#horror was pressured to sacrifice himself

[ozkarrzen]

Can we normalize characters being in the wrong

[sluttsumu]

DOUBLE TROUBLE

.ೃ࿐ feat. atsumu + osamu miya

in which: the twins have a little bet, and you’re their next target. who can make you cum the most on halloween night without anyone knowing, keep quiet virgin or you’ll get caught.

warning: 18+, college!au, fratboy!inarizaki, oblivious!reader, non+ dubcon/peer pressure, threesome, corruptive thoughts, misogyny (?), manipulation, drugs (molly), vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected, petname: angel, oral (f!receiving + m!receiving), virginity loss, exhibitionism + voyeurism, implied orgy (with suna), sunaosa TEASE, they’re sleazy hoes. wc: 2k

ೃ࿐ ki’s note: this is fic was supposed to kickstart my kinktober series. i hope you love this as much as i do because i had the best time writing it! in my mind it’s still october 😭 divider: @cafekitsune

two devils, one angel, and fate. being a virgin sacrifice wasn’t necessarily on your halloween bucket list for this year.

— ♡︎ —

“can’t think of anyone to bring ‘samu ?” atsumu piqued, osamu is supposed to be the smart one.

the infamous twins had been thinking for some time on who to invite to their annual halloween party.

there were plenty of guests, but they needed someone special for the night.

atsumu’s fucked half of the bimbos from his fan club, meanwhile osamu was never satisfied with any of his groupies.

“well,” he starts. “i have an idea.” the light bulb in his head flickered before finally going off when he thought of the perfect girl. the dainty little college freshman whom he sees walking around campus all dolled up.

“who’s that girl that we always see with sunarin?” he ponders, in attempt to remember your name. atsumu’s eyes lit up when he realized. he knew exactly who his brother was talking about.

osamu really was a genius.

“y/n..” his tone was unsure, but curious nonetheless. osamu shot a finger gun “bingo.” indicating that his atsumu was right on the money. they paused, staring at one another as if they were reading each others minds. twin telepathy surely was a blessing. if they were both thinking correctly it seems like they’ve got a target.

*incoming facetime from; suna rintaro*

“yes suna?” you answer holding the phone above your face. “what’re you doing tomorrow?” the abrupt question never threw you off anymore, it was common for suna taking you on all kinda of spontaneous adventures on and off campus.

“ ‘m not doing anything, gonna watch horror movies and eat candy.” suna eyed you feigning disgust, what lame plans. “absolutely not..” he scoffs, “the twins invited you to their party tomorrow and you’re going.” the miya twins were mutual friends and have been known to throw some awesome ragers from time to time, how could you decline such an offer?

“i don’t have a costume???” honestly you were trying to find any excuse possible to lessen your chances of coming home wasted on halloween night. but suna had a solution to everything, even this. “wear white, i’ll sort out the rest.” he hung up after the condescending message, leaving you to piece together his surprise.

white, the colour of purity and innocence. nothing is innocent about a college party, especially because,

halloween was the one night a year a girl could dress like a total slut, and no one could say anything about it.

a firm knock was set on your dorm room door. “let’s go” his eyes fixated as you opened the door. suna mildly regrets not taking up the twins’ offer to join them on their escapade tonight, especially with the way that dress hugs your body. he quickly releases himself from the dirty thoughts.

“okay, what’s my costume? you said wear white.” suna’s hand rises from his side revealing a halo. makes sense why he told you to wear white now. it wasn’t until you took in his costume that really made you understand his choice.

he’s dressed in a red button up, except the buttons weren’t being used at all. the devil horns stuck in his hair confirmed the unoriginal costume idea. a few days back he mentioned matching costumes with the rest of his fraternity, and if you had to see the rest of them like this, than you were sure that attending this party was worth it.

the house was loud, as much as it was crowded, suna’s hand around your wrist is the only thing preventing you from getting caught in the ocean of people.

“sunarin! we’re over here.” pi kappa alpha (ΠΚΑ) was one of seven frats at your university, and was definitely the hottest. pretty, rich boys with the world at their disposal. everyone knew this but that never stopped girls from clinging onto them, after all osamu’s arms and atsumu’s abs— focus!

“ah, you made it.” osamu exclaimed opening his arms for a particularly tight hug. you hugged all of them, each cologne scent different from the last. “mind if we steal rin for a minute? won’t be long, promise.” atsumu’s tone of voice couldn’t have been more condescending, talking to you so sweet and saccharin. you nodded, shooting the quintet a small smile, before going to find a drink.

“an angel, cute.” atsumu watched your back was you walked away into a crowd of people. all that clouded his thoughts were all the things he wanted to do to you throughout the night. “get yer head intha game. what are the rules?” osamu chuckled, it was no doubt that he was having the same thoughts as his brother. that’s for sure.

“ ‘ts 10:30, whoever can make her cum the most before midnight first wins. unless you fuck her that is.. she’s a virgin so if you manage to to take her virginity you automatically win. get caught and you have to restart.” the night is young and the rules were set, but there was one question unanswered, whats the prize for a game such as this?

money of course. sex and money have been interchangeable for as long as mankind can remember, no difference here. a thousand dollars put up by each member, totalling to five thousand. winner takes all, loser gets nothing. may the best twin win.

atsumu wasted no time following you to the kitchen hearing the laughs from his friends behind. unfortunate for him bokuto caught your attention a little too quickly. he watched the two of you laugh and introduce yourselves to one another. it wouldn’t go on for much longer, not if atsumu could help it.

“bo-kun! do me a favor would’ya?” he said, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “get some more ice for the cooler, ‘ts intha basement.”

in boy world, this was a territorial interaction meaning; get the fuck out of here.

meanwhile in girl world, you didn’t think anything of it.

bokuto cheerfully agreed uttering “nice meeting you!” before sliding past the crowd of people to go fetch that ice.

“cute costume miya.” you look up to see him above your shoulder. he unhooks his arm from your side, leaning up against the counter. “not too bad yourself. you look,” he pauses for a mere few seconds. thoughts of you and how innocent you look plagued his mind, costume doesn’t help either. something in him was excited to taint that, you’d look so much prettier with your makeup smudged and begging him to make you cum, he thought.

“pretty,” he smiled, eyes shifting around your lips, and neck then back to your eyes. “you look really fucking pretty.”

“nights still young, you like games?” you tilted your head at the question. a suspicious question but how could anyone say no to him. “dependsss..” you drag out the word, tone laced with hesitation. this was all one big game, that you unfortunately didn’t know you were apart of, throwing another in the mix couldn’t hurt.

“how do ya feel about suck and blow?”

—♡︎—

suna forcefully offered up kita’s amex for the game, safe to say that he’s not happy about it.

the game rules were simple; suck and blow, on a card that is. pass the card mouth to mouth without dropping it. drop it and make out with the next person in front of everyone and spend an additional 10 minutes in an enclosed space. sounds easy right? it wasn’t a pi kappa alpha party without this tradition, they have a separate room dedicated for games such as these.

you watched intensely as the card made its rounds over and over you successfully received and passed it on. you were also standing between atsumu and bokuto, yikes! the card was making its way back around and like before it was just a matter of sucking and blowing, until you were locking lips with one of the hottest guys on campus. atsumu ‘dropped the card’ by accident, catalyzing the makeout sesh between the two of you.

it’s hot, it’s sloppy, it’s fucking miya atsumu.

you feel his smile on your lips as he slips his tongue in between yours, aiming for your bottom lip. the whooping, and whistling among the group was enough to encourage the egotism within you both to put on a nice show for everyone. your nails intertwining in his undercut, while his arms hug your waist.

“okay okay,” kita pushes, removing the two of you off of each other. “10 minutes, you know the drill.”

the frat brothers exchange a glance, one of many kita has shared with his little since atsumu started college.

the amount of girls that have survived that room, godspeed.

hearing the door close behind you was almost frightening, even after the spectacle you put on for everyone just now. it wasn’t until you took a few steps in you noticed this is a bedroom, not your average stuffy coat closet.

“suna teach you to kiss like that or what?” he teases, watching you stare at him in disbelief. “can’t believe he hasn’t fucked you yet.”

guess i’ll be the first, he thought.

suna? fucking you? confusion was an understatement really. unbeknownst to you they all thought you were sunas secret fuck buddy till he told them you were untouched.

atsumu almost forgot, and the realization ran through his blood with pure mischief. he was ready to get his hands on you and play with his toy of the night.

“let’s have some fun, yea?” he quips, walking towards you. “fun like what?” unintentionally you take a step back, the two of you flowing in a seamless b-line towards the bed as he goes forward and you go back.

“you’re a big girl right? in college now. ya know what big girls do?” his tone was informative signalling that there’s more to his mini monologue. “big college girls…kiss, and suck, and fuck boys.”

the smooth of your calves hit the sheets.

“a-atsumu i’m—” you’re a stuttering mess, and he finds it adorable.

“you’re what?” he mocks, lifting his voice up an octave to replicate you. it was only a matter of seconds before you were pushed onto the bed with his body caging yours beneath him.

it was all happening so fast, it’s not that you didn’t want to but this has never happened before. being stuck in a room with a guy especially an experienced one was never on you to-do list for today.

atsumu’s done this to many girls. he’s used to fucking bitches every week and you were no different. he never looses and he’s damn sure nothing will change that tonight.

“i’ve never done this before…” shame drowns your conscience as you confess what you thought was a secret. little did you know, he knew.

“s’okay,” his lips pecked against your jaw lightly, he could feel how tense you were but curious as well. “just wanna make you feel good, hmm?” you could feel atsumu’s hand creeping between your thighs though his eyes never leaving yours. this look on your face, the look of a virgin, never gets old for him.

the inquisitive look of “maybe it’s not so bad” staring back at him as he pulls your panties to the side running his fingers along your wet folds. you didn’t protest, or squirm, or defy, you just laid there beady eyes staring, legs spread for him awaiting his touch.

simultaneously, his fingers slide into you with ease while sharing a kiss to keep you quiet, earning a soft moan onto his lips. your body can’t help but concentrate at the foreign feeling of someone else other than yourself fingering you. “ahhh—! s-slow down ‘tsumu, too much!”

“no can do angel, got a lot ridin’ on ya.” completely dismissing your feelings, he continues to pump his fingers into your leaking cunt. “hurts..” you whine. “atsumu it hurts!”

“don’t lie ta me pretty, i can feel you clenching ‘round me.” your face flushed at his words, fluttering around his fingers. besides the slight discomfort it felt so fucking good, you really couldn’t get enough of it.

the humiliation you felt hearing the lewd squelching of his digits fingerfucking you was apparent. you watched in awe as he sped up, arm now jackhammering in and out of you at an ruthless pace. “fuckfuckfuck!” you cry, eyes brimming with tears.

atsumu traps your lips in a messy kiss, tasting a mixture alcohol on each others tongues. whines and whimpers escape fall from your lips onto his at the feeling of the coil in your stomach about to break. the euphoria that overcomes your body when your legs begin to tremble, thighs squeezing around his hand, your virgin cunny covers his fingers in sticky cum.

but his assault on your pussy doesn’t stop there, he’s still going; fucking you through your orgasm. “can’t stop there, you can give me another one baby, know you can.”

“no! c-can’t take it! i—” his hand quickly cups around your lips, muffling any sound that dares to come out of your mouth. time’s almost up and atsumu would throw more than a fit if he got caught and had to restart already.

he could feel it again, your pussy clenching around his fingers. atsumu continued at his gruelling pace, with a slick smile on his face. It was so cute seeing you like this, half an hour ago you walked into this party as an innocent little thing, and now he had you exactly where he wanted you — under him with his fingers buried inside of you, on your second orgasm.

“cumming… ‘m cumming—!” you mumble under the weight of his hand, eyes fluttering shut. “atta-fucking-girl angel.” your chest heaved and knees buckled while you creamed on the blondes fingers once more this time at full force, making you see stars before he pulled out of you.

“wasn’t so hard now was it?” he smiled sucking your slick off of his fingers. atsumu is now leading by two points and cocky was an understatement, he can feel himself growing hard watching your body go limp against the sheets. if he had the time, he’d take you right then and there but there was always an opportunity for that.

“make yourself decent before you come out.” was the last thing he said to you, chuckling while the door clicked shut behind him.

get yourself together! the sound of your own voice mentally cursing you was enough to spring you back to your feet, pulling your dress down, and fixing your hair. luckily for you, everyone continued their conversations, dancing, and games as you crept out the room exhaling heavily with relief.

a few eyes lingered, especially kita’s. he peered at you from afar, while atsumu whispered in his ear. he raised the red solo cup with an upward tilt of his head before smirking in your direction, taking a sip from the cup.

frat boys are just the equivalent to mean girls.

hell, it hasn’t even been five minutes and he’s already going around telling everyone. you couldn’t bare to see it really, causing you to relocate somewhere else in the house, the stairs.

you sat on the wooden steps, eyes glued onto your phone screen. the feeling of someone walking down was evident as the hardwood took a dip at the weight, it was osamu.

he pondered, swirling the liquid courage in his hand. how could he get you on his white linen sheets? he thought. osamu smirked at the idea that popped into his head soon after remembering the common denominator between his bed and that dress you’re wearing.

starring at your back from a few steps above, his eyes moveded to suna who was situated mere meters away from where you sat. he feigns tipping his cup, eyes pointing down to where you sat then back to the brunette.

it was genius, if he ruins that pretty little dress of yours you’ll have no choice but to take it off.

“do it.” suna mouthed covering his words with a cupped hand.

the weight of someone walking down the stairs returns after having paused, you didn’t think much of it until alcohol poured down your shoulder and into your bra from above you.

“sorry angel! that was my bad.” osamu quips, downing the rest of his cup.

“you’ve got to be kidding me..”

“relaaax,” he drawls before reassuring that “you can come change up here.”

—♡︎—

osamu scanned his closet looking for one of his old flings’ clothes murmuring, “no-no-no-too big-too small— damn i should call her..” as he looks through the assortment of clothing.

you waited on his bed partly disgusted at the fact that these clothes were equivalent to trophies.

“check that drawer ta’ your left for something.” he gestures a waving hand, pointing to the side table next to his bed.

the drawer was less then helpful, containing: condoms, an agent provocateur set (brand new, mind you), a bottle of dior sauvage, and a miniature plastic bag with two smiley face pills in it.

he has drugs just laying in his room?

“what’re these?” prodding at the drugs you ask, dangling the bag between delicate fingers.

he turns to face you, smirking when he sees what caught your curiosity. “a pretty girl named, molly.” osamu banged a girl with that name now that he thinks about it.

“you guys seriously take these?” eyes narrowing at the tiny pill analyzing it’s appearance, but wanting to know more at the same time. “are they fun?”

osamu closes the closet door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. his attention is focused elsewhere when you display genuine interest in the party drug.

“wanna find out?” he asks with the tilt of his head.

fuck around and find out was an understatement, getting fucked after finding out was more accurate really.

“fuuuuck ‘samu..” your manicure runs through silver hair, as he messily laps at your cunt.

every flick of his tongue making your knees buckle, the pleasure was overwhelming your lower half as he teased your clit with the tip his tongue.

you couldn’t get over how good it feels, what was the point of staying a virgin when there’s men who will pleasure you like the miya twins.

“pussy tastes s’good princess.” he mumbles onto you, sending vibrations up your spine, continuing to eat you like you’re his last meal.

he could feel now eager you were to get off, grinding yourself against his face in hopes to chase the orgasmic high that your body was so close to.

the loud noises of his mouth smothered against your pussy and broken whimpers fill up the room.

loud enough for suna to hear through the bedroom door he’s standing on the other side of. he could feel his erection growing, listening to his best friend taint his virgin girl bestie on the most sinister night of the year.

“righthererighthere! ‘m cumming— oh fuck!” the euphoric feelings of the drug in your system enhanced every last nerve running through your veins.

you’re loud, high pitched whines falling from your throat as you throw your head back, eyes shutting tight.

osamu’s face pushed into your cunt with force, nose nudging at your clit. little did the two of you know, the brunette purposely walked into the room with you on the verge of a mind blowing orgasm and osamu’s mouth quite busy.

“you cumming?” suna asks, gripping your face with slender fingers.

your eyes shoot open to see one of his hands planted on the back of osamu’s head pushing his mouth deeper into your pussy, the other holding your face, taunting from above.

“oh yea, you’re fucked.” he taunts, pushing your lips into a kissy face forcefully moving your head from side to side, observing your features.

suna’s done his fair share to know you weren’t all there, your dilated pupils, flushed face and very vulnerable state gave it away.

“don’t be shy, go on. might be ‘samu going to town on ya but your attentions on me, hmm?”

seeing you tweaked out on the verge of your third orgasm of the night really did it for him.

it was torture, watching and hearing the twins have their fun with you meanwhile he had to watch.

absolutely no fair. he’s the reason you even considered coming to the party at all it wouldn’t be all that bad if he used you as a reward for his efforts, now would it?

“rin!!” you whine, “get out! this is embarrassing!”

suna doesn’t bother listening to your protest. he’s already slid his shirt off, unbuckling his belt watching osamu make you cum.

“move it.” he chuckles, tugging at grey locks.

“hey, i had her first.” osamu scoffs at his friends audacity.

“technically atsumu had her first, but it’s my turn. so, are you gonna keep bitchin’ or get your dick sucked while i fuck her?”

the two boys spoke as of you weren’t even there, like you were just an object for them to play with. this wasn’t about the bet anymore. this was about you, and the fact that they’d never get the opportunity to see your tweaked out, legs spread, off molly ever again.

a once in a lifetime opportunity with you in a position to not protest.

suna’s shadow hovered over you, manipulating your body to fit both of them on osamu’s mattress.

hazy eyes stared into his green ones with incoherent mumbles falling from your lips. seeing you fucked out made him want it that much more.

“hang in there for us pretty.” his voice sounding so sincere, meanwhile rubbing the tip of his cock along your slit.

he pushes into you without warning, stretching your cunt around his girth.

“shit..” he hisses through his teeth. “definitely a virgin, fuck.”

“ah—!” your hand flies to his chest in attempt to get him to slow down. “s’too much..”

“none of that,” osamu coos, grabbing your wrist.

you didn’t even notice that he slid his boxers off, smearing precum on your lips like lipgloss.

“hey ‘samu where’s the—” atsumu says, swinging the door open to the lewdest live scene he’s ever seen. “holy hell.”

“are you gonna stare or join?”

sluttsumu 2023

[enden-k]

𝔸𝕄𝕐𝔾𝔻𝔸𝕃𝔸 ℕ𝔸𝕍𝕀

(trying to update whenever theres smth new)

the story is about vika, a human who is basically not existing to anyone due to his sickness, and saran, a vengeful spirit shackled to the world due to the circumstances of his death, and their deep love for each other. saran devours eyes and other fears so general warning for many eyes/eye contact and upcoming eye horror (everything will be tagged as such and warnings will always be given) vika contemplated suicide and practiced self-harm in the past, tws are always given if its brought up or appears in flashbacks

MAIN: (top right → bottom left)

1 /

SIDE: ("bonus", or extras that happen(ed) at different times than main)

• a ghost's touch (tw for vikas suicide contemplation) • flashback - office nap

ART:

• elite 9 character files • elite 9 fear contracts • saranvika random facts n stuff (vika self-harm mention) • first doodles/sketches • memes • saranvika doodles: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 (tw eyes/eye contact) / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 • requests: 1 / 2 • saran and azai (present)

LORE: (explanations abt the story/world etc)

• "fears", amygdala and fear seekers • fear contracts • tiny bit about azai and his feelings for saran • explanation to "a ghost's touch"; vikas suicide contemplation (tw for that), meeting saran, the difference of their contract compared to usual fear contracts, and the exchanges/sacrifices made to control the unseen • some numbers n ages • tiny bit about suyo • fear contracts vs saranvika contract • saran and vikas love and relationship • a little bit more about azai • a little bit more more about azai and his feelings for saran • a little bit about how sarans many-eyes work • some stuff about saran and his tentacles (arms): 1 / 2 • map of the 10 regions + birthplaces/important locations as of now • vikas life expectancy • a little bit more about sarans many-eyes and tattoos: 1 / 2 • a bit about the side effects of fear contract/tool use

ETC: (asks, random rambles, etc)

• amygdala = fear contract sugar daddy • saran being protective • vika and food • saranvika and halloween • saran likes to do that and it grounds vika greatly (better explained than i could) • saran is a menace. more at 11 • vika and weighted blankets/the meaning of weight/pressure for him • i cant stfu abt saranvikas deep love for each other • vikas eternal struggle with paperwork, thanks to noah • saran and azais one of many differences ramble • its 11. saran is still a menace • not going to link it bc its on my nsfw blog but vika is a big cuddler (he enjoys being the little spoon) by nature, its like he can never get enough of feeling saran. hes also v sensitive bc of the whole unable to feel touch except for saran/never felt others touches and gets flustered • trust • elite 9 about saranvika relationship • saranvika and (horror)movies • vika and sarans eye • vika and smoking • saran and his feelings about the afterlife • elite 9 and their birthplaces • saran and food (no, not eyes but human food) • saranvika and some cute relationship things they do

• saran, his negative energy and nightmares • sarans gentle face hold and vikas full body cuddles • saranvikas dynamic ramble • sarans gentle face hold vs azais possessive grip (warning for descriptive injury/sarans death) • vika and smoking 2 • is saran jealous? • does saran show himself to others? • sarans first name + hidden cult mark • cat or dog person? • some more random questions (fav flowers etc) • what if saran and vika had kids <3

• playlist (always updating) • FANART!!! 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

OCTOPLUSHIE ADVENTURES: (it got its own section 🐙)

• the beginning of an unusual rivalry • saran is not prone to jealousy......BUT • saran and taking responsibility • the rival in all its glory (and similarity)

"REVERSE" AU (alive!saran/fear!vika)

• story • doodles: 1

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

Hello, can you do a angst on which the brothers get into trouble (even Lucifer somehow idk) And they could've got hurt And maybe die, But MC can in and blocked the attempted attack, killing them instead? (Feel free to ignore if u wish)

Okay so this is one.. how do I put it.. hard request to write but even so I managed. (I cried a few times myself) I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: During a fight MC sees that the brothers won't be able to dodge the next attack so you take it instead of them, causing your death.

Contains: Angst

GN!MC x each of the brothers

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

I was supposed to protect you

Lucifer

Lucifer stood tall, his pride never wavering, even as the powerful foe in front of him unleashed attack after attack. But even he, the avatar of pride, was struggling. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, in how his wings faltered with every swing of his sword.

The enemy struck again, and Lucifer barely managed to block the blow, his breath ragged, his eyes filled with a frustration you rarely saw from him. But the next attack was coming fast—too fast. You realized with a chilling certainty that this one was meant to kill him.

You moved before you could think, throwing yourself in front of Lucifer just as the blast connected.

"MC!" Lucifer’s voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it—panic.

The pain that shot through you was unbearable, but you forced yourself to stay conscious, if only to catch one last glimpse of him. Lucifer’s eyes were wide, his usual calm shattered. He caught you as you fell, his arms around you trembling in a way they never had before.

"Why did you do that!?!? MC, Why??" His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw Lucifer break. His pride, his strength—it all crumbled in the face of your sacrifice.

You tried to speak, but all you managed was a weak smile before the darkness took you. In your last moments of life you were happy that you managed to save a person you truly loved.

Lucifer stood there with your dead body in his arms. Tears were threatening to fall down from his eyes. He took a sharp breath and with one swift motion he killed all the enemies, using magic. Now the only one alive was him. Him-Lucifer. The Avatar of Pride shedding tears over your dead body, telling you how much he loves you and questioning your actions, hoping you could hear him somehow.

Mammon

Mammon was reckless, as always. He threw himself into the fight with a wild grin, as if nothing in the world could touch him. But you knew better. You saw the cracks in his confidence, the way his movements were just a little slower, a little more desperate. The enemy wasn’t backing down, and Mammon—despite his bravado—was struggling.

And then it happened. The enemy’s strike came faster than Mammon could react. For a split second, fear flashed across his face as he realized he couldn’t dodge it.

Without thinking, you lunged in front of him, taking the hit that was meant for him.

"MC!" Mammon’s voice was louder than you had ever heard it, full of shock and horror.

You collapsed, your body screaming in pain, but all you could focus on was the sound of Mammon’s voice, the way he was suddenly by your side, shaking you, his hands trembling as he gripped your shoulders.

"What the hell were you thinkin'?!" His voice broke, his eyes wide and frantic. "You can’t... you can’t do this! Not for me!"

But you had. And as the world started to fade, you caught one last glimpse of his face, his usual carefree grin replaced with pure, unadulterated grief.

Leviathan

Levi was a wreck, barely holding on as the enemy advanced. His usual confidence in battle was shattered, and you could see the fear in his eyes, the way his hands shook as he tried to summon another spell. He was never good with pressure, and now, with death staring him in the face, he was frozen.

The enemy’s attack was coming, and Levi... Levi wasn’t fast enough.

You moved on instinct, pushing him out of the way and taking the hit yourself. The pain was overwhelming, but the look on Levi’s face was even worse.

"MC?!" His voice cracked, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at you. "No... no, this isn’t... this can’t be happening!"

He was by your side in an instant, his hands fluttering uselessly as if he didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. "You... you didn’t have to do that... I... I should’ve... I should’ve been the one...!" Tears streamed down his face, his usual self-deprecation replaced by a raw kind of grief.

You tried to tell him it was okay, but you couldn’t form the words. All you could do was reach for his hand as your vision faded.

Satan

Satan’s anger had always been his greatest weapon, but today, it was also his downfall. He was fighting with everything he had, but his fury clouded his judgment, made him reckless. The enemy saw it, too, and took advantage of it.

The blow came fast, too fast for Satan to avoid.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped in front of him, the attack landing squarely on you instead.

"MC!" Satan’s voice was full of disbelief, his eyes wide with shock as he watched you fall.

He was at your side in an instant, his hands shaking as he cradled you against him. His rage, his fury—it all vanished in that moment, replaced by a desperate grief that you had never seen from him before.

"You shouldn’t have done that..." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Why did you—" He cut himself off, shaking his head as if trying to deny what had just happened. "I could’ve... I should’ve protected you... not the other way around..."

But it was too late. You had made your choice. And as your vision darkened, you could feel the warmth of his tears on your skin.

Asmodeus

Asmo was usually so composed, always thinking of his looks, his charm, his effortless grace. But now, in the face of danger, all of that melted away. His fear was palpable, and his usual confidence faltered as the enemy closed in.

The attack came faster than Asmo could react. He barely had time to raise his hands in defense.

You stepped in front of him, taking the blow meant for him. The pain was instant, sharp, but the look on Asmo’s face was even worse.

"MC..." Asmo’s voice trembled, all traces of his usual playful tone gone. He knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he touched your face, as if he was afraid you’d break under his touch.

"You didn’t have to do that..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why would you...?"

You tried to smile, to reassure him, but the pain was too much. Your vision blurred, and the last thing you saw was Asmo’s face, streaked with tears—tears he usually would never allow to fall.

Beelzebub

Beel fought with a ferocity born of desperation. His brothers were in danger, and he was doing everything he could to protect them. But the enemy was too strong, and Beel, despite his immense strength, was struggling to hold on.

The attack came too fast for Beel to block, and for a moment, you saw the fear in his eyes—the realization that he wasn’t fast enough to stop it.

You moved before you could think, throwing yourself in front of him.

"MC!" Beel’s voice boomed, full of horror as you crumpled to the ground.

He caught you before you could hit the dirt, his massive arms wrapping around you like a shield, but it was too late. The damage was done.

"You shouldn’t have done that..." Beel whispered, his voice so soft, so broken. "I should’ve protected you... not the other way around..." His tears fell silently, his grip on you tightening as if he could somehow keep you here, keep you safe, if only he held on hard enough.

But you knew that nothing could stop what was happening. And as the darkness claimed you, you could feel Beel’s sorrow wash over you like a wave.

Belphegor

Belphegor had always been calm, even in battle. He never let anything faze him, his lazy demeanor masking the sharp mind beneath. But today, that calm was shattered. The enemy was too strong, too fast, and Belphie wasn’t ready.

The attack came, aimed directly at him, and for once, Belphegor didn’t move fast enough.

Without thinking, you stepped in front of him, taking the blow meant for him.

"MC!" Belphie’s voice, usually so indifferent, was suddenly full of panic.

He knelt beside you, his eyes wide with disbelief as he held you. "You... you idiot... why did you do that?"

There was no humor in his voice, no teasing. Just raw, unfiltered pain. His usual lazy demeanor was gone, replaced with a desperation that you had never seen from him before.

"I was supposed to protect you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I was supposed to..." But he didn’t finish. There was nothing left to say.

And as your vision faded, you knew that Belphie, in his own way, was breaking too.

[54625]

Thinking about the morning crew. How they are all so smart when separate; Tubbo is book-smart, Fit is street-smart, and Pac is people-smart. But when they come together they are so hilariously stupid.

But it's not that they don't lend anything to each other, because while their intelligence may take a backseat, their empathy takes a front seat, and they all express it in different ways.

Fit is the grounding point for Pac and Tubbo. He's sturdy and sure, he's a rock, and he shows his care for them by being there to keep them safe and rein them in when needed. He is the hardest to move; the least outwardly affected by grievance, and can almost always be relied upon to think clearly under pressure. As a victim of a horrifically unstable past, he shows his love by keeping others stable.

Tubbo is a large part of Fit and Pac's motivations. Young and new, he hasn't seen nearly as much of the horrors of the island that the other two have, nor does he have a traumatic past (as far as he knows). He's the driving force behind most of their crazy schemes and plots because he has a zest for the world that the other two have lost. His energy is contagious, and he shows his love by allowing the other two to be young and naïve and free again.

Pac is a safe place for Fit and Tubbo. He's the heart, the emotional core of the morning crew, always there to lift the other two up; be it through genuine comfort, gentle lighthearted teasing, or a bit of flirting here and there (looking at Fit). He will always put others before himself, even when it detriments him, and with Fit and Tubbo it's no different; he'll go out of his way to see them happy time and time again. He'd take a knife to the gut to see the people he cared about smile, and shows his love by doing so.

And they still all help each other out of these habits when they become an issue: Fit will be reminded that bottling up his feelings isn't good for him, Tubbo will be warned when he's putting himself in danger and checked in on when things go wrong, Pac will be firmly reminded of how important he is, how much he matters, and that he doesn't have to sacrifice himself for others every time.

Everyone always talks about how the morning crew's smarts completely vanish when they're together, but never about the fact that their empathy and care completely soar.

[katakaluptastrophy]

John Gaius:

"I intended for the new Lyctors to become Lyctors after thinking and contemplating and genuinely understanding their sacrifice—an act of bravery, not an act of fear and desperation. Nobody was meant to lose their lives unwillingly at Canaan House.”

Also John Gaius:

Ignored the warnings about how many of the scions were children.

Sent out invitations you really couldn't have refused (how do you say no to god?).

Had the shuttles destroyed to prevent anyone leaving the planet before he wanted them to.

Banned all off-planet communication, with the only radio being one controlled by his priests connecting directly to his flagship.

So...just what did he think was going to happen?

I feel he likes to maintain the illusion, even to himself, that he is a nice and reasonable man. And of course he wasn't making anyone do anything! He was just giving them information! What they chose to do with that information, while trapped on a planet and with him knowing that last time a combination of suicide pacts and peer pressure made everyone acquiesce eventually...well, he wouldn't be responsible, of course...

But what if Cytherea hadn't crashed the party? What if Ianthe had still worked it out and ascended as she did and everyone else just stared in horror and said no? What was the plan...?

[brenhotapplepies]

Seen some stuff about Astrid being problematic in the same breath as praising Essek. I know media literacy is tough, but let’s examine.

How is Astrid problematic and Essek isn’t? They both are manipulative when it’s called for. Both are capable of lying, killing, and other untold horrors. Both are incredibly powerful.

One has had a lonely by choice and privileged life as the weird but useful son of the head of a Den.

One has had their identity stripped from them in a way that combines the worst of cults and the military. Tortured, experimented on, changed in ways we don’t even know the extent of.

One has had the pressure of his Den, his mother, his father, his brother, his whole community pressing on him his whole life. He stepped up into the air and took the weight as if it was effortless. He focused his life on study because it was the only thing that gave him worth in this society and it was genuinely what he enjoyed, whatever enjoyment was for him then. He had access to materials, books, almost anything.

One has had the pressure of her community, her background, in her face as she tried to beat the odds. The expectations for her were nothing, but she said fuck that. She studied with nothing, clawed her way into the venerated halls of higher magic learning. She does everything for the Empire, for Trent. She wants success for herself, because that is what gets her approval, keeps her safe.

One is in a position of power in his society. He has the ability to pull strings. He doesn’t think about how his actions impact his community or really anything besides himself. Sure maybe he wants to find something to impair the religion in the region, but it feels like even that starts out as a quest to prove himself right. His life is largely his own, despite the derision of some.

One is continuously tortured, tested, forced to PROVE herself. Cut her hair, stomp out any resistance to her mentor through any means necessary. Find some solace in their two peers. Made to kill their family to prove themselves based on a lie. She is conditioned to fight because who else will protect her country in the dirty, dark ways she has to? She is trying to salvage her sacrifices into a purpose. Bren is one of those sacrifices.

One kills indiscriminately if they get in his way. The man the Nein dropped off at the peace talks? I still remember how sad it was as he tried to piece together his broken mind, a mind Essek broke to save himself.

One kills for their country. Follows orders, kills when they find it necessary to protect those who cannot protect themselves. This is what she believes.

One GAVE AWAY a powerful religious artifact to HIS PEOPLE’S ENEMY. The intent was purely selfish curiosity.

One helped protect and study that artifact to PROTECT her country. The intent is curiosity to assist in her job, protect her country.

One finds the strength to allow himself to be loved and have friends after years of solitude. Because he just never was so fully loved. He finds the strength to let the ultimate time travel power and the knowledge that he was right go. To become comfortable with time he has left.

One finds the strength to listen to one of the only real, genuine relationships she’s ever had. Her first love. A reminder of her younger, hopeful self. She changes. She realizes the lies she’s allowed herself to believe. She finds the strength to not kill her torturer just to kill him. She finds the strength to testify. To promise that no other kids will suffer. Justice. To become comfortable with the time she has left.

One is a he.

One is a she/they.

I wonder what the issue is.

These characters are two sides of the same coin. They are both INCREDIBLY WELL THOUGHT OUT characters. They are more than just paramours of Caleb Widogast.

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Christmas Horror Kids Tournament

Because this isn't the Hunger Games, the kids are in competition but not in direct opposition to each other. Basically: there's some big monster/villain threatening their holiday, which of these main characters is not just surviving but is coming out on top the fastest?

Propaganda for each contender (and spoilers for all movies mentioned) under the cut:

Pietari: fears neither God nor death nor army of feral elves. good at keeping calm under pressure and making plans on the fly. carries a gun around the whole movie but never actually uses it, so not sure how well he could shoot. his actor was 11 when the movie came out but I think he's supposed to be a few years younger?

Luke: horrific demon child, zero moral limits so long as he gets what he wants, -5000/10 would not recommend babysitting. extremely good planner, but vulnerable to overlooking small details that ruin him. about 12: very smart but fairly immature for his age. has to be reminded not to kill his competition this time.

Thomas: literally just wanted to stay home and play trains with his grandpa, but now he's got to defend them both from a killer Santa. models himself after action movie heroes and is so good at Home Alone-ing his house that his director tried to sue for plagiarism. about 10-11 years old?

Anna: would be better with her friends to help her, but is pretty damn capable of making it in the zombie apocalypse on her own. not sure exactly how old she's supposed to be, since I'm not clear on how the New Zealand school system works, but she's an older teenager.

Billy: definitely has his wits closer about him than his dad does, that's for fucking sure. does get tricked into creating gremlins, but you know what, who would have expected them to have fucked with his clock? successfully takes on and kills an army of gremlins, albeit with help. probably the oldest competitor here since he's out of high school (?)

Max: definitely willing to go to bat for the Christmas spirit, and to put his own life on the line to protect his family, but is pretty severely lacking in strength or savvy. is good at dodging an army of killer toys, but might not do so well without a bunch of relatives around to also be targets. like Pietari, his actor was 12 but I think he's supposed to be a bit younger.

Trudy: ngl, might be a little weak in solo competition, since she's maybe 7-8 years old and so relies a lot on Santa the one-man army. but she's clever, has exactly zero fear of hardened criminals with machine guns, and is very good at turning Home Alone traps exactly as deadly as they should be.

Winnie: the most Final Girl (TM) out of all the competitors imho. learns very quickly how to improvise and use whatever's handy as a weapon, and while she's also best with a partner to distract an opponent, can handle herself very competently in a physical fight. about 17?

Samantha and Clara: actually, fuck Billy, does Clara even count as a kid at all, being an ancient demon in the form of a child? has telekinetic powers and is good at Breaking Speeches, but is bound by being sealed in the school and unable to kill her enemies herself. Samantha is a pretty normal middle schooler (?), but also has the guts to go face a cult of killers with an axe when she could have run away and saved herself, so don't count her out.

Kevin: is Home Alone a horror movie? no. could I possibly exclude the king, the champion, the future Jigsaw apprentice? also no. smart and absolutely cold-blooded when he needs to be, he's excellent at fending enemies off from a distance, but it's game over for him if he's actually caught.

[paragonrobits]

so i was reading some complaints about how Marceline is only really present in Fionna And Cake in a brief snippet and then only in AUs, and then it occured to me: Marceline not being around in an active way is necessary for the plot to happen.

Essentially, the plot of Fionna And Cake might be summarized as 'longing the magical life, Fionna and Cake flee from a Lawful Neutral cosmic killjoy and enlist the help of Simon Petrikov who agrees to become Ice King again, but is explicitly not telling them about what this is going to do to him'. The story is essentially about Simon WANTING to become Ice King while at the same time really not wanting to do that at all, pressuring himself into losing himself once more because he thinks its the only way for him to be needed by anyone anymore.

If Marceline is around, this doesn't happen. She is Simon's biggest reason for staying; she's the happiest part of his life, the most fulfilling and rewarding part of his life. It comes up, time and time again, that in the end becoming Ice King was the best thing to happen to Simon despite all its misery, suffering and tragedy because he otherwise would never have met her; he wouldn't have survived the great mushroom war, or the horrors following it, and would have died long before ever meeting her.

And the show details how INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT Simon raising her really was. The Marceline we know was shaped, by a massive degree, by Simon; his example of self-sacrifice, him letting his mind disintegrate by inches, him going out of his way to help a complete stranger and a monstrous child horrifying by the standards of the setting, all implciitly RIGHT after Marceline's mother died and Marceline had resigned herself to being a scary monster that drives everyone away. And then here came a stranger out of the blue, and spent the next few years telling her that yes, she DID matter, she was a person, and that he cared about her so much he destroyed himself so she wouldn't get hurt... or perhaps because her only means of defending herself, ripping out the souls of others, hurts who she is.

It's not a nice kind of comfort. But it still shaped her into someone willing to be a hero in her own way.

And this goes both ways; we can see that the proverbial straw for Simon is him calling Marceline and concluding that she doesn't need him anymore. It's only after this he starts trying to contact Golbetty, with the potential doom that may befall him. If Marceline doesn't need him, he seems to think, he doesn't matter. The need to be needed runs deep in Simon's character; its what draws him to help Fionna and Cake, and the worlds they visit seem to impart a lesson to him on how he matters more than he thinks he does, both by the things he's done and what he means to others; that he's not as bad a person as he thinks he is, or that Marceline would be fine without him.

So. If Marceline talks more to Simon, ESPECIALLY after he resolves to throw his progress away and let his mind be lost all over again just so he doesn't have to hurt anymore... well, his character arc in this series is about accepting that he's actually ok, the way he is, and to gain perspective on his feelings that he doesn't belong anywhere (and the answer is that he DOES, more than he knows). Marceline doesn't inhibit that, but she WOULD make it harder for it to happen, arguably at the cost of sidelining Simon's character arc here. He would pretend that okay he doesnt want to be Ice King even if he DOES still intend to go through with it, and not in the same way as when he comes to the conclusion that he ultimately does.

If Marceline is there, he doesn't think those thoughts, and he won't come to the same conclusion.

And at the same time, despite not being there, Marceline's presence hangs over the entire show in Simon's character arc. She is the best thing in his life; his greatest success, the most purely positive and happy part of his life. It can't be understated how significant Marceline is; as miserable as Ice King was, she was someone he cared about even if he didn't understand why anymore. Ice King shows a remarkable amount of restraint in context, but it becomes a lot more obvious whenever she's involved, or in danger; a care so deep and ingrained that when Ice King was often pretty callous, whenever she was upset you could see flickers on his face, genuine distress rising up from some forgotten memory or part of who he is.

Marceline pervades Simon's character and the impact he had on the world; the idea of him being able to pull through this and come back to Ooo for her feels very evident, and the impact Simon has in her in other worlds remains extremely important in all of them, sub-textually or otherwise. Sometimes, its a hint that the Winter King is far more morally ambiguous or even malicious than he lets on (the only Marceline present being an eternal child that, from context, is just a simulcrum for him to play pretend parent with) or evidence that without Simon, Marceline grows up into the monster she always feared she was (Vampire World).

She's a presence, hanging over Simon in a good way and reminding us that not only does he have somewhere to go back to, he must understand that he does belong there. And furthermore that the world of Ooo, whimsical and ultimately a better one than most of the places he visits in the miniseries, can only exist because of him.

In Winter King, we see what he could become, without his moral choices. In Vampire World, we see what happens without Simon Petrikov. And in Marceline herself, we see the surest evidence of how important he really is, even if he can't or won't acknowledge it. In his loved ones, in the family he made, even if its not the family he thought he was supposed to have.

[justsomekpopstuff]

ateez as male musical characters (according to me)

A/N: Please remember that this is my opinion, so please be nice. Also I promise that I AM working on Stray Kids as D&D Characters its just taking me a while. Enjoy!

current masterlist | fic recs

Seonghwa: Baron Von Trapp, The Sound of Music

Hear me out - He's poised, organized, clean, and well-put together at all times. However, he secretly does have quite the interesting, fun-loving side. He prefers organization, but is also full of love and creativity that isn't always apparent to everyone. He is strong in his ideals and values, with a soft side for those he loves.

Hongjoong: Orpheus, Hadestown

He is focused and creative, but often times gets too immersed in his work. He gets so immersed to the point where he will forget to care for himself and those around him. However, that doesn't mean he does not love them - in fact, he cares incredibly deeply for those he loves. He will do anything to make sure that they are okay and that they get back on track, even though there may be doubt setting in.

Yunho: Jack Kelly, Newsies

He's a little flirtatious, a little goofy, and also willing to do anything to protect those around him and keep them safe. He really is a leader in his own right even if not many always see it. He really loves pushing people’s buttons if given any space and opportunity, but he also loves pushing for change and making things better for those around him.

Yeosang: Seymour, Little Shop of Horrors

Bless him, he's so quiet and sweet. He really cares deeply for those around him even often at his own expense. He can often be too nice for his own good sometimes but it is so hard to not love him. Yeosang, I feel, makes sure the people around him feel the love at all times, even if his methods are unconventional.

San: Christian, Moulin Rouge

San really loves so deeply with all of his heart. He feels like a hopeless romantic that will love who he does until even after they have gone away, and even more after that. He is a loyal and dedicated lover and friend to those he holds dear. He would also sing instead of talk at all times if given the chance, and would feel heartbreak on an intense level that not many can comprehend.

Mingi: Roger, Rent

He feels so many emotions all the time and uses music as an outlet when words otherwise. He wants to leave a legacy to the world but feels overwhelmed with the pressure to make it perfect. He loves too much and it kind of scares him sometimes. He also tends to doubt his success despite having the people around him giving him support. He is also a certified Rock Star/Emo King™️

Wooyoung: Fiyero, Wicked

We all know he's a little sassy, flirty, and a bit of a shit-stirrer sometimes. But, when he sets his mind to what he cares about, he will do anything and everything possible to achieve his goals. When he loves someone, he loves them with his whole heart and will happily sacrifice himself for them at any cost - a love that is truly hard to ignore and hard to come by.

Jongho: J.D., Heathers

Again, hear me out - He regularly has a lot of things going on in his head, so much that he often can't say. He often takes things into his own hands, which can be a bit intense even to him. He comes off composed and deep, but internally may be a chaotic mess sometimes. He is also spooked by affection from others, and it takes him a while to show his true colors (for Jongho irl, his true colors are beautiful, unlike J.D. who is...not that - that's a difference).

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter XLI | Out Of Reach

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: body horror, panic attacks, vomiting, referenced abuse AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XLI | Out of Reach First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Chronological Notes: Quirrel tries to find a way to help. Hollow finds they cannot outrun their memories.

○

It heard the scholar’s voice calling its sister’s name, with an urgency that wrenched it from the dreamless void, pulling it back up into the world like a line hooked into its chest.

Its chest.

Where a portion of her silk still rested, where each breath was a reminder of her efforts to heal it, a strange, heatless pressure that rose and then subsided as its lungs cycled.

Its chest. There was a hole in its chest. Light still beat there, but faint, buried deep, almost too deep to feel.

Pain greeted it as it struggled back into awareness. Pain and exhaustion—it did not know how long it had slept, with its face nestled in its sister’s cloak, but the screaming strain in its body indicated that it had not been long enough.

The light was dim as its eyelids opened, dim enough that it could see few details of the room.

One detail, however, did not escape its notice.

It was alone on the bed.

Hornet had moved in the night. There was a cushion under its mask in her place.

The shouting. It had heard shouting.

Its pulse surged higher, kicking at the confines of its shell. Confines that it knew all too well now, its memory full of the scrape of blades and the touch of claws inside its body, pushing and tugging in ways it had not felt since the infection first took root there. Since its father’s spells and tools had last shaped it, since—

Since the first molt it undertook. Since the first soul-seals carved into it. This was no different, but its shade had still writhed and thrashed within, frantic to escape the presence of another.

The void was always a jealous thing.

Its mind was straying, perhaps searching for some escape from the creeping sense that all was not as it should be.

There were quiet footsteps in the entryway. Not its sister—her arrival was heralded by the rustling of her cloak, and this was footsteps only. And dripping.

Quirrel.

The door shut, and the bolt slid home.

Was—

Was he alone?

Where was she? Where was Hornet?

Why, why had that question seized it so suddenly, merely because it could not hear her? It had not even looked, she might be right here, by its side, nothing at all might have happened—

It should not move, should wait until it was asked, no, told to move. It should do nothing but lie still, still as death, still as the empty thing that it must always feign to be, but—

The vessel turned its head.

Something was wrong, and it was already slipping. Already losing control, its calm bleeding away like sand through its claws.

Its neck was sore, creaking nearly audibly, every muscle tender from being held in tension for hours. The incisions themselves did not hurt, having been sealed shut by its healing spell, but it seemed that nearly everything else did.

The needle had stung like a dart in its chest, the sacs aching as they drained, the acid searing hot as it was drawn out of its veins—

The scholar stepped into the room.

Alone.

He did not appear to see it, staring forward as if spellbound, with a slump to his shoulders that pierced it with a flash of sympathy. This was not its place, to see a mirror of itself in the feelings of a mortal. He was nothing like it—there could be almost no one farther from it. It was ordinary lives like his, the preservation of them, that were invaluable to its father. He was a single survivor out of the thousands, tens of thousands, that its sacrifice was meant to save.

Nonetheless, he looked nearly as exhausted as it was.

Moving as if in a dream, he took a folded towel from the floor and dried himself, shoving his face into it and leaving it there, perhaps to hide from something he did not want to see.

What had happened? What was—

He had shouted. He had shouted her name and received silence in return. And then reentered the house alone and thrown the bolt behind him.

Its sister was gone.

She had left it.

The truth was ice in its throat, burning-cold. It did not breathe for a moment, and then air rushed in all at once, in a stuttering gasp it would have been ashamed of had it the capacity for anything but fear: plunging, flailing, plummeting fear.

Quirrel looked up. Met its eyes, in a look of startled shock that jerked out to the tips of his antennae. Then he lowered his arms slowly, stepping back from it, in a wary posture that it recognized—a competent fighter, facing down a potential threat.

The vessel. He considered the vessel a threat.

It was. It was dangerous, and he knew that; it had seen the terror in his expression when he scrambled back from it, afraid that it would break the silk that bound it down. It had been trying to reach its sister, not him, but in that frantic moment it had not much cared what might be in its way.

There were still bruises deep between its plates where the cords had pulled too tight.

It should not have done that. She had tied it down for that very reason—its control was broken, it could not be trusted—

Quirrel knelt, slowly, and dropped the towel to extend his hand. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”

He had not meant to wake it, then. Perhaps he had not wished it to know that its sister was gone.

It wished it did not know. It could not think, could not breathe. It was falling apart so quickly. Where, where had she gone—why had she gone? Why had she left it here again?

Something—a question, a plea—caught in its wasted throat, chafing the air into a soundless whine. Quirrel flinched. “Oh no. It’s… that is, you’re… I mean… oh dear.”

What did that mean?

It could not reply. It could do nothing but stare at him, wheezing pathetically, every breath minutely faster, the squeezing pressure of silk inside its wound growing more painful each instant.

Quirrel cast a glance at the door, as one might hopelessly grasp for something out of reach. His mandibles worked, grinding softly beneath his mask. Then, finally, he sighed, and lowered his head, and told it something it already knew.

“Your sister has left.”

○

This was going just as poorly as Quirrel had expected.

In the space of a few minutes, Hollow was already starting to shake, their shoulders tense and hunched, their breathing elevated to a harsh, sawing tempo that was painful to listen to. They refused to move, lying stock-still on the bed, as if bound, chained down by something invisible.

“She asked me to tell you that she would return soon.” He had to speak louder than he wished to, to be heard over the distressed wheezing in their lungs. Nevertheless, he kept his voice steady and smooth, not allowing any hint of his uncertainty to show. “It is likely that she needed some time to herself, or had some other affair to attend to.”

He might not be telling them anything they did not already know. They had already guessed that their sister was gone—they hadn’t reacted like this when they woke to find him in the room with them yesterday. A small, distant part of him was intrigued at this clear display of their intelligence. The rest of him was consumed by gnawing guilt.

If not for him, if not for his thoughtlessness, they would be sleeping still, perhaps through the entirety of her absence.

That line of thought was not helpful. That was what he had already tried to dissuade Hornet from, this guilt over harming them, even unintentionally. They were in a fragile state, mind and body shattered from years under torment of a sort he could hardly imagine. Him or Hornet, it did not matter—they would still suffer, regardless of who cared for them.

If relief was not possible, managing the pain was the next priority.

And he had no doubt that they were in pain. Even aside from their obvious terror, they were bound to be in discomfort from yesterday’s procedure. And he did not think they could maintain breathing like this for long; they were likely to grow faint or pass out altogether.

“Please,” he murmured, not really expecting them to listen, “breathe more slowly, if you can.”

This accomplished nothing but a momentary silence as they choked, throat spasming, before going right back to those short, desperate gasps, the sound of them growing rougher by the moment.

He wanted to groan. Where did he proceed from here? He knew that they heard him; the void within their eyes twitched each time he spoke, as if in reflexive fright. The rest of the time, it returned to an ever-deeper, sickening whirl, something that might actually make him nauseous if he looked into it too long.

Hornet had said she would return soon. But she had also said that she would not leave them. He did not know what she meant by soon. He hoped—but hope was not certainty.

She was not so irresponsible or cruel as to abandon them entirely. But soon was a relative term.

Not reassuring. But there was nothing more he could tell them. Lying, even for the purpose of calming them, would do more harm than good. It would establish only that they could not trust him. And if Hornet was gone for any length of time—

He needed them to trust him.

Quirrel lowered the hand he had stretched out to them, took a few calming breaths himself. Odds were, she would be back shortly. And if not—

If not, he did not know what he would do.

But he should not think of that now.

Would they be less stressed if he left them alone? Hornet’s presence calmed them, but they had no reason to feel the same about him. They might very well feel the opposite, especially without their sister there to reassure them.

Still, he was loath to leave, even to step into the next room, for fear that would worsen their panic further. If only he could find the right thing to say, to do, he could help them. He was sure of it.

He listened to them breathe for a moment, waiting for any change in their condition. Would they calm on their own, given long enough, or spiral further? Would he be forced to intervene if they seemed likely to harm themselves—inadvertently or otherwise?

It was an ugly thought. He very much did not want it to come to that. There was little he could do in such a situation. There was almost nothing he could do now.

What did he know of how to deal with panic? There had been information on this in his studies, he knew, he knew, but what little he could remember—flitting from his grasp like one of the ephemeral jellies that drifted through Archives—had assumed that the panicked bug could respond to your efforts, answering questions or offering feedback on what was and was not helping.

He winced at the thought of asking them to respond to him now. At best, they would feel no need to listen; at worst, it might send them into another panic at being unable to do what he asked. They might only see more control, more ties to bind them—another scalpel, cutting their choices away, one by one by one—

He would not do that. He would not let his words even suggest that he was issuing orders or leaning on old obligations. It would severely limit what he could say to them, but that effort was more than worthwhile. He refused to be the latest hand laid to them, the latest tug upon their chains.

They deserved better, far better.

His mandibles clenched as a hot wave of anger broke over him. This was a thinking, feeling being lying there before him, someone hurt, someone vulnerable and scared, their shell cracked open in a dozen different ways, terrified of being left alone.

And this was the least of what had been done to them.

By people he’d trusted. By people he’d believed in.

He’d been told that the vessel was nothing more than a machine. An enhanced bio-shell, built to house the void within. He’d gone into the wastes grieving for himself, for Monomon, unaware that an even greater sacrifice was being made—that that sacrifice was walking, knowingly, into the flames.

Had she known? Had she suspected, sometime in all that research, all those countless hours, that the vessel she had given her life to bind was alive, too?

Why else would she have sent him away?

Quirrel shook his head. Not helpful. Not helpful. This was doing nothing for Hollow except making him even less able to help them. They did not need his trouble on top of their own.

And he’d gone far too long sitting there, saying nothing.

What could he say? What could he promise that they would even want to hear?

“Please know,” he said, looking them in the eye again, “that you are safe with me. Your sister has entrusted you to me”—intentionally or not, her actions amounted to as much—“and on my life, as far as I am able, I will allow no harm to come to you.”

They almost attempted to respond, a heavy rasp filling their throat, something that was nearly a whimper, before another choking spasm cut the breathless sound in half.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed again, not knowing quite what he was apologizing for. Everything, he supposed. “I’m sorry. I would bring her back, if I could.”

Not least so he could shout at her, for putting both of them in this position. For leaving her sibling alone again, knowing what it would do to them—and for abusing his promise to help, by forcing him into a situation she knew he would never have agreed to.

The anger was back, and he shoved it back down.

His studies had suggested gentle, grounding touch, he recalled now, for those who could accept it, and relaxing conversation for those who could not. It was not difficult to assume that the first option was out. It might have helped coming from Hornet, but he did not trust that he could achieve the same.

No, he could not touch them, not when it might be dangerous for them both. But—

Talk. He could talk. That was one thing he was good at.

○

Gone, gone, gone, she was gone—

Its mind was a mantra, a throbbing drum, a single note struck over and over, a beat that hummed to match its pulse, that stabbed through its chest with sharp, searing pain at every repetition.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

She had left in its sleep, without telling it. Soft as it was, it had grown used to her habit of informing it of what to expect. She had not wanted it to be frightened, she said. She had not wanted it to worry. Such consideration should have been unnecessary, but the vessel was weakened, a mere shadow of its former self.

Those things had been a mercy.

A mercy now withdrawn.

A mercy that, in truth, it had never earned. It should not have grown to expect that, should have known it could be torn away at any moment, at any time she wished. Maybe that was a test it had not seen, a test it was, even now, failing.

That—that did not seem right. That did not seem like her. That was—it would expect such treachery from the goddess, would anticipate even the most innocuous touch turning blistering-hot in an instant, would expect a hidden blade behind every outstretched hand, but its sister—

She would not do such a thing. Not even to it.

Then why had she left it?

She had been troubled after her work was interrupted the day before. She had hardly spoken, from what it could remember.

It could still hear her retching, throat clicking shut on nothing, venom spilling uselessly to the floor.

Had she been disgusted by it, by its wounds, by the never-ending rot within it? Could she not stand the sight of it?

Why, why, why—

The vessel’s own throat was cinching shut, like stitches drawing tighter every moment. Its heart was pounding fit to burst, to soak its sister’s silk with its black, corrupted lifeblood. It would have been crying already, sobbing tearlessly, as it now knew it could do, its body betraying it by forcing it to emulate a living thing in a way its creator had never intended. Weeping under the onslaught of a fresh wave of fear at every circling repetition, every reminder that it had been left alone—

If not for Quirrel.

His presence was a frayed thread to hold to, tangled up in a lingering distrust, tugging at a heavy dread in its memory that it did not quite understand. He had already seen it fall apart, had already witnessed how wretched it was, how utterly shattered by its confinement. There was no purpose in holding itself together in front of him, not when he had already seen it break.

But that lingering fragment of control was the only thing keeping it from being swallowed whole by its own fear, a fear that would sweep it up and dissolve it through until there was nothing left for its sister to come back to.

She would come back. She had told Quirrel to tell it so.

She would.

She would.

“Do you know,” Quirrel said, musing, in a voice that seemed, perhaps, deliberately smoothed over, “you are actually the second tallest bug I’ve ever met?”

It—

It did not know that. It did not see why that was relevant.

The vessel’s vision cleared again, briefly, enough to see more than a blur of gray-blue where the cricket sat against the hearth, just farther than an arm’s length away. His head was cocked to the side, studying it, in a way that pushed a dull spike of suspicion in between its ribs.

What did he expect to see? What was there to see, now that he knew it was ruined? It was not worth studying. Surely he knew that.

“I traveled with a phasmid once. For several months, I believe.” He reached behind himself, retrieving the closed lantern and setting it at his side. “Ah, one moment. Bit dim in here, I think.”

The shutter creaked as it slid open. The room flashed brighter, bright enough—

—to cast the figures in the room into blackened shadow, bright enough to gouge into its cracked mask like a thorn—

“…there, that’s better.” The scholar shifted, settling further. “Thankfully, I met this bug in a wide-open space, rather than underground. Their height would have been nearly unmanageable in caverns such as these.”

What—

What had just happened? The light, the sound…

It was losing itself. Losing control. Losing its grip on the memory that had been haunting it, on the thing it had tried to bury at the back of its mind.

Not now, not now—

But of course it was now. Of course, when its sister was not here to reassure it, when it was alone with only the scholar for company. There was something about him, something it recognized. Something that a small, quivering part of it feared.

It had to hold out. It had to be strong. Quirrel did not know the danger he was in; he couldn’t know that its mind was a rockslide piled atop it and waiting to fall, that its repression was breaking apart under the pressure. With each memory that slipped free, with every bit of its past that tumbled into place, the terror and the panic that followed wreaked havoc on it—on anyone around it—and left it stranded in the wreckage.

No, it could not fall apart now. It couldn’t.

“I don’t recall much about that kingdom. It was mainly grassy plains, I believe.” The cricket tapped one finger on his knee. “Shrubs and brambles and a few twisted trees.”

He was talking, still, about something else. Something other than the whirling terror in its head. Something other than the pressure in its chest.

It suppressed the urge to shudder at the unwelcome reminder. The light had been painful, of course, had hurt with every pulse, every breath, but that had been known, had become… familiar. The sudden searing-cold touch of metal was almost worse than the infection had been, even as the light itself was drained away.

The vessel had lasted as long as it could, had held itself tight, tight, every impulse crushed down and smothered—but its shade had been screaming, shrieking at it, and the mounting pain had made it hard to breathe as it should, hard to restrain the part of it that wanted to jerk, to thrash, to snap at the hands that were cutting and prodding inside of it.

Too soon, it could not take much more, could not bear the cold or the heat or the sharp edge or the blistering burn of light slowly seeping, and even the gentlest touch against its exposed insides was too much. Too much. The only thing holding it back had been its orders and its own stubborn resolve, resolve that it clung to like a scrap between its teeth and wrung to ragged shreds until it broke—

“…the challenge of keeping up with this bug was exhausting. I believe they even purposefully shortened their stride for me. We would have agreed to part ways had I not proved the better fighter…”

The scholar’s words prickled at it, irritating. He was attempting to keep it calm as long as he could. The effort was failing; he could surely tell that it was nowhere near calm. The only thing he had said that had even begun to help was the message he relayed from its sister: that she would return soon, that she had asked him to say so.

Unless that wasn’t true.

Another fear quivered through it, a sudden shock of dread, of finality, colder than any chill its body had ever experienced. Would he lie to it? Did he know that those words would subdue it, keep it docile, waiting for someone who might never come?

The world wavered. Voices filtered through, unknown voices, long forgotten.

Perhaps… he had told her there was no more need for her here.

“—defends the body fiercely—”

That she could not save it.

“—cannot get close—”

That there was no use in saving it.

“—continues to resist—”

Then why was he still here? Did he wish to indulge his curiosity? There was nothing else like it left in Hallownest, save for the sibling now sealed behind the doors of the Temple. It would be fitting, as ruined as it was, as far from what it was meant to be, if the only use that could be found for it was a specimen—

“Dispose of it.”

Nothing made sense. Nothing was right, the world was falling apart, every reason or explanation slipping through its fingers, the cold lump of panic spreading down into its chest to grasp at its faltering heart.

It was seeing things that were not there. It was hearing voices that were not speaking. It nearly wished that it could curl up and hide its face, fold itself over its knees and draw its arms over its head in a desperate bid to ward off what it could not fight against.

It had spent uncountable hours that way, in her realm. In the dream that she warped and twisted to hurt it in any way she could, showing it scenes of the kingdom in flames; cities and villages felled by her burning wrath; its king and his knights, the queen, its sister, all choking on those same scalding embers.

Often the only way it could fight back had been refusing to look.

It shouldn’t hide from the reality of its failure. It should be able to face that with courage, with resolve, if not with the blank acceptance a truly empty thing would feel. A knight was courageous. A knight did not cower.

It was not a knight. Not now. Not ever.

“…their people were herbivores, though they did keep livestock for fiber and trade. Very hospitable. Very tall houses.”

Quirrel’s casual prattle had not ceased. It—it could not focus properly with him speaking to it in this way, relating pointless stories that had no bearing on the present.

But it could not say precisely that it wished he would stop.

He sounded almost wistful, it thought. Almost… sad.

Would he be spending so much time, so much effort to keep it calm, if its sister was not coming back? Was this not a waste of his time? What else could he possibly be waiting for?

It had not the words to ask him; it would only confuse him if it tried, if it pleaded for him to explain. If it could even bring itself to speak in the first place, if its own fear did not seize hold of it and haul it back from the attempt. If. If. If.

The words ran through its mind regardless. Hornet. Hurt. I don’t know. Explain.

Perhaps he did not know. Perhaps she had said nothing else at all, and anything further would only be conjecture. Or she had forbidden him from telling it, for fear it would do exactly what it was doing now: sliding further and further into panic, without her here to take hold of it and drag it out.

What had driven her away? Why had she been so—

So angry?

Was that why she had left? Was she finally angry at it? She had every right to be. Something it had done, something it had failed to do, had driven her patience to the limit—but it did not know what.

It had failed her, and she had left it.

Was it when the vessel’s nerve broke? When it asked her to stop? She had told it that she wanted this, again and again—but it had still panicked when it did as she asked.

The task had been difficult for her, and the vessel had made it more so. It had even failed to heal when she asked it. It had wasted her soul, had fumbled the simplest of spells, and it had forced her to beg it over and over to try again—

Please. Please, stop.

Please—

The terror spun faster, faster, dizzying. Its next breath was rougher still than all the others, tearing at something in its throat, grinding into the scarred flesh where the Radiance had forced her own screams out of it. It hurt, and it produced nothing, save a horrible, dragging, scraping sound that drowned out Quirrel’s words for an instant.

Stop. Stop.

It couldn’t. The world was going white and its lungs were throbbing-aching-straining and it couldn’t. What was the point of holding together anymore? What would it gain? It would hurt to fall apart, but that had always been inevitable. Both the breaking and the pain. It wasn’t what they’d thought it was. It was not perfect. It would fall. It was falling.

“Breathe, my friend.” Quirrel’s voice, when the vessel could hear it again, had changed. No longer absent or wistful, but open and steady as an outstretched hand. “Breathe. Please. I know it is difficult. I am here to help you, if you need it.”

Help it? It could not be helped. Its only purpose in life had been to serve, to be molded and shaped, to allow itself to become what was needed. It could not be helped.

Never mind that it had begged, silently—the only way it could beg—for relief from the pain. The shade within it had wailed out across the empty dreamscape, across the searing glare of endless clouds that rose and fell like desert dunes, calling to anyone who would listen. To no one, for there was no one there to hear.

Still, it called. For release, for some way out of its cracking, blistering shell, even for death, if that was possible.

Please—

And now that that plea had been, impossibly, granted, the vessel could not accept it.

It kept clinging. Kept grasping, like the greedy, desperate thing that it was. It could not fail. It could not be useless. There must be something—some objective besides the one it had been given, some approval besides the one it had failed to earn. Some purpose besides the one it had understood implicitly, from the first moment it looked into its father’s eyes.

The remembered chill of his gaze drove a shock of cold steel into its spine. It squirmed, jerking its head away to escape that which was not there. His eyes were a brand of ice pressed into it, his mind a net of frosty chains, there was nowhere it could go, nowhere to hide—

Bound. Bleeding.

Would it beg, now? Would it dare to? If he was here, if he could hear it?

A knife in an upturned hand.

Memory pulled tight and twisted and thrashed.

Pale masks, staring down at it.

It shuddered, flinching farther away—away from Quirrel, from the tilt of his mask, from the prickle of his gaze. A breath escaped in a silent, jagged whine, the next gasp so shallow that air barely reached its lungs at all.

“Please, breathe. Be calm. There is nothing to fear …please…”

Please.

Please, stop.

It had been here before.

It had heard this before. Begging, pleading—not its own, recalled from before its father or the goddess ever touched it.

Even in that quiet place at the heart of it, even in the smallest, darkest corner where its father’s light could not reach, it had never once cried out at the pain when his knives and his magic cut into it. Even then, it had understood. It had learned. That was not allowed.

It knew, it knew, it knew, it must be silent. It must comply. It must not—

Please.

It had never asked him for mercy.

Blunt fingers on its skin.

But someone else had.

Soul burning. Shade draining away away away—

The memory pulled it under. The sudden, sucking weight of it, sickening, irresistible. Quirrel was still speaking, still pleading with it, but it could hear nothing more than the timbre of his voice, his words lost in a humming white haze.

A haze that rippled like water, like silver vines, like a cascade of glimmering soul.

No.

Please—

It gasped, desperately, holding to the last vestiges of the present. The arch of the ceiling, fading from view. The pressure in its chest, fading to numbness. The vessel itself was fading from the world, it seemed, lost to all but the terror that eclipsed its mind like a blinding silver sun.

Its sister was not here to save it.

It… did not deserve to be saved.

Please.

Father, please—

It knew.

Simply. Clearly. It knew the price of failure.

Please—

A seal, woven in the air with pinpoint, blinding light.

Blackness pouring, spilling, in lustrous streams across the floor.

A mouth, open, gasping, blunted fangs and gaping throat and empty, empty eyes.

Vessel. Sibling. Father. King.

It knew.

There had been another.

○

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[house-foxglove]

alright you talked me into it, i'll post about my dark fantasy estern setting. (its unedited and my "double you" key is on the fritz but FUCK IT HERE"S MY THING:

The setting of Gut of the West is set in two epochs; the 1st is as the est is just beginning with its expansion into other directions, the God of the West promising his people that he would grant his power to one who proved himself holier than him. Then the 2nd here one of the god’s children sacrificed his life to make that possibility a truth. He spread his divinity in all directions so that any creature living, born, or dead could hold the power of a god and take his station, both in title and in function.

Directions

There are seven divine Directions in the world of Gut of the West: North, South, East, West, Down, Yonder, and the Center.

West

Color: Black (iron)

Topics and Themes: Colonialism, fanaticism, religious pressure, devotion, manifest destiny

The West is the most powerful growing direction in recent millennia. In the West the story of how a man gained the status and power of a god was when he tamed and bridle the Spirit of the West, a far more ancient and primal being than the man. But still he broke it. And as such earned mastery and ownership of the entire West. Since then the technology of the West had grown exponentially. The taming of iron and coal and steel led to the creation of machines powered by the minerals and treasures of the earth. Those that the God of the West found worthy he turned into Saints. Wise men of their craft and loyal to the point of giving their life in the name of the God.

The first was the Patron Saint of Arms, St. Gatling. A master engineer and savant in the combustive arts. He created many weapons that roared with the sound of God’s voice, and struck down others like lightning. When his people were under threat by foreign armies Gatling used his greatest weapon yet, but died along with the opposing forces. For his genius and sacrifice the God of the West raised him again so he may continue his work in devotion.

The est is pretty much looks like anywhere between late 1700’s and the very late 1800’s. The further est you go the more towards the current present it looks with even the Capital city of Horizon having automobiles.

The true history is that the God of the est as a warlord ho organized and army to bring don the Spirit and chain it. He then at the hole of it. Ate the entire body of the Spirit of the est and as imparted with the power of a god. From this power he rules the est, but is hungry for more, and he cannot be satiated. He oversaw and warped the development of technology so it would suit his purposes of extending his borders. To corrupt the iron of the Railroad to dig its nails in the ground and take root. Splintering spreading iron that digs into the soil, and it contracts. It pulls and drags the soil and ground of all other directions into itself. Devouring all land in all directions into the gut of the est.

Most citizens are religious to a degree. Some join certain branches of the faith of the est like the Church of St. Gatling and the Saint of Spirits. Both of whom have been stripped of their humanity, no turned into servitors and puppets of God. They ill play the part the people believe them to be, but its monstrous self is hat the God has made them. The curtain of sainthood covers the horror within.

This truth is hidden from all westerners. The citizens of the est are encouraged by their god to go into the w0rld and lay don roots that the west may eventually reach. Missionaries that move to other directions and prepare a way for the est to come. Servants of the Railroad and the Gun plotting and conspiring to spread the rails across the land, even so far as to build mine carts into the earth.

Notable steeds are horses in many varieties and breeds.

North

Color: White

Topics and Themes: Consuming, cannibalism, harsh environment,

A frigid archipelago made up of islands of dirt and ice. The people of the north are hardy and superstitious. There can be little vegetation found in the north, but the peoples of the north have extensive taboos surrounding eating flesh. The most severe taboo to break is cannibalism, to eat another person’s flesh is deemed an abomination, not just the act, but hat succumbing to that hunger does to a person. The more people a cannibal eats the more they grow, becoming a giant that hungers for human flesh and thirsts for human blood. Not many are able to quench or keep this desire don. Some are able to keep their composure and humanity after consuming it, but it takes a great amount of willpower. All monsters in the north are creatures that resorted to eating another one of their kind.

Northerners appearance and complexion depend on the region and islands they are from. Their skin color can range from a deep tan and caramel across the hole of it, to a pallid hite tone in the northwest. Those in the northwest There are a number of different tribes, peoples, and clans in the north. One of which lives with living stones of ice, nomadic glaciers that travel along currents.

The notable steeds of the north are musk oxen, buffalo, ice bulls, and moose.

East

Color: Yellow

Topics and Themes: Poaching, corruption, stewardship, sisterhood,

A windblown desert, crags and canyons, pillars of stone jut from the earth like fingers of a hand hose palm lies beneath the soil.

The Spirit of the East manifests through the ind and weather. Dominating the skies are giant eagles ho mastered the ind and could fly with and against it. The eagles earned the respect of the ind and gave them the power to wield it. The greatest of eagles could create tornadoes and bring rain. Warriors caught lightning in their talons like a fish in a lake.

One day a woman found an eagle’s egg fallen from a nest. She wanted to return the egg to the nest in order to not draw the eye or ire of the eagle, but she could not climb up the cliff to return it. So she brought it to her home. There she made a nest of her for the eagle egg, she fended off thieves both animal and man who wanted to eat the eagle egg. Eventually it hatched and the sky thundered. The mother eagle heard it hatch and flew down in a rage only to see a human woman throwing her on body on top of her hatched child, protecting it from snakes, coyotes, and men. The mother eagle cried splitting the air and deafened all the attackers sending them fleeing. The mother eagle as thanks offered to teach the woman how to master the wind. So the first of witches as made. An art and spiritual practice passed don from mother to daughter, master to student. The oldest of witches ere called crones. Their faces beaten by the ind after years of dancing with and mastering it.

The peoples of the east typically have rich brown skin and deep black hair, their eye colors range from the darkest colors of the night sky. They live in family units, but seasonally all come together to a community camp here the wind is light and not harsh. Here they can harvest seasonal foods and compete against each other in daring sports of kite surfing.

Notable steeds are hippogriffs, and itch brooms.

South

Color: Red

Topics and Themes: Debts (emotional and monetary), servitude/enslavement, intimacy, devotion,

This direction has seen much turmoil among many ages. From a deep canyon of beasts to a massive ocean ruled by salt, and then the receding of the ocean against the land rising up from its once buried position. No the south is a massive samp and bayou, ith salt ponds and grottoes the further south you go toards the horizon and the ocean. The soil of this land as magic, suffused ith the poer of the Spirit of the South. Those that are buried in the ground and owe a debt may be raised as revenants ith human bones and dirt fat and skin. They may be raised due to a promise or agreement they made with someone in life that can be evoked and enforced by a miracle orker. Or from the sheer emotional eight and poer associated ith that promise raising them.

In the South there are those ith the rare vocation of being a miracle orker. One ho has a connection ith the earth and the south and its people. Ith faith and devotion they can enact miracles, such as raising someone from the dead by invoking their promise as ell as using a number of tokens, trinkets, and objects chosen by the miracle orker for their subject specifically.

But some miracle orkers are orkers for debt collecting companies and banks. If someone oes a debt then in their contract it states that they ould be risen and continue to ork in order to pay off their debt. These revenants are knon as “poor sods”, indentured servants in death that are not alloed to lie in their grave to sleep. Hen their debt is paid off it is up to them if they ish to keep living again. Their ork may have worn down their bones and injured them, causing them to have a painful existence therefore choosing to rest. Others ill keep on, taking solace in joy in their loved ones, their hobbies, and their living.

Down

Color: Green

Topics and Themes: Freedom, debauchery, sympathy, rebellion, mean spiritedness, temptation

The only direction a fall may take. And all ho live don in the ground is fallen in a ay. The Spirit of Don is knon as the Pit Mammoth, a titan ith shaggy black fur, Long shark tusks, a trunk that is the body and head of a venomous snake, and and deep fire that burns from its eyes and mouth. The mammoth hears all ho are desperate deep inside the earth. All ho are buried under the eight of the orld, in the ground or standing on it. Those trapped and crushed, the confined and claustrophobic ho scream to anything and anyone that ill listen. Once the names of their family runs out, the names of their friends, and the names of hatever gods they orship. Hen they pray to anything at all, the mammoth listens, and it offers a ay out, a ay don. If they accept the mammoth’s invitation they are fall through the earth into the mammoth’s fire and is permanently changed. They gro horns, their skin turns green, and fire burns from their eyes, but the darkness of their irises still pierce through the fire. They typically take on a number of animalistic features; ranging from cloven hooves, eyes of goats and frogs, scales, cat ears, heifer noses, and tails of all sorts.

Many devils despise being referred to as “below, beneath, and under” they don’t ant to be referred to as lower than something else, that nothing else is inherently better than them. A devil’s freedom is one of the most valuable things they have. Many take the stance of live and let live. And some devils do return to the surface and atch as the people ith the blue above them go about their lives. Sometimes interferring. These anderlusting devils observe and/or interact ith those they have taken a fixation of. It could be someone ho ent through similar experiences as them in their old life and feel sympathy for them, so they may try to establish a friendship ith them, or even extend an invitation don themselves. This invitation does not turn the invitee into a devil, hoever.

Though devils revere freedom andto restrict another’s freedom is looked don upon, there are some devils ho relish in wielding their power and freedom against others. Those that play with another’s life as though it were a toy to be abused and discarded. Devils avoid tunnels near their dens.

Yonder

Color: Blue

Topics and Themes: Grudges, family ties, xenophobia, passing as something else, song and history

Hanging in the sky shines the moon, its milky blue shape changing ith the days, and by doing so changing the territories that shine toards the surface. The lands of the moon in Yonder are not physically concrete. The phases of the moon changing are in truth hich territory of the moon canids shines toards the orld, and therefore connects them. Hile one phase of the moon shines, hen not shining don on all other directions the other phases of the moon life in perpetual night. Hen the full moon shines the olves look don on the orld, for the half moon are the coyotes, and for the foxes the crescent moon. These boundaries and territories of the moon were established over years of war and feuds between clans of canids against their own kind and others. In addition to their peoples’ howls and songs the canids of the moon could speak language like a human, and were sentient in their own right, their own people.

Among those ho live on the moon the oldest story of the great blue Yonder’s creation is hen the sky as still black. One day a fox that lived on the dark side of the moon began to hop and dig into the midnight sky, and as it dug it found light. It shoed other foxes ho to leap into the night and find ells of starlight. This is ho the foxes made the stars in the sky. But one fox dug too deep and too ide, its tail got caught in the starlight and caught fire. The fox tried to find anything that ould put it out, but the brightness of the sun blinded the fox, so it runs across the sky to this day.

Regardless of its origin the sun’s light shines on the moon and gives it shape and tangible borders. Once the sun shone on the moon olves, coyotes, and foxes began to establish territory as opposed to the unified survival in the dark of perpetual night. Years and centuries of ars over lands beteen packs and clans of canids led to the no current borders and lands of the moon. Set for the olves like a table as the Full Moon, here the most of the sun’s light shone. Next as the Half Moon for the coyotes, not as strong as the olves but ith tricks of their on. They could race across beams of light cast by the moon to the surface and hunted there. Then the Crescent Moon for the foxes, the ones ho gifted light in the first place. But foxes adapted and continued their art of sneaking through the darkness, and using the shadows to protect themselves.

There was a clan of humans that would wear the skin and fur of animals and would take on some of their power. One day a man wore the skin of a coyote he had killed and approached another who was departing back to his home. The man in the coyote skin asked how the coyote could travel to and fro to the moon. The coyote thought he was looking at a sagging elder who had forgotten how to return to his homeland, so patiently he showed the man wearing the skin of his kind how to tread upon the moonbeams back to the moon. Later more men with skins of coyotes came to hunt on the moon, making traps for all the beasts and taking their skins to sell or wearing them to fight them. In these skirmishes the wolves took a man and forced him to show how they skinned a creature and how they gained power from it. Once the man had fearfully instructed them how to do it properly they killed him and took his skin. And so wolves learned by the humans’ example.

Some canids found a way to poison themselves and their skins so that any human that wears it will go into a fit of sneezes, having a cursed allergic reaction to the fur and cause them to go feral and behave as a rabid animal. Those that stray too far from the moon for too long, are banished from it, or damn it entirely lose the spark it gives them, dimming their mind and turning them wild. These became the wild beasts of the wilderness, as well as the first dogs.

Center

Color: Purple Humans are creatures from the center and in ancient days spread in nearly every direction. Human ancestry, and Directional ancestry. The center only created the valley, where all humans came from. All other directions created their own life, trees and animals, to match their whims and the materials they had to work with.

The 2nd epoch began when the God of the West attempted to consume the Center and destabilize the borders between all Directions. But when he did, his son, the Railroaded, threw himself in front of the tracks. The spilling of his blood as the center was no more led to the divine nature of his life was spread across all directions. With the loss of the center all of Order is destabilized though it is difficult to tell. [[Wayward Chaos]] begins to take form once again, one manifestation is the [[Silver Saltfields]] which serve as a purgatory and transition realm where living beings are broken down and cast into the chaos to feed it and make it grow and return to the world to the state of existence it was once in before the Directions were created.

[ngdrb]

Deadwood's Revenant

Step Into the Shadows of Deadwood

Deadwood—a town steeped in legend—holds its breath as Travis Pearson, reenactor of the infamous Wild Bill Hickok, finds himself ensnared in a historical riddle that blurs the lines between performance and reality, life and death. In the dim light of Saloon No. 10, amidst the applause for a well-recreated death, Travis feels a chilling resonance with his character that cannot be shaken. The echoes of the past, it seems, are not content to remain silent.

As unexplained deaths begin to shadow Deadwood once more, whispers of a resurgent curse sweep through the haunted streets. Travis, caught in the heart of the mystery, is forced to confront the possibility that he might be playing a role far beyond the saloon's stage. The pressure mounts when the discovery of an ancient diary links modern tragedies to historical vendettas, suggesting that the violence of the past is leeching into the present.

With each passing day, as the body count rises, Travis's dreams are invaded by the ghosts of Deadwood's storied inhabitants, blurring the lines between sleep and wakefulness, between history and horror. His friends, Ted and Charlie, stand by him, determined to help Travis unravel the mystery before the history he loves so dearly consumes him whole. But the closer they get to the truth, the more Travis begins to realize that the key to breaking the curse might require a sacrifice too personal to bear.

In a town where every shadow whispers of betrayal and every gust of wind carries the scent of long-buried secrets, Travis must navigate the treacherous waters of legacy and legend. Will he emerge into the light, or will he become another echo in the haunting of Saloon No. 10? Step into the shadows of Deadwood, where the past is alive, and history's dead refuse to rest.

The line between the past and present has never been so perilously thin. As Travis stands on the precipice of a discovery that could either liberate or destroy, Deadwood holds its breath, waiting to see whether salvation or damnation waits in the wings. Join Travis as he delves deep into the heart of a curse, where the stakes are life and death, and history itself hangs in the balance. and your favorite

Available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and your favorite book sites

[nerves-nebula]

thought a little bit too hard about your au. the whole kraang invasion scenario feels like it would hit your leo on a whole other level. Her already existing fears about the world ending due to him failing. The trapping himself in the prison dimension w kraang prime in order to protect his family (+ the whole self sacrifice as a form of penance for everything he regrets doing to his bros. Taking the blows from the kraang ‘for’ them.)

But especially the relatively common plot thread where leo loses an arm. Because leo losing an arm to ‘make up’ for hurting her brothers, tied into the years-long guilt of breaking raph’s arm? Idk no pressure to incorporate any of this into your verse, I just wanted to ramble for a bit before the Thoughts ate me alive

anon your thoughts are PRISTINE these are some TOP TIER thoughts oaghatahg.

i wasnt planning on incorporating her losing an arm into things, but then you brought up how that would tie back to her breaking Raphs arm when they were kids and... OUGHGHGHAg!!

to be HONEST idk which kind of krang i'm planning on doing for this iteration, cause really intense body horror is fun and stuff but maybe a bit too high stakes violence for me. i might end up doing some kind of combination of different tmnt iterations krang, or make up my own one, but I'm definitely taking this into consideration, thank you!

[larz-barz]

Sacrifice

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Warning(s)/info: Near-death experience, blood, gore, violence, Yuto and Amika are @ayunakatsukiwolfhashira’s ocs, no au, story for the art ima post later

Tagging: @ayunakatsukiwolfhashira @kimetsu-chan

——————————————————————————

Milo is asleep in Yuto’s arms and the 2 of them flinch awake at the sound of something outside the Wolf estate.

Milo gets up and motions for Yuto to stay back just in case.

She tenses up when she sees a demon outside and she immediately runs out to kill it.

Yuto tries to stop her, but she’s too quick.

By the time he gets outside he sees Milo’s smaller form fall to the ground in a pool of her own blood.

“A-angel!!” He cries out with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Milo shakily stands and her eyes fill with panic when she sees the demon about to attack Yuto.

“Y-Yuyu watch out!!” She cries out and runs to protect him.

Yuto watches in horror as his angel runs to get in between himself and the demon.

As she slices the demon’s head off she gets struck in the head by the demon and she falls back into Yuto’s arms.

The demon is now disintegrating and Yuto carefully lays Milo down then he puts pressure on the wound in her side as he cries.

“A-are you okay Yuyu…?” Milo asks as she slowly loses consciousness.

“H-hey, don’t speak, angel.. S-save y-your strength.” He says shakily as he picks her up and rushes her inside.

He calls Amika over and her eyes widen at the sight of Milo’s condition.

She quickly runs to get medical supplies as Yuto continues putting pressure on Milo’s wound.

Milo loses consciousness and tears continue to flood Yuto’s eyes.

“P-p-please be okay, my precious little angel…” He whispers as he and Amika start treating Milo’s wounds.

He hugs her hand when they finish treating her. “I-I’m so sorry I c-couldn’t protect you, my little angel…” He whispers tearfully, he hates seeing Milo like this, it breaks his heart.

As the weeks go by, Yuto hardly leaves the living room, refusing to leave Milo’s side.

One day, as he’s drifting off to sleep next to the couch, he hears a small, weak voice and it immediately wakes him up.

“Y-Yuyu..?” Milo calls out weakly.

“A-angel!” He smiles with tears in his eyes as he gently hugs her. “A-are you o-okay, my angel?”

*She weakly nods as she hugs him back. “M-mhm… I’m so glad you’re okay, Yuyu…” He squeezes her gently as more tears pool up in his eyes.

“It’s all thanks you, my little angel… Y-you saved my life… Th-thank you so much…” He says and kisses her forehead.

He smiles when he feels her sleepily nuzzle into his embrace.

He relaxes and lays down with her in his arms, relaxing more as he feels her heartbeat against his chest

“Sleep well, my sweet little angel…” He says softly as he watches Milo drift off to sleep in his arms.

He presses a kiss to her temple before drifting off to sleep, knowing his little angel is finally okay.

~the end~

Ahhhhh I love them smmm🥰💕💕

[alterchaos]

THE PLANET EGG

(cw: death, mild body horror)

Dark Oak launches his final assault. Sacrifices are made...

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: UNSPOKEN TRUTHS

NEXT CHAPTER: A SEED OF HOPE

Dark Oak and Pale Bay Leaf have Tails and Knuckles pinned, offering Cosmo a chance to start anew as a Metarex lord alongside them. With her latent ability to quell the earth’s energy swelling within, she is the key to reviving the seedrian race. All they have to do is extract some dna, clone it, and mass produce the next generation through cellular replication. Cosmo could live on forever, heralded as a hero in the eyes of all.

All she has to do is gift her friends the power of the seed.

One single seed…

And this war would finally end…

Cosmo throws down the seed, crushing the last of the bioweapons the dark scientist conceived beneath her heel. She screams out that Dark Oak is a murderer and vows to carry out her mother’s will to stop him. Furious, Pale Bay Leaf swiftly lunges, scorning the young seedrian for disrespecting the man who saved his life. He reaches out for her gem, ready to kill. Cosmo, with nowhere to run, closes her eyes in defiance and peace.

“Earthia…forgive me…”

Suddenly, a branch-infested hammer barrels through the air, piercing the Metarex lord’s helmet with deadly precision. He screams as the branches spread throughout his face, falling and dying the instant they reach his brain. Dark Oak turns to face the direction of the throw, calling for the intruder to show themselves.

It’s Leon.

With the resistance at his side, Leon snarkily confirms that he was not, in fact, “interested” in the Metarex’s vision of a cure. He recalls how, once Pale Bay Leaf had left the call, he discussed the matter among his people. Despite their earlier scuffle with the heroes, they unanimously voted in favor of helping them. A cure didn’t exist. They knew that. And even if it did, they weren’t willing to waste away in fear any longer. For one final time, they wanted to do what was right.

They wanted to live….

To TRULY live…

Even if that time was short…

Leon calls out for the trio to run as a few resistance members jump Pale Bay Leaf’s corpse, aiming their branches at his gem. Dark Oak goes to run, but is swiftly stopped by a simple touch to his hand from behind. He yells out for them to let go, swiping his arm to destroy what is left of the branch-covered person as another swiftly takes hold. He is quickly overwhelmed, falling beside Pale Bay Leaf as the branches begin to reach his gem.

Suddenly, Sonic arrives on the scene. 

He calls out to Leon, who jumps Dark Oak to help pin him down. The resistance leader orders Sonic to take his friends and hurry before it’s too late. The Metarex lord chuckles at this, explaining that he’d installed a fail-safe should something like this happen. Thanks to the knowledge gained from Sonic’s world and their various fights through space, Dark Oak learned more about the energy that made up the chaos emeralds. 

The same boundless energy that coursed through each and every seedrian since the time of Lord Regis…

Through this, Lucas also discovered the might of chaos, a being able to contain such massive amounts of energy to be directed as she saw fit. While unable to cure the energy sealed within their gems, that water-based energy could be fused with the planet’s dense and overwhelming population of trees, their collective energy contained within an intense, pressurized barrier.

In other words…a bomb…

One that, once broken, would release such an intense wave of pent-up energy that it would reach even the furthest pockets of the universe…

Dooming all life to an eternity of stillness…

Sleep…

Peace…

At one with the earth…

Forever…

If he couldn’t win…then no one could…

He calls this final weapon…

“The Planet Egg”.

Dark Oak discloses that he sealed that energy within himself, meaning that if his body were to be overtaken as it was, no one would be able to escape.

Terrified, Sonic grabs Tails, Cosmo, and Knuckles and makes for the Blue Typhoon. They set off beyond the atmosphere just as Dark Oak’s gem shatters, rendering the world a watery wasteland. The Planet Egg is complete, and soon all life will be wiped out with it.

Devastated, the heroes search for a possible answer to stop this phenomenon, but it’s no use. There is nothing any of them can do to stop the spread of Dark Oak’s energy.

Suddenly, a message comes in.

It’s Dr. Eggman.

The mad scientist claims he has been watching them and holds the key to stopping Dark Oak’s plans once and for all. Without any other options, the heroes agree to hear him out.

They invite him aboard…

TO BE CONTINUED…