little me. And that's why I am determined to find out what this is before 2025 is up. I suppose you could call it my New Year's Resolution. Autism seems the most likely based on many things. I keep feeling like I need to explain myself, bare all my humiliating secrets and put myself completely and utterly on display to prove that this is real. To list off every symptom I have ever had, every box I tick (and evidence to prove it). I know that for some people, autism might seem a plausible diagnosis, while others likely think I'm full of shit, for lack of a better term.

But I have to know what and who I am, whether it be autism, or something entirely different, something I haven't even considered yet. I have to know how to help myself. There is a breath that has been swelling in my chest for years; the air has been stale for a very long time. I took that breath to survive, but it doesn't serve me anymore. I want to finally expel it in a sigh of relief and feel new, fresh air fill my lungs.

[starseedfxofficial]

The Bullish Percent Index Meets the Abandoned Baby: Finding Hidden Signals in the Chaos Imagine walking into a Forex trading room, where everyone is either grumbling about another failed trade or anxiously staring at their screens. You know the feeling—it's like buying that pair of flashy sneakers that you promised you'd wear daily, but they’re still gathering dust in your closet. That mix of optimism and regret is exactly what many traders face when they don’t understand the power of technical indicators. Today, we’re taking an inside look at two sneaky, underappreciated indicators: the Bullish Percent Index and the Abandoned Baby. Trust me, this pair is like that unlikely movie duo—kind of like Batman and Robin, except without the capes and with way more candles. A Love-Hate Relationship with the Bullish Percent Index The Bullish Percent Index (BPI) sounds impressive, but most people barely give it a second glance. Maybe it’s because it’s not as flashy as a Moving Average or doesn’t sound as enigmatic as Fibonacci. But here’s a fun secret: ignoring the BPI is like missing out on free pizza at a party. This gem of an indicator tells you the percentage of stocks or assets within a group that have a bullish pattern, and the beauty of it is that it’s really a map of the market’s psychology. Picture this: the BPI is like the mood tracker for traders. When it’s at its highs, everyone’s in euphoria mode, and when it’s scraping the bottom, it’s all doom and gloom. The contrarian traders out there—the ones who would rather swim against the current than go with the flow—use the BPI to spot opportunities. Imagine walking into a crowded room where everyone’s panicking, except you. Why? Because the BPI at extreme lows is actually your cue to start scouting for buys. But let’s be real here. Just because you’re contrarian doesn’t mean you want to go all-in without a plan. The BPI is excellent at giving you a heads-up on sentiment, but there’s always that chance you end up like the person buying those sneakers that never leave their box. We’ll explore how the Abandoned Baby comes into play and adds that little bit of finesse you need to seal the deal. The Curious Case of the Abandoned Baby If you’ve ever seen a candlestick chart, you’re familiar with formations that have names so odd they could be the title of a thriller novel. The Abandoned Baby is one such formation—I’m not sure who decided that an awkward gap between candles should be named after an abandoned child, but here we are. All jokes aside, this candlestick formation is a powerful reversal signal that could bring about the kind of plot twist you see in movies where the villain actually ends up being the hero. The Abandoned Baby is rare—like finding a vintage comic book for a dollar at a garage sale—and it forms when a gap between a bullish or bearish candle is followed by a doji that’s completely isolated from the surrounding candles. It’s the market saying, “Whoops, let’s change directions.” And the beautiful thing is that combining this reversal signal with the insights from the BPI can give you an almost unfair advantage. Imagine the BPI indicates bearish exhaustion, and then an Abandoned Baby pops up on your chart. It’s like the universe whispering, “Hey, you might want to pay attention here.” I’ve seen this combination save traders from diving headfirst into the abyss—and trust me, that abyss feels a lot like sitting through a marathon of bad sitcoms. You’re in agony, but you’re also fascinated by how bad it can get. How to Combine These Ninja Tactics to Outsmart the Market Alright, now that we know what these indicators are, let’s get to the real magic—how to use them in tandem for some serious Forex juju. Start by monitoring the Bullish Percent Index for extreme values. A reading above 70% suggests the market is likely frothing at the mouth, while anything under 30% hints at extreme pessimism. If the BPI screams “Bear Market,” that’s when you put on your Sherlock Holmes hat and start looking for that Abandoned Baby signal. It’s at these moments when opportunities emerge that most traders miss—like that last piece of cake at a party everyone’s too polite to grab. The Abandoned Baby provides clarity at these critical junctures. A bullish Abandoned Baby in a bearish BPI scenario could mark the beginning of an epic comeback—like the hero rising after everyone thought they were down for the count. It’s almost poetic in the way the market’s sentiment finally aligns with price action to offer you a low-risk entry. And the best part? This strategy is like sitting at a poker table with x-ray glasses. You’re not just playing your hand—you’re reading the minds of the other players. You see where their sentiment lies, and you anticipate when the turn is about to happen. Real-World Case Studies: How This Combo Has Worked Wonders Remember that rollercoaster ride that was 2022 for the Forex markets? There were times when traders were tearing their hair out trying to figure out where the next move would come from. Take the EUR/USD pairing as an example. In October 2022, the BPI was at rock-bottom levels, with most traders fearing an even deeper plunge. And then, out of nowhere—like a plot twist you didn’t see coming—an Abandoned Baby formed on the daily chart, signaling a reversal that had everyone second-guessing their life choices. And what happened next? The market went on to rally, gaining over 300 pips in a matter of weeks. That’s the kind of move that can take a battered portfolio and breathe new life into it—like adding spice to a bland dish. It’s not magic; it’s simply being tuned into the right signals at the right time. According to John Bollinger, the creator of Bollinger Bands, “Recognizing the transition from panic to opportunity is crucial.” The Abandoned Baby combined with the BPI essentially gives us a cheat sheet for recognizing these transitions. Add in a sprinkle of patience, and you’re looking at a potential home-run trade. Why Most Traders Ignore These Indicators (and Why You Shouldn't) Look, I get it—the Forex market is flooded with indicators. You’ve got your Stochastics, your RSI, and then some new buzzword someone cooked up yesterday. It’s easy to think, “Not another one…” But ignoring the BPI and Abandoned Baby is like forgetting the compass when heading into uncharted territory. While the BPI gives you the lay of the land, the Abandoned Baby tells you when the path ahead might be a hidden shortcut. The main reason traders skip these indicators is they’re often considered too obscure or ‘niche.’ But niche is precisely what you want in a market where everyone’s piling into the same strategies and crowding every obvious trade. Niche means you’re one step ahead—like finding a small coffee shop no one knows about yet, where the espresso tastes like pure gold. Final Thoughts: Listening to the Market's Whisper Using the Bullish Percent Index and Abandoned Baby candlestick formation together is all about understanding what the market is trying to tell you—not the screaming headlines or the noisy opinions on forums. Instead, it’s about hearing that quiet voice that says, “Hey, maybe it’s time for a change.” So next time you find yourself staring at your charts, wondering if you’re seeing a real opportunity or just another pair of useless sneakers, take a closer look. The market has a way of leaving clues for those who are ready to dig a little deeper, and the BPI-Abandoned Baby combo just might be your new best friend. And if you feel lost, remember—even the best traders hit dead ends. It’s about how you pivot and find that hidden door no one else sees. Ready to Dive Deeper? If you’re looking for more advanced insights, elite tactics, or just a group of fellow traders who know their Bullish from their Bearish (and don’t take themselves too seriously), consider joining the StarseedFX community for exclusive tips, live insights, and disruptive strategies: StarseedFX Community. Also, expand your knowledge with in-depth resources and little-known strategies in Forex Education: Forex Education. Happy trading—and may your abandoned babies always signal a bright future! —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[sleepyivoryrose]

I forgot completely was I wanted to write. I had a little jumpscare right now. Remind me to never, ever put tags in my posts again. People actually finding this blog scares the living shit outta me.

I mean, I'm doing this sort of for mental health purposes. Having a clear line what you wrote, when you wrote it, and why you wrote it, is much easier (and to be fair, feels less like a chore) than keeping a word document or a bullet journal or smt.

I could post everything privately though, now that I think about it...it's at least worth a consideration.

I guess...it's like screaming into an abyss or something. You like hear yourself echo, but there's always the possibilty that someone might greet back? even though everytime it happens, it scares me...

....

Today I ate too much letter soup. I know, it's for kids. I wanted to do myself a f(l)avor and (s)wallow in nostalgia for a while. Just like with everything though, I put a little bit too much. Same with my plants, I don't let them dry out, most of the time I overwater them. I give too much. Too much of a care, too much of a reaction. Maybe it's not enough though. So people would finally take me seriously. So that my own mom stops gaslighting me and the people who are supposed to help me don't believe a word I say. I guess it comes with the schizofrenic and pacifist territory. People suck sometimes.

But there's also a lot of good in the world. People tell me I should stop with the internet, and maybe they're right. I just had the experience that the nicest, most understanding, most lovable people I met, were on the internet.

Not to say that it's all roses and sunshine. Everytime I open twitter, I get a headache (but my longing for good art is stronger.)

I am fully aware that life isn't a walk in the park. I'm very sensitive though, even though online I seem brashen and temperamental and offline I'm kind of stoic, doesn't mean I'm completely either of those things. I hurt easily, and I have my coping mechanisms to protect myself.

----

I already have enough bad vibes as it is. People are instinctively untrusting of me, and my head feels like a black comedy.

I would love to be a more optimistic and fun person, that's why I go so overboeard with the fangirling sometimes. Also, it's fun!

Offline it just doesn't come naturally to me. My grip on myself there is so strong, that I barely talk or show much emotion. One of my caretakers thought I was autistic, and I would love to check it out, but Germanys medical system is on the border of collapse, so it's hard to find medical care for things that aren't, yknow, fatal.

And it's not like I don't get social cues, I think. On the contrary, I am very observant of the people around me. I just don't react much to it, is all.

So I kind of need a way out of this madness, ykno? And that's where this lovely blog comes in. It gives me a place to vent up my inner thoughts and feelings, even if I can't verbalize them spontaneously.

...

Huh, jolly writing about stuff helped me forget my ear pain. Maybe it's stress induced...? - mumble mumble-

Well, anyways. Right now there is still no honking. On the other hand, the soccer game starts in like, 3 mins.

To end this on a good note, my friend came all happy and excited from a convention. I'm so happy for her. She saw a ton of cosplayers, and bought a lot of stuff. I am really glad she had so much fun.

I don't think, with my actual social anxiety and energy levels, that I would survive a convention, even if it sounds really fun.

---

There's a sweet smell in the air...either my roommate just showered (which would be odd, she normally does that in the morning) or the flower bushes three streets away smell into my room. Or are they roses? It's like a floral, sweet smell...! the heavy, hot air of a lingering thunderstorm seems to have carried it here. Nice.

Anyways, on that poetic word I'm gonna end my monologing for today. Or maybe not...who knows.

Deuces!

[norcalbruja]

Minor surgery tomorrow, plus I seem to have bad luck with cervid spirits

Copied from my main blog: I've got laser eye surgery scheduled for V-day tomorrow to help with some retina issues that have been going on for a few years. The folks at the clinic said it was a same-day operation and I should be covered by my insurance monetarily, BUT I've been trying to figure out what's actually in store for the next couple weeks and it's so confusing without asking the actual doctor. Like could they at least have gotten me a handout for "what to expect for minor/moderate procedures?" :/ Anyway, in case I have issues with one eye tomorrow, this is the reason.

--

As for spirit-issues, last night the Water-Spirit sent out a call for help because Most Of The Anito Still Aren't Here, annnnnnnnnnnnd guess what answered this time?

ANOTHER ELK/MOOSE!

But not just any elk, it was a freaky one! Behind the cut for yet more "pop" culture paganism, in the form of... "The Ritual (2017)."

This is behind the cut not for (lengthy/explicit???) scariness, because while it got solved fairly quickly, it was a REALLY unpleasant two or three minutes of me screaming in horror until Hypnos just... sent the Not-Elk away.

--

So here's me and the Water-Spirit in the Otherworld forest, and he is formally calling for help with like, my whole life again... and here comes this elk/human chimera thing lumbering out from the trees, which immediately made me think of Moder from The Ritual (2017). I haven't seen the movie myself, but I sure don't WANT to see it. I'm such a baby with wilderness horror, lmao.

Anyway, cue my screaming for like, two or three minutes because this enormous Not-An-Elk spirit has a fucking HUMAN FACE almost swallowed between two gigantic moose/elk antlers, and she had HUMAN HANDS instead of front legs, and sometimes she's got white human skin, but sometimes she's got masses of dark moose fur. IT'S NOT A GOOD MIX.

She was clearly not like Moder in personality, since she just reached out with a (really fucking long) arm, and the Water-Spirit didn't react like she was a THREAT, so much as a SURPRISE. While I was screaming and flailing, he just held on to me and asked the creature, "OH LORD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! GO AWAY! NO, DON'T TRY TO TOUCH HER, SHE'S SCARED!!!"

I have no idea what the Not-An-Elk was actually trying to do, but I sort of recovered my wits enough to yell for actual help from the Morrigan.

Hypnos of all people just rolled up and told Not-An-Elk, "NO. GO AWAY."

And now here comes a Full Metal Alchemist moment, because this Not-An-Elk can talk (in human languages???), just not WELL. Not-An-Elk cleared her throat and said to Hypnos in a very strained voice, "She... asked... me."

And Hypnos went, "No, honey, no she didn't. Her husband asked for like, anyone to help, and you're the one who heard him just now. You're scaring her. Please leave."

"Yes. I come back... later." So, Not-An-Elk didn't seem to hold anything against me (or the Water-Spirit), and she left.

The Morrigan AND Dionysus heard me screaming, so everyone waited for me to calm down. By then I felt really self-conscious and I was wondering if I was acting too much like a "hysterical useless woman" after running into two unexpected deer spirits.

And Dionysus was like, "Hysterical? You think you were hysterical? Babe, the Megaloceros tried to run you over. And how do you THINK other mortals would react if they see a chimera walking through the forest in the middle of the night?"

Hypnos told the Water-Spirit, "Buddy, you gotta be careful with asking for help. You're already a squid, and that's not like people at all."

And I was like "But like, I know what squid are. We fry the little ones or we eat them in soup. I don't know what... Moder is!"

MEANWHILE, the Water-Spirit went, "And that is forgetting how I'm not a squid anymore!"

And Hypnos went, "Yeah, but the abyss is still inside you. She sees it when she looks at your face. Everyone feels it when you're nearby. Weird shit is gonna home in on you because you just can't help it, and the only thing weirder than the abyss is the depths of the earth."

--

While the spirits were talking about Weird Land Creatures versus Weird Sea Creatures, Loki came up and was thrilled to see that one of his fictional "children" showed up. He called her back over, patted her hump, and he was like "THAT'S MY GIRL! BAHAHAHAHA."

And I'm like "Fucking hell, Loki. Why don't I ever have good luck with deer??? Cernunnos looks like a deer walking upright half the time. Then comes the Irish Elk trying to bludgeon me. THEN comes something that clearly wants to look like your stage-daughter from a horror movie."

And he was like, "Humans forgot a lot of shit about deer, Cyborg. They're creatures of the wilderness, like other forest beasts. They do not have your morals, or your society. DO. NOT. PISS. THEM. OFF."

I went, "Loki, I'm not TRYING to piss off the deer! They just... come around and then shit happens!"

And he laughed and went, "HAHAHAHAHA, THAT'S THE WILDERNESS!" in much the same way as he said, "that's my girl."

And I'll talk more about Cernunnos being a "deer walking on two legs" later, but needless to say, I told everyone but Hypnos and the Water-Spirit to PLEASE leave the meditation so I could fucking sleep.

[winxanity-ii]

YEAH, ABSOLUTELY NOT.

ship: jjk men/women: megumi, yuji, nobara & sukuna x fem!miko!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 2.9k a/n: Okay, I swear this is my last time updating this mini-series/one-shot list 😭😭...go to 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐍𝐨. ʲʲᵏ if you want to understand this.

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Why was it always me?

You couldn't stop the self-pity from swallowing you as you watched the mayhem unfold before you.

The shrill screams of a large curse filled the air, mingling with the sound of combat and the crackling of mystical energies. The night sky above was torn with flashes of eerie light, casting long shadows over the abandoned, crumbling buildings.

Kugisaki Nobara was a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of raw power. "You think you're special? Eat this!" she shouted, hurling nails as if they were extensions of her willpower, each one charged with lethal precision.

With the skill of a veteran, she thrusted her nails into her straw doll, her face a focused mask of determination.

Simultaneously, long, slender nails shot forward, pinning the enormous curse to a graffiti-riddled wall as if it was nothing more than a bug on a display board. The creature writhed, its grotesque form twisting in agony.

As Nobara held the beast in place, Megumi stepped into action. His eyes narrowed into slits of focus as a low, "Great Serpent," left his lips, summoning a massive shadowy snake from the dark abyss beneath him.

With the speed of a striking cobra, the serpent lunged at the pinned curse creature, coiling and squeezing the life out of it. The snake's grip was relentless, exerting pressure you'd expect from an anaconda on a mission.

The curse began to bulge, its form distorting as if it was about to burst.

But that moment of triumph was short-lived. The curse's markings on its forehead started to glow a vivid, eerie crimson. It let out a spine-chilling shriek as its body expanded violently, breaking free from both Nobara's nails and Megumi's serpent.

The serpent dissipated into a puff of black mist, and the nails clattered to the ground, leaving the wall empty.

"Yuji!" Megumi shouted, urgency filling the single syllable.

"On it!" Yuji replied with a hint of glee in his voice, launching himself forward with uncanny speed.

In a flash, he was airborne, his body a missile targeted at the curse. The 'crack' of his headbutt against the curse resonated like a gunshot, the impact sending shockwaves through the air.

The creature stumbled back, its head literally cracking open as its cursed energy evaporated into nothingness. What was left behind was a pile of black sludge, gross but inconsequential.

"Whoop! Whoop!" Yuji and Nobara cheered, high-fiving with both hands, their faces glowing with animated smiles. Megumi rolled his eyes but couldn't completely hide the twitch of a grin threatening at the corners of his mouth.

And you? You stood there, a good, safe 50-foot distance from the all-consuming chaos.

Your knees shook like maracas, your arms trembled as if they were about to detach from your body, and your face? Blank as a canvas. But your twitching eyes betrayed your inner turmoil. Clutched to your chest was a small labrys axe—a double-sided battle axe—brimming with cursed energy.

Useless in your hands, it might as well have been a child's toy.

Why? What had I done in my past life to deserve this? You mentally sobbed, watching as Yuji mouthed something and pointed in your direction.

As if on cue, all three pairs of eyes swivel your way—Yuji's bright and brimming with boyish enthusiasm, Nobara's playful with a sly grin that promised endless teasing, and Megumi's unreadable but alert.

They started making their way toward you, the distance shrinking with each step. But as they sauntered over, your attention was helplessly yanked back to the sludge pile behind them.

Your stomach tightened as you watched a new abomination—something you could only describe as nightmarish—emerged from behind a broken wall.

A spider-like curse with a melting human head crawled into view. Its eyes were hollow pits, its mouth frozen in a scream of perpetual horror, dark wisps fluttering in and out as if tasting the very air. The creature crept over to the sludge and burrowed into it.

Your heart pounded an ominous rhythm as a sense of foreboding thickened the air around you.

That's not good, that's not good, that's not good,thatsnotgood,thatsnotgood—The mantra echoed relentlessly in your mind as the sludge began to move. It divided, then divided again, at a pace that was slow yet undeniably accelerating.

A thick dread clogged your throat; you felt like you were about to drown in your own terror.

"Hey, L/N-chan," Yuji said, snapping you back to the present. His cheerful face beamed with excitement. "How was the observation? Did you like it?"

"Of course she did! I was amazing as always! I'm sure I stole the show with my incredible cursed techniques!" Nobara boasted, flipping her hair dramatically. She winked at you, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Always so confident," Yuji retorted, crossing his arms. "I'm the one who finished it off!"

"Yeah, but if it weren't for me weakening it, you wouldn't have been able to do that, now would you?" Nobara fired back, smirking.

"Yes, I would!" Yuji insisted, his face flushing red in frustration. "I could have caught it with or without your help, right, Megumi? L/N-chan?"

Megumi, deeply engrossed in whatever was on his phone, emitted a noncommittal "hm," obviously uninterested in their banter.

Nobara pivoted toward you with conviction, taking a strong stance. "Why do you need to involve L/N-chan? You already have Megumi! Us girls need to stick together," she declared. Throwing her arm around your shoulder, she pulled you in, squishing your head against her chest in an affectionate but slightly awkward hug.

At that moment, Yuji's eyes went wide, bulging as if they were about to pop out of his skull. His lips twisted into a scowl as he shouted, "Why are you hugging her like that!? Are you trying to make a move or something!? Cut it out!"

"Ehhh? What are you talking about!?" Nobara shouted back as she pulled you even closer into her embrace.

Your face flushed, a wave of warmth spreading across your skin as you were further engulfed by the softness of her chest.

On one hand, you couldn't really complain; Nobara's confidence and warmth were comforting. On the other hand, the tension was palpable—lives were at stake here!

"Kugisaki-chan, there's—" you tried to speak, your voice muffled and nearly drowned out by Yuji's escalating protests.

"Bullshit! There's nothing friendly about that at all!" Yuji snapped, pointing a quivering finger at Nobara as if she had committed some grave offense. "Let her go!"

Nobara's eyes narrowed, her gaze meeting Yuji's like flint striking steel. "Or what?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself standing next to Megumi, a safe distance from the escalating conflict. Yuji and Nobara were now on the ground, rolling around and shouting things neither coherent nor particularly relevant.

Blinking, you turned to tug on the sleeve of Megumi's uniform. He hummed a soft acknowledgment and looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours. They were striking—a deep shade of blue that you could have gotten lost in if the world weren't about to fall apart around you.

"Fushiguro-kun, I believe we’re about to be attacked by dozens of ghost-curse hybrids."

Megumi raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Is that so?" he replied with a hint of sarcasm. "Well, be sure to let me know how it goes," he quipped, smirking slightly as if amused by your apparent 'hallucination' before dropping his gaze back to his phone, scrolling through whatever he deemed more important than your imminent doom.

Seeing you were getting nowhere with him, you pivoted toward Yuji and Nobara, raising your voice to pierce through their energetic banter. "Itadori-kun!"

His attention immediately snapped to you, eyes bright and alert. "Yes, Y/N?" He was listening, even if Megumi wasn't.

Your eyes darted from Yuji to the multiplying piles of sludge now proliferating ominously behind them—twenty and still counting. There was an itch of desperation in your voice, a skittering dread that you hoped didn't betray how frayed your nerves were.

"Uh, yeah, you guys were great and all—like, seriously, watching you three fight was both epic and terrifying, but—"

"But?" Yuji interrupted, leaning in with a quizzical look, as if expecting you to lavish him with more praise.

"—but you might want to look behind you," you said, biting your lip. Your hand gripped the cursed axe to your chest as if it were a lifeline. "Like, now. Right now."

Megumi suddenly perked up. He sensed the shift in your tone—raw fear that couldn’t be faked. Nobara, too, paused, her teasing smirk flattening into a line of concern.

"What are you talking about?" Yuji asked, still half-grinning as if expecting this to be some sort of joke.

But before anyone could respond, the piles behind them started to shudder, to bulge and stretch as if being inflated.

And then, as if on cue, new, horrifying forms began to emerge from each of them—monstrous silhouettes pulling themselves free from their sludgy wombs, eager to begin their cursed existences. Their bodies twisted and contorted, limbs elongating unnaturally as they took shape under the pale moonlight.

As the grotesque spider-headed creatures pulled themselves free, their multiple eyes glinting with malevolent intent, Megumi's usually stoic demeanor shattered. His eyes widened in alarm as he realized you were serious. "Yuji! Nobara! Behind you!"

In a flurry of coordinated chaos, all three jujutsu sorcerers sprang into action.

Nobara hurled her cursed nails with deadly precision, each one finding its mark. Megumi summoned shadowy shikigami that slithered and pounced upon the creatures, while Yuji's fists crackled with raw cursed energy as he charged forward, delivering powerful blows that shook the very ground.

The battle unfolded like a nightmarish ballet, mesmerizing yet utterly terrifying. Each sorcerer moved with grace and precision, their techniques complementing one another seamlessly.

Meanwhile, you stood frozen, clutching your axe so tight that your knuckles turned white.

Your eyes fixated on a nondescript spot on the graffiti-covered wall ahead of you, desperately trying to block out the chaos unfolding around you as you questioned your cosmic luck once more.

What did I do to deserve this?!

As you watched the horrifying scene, you soon noticed something peculiar. The ghost-curse hybrids seemed to be ignoring you entirely. Their spindly legs and contorted bodies moved swiftly, but always away from you, focusing solely on attacking the trio.

Relief washed over you, and for a second, a part of you started to feel guilty, but really, you're not.

You'd much rather them than you.

Maybe it's because they don't think you can see them or maybe you just weren't that important; whatever the reason was, you were grateful.

Just as hope began to flicker within you—that they might handle the situation and you'll get to go home without being turned into a cursed snack—everything started to go wrong.

In a sudden, brutal attack, both Megumi and Nobara were slammed into a wall with bone-crunching force. They slid down, collapsing into unconscious heaps, their bodies limp and battered. The air grew heavy with tension; the only sounds were the eerie clicks and hisses of the advancing hybrids.

Yuji's eyes darted between his fallen friends and the menacing creatures. A mix of fear and determination hardened his gaze. "Not good," he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with desperation.

Suddenly, his entire demeanor shifted. The aura around him darkened, a palpable malevolence seeping into the air like a poison. His posture stiffened, eyes narrowing as a cruel smirk twisted his lips.

The warmth that usually radiated from him vanished, replaced by something cold and menacing.

As you watched, the shift continued, subtle yet unmistakable. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and you noticed the faintest trace of movement under his skin, like shadows writhing just beneath the surface. You felt the change like a punch to the gut, a warning bell ringing in the back of your mind.

A moment later, it became clear why.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, black markings began to materialize on his skin. They snaked across his face, coiling around his eyes and stretching down his arms—ancient tattoos that seemed to pulse with an ominous energy, like a dark promise etched into his skin.

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat as you recalled the crash course Gojo gave you. This wasn't just Yuji anymore...

...this was the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna.

It was surreal, watching these ancient, terrifying tattoos emerge, knowing they were only visible because of your cursed lineage, your eyes that could see the true nature of things. And right now, they were showing you the full, horrifying presence of the King of Curses.

"So, you wanna to play?" Sukuna's voice dripped with a malevolence that made your skin crawl. He didn’t just join the fight—he dominated it. With ruthless efficiency, he tore through the hybrids; limbs flew, and the air was filled with their unearthly screams.

In mere moments, it was over. The twisted forms lay scattered, their cursed energies dissipating like smoke into the air.

Sukuna's turned, his gaze locking onto you, a sinister grin spreading across Yuji's features. In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly standing before you, the distance between you vanishing impossibly fast.

He harshly grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling your head back so that he could stare directly into your eyes.

It was as if a dark, oppressive force was leaking out of him, something far more dangerous than any curse you'd encountered. For a moment, you thought it was just your fear playing tricks on you.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Ah, the fear in your eyes is so intoxicating," he sneered, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Yet there's something else there too, isn't there? A curiosity, perhaps?" His smirk widened, revealing sharp fangs that looked like they could easily tear through flesh.

Sukuna's hand moved from your braids to your face, tightening his grip in a way that was just a touch more painful than it needed to be. His thumb and forefinger squeezed your cheeks harshly, forcing your mouth into an unwilling pout.

He tilted his head, examining you intently. "There's potential in you," he mused before leaning in, his lips hovering over yours, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from them. "You should feel honored," he purred. "After all, it's not every day you get to meet a Curse as magnificent as me. And even rarer for me to leave them alive."

Your heart felt like it was about to jump out of your chest, each beat pounding against your ribcage as if pleading for escape.

His hold on your face shifted, going from gripping your jaw to cradling it as though he were holding something precious. But this was Sukuna; you were under no illusion that his touch meant anything other than danger. He angled your face so that your noses almost touched, so close that you could feel the heat from his breath.

You were so overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that you didn’t even realize a tear had trickled down your face—until his sharp nail softly glided along your cheek, wiping it away.

Sukuna noticed, his eyes following the trail of the tear. "Oh, don’t you worry, darling," he cooed, the malevolence in his voice making you shudder. "I have no intention of plucking those tempting eyes of yours right now. They're far too interesting to harvest in haste."

His fingers caressed your cheek in a twisted parody of tenderness. "Besides," he added, "that brat Yuji is proving to be a rather stubborn host. Constantly resisting me—a real nuisance, really."

He paused, allowing his words to seep in, intensifying the chill that had taken residence in your bones. Then, leaning in closer, his lips almost grazing yours. "But mark my words" he murmured, voice low and ominous, "we will meet again." His smirk widened grotesquely, displaying his fangs in all their lethal glory.

And just like that, in a disorienting flicker of night turning to day, Sukuna was gone. His oppressive aura dissipated, replaced by Yuji’s warm, albeit confused, gaze tinged with concern. He was holding your face in his hands as if checking to make sure you were real.

Your shoulders dropped, and a shaky sigh of relief slipped through your lips.

Then, it hit you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized just how intimate this scene was. Your eyes widened, your pulse quickened, and your cheeks heated up as if kissed by embers.

As if hit by the same realization, Yuji's eyes went comically wide. "I-I..." he stammered, his face blooming with color. "I should go check on the others!" In a swift, almost frantic motion, he withdrew his hands from your face before breaking eye contact abruptly.

With a hurried motion, he turned and rushed to assist Megumi and Nobara, who were still recovering from their ordeal, leaving you there with your head spinning.

You clasped your heated face between your hands, your heart a frantic drumbeat in your chest.

There was a turmoil of emotions swirling inside you—from the horror of almost becoming a curse’s feast to the bewildering sensation ignited by the boy who housed that curse.

Despite the dread, despite the near-death experience, you found your mind teeming with questions, with an unsettling curiosity you never thought you’d have.

What did Sukuna mean by all of that? And why did the prospect terrify you and intrigue you in equal measure?

A/N: okok, i swear im done stop with the spam updates, 😭😭😭

[svartalfhild]

Forgotten Realms Things from the Honor Among Thieves Trailer

Here's some Lore™ I spotted after pouring over the shots from the DnD movie trailer and I'm obsessed:

The city is Neverwinter. Several things point to this

The city silhouette looks like Neverwinter

You can kinda make out snowflakes on the blue banners in the street and that's Neverwinter's emblem

The statue outside the arena is very clearly Lord Nasher, from his crown, to his Neverwinter Eye belt buckle to the bow in his hands which is shaped exactly like one of the fancy bow types from Neverwinter Nights

There's a shot of a volcano, which might be Mount Hotenow, which is near Neverwinter

The sun banners look like symbols of Amaunator, which is...interesting. Could also be a weird variation on the symbol of Lathander. There's a lot of fuckiness with that lore. Could maybe just be festival banners?

Chris Pine's character, Edgin, is a Harper. You can see his crescent moon+harp pin in all the shots where he's wearing armor. This fits super well with him being a bard.

All them bald people with tattoos on their scalps? Red Wizards of Thay. The lich-looking one? Probably Szass Tam.

Conveniently enough, there are notable Harper and Red Wizard cells in Neverwinter.

Michelle Rodriguez's character, Holga, is probably an Uthgardt barbarian if this is set in The North. Possibly from the Elk or Griffon Tribe, given the vague shape of the tattoos on her arms and the location of the story. I'm leaning towards Elk.

The shot of the battle where the black dragon flies overhead is between barbarians and warriors wearing black helmets with dragon wings on them.

The presence of banners with elk horns on them would give credence to Holga being from the Elk Tribe.

I think the warriors in black are Zhents, because the Zhentarim's emblem is a black dragon on a gold field, they are allied with a black dragon named Harondalbar, and literally the main character is a Harper, so the chances are high you're gonna have Zhents.

Alternatively, given the amount of dragons in this trailer, we might be seeing some Cult of the Dragon shit and those soldiers are cultists. Or the amount of dragons could just be an effort to live up to the title "Dungeons and Dragons"

The party goes to the Underdark.

I'm like 80% sure the city we see in the Underdark shots is Menzoberranzan, because why would they write any other Underdark city into Thee DnD movie? Also it's the right region. Cue me screaming about dark elves potentially being in the movie. EDIT: I have been informed by multiple people (thank you all) that the Underdark city is in fact most likely Gracklstugh, a duergar city, and the fat red dragon is Themberchaud. I defs need to read Out of the Abyss now.

The runes on the golden chest are Dethek, the script for several languages, including Dwarvish, Primordial, and Giant, but given that they're underground and there's a bunch of statues of dwarves, I think we know which language is on that chest lol

Those statues could be duergar specifically, given that we know they'll be in the Underdark, but there's no way to be sure. EDIT: well given previously stated info, it seems pretty likely.

The shot with the big rock hill (cairn?) could be the Surbrin Hills

That shot of the dead forest with the red ground? Almost certainly the Dire Wood.

Regé-Jean Page's character, the paladin Xenk, has detailing on his bracers and a tattoo on his hairline that look like a sun, which would suggest he follows Lathander/Amaunator

ADDITION: the snowy place is Icewind Dale, as confirmed by the creators+cast in interviews.

This is everything I could spot. If people spotted or have ideas about anything else, feel free to add.