#he hopes he can play it one day

[bosspigeon]

5 and 7 for the Green King Moss

5. How does your Dark Urge react to their urges in general? Are there specific urges that they have a strong reaction to?

The way Moss thinks is completely influenced by the Urges, in a way. Not so much in the BLOOD, DEATH, VIOLENCE, MURDER!! way but more like... he is deeply aware of the Mortality of those around him, and how easy it would be to return them all to meat and dust. But it's just so deeply ingrained he just sort of thinks that Everyone Has Thoughts Like That, until he starts fumbling his way through conversations and realizing... hm... maybe not?

I don't think he's even so much disgusted by them so much as faintly bothered by the fact that he has to fight them off to make decisions that would actually benefit his safety? The more Intense ones are annoying rather than Distressing.

What really makes him start to question and push back beyond going "Hey maybe it's not a good idea to rip apart every warm body in my path if I would like to continue surviving this Predicament" was Alfira, honestly. I like to think that he's been building up bonds with people, slowly but surely, even while there's that persistent buzz in the back of his mind wondering what their insides would look like, and with Alfira I pictured him spending time with her and talking to her. Fascinated by the music and wanting to know how to create something rather than destroy, even something as ephemeral and impermanent as a song.

So when he wakes up covered in her blood and gore, and realizing that he would never talk to her again, she'd never be able to teach him anything more, and she'd never be able to share the things she made with her heart and soul with the world, it really sets in that there is something deeply wrong with him and he has no idea if he can fix it.

7. Does your character try to confide in any of their allies about their urges? Which ones?

Oh, he Absolutely Just Says Some Off The Wall Shit without thinking it's all that weird bc he has no idea that it is!!! Starts to have conversations and realizes maybe he is a bit Not Normal. Asks pretty much all of his companions about it, and all of them seem to SEVERELY underestimate the level of Bloodthirsty his thoughts are, so he's just sort of left in the same position he was in the beginning.

[puppyeared]

act 4 :(

@chipper-smol and i came to a realization

[seventh-district]

Making Incorrect H:SR Quotes Until I Run Out of (hopefully) Original Ideas - Pt. 4 - Nuthin' but Boothill Edition

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2] [Pt. 3] [Pt. 5] [Pt. 6]

[territorial-utopia]

Huzzah! It's birthday time! I'm slowly accumulating more and more things I like (latest additions this vest I made and a travel typewriter! Still need to fix the latter one though)

Sure has been a year.

[somewhereincairparavel]

a little thought to ruin your day: After Piper broke up with Jason, he had to deal with his heartache all by himself, isolated in a mortal boarding school with nobody to comfort him. No family. No friends.

[bigcatbulges]

Source - DrawReshi

(Artist's Bluesky and Telegram Channel for art)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

You're mine now, old man.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[caeslxys]

I’ve mentioned this elsewhere but it feels relevant again in light of the most recent episode. Something that’s really fascinating to me about Orym’s grief in comparison to the rest of the hells’ grief is that his is the youngest/most fresh and because of that tends to be the most volatile when it is triggered (aside from FCG, who was two and obviously The Most volatile when triggered.)

As in: prior to the attack on Zephrah, Orym was leading a normal, happy, casual life! with family who loved him and still do! Grief was something that was inflicted upon him via Ludinus’ machinations, whereas with characters like Imogen or Ashton, grief has been the background tapestry of their entire lives. And I think that shows in how the rest of them are largely able to, if not see past completely (Imogen/Laudna/Chetney) then at least temper/direct their vitriol or grief (Ashton/Fearne/Chetney again) to where it is most effective. (There is a glaring reason, for example, that Imogen scolded Orym for the way he reacted to Liliana and not Ashton. Because Ashton’s anger was directed in a way that was ultimately protective of Imogen—most effective—and Orym’s was founded solely in his personal grief.)

He wants Imogen to have her mom and he wants Lilliana to be salvageable for Imogen because he loves Imogen. But his love for the people in his present actively and consistently tend to conflict with the love he has for the people in his past. They are in a constant battle and Orym—he cannot fathom losing either of them.

(Or, to that point, recognize that allowing empathy to take root in him for the enemy isn't losing one of them.)

It is deeply poignant, then, that Orym’s grief is symbolized by both a sword and shield. It is something he wields as a blade when he feels his philosophy being threatened by certain conversational threads (as he believes it is one of the only things he has left of Will and Derrig, and is therefore desperately clinging onto with both bloody hands even if it makes him, occasionally, a hypocrite), but also something he can use in defense of the people he presently loves—if that provocative, blade-grief side of him does not push them—or himself—away first.

(it won’t—he is as loved by the hells as he loves them. he just needs to—as laudna so beautifully said—say and hear it more often.)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

so like do you think they made the plastic wheelchair ALONGSIDE the plastic prison as a Just In Case situation, only after they realized charles was going to be a frequent visitor, or both as in because they knew charles was going to be the only person visiting him during planning they decided to make him a chair ahead of time

[mariocki]

RIP Timothy West (20.10.1934 - 12.11.2024)

"We met when we were cast with small parts in that really boring play, so had both brought the crossword to stop us going mad. We saw each other across the rehearsal room doing it, so decided to sit together. Then we couldn’t record because of the strike one day so we went to the cinema, Pru and I, to see The Grass is Greener with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. The show was cancelled, but a bit later Pru sent me a card saying ‘they’re reviving that terrible play, are you in it?’ I wasn’t but we started writing to each other then."

"Humour is vital, and respect for what people do and what people think. Kindness is important, and we’ve always had the same humour, laughed at the same things, been interested in the same things, got cross about the same things. And been in the same business. We have often been away from each other work-wise and therefore we’re always very glad to see each other again."

[cent-scratchnsniff]

here together

[ghu-leh]

Night Terrors

Character: Papa Emeritus II.

Warnings/Content: body horror, blood, slight gore. Brief Secondo x gn! reader.

Additional Tags: Oneshot, ficlet (696 words).

Please see end of work under the cut for italian translations!

A step. A rush

A drop of sweat running down his temple. His heart throbbed, squirming violently at the pit of his stomach. Curses filled his mind as he made his way out of his forsaken office, far away from his duties as the second Papa Emeritus.

A step. A rush

A drop of sweat running down his temple. His heart throbbed, squirming violently at the pit of his stomach. Curses filled his mind as he made his way out of his forsaken office, far away from his duties as the second Papa Emeritus. Long gone was the act of looking authoritative or withdrawn in his thoughts. Long gone was the very elegant walk that made his robes look suspended, frozen-like in the air, mimicking the sensual swirls of the frankincense smoke that burned at the black mass. He entered his room and immediately closed the doors of his chambers with urgency, a brief refuge from the prying eyes of those that follow him. His chasuble and miter bothered him and he removed them hastily, maybe then he would stop feeling this hot, this clammy. This deeply ill. "Di nuovo questa malatia, Satana?!" He curses, his body feeling as if it was being consumed by hellish flames.

Maybe air is all he needed.

Yes. Air is all he needs. With trembling hands he opened the doors of his balcony before he fell to his knees. It was for naught, for his pain now overwhelmed his logic. Not even the soft caresses of the nightly winds were merciful enough to relieve his discomfort. Throbbing, hurting, aching. He brought his hands to his face in horror, feeling his jaw lock in place. "Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo" Secondo cried quietly, as chunks of flesh started to fall of his face. The skin of his cheeks ripped apart as his teeth grew sharp. The older Papa did nothing but close his eyes in pure agony as his blood and drool mixed in one, staining his immaculate white dress shirt. Pooling by his knees. He brought a hand to his chest in a desperate attempt to comfort himself. It reminded him of the touches of his mother when he was a child, during the times he would suddenly wake up mortified by his night terrors. Through his fear, her touch was benevolent. Calming. Reminiscent of the times when he was nothing but innocence. A touch that was able to scare the most fearsome demons. Yet, this one in particular was out of her ghastly reach. A toxic imp that infected his very core. Secondo suddenly opened his eyes as the first waves of that loathed thirst took hold of his throat. He looked over his shoulder to consider whether to drink the remnants of a bottle of wine he started drinking the night before. Without further hesitation, he downed what was left of the liquor. The alcohol stinging as it made contact with his wounds. Unfortunately, it was not enough. It was never enough, and he knew that well. Such an aggressive flare-up could only subside with a cure that matched the malady. With a taste of the very life essence that runs through the veins of many.

He sat there, defeated. Contemplative. In the deepest pain imaginable, as his disfigured jaw - which now resembled a monstrous snout- continued to drool. "Chi sono io? Madonna mia, che devo fare?" He pleaded to whoever could hear him. To the Darkest One below. To the intangible spirits surrounding him. Secondo was even willing to stoop low and desperately beg for the help of the one above. And he begged for a solution. For a cure. For a hint that maybe this was just another one of his childhood night terrors, and it will all be gone in the morning. Anything would be acceptable for him now, as long as he did not give in to his urge to consume blood.

That's when he would know he had lost himself completely. Once more. "Papa?" A scared, worried voice took him out of his thoughts. You now stood by the ajar door of his chambers, taking in the whole scene. "Papa, are you ok?" The second Emeritus froze in place. His face twisted in dread at the mere thought of what this could mean. Of how he could lose you. Was this a sick, cruel answer to his screams of mercy? His thirst grew, yet his stomach churned. Qualsiasi altra opzione, ma non tu...

Translations:

"Di nuovo questa malatia, Satana?": This sickness again, Satan?

"Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo": fuck, fuck, fuck

"Chi sono io? Madonna mia, che devo fare?": Who am I? My lady, what should I do?

"Qualsiasi altra opzione, ma non tu...": Any other option, but not you...

[triglycercule]

i'm finally doing it. i'm finally making that stupid ass horror character analysis i promised myself to make like a month ago. and DAMN this shit is actually so fun ngl horrortale is so beautifully tragically written. i've been listening to SAS's horror theme the entire time i've been doing this because it's actually a pretty good theme for depicting horror ans i need to get into a HIM mood. this sets the tone. my hands are so sweaty but i also have my fan blasting at me so i don't know why the hell i'm so sweaty wtf. anyways idk when i'll finish this but it'll be soon TRUST (i need this character analysis more than anyone 💀💀 this doc is just a first draft since horror is like wayyy more complex than i originally thought wtf)

[deus-ex-mona]

favourite stupid relationship dynamic: idiots who would immediately protect and defend the other but never themself

[protagonist-art]

"Uh- I'm Arnold. Bennett. It's profoundly difficult to get your lifes works and studies accepted if your name isn't... yes, oh! Are you a fan of moths, sir?"

NEW RDR2 OC!! a reclusive, clumsy entomologist and bug collector; cooped up in his study of uniformed clutter

[north-wilkesboro-moonshine-cave]

congratulations to Mme. Pascale Leclerc, who has surely just experienced both the funniest and most unhinged weekend a mother could ever have. Dear fucking christ, I hope your middlest son brought you a bottle of champagne for yourself, ma'am.