#describing the high of taking substances

[possibly-a-table-or-just-gay]

'It's the god heroin prays to'

ANDREW

HOZIER

BYRNE.

[diejager]

Sparrow

Pairing : Task Force 141 x Vampire!reader

Cw: blood, vampire, death.

Wc: 947

Price watched everyone board the helicopter in a steady shuffle, he counted the names when they passed him as if taking their attendance to assure that everyone followed him. Ghost, Roach, Soap, and Gaz- he gaped at the missing soldier, he was sure you'd been behind them this whole time, eyes scouring the darkness for you. He turned to the others for information, frowning when they all said that they hadn't seen you.

"Sparrow, what's your status?"

Thumb still pressed into his radio, he waited for your reply. When all he received was silence from you, he asked a second time: "Sparrow, how copy?"

There was only complete silence on your end. That worried them, but they knew you wouldn't go doing so easily; you'd told them once that you would bomb everything before dying - if you could, from regular bullets or knives.

"Sparrow," Ghost growled out, his deep, rumbling order echoed through the shared line.

It was quiet at first, but then the sound of muffled screams and slurping came through. Their tense shoulders slouched, finally knowing where you went: to quench your hunger.

You left the line open, letting the team listen to the pained moans of the soldier that crossed your path. A thud followed afterward when you stopped drinking, the bloodless body falling forward.

They waited at the end of the clearing, seated in the helicopter as they strained their ears to listen to your near-silent steps. They could see you before they heard you, piercing, red eyes glowing in the dark foliage as you approached them. The sight flooded them with relief, seeing you wipe your blood-soaked face and pull your mask over your nose to hide the gory view of your sharp fangs painted in red.

"Sorry," you bowed, voice raspy and quiet from the ecstasy of drinking blood - delicious or disgusting, blood worked the same way it did either way.

"'S fine, Sparrow," Price mumbled, motioning you to sit next to him, the last seat on the aircraft.

Silence lingered in the shared space as Nikolai pulled into the sky, the blades ripping through the air loudly. The team watched your half-lidded eyes, blinking owlishly in some sort of trance. You were always dazed after feasting on someone, calm and slurring words as if high on blood. Your body took time absorbing and cycling the blood through your undead body, extracting the nourishing substances within a few weeks.

A satiated cat, that's how Soap first described you when you first fed on one of them, a hissy and skittish cat until it ate its full, satisfied, and sleepy. Soap was the first, finding your fangs deep into a man's neck. He stopped dead in his track, gaping at your red eyes and pointed teeth. He offered himself to you a few weeks later and quickly became addicted to the thrill of sharing an intimate part of himself.

Ghost caught them months later, finding you suckling on Soap's shoulder with a dazed look. The brooding man froze, unable to understand whatever he just saw; the shock and the unnatural spark of pleasure at your teeth breaking Soap's skin and laving up stray drops of blood. The image stayed in his mind, haunting him day in and day out until he found himself offering the same as Soap did. The danger and fear of having someone touch him made him hard, the slight sting of your teeth and your warm mouth around his wrist, shoulder, and neck - he almost begged for you to drink from his neck.

Gaz and Price stumbled on your feed on a mission, and have spent almost two months on infiltration and information gathering job for Shepherd, you got too hungry and snapped at the first straggler. Price, being who he is, shook off the confusion and helped you, making you promise to explain everything afterward. Gaz, however, somewhat gushed, a mix between confusion and amazement at your case. He, unlike the former, was more entertained with the idea of letting you feed on him for the experience.

Sweet Roach was the last one, you told him upfront about your little problem when you returned from your deployment with Gaz and Price. You signed it to him in your room, hanging from your bunk to tell him. He took it easily, perhaps too easily and calmly for someone whose roommate for the past year was a vampire. If you're ever hungry, I wouldn't mind helping you, Sparrow, he confessed, eyes glimmering with adoration and lips pulled in a small smile.

"How was it?" Soap pipped up, peering at you from the opposite side of the bird.

"Like shit," you grumbled, adjusting your rifle to sit more comfortably. "Fear and anger makes it taste bloody sour."

"You should've told us you were hungry, Sparrow, " Ghost growled lowly, he never liked letting you drink from other men or women other than their team. "Wouldn't have minded it." The last part was whispered, almost as if he was too shy to admit it.

"Don't be an arse about it, L.T., she was just hungry."

Ghost only grumbled lowly about how Soap wasn't any better. Gaz nudged your arm, telling you that he's free later if you're still hungry, knowing full well that you had your full. The little wink he gave told you everything, he just wanted to have you around him.

You sighed and turned to Price and Roach, tired from the night's event and the horrid taste that lingered on your tongue. I agree, Sparrow, his shoulders shook, head tilted towards the two bantering - more so of Soap annoying Ghost - men. None of us mind.

[planetception]

Stoner Caitlin Clark - Headcannons 18+ Mdni for this post

cw: substance use, suggestiveness and alludes to sex without really describing it

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༊*·˚ getting high with her is always an experience, especially after a huge win

༊*·˚ like imagine she comes home from a game and immediately calls for you to come over to get high with her, you best bet that you're running to her place fast

༊*·˚ by the time you get there, she already has everything set up and is leaning against her headboard with just a sports bra on and a pair of shorts because she knows that you constantly need to have your hands on her skin as you two smoke

༊*·˚ you just watch her in awe as she calls you to sit right in her lap as she picks the blunt up and lights it and you always think that it's the hottest thing a woman can do

༊*·˚ since she's such a gentlewoman she lets you take the first hit as she watches you exhale the smoke from your mouth, licking her lips as you do so

༊*·˚ sitting in her lap as you roam your hands throughout her body, feeling her soft skin as you two share the blunt with each other

༊*·˚ she loves loves loves to have her lips attached to your neck as she leaves marks while you smoke

༊*·˚ telling you insane and dirty jokes when she doesn't have the blunt or isn't kissing your neck

༊*·˚ idk why but i take her as a sucker for shotgun kissing, like she'll take a hit and immediately lock lips with yours, breathing the smoke into your mouth

༊*·˚ having sex with her high >>>>>>> anything else, she's just absolutely nasty when you two get down, but she's so soft with you. definitely talks you through it. especially when it's a bad loss, she's so much more aggressive and her dirty talk is off the roof

༊*·˚ once the blunt is finished, she would put it out and clean up her bed before heading into her kitchen and grabbing all the snacks for you two to share as you cuddle together in bed post high sex

༊*·˚ aftercare queen!

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not really liking this but um yeah let me know what you think about this and if i should do more headcannons like this. also why is tumblr more easy on the phone to write?

[dejwrld]

summary — in which the neighbor becomes a bystander in an explicit window show by infamous artist geto suguru.

warning readers discretion is advised ⸻ female reader, female anatomy described, exhibitionism, oral (suguru receiving), masturbation (f.solo), drug usage/drug consumption (weed), voyeurism, artist!geto suguru, if you squint a lil bit–you may see hints of dom!suguru, takes place in the same verse of my rockstar!choso fic, minors do not interact

sticky note from deja — one of my babies that i hold close to my heart. a repost from my old blog—only the girlies who followed my blog 2 years ago remember this gem. completely ahead of its time.

The large window was something you had to get used to. You thought about putting curtains up, but you adored how the natural sunlight gleamed into your newest condo. Or the fact that you had a perfect view of the apartment across from you. You weren’t even aware that someone lived in the apartment until you were near the window and saw a male figure carrying art supplies. Your curious eyes squint to get a better look at the person, but you just couldn’t see that far.

As you ate dinner alone, you would find yourself peeping at the man across from you. He always seemed to be cooped up in his artwork. Rubbing his hands that were covered with paint onto his sweatpants or ripping a piece of paper out from his sketchbook. You found yourself wanting to get a closer look, intrigued to get a closer look at the mysterious man. So you brought a pair of binoculars. Cheeks burning in embarrassment as you realize you were a peeping Tom. How desperate could you be to invade a man’s privacy like this?

One evening when you were twisting and turning in your bed, you gave up trying to sleep. Your feet dragged across the wooden floors towards your kitchen to make your favorite tea that usually helped you fall asleep. As you walked by the huge window where the moon illuminated inside your place, your eyes nearly popped out of your head seeing the view. Your hands frantically picked up the binoculars as you looked directly towards the artist’s apartment. There he was sitting in one of his living room chairs, a rolled blunt in between his lips as another woman was in between his legs. Your heart pounded in your chest watching his fingers comb through his long jet black hair as the woman’s head bobbed up and down on his cock.

You kept mumbling to yourself that this felt so wrong. But your eyes couldn’t pry away from the sight. The way he inhaled and exhaled while a smoke cloud swirled above him as he held the rolled substance in his hand. His other hand was placed on the back of the woman’s head moving with her movements. He was enjoying the wonderful feeling of being on cloud nine due to the weed he was consuming and then being brought back down from his high due to a woman’s lips wrapped around his cock. You felt the growing heat in between your thighs as you put the binoculars down, your hands growing sweaty at the thought of what you just witnessed. You wanted to close your eyes and hopefully, when you opened, you were just hallucinating…dreaming maybe. High off the same thing, the artist was smoking. When you brought the binoculars back to your eyes, your heart seemed to drop in your chest. There he was, the artist giving you a sly wave. If you squint hard enough, you would even admit that he was giving you some cocky smirk.

He knew you were watching.

You watched through the binoculars as he gently nudged the woman off him. The woman’s face was covered with her own saliva as he gripped at her hair dragging her closer to the huge window just so you can get a better look. Your heart seemed to beat faster as you tugged one of your dining room chairs closer to the window, your thighs clamped shut to ignore the ache from your pussy that was begging for attention. As your eyes peeped through the binoculars once more, the woman continued to suck the artist off. His rolled blunt was in between his lips as he would toy with the woman’s brunette hair, eventually putting it in a ponytail to stop her saliva from colliding with her hair.

“Shit.” You muttered to yourself, the little things like that turned you on. You couldn’t help but play with the band of your pajama shorts. You were aware that if he knew you were watching, he could most likely see you.

You would put the binoculars down for a second as you tugged your shorts down. You stepped out of them letting them decorate your wooden floors as you sat back down in the chair you pulled up. Your eyes once again peeked through the binoculars once you picked them back up. The artist’s large hand was placed on the window keeping his balance from the sensational pleasure he was receiving.

Your eyes peered at the man as his head fell back in complete bliss. Seeing the way his hips thrust into the woman’s mouth caused your fingers to climb into your panties. Your fingers rubbed at your folds, shocked at the fact that just by being a peeping Tom, you’ve grown wet. Brain rotting with the thoughts of the artist in the other building as you massaged your own cunt, your other hand gripping at the binoculars to get a perfect view of the artist.

Your lips parted slightly to let out a soft whimper as your fingers made a circular motion on your clit that was begging to be touched. The sight of the artist getting a blowjob from another woman caused you to be soaked below if only you were the one whose lips were wrapped around his cock. The thought of it caused you to push two of your fingers inside to feel around your damp walls. Your fingers stroked eagerly to hit that one spot that caused your toes to curl up in pure bliss. Binoculars glued to your eyes as you watch the artist stare in your direction. A smirk on his face as he would quickly put the blunt he was smoking out. You watched as his muscles flex at each movement the brunette made on his dick. Your teeth grind against your lower lip as you remove your fingers from yourself. Your own wetness glistened your fingers that now were rubbing at your clit.

You watched as the artist’s hips thrust forward. The brunette on the floor grasped at the rug under her knees, trying to hold her balance due to the sudden aggression from the man in front of her. Saliva dripped on the floor and on the brunette’s lap as tears trickled down her cheeks. The actions you were viewing caused you to rub even faster; you could feel the heat pooling in the pit of your abdomen. You watched as the artist’s head fell back as the brunette-haired woman used her hands to massage his shaft. Mimicking his motions as your head also fell back and once again insert your fingers to push around your wet walls. Your imagination lets you wonder and wish that the artist’s fingers were inside you, edging you on bit by bit. A moan hitched from the back of your throat as your vision was getting blurry. The last sight through the binoculars you caught a glimpse of before you were pushed into your orgasm was the artist removing himself from the woman’s mouth. A mixture of his cum and the brunette’s saliva dripped off the artist’s cock.

The binoculars clattered to the ground once you felt your walls clutch around your fingers. Your chest rose up and down as you seemed to slump in the wooden chair you were sitting in. Sitting in your own pool of wetness, you could see that the artists had also finished up. The girl who was blowing him off was walking out of the living room to clean herself up, her face a sloppy mess as she licked her lips of any cum that spilled out her mouth. You quickly grabbed the binoculars, your cheeks steamed with embarrassment as you couldn’t even believe the action you’d just done. You see him staring right back at you when you peek through them to end your night. He had a grin on his face as he gave you a wave right before he turned his living room light off, most likely to go join the woman he just face-fucked.

You placed the binoculars down and started to clean the mess you made. Your mind is still racing due to the actions you just committed. It was such a new thing, and your friends wouldn’t even believe you if you told them what you did. You pushed the chair back into the dining space of your condo and eventually went to shower. Praying that the shower's steam would push out the thoughts of the artist living rent-free in your mind.

The following morning, you seemed to have dozed off on your living room couch last night. A fluffy blanket tugged on your body, and your television was on. As you sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you seemed to begin remembering the following night's events. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you jolted up, going towards the window. You couldn’t see the artist walking around his apartment, nor did you see the brunette woman that was wrapped around his cock. But you did see something. You grabbed your binoculars, peeping through them for one last time, and your lips parted to let out a scandalous gasp.

There stood in the living room, close to the large window that the artist once was using as support last night, a painting. A painting so explicit that it caused you to place your hand on your chest in disbelief. The painting was a painting of you last night. On the canvas was an explicit painting of you masturbating at the view of him. You couldn’t help but notice the details he put into his work, especially considering that you live in an apartment building across from his. He had to have such a vivid imagination to create such a piece.

And in the corner, you saw his signature in black paint.

Geto Suguru.

The artist’s name was Geto Suguru.

[blood-smiles]

Smut of sub! Yandere doll? Like marking him, dom him, since he is a doll with unlimited stamina, he is just insatiable. Experienced it once and he keep trying to initiate. Maybe some demonic love potion or etc (even tho we already love him) maybe something like that? Thank you for the food 💘

YEP YEP YOU ARE A GENIUS ANON!! Thank you for sending an Ask!! <3

🌶️ under the cut!

Turns out Demons have heat cycles, and you had no idea that the doll that was in your possession was just that, a demon.

Angelo had been insufferable as of lately, he had been extra loving and just overly clingy, you have no clue what to do about his situation, was he comfortable with you helping him?

yesterday he set your nintendo on fire because he got jealous that the console was taking way too much of your time and attention,

You were beyond done with the little shit, and you were going to make him pay you back every little bit of annoyance he caused.

that led to now, the doll was beneath you, his arms around your neck as you bit down on the soft skin of his clavicle, your teeth digging in so deep into him that you could feel his skin bunching up under your teeth,

“HAAh!- yesyesyesyes!” The male drawled out in a high pitched voice, he wasn’t even trying to hide that he liked it, what a whore..

Your hands were holding onto his hips, fingers digging into the soft skin covering over his hip bones, marking his skin with blotches of red and purple,

His hips stuttered with each bite you planted, his thighs rubbing together with every stroke of your tongue against his once unmarked skin,

this was what he wanted. He needed it just this time! Liar.

Having sex with you just felt so ethereal, so passionate and loving, this feeling he felt wasn’t lust, but instead infatuation.. Devotion— There just weren’t enough words to describe what he felt for you,

He didn’t do this out of only lust— That sounded unfitting of what he actually felt, but he was making love with you.. He loved how that rolled off his tongue..

His head lolled back, baring more of his neck to you, basically begging you to bite him there too,

drool seeped out of the doll’s mouth, his eyes rolling back into his head whenever your strap/cock rammed into his prostate,

You moved your hold from his hips to his thighs, propping up his long limbs on your shoulders,

Angelo mewled at the new closeness of skin, relishing in the warmth of your own skin, your cock was now pressed up against his G-spot,

with each thrust pushing deeper into him, you could start to see a belly bulge from the animalistic pace you were going at,

Angelo put his hand on the rising portion of skin, his watery eyes looking up at you lovingly, if you looked hard enough you would be able to see the hearts in his eyes,

“haa!~ so good! Feels so good..” The chestnut haired male moaned out, feeling the tip of the strap under his skin, it was like you were actually meaning to impregnate him— He wished he actually had working reproductive organs, he only wished he could get pregnant like a human would!

”hehe~ L-Love you being inside me..” Angelo giggled between whimpers, his eyes glazed over with tears, now running down his round cheeks,

You looked elsewhere, just now feeling embarrassed of what you were doing with the doll, how did things get to this caliber? You went from buying a doll from a second hand website to blowing that same doll’s back out,

you decided to bite down on his inner thigh, circling your tongue around the soft skin to create a bruise,

The doll moved his hands behind your head, gently untangling your hair, brushing back the strands sticking to your forehead, before planting a passionate kiss on your lips, his tongue lapping up your saliva like a starved man,

One of your hands stroked his dick, your nails teasingly brushing against the veiny portions,

you teased the tip with your index finger, the pad of your finger rubbing against the sensitive slit of the glossy head,

pre cum dampened your hand, the substance creating slimy webs between your fingers,

you gently squeezed his dick while keeping a steady pace, you could only imagine how good it felt being jerked off and also getting fucked, and that surely showed on the male’s porcelain features,

his hair was sprawled put on the mattress, cheeks a pretty red color, eyes were half lidded while he stared into your own eyes with desperation and nothing but pure love, it was like he wanted more, more, more.

you bit especially hard on his thigh, causing his skin to break under your teeth, the taste of iron fresh on your tongue as you squeezed his dick particularly tighter,

“Urk— O-Ough!~♡” that particular moan was even better than most porns, his fingers dug into your scalp, pushing your face closer into his bruised thighs,

“ThankyouThank youThank youThank you!!” Angelo cried out, his legs shaking in spasms, getting visibly closer to his high,

With one last high pitched moan (that would get a noise complaint) the ribbon on the present came undone,

“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!! Love you so so much!”

he tightly hugged your head close to his soft chest, your hand became covered with white ropes of warm semen dripping down your fingers like melted ice cream,

Angelo opened his eyes slowly, gently letting his arms loosen around your head, but not enough to completely let you go,

his chest rose and lowered, those pitch black eyes staring into yours, giving you one of his unsettling stares— Those that felt like he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in his world (I’m going to have to hold your hand while saying this..)

Angelo kissed you once again, then again, again and until he was kissing your whole face, you ignored when he licked your sweaty temple,

“You did so well..” He praised, letting his legs drop from your shoulders to hug you against him more intimately,

you cleaned his flat stomach with a stray napkin, soaking up the residue of cum from his skin and your own fingers,

“Thank you.. You..You have always helped me— I know I repeat this a lot.. But You do know that I love you beyond life and death itself, right?” He smiled with a tilt of his head, holding your face in his cold hands,

You nodded, looking into his dark irises, you never looked into his eyes so closely, just now you noticed there was a slight ring of maroon around his pupil,

“You know that no matter who or what gets in my way will never separate us?” He looked at you expectantly, you nodded, “Of course you know, my dear! We both know that no matter what our love always stands tall.” He booped your nose with his finger before cuddling you into his chest again, his chin resting on top of your head,

he may just be a little crazy for your love, but he knows you secretly like it, and he just can’t let go of you anymore, his heart is far too small for the large amount of love he has for you, but even that won’t stop him from being with you.

nothing will stop him now.

A/N: pheewww!! That was a long one, my brain was having trouble thinking on what to write for him, well it was kinda fun! Enjoy! :3

[vivmaek]

Hi! I hope you’re doing good! Do all aspects and placements in someone’s chart make up their appearance? I’ve heard that it does, and I’ve heard that it doesn’t. Just curious to know :)

THE NATAL CHARTS RELATION TO PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hi, I love this question! I can see arguments for both sides, but in my opinion I think all placements within someones chart make up appearance. I say this because our emotions and inner psychology directly affect physical appearance. And the same can be said for our physical environments. Here are some examples:

Gemini Saturn in the 12th House - Prone to getting bags under the eyes due to poor sleep. Struggles with anxiety and poor appetite.

Venus in the 2nd House - Having the resources to maintain ones appearance. Having access to high quality food, clothing, makeup, and skincare.

Neptune in the 8th House - Prone to drug usage, and is especially susceptible to the negative side effects. These types look spaced out and detached even if they have never used substances. They've probably been asked, "Are you high?" even if dead sober.

12th house stellium - Looks mysterious, even when you get to know them. No one ever truly knows a 12th house stellium. My life long friend constantly reveals details about her life that change the way I view her. And I never really know what she is up to, even when we were in each others daily lives. She travels more than any young person I know, yet remains humble and wise. 12th house stelliums are the ultimate mystiques, and this is an incredibly attractive quality.

1st House stellium - Their distinct personality overpowers whatever their physical appearance may be. Usually people attach traits onto others based on their physical appearance, but the reverse happens for 1st house stelliums. It is almost like they're cartoon characters, its like their personality and sense of character was developed before their physical form even came into existence. Their physical appearance suits who they are so well, I don't know how else to describe it.

Pluto in the 6th house - There are periods in which people with this placement will be overworked.

Scorpio Uranus in the 12th House - The wild card. Their subconscious state shifts drastically and changes unexpectedly, and this most definitely affects the ways in which they present themselves to the world.

Scorpio Mars in the 5th House - People with this placement are baddies. Cool af and might partake in some dangerous hobbies.

Chart ruler in the 4th House - Nostalgia frames the ways in which these people present themselves. Might have a timeless look about them.

Virgo Mercury in the 8th House - Could partake in hygienic practices that are diligent and maybe strange.

Cancer Saturn in the 5th House - Handyman vibes. Down to earth in their self expression.

Sun in the 3rd House - Seemingly youthful, the eternal student.

Strong 11th House placements - Their appearance is somehow associated with whatever group they belong to. This could be church, clubs, sports teams, humanitarian efforts. (For instance, Tom Cruise has his Jupiter in the 11th house and you can't look at him without thinking about Scientology.)

Strong 7th House placements - Tend to take on traits adapted from their relationships. They mirror people.

Uranus in the 9th House - Might end up living amongst a culture that differs from the one they grew up in. This will affect the ways in which people perceive their appearance.

Saturn Square Pluto - 😐 <- this face

Mercury Trine Pluto - 🤨 <- this face

Mars aspecting Uranus - Prone to accidents, bodily injury, scars.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Hand That Feeds

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader (physical attributes such as large breasts and alternative appearance described) Warnings: DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT. Mentions of child neglect, prostitution, substance abuse, death, murder. Dark and obsessive behaviour, attempted sexual assault, sub/dom dynamics, male masturbation, smut. Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: Ettore is used to having to take women by force - it's how he ended up on death row, and now a suicide mission in outer space. However, when a fellow crew member catches his eye and becomes the object of his twisted fantasies, he soon learns that the touch of a woman feels more satisfying when he's made to work for it. Based on this request.

Author's note: For @orcaunionleader. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Ettore screws his eyes shut. Strapped into the seat of the spaceship as it hurtles upwards, plunged suddenly into darkness when the lights fail, he feels trapped. It must have been twenty years, at least, since he has felt so vulnerable.

His earliest memory is sobbing as he is shut in the cupboard, the pitch blackness terrifying and too much to bear, but the sight of what he sees when he bursts out is so much worse.

The man on top of his mother, the noises they’re making, he feels strange, a combination of wanting to watch but also a churning in his tummy that makes him feel unwell. He retreats back into the dark, closing the door and hugs his knees to his chest until it all goes quiet again. 

Ettore soon learns it is better to enter a room head first - if he is able to see exactly what is happening then he knows quickly whether it’s safe to come out, or whether he needs to retreat. Not placing his entire body in the way reduces the likelihood of being grabbed, hit, shouted at.

There’s a different man each time, and every time they leave there’s always money on the bedside table of the small studio flat, and his mother is asleep. It’s then that he crawls into bed beside her, cuddling into her warmth, tracing his fingers over the marks that litter her inner elbow creases.

He doesn’t recall his mother ever having hugged him, when she is still like this is the only time he is able to get close to her, and he wraps his arms around her until the rumbling in his stomach gets too much to bear. He is always hungry.

His bare feet crunch against spilled Rice Krispies on the dirty kitchenette floor. Sometimes there is bread to eat, if he picks around the mold, sometimes there isn’t. He sees through the window that there is a place across the road that his mother goes to every few days. She always comes back with glass bottles that clink against each other in the plastic bag, but sometimes there is bread, and less often there are Rice Krispies. He likes those, though he often spills them.

The hunger pangs in his stomach grow so bad he begins to cry. His mother no longer feels warm when he cuddles against her. He is not sure when she last woke up, why she won’t wake up now. Maybe she is just really tired.

He can see the place where she goes to get food from the window, it is not very far, perhaps she’ll wake up by the time he gets back, and so he wanders out of the flat, not closing the door behind him, and walks across the road.

Ettore’s eyes light up the moment he sees the familiar blue box of Rice Krispies, clutching it tightly in both hands. It’s only then that he looks up into the horrified face of the woman standing over him, unable to comprehend why she’s looking at him like that, as she takes in the sight of the malnourished, barefoot child before her, wearing only a t-shirt and a dirty nappy.

There are a flurry of adults around him after that, and he’s taken to live somewhere else. He never sees his mother again. He hears the phrase “non verbal” used a lot, and learns that someone of his age should be able to speak. He doesn’t know how to, and so slowly he is taught how to communicate with words.

Even when Ettore has mastered the power of speech, he prefers not to use it. He finds watching people is far better than talking to them. Most people tend to talk a lot even when they have nothing to say. He prefers the quiet.

There are lots of other children his age at the facility he’s placed in, but slowly they leave, one by one, when adults come to look around. He never leaves though, he supposes it has something to do with the way he has overheard the staff describe his eyes as “haunted” and how strange it is that he has no interest in playing. Grown ups don’t want to share their homes with children that aren’t happy. Ettore doesn’t feel he has much at all to be happy about, when he curls his lips into a smile it feels strange against his face.

As Ettore grows older, he learns of what actually happened to him. His mother had been a heroin addict, she had prostituted herself to fund her habit, and he had been a victim of her extreme neglect. She had died of an overdose and he had laid beside her body for days, until his own hunger had gotten the better of him and he’d wandered into the local corner shop in search of food. He feels nothing upon finding this out, if anything he yearns for the simpler time of huddling against the warmth of his mother as she’d slept off her fix. No one will touch him now, he craves physical contact but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

He’s placed into a foster home when he’s a teenager, though it is a placement that’s short lived. The woman has a daughter, she’s a similar age to Ettore and he longs for her touch. He knows all too well from the way that she squirms under the intensity of his gaze and leaves the room whenever they are alone together that the feeling is not reciprocated.

To Ettore it does not matter. He always waited until his mother was asleep before cuddling her, he reasons that he can simply do the same here. And he does just that; waiting until night falls and the house is quiet, he sneaks into her room, laying down upon the bed beside her.

He breathes in deeply, a delicate floral scent filling his nostrils as he runs the tip of his nose over the softness of her hair. His fingertips creep beneath her pyjama top, and he exhales a shaky breath at how silky smooth her skin feels to touch.

It’s then that she wakes up and lets out a loud scream, he topples from the bed, startled by her outburst and her mother rushes into the room. That is Ettore’s first and only foster care placement, another term is now used to describe him; “maladaptive”.

But he takes away a valuable lesson from the situation - if he wishes to touch a woman then he needs to ensure she stays asleep.

He watches couples with resentment, knowing that no woman will ever kiss or caress him with any semblance of love, not willingly anyway. Women don’t want men that are haunted and maladaptive, but that’s fine with Ettore. If it’s not freely given then he knows precisely how to take it.

Ettore preys upon those that are fumbling with their keys in the lock as they try to return home, women under the influence who spend just a little too long on their phones while trying to get a cab, and the ones that walk hurriedly towards their cars in empty, darkened parking garages.

He moves slowly, carefully, his body only moving in sync with where his head is looking once he’s certain of the target he’s selected. He is unhurried in his movements, and so he goes utterly undetected until it’s too late.

It starts as simply knocking them out and then using their bodies however he sees fit, but it  rapidly escalates when he accidentally kills one of them, it happens twice more before he’s finally apprehended.

He doesn’t try to fight it, pleads guilty in court and is sent to prison. Even with good behaviour, his sentence is such that he’ll be elderly before he’s ever free. But any opportunity for eventual freedom is snuffed out when he gets into a scuffle with another prisoner.

Threats of solitary confinement hang heavily over him as he’s dragged away, and something inside of him snaps. He won’t go back to being locked away in the dark, he can’t. So he lashes out, and as he’s stomping upon the guard’s head he is reminded of the crunching of Rice Krispies beneath his feet from when he was a child.

The death penalty doesn’t exist within the United Kingdom’s judicial system, but he knows he’s being served a death sentence when he is given the news that he has been assigned to board a spaceship with other prisoners on a mission to extract alternative energy from a black hole. There is no coming back from that, he’s not foolish enough to believe otherwise, yet he readily accepts it. There is no other alternative for him, truthfully, there never has been.

When the lights eventually flicker back on and they are alerted they can unfasten their seatbelts, Ettore finally opens his eyes, looking at the prisoners that are seated around him. He’s surprised and intrigued to find there are women as well as men on board. He hasn’t encountered a woman since being sent to prison.

The scrubs they are given to wear are baggy and conceal much of their bodies, so to his disappointment he is unable to admire the feminine curves of the women on board - except one. She is shorter than he is, the remnants of a long since faded colour adorns the ends of her hair. Both her arms are full sleeved with tattoos. He wants to tear away her uniform and see what other artwork decorates her flesh. If he were a normal person, he’d strike up a conversation and ask, but Ettore is not one for words, so he simply stares, watching her every movement as a silent storm builds inside of him.

Though she is slenderly built, he can clearly see the way the baggy top half of her clothing curves over the ample swell of her breasts. His eyes linger there whenever he passes her in the corridor, picturing what it would be like to run his hands over them and squeeze their softness.

It’s these thoughts that are the cause of his every visit to The Box, the ship’s masturbatory aid. It’s used gratuitously by all crew mates, as sexual conduct between prisoners is prohibited on board, so he spills over his knuckles every chance he gets, imagining it’s inside of her. Would she claw at his shoulders and slap at him to get away, or simply lay still and take it?

Occasionally he deposits a sample into a plastic cup, taken away by Dibs, a supposed doctor on board who seems to be the main authority figure. She never fully explains what is to be done with his specimens, but once he has taken the reward he’s provided afterwards - usually a sedative - he cannot find it in himself to care.

He has heard whispers that she is conducting fertility experiments on the ship, attempting to artificially inseminate the female inmates. If that’s the case, he is thankful that his involvement is far less invasive than theirs must be, but ultimately it’s not his problem. He keeps to himself, ever watchful of those around him.

At least there is structure and routine; he goes to sleep and wakes up at the same time each day, participates in mandatory exercise regimes, eats regular meals and is assigned maintenance work duty.

Getting to know his own schedule means becoming familiar with other people’s, and that includes her’s. There is a sense of both excitement and comfort in knowing exactly where she is and exactly what she’s doing at all times.

The first time he encounters her coming out of the Box, he’s struck by how beautiful she is, pupils dilated, skin glowing with a light sheen of perspiration, her lips slightly parted as she attempts to calm her breathing. The heady aroma of her arousal lingers faintly as he goes in after her and he has never come harder in his life than he does on that day. He makes a point to go in after her every day after that.

If she were any other woman and these were any other circumstances, he’d have forced himself upon her by now, but they are in a confined space together and there’s no way for him to act upon his urges without there being almost immediate consequences for it. Every day it feels as though a coil inside of him is wound tighter, and every day he is left wondering if that will be the day when it finally snaps and he brings everything crashing down for both of them.

Despite his internalised conflict, she seems utterly unperplexed by him, which is confusing for Ettore. He is used to women regarding him with unease and disgust, so for her to be completely unphased by his presence is disarming. She is a criminal too though, he reasons, and for her to have been served what is effectively a death sentence she must have done something terrible. The thought makes her all the more alluring to him.

He is on cleaning duty today, tasked with scrubbing down the shower tiles. He enters the showers slowly, deliberately, unable to hear water running, so assumes that there’s no one in there.

But then he spots her, her hair wet and sticking to her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts just about visible. She hasn’t seen him, yet. His eyes roam slowly over the greyscale body art that adorns her arms and thighs, wondering if there's more hidden beneath the towel that clings to her svelte figure. 

Absent-mindedly his fingers move over the triangular motif that's tattooed on his right forearm; though the scar is no longer visible he still feels the indentations of teeth. If he closes his eyes he still remembers the way that girl had fought, biting into his flesh as he'd wrapped his arm around her throat. He can never recall their faces, but he remembers the marks they left upon him - each one now covered by the same tattoo - a target so that he never forgets - a slash of a broken bottle against his bicep, acrylic nails gouging into his neck. They're never quite strong enough, though they fight to the end. He wonders if her ink serves the purpose of covering or reminding, what sinister deeds have led her down a path of such finality. He intends to find out.

Her head snaps up to look at him and he sucks in a harsh breath as she makes eye contact with him. She doesn’t scream or shy away, simply returns his unblinking stare and his fingers flex at his sides, mouth running dry as he considers whether he’ll need to silence her or not.

“Like what you see?” She whispers, letting the towel fall slowly away.

Ettore remains unblinking, though he feels shaken to his core on the inside. He drinks in the sight of her bare flesh, her full rounded breasts, the dip of her waist, her curvaceous hips, feeling his cock twitch in his scrubs.

What the fuck is she playing at?

“Fuckin’ cock tease,” he spits out, before turning and walking away to the Box.

He reaches his peak embarrassingly quickly, brow furrowed and jaw slack as sweat rolls down his temples.

Once the feeling of euphoria has worn off it is replaced by anger and confusion. Had she been trying to get him into trouble? Did she actually want him? Was she making a mockery of him?

His mood darkens at the thought and as his mind races after lights out that night, unable to find sleep. He slips out of his bunk and walks slowly, silently, along the corridor towards her cell.

He can see the outline of her body beneath the covers, and is suddenly unsure of what he came here to do. Torn between wanting to lunge for her, grab her by the throat and make her pay for her earlier indiscretion, or simply slip beneath the covers beside her and allow his hands to roam freely, he stands and does nothing, watching her.

“Come inside, if you want,” she calls out quietly to him in the darkness, making him startle, “bunkmates are all sleeping.”

Ettore hesitates, remaining rooted to the spot, unable to believe that a woman is actually inviting him into her space, that she wants to be near him.

“You gonna pussy out again like you did earlier?” She questions playfully.

He feels embarrassment flush his cheeks and allows it to propel him forward, over the threshold, into her space. He won’t let a woman get the better of him.

She shuffles back against the wall, lifting the blanket and patting the space beside her.

He hasn’t laid beside a woman since the night he was kicked out of his foster placement for getting into bed with the host’s teenage daughter, the only other times before that were when he huddled beside his passed out mother.

Ettore swallows thickly, not wanting to show weakness and quickly slips in beside her.

She smells of the ship’s standard issue soap, yet somehow on her flesh it has an utterly different scent, it’s sweet and intoxicating and has him longing to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He inhales deeply, feeling himself grow hard from her proximity and the warmth of her soft skin against his bare torso.

Apparently she feels it too, as she eagerly snakes a hand between them, palming at him through his shorts. 

A woman has never touched him like that before, not willingly. Usually he’s the one in control. It feels too much, too fast, bile rises in his throat and he jerks away from her, stalking silently back to his own cell, shame blooming hot and heavy in his chest as he feels tears burn beneath his eyelids.

What the fuck was that?

For the first time in Ettore’s life a woman had wanted to touch him, and he’d freaked out and run away. Does she not realise what he could do to her, what he’s capable of? He is supposed to inspire fear, not lust.

He wants to storm back to her cell and smash her head against the wall. She’s made him feel weak, inferior, yet despite that he can’t shake the feeling of her hand between his legs.

Unable to help himself, he waits for her as she exits the Box the next day, the telltale signs of her having just climaxed etched all over her features as she steps out. Her expression hardens when she sees him, rolling her eyes and side stepping him, until he grabs her wrist, stopping her from going anywhere.

“Let go of me, Ettore,” she says threateningly.

“How d’you know my name?” He asks, pulling her close so he can stare down into her eyes.

She smirks. “You’re not the only one that can skulk around the ship finding things out. Dibs left your file out the last time she had me up on the table, so I snooped. I know your name, your blood type, your sperm count–”

“Do you know what I’m serving time for?” He narrows his eyes as he asks this.

“No, I figure if we’re gonna explore whatever this is,” she gestures between them, “it’s better we don’t know that about each other.”

Ettore scoffs, quirking his lips as he eyes her carefully. “And what is this?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. Clearly you’re not comfortable letting me touch you…yet. So how about you touch me instead?”

He keeps a neutral expression, despite the surprise he feels once again that a woman would willingly let him touch her. “How would that work?”

“You’re about to use the Box, right? Take me in. Touch me while you touch yourself.”

Her words send an aching pulse straight to his balls and he nods, walking into the Box, not checking to see if she’s following. He knows she will be.

“Take it off, take it all off,” he orders quietly, gesturing to her clothes.

She pulls off her top and slips off her bottoms and his gaze rakes appreciatively over her form, only this time his hand slides into his trousers as he does so, his hand wrapping around his steadily hardening length.

Her lips are parted, eyes wide as she stares up at him, her breathing almost matching the intensity of his. Tentatively he leans down, inhaling her scent. The sweetness fills his nostrils and something inside of him snaps.

Pulling his erection free, he moves his fist over it in quick, aggressive strokes, biting at her pulsepoint, before moving his lips downwards towards her tits, pressing his face into their soft warmth, mouthing at them without restraint.

True to her word, she doesn’t touch him, keeping her hands balled into tight fists at her sides, though he can tell she is desperate to reach for him, her breaths erratic as she arches into his touch.

His stomach muscles contract, pressure building at the base of his spine as droplets of pre-cum help to guide his rapid, successive jerks of his cock.

Reaching between her legs, he groans at feeling how wet she is, a combination of her previous orgasm and how aroused she is from what’s currently happening between them.

He buries his face in her chest, sinking two fingers inside of her. There is no scratching, no slapping, no disassociating. She is soft and pliant against him, willing, and as often as he has fantasised about taking her by force, this feels better than anything he has ever experienced previously, better than anything he could have imagined.

As the pressure reaches its apex and he finally climaxes with a groan and a shudder, releasing white hot ropes of his seed across her lower belly, she reaches up with shaky, tentative hands to gently run her fingers through his hair.

“Good boy,” she coos, “did so well for me.”

He sighs, leaning over her, resting his head against the wall behind her. Next time he wants to sink inside of her, to feel what it’s like to be touched, wanted, needed. Because as haunted and maladapted as he is, as he opens his eyes and stares into hers he sees that she is too. Her darkness plays well with his, and in a cold and sterile environment Ettore has finally found the warmth he’s always craved.

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Killer to Lovers

Toxic!Psychopath!JJ Maybank x Fem!reader

Warnings: Extremely toxic and *murderous* JJ, penetration, fingering

Plot: Watching you from a distance, bloodthirsty Jay Maybank can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have you as his.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Obsessed with the idea of a possessive/insane JJ recently- Hope it sounds as good on paper as it did in my head!

JJ Maybank had always been a mystery to you. Whether he be sitting in the corner, shrouded by shadows and watching you and the Pogues intently, or twirling a suspicious knife or gun in his hand, he had always been different than the others.

You heard your parents warn you about him. “That boy is no good!” “You shouldn’t be hanging out around him! He could be dangerous!” The truth was, these scoldings wouldn’t bother you so much if you didn’t think they might be true.

Sure, he had never been exactly mean to you. Although he always seemed to have a strange, almost malicious glint in his eyes whenever he looked at you, any conversations between the two of you were friendly. You would joke around with him, John B, Pope, Kiara, and Sarah, and during those times there was no doubt that he was a Pogue.

But you never failed to miss the questionable red splatters on his clothing on multiple occasions, that always came with the news reports of missing people popping up all over Kildare County.

Yes, Jay Maybank wasn’t someone you should trust. But it was the other things about him that made it impossible for you to stay away. Maybe it was the dark circles around his eyes or the way he would swipe his tongue over his lips, but every time you were near him it was like you were in a trance, his presence warping around you and begging you to come closer.

For you, JJ was like a magnet. He was… and you didn’t know how else to describe it… intoxicating. You never imagined that he could feel any the same. 

It happened one night, when the moon was high in the dark sky, and you were huddled in the back of a building, crying. It was one of those times when the pains, losses, and heartbreaks of your life had finally gotten to you, and the tears were flowing down your face in cascading waves.

You had your face in your hands when you heard a familiar husky, drawling voice from directly next to you.

“And what is a lady like you doing out here so late?” You looked up in surprise to see JJ leaning against the wall facing you, his arms crossed and his head lolling slightly to the side.

“H- how did you find me?” you gasped, moving to wipe the tears from your eyes. Instead, JJ blocked your hand and trailed his forefinger across your cheek slowly. You freezed at his touch.

“I suppose I just can’t keep away from you.” He said lowly. Your despair forgotten, you raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

JJ’s deep blue eyes penetrated your own. “I’ve been watching you for a long time.” A shiver crawled up your spine as his finger moved across your chest lightly. Even through the fabric, you could feel how cold it was. “You’re like a magnet to me. An addicting substance that I can’t seem to resist.”

Shock rippled through your body. How could he know you felt the exact same way about him? It was like he could read your mind. “I feel the same way, Jay,” you said softly.

“Good,” he purred menacingly. Before you knew what’s happening, he pulled the straps of your top and bra down your shoulders, letting them fall to your knees alongside your shorts.

Then he took off his own garments, keeping his eyes trained on you as you watched his muscled chest and hard shaft be uncovered.

Fully exposed in the moonlight, you saw his eyes darken further will hunger as he looked at you. How did this relationship get to this point? And this fast? You didn’t have time to think, as JJ was sucking down on your breasts, possessively taking the tips in his mouth one at a time and making you throw your head back. At the same time he slipped his fingers inside your pussy, already wet with your lubrication, pushing them in and out.

Your mind spun as you tried to comprehend the amount of pleasure coming from both places at once. You never imagined JJ’s fingers, or mouth, would feel this good. You twisted against the wall as he picked up his pace down below, relentlessly toying with your clit.

“Stay still, baby,” he growled, and you tried to contain yourself as you’re pushed closer to your climax. You buried your hands into his hair as you reached your edge.

And suddenly, instead of his fingers, his cock is slipping inside you, making you moan at his size and force. JJ moaned, too, murmuring “How can someone feel this good?”

He fucked you aggressively, more rough and merciless than any guy you’ve ever known. The sensations he was giving you were almost more than you can handle, and a second orgasm cracked through you in no time at all. Somehow he knew precisely the right spots to hit, how to make you bend to his will. He was manipulative. Cruel. Greedy. And you loved it.

When he finally came inside of you, it was like heaven with a mixture of hell had been opened. There was only the two of you together, interlocked and soaking up the intoxicating effect you both had on each other.

When he finally pulled out, his breath was hot on your face and he leaned in menacingly. “Do you want to be mine, gorgeous?”

You nodded, closing your eyes. “Yes. I want to be yours. Forever.”

“I want to hear it again. Are you mine?” He snarled, brushing up against your ear.

“Yes, Jay. I’m yours and yours only.” The vows escaped your mouth instantly and you knew there was no escaping the hold he had on you.

He took the skin of your neck between his lips and pulled it taut, marking you as his own. He began to walk away, turning his head towards you one last time. “I’ll see you again soon.” Then he was gone, disappearing back into the shadows.

You were left standing against the wall, mind torn in different directions. One part of your mind screamed What the hell did you just do? And filled with dread that this is wrong. Wondered what your parents will say. The other half of your mind told you This was meant to happen. The feral need for him that overrode all else. You needed him, and that’s all you knew.

You saw him again the next morning, hanging outside with the Pogues. You felt his gaze scorching you the whole time. When you met his eyes, a smirk played at the corner of his lips. 

When you went to your house that night and he fucked you into your own mattress, he hissed “Your parents never have to find out about this. This can be just between the two of us.” And you could only nod in response. You were willing to lie to your own parents to keep him.

Jay got into the habit of sneaking into your room in the evenings, much to your dismay. You couldn’t risk being heard. You never told him to leave either. So quiet moans and hisses could be heard from your house as JJ buried his face between your legs.

When your friends found out about the relationship, they were a bit taken aback, but soon decided it was sweet. They always said JJ was “tough and reserved”, so they found it adorable that he finally found a girl. What they didn’t know, though, was how far he was willing to go to protect you.

Jay was somewhat surprised himself. He had fucked several girls before, consensually, but you were different. At first he convinced himself that it was only for his own benefit, to satisfy his lust, but over time he realized that there was something more. He had always considered love a burden, something meaningless and childish. It could have been the way your featured lit up whenever you laughed, or the sweet and soothing pressure of your lips. But he knew, deep down, that he had grown to love you.

That was why, whenever another guy got close to you, the rage Jay felt was enough to want to kill them. Slit their throats in an alleyway, leave a drop of poison in their drinks. Just to make sure you were never stolen from him.

And of course there were the times when he imagined sinking the blade of a knife into your tender, perfect skin, to see your enticing blood drip down your body. There was something that stopped him, though. Maybe it was because he knew he couldn’t live without you, but he managed to restrain himself. For now.

You sensed this desire, whenever you two kissed. You also sensed the possessiveness radiating from him as he trapped you in his arms. There was something alluring about it. How you knew he would kill for you.

[merymoonbeam]

Thin places – The Void – Cauldron – Elriel

So in hofas we learned about thin places...

“No,” Aidas agreed. “But Helena knew that Midgard possessed its own magic. A raw, weaker sort of magic than that in her home world, but one that could be potent in high concentrations. She learned that it flowed across the world in great highways, natural conduits for magic.” “Ley lines,” Bryce breathed. Aidas nodded. “These lines are capable of moving magic, but also carrying communications across great distances.” Like those between the Gates of Crescent City, the way she’d spoken to Danika the day she’d made the Drop. “There are ley lines across the whole of the universe. And the planets—like Midgard, like Hel, like the home world of the Fae—atop those lines are joined by time and space and the Void itself. It thins the veils separating us. The Asteri have long chosen worlds that are on the ley lines for that exact purpose. It made it easier to move between them, to colonize those planets. There are certain places on each of these worlds where the most ley lines overlap, and thus the barrier between worlds is at its weakest.” Everything slotted together. “Thin places,” Bryce said with sudden certainty. “Precisely,” Apollion answered for Aidas with an approving nod. “The Northern Rift, the Southern Rift—both lie atop a tremendous knot of ley lines. And while those under Avallen are not as strong, the island is unique as a thin place thanks to the presence of black salt—which ties it to Hel.” “And the mists?” Hunt asked. “What’s the deal with them?” “The mists are a result of the ley lines’ power,” Aidas said. “They’re an indication of a thin place. Hoping to find a ley line strong enough to help her transfer and hide Theia’s power, Helena sent a fleet of Fae with earth magic to scour every misty place they could find on Midgard. When they told her of a place wreathed in mists so thick they could not pierce them, Helena went to investigate. The mists parted for her—as if they had been waiting. She found the small network of caves on Avallen … and the black salt beneath the surface.” (hofas)

It is long but what we get from this is that

Ley lines are used for moving magic and...communication between worlds

Ley lines are joined by time and space and void

The mist is a big give away for thin places

So how all of this connect to Elain and Cauldron?

When Elain got out of the cauldron...the water was "smokey"

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. (Acomaf)

Maybe it is not smoke but mist...as in Cauldron is a thin place?

When Feyre threw the book of breathings into the Cauldron...it went to Crescent City. How? We dont know. is it bc Cauldron being a thin place between worlds?

Also Cauldron has "void in it"

I managed to stand. To take one step before I felt it. The … thing in the Cauldron. Or lack of it. It was lack and substance, absence and presence. And … it was leaking into the world.I dared a step toward it. And what I beheld in those ruins of the Cauldron… It was a void. But also not a void—a growth.It did not belong here. Belong anywhere. (Acowar)

And who cauldron is obsessed with? Elain...a seer.

In my mystics&seers post I talked about the connection between void and elain more. But in the same post I talked about Mystics and seer connection and they seem to be the same.

In hosab mystics are described like this

The old male cut in, as if he hadn’t heard a word of their hissed argument. “Most astronomers and mystics have been put out of business these days, you know. Thanks to fancy tech. And self-righteous busybodies like you,” he spat toward Bryce. She snarled at him, the sound more primal Fae than she liked, but he waved that hateful, ring-encrusted hand toward the mystics in their pools. “They were the original interweb. Any answer you wish to know, they can find it, without having to wade through the slog of nonsense out there.”

And we know how one of the mystics "went" to hel and talked one of the hel princes.

what do we know about ley lines? 👇🏻

“These lines are capable of moving magic, but also carrying communications across great distances.” Like those between the Gates of Crescent City, the way she’d spoken to Danika the day she’d made the Drop.

So what if ley lines and being mystic/seer is connected? Did that mystic use the ley lines? As in they are the communication between worlds?

And we have world walkers...

“The black salt only repels the Asteri; the mists repel everyone else. But certain people, with certain gifts, can access the power of thin places—on any world. World-walkers.” Aidas gestured gracefully to Bryce. “You are one of them. So were Helena and Theia. Their natural abilities lent themselves to moving through the mists.”

Theia was one of them.

In myths theia is:

Theia (/ˈθiːə/; Ancient Greek: Θεία, romanized: Theía, lit. 'divine', also rendered Thea or Thia), also called Euryphaessa (Ancient Greek: Εὐρυφάεσσα) "wide-shining", is one of the twelve Titans, the children of the earth goddess Gaia and the sky god Uranus in Greek mythology. She is the Greek goddess of sight and vision, and by extension the goddess who endowed gold, silver, and gems with their brilliance and intrinsic value.

Maybe sight and thin places/ley lines are more connected than we think?

Also I have been fascinated by this all this time but we have "pocket" realms or any pocket related thing...theia can do it, rhys can do it, apollion and maybe...azriel?

With theia we see this:

By the grace of the Mother, she was paranoid enough about any new allies or companions that she hid the Horn and Harp. She created a pocket of nothingness, she told me, and stashed them there. Only she could access that pocket of nothingness—only she could retrieve the Horn and Harp from its depths. (Hofas)

with apollion we have this:

The seventh and most lethal of the demon princes of Hel was in his mind- “I am not in your mind, though your thoughts ripple toward me like your world's radio waves. You and I are in a place between our worlds. A pocket-realm, as it were.”

Acomaf rhys:

Rhys reached into a bag I hadn’t realized he’d been carrying—no, one he’d summoned from whatever pocket between realms he used for storage.

And with azriel we have this:

Azriel didn’t give them a chance to exchange another word before murmuring shadows swept around them. Nesta couldn’t help clinging to Azriel, gleaning on some innate level that if she let go, she would tumble through this space between places and be lost forever.

We always known azriel's type of winnowing is different...BUT HOW DIFFERENT?

Also side note...Fionn probably has Shadow powers bc Helena and Silene both have shadow and starborn power so them taking the shadow from fionn is possible. I went into more detail about elriel connection to fionn in this post you can read it there.

So...pocket realms maybe they can somehow access space between the worlds? Thin places maybe connected to it?

Also side note this is maybe kinda crack but elriel scene also has "space between"

I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.

Maybe Im reading into it but the fact that the only connection "the space between" them is TT...THE KNIFE THAT CAN UNDO THINGS...the knife with gwydion can create Void. The void that is connected with the ley lines/thin places.

The end. 🫡💜

[xlovely-liviix]

Remedy: A Huskerdust Fanfiction

Hello and welcome to my new fanfiction: Remedy!

I asked a fellow Tumblr...Tumblree?? I asked @masculinemiracles to borrow their AU because its just so-- it's something that makes me happy to a point where I can't describe it.

So without further ado, please enjoy this Huskerdust fanfiction that holds dangerous amounts of fluffy love.

"I'll see you tomorrow, angel cakes.." Valentino's voice sounded from across the room. "and Angel?" Angel Dust halted his trek towards the door and pivoted around, flashing a fake smile.

"Yes, Val?" Valentino creeped closer to the spider demon. "Don't be late again." the demon moth warned, his voice deepening.

He blew a cloud of blood-red vapor into Angel's face, as the arachnid-demon coughed and faced away from the toxic substance. "Yes, Valentino..." Angel muttered, before turning back around and exiting the studio.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Angel Dust pressed both flaps of his blazer together as the cold air pressed up against an exposed area of his chest.

It was a cold, dark night in the city. The streets were quiet, with only the occasional car passing by. Angel walked briskly down the street, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He was tired after a long night of work, but he was looking forward to getting home and resting.

He huffed, flicking his lighter multiple times in order to light a cigarette. Once he successfully managed to get a flame, he pressed the fire to the tip of the dart, breathing in a long drag of the chemicals before exhaling.

The spider continued walking, the bottom of his high-heeled boots scuffing against the pavement, that was soaked with rain from the night before. Raindrops coated the sky, falling down in a steady, yet heavy mist.

"Fuckin' Val always-- fuckin' up my life," Angel mumbled a slur of different curses as he recalled his previous interaction with his boss.

He sighed and looked down at his feet, taking another long drag from his cigarette, the orange ember casting a faint glow in the darkness. As he continued making his way down the streets that were covered in a thick layer of fog, he was suddenly snapped out of his stupor at the sound of footsteps behind him.

He quickened his pace, not wanting to get involved in any trouble. The rate of the mysterious persons footsteps only increased as Angel's did. The rhythm of their footsteps, mixed with the light tapping of Angel's purse against his thigh created an ensemble that only further activated Angel's fight or flight instincts.

 Angel's heart started to race, and he began to panic.

He turned a corner, and the person behind him turned too. He was getting closer. He was close to running, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear the person's heavy breathing behind him. They were gaining on him.

Despite having a near-running pace, the person wouldn't back down, giving Angel one last option. He couldn't take it anymore. Stopping abruptly, he turned to face his pursuer. Reaching into his mountain of chest fluff (?), he pulled out his habitual pistol.

"Alright, the fuck do ya want wit' me?" He growled as a warning, pointing his gun towards the ferreter.

The person, who was a demon with a bat-like appearance, clad in a dark turtleneck, jeans, and an orange fedora, took a small step back, although he never showed any signs of fear. "Easy there, slut. I come in peace."

This only caused Angel to cock (teehee) his gun, inching closer to the man.

"Aw c'mon, baby. I only want ya services. You do anything for money, now don't cha?" he smirked, eyeing the spider-demon. Angel cringed at that, tightening his grip on the weapon before exhaling and lowering it.

"Sorry ta disappoint, but i'm off duty," Angel shrugged, turning around as he began to walk away, turning his back on the demon.

"Oh come on, whore. You'll do anything for a quick buck." The demon's petty smirk only got larger. This statement caused Angel to stop in his tracks, turning back around.

"Listen here ya little desperate fucker," Angel began to approach him, holding out a slim, gloved finger as he pointed at his stalker. He bent down to reach his height. "I said i'm off duty. Niente sesso per stasera. So why don't ya go and choke on ya own cum? That might satisfy ya little fucked up cravings." the arachnid poked him in the chest a few times, causing the demon to lose his grin.

The man remained quiet, as Angel stood back up to his full height, rolling his eyes as he turned around once more and began walking. The stalker growled, stepping forward as he suddenly grabbed Angel's wrist.

Before he could even get a word, Angel instinctively brought his arm around, firing at the demon. His body dropped at Angel's feet. The spider sighed exasperatedly, kicking his limp body to the side as he began walking once more.

Living in a place like this could change a person. He had been living a dangerous and risky life for years, selling his body for money and getting involved in all sorts of illegal activities. He had become numb to the violence and the darkness that surrounded him, and killing someone was just another day in hell.

Even when he was alive, Angel was no stranger to the life of crime. Growing up in an italian mafia, crime was all he knew. But that's a story for another time.

Although he felt no remorse for what he had just done, he couldn't help but think about his previous encounter.

This.

This isn't the life that he wanted. Ever. Not for himself, not for...Whitney.

He flinched at the thought of his daughter, the air becoming significantly colder. Shivering a bit, he rubbed the sides of his arms, creating friction between the two surfaces in hopes of sparking some form of heat.

This wasn't the type of upbringing he wanted his daughter to have. She was an innocent soul, who deserved good parents-- well, a good (other) dad. She deserved someone who didn't suck dick for a living, one who could make money without having to take off his clothes, one who could be there for the important moments of her life.

Angel pulled his phone from his purse, squinting his eyes at the glowing screen. He opened his text conversation with Husk, scrolling through their past messages.

He chuckled softly at an image of Whitney and Husker, where the two sat on a couch, the spider-kitty sitting on her dad's lap as they both drank from bottles. Husk's booze, and Whitney's milk. The image had a caption labeled as: "Drinking Buddies"

He scrolled a little further, looking at all of the pictures and videos sent by Husk to Angel. His giggles slowly turned into waterworks as he shut his phone off, stuffing it back into his purse as he viciously wiped the tears from his face.

It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't fair that his daughter had to be born into this fucked up place.

It wasn't fair that she had to have a shitty papa.

He doesn't deserve her. He doesn't deserve Husk, he doesn't deserve Whitney, he doesn't deserve Charlie...

He doesn't deserve anything.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"..And they all lived happily ever after...the end.." Husk mumbled, not even bothering to describe the accurate ending to the story as he had stopped looking at the book.

"I wanna noder..." Whitney whined, tugging at Husker's facial fur. The toddler attempted to gain his attention by "climbing" her father, gripping on to his fur and wrapping her hands around his neck. "Nene, please..." Husker groaned, his eyes remaining closed as he leaned his head back against the cushioned armchair.

"No!! I wanna noder...." Whitney continued to wail, smashing her tiny head onto Husker's cheek. "Ten piedad de mi alma…." the feline demon muttered, opening his eyes once again as he shifted in the armchair. "No more books, Nene. It's way beyond time for bed." he said, beginning to stand up, picking up the infant.

"No, no no!!" Whitney shrieked, attempting to free herself from her fathers' grip. "Whitney!" Husker snapped, but then regained composure.

"Whit, if you don't go to bed now, then you'll be tired tomorrow." Husk tried to reason with the small feline, but it didn't seem to be working.

"I want papa...." she wailed, pressing two sets of tiny paws to her eyes.

"Whitney, please, daddy is here now. You don't need to cry for papa," Husk said, trying to soothe her.

But Whitney continued to cry, her little face turning red with frustration. She had been waiting for Angel to come home all day and she wasn't going to sleep until he was home.

As her cries turned into sobs, Husk felt a pain in his heart.  He knew how much Whitney adored her papa, and how she always needed him to be there when she went to sleep. But her papa was out at work, working ridiculous hours thanks to that fuckhead.

Valentino. Always messing up Angel's life one way or another. If Husk could ever have the chance, he would skin the moth demon alive and dump his body into a pool of-

Husk's thought train was interrupted by Whitney's screams. She shrieked, making noises that Husk himself thought was physically impossible for a living organism to make.

Desperate to put an end to her cries, he tried negotiating.

"Okay, shh, shh. Hey-- hey, Nene, if you listen, then i'll-" his voice could barely reach her ears due to the screams. "Whitney." he said, this time with a much louder voice, overpowering her screams.

She ceased the nonviable screams for a moment, pausing to listen to her father.

"Listen, if you stop crying, we can go downstairs and wait for papa, okay?" the toddler contemplated her father's proposal for a moment, before wiping her eyes with a singular fuzzy paw, agreeing to his offer.

Husker smiles, grateful that he was able to but a stop to her ruckus.

Shifting the spider-kitty in his arms, he took her downstairs, venturing to the bar, where he usually spent most of his time.

He sat Whitney on the counter as he poured her a glass of warm milk. He pulled out his personal bottle of cheap booze, and began chugging it from the bottle.

As the two sat there, sipping their beverages, they remained silent. Husk was afraid that the slightest movement would set her off and Lord knows that that doesn't need to happen again.

Husker sighed as he continued gulping down the alcohol. He looked up at Whitney, who seemed distracted. He sat up a little bit, hesitating to touch her.

Just as he reached out, the small felines ears (that were way too large for her) twitched, and pointed in the direction of the door.

"I think papa's home.." Husk sighed in relief. Whitney immediately set her milk down, squeaking a little bit as she begged her father to put her on the floor.

Husker chuckled, picking up the spider and placing her on the ground. As soon as her little feet hit the floor, she immediately sped off, running as fast as her little legs could take her.

"Papa~!!"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Angel sighed, trying to wipe away the remainder of his tears as entered the hotel. He quickly turned to the wall closest to him, sticking his cigarette into his mouth as he disarmed the silent alarm.

"Fuckin'...stupid..." Angel brushed a hand through his hair as he tried his hardest to remember the code the the alarm. He had always been a forgetful person, especially to the more..unimportant things in his life.

His stream of profanity was cut off by a sweet, recognizable voice shouting: "Papa!!" and a force colliding with his lower leg.

"Cupcake!" Angel exclaimed, immediately picking up the small kitty and spinning around with her, quickly putting his cigarette out with the bottom of his foot.

Angel smothered kisses on Whitney's soft, fuzzy face as Husker walked up, disarming the alarm.

"You two waited fa me?" Angel raised an eyebrow, giving Husk a quick kiss as he made his way over to the bar, Whitney still in his upper set of arms.

"More like she waited for you," Husk chuckled, walking back behind the bar counter as he retrieved two glasses, grabbing Angel's favorite bottle of whiskey.

"You stayed up just fa me, cupcake?" the arachnid smiled, lifting Whitney up to his face as he nuzzled her, nose-to-nose.

"Yeah papa...I cried..ce--cebause you weren't here.." her big ears lowered a little as the kitten recalled her behavior. "Awh, snuggle muffin'..." Angel's smile dropped, as he kissed her forehead.

"Ya don't have ta cry fa me...okay? I'll always be wit' you..even if i'm not..physically wit' you...okay?" the spider gave his daughter a small smile. Whitney noded, sniffling a little. Angel was quick to wipe away any other tears that she had.

The arachnid-demon buried his chin into the top of Whitney's head as he sat down on one of the stools. Husker slid Angel's glass towards him.

"Thanks, Husky..." Angel gave his partner a tired smile as he quickly downed the drink, placing it on the counter. Husk poured him a round two, but Angel didn't drink it right away.

"Open, Nene.." he looked down at his daughter, as she opened her mouth, showing a set of barely-there teeth. Angel took off one of his gloves, dipping his bare finger into the small glass, bringing it to his daughter's mouth as he rubbed the alcohol onto her gums.

Husker's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it once again. He knew that Angel would never intentionally hurt his daughter, and for that reason, he trusted his actions...

....even the more.....questionable ones of the bunch.

Such as this one.

Angel chuckled a little bit to himself as he noted Husk's demeanor. "It's ta help 'er go to sleep and stay asleep." he giggled.

Husk raised an eyebrow. Out of all his years being a bartender and his...out-of-hand relationship with alcohol, he hadn't known this. Despite this, he brushed it off.

"What? Am I making a face? I never said anything!" Husker exclaimed quietly. "Ya body language says it all, baby."

Angel downs the second drink, wiping his mouth before cautiously getting up, shifting Whitney in his arms as he gently, yet firmly, pressed her miniature body to his.

He took the small demon upstairs to her room, gently placing her down in her bed as he planted a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Goodnight, cuddlekins..." Angel whispered, smiling as he slowly walked out of her room, making sure to turn on her projector nightlight before he left.

Once he was back downstairs, he went back over to the bar, where Husker wiped down the counters, closing up for the night.

"Every day.." Angel groaned, carelessly flopping down onto one of the stools. Husk prepares himself for Angel's upcoming rant, hanging up the cloth he used to clean the countertop.

"He's always on my fuckin' ass. In the sexual way, and the "my-boss-is-a-bitch" way. I can't take it anymore!" Husker chuckled at Angel's choice of words, before regaining composure.

"Tell me all about it..." Husker goes over, taking a seat next to Angel as he allows his partner to lean into him, testing his trust with the small stool.

Angel hesitated for a moment before letting out a sigh and launching into his story. He talked about the long hours, the never-ending workload, and the constant pressure from Val.

"You've had a long day, baby..." Husker frowned, caressing Angel's side with his claw.

"Fuckin' tell me about it! I'm exhausted." Angel groaned, slamming his head down onto the bar counter with frustration.

He let out a muffled noise, that caused Husk to take his hand, sliding it in between Angel's chin and the bar counter, lifting his face up. Angel avoided his gaze as Husk spotted shiny tears pooling in his eyes.

"Baby.." Husk started, before he was cut off by Angel.

"I just-- I don't want to drag Whitney into alla this shit.." he wiped at his nose before continuing. "I don't-- I don't deserve ha....she deserves someone so much betta..." he let out another squeak, trying to dab away his tears.

"Baby...you..you do deserve her. I don't care what the fuck Valentino says, or even what you say to yourself. You deserve Whitney as much as you deserve the world." Angel opened his mouth to protest, but Husk was quick to press a finger to his mouth.

"So know....even if things are as fucked up as they are...it doesn't change how much you love her, or your capability of taking care of her." He gives Angel a soft, warm smile.

Angel leans forward, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I fuckin' love ya, Husky.."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

This took me.....way longer than it should've.

I'm honestly disappointed in the ending but...whatever. I was in a rush, LOL. There's so many things I hate about this, such as the length, but...whatever. (I said that already, I know)

It doesn't really take me long to write fanfiction like this, but for some reason, I decided to be lazy, and write like, two words per day. (silly me!)

Anyways, if you can't tell, I LOVE me some fluff and fem/mpreg! I don't know why..some just say...I was born this way (Ooh, there ain't no other way babyyyyy). ANYWAYS let me stop-

I hope y'all enjoyed this short little fic. As I mentioned before, this is a borrowed AU from @masculinemiracles so...consider checking out their blog!

Also, if you liked this, then consider sticking around, because I have some other Hazbin Hotel (mainly ship and mpreg) fanfictions OTW!

Bye now!!

~xlovely-liviix

Word Count: 2,769

[serpentface]

Do psychotropic drugs and/or ritual play a role in any of the blightseed cultures? A pretty broad question, lol

Yeah that’s a very broad question, the answer is about as much as it tends to play roles in real history. Alcohol is pretty ubiquitous (outside of cultures that abstain from intoxicants) and used for a variety of purposes, opioids are commonly used in some parts for pain relief or recreational purposes, stimulants (usually in mild, natural forms) are used to provide extra energy, and hallucinogens are most commonly used as part of a larger religious framework (rather than for recreational purposes). Any more elaborate answer kinda has to be case by case in a certain culture or part of the setting.

I'll just take this as an opportunity to talk about the one established sect that pretty much REVOLVES around psychoactive use. This is the Scholarly Order of the Root, which is a sort of mystery religion + elite community of scholars who currently occupy the Ur-Tree and its forest in the far southern Lowlands (southeast of Imperial Wardin, on the same land mass).

The Ur-Tree is the obligatory Huge Fucking Fantasy Tree (and its surrounding forest). It’s a mass of vegetation about a mile tall and almost as old as Plant Life Itself, its upper branches are primeval plants, which become more modern the nearer they get to the ground (and each 'level' holds tiny ecosystems, some containing descendants of LONG-extinct arthropods/other small animals). Its lowest branches and the surrounding forest are contemporary plant life, and all is connected and protected by an incomparably MASSIVE fungal mycelium network (which is itself a living god).

A lot of the Scholars' more secretive practices revolve around experimentation with substance use with the goal of expanding the Mind and transcending the body to fully connect to the Dreamlands, and they have a supply chain of traders and mercenaries called Rootrunners who traffic substances into the Lowlands. Most of their psychoactive use is in a very intentional capacity and not just like, for fun, but a LOT of them are just straight up addicted to cocaine (in the form of alchemically refined bruljenum, which is used for practical purposes of its stimulant effect during long hours of work).

All known psychoactives are desirable for experimentation (particularly hallucinogens), with each having properties that either allow expansion of the Mind, transcendence of the body, or outright divine communion. Their effects are logged in great detail and interpreted to form the basis of the Scholars' understanding of the natural world and reality itself.

The most important substance is Ur-Root, which is root matter from subterranean levels of the Ur-Tree that have both their own intrinsic psychoactive substances and a very, very high concentration of living god mycelium. The tree root contains DMT and the mycelium has its own wholly unique effects (being an actual living god). They alchemically refine it into a purer, more potent form, and use it to expand beyond the body and directly commune with the Giants, a group of entities they have identified as the only true gods.

An Ur-Root trip starts off with minor visual distortion, which turns into shifting fractals that slowly obscure the vision. Eventually the senses are entirely taken over by a 'tunnel' of rapidly shifting fractals and geometries. In a complete trip, the experiencer gets a sense that they have been pushed through a membrane and entered another realm, finding themselves in a distinct experiential Space.

At this point they may encounter entities which communicate to them in a language impossible to describe but wholly understood. These beings are understood to be the Giants, or at least aspects of the Giants that mortals are capable of comprehending (they often take familiar tutelary forms of the Mantis or the Snake, or appear resembling the same type of sophont that the experiencer is, all composed of ever-shifting geometries). The experiencer often feels a sense of unconditional and endless love from these beings, though the Giants may be more hostile and may appear in the form of the Trickster (usually a cultural figure regarded as malicious, be it an animal or otherwise) in a bad trip.

(^Up until this point, this has mostly just been a DMT 'breakthrough' experience ft. 'machine elves' and the like).

They are then removed from this space and returned to something that feels like the real world, but is nearly unrecognizable. They have a sense of rapidly moving through time, and will usually see 'the spires' towards the beginning, which just so happen to look like this:

(source + some context via Implication- the spires are exactly what this art is depicting)

The experiencer continues to move across an unfathomable amount of time, occasionally 'seeing' other such flashes of unfamiliar landscapes and creatures, and yet also being devoid of all their senses, the 'seeing' is pure, unfiltered experience. There is a sense of interconnectedness with all life, and that one has become the forest (or even Life) itself. The sense of time is wildly distorted, the trip lasts only about 5 minutes but feels like an eternity and is understood as literal hundreds of millions of years.

The experiencer has usually lost any remaining sense of Self and individual consciousness during this phase (in which case this time distortion is usually a neutral or even peaceful experience), but some retain a fraction of their identity, and find themselves trapped and conscious while experiencing what feels like eternity (which can be LIFE-CHANGINGLY distressing, even after the fact).

(^This latter part of the trip is the effects of the Ur-Tree fungus).

The trip ends with a sense of rushing through the ground and back up into one's body, at which point they will abruptly return to their senses and consciousness. The details are then immediately retrieved via interview and recorded in immense detail. The whole experience is understood as having been full comprehension of the Dreamlands, communion with the Giants, and then a tour through the act of creation.

This is done as part of the initiatory practice into the inner mystery-religion of the scholars, and as needed for study by high scholar-priests. It is not taken lightly, both as it is absolute communion with the gods and reality, and in that it can be a very, very difficult experience. People who have gone through this often walk away with a permanently shifted perspective, often in a positive and/or comforting way- a sense of interconnectedness with all life, a peace with the concept of death, seeing less of a point in individual ego and the concept of Self, and comfort in the sense of divine love they (may have) experienced. This heavily influences the philosophy of the Scholars and has had effects by proxy in the religious worldviews of the region.

Details of this experience are closely guarded, and initiates are given absolutely no prior knowledge and expectations for their trip. This is seen as a necessity- their naivety will allow for a true, unfiltered experience, and can be used to gauge whether they should or should not be accepted. Those that have a distinctly bad trip upon initiation may be assumed to have been 'rejected' by the giants and thus denied full priesthood, though this largely depends on How they interpret their distressing trip- those who identify this as a test and harsh lesson in a journey to enlightenment may be accepted (as this is how fully initiated scholar-priests interpret and handle their bad trips).

This inner priesthood is only a small fraction of the Scholarly Order, and its greater function is as a hub of education and repository of knowledge, and Scholar-trained doctors can provide some of the best medical care available in the setting ('best medical care in this setting' only means so much but it's pretty solid, relatively speaking). Only a chosen few Scholars ever get to commune with the Ur-Root, and most of the divine secrets revealed in the process are kept hidden (though they indirectly influence the politics and worldview of the entire order).

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 36

Part 35

“This all started about three hundred years ago…”

“Wait!”, Steve sat up suddenly. “You’re telling me like this?”

“Like what?”, Eddie asked, confused.

“You’re a storyteller”, Steve said simply.

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “When you’re right, you’re right.” He took a deep breath and then disappeared under the covers. He melted into nothingness and Steve lost track of him as he moved through the shadows. 

“My life began before your kingdom, before many others”, Eddie’s voice echoed from somewhere in the room. “I was born in the darkest of places…”

-------------------

Osanna Munson had noticed the group the moment they came into town. They were dark and mysterious and people whispered about them right away. Cultists, men and women who bowed to the darkness, not the light. Osanna wasn’t quite sure what to make of them. But the bright and charismatic young man who traveled with them couldn’t be a true believer, could he?

Their courtship began so naturally, that Osanna almost forgot about the nasty things people said about him and his group. But she’d still taken care to hide it from her brother Wayne. He worried too much.

But when her belly started to show, it was impossible to hide it any longer. Her parents weren’t completely thrilled that this had all occurred under their noses, but Wayne claimed to have known for a while.

“You’re not the quietest when it comes to sneaking around”, he had said. “Neither is your beau.” Wayne was steadfast and loyal, especially to his younger sister. 

Compared to him, Alwin was a scoundrel, a cad, but even he had to adhere to the rules of society. And so they were married, a precious bundle on the way. All the while, Alwin told her about the lord and master he served, Vecna. If you believed Alwin, there was pain and suffering in the world and all Vecna wanted to do was end it. Osanna wasn’t sure if she had faith in their god. But like many, faith comes when suffering does.

She grew ill, a sickness no one had ever seen before. She feared not for herself but for her unborn child. Alwin beseeched his elders and they gave him hope through a prophecy. That this child could be the one to aid Lord Vecna in his coming, that this child may one day be his general. The leader had a dark substance. It may have been venom, or an elixir, or blood from a beast unknown. But Alwin brought it home as a tonic to cure his beloved. Osanna’s strength returned, but with it came a desire for the cold and a craving of raw flesh.

When I was born, she was relieved for me but scared of what it meant for the world.

--------------------

“I bet she was pretty”, Steve said in the dark.

“What?”

“I bet she’s where you get your good looks from.”

“And how do you know I didn’t take after my father, hm?”

“You’ve already described him as a scoundrel. I don’t think you hold him in any high regard.”

“True. Now may I get back to my upbringing?”

“Continue”, Steve said. 

That was when he heard the pitter-patter of little feet across the floor. A child. An energetic one. Then he could hear that child climbing up the walls.

“I was…unusual, to say the least…”

-------------------

Osanna knew her baby was born different. While as a newborn, he appeared typical, as the months went on, he changed in appearance. Into something a mother never wanted to see her child as. She cursed both Alwin and the Cult of Vecna and ran away with Wayne, baby and all. 

As he grew, the child learned to hide what made him different, at least outside of the home. And for a while things were peaceful. But Alwin never stopped looking for them and the years of bliss ended when they were found. Alwin implored Osanna to see his way, Vecna’s way. And when words didn’t change her mind, he used force.

Their child made their first kill when he was ten. It was just a deer, the same as the hunting trips the other boys went on. But his weapons were the claws and teeth he had hidden away for so long. Ripping into flesh felt exhilarating. And his mother even looked proud when he brought the carcass home. And if she was proud that meant she was happy, which meant father was happy, and that meant no fighting.

But with his first kill came the nightmares.

A place colder than winter, darker than the blackest night, only illuminated by firey lightning. Beasts with rows of teeth. And a man who beckoned to have his bidding be done. He told his parents and his father brought the boy to the elders, who were oh so pleased. This meant Vecna was finally working through the child, that his coming was imminent. And so the teachings officially began.

To make sure he was prepared for Vecna’s ascension unto this world, the boy had to be indoctrinated, trained. The whole world would be brought under their lord’s banner and he needed to be up to the task. He was a weapon. And a weapon is useless if it cannot kill.

-------------------

Steve felt Eddie slip back under the covers. His shape was definite. He didn’t move to show himself though. Steve reached out to pat his head.

“I killed my first person when I was sixteen. He was a heretic, someone who had spoken out against Vecna and denounced him. I was to be his executor. He was decrying Vecna until his last breath. I did it but I-” Eddie made a choked sound. “Everyone praised me for it. But my mother didn’t say a word. I cried into her skirts like a child. I didn’t-I couldn’t be what they wanted me to be.”

Steve started to stroke his head through the covers. “What did you do?”

“I ran. But I came back after a couple of days. I was a freak of nature with nowhere to go. And the nightmares always found me. In them, I saw the world that Vecna wanted, razed and desolate. I didn’t want to help him create that world but…for all my strength, I was powerless against my father and the elders.”

Eddie melted into the darkness again and Steve lost track of him. Then one by one, candles began to light the room.

---------------------

It started with one village. The cult came, preached the word of Vecna and offered others to join. If the people refused, they were shown Vecna’s might. I would only kill the leader, a final warning to them. If the people still refused, then the people of the cult killed them. I would watch my father revel in the violence. Sometimes it seemed to be when he was at his happiest.

The cult grew and one day, the blood was enough. The ground cracked open and filled the world with nightmares. Demobeasts of all kind, four legged, two legged, winged, big and small. All teeth and no eyes. 

And then there was him.

Like a man turned inside out so that their blood and innards were on the outside. Every movement looked like agony and yet each step was purposeful. The demobeasts ripped apart everyone they saw, cult member or not. But he…Vecna, he did things much worse. I could see it when he approached his victims. He made them see the worst parts of themselves, forced them to give up on life, any and all hope, before disfiguring them.

And again, I felt powerless.

I had brought this into the world. I was the usher of destruction. 

---------------------

The candles all went out and silence filled the room. Steve looked around frantically.

“Eddie?”

“He killed my mother.” Eddie’s voice sounded broken. “And I could see what she saw before her light went out.” 

“Eddie”, Steve stood up from the bed and started feeling through the dark.

Eddie’s voice broke more, like he was holding back tears. “She thought she had failed me. She had wanted to run from my father so many times. Even before they married, she had doubts.” She blamed herself for everything! She had so many regrets! She never wanted a monster for a son!” There was a growl behind his voice, almost a roar.

Steve reached out, his hands disappearing into a pitch black shadow. His heart stopped for a moment when he felt a muzzle, warm and snarling. He reached further and flinched a little when he felt the teeth of an open maw, but he didn’t pull back. Even when Eddie growled, Steve wouldn’t turn and run.

“She wanted a better life for you. Because she loved you. But you’re no monster.”

Eddie snarled again and this time Steve could see glowing red eyes in the dark. Eddie had murdered, both with his own hands and in association with others. Innocent lives, children even. Steve’s heart went out to them, even if it had been centuries. Eddie had probably gone that entire time with those lives on his conscience. No, not probably, he had been if he was telling it all to Steve now. But that wasn’t who Eddie was now.

And to prove it, Steve put his head in his mouth.

Eddie whined but Steve didn’t move.

“You’re not a monster.  And I know because of how you care for me. You could have kept me in that dungeon cell forever. You could have thrown me to the streets when my parents disowned me. You could have let me go along with Jason. And right now, you could snap your jaws shut and end me forever, but you won’t.”

Eddie released another while and Steve chuckled as he pulled his head out. He kissed the snout and then felt Eddie change right under his touch. He sniffled and Steve found his human nose to kiss.

“My love”, Eddie’s voice warbled. “My stars, my guiding light, prince of my heart.”

Steve pulled gently, leading Eddie from the darkness into the moonlight. “Do you want to finish the story?”, he asked.

Eddie nodded.

---------------------

Osanna’s death was the last straw. At that moment, I was completely unleashed. And all of that rage was pointed at Vecna. I couldn’t remember my name, or my form, just my wrath. I probably killed more than Vecna. The blood and viscera covered me so completely. 

After that, I wandered, aimless, until Wayne found me. No matter how much I lashed out, he found me and dragged me back home. He took all the broken pieces and put them back together. Wayne was good at taking in strays. He gave me a home, and then later a purpose.

“Those animals of yours are still running amok. Someone’s gotta corral them.”

Now that Vecna was gone, the demobeasts had no master to follow. They were now my responsibility. I took control of them, made them all stay to one land. Some saw it as a declaration of war, others as a show of weakness. In any case, my fighting and Wayne taking in strays. We built walls to keep our new family safe and more people flocked to that safety. Wayne was able to see me coronated as king before he passed. 

-----------------------

“And then years went on. And now, we’re here.”

“Now we’re here. But I think you’re skipping a few things”, Steve said.

“Hm?”, Eddie hummed as he wrapped his arms around Steve.

“You can tell me about your past paramours. I promise I won’t get jealous.”

Eddie shook his head. “There was no one.”

“No one?”

“You are my one and only flame, the one who makes my heart soar, prince of my heart.”

Steve kissed his lips softly and then rubbed their cheeks together. “King of my heart.”

Eddie’s arms tightened around Steve and Steve held him back. Eddie felt both grounded and lighter than air. It had been a very, very long time since he had told anyone the full story. Everything about where he had come from and what he’d done. He hadn’t thought about it for some time. Part of him could feel the cold seeping back in, the darkness that scared him as a child.

“It’s late. Let’s go to bed”, Steve said, washing those fears away.

They slipped into bed, with only the light of the moon, but with plenty of warmth between them to give only the sweetest of dreams.

Part 37 coming soon

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent  @snakeorsquid  @ignoremyworld  @theclichefortunecookie 

@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

@justdrugsformethanks  @potato-of-the-lord  @notaqueenakhaleesi  @swimmingbirdrunningrock  @queenie-ofthe-void 

@nebulainajar  @lil-gremlin-things  @nicememerino  @robininblue  @hornedqueenofhell 

@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-stevee

[goosewriting]

Like a Lost Dalmatian

summary: after the accident at Alchemax, Jonathan Ohnn is nowhere to be found, until he finally finds his way home. but he’s not the same as he once was. 

relationship: The Spot x gn!reader

warnings: hurt & comfort, my try at describing what his skin feels like lmao

word count: 2.6k 

A/N: the very moment i saw spot in the movie trailer, i knew he’d be my fav. and finally i got around to writing something for him. i just want him to be happy 😩<3 

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

It’s been a week since the accident. What exactly happened, you still don’t know. You only know there were  sightings of several spider-people in the city after Spiderman died. Phenomena that you could only describe as “glitches” started spreading throughout the city, and Jonathan had told you to stay inside.

That was seven days ago. You haven’t heard from your boyfriend since.

It isn’t rare for him to have delayed responses to your texts, especially when there’s a time crunch at work. You’re still not sure what exactly they worked on at Alchemax, but whatever his role was, it was fairly important. And this time it clearly went very wrong, one of your biggest fears becoming a reality: the image of a scientist mixing liquids from different vials appears in your brain. The two substances swirl, mixing together, and the scientist almost gives in to thinking it was successful, but then it ends in an explosion. Except that it wasn’t just a random scientist coughing through the smoke his little experiment caused, while taking off the goggles that left a cartoony imprint on his face. No, this time it was the real world, and the whole Alchemax building exploded. The building where your boyfriend works.

With a shaky sigh, you scroll through your chat history for what feels like the hundredth time today; still no new messages from him. You’ve been calling nearby hospitals and the police station every morning and every evening, but you still refuse to lose hope.

But you don’t allow yourself to let the image of Jonathan buried under several tons of rubble into your brain. He’s smart. He's resourceful. And he’s careful. You know the last project at Alchemax was very important, and he talked passionately about it for weeks on end. If he saw danger approaching, he’d leave. He must have. He wouldn’t be stubborn enough to stay back to try and save some of his research with the building literally falling apart over him, right? … Right?

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. After giving your phone one last hopeful look that immediately turns sour, you groan in frustration, throwing the device onto the couch cushion next to you. Bringing up your knees to your chin, you hug your legs and look out the window of your flat. Your floor is pretty high up, so the setting sunlight dances over the skyline, bathing part of your floors and furniture in a warm golden hue. Your gaze follows some of the glistening particles in the air, resenting the sun for giving you such a view without being able to share it with Jonathan. He would have loved it, stretching out his hand and looking at the light shining through his fingers like a veil of gold, telling you some fun facts about photons or something. 

A sniffle escapes you, and your face contorts into a grimace, trying to hold back your tears. No, not yet, you tell yourself. If I give in, I'll be mourning. And if I do that, it means I’ve accepted he’s—

Your train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the entrance door clicking shut. Quickly wiping over your face with the back of your sleeve, you get up to your feet, looking around your living room for something to weaponise. However, the only things on your coffee table are the remains of the barely touched take-out you had for dinner. Grabbing the plastic fork, you hold it in front of you menacingly. 

“Who's there?” you demand, taking a careful step towards the hallway. You hear some shuffling and curses under someone’s breath.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” you say, louder this time. “You seriously chose the wrong place to rob today.”

Just as you turn the corner to the short hallway leading to the front door, you choke back a gasp, fork still in hand, albeit trembling slightly.

Even though it’s rather dark, as the sunlight from the windows doesn’t reach this far, you see there’s a person in front of you. Or at least you think it’s a person? Perhaps more of a person-shaped blob, that hurriedly puts on Jonathan's coat, scarf and beanie that were hanging on the rack next to the door.

“Hey, you take those off!” you start, about to approach the stranger.

“Wait!” he says, and you stop abruptly, the fork falling from your hand as you recognise his voice. “Please don’t freak out, a-and don’t come closer. Please.”

You stand frozen in place for a moment, your brain reeling. The wave of relief and happiness from knowing Jonathan's alive clashes with another, much bigger one: the clear feeling that something isn’t right. It feels very close to dread. 

“Okay,” you speak much more gently now. As you take a deep breath, you inspect him further: the coat reaches to his knees, but he doesn’t seem to be wearing trousers underneath, nor shoes. His face is covered by the hat and scarf that he wrapped around his whole head several times. His legs, his hands, and every other visible part of him is of a strange chalk-like white colour with some darker parts, but the lack of proper light might be playing a trick on you. So without hesitating, you take the steps needed to reach the light switch, and Jonathan shrinks in on himself with a slight shriek when the hallway lights up, trying to cover himself even more.

“Don’t look at me, not yet!” he essentially pleads, turning his back to you. “There's some explaining to do before you see me.”

“You’re damn right you have to explain yourself,” you retort, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “I thought you were dead, Jonathan. Where were you?!”

“There… there was an accident,” the man before you starts explaining, and you cross your arms over your chest defensively. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” you mutter. You can see that he’s fidgeting with the hem of the scarf, and you let your arms fall to your sides again with a sigh.

“Did you get hurt? Do you have, like, a huge scar? Singed your eyebrows off?” you try to sound reassuring, but his whole demeanour is just… odd. “Whatever it is, Jonathan, I'm sure it’s fine. Let me see. Please?”

As you talk, you shorten the distance and reach him, gently placing your hand on his arm. It breaks your heart a little that he flinches at that. It's clear he wants to shake you off, but he lets you turn him around to face you, and you start by taking off the heavy coat, letting it fall to the floor as it slides off of him.

You’re taken aback at the sight, as where you expected there to be a human body in the shape of your boyfriend, there now was a rather comically proportioned one, sans clothes, completely white with dark spots all over.

“Is that a new onesie?” you try to joke, but your voice betrays you. Jonathan doesn’t react. Instead, his large hands shoot up to grab your wrists as you’re about to untangle the scarf.

“Please don’t freak out,” is all he says, and you pull the rest of the garments off of him. You take a step back away from him and bring your hands up to cover your mouth when you see him. 

“Where’s your face?!” you ask with a mix of confusion, fear, and even some strange fascination at the sight before you. Jonathan goes on to tell you about the reactor at Alchemax, how they were trying to cross the bridge to a different dimension, and instead ended up bringing spider-people to this universe. He doesn’t hide the resentment in his voice when he talks about how in the end, the new Spiderman with the black suit blew it all up while he was still there. While he talks, you keep walking around him, looking at this new body of his, poking him here and there. 

Once he’s done explaining, you look at the big, oval black spot on his face for a long moment, then quickly pinch his belly.

“Ow! Stop- stop that!" Jonathan says, taking both of your hands in his to stop you from trying to poke and tickle him, and you chuckle. 

Wait, why are you laughing? This situation is… insane, honestly. He's clearly aggravated. As you should be too, you reprimand yourself. Why are you reacting like this? Lifting your gaze again to where his eyes would be, you erupt into a big smile as you can feel the tears coming, definitely of relief this time. 

“Are you… are you not mad?” Jonathan asks, carefully. You take one more moment to marvel at how he’s speaking when he has no mouth. 

“I mean… yes? No?” you shrug and shake your head in disbelief, holding onto his hand to guide him to the living room. “Sure, I'm mad because you wouldn’t answer my calls. But no, how could I be mad when you were probably… adjusting to—“ With your free hand, you gesture at him. “All of this.”

“Right, my phone,” Jonathan remembers, turning his face away from you for a moment, as if thinking back to something. “It must have… exploded. Like the rest of, well, everything.” 

You let go of his hand to cup his face and turn him to look at you. Well, at least you hope that’s what you’re doing.

“The only thing that matters, Jonathan, is that you’re alive,” you say, and you mean it. “And you’re back home. With me.”

His shoulders slump slightly at your words, and the spot on his face twirls to the side ever so slightly. It would take some time to learn how to read his new face, but you’re sure you’ll get there. 

“So you’re not… disgusted? You won’t tell me to pack my stuff and leave?” he asks in an impossibly small voice and you can feel your very soul shattering into a million pieces. 

“Is that why you took so long to come back?” you retort instead, grazing over the sides of his face with your thumbs. He nods. “Oh, Jonathan… If that isn’t proof that you’re still you in there, then I don’t know what is. And that's the very reason why I do, in fact, not care what you look like.”

You sit down on the couch, and when he follows, you pull his face closer to place a kiss on the white part at the side.

“I’ve always loved you, and always will. Still do,” you assure him, giving his other cheek a kiss as well, for good measure. Then you smile to yourself, unable to bite your tongue. “Of course I won't tell you to leave. Even when you do look like a lost Dalmatian.”

“Ah, there it is, okay,” he chuckles, and his whole body language changes, sitting a little more upright. He places his hands over yours, and even though there are no eyes, you can still feel his tender gaze on you. 

“I love you too,” he whispers in a shaky voice. “And right now I wish I still had lips,” he adds with a sigh. You chuckle.

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands fall from his face to his shoulders, and once again you find yourself exploring his white exterior, running your hands up and down on his arms, bringing your face closer to the spots to inspect them further.

“So, how does it feel?” you ask suddenly, brushing over his arm with your fingertips. He leans back, thinking it over.

“It’s… strange, for sure,” he starts, trying to put it into words. “I feel lighter, for some reason. Like my insides are made of paper or something. But I don’t think I’m that fragile.”

You hum in response, bringing your eyes up to the spot on his face.

“How can you see, though?” you wonder. “Or talk? Can you smell? Taste?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Jonathan says, tilting his head to the side. “My whole perception changed. It’s more like I can sense what is in front of me. Does that make sense?”

“Like echolocation?” you propose.

“Not really, I’m not producing any high-frequency sounds myself, so…” He straightens up again. “As for the rest of your question: I can still eat and taste and smell, which I’m very relieved about.”

“I bet!” you chuckle, and take one of his hands into both of yours, admiring the blue lines that seem to both wrap around and go through him all at once.

“How does it feel to you?” he asks after a moment. Your head whips back up to look at him. For a second you’re confused as to what he means, then you look back down at his hand.

“Oh, uhm,” you crease your brows in concentration, focusing on how Jonathan feels against your skin. “Well, at first it’s cool to the touch. But if you linger, there’s a warmth that irradiates from you. It’s also smooth, but there’s still some texture to it. Not like fabric, but not quite like paper either.”

Jonathan just nods, seeing that you’re still trying to come up with a better comparison.

“Oh! I know,” you finally say. “It’s like a dumpling. A big, pudgy dumpling. But dry, thankfully.”

“Pudgy?” he asks in mock offence, removing his hand from yours. 

“Well, yeah, you’re squishy!” you retort with a laugh, poking his side to make your point. 

Except that you didn’t poke anything, because instead of touching the white part, you look down at where your hand disappears into a black spot all the way to your wrist. You immediately pull back your hand, checking to see if all your fingers are still there. A sigh of relief leaves you as you see your limb is intact.

“Oh, yeah, be careful with those,” Jonathan warns, carefully plucking a spot from his arm with his index finger and thumb, then releasing it mid-air, where it levitates. He wriggles his fingers like a magician building suspense before pulling a rabbit out of his hat. “Check this out.” And with that, his hand is gone in the void. After a couple of seconds, he retracts his arm. The spot disappears and he places what he’s holding in your own hands. It’s the plastic fork you left in the hallway.

Your eyebrows are so high up in surprise, your forehead is all scrunched up. Your eyes go from the fork to his face, then back to the fork. 

“Your spots are… portals?” you ask in complete disbelief, your mind already coming up with a multitude of uses and things you want to try. But that will have to wait until tomorrow, because now that you have Jonathan back in (relatively) one piece, you can feel the sleep deprivation of the last couple of days catching up to you all at once. 

Standing up with effort, as your whole body feels impossibly heavy all of a sudden, you stretch out your hand to your boyfriend. 

“It’s late, let’s go to bed,” you say as he takes your hand. “Tomorrow we can start with the experiments.”

“E-Experiments?” he repeats in surprise.

“Well, duh,” you reply as if it was obvious. “We have to see how far your new powers can reach.”

“Right,” he says with a chuckle. This is such a you thing to propose given the whole situation. 

Despite not feeling his body like he once did, Jonathan is glad that at least the familiar warmth is still spreading within him when he looks at you.

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @galaxtic-writings, @dybynyght, @wings-of-sapphire, @backalleygays

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Under Donald Trump’s leadership, the West Wing operated more like a pill mill than the White House, at least according to a January report by the Department of Defense inspector general, which capped a six-year investigation into the administration’s medical practices.

But sources knowledgeable on the matter paint an even more dramatic image than that, describing the nation’s highest office as “awash in speed,” reported Rolling Stone.

Common pills included modafinil, Adderall, fentanyl, morphine, and ketamine, according to the Pentagon report. But other, unlisted drugs—like Xanax—were equally easy to come by from the White House Medical Unit, according to sources that spoke to the magazine.

At least two senior staffers would regularly mix the depressant with alcohol, a potentially life-threatening combo, to deal with the stress of working with a highly erratic boss.

“You try working for him and not chasing pills with alcohol,” one source told Rolling Stone.

While other presidents were known to take a mix of drug cocktails to fight off back pain (like JFK) or bad moods (like Nixon), no previous administrations matched the level of debauchery of Trump’s, whose in-office pharmacists unquestioningly handed out highly addictive substances to staffers who needed pick-me-ups or energy boosts—no doctor’s exam, referral, or prescription required.

“It was kind of like the Wild West. Things were pretty loose. Whatever someone needs, we were going to fill this,” another source said.

Ultimately, the unmitigated access to controlled substances fostered an environment that would have been considered highly illegal and problematic anywhere else in the nation—if it weren’t inside the very office that helps craft those regulations.

“Is it being done appropriately or legally all the time? No. But are they going to get to that end result that the bosses want? Yeah,” said another, referring to the high demands of the office.

Meanwhile, pharmacists described an atmosphere of fear within the West Wing, claiming they would be “fired” if they spoke out or would receive negative work assignments if they didn’t hand pills over to staffers.

[yellowocaballero]

dude psyched ur reading orv, insanely curious about ur takes

My friend @charterandbarter put it best.

ORV is pretty fascinating to me. It's really just a self-insert isekai OP webnovel, and it is nothing else. Its medium is trashy and lowbrow, and its genre is almost devoid of high art. OP isekais are 'id' stories, meant to be satisfying and fun and contain very little of substance. ORV is a very well executed OP isekai - it contains the elements of the genre that make it satisfying, it understands why people read the genre and enjoy it, it reproduces those elements very well, and it is very concerned with telling an enjoyable story. ORV really, really loves webnovels and isekais and shitty wishfuillment stories. There's a lot more to ORV than the 'fist pump' moments of kdj doing something cool or pulling a fast one on a shmuck, but those moments are the undoubtedly the point of ORV, as they are the point of all SIOC isekai OP webnovels. And that's the point of ORV.

Metanarrative stories are cheap. Neil Gaiman's written 30 and millenials love waxing philosophical about the power of narratives. These metanarratives tend to describe stories as a theoretical framework through which we understand the world and our lives. Therefore, stories are tremendously important and valuable because they contain the totality of religion, history, culture, relationships, and lives. ORV says this too. But this theory tends to land at mystifying and exalting stories on virtue of them being stories, which I think misses the point. Stories aren't special because they're stories. They're not more sacred for containing our lives. What ORV says is that stories are important, because our lives are important. I like that a lot more.

ORV says that stories are our way of ordering a disordered world. A history, culture, nation, and religion are stories. None of those stories are true or real, because histories/cultures/nations/religions are constructs - they're how we interface with reality. They're created with a purpose, told for a point, pulled together into a narrative, and are satisfying or dissatisfying based on certain factors. ORV's perspective on fiction is deeply seeped in its own nature as 'low art'. There's something very cynical and commercialized about narratives in ORV, and every narrative in ORV is being told for a quick buck or to try and spread an idea for an individual's gains. It's a very unromantic, unimpressed view of narratives and fiction. It's pretty much the only way a SIOC OP isekai webnovel like ORV can talk about it without being disingenuous. And it's remarkably raw and visceral as a result, because ORV loves SIOC OP isekai webnovels like kdj loves yjh. Fiercely, insanely, like breathing, exactly for what it is. No pretensions.

It's bizarre, because ORV is about love. It's not about love for anything that deserves it. Not for a story with a lot of literary merit, a main character who is a remotely kind or lovable person, or art itself outside of its commercial or philosophical value. kdj really, really, really fucked loved TWS - because it was there, and because it lasted 15 years, and because it was fake, and because it was what he had. He loves yjh because yjh was his only companion in a dark world. That's fiction. Fiction helped him survive, because love is a way of ordering a disordered world.

I'm still reading myself, but ORV seems to be about how we manage to live in a hard world, and how to find it within ourselves to love each other and find meaning in that hard world. I see why kdj's the protagonist: he can find merit in something for existing, and loving it for being there, and he holds onto something because he has it. He sees the value in that. He read it in a book.

TL;DR: ORV is well-executed trashy commercialized art that is so obsessed with trashy commercialized art that it's looped straight back around into being somehow the most raw and visceral depiction of love I've seen in a long time.

[leaslichoma]

Touhou Project theory: the Scarlet Devil Mansion's heavy metal poisoning

something an intro idk how to do this

WARNING! LONG POST AHEAD!

Potential sources of heavy metal toxins

If we look inside the mansion there's a lot of red carpet. One pigment for red is vermilion, which which is derived from the mercury mineral cinnabar which is highly toxic. Vermilion was a highly valued and prestigious dye historically, befitting of an aristocrat's mansion. Another detail is in one of these screenshots the carpet is a rather dark red, and while many red pigments slowly turn pink as they fade vermilion actually darkens and turns brown (similar to blood), which you can see in the painting below. This could be a lighting effect, though.

Another possible pigment is minium, which is derived from lead and is also toxic.

We also see a fair amount of white in the mansion, on the table cloth in the above image and many of the residents' clothing such as Sakuya's apron and Flandre's mob cap. One historical pigment for white is lead white, which is also derived from lead. Lead white was also used in cosmetics to whiten skin, for another potential source of poisoning.

Another potential source is lead from pewter. Given Remilia's weakness to silver she is not likely to use sterling silver for metal objects such as tableware and tea sets. Pewter, a broad term for various tin alloys, is a popular alternative she might use. However, many older pewter alloys contained large amounts of lead as its toxicity was not understood. For a long time lead was actually used in toys since it was cheap and not understood.

There's also a possibility of toxins leaching into food or drink through glass or the enamel of pottery. Lead-crystal glass slowing leaches lead into drink and if Remilia happened to buy any Uranium glass, which became popular during the mid 19th century, and peaked between 1880 to 1920, that would leach uranium. If any pottery uses toxic materials in the enamel that is another source of poisoning.

Potential victims

Sakuya Izayoi and Patchouli Knowledge are the two most human residents of the Scarlet Devil Mansion. Both display symptoms of heavy metal poisoning.

Patchouli is stated to have anemia and weak muscles. Both of these can occur from lead poisoning, though anemia typically takes a very large dose.

Sakuya Izayoi is described as "spacey", which is defined by the Merriam-webster dictionary as a synonym of spaced-out which means "dazed or stupefied by or as if by a narcotic substance,". Given how both mercury and lead mostly affect the nervous system, and both can cause memory impairment, tremors and incoordination, it makes sense that someone suffering from heavy metal poisoning might be compared to someone who is drunk or high.

For more definitive proof that Sakuya has mental difficulties, we should look at the fact that Sakuya does not know what oxygen is. While one might assume that this is just because she lives isolated from the modern world, Oxygen was first isolated before 1604 by Michael Sendivogius, and given a name and recognized as an element in 1777. Oxygen could be an important discovery for her position considering its role in food preservation. Sakuya has had over two centuries to learn that oxygen exists. Keep in mind that she lives with Patchouli Knowledge, a professional scholar, who may have been residing in the mansion for nearly a century. This could suggest serious memory and learning issues, symptoms of both lead and mercury poisoning.

While Sakuya does not display the the delayed reactions or loss of coordination associated with lead and mercury poisoning, her powers over time may prevent this. If she trips and drops something, which might normally cause someone to notice her decreasing coordination, she can just stop time and undo it.

Another interesting, though flawed, possibility is that the fairy maids have heavy metal poisoning as well. The fairy maids are stated numerous times to be bad at their jobs, spending most of their work hours only able to maintain themselves, but were still hired by Sakuya and continue to be employed by Remilia. With symptoms of anemia, weakness, memory loss, pain, lack of coordination and more it's easy to see how lead and/or mercury poisoning could make a maid bad at their job. Fairies in Touhou Project are often compared to children who are especially susceptible to lead poisoning. The fairy maids would probably slowly improve at their jobs since first being hired, and plateau and slowly decrease as increasing heavy metal levels in their blood poison them and affect their work. Perhaps Remilia and Sakuya see this happen with all the maids and assume it's just how maids or fairies work.

While one might object and that youkai would not be affected by human medical conditions like lead or mercury poisoning, there is a tiny bit of precedent for this. There's an exchange in Touhou 19 where Sanae recommends that Mamizou stop smoking so much: "I don't suppose that smoking too much is good for you. Nor is drinking." This, if admittedly stretched, suggests that certain things that are unhealthy for humans may be unhealthy for certain youkai and similar beings as well. Youkai are also affected by alcohol as well and get drunk. While this might be because of the idea that drinking makes you drunk, is it possible that if knowledge of lead and mercury poisoning spread to the humans of Gensokyo, and they started believing that lead makes you sick, that belief might cause certain youkai and related beings to get sick as well?

Problems with this theory

Neither Patchouli nor Sakuya show certain physical symptoms of mercury poisoning: Skin discolouration (usually reddening), hair loss, or peeling of the skin. Let's compare some artwork from Touhou 6:

As we can see, Reimu has the reddest cheeks which is inconsistent with Sakuya and Patchouli having mercury poisoning. However, an interesting connection is that Reimu wears mostly red, and considering it is traditional to paint the Torii gates of shrines vermilion to ward off evil, it is actually more possible than I initially thought that she could have mercury poisoning as well.

Some might object that Patchouli Knowledge, being a youkai mage, might be immune to toxins. Considering how wizards are stated to often have weak bodies due to interaction with dangerous substances, I find this unlikely. One might argue something similar for Sakuya because of her time manipulation, but we only see her use time manipulation consciously, so we aren't sure. The main question would be whether the process that slows her aging also negates most of her bodily functions, so I guess this would depend on whether we see her eat and breath, and since she gets tired from hypoxia in Touhou 18 she must be breathing and is probably susceptible to poison as well.

The main problems I can think with this theory of are with the fairy maids having heavy metal poisoning as well, which was not the main subject. It's been explained that Remilia goes for quantity over quality for her staff, and Sakuya presumably hires anyone with the most basic of skills. However, it could be possible that Remilia goes for quantity over quality because they all end up low quality due to their poisoning. Given that fairies are used to playing and pulling pranks they are probably unsuited to hard work. The reasoning that they might still be affected by poison is rather weak since much of it relies on a single remark from Sanae, who might be wrong. I still found it interesting to consider.