#inverted monster faces

[liliallowed]

I really need a name for this dude

any ideas?

yes they are a self insert but I feel uncomfortable with actually being them... so it's an oc instead of an insert now! yay! put your names in the comments

[inbarfink]

I think a lot about the Concept of ‘choices that matter’ in video games. Like, in terms of what it is that makes a choice ‘really matter’, what do we perceive as a choice that matters or has a consequence, how do different games with different amounts of branching or non-branching storylines play with those ideas…  Especially because Undertale is one of my favorite games of all time, and it has often been hyped as ‘a game where your choices REALLY matter’ and… honestly, I dunno if all of this hype was fully conducive to Undertale.  Because the way it handles the concept of Video Game Choices is actually a lot more interesting and complex than that simplistic descriptor makes it seem.

Because Undertale actually has a lot of choices that ‘don’t really matter’! Lots of dialogue choices and silly little decisions that on a first playthrough seem like they’re some sort of moral choice or a branching plotline but end up always leading to basically the same result regardless of what you do!

And the game doesn’t really try to hide the fact that these choices are kinda 'Fake'. I mean, on a first playthrough a player might assume there’s gonna be some Massive Consequences for picking the ‘wrong’ drink on Undyne’s date, but the game’s narrative expects for there to be multiple playthroughs and pretty much every Choice that Doesn’t Matter is peppered with that Undertale brand of wacky character-focused humor that inherently makes the moment memorable. Papyrus leading Undyne straight to you no matter what you do is basically a cross-timeline running gag.

On some level I see this as a sort of gag that serves as meta-commentary about the expectations around Choices That Matter in Video Games. As in, a lot of games have their Moral Choices happen in clearly easily marked ‘this is a Moral Choice!’ moments within the story, while the actual gameplay (and any violence the player might cause as part of said gameplay) is basically entirely divorced from any element of narrative-branching and doesn't effect the story at all. Undertale basically entirely inverts this dynamic; the most important factor for which Route you’re own is how you handle your FIGHTs, and what seems like clearly-marked and obvious Moral Choices are just goofy insubstantial minor changes in dialogue. 

But also… there is also a level where you must ask yourself ‘what does it mean when we say that these choices Don’t Matter’. I mean, it’s not like they didn't change anything about the game, the Player still made the character say that other thing, the choice probably led to an alternate piece of dialogue, probably a joke with a call-back at the end of the game… The line between a one-off joke and an actual story-changing moment can be a little blurry if you look at it too deeply.

For example, near the end of the Waterfall part of the game, the Player is given the choice to save Monster Kid even at the risk of having to face down Undyne.

Pretty much anyone who isn’t deliberately trying to be an asshole is going to rush to save them and obviously that includes the Pacifist Route Players. But you can actually leave Monster Kid to die without it 'mattering' in the sense that it wouldn't divert you from the Pacifist Route. Undyne saves them instead of you, and ends up with slightly less HP for her battle (which might Matter for Runs when you try and FIGHT her but obviously not in Pacifist Runs) and… by the end of the game, during the extremely happy True Pacifist Ending, they still clearly remember that you abandoned them and are upset by it.

So… does saving Monster Kid ‘matter’ or not? On one hand, choosing not to save them mostly just changes a few lines of dialogue but… these lines of dialogue kinda recontextualize this happy ending and the Player’s actions in general. Despite the True Pacifist Ending otherwise portraying the Player/Frisk as a kind-hearted and brave hero... they still did this undeniably cowardly (and perhaps even cruel) act to one of their friends .

Was running away and leaving Monster Kid to die a brief but significant moment of weakness that the Player regrets and has cost them what could’ve been the start of a lovely friendship? Or is that simply that being a True Pacifist was always more of a matter of pragmatism rather than ideals? Were they only acting as a Pacifist to get that promised 'Best Ending', and only Monster Kid has an inkling they are not as heroic or kind as everyone thinks they are?

And then there’s the Snowman ‘quest’.

A free healing item given early in the game, with your mission being to carry it along in your inventory for as long as you can without ever consuming it. The only reward you will ever see from it is a few lines of dialogue…

But for many, it is more than enough of an incentive to preserve the Snowman’s Piece. You can do whatever you want with the Snowman without it ‘mattering’ in terms of Ending or consequences. You could carry it through all of your adventures with care and kindness... or you could eat it while he can’t see you and then go back to him and tell him that you ‘lost’ it and then get another piece and eat that as well, you could eat it right in front of his face, horrifying him. 

And much like with Monster Kid, you can STILL get the True Pacifist Ending after doing that, all that would change is a few optional pieces of dialogue from the Snowman… 

And a total recontextualization of the Player’s behavior and the ending. The Snowman sees the Player as a cruel and heartless person who is just pretending to be good so they can be liked - the way they acted with this immobile, powerless Snowman who could do nothing for them and their reputation reveals their true self. And he says their friends will realize that too one day...

Doing a True Reset on the Pacifist Ending is, by definition, a (almost) consequence-free action and yet it changes future Pacifist Routes immeasurably. Turning the Player into a Hypocrite doing the exact same thing they were trying to stop Flowey/Asriel from doing - trapping all of their friends into a time-loop so they can play with them forever while never actually letting them to enjoy freedom on the surface, simply because they are not willing to move on or put their friends' wishes and agency above their own. Nothing in the game actually changes, not one character can even suspect that you did something like that, and yet for the Player - this choice makes the entire Meaning of the game flip on its head. 

Even the most famous and heavily-toted Big Consequence in the whole game - selling your soul to Chara after completing a Murder Route… mostly what it does is just… recontextualize the ending of the Game.

As a game, ‘Undertale’ is very much about the ways in which a Player engages with a game can radically recontextualize it. The huge chasm of difference between the Pacifist and Muder Routes is just the most literal example of it. But, in a way, even the tiny little Dialogue Options - where the lack of real choice and consequences is Obviously a Joke - matter. Because of the way they can recontextualize the Player Character’s behavior.

(Okay, maybe not this one, but hear me out…)

Do you trust Papyrus to not betray you, even after you spied on him with Undyne?

Do you have the integrity to admit you forgot something or got it wrong even when there’s no consequences for just lying about it?

Are you a hypocrite for trying to get Alphys to be truthful with Undyne only to then immediately turn around and lie to Undyne yourself?  

None of these choices matter for the ending, some of them don’t even get, like, a call-back joke or anything, but… if you are engaged in this story as a narrative, if you are invested in these characters as if they were people, if you are honestly trying to be the best person you can be, if you are trying to self-reflect at the way you approach this game… even the silliest little dialogue option can suddenly be imbued with deep implications and you can make them matter. 

Undertale is one of the best demonstrations of this concept, but this is absolutely not exclusive to it. For example….

‘Ace Attorney’ is pretty much as far away as you can get from a ‘branching narrative’ within the video game sphere. It is a heavily-linear Visual Novel where 70% of the time it won’t even let you talk to random characters at anything but the exact order it expects you to and any ‘Bad Endings’ are basically just glorified Game Over Screens. (... because this is the Internet and something something piss on the poor, I should probably specify that I am talking about ‘Ace Attorney’ because I love Ace Attorney and these are neutral descriptions of the game and not complaints. There’s nothing wrong with a game being linear.) 

If there’s any Dialogue Choice in AA, it’s generally a very basic ‘right answer-wrong answer’ choice between Progress and a Penalty, or a total non-choice that just gets you to the same final result regardless. Except… Well… as we just talked about, getting to the same final result doesn’t necessarily mean a choice is ‘meaningless’, does it?

There’s actually a lot of great storytelling moments where Ace Attorney, despite its otherwise strict linearity, uses this exact sort of recontextualizing mindset I’ve talked about with Undertale to make choices with some really powerful emotional impact…. Even if technically, the ending is the same ending. It can be something as basic as ‘even if picking this Wrong Answer doesn’t get me a penalty, it still embarrassed my character and disappointed my friends/rivals and thus I feel bad for picking it’. Consequences as recontextualizing your character as more incompetent than they should’ve come across at that moment.

And then there’s moments like the iconic ending of ‘Justice for All’. That moment before Franziska bursts into the Courtroom with the case-making evidence and saves the day. The moment where it seems like Phoenix really is gonna have to pick between protecting his best friend and carrying out a rightful sentence.

The player gets to pick between the two options, but Phoenix never gets to say his choice out loud before Franziska comes running in... and yet… he, and the player, still made that choice. Even if no one ever has to experience the consequences of your choice, even if the rest of the world has no idea what Phoenix Wright would’ve chosen if the Miracle hadn’t happened, we know what we picked and that knowledge of the choice matters. Because of how we feel about this choice and what it says about our interpretation of Phoenix… and about us.

There’s also a bit of this ludonarrative device in ‘The Great Ace Attorney: Adventures’. During “The Adventures of the Runaway Room”, when you investigate the Omnibus for the second time and start finding things that… don’t quite fit together. When you’re finally starting to make progress with proving McGilded’s innocence, while also maybe starting to notice that something is… wrong with these pieces of evidence. 

The unchanging linear narrative of the game is that Ryunosuke does eventually realizes McGilded's trickery, puts truth ahead of victory in court and yet, despite his effort and good intentions - the case still ends with a false Not Guilty verdict. And yet, the Player has the choice to... tweak the details.

There are several points where Ryunosuke can object, where he can call out the inconsistencies even though they help his case, where he can support Van Zieks in his accusations of tempered evidence... or he can not. Not necessarily intentionally misleading the Court as much as subconsciously trying to ignore the inconsistencies in the name of trusting his client.

And yet… in the end it doesn’t matter. Maybe Susato calls out the inconsistency instead of him, maybe Van Zieks does, maybe it remains uncontested but... no matter what you do, the case will end with a Not Guilty verdict (I mean, I guess you can deliberately fail the game but that will not progress the plot), McGilded doesn’t seem like he held a grudge (in the few minutes he had left to live), and a few cases later - Ryunosuke would always be punished for his part at this false verdict.

So it doesn’t really matter what Ryunosuke did back then? Does it matter if he did his best and called out every single inconsistencies or if he kinda half-assed it until he (and the Player) had to? He’s still going to suffer the same consequences down the line. And yet….

And yet, I think there’s something so powerful about giving us that option. About knowing that Ryunosuke, and we, did try and do something about McGilded's dirty tricks- even if it didn’t work. Or alternative, knowing that there was more that Ryunosuke and us could’ve done even if it was not nearly enough. Even if in the eyes of the game and the British Justice system there is no difference, the fact that we know what did and what we could’ve done can radically change the way the player feels about all of the later scenes concerning the truth about McGilded’s trial. It can radically change the way the player interpret Ryunosuke’s feelings about it as well.

Because even though the game itself keeps playing along with the same script regardless, that trial had irrevocable consequences for the Player.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! Have you seen the new Mickey Mouse Rebrushed trailer??? Twitter is goin crazy over it and how it’s related to twst 😭 just wanted to hear your thoughts on it

I did spot quite a few parallels with TWST from the Rebrushed trailer! I'm not familiar with Epic Mickey at all, so I'll just be commenting on what I noticed right away. You'll have to excuse my limited knowledge.

Firstly!! This design of Mickey is the exact same as the one we see in TWST. Most noticeable is his white face, which is a fleshy peach color in most modern iterations.

Mickey is reading Alice in Wonderland’s sequel, Through the Looking Glass. Of course, Twisted Wonderland has Wonderland in its title, and even opens with an Alice in Wonderland inspired dorm. Yuu and Mickey also connect via their dreams and through the mirror shared in their rooms.

The theme of dreams is very present and upfront here; Mickey wakes up from sleeping and then creeps to his mirror, which appears to be a portal into another world. Hmm... dreams, mirrors, and traveling to other worlds, now what does that remind you of? You'll also notice that Mickey's room is the exact same as Yuu's room in Ramshackle, right down to the "inverted" room that appears when Mickey passes through the mirror. Everything up until this point is very similar to what is depicted in the 1936 short, Thru the Mirror.

Next, Mickey spies on a wizard carefully using a magic paintbrush over what seems to be a diorama of a bunch of buildings on a plot of land. When the wizard leaves, Mickey fiddles with the paintbrush, causes a mess, and calls forth some kind of black ink monster with green light coming from within it. This seems to be a very close parallel to Overblots, particularly since the most recent OB has a signature neon green color. If we really are to connect Epic Mickey to TWST, this scene also seems to allude that Yuu, Mickey, and/or the "wizard" have parts to play in bringing these Overblots to life. And who do we know that is a powerful wizard that is aware of the corrupting power of blot and runs a large chunk of land... say, a campus? Crowley. This goes hand-in-hand with the theory that Crowley is intentionally allowing these OBs to happen or is even puppeteering his students into OBing.

I find this visual in particular to be very ominous; again, we have the colors that match a certain OB dragon fae but also the map itself reminds me of Twisted Wonderland's and the eerie visual of Malleus's thorns digging into Sage's Island and aiming to go way beyond it.

Anyway, the ink monster is temporarily contained while Mickey returns to his own world. We then get a montage of various Mickey media passing by, as well as a lot of imagery that would imply the passage of time (clocks, the date on the calendar changing, etc.). So... what? Is that implying not only parallel worlds, but also a time skip? Or maybe a time... loop? Like time loop theory???

The ink monster somehow eventually escapes and makes it to Mickey's world, with the blot dripping from the ceiling waking Mickey up from his sleep. It drags Mickey away into a hole drenched in ink. Kind of foreboding when you realize Yuu has also had prophetic dreams... Not of OBs, but of the events leading up to them. And being dragged away into an inky... opening? Like an... abyss? Like book 7, Ruler of the ABYSS?

That's how the trailer concludes!! Gotta say, there's definitely a lot of shared elements between this and TWST. If I recall correctly, Epic Mickey was a game that existed on the Wii waaay before TWST. It even has largely the same cinematic trailer (just with older graphics), so to me it feels like TWST probably took inspiration from Epic Mickey rather than the other way around. There are definitely too many parallels for it to be a coincidence. If that's the case, then we can probably pull some hints for what awaits us in the rest of book 7 from these cinematics. (This is a video comparing the two side-by-side if you think that might be of use!)

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* I'm Alive (Yandere!Monster x GN!Reader)

CW: Dead Dove, dub-con, death, gore, inhuman anatomy, sexual non-sexual penetration, mind control, angst, you have been warned

Breathing hurt.

His entire body convulsed as he inhaled, the writhing mass that was his body cracked and groaned as it pulsed. He was once a man, though he no longer remembered much of his previous life. There was a torso emerging from the ball of flesh that was his lower half, and sometimes when he closed his eyes he could recall owning a pair of legs; but now he was just an abomination.

Trapped under the earth in what seemed to be the ruins of a temple or some kind of forgotten catacombs, he spent his days lying in a corner, eating the rats that came and tried to devour his body that reeked of decay.

Sometimes, he dreamt. There is a dream of a building called a "church", where a woman would clasp her hands together and speak to an invisible man. She called it prayer, and told him if he prays then her god will answer, but whenever he awoke and interlocked his red, skinless fingers together, the woman's god never granted him death.

Death never comes, nor does relief.

There was only rot, and pain, and rats.

Each and every day. He didn't know how he knew, because he hadn't seen the sun since becoming a monster, but he knew that there was such thing as a sun, and a sky, and that the day changed to night, which would become weeks, then years. And he knew that he has been down there for a very long time.

Then, one day, there was light.

And God granted him his relief.

.................................

The group of adventurers broke through the sealed entrance to the abandoned tower. It once stretched all the way to the heavens, but had sunk into the dirt centuries ago. Half of the excited group were thrill seeking scholars, willing to put their lives on the line to uncover the secrets of the Inverted Tower, and the other half were monster slaying treasure hunters, investigating the ancient rumors of forgotten relics. Among them was (Reader), a hero unknown.

The dreams began when they were just a child. Dreams of a man begging them not to leave, falling to his knees as the walls crumbled around the two and the familiar stranger's skin peeled off like cracking paint. A nun in the dreams would assure (Reader) that it wasn't their fault. But it hurt. It was too much for a child to see. Seeing themselves, but not themselves, a body foreign yet undeniably their own, reliving the moment when they chained a man to the floor, then locked the door and left him to die.

Now they stood at a hole in the ground: the magnet of fate pulling them into a place they felt would be identical to their dreams.

And they were right.

The halls seemed to be persevered by magic, dirty and dusty, but still fairly untouched by the erosion of time. Landing onto the top floor was like dropping into one of their dreams. Memories from someone else invaded (Reader's) mind, and forced them to recall things they never experienced before.

Adopted by the Tower of God, (Reader) was proud to have been chosen amongst all of the other orphans. Their skills were unmatched, as was their intellect. Only six years old, and the magical talent scouts had determined that they had what it took to learn to be a great warrior for 'The Cause'.

There was another child around (Reader's) age that had been adopted from a different country. He looked like an angel, with gold hair and eyes so clear and blue that they looked like the sky.

The floor shook dangerously as the group worked their way to the stairs. A healer tried to hold (Reader) back, concern filling his face. "You look really pale, do you need to sit down?"

"We literally just entered!" A thug stage whispered, nervous to make any loud noises. No one knew what was in the tower, but there had been many stories about monsters and demons. Some said that the devil himself pulled the tower into the earth out of jealousy towards God.

"I'm fine.." (Reader) wiped the sweat off their forehead with the back of their hand. "I'm just getting a weird sense of deja vu..."

The children entered the tower's chapel hand in hand. It was nearly empty, save for a nun kneeling before a terrifying statue of a cloaked figure. Despite wearing a habit, she was an unusual looking nun, with her eyebrows shaved off and tattoos visible from under her hood.

"Welcome, children." She gave a small smile, one that seemed more tired than welcoming.

"You look weird." The golden boy gripped (Reader's) arm tighter.

A genuine laugh erupted sharply, startling the kids. "I am a clerical nun."

"What's that?"

She revealed her hands to the small orphans before her. Sparkling light rose from her fingers like snowflakes falling backwards.

"The God that I serve gives me power. Power to cleanse the world of evil." The statue looming above the trio felt as though it heard her mention it; it's presence darkening and suffocating (Reader). "You were chosen because your souls glow stronger than most.. God has blessed you both."

"All you have to do is pray.."

An axe slashed through an attacking bat. Only on the 112th floor and the group had already began to run into creatures from the beyond. Lesser evils such as minion bats and living slime charged the group as ferociously as possible, mad with hunger. As they continued on, a growing affection for the young boy bloomed within (Reader's) heart, reliving someone else's journey of friendship and love, with a terrifying sense of anxiety. Each new remembrance of secret handholding and hushed murmurs behind closed doors gave (Reader) a rush of dopamine, but also made them fearful to continue. They knew there was a memory they didn't want to uncover; one that would connect to the dreams they've had since forever, and it scared them.

On the edge of puberty, (Reader) and the Boy could feel that something within them was changing, but being raised by a guild of monster hunters left them without the basic learnings of what was happening to their bodies and minds. The two were surrounded by loving adults who cared for the orphans like family, but continued to isolate themselves as they grew, relying on each other in secret more and more.

The two hid under the blanket, sharing a bed long after it was time for lights out. (Reader) held onto the Boy's slightly clammy hand, repeating a prayer in their head for God to make their heart stop hurting. It was as though they were allergic to their best friend and brother. Whenever he looked into their eyes they felt a tidal wave of emotion so intense it nearly brought them to tears. However, at the same time they couldn't leave his side. They wanted to hug him so tightly that his body would melt into their's.

"I don't like Mother Lillian." The Boy whispered through pouting lips. "She keeps making us take our lessons apart from each other."

"Haha. That's because you refuse to do your work when we sit together." (Reader) knocked their forehead against his lightly.

In the black of their room, they couldn't see the Boy's face blushing, so they assumed that the heat they felt was coming from their own cheeks.

"Schoolwork is boring... I'd rather spend time with you."

The thing on the ground floor could smell his salvation. That prayer he had mumbled in incoherent words for decades was finally heard by his God. A person who's name he hadn't forgotten despite his language skills diminishing to nothing but grunts and groans had finally come for him. He would no longer be alone.

A horrifying sound of flesh ripping echoed throughout the corridor as he tore his body away from the wall he had begun to fuse to. It was agony, dragging his living corpse across the floor, but he knew that it would all be worth it.

Soon.

(Reader's) talent for the arcane accelerated, like a snowball gently tumbling into an avalanche. Praise and recognition were no strangers to the young teen, but as their recognition grew they were kept apart from their best friend for longer and longer intervals. While it hurt to be away from him, the genius had no idea the absolute trauma the separation was inflicting on him.

Mother Lillian held her bleeding forehead, tears falling not for herself, but for the young man she saw as her own son. The Boy stood above her with a candlestick holder raised high above his head, ready to swing again. This was the scene (Reader) interrupted, lashing out on instinct with a holy light, hoisting their best friend off his feet with a frantic wave of their hand. "STOP!"

Blood continued dripping from the tattooed cleric as her aging body was pulled into her other child's arms. It wasn't a deadly strike, but a second surely would have ended her. She was powerful, but took a vow long ago to only use her magic against evil, so even having her brow split open she refused to defend herself, because that would mean that she thought her adopted son was evil.

And even though he didn't believe it, she did love him.

"It's all her fault! She won't let us be together! She's keepING YOU AWAY FROM ME!!"

Moisture sweat from the walls.

The heat was becoming unbearable. Cooling potions were being consumed in fairly consistent dosages as the party descended. But it wasn't the earth's core, nor the presence of hell itself that caused (Reader's) fever.

They could still feel the sting of betrayal when they threw their best friend off of their mother.

"No.. that wasn't me.." the hero wobbled on their feet, fingernails clawing at their scalp.

A clay vase nearly toppled as (Reader) clipped their hip on the corner of the little table it was resting on.

They could see the Boy watching them from behind the ugly vase, and it made their stomach feel strange. His shoulders had grown wide and his chest broad. The Boy no longer looked like a boy, and (Reader) couldn't block out the odd, scary new feelings they had for him.

"STOP!!" (Reader) took off, slamming their face into a wall with a force loud enough to draw the attention of skeletons.

Said monsters hobbled closer to the group of panicking adventurers, drawing the attention of the dizzy and confused hero, who recognized the tatters draping the undeads' bones immediately.

Clerical wizards and holy people smiled at the young adult knowingly as they tried to explain, with all seriousness, the illness plaguing their body whenever their "brother" was near.

"Calm down!" The healer begged, trying to cool the panicking person down.

"No! You should all be in heaven! Why are you here?!"

Why am I here?

Whispers seeped out of the door to the Boy's room, whispers the jealous cleric-in-training on the other side did not recognize. Unable to contain their envy, (Reader) burst into the room, only to see their exhausted blonde friend standing alone in the center.

"[•••••], who were you talking to?" They demanded, eyes narrowed and shaking. At hearing his own name his cloudy eyes widened, accentuating the bags hanging heavy underneath.

"I was just praying.." His arms engulfing his angry "friend" instantly dowsed their fire, almost hypnotizing them with his touch into forgetting that they thought they had heard a second voice. "If I'm.. If I can be as strong as you, then we'll be able to spend more time together, right?"

Your God wasn't listening, so I found a new one.

As (Reader) remembered a life that wasn't their own, so did the abomination from the basement.

Each floor that their bodies drew closer also brought back pieces of their souls; souls that could only exist together.

He came to me, and offered me a deal.

The Man woke his old friend when the sun wasn't close to rising, climbing over their body under their blankets. As soon as their lips parted to question his actions, his tongue was in their mouth.

With no light to guide them the two kissed passionately and without experience. They didn't know what they were doing, just that they needed to feel one another.

(Reader) greedily grabbed the sides of his face to pull him closer, legs shifting to feel his body against their own, instantly stopping at the realization that his face was wet under their palms.

"[•••••]?" They tried to pull back as he leaned in, trapping them against their pillows. What they first thought to be tears was too warm and thick to be water. Roughly pushing him back, (Reader) illuminated the small space with magic, frightened.

Blood leaked down and smeared across his cheeks as [•••••]'s bloated, red eyes were on the verge of popping.

"Shit, we finally got passed them!" The barbarian wheezed out. "Those boney bastards were fucking tough, no thanks to you!" He directed that last part to the nearly comatose hero being supported by the healer.

"no.."

The young magic user barely heard the sick patient whimper. They had been muttering gargles of nonsense for a few levels, so it was worrying seeing them lucid and frightened; eyes round of scared, pointing at the door the barbarian was about to open with all their strength, shaking. "No..."

"Why were they so tough..?"

The door swung open with a loud bang, and a tendril shot through, piercing the barbarian's skull and splattering the scholar behind him in brain matter.

"He had made a pact with a devil."

A man bubbling alive screamed in agony as he attempted to tear off his hands to rid himself of the holy chains keeping him tethered to the floor.

Mother Lillian made an audible sound of pain as she choked back her feelings. Years of meditation and worship, and she could not keep a stoic face despite this being her job. So many exorcisms she performed. So many monsters she'd slain.

But this was her son.

"We can exer-"

"We have already tried that." (Reader) felt their world shatter. "This was a contract, not a possession."

A paladin in golden armor offered a sorrowful expression that seemed genuine. "The only thing we can do is to put him out of his misery."

"No!" They cried out, attempting to launch themselves at the godly man as their grieving mother held them tighter to her chest. "Let me see him, please! I can talk to him! Convince him to give up the name of the devil, so we can hunt it down and save his soul!"

"That's-" The paladin was cut off by Mother Lillian's icy glare. That was a long shot. Not only would it be a reckless waste of human life to hunt down a devil for one man, said man was delirious, borderline demented. There was no reasoning with him.

Bloody holes where eyes once sat welcomed (Reader) as they entered the cellar prison.

Without his sight, he could still see. He saw with scent and sound. The sound of their blood rushing through their veins made their shape, and the natural odor of (Reader's) sweat identified the body. He smiled, another tooth falling out as he did so, joining the wet pile on the floor.

"(Reader)~.."

"Tell me the name of the devil you serve." They kept their voice even and still, despite the quake rattling their spine.

"You came for me~ Just like he said!~" A pop ended his sentence, one of his arms dislocating as he pulled on the chains to get closer.

"Just like who said?" (Reader) fell to one knee, leaning in as closely and as they safely as they could. "Please, tell me the name of the devil you made a contract with."

"And now you'll love me!" He squealed.

"I want to save you!" (Reader) grabbed his shoulders but was instantly repelled, throwing themselves away and back towards the door. His skin had slipped off and stuck to their fingers. "Please, please just tell me!"

"God made me strong so you would love me!"

(Reader) turned to run out.

"Wait. Where are you going?" His voice almost sounded like his own again. It pulled (Reader's) hand away from the handle.

"I need to hunt down the devil that did this to you." Their voice trembled, barely containing their tears.

".. what?" The smile was gone as more skin stripped off the decaying body. "No?"

The pain was beginning to return. It had left when his love entered, but now that they were threatening to leave.

"You can't leave? No! NO!" His face tore as he slammed his skull down onto the floor. "Don't leave me! You need to love me! Please don't go!"

Corpses lay around the detached person slowly coming to terms with their apparent reincarnation. They knew they never returned to that tower in their previous life. They spent their entire life searching for the devil that stole their first love's soul, and died bleeding out on a battlefield, forgotten by history and remembered by no one. Unknown to them, the tower with their forgotten family did not carry on their legacy, for it had sunk while they were searching and they had simply never heard the news.

Perhaps, there were no gods, only devils. Because even the most righteous people to have ever lived were damned to wander the tower as the undead instead of passing over to the afterlife. It wasn't fair.

(Reader) gazed up at the tumorous creature that had massacred their party with glassy eyes. The name they couldn't recall during their entire discovery of their past life rolled off their tongue as they reached out for him-

"Ydenn."

A language no longer spoken by a people that no longer lived; suddenly the language (Reader) had known their entire life was replaced by something much older.

Skinless hands grabbed (Reader) gently and raised them to eye level. "(Reader).."

He called them by their past name, bruising their hips under his fingers. (Reader) briefly worried that they were about to die, that all these years alone Ydenn thought they had abandoned him, and that all he desired for all these years was revenge.. but instead he pulled them close, smashing his face against theirs in a mock kiss.

Without lips his gums rubbed painfully against their lips, but it felt just as hungry and desperate as their first kiss under the covers. (Reader's) body may have felt different in his arms, but he knew it was them.

They parted their lips for his invading tongue, now longer and monstrous, it moved like a writhing worm inside their cheeks before pressing itself down their throat, pulsating and hot. Ydenn's hands tore off their top, effortlessly going through multiple layers to feel their bare skin against his raw muscles. He sat their body on his mound of flesh, unable to think of anything other than becoming one with them.

A bright light filled (Reader's) vision as their pants were removed, suddenly replacing the horrific scene with a pleasant dream. Lying in the bed they owned well over a century ago, Ydenn held them under his naked body, face red and glossy from his crying baby blues. "I finally have you again." With a wide smile he kissed them again, smiling harder when they eagerly reciprocated.

They pulled back just to say "I tried to save your soul, Ydenn! I'm sorry I never came back, I'm sorry for dying!"

Just like the angel (Reader) remembered him to be, his face cracked under the weight of his joy, hearing his love babble underneath him as though they were nervous of his feelings. "You came back for me~"

"I'm sorry it took so long." Now (Reader) was also smiling through tears. "I'm sorry I never told you.. that.. that I already loved you!"

(Reader) could feel his erection press against their thigh and willingly opened their legs, making room for him.

Ydenn's heavy pants hit their ear as he dropped his face into the crook of their neck, caressing his dick with one hand as he rubbed its tip between their legs. "Tell me you want to become one with me."

Shivers pimpled their skin in anticipation as they looked down between their bodies at his swollen cock. "I want to become one with you."

There was a searing pain that pieced (Reader's) core.

With a blink the dream was gone, and (Reader) was back facing the skinless half living corpse; a thick tendril made of gore and once-human meat penetrating their stomach.

Vomit and blood spat out across their chest as the throbbing entity began thrusting in and out of the wound it created. Their eyes gave away their shock at the treachery. The wound was too deep and too sudden; the immediate pain was already gone, and they felt numb from the waist down.

"Yd-Ydenn?" They choked on his name, but the gurgle of blood went unnoticed by him. Just hearing his name spurred him on. His teeth scraped against theirs as he began violently fucking the hole he had created. The tendril raped their abdomen like a prehensile penis while his hands ground their urine soaked groin against the growth that was his lower half. Each slap of their bodies bore the wound deeper, spraying blood and mulched intestine.

Between slaps were images of that dream, almost within (Reader's) grasp. They could almost feel pleasure, as they imagined running their hands through his hair as he pounded them into their bed.

They could hear the bed creaking against the hard wood floor as they reached their orgasm, excitedly moaning as they spasmed under his crushing pelvis. (Reader) could feel something building within them, threatening to pop as his dick slammed into something inside of them perfectly.

Just as it was spilling out, the rush of a climax vibrating their system, a loud thunk brought them back to their bloody reality.

Their glazed eyes lulled to the side to find the source of the loud sound.

(Reader's) severed bottom half lay on the floor, only attached to their torso by the stretched out intestines and leaky organs barely holding on.

The disembowelment of his lover didn't seem to phase the monster, still making love to them as more smaller, wriggling pieces of flesh penetrated (Reader).

They could feel the tendril writhe up into their chest, and wondered how they weren't dead yet. It rubbed itself against their heart, leaking an inhuman precum against their weakly beating organ. Through the black goop they thought they could see blue irises smiling back at them with happy tears.

"I love you, (Reader)."

Hot fluid splashed up into their brain as he came inside of their nearly hollowed out cavity, then the world went black.

There was a creature at the bottom of the tower, that no adventurer dared to attack. It never killed unprovoked, but it's kill rate was perfect.

It was a strange creature, a large ball of rotting chunks of human meat, held together by dark magic. Out of the tumor like creature sprouted two torsos, one more decayed than the other, and they were often seen embracing one another, creating ungodly sounds that echoed throughout the entire tower.

Though they forgot how to speak and see, their names never each other's mouths, repeating them over and over to one another without end. They had no need for sleep, nor rest. It was as though they forgot they needed to eat and even breathe.

They only needed each other.

[nydescynt]

Thematic Analysis of Hades II: Why You Can Never Go Home

(At some point I might make a video on this, but for now sharing my thoughts via textpost. Spoilers ahead!)

So the text of the story of Hades and Hades 2 are Zagreus breaking out of the House, and Melinoë breaking in.

But the wild thing (and the reason Hades 2 is much more interesting to me) is that both games actually have almost inverted themes from that text. Zagreus is intent on uniting a household; Melinoë is discovering the home she's fought to return to is rotten to the core.

Zagreus, despite his entire textual goal being to leave his home and family, is narratively & thematically working to bring the family and household together. His mother comes back and is reunited not just with him but her husband, mother, and entire extended family. Achilles and Patrocles, Orpheus and Eurydice, Asterion and Theseus: Hades is a story of people metaphorically coming home and making peace with where they are (Sisyphus, Thanatos, Orpheus). Everyone basically gets a happy ending, credits roll, problems all resolved or en route to be solved. Everyone is home.

(Important to note: we never see a human in the first game. We see shades, and gods, and monsters, and the closest you get to a mortal living thing is the satyrs. This is a story concerned with the realm of the gods.)

In contrast, Melinoë has no home - besides being estranged from her childhood home, she literally lives in a tent. In case the theme was too subtle, presumably.

Now, she has been fighting her entire life to become powerful enough to return home and reclaim her family - that seems Zagreus-adjacent on its face. However, there isn't a home to return to- Hades is in shackles, the rest of her family trapped in time. At this point in Early Access, on both a metatextual & diegetic level she quite literally can neither make it to Mt Olympus or into Zagreus' room - she cannot go home, she cannot meet her family.

Consider the others: Odysseus' presence seems to tie into the idea of a long journey home, but this is an Odysseus who lived and died and now has other (inhuman) priorities. He loves them, but has no interest in reuniting with Penelope and Telemachus at this point. Nemesis dislikes her siblings, and is more concerned with the equal application of "justice" than whether it has any reforming effect. Narcissus and Echo eventually talk and part more amicably, but that's the best that can be said about their relationship.

Hecate refuses to be called Melinoë's mother: she will not distract from the "true" family that Melinoë has no memory of ever meeting.

Instead of Ares and Dionysus (enjoyers of chaos and least affected by the toxicity of the family in Hades 1) we have Hestia and Hephaestaus- a goddess who helped murder her father and a god constantly belittled by his own family. Their tense and frequently bitter interactions with the other Olympians are evocative of the central theme being explored: what if there isn't a home to go back to? What if your family is unforgivable? (What if you want to forgive them anyways? What if you need to?)

This theme is why Arachne is in the game, and Athena is not: likeable, first-helper-of-Zagreus Athena turned Arachne into a spider out of petty anger. How do you reconcile that?

Moros (lovely, kind Moros, who gushes at Odysseus like a fanboy) and his sisters the Fates did horrible things to mortals out of boredom. The same mortals whose bodies you can see stacked up like cordwood in Ephyra, who you repeatedly claim you are fighting to protect from Chronos. Moros can neither confirm nor deny that the current events could have been set in motion by the Fates. How do you reconcile that?

Polyphemus raises sheep. He genuinely loves and cares for them, is protective of them. He also eats them, and is confused when Melinoë implies a contradiction.

How can you love someone and be willing to kill them? For survival? For fleeting satisfaction? For vengeance?

Is Chronos' willingness to eat his children so morally heinous that it makes him worse than every cruelty the gods have wrought? Worse for who?

[mxtxfanatic]

A lot of people say that Wei Wuxian's demonic cultivation is inherently disrespectful to the dead. I personally disagree but I'm not really sure how to say that, especially when they bring up how he treated the ghosts for the war or the torture session.

It's confusing 😔

Ok, to answer this question, we must first cover the basics of both what Wei Wuxian's cultivation is and how cultivators deal with the resentful dead in the orthodox path. 1) Wei Wuxian is not s demonic cultivator. He is a ghost cultivator, hence why his cultivation path is called "the ghost path" and why the title of the novel is a misnomer. The cultivation world calling him a "demonic" cultivator is meant as a slander of his work, not a neutral description of it:

“Let me ask you, are fae, demons, ghosts, and monsters all the same kind of being?” Wei Wuxian smiled. “No.” “Why not? What are the differences between them?” “Fae come from living non-humans, demons from living humans, ghosts from dead humans, and monsters from dead non-humans.”

—Chapt. 13: Elegance III, fanyiyi

By definition, Wei Wuxian is not a demonic cultivator, and every cultivator is taught this distinction from a young age. Moving on, 2) this is how orthodox cultivators deal with the resentful dead:

[Lan Wangji] nodded his head politely, and quietly said, “First, release the spirit from suffering. Second, suppress it. Third, eliminate it. For the initial approach, use the loving memory of his parents, wife, and children to comprehend his deepest desires and fulfill them. If this fails, move to suppression. But if the crimes are too great and his resentment too bitter to dissipate, eliminate him root and branch; his continued existence must not be permitted. Cultivators must conduct themselves carefully in accordance with this sequence of measures, without error.”

—Chapt. 14: Elegance IV, fanyiyi

The ideal goal of dealing with the resentful dead is that you get them to move on. That is why these are not three separate paths but a single route:

Lan Wangji said, “Thus release from suffering is the primary strategy, suppression, supplementary, and elimination, the last resort.”

However, only the first part of this route leads to peace for the suffering spirit; the other two either lead to prolonged suffering or utter destruction. Wei Wuxian's ghost path opens up a second route, the so-called fourth solution:

Everyone inside the elegant room stared at them in shock. The old man suddenly shot up. “The purpose of subduing demons and exterminating ghosts is to alleviate suffering! Not only have you forgotten this, you want to incite further resentment! You are inverting the means and the ends, without a care for humanity!” “If some people’s suffering can’t be relieved, why not make it useful?” Wei Wuxian replied. “When Yu the Great tamed the floods, redirection was the superior strategy, and obstruction the inferior. Suppression is like obstruction, it can only be worse—” Lan Qiren flung a book at Wei Wuxian, who quickly ducked out of the way. The color of his face unchanged, he continued to run his mouth. “Spiritual energy is energy, but resentful energy is also energy. Stored inside cores, spiritual energy is able to cleave mountains and drain seas, and is available for human use. Why can’t humans use resentful energy too?”

The end goal remains the same as the orthodox path's, just with the addition of using the dead's resentment to achieve your own goals in the meantime. To say that Wei Wuxian "creates" the resentment by which he then controls the dead he summons is to ignore that he actually can't create resentment and must rely on the resentment the dead already have. We learn this in the opening chapters of the book at the Mo Mansion where he must summon the corpses of the Mo family to fight because the other walking corpses that were already in the house had too little resentment to be useful. It's even in this very example of him pitching the theoretics of the ghost path: he doesn't say "just dig up any corpse" but specifically that the heads of those executed by the executioner (and therefore who would have resentment remaining in death) should be dug up to deal with the fierce corpse of their killer. And when everyone has burned off their resentment, it goes without saying that it would be easy to liberate them.

Now to address the whole war time torture session stuff: if we remember what I just said about Wei Wuxian being unable to create resentment and that in his speech he believes that the best dead to summon in order to subdue another resentful being are the dead who were killed by the being, then the fates of the Wen involved in the fall of Lotus Pier makes sense. Wei Wuxian does not control any of the dead like puppets, as explained here, so the ghosts got their own revenge themselves. It's not accidental that every Wen supervisory post was covered in ghost repellent talismans where none existed previously. As for the ghoul child and blue-faced woman, they had some sort of history with each other and Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao that probably wouldn't be too hard to guess:

[Wang Lingjiao] collapsed onto the ground. Back then, the second that she opened the chest, she saw what was inside. There was none of her beloved treasures, only a pale-skinned, curled-up child!

—Chapt. 61: Evil, exr

The ghoul child, however, had bit out an entire chunk of the flesh on his hand and spat it out. He continued to devour the palm. Wen ZhuLiu grabbed the child’s head with his left hand, as though to put so much force on the small, cold head that it exploded. The blue- faced woman threw the bloodstained bandages on the ground and, like a four-limbed creature, she crawled to Wen ZhuLiu’s side almost instantly.

...

Wei WuXian, “Of course it’d be with a certain thing gone.” Jiang Cheng was disgusted, “You’re the one who did it?” Wei WuXian, “It’s nasty if you think about it that way. Of course I wasn’t the one who cut it off. It was bitten off when his woman went mad.”

—Chapt. 62: Evil, exr

"His woman" can't be Wang Lingjiao, because Wang Lingjiao died suffocating on the stool leg she stuffed down her throat. When Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find her body, the stool leg is still halfway out of her mouth. "His woman" is the blue-faced woman, who obviously holds extreme enmity towards Wen Chao. It's the same situation when Wei Wuxian resurrects Wen Ning:

Wei WuXian, “Congratulations to you for successfully draining all my patience. Since you don’t want to speak up, let’s let him answer on his own.” As though it’d been waiting for his words for a long time, Wen Ning’s frozen corpse suddenly moved, raising its head. Before the two nearest inspectors could even scream, each of their throats was clenched by a hand as firm as iron. Expressionless, Wen Ning raised up the two short-legged inspectors high in the air. The empty circle around them grew larger and larger. The head inspector shouted, “Young Master Wei! Young Master Wei! Please go easy on us! Doing this in the heat of the moment would lead to irreversible consequences!” The rain fell heavier and heavier. Drops of water trickled incessantly down Wei WuXian’s cheeks. He suddenly spun around, putting his hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder before shouting, “Wen QiongLin!” As if a reply, Wen Ning let out a long, thundering roar. The ears of everyone within the valley ached. Wei WuXian spoke one word at a time, “Whoever caused all of you to be like this, let them meet the same end. I give you the right to do so. Settle everything!”

—Chapt. 72: Recklessness, exr

Wei Wuxian didn't "make" them do anything; he just corralled them and focused their resentment.

While Wei Wuxian is being very glib in his Cloud Recesses discussion—because it was an on-the-fly theory posed specifically to piss Lan Qiren off—the way he uses it in practice is actually much more contained. He also, personally, treats the dead more respectfully than most other cultivators, who react to the presence of non-aggressive dead with violence or disgust (reread how he interacts with the ghoul child and blue-faced woman, or the ghost girls in the restaurant, or the skeleton hand, or A-Qing, etc. etc.). So to answer your question: no, Wei Wuxian's ghost path does not disrespect the dead. It gives those with too much resentment or a who have a grudge too difficult to fulfill another way to burn off their resentment in order to achieve peace. While an individual can use it disrespectfully (Xue Yang, who uses it as a basis for his demonic cultivation), it is not inherently disrespectful in and of itself.

[luveline]

if you are taking suggestions, I would love to see a steve zombie!AU blurb!!

for you my love, steve zombie au — the college collapse and the fallout afterwards. fem!reader, 5k words tw for zombie apocalypse typical violence and gore, cuts/bruises, mentioned extreme violence/death, mentioned sexual assault (implied to have been attempted, no graphic description), hurt/comfort

You can hear people crying from the quad. 

You don't blame them if they look anything like you right now. Your hands are crusted with blood, your knees more cut than skin. Evidence of the dead marrs the floor, and evidence of the living stains the walls, black gore streaks across the linoleum and bullet holes like inverted stars in the walls, backlit by the bonfire lit in the centre of the quad.

There hasn't been a shot in hours. Still, you hide, and still, you bite your tongue to stop from crying. Crying isn't going to help. 

A familiar sound echoes from the east. A geek, the undead monsters that haunt what's left of the world, groans and sputters somewhere you can't see. Your skin crawls —sounds bound off of the tiled floor and walls, and in the dark you fail to pinpoint the exact origin. The smell of carrion is pervasive. You can't stay here. When the sun rises, you'll be plainly visible to foe rather than friend; raiders and geeks are waiting for morning to find you and whoever else survived. You have no choices, no weapons, nothing more than the clothes on your back. 

By now, the dormitory that you called your bedroom will have been seized, your meagre possessions gone. Each precious gift, every book and blanket. You'll never get to see it again. All those memories–

You bite your tongue again. The pain doesn't count for much. You're already in agony. Your lungs ache from screaming, from running harder than you've ever run, and you've been cut from head to toe by shards of glass. You're in the worst state you've ever been in minus one risky head injury, but you're far from hopeless. 

You've prepared for this. You know what you need to do. You'll do more than crawl across glass if it means you can reach the rendezvous point by morning. 

Taking quick, terrified breaths, you bounce to your feet and hold out an arm. It's a bad strategy. If you get bit, you can't fix it. You don't have a knife, and if you did you don't have the nerve to amputate yourself. But your choices are to lead via hand or face, and hand seems wiser. You step over slippery tile in your ill-fitting shoes until you find a wall, your panting echoed back at you. 

The sobbing has stopped. An eerie quiet takes its place. Something bad has happened. 

Something bad already happened. Something is over. 

You freeze when you hear chuckling. It's quiet but unquestionable. 

Who could laugh? After seeing the carnage of the cafeteria? The bodies lining the east gate? 

The pitch blackness wanes the closer you get to the door. A rogue tear races down your cheek as you squint against the flickering firelight. There's a herd of men standing at the pit of the quad, warming their hands with the spoils of the lives of the hundred who found shelter here. You hide your body behind the wall, the glass door of the gym you'd been secluded in stuck half open. They likely hadn't meant to, but the raiders tripped the electricity, and it hasn't come back on since. It likely won't come on ever again. 

You squeeze through the door, so afraid of being out in the open that it makes you physically retch. 

You rag your body through the door and wince at the deep gouges it feels like it leaves behind. Your knees don't want to bend, they're so shredded, but you've no choice but to sprint to the side of the gym, and then the fallen gates, and the treeline behind it. 

You step over the heavy metal gates that once protected you slowly. Each grind of fence into the asphalt below feels like a siren call. 

The only light is the orange flicker of the fire cast between the trees like grabbing fingers. You step in the shadows, flinching at every snapping branch under your feet, every dry leaf. You don't look back —you can't. You're terrified of what you'll see. 

Please, you think, over and over, a prayer if there's ever been one, please, please. You're so afraid of not getting what you're asking for that you can't finish the sentence. Your head is a loop of pleading, begging, offers to someone who isn't listening. 

I'll never complain. I will never wonder why. I won't cry, or ache, or so much as sigh. So please. 

It happened at dinner. The entire community, what felt like every member of The College gathered in one place for 'thanksgiving dinner'. There was thanks to be said, sure, but nothing that aligned with the original celebration. Thank you for a place to call home. Thank you for the meal. Thank you for a safe haven. Thank you for– 

But a shot rang outside. 

Heads bobbed. Adults and children alike shifted at the cafeteria tables to try and see which of the patrolling gate guards had needed to fire. 

It was like rain after that. Pop pop pop. 

You grip the present like a bouy and hold on tight. You can't think about what happened while you're still in it. The fear will paralyse you. 

Your shoe steps onto something soft. You look down though you don't want to, and it's too dark now to make it out. You bend at the waist and let out an involuntary whine at the pain that lances up your abdomen. 

It's a blanket. You don't think it's one of yours, though you had so many you can't be sure. It's green and rough and the best protection on offer. You wrap it around your shoulders and keep walking. 

You know where you are only because it has been drilled into you so thoroughly. 

I'll meet you at the bottom of the hill… Do you remember, we ate vegetable soup and dumplings cold? It was the best meal we'd had in months. 

"Oh, fuck," you say, losing the strength in your legs. You grasp at the rough trunk of a tree and gasp for air. You can't breathe, you can't think. "Fuck." 

Your sniffling whispers are lost in the wind. 

"I don't think I can do this," you mouth. 

I promise I'll meet you there. 

"I can't." 

But you have to. You can see it all laid out in front of you. Eating sour cherries on the floor, bare-legged and brimming with love, his hand on your straggly knee. His hand on your back, guiding you through doorways and under tree branches. His hand on your cheek, your shoulder, your thigh. 

His hand in yours, a hundred miles of highway behind you. Pulling you along. 

You walk for what feels like hours but can't be so long. Your shoes are doing more harm than good, blisters like pebbles on your heels and toes. You step out of them and carry them down the hill, grass sharp under the soles of your feet. The socks you wear are threadbare. 

You hadn't realised you'd have to do this, and that was a mistake. You could've been prepared for this; you should've been carrying a knife in your belt everywhere you went, and you never should've left yourself open to the elements. How many jackets do you have under your bed? 

The convenience store beckons like a beacon. The night is heavy but the moonlight strives to lead you, and you follow it to the white walls one exhausted step at a time. 

You circle the building. 

There's no one waiting for you. He isn't where he promised. 

You try to open the door but can't find the strength. Everything hurts more than anything has ever hurt before. Your hands are immobile now, your shoes falling to the concrete beneath with a dull thump. One springs away too far to reach. 

You sit down against the back of the convenience store, drained of everything you have. If he isn't here, he's dead. If he's dead, you might as well die. He was everything, and he's gone. 

You fall asleep sitting up against the wall, face smashed to your shoulder. Let whatever comes across you first finish you off while you sleep… 

There's a pressure around you. You wake in a struggle, still too tired to move, to flail, completely encompassed. Your first thought is that you've died, but the pressure tightens, and you feel all your hurt reawaken. 

"I know, baby," Steve murmurs. You must've made a sound. "I know. It's okay. I got you." 

You really have died if he's here. 

You grab limply at his back, trying to pull him away so you can see his face. It's a geek chewing through the juncture of your neck, and whoever's looking down on you feels sorry enough to let you see him before you go. It's a raider, tying you up and hanging you from a pike, the ropes constricting your blood flow. It's not Steve. 

"What fucking happened to you?" he asks, his voice shaking. "What happened? Did someone–" 

"Steve," a familiar voice says, "come on, man, she can't understand you." 

Steve pulls away from you and it's him, his face, his pale cheeks and almond brown eyes, one ringed in a purple wine stain, the white bisected by an ominous red. 

"What…" Your mouth won't cooperate. A cold hand grabs your face. It can't be Steve's, his hands are always so warm. Water is tipped into your mouth, the majority of which runs down your neck to your clavicle. 

"Do you have, um, do you have that bottle of malt still?" Steve asks. 

"She'll pass out–" 

"Maybe that's best," Steve says. 

"Not if she doesn't wake up again." 

"She's gonna turn septic, no doubt. I have to go back, I can get antibiotics." 

"You can't go back, are you stupid?" 

You groan, their words rushing in one ear and out the other, indecipherable from the whooshing that feels like it's originating behind your eyes. 

"Y/N," Steve says gently, "can you understand me, honey? Do you know what I'm saying to you? Can you nod?" 

You nod as best as you can. 

Steve puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gingerly. "I'm going to make everything better, I promise. I promise." 

You try to say sorry, you should be really fucking sorry, he has to save you all over again, but the only thing that wants to come out is shattered breath. 

Things are spotty after that. You have the sense of being moved flat on your back and dragged. It's not pretty, the distinct memory of a hand over your mouth, and then, when your bearings are coming back, you remember that you'd been screaming. 

You have your head in someone's lap. You don't fall asleep or wake up, it's like you're treading water and your head's been under. Now you're breaking the surface, and it's to the tender touch of a fingertip climbing up and down your nose bridge. 

Something crackles. It takes you right back to the bonfire in the quad, is it the bonfire? You try to lift your head and the person holding you startles. 

"No, stay still," Steve says gently. 

"Steve?" 

"Who else?" He says, still gentle but a hint of his usual derision peaking through. "Do you let other guys treat you this way?" 

"Steve," you mumble, tears pricking your waterline. 

He can't hug you from the way he's laid you out, but he leans over slightly as though he's shielding you from the grey above. You try to turn your neck and find the white hot pain a quick deterrent. 

"Look at you. Fuck, look at you," he says. 

You cry a little, unsure if you can speak. Tears sting an abrasion beside your eye. 

"Don't upset her, Steve," says a girl's voice. Your heart skips a beat as Robin Buckley comes into view, lip split and without a jacket but otherwise unscathed. "Hey, Y/N. Don't worry, you're not stuck solely with him." 

You laugh, but you're crying so you cough, and pain zips up and down your arms and legs. 

Robin kneels down beside you and hugs you lightly. Her hair, scraped back into a pony tail, tickles your cheek. 

"I love you, I'm so glad you're okay," she says. 

"Me too," you mumble. 

Robin pulls back and smiles at you. "You gotta eat something, killer." 

"I don't really think she can move, Robs," Steve says quietly. 

"She won't be able to if she doesn't eat." 

Steve sighs and helps you up painstakingly slowly, his hands under your armpits. He sits forward rather than pulling you back, supporting you like a Steve-shaped chair.

You realise for the first time since you woke up that you're inside, rather than outside. 

And there are lots of survivors. 

Jonathan and his mom are standing across the room. Jonathan has two little kids in his arms, and you're so shocked you actually try to ask about it. "Did he have babies while I was out?" you croak. 

Steve hums near your ear. "He saved nearly all of the kids all by himself… Most of their parents are dead. I think he feels responsible." 

"Most of them?" you ask. 

"Yeah." 

Lots of survivors doesn't mean all. It doesn't even mean the majority. The College had almost four hundred people living in it. This room houses what couldn't be more than a fifth of them, and there's at least a dozen children. You don't say it aloud, but you feel it thick in the air like an electric charge. 

This is not good. 

"Don't worry," Steve says, hands crossing over your stomach. "Please, honey, just– just think about yourself for now." 

"I can't believe it." 

He shushes you. 

"Steve, all those people…" 

"I know." 

You use him as impromptu furniture and Robin returns with a can of peaches and a fork. She loves you enough to feed you. It makes you want to cry again. 

You're relieved to be far away from what happened, but there's a feeling of unreality that won't cease. You keep looking at the corners of the room like the light will dim and the blood caked to your hands will reappear. Someone wiped them clean while you slept and bandaged them with care. 

You feel sick after the peaches. 

"Throw up if you gotta," Steve says mildly, his nose resting against the back of your head. 

You fall asleep again. 

When you wake up, it's night. You feel stronger than you had as soon as your eyes open, digging your elbows into the blanket tucked beneath you and hiking up to look around. Steve's asleep to your left, his hand screwed in the bedraggled fabric of your shirt, and Robin's asleep to your right, her hand touching your elbow. 

A woman you couldn't name from the back sits in front of the door. The muzzle of a long gun sticks out over her shoulder. 

The room isn't big enough for this many sleeping bodies, and so the group sleep toe to toe and hip to hip. The only people with blankets are the children and the badly injured. You have two. You have no idea how Steve managed it, one under you and one over your legs. 

Or, you don't think you know how he managed it until you slide the blanket down and realise you aren't wearing any pants. Underwear that aren't yours have been pulled up your thighs and cinched with an elastic band. 

Poor lovely Steve. He always does the gross stuff. 

You pull the blanket back up for the sake of decency and swallow. You swallow again. You're thirsty and in an insane amount of pain, the intensity increasing the longer that you think about it. You don't want to wake him, but you know it's what he'd want, and he's saved your life for the millionth time, so. He should get what he wants. 

You try to be sweet. You can barely breathe, your chest hurts that badly. 

"Stevie," you whisper, tugging his fingers from your shirt and squeezing them imploringly. "Stevie, please, are you awake?" 

It's Robin who rouses. 

"He–" She yawns and her jaw clicks. "He might not wake up, I made him take a quarter of an oxycontin." 

"Yeah? What for?" 

"He wrecked his knee, and he made it worse carrying you up the stairs here." Robin scratches her eyes with her hands. "Not that it's your fault, it's not your fault. Just what happened." 

"Oh." You pull Steve's hand to your lips and kiss it. Wincing, you turn onto your side to face Robin, pulling his slack arm over your tummy. He doesn't hug you closer in his sleep, and it feels wrong. "I know you look after him 'cos he's yours, too, but thanks." 

She smiles, her cheek appling against the hand she's using as a pillow. 

"Do you want a quarter of an oxycontin?" Robin asks. 

"No, you should save it." 

"I know you need it. It's not all superficial. Jonathan's mom gave you stitches, did you see?" 

"Everything sort of throbs right now." 

She pulls a half of a pill from her pocket and apologises that you have to bite it in half. She can't give you the full half because this is the full capacity of painkillers and she's lucky she has that. 

"It's okay," you say, accepting the water she offers. 

"I really don't know what we're gonna do, Y/N." 

"I don't even know what happened, I… don't even think I want to know. I remember the beginning." The gunfire and the shattering windows. The shouting. "I don't remember where you went." 

"We didn't know where you went." 

"Sorry. I don't know." 

"It honestly might be better if you don't remember any of it," Robin whispers wryly. "I wish I didn't." 

You grab her hand with your free one, pretzelled between her and Steve. "I'm sorry, Robs." 

"Me too. But we'll be okay. We're together."

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Robin blows a curl of her hair from her face. She looks young, sun tanned and freckled as she is, and scared, which isn't her style. She acts like nothing ever gets to her. It's a privilege to be let in. 

"I was terrified that you were dead," Robin whispers. "And then I thought me and Steve were gonna die anyways, and he got into a fist fight with a geek and Dustin almost died." She stops abruptly. 

"Is that how he got the black eye? From a geek?" you ask. 

"No. There was a man," she says, "trying to pin me down. I don't know what he… Steve pulled him off of me." 

You rub the back of her hand with your thumb. "He hurt you?" you ask, eyes burning with heat. Angry and sad tears at the same time. 

"Nah, Steve saved me. He's good at that." 

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry. You really don't get how bad you look, I shouldn't be telling you anything. You need," —her voice takes on a saccharine but not ingenuine pep— "to get better, and to worry about yourself. I'll be surprised if you ever walk again."

"Really?" The oxycontin must be working (if a quarter even works), 'cos you're not nearly as disenfranchised by this possibility as you should be. 

"No. But think about how much that would suck and this is almost the winning situation." 

"Sorry, Buckley, I swear I'd laugh…"  

"But everything sucks."

"Yeah." 

You have one hand full of Robin's cold fingers and another woven between Steve's warm ones. You have two whole blankets, you're mostly fed, and there's a lady guarding you with a gun bigger than your head. You can rest easy, if only for an hour. 

Robin falls asleep gradually, quiet snores growing louder by the by. 

You try to sleep, but every time you close your eyes you can see shapes like bodies standing over you, or hear a disembodied groan as it echoes in the shower room. You regretfully remove your hand from Robin's and turn back to Steve. There's a twinge in your thigh as you that reminds you about Joyce's stitches. You wonder how many there were. It feels like a lot when it pulls. 

You put you hand on Steve's cheek. Thinking you might cry and actually crying are surprisingly far apart. He deserves to have some tears shed for him, your poor boy, defending his friends, hurting himself, almost losing you, losing his home, and watching the community he loves die all in one night. He deserves so much more than he gets. 

"I love you," you say under your breath. 

The mantra. Please, please, please, let him be waiting for me. 

— 

Your hand is like a hummingbird in Steve's, twitching twitching twitching. He rubs the back of your hand and tries not to wake you. The pain you're in now while sleeping will feel a thousand times worse when you wake, and he has nothing to give you for it. 

He woke up to your fingers twined in his. You must've done it in the night. 

Robin's sleeping curled up next to you, his two favourite people in the whole world getting a well-needed break from the horror of it. Horror doesn't even feel like the right word, it doesn't encapsulate the grimness of your situation. There's no potable water, barely any food, and a lot of months to feed. Steve knows they need as many people out looking for resources as they can get so they can move on, and they need to do it fast, before someone comes looking to pick off the rest of them, but he just can't do it. He can't leave your side. 

He tries to think about how he got separated from you and every time it's like a kick to the chest. He looked to his left in the bloodshed and you just weren't there anymore. 

Things got messy in between. 

When he finally had the choice he tried to backtrack, and Chris and Robin had to forcibly drag him to shelter. 

He told you and Robin the same thing, meet me at the store, though thankfully Robin hadn't been out of sight for longer than a minute, and he'd been able to protect her. He wasn't the only one to pick a familiar place. A small crowd of people had been waiting inside the convenience store, a gun aimed at the door.

He'd wanted to go back for you. He would've if he could stand, his knee a twisting hot pain, an agony —he tried anyway. 

They stayed like that, kids hiding behind the shelves, the adults at the door like a barricade, waiting for a sign as to what to do. Waiting to be put down like animals by the monsters who invaded the community, geek and human alike. 

There was a thump by the door. Steve realises now that it must've been you, but they'd been convinced it was a geek, and so nobody stood. It had his nerves aflame, because what if you were huddled somewhere unable to move? What kind of boyfriend, what kind of partner, would leave you vulnerable? He'd rather put himself in moral peril trying to save you than leave you to that fate. So he stood on his fucked leg and he eased open the door, Christopher beside him because he's a good man, and together they stepped into the dusk. 

Steve did not have to look very far for you. You'd been laid out against the wall like you'd been thrown there. 

He collapsed to his knees as soon as he realised it was you, scared to touch you, your clothes more blood than fabric and your eyes scrunched closed in pain. 

"Holy shit," Christopher said.

Astute. Steve felt for your pulse, found it fast despite your state of unconsciousness. A wound on your leg was weeping furiously, and Steve ripped off the bottom of his shirt bare-handed to wrap it up. 

He hugged you even though it would do nothing. It was selfishly all for him. 

Steve had thought for a moment, Fuck, I cannot keep doing this. The level of adrenaline, the sharp spike of fear thinking he might have lost you. I can't keep doing this. 

But he can, and he will. 

They carried what food they could with them to the block of apartments they're currently taking shelter in, but Steve had carried you with help, and so he hadn't managed to grab anything at all. He relies solely on the charity of the community to feed you today, and he promises he'll make it up. 

"Y/N," Steve says, a can of soup in hand, not knowing if waking you is the right thing to do, but his hand on your shoulder anyways, "wake up, I have something for you." 

You mumble into the floor. 

He hums. He could heat the soup up. He'd need to go outside, which would be exhausting, and he'd have to start a fire, but they'll be starting one soon enough to boil water while the sky is still dark enough to hide the smoke. Maybe he can call in a favour. 

He limps over to Joyce. She's been great since the attack, considering what happened to Hopper. 

"Hey, honey," she says. "What are you upto?" 

"Can I be a total dunce and ask you for a favour?" 

Joyce takes his can of soup. He limps back to your side and looks you over for a while, peeling back your blanket to check that the big cut on your thigh and the tens on your knees aren't visibly infected. He's been given a tube of antiseptic and applied it to you generously, but he worries it won't be enough. Your legs are fucked, really fucked, cuts and bruises on every inch of skin. He has no idea how it happened and you haven't been lucid enough to ask.

He tucks the blanket back around your legs to ensure some privacy and moves onto your arms. He thinks you must've fallen onto debris, if the scratches near the base of your forearms are any indication. 

He puts your arm down gently and his eyes flick to your face. You're looking at him. 

"Oh, hi," he says, breathless with relief. 

"Hi Stevie." 

"Hi." He covers his eyes with his hands. 

"Steve…" You murmur, your fingers ghosting his elbow, stretched as far as you can reach from your position. "Baby, please."

He scrubs his eyes until they burn but successfully pushes away any waterworks. 

"You have to stop doing this to me," he says, practically begs, nodding with each word like it might drive the sentiment home. 

"I'm sorry." You sit up, clasping his elbow. "Really sorry." 

Steve exhales until he's completely empty of breath. "God, I know. It's not your fault." 

"Hey, Steve, stop using my mom like a catering service," Jonathan says suddenly, interrupting your moody conversation.

He's holding a camping bowl with a rag underneath it, pretending to be more pissed than he is. He smiles down at you. "Hey, how are you?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Well, eat up. Get better. I need friends that aren't fourteen years old or Steve," he jokes, lowering the soup into your lap. "I'm glad you're okay." 

"Thanks, Jonathan." 

He smiles and leaves, accosted by little kids as he goes.

Steve puts his hand under the soup despite the rag, worried you'll burn yourself. You protest, and Steve's actually happy to hear it. It means you're feeling more like yourself. 

"Are you sharing with me?" you ask. 

"If that's what you want." 

"Yes, that's what I want."

Steve lets you have the soup dumplings, hot and sweet, the best part. He doesn't bother eating even one. You take turns drinking from the corner of the camping tin, thigh to thigh, Steve guiding it to your lips whenever you look ready for another sip. 

It's actually him that cries, to his surprise. He thought for sure he'd hold it together, but he's just so grateful that you're here and in one admittedly battered piece, eating soup and warm against him, they start of their own accord. You rest your head wonkily on his shoulder, seemingly unaware. He tries not to sniffle.

"I love you," you whisper, dropping your hand on his thigh. 

He puts his cheek on your head. His tears seep into your hair. "I love you too." 

"Are you crying?" you ask, sounding heartbroken as you turn to him. Your eyes widen in shock. "What's wrong? Is it your knee?" 

It's not his knee. It couldn't be further from it. 

"We lost everything," he says, everything coming out in a rushing whisper, "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to take care of you anymore. You almost died, again."

"I didn't almost die, I was tired," you say gently. "I wouldn't have died." 

"That doesn't mean I can still do this." 

"Steve, I'm not asking you to do anything. I know I was hard work–" 

"No–" 

"But this time it's different. I'm not saying you don't look after me, I'm not even saying you won't have to again, but I don't need a bodyguard this time around. And we aren't alone. You're not alone. I need you to be my– to be mine. That's it." You put your hand on his cheek. It's heavy, rough, but you try to be kind and he knows it. You're uncoordinated, stroking under his eye. "I'm sorry, Steve, I am, I'm so sorry, please don't–" 

His turn to interrupt a ridiculous notion. "Please don't what?" he asks, not unkindly. You take your hand back. Your face crumples, your head dipped toward your shoulder. "Don't what? You think I'm going somewhere, really?" 

"Please don't blame yourself for everything," you say. 

It's not even that. He isn't blaming himself. He isn't blaming you. He's just mind-numbingly terrified to be back on the road.

"We're together," you say, nearly shy. "Isn't that okay for now?" 

"...That's the only thing that's okay," he says. 

He scrubs his face with his hand, scratching through his limp hair. He rolls his shoulders, and, after a deep breath, he takes your hand and pulls himself together. 

Steve doesn't know what to say, and he suspects you're facing a similar dilemma. 

"Don't get it twisted," he says eventually, his voice rough with earnestness, "you're the only thing that matters to me. But…" What do you say? After all those people have died? When your sweetheart can't stand, she's so cut up? All to get back to you and nothing good promised? "I wanted more than this for us." 

We had more than this.  

"This is the world now," you say, tired. 

"Remember that phrase? 'I'll give you the world'? I'd say that to you, but I don't think you want it," he says, trying to lighten the impossibly heavy mood. 

You laugh under your breath. "I do, though. I want it with you, handsome, so just… don't give up yet. Okay?" 

"I'm not giving up." 

"Thank you." 

Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Don't say thanks, you don't even have to ask me for that." 

He rests his face against yours, mouth to your temple, his eyes slipping closed. He doesn't have it in him to unpack everything that's happened. Maybe he never will. 

But he has his girl. 

—-

ty for reading! requests for this au are open so let me know what you wanna see if you’d like to<3

[pwecie]

I need to get something off my chest

In the first episode of Randy Cunningham, 9th Grade Ninja, we see this guy watering his lawn:

He is on the left side of the street facing toward’s Randy’s house. I know this, because we see these two houses, one purple, one white, on the other side of the street in the same episode.

The next time we see this guy, he’s on the OTHER side of the street watering his lawn next to the purple house, so he has moved residences.

THEN WHEN WE SEE HIM AGAIN he’s watering the blue house with the green door NEXT to the white one

THEN IN HIS FINAL APPEARANCE HE’S BACK AT THE FUCKING WHITE HOUSE AND HE’S NOT EVEN WATERING THE FUCKING LAWN; HIS AIM IS OFF AND HE’S HITTING THE SIDEWALK. ALSO, THE WHOLE TOWN IS INVERTED BECAUSE THE WHITE HOUSE IS NOW ON THE LEFT OF THE BLUE ONE INSTEAD OF THE RIGHT AND THE DOORS ARE ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE FRONT. THE HOUSES HAVE ALSO SHIFTED TO BE RIGHT IN FRONT OF RANDY’S HOUSE BECAUSE IN THE SCENE PRIOR, WE SEE HIM JUMP OUT HIS BEDROOM WINDOW AND WE VIEW THE TOWN FROM HIS POV, LEADING TO THE SHOT BELOW. THIS ISN’T EVEN HIS HOSE! THE LINE IS COMING FROM AN OFFSCREEN PROPERTY.

I DON’T KNOW IF THIS GUY IS ON CRACK, IF HE’S A WIZARD, OR IF THIS IS A NORMAL NORRISVILLE TUESDAY AND EVERYONE’S JUST SO DESENSITIZED BECAUSE THEIR CHILDREN TURN INTO MONSTERS AT LEAST ONCE WEEKLY, BUT THIS CHARACTER RUBS ME THE WRONG WAY AND I’M SCARED.

[minty364]

DPXDC Promp#58 Part 5

When he came too he was in the basement.

A soft hum came from the now activated portal, Danny couldn’t help but stare at it, the swirling green was mesmerizing and something in him felt a little different. He thought about what that might be for a moment but he was unable to tear his eyes away from the swirling patterns that called to him, beckoning him. 

“D-Danny?” Jazz said from behind him her voice was small and quiet, Danny almost didn’t hear her. 

He was sitting so he let himself fall onto his back and looked up at her.

She was right behind Damian and Tim who were watching him apprehensively, their hands held up in a defensive position. Jazz had a look of confusion and dread on her face while Damian also seemed confused but there was an anger there that Danny couldn’t quite place. Tim meanwhile looked like he was preparing to steal his emotions, probably because he was the eldest of the group. 

He wasn’t sure what was going on but he looked around the lab for the sink he knew had a mirror over it and when he found it he got up and walked over to see his reflection. Or well he tried, his body started floating as soon as he stood, he somehow was able to get to the mirror and looked at his reflection.

He was paler than before, almost as white as a sheet, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. His once blue eyes were a vibrant neon green, his hair once black is now white as snow. Even his hazmat suit inverted colors. White boots and gloves and a black suit. 

He fell back from the mirror onto his back as he shifted away from his reflection. It was terrifying that he could see Jazz, Tim, and Damian watching through him, he was transparent like he wasn’t really there.

He had really died, he was a ghost, the very thing his parents ranted on and on about every time he or Jazz was in ear shot. They’d rant about how evil they were and how they’d find one to dissect after the portal was completed. If that wasn’t enough he realized he couldn’t feel his pulse and he hadn’t been breathing this entire time.

He was panicking now, what exactly did this mean for him? Was his parents going to find him in the basement and try to dissect him? Should he go into the portal? If it did go to the ‘ghost zone’ as his parents called it shouldn’t he live there now? 

He could feel himself start to break as silent sobs wracked his body, he still wasn’t breathing but that probably didn’t matter if he was a ghost. 

If his parents were right about ghosts that meant he was a monster now, he probably wouldn’t be allowed near anyone again. He’d never be able to feel the warm embraces of his sisters hugs again. He desperately wanted to feel that warm again. It was the only feeling he could cling onto, and it was then that something happened. 

A bright light flashed around him, a ring around his center that split in two, one going up and the other going down.

When it was done, Danny was back in his white hazmat suit with black accents. He scrambled back up to see his reflection and he was indeed back to normal somehow and he was again tied to earth's gravity.

He could feel tears well up in his eyes again as he turned around to Jazz and their friends, “I-I’m alive?” he couldn’t stop his voice from trembling, his entire body felt chilly and he couldn’t stop himself from crying, sobbing as he struggled from air that he apparently needed again.

Damian and Tim shared a glance but Jazz ran past them as she pulled Danny into a hug. His sister was so warm and he couldn’t help but melt into it as the two cried sobbing and clinging onto each other. 

Danny was here and he was somehow alive, he was sure being a ghost was permanent but somehow he was alive and he could hold, hug, and protect those he loved. A warmth spread from his chest. 

He could tell he was indeed different now, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it at the moment. His sister was here and he was hugging her.

Damian and Tim approached slowly like they couldn’t believe Danny was here alive and well either. Damian scowled at Danny, he rarely got frustrated at him but here was and Danny didn’t get why, “why did you sacrifice yourself like that?!” Damian shouted.

Danny took a few calming breaths before speaking, “I-I tripped, I saw you and figured it was too late for me…”

Jazz and Tim looked at him terrified before Tim spoke up, “you mean they built the damn ‘on’ button on the inside?” 

Before either Danny or Jazz could speak up the door leading to the kitchen opened up, “kids? Are you still down there?” Their mom called before heading down the stairs. When she got to the bottom they could see the elegant green dress she wore that hugged her figure. She gasped as she dropped her purse, staring at the portal. “JACK!!” she shouted up the stairs before running over to the lockers to put her hazmat suit back on.

Jack walked down the stairs sullenly but once he too saw the now activated portal he rushed to put on his suit as well. 

“I thought you guys had left?” Jazz asked, pushing Danny behind her protectively, Danny wasn’t sure if she realized what happened yet but keeping him away from them until they had a better grasp over what happened was probably a good call.

Maddie shrugged as she put her goggles on her head letting it snap against her forehead with a little snap, “I forgot my Fenton-lipstick.” The reply was nonchalant.

The four friends found themselves getting pushed out of the lab as the scientists busied themselves measuring and taking readings from their new portal.

They quickly got out of the suits and gathered whatever they needed for the sleepover over at Wayne manor. Danny didn’t really care what he was packing, just shoving things into his book bag. Whatever had just occurred rattled him a little. He couldn’t help but worry that this was just the beginning. 

“That was quite some time you all took,” Alfred noted once they were seated in the back with Tim in the front and Danny in the middle in the back. Everyone kept glancing at Danny to make sure he was okay but he felt fine at the moment. 

“Uh, well,” Jazz started, “something happened to Danny,” she struggled to say. None of them were quite sure exactly what was happening but the sooner they got to a quiet space to discuss they were going too. 

Alfred glanced at Danny from the rearview mirror as he drove, “will we need to take Master Daniel to the hospital?”

Tim cut in before anyone else could, “that’s quite alright Alfred, we aren’t exactly sure what happened but we might have a code lazarus on our hands.”

Danny and Jazz shared a look, they were both equally confused having no clue what code lazarus meant. Tim normally wasn’t this serious although Danny figured the circumstances weren’t normal either.

They'd discuss thing’s later when they had privacy at Wayne manor.

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres (French, 1780 - 1867) Oedipus and the Sphinx, 1808 National Gallery, London Oedipus, a figure from Greek mythology, stands nude and in profile before the Sphinx, who guards the entrance to the ancient city of Thebes. The Sphinx – a monster with the face, head and shoulders of a woman, a lion’s body, and bird’s wings – asks Oedipus to solve the riddle she poses to all travellers seeking to enter the city: ‘What has a voice and walks on all fours in the morning, on two at noon, and on three in the evening?’ Oedipus correctly answers that it is man who crawls on all fours as a child, walks on two legs as an adult, and uses a walking stick as a third leg in old age. The bones of a previous traveller, killed by the Sphinx for having failed to solve the riddle, lie at the bottom of the picture. Thebes is visible in the distance on the right.

The theme of a monster defeated by human intelligence clearly appealed to Ingres. The picture also complements another of his paintings, Angelica saved by Ruggierro, which shows a chivalrous knight attacking a sea monster to save a princess. But this is also a painting of a man facing his destiny, as Oedipus’s actions will lead him to become King of Thebes, as the oracle predicted at his birth, and to unknowingly marry his own mother, Jocasta. This unwitting tragedy and its consequences is the drama of Oedipus Rex, the middle play of Sophocles' Theban Plays.

This painting is a later, and smaller, version of one painted in 1808 and subsequently reworked in 1827 (Louvre, Paris). The first version of Oedipus and the Sphinx was essentially a figure study that Ingres painted while studying at the French Academy in Rome. It was sent to Paris to be judged by members of the Institut de France. As required by the Institut’s rules, the figure of Oedipus was based upon a live model, although the pose was derived from the classical statue, Hermes Fastening his Sandal (Louvre), a Roman marble copy of a lost Greek bronze. Oedipus’s body is presented as an arrangement of geometrical shapes; for example, the triangle formed by his left arm, thigh and chest is mirrored and inverted by his left upper arm and forearm. The use of profile for both Oedipus and the Sphinx, together with the shallow space in much of the picture, recalls classical friezes and ancient Greek vases, which Ingres used as the sources for his deliberately classical artistic style.

[linksthoughtbrambles]

When Twilight Fails to Fade

A mini-fic for @zelinkcommunity Zelink Week 2024 prompt fading. 600 words, BotW Adventure Log+ AU.

It’s something about the fading light, Link thought, his hands shaking as he raked one through his battle-caked hair: smoke, sweat, blood, and Goddess knew what else.

 He glanced at Zelda, then the Sheikah Slate’s screen.

She wasn’t watching the adventure log.

Good.

He could freak out in peace.

His gaze rose once more to the horizon, its dull crimson glow fringed by the deepest possible blue and the near-black of Hebra Peak’s silhouette. Sunset would end soon. The red would be gone.

Suddenly, the world tilted, Link hurtling in no direction into the glare of another sun. It wreathed a tower-topped mountain he knew but had never seen before, fear and bile rising in his throat and every muscle tensing as he reached for the sword on his back.

It wasn’t there. He searched feverishly and found it in a scabbard on his waist.

There were golden stones beneath his feet—and something dark in the sky, darker than clouds, acrid like smoke but fouler like sick, and all along the horizon, everywhere, the trees glistened black like oil.

“Zelda?!” he said.

The ground thrust upward and Link inverted into another impossibility, assaulted by a thousand odors and phantoms around him, their faces rotten. He flinched back with a wolfen whine and saw the sky, a thick dark that wasn’t night and a dull glow that wasn’t sun diffuse, everywhere.

Zelda?!! he said but didn’t say—he felt his throat vibrate, his cry not at all Hylian.

“Link?!” Zelda said.

His already-open eyes saw again.

She stood before him, the slate clipped to her belt, her hands on his shoulder and cheek, her face stricken. “You cried out,” she said.

He nodded. He gulped. He felt for the scabbard at his waist—it wasn’t there. His sword was back where it belonged—his hair brushed past the pommel as he moved. “It’s something about the fading light,” he said. “I’m—seeing things.”

And smelling things.

“What things?”

“Other places—other… twilights,” he said, shaking his head, knowing he knew them, but knew them like a fading dream from childhood, all indistinct lines and blurred colors, one moment separated from the next by void.

They are memories, said Fi. Of worlds overrun by our enemy.

Zelda embraced him, pressing his eyes to the nape of her neck. “Do not watch the sky, my love. Rest a few moments.” She squeezed him tight. “I wish I could remember with you.”

“Don’t,” he said. “It’s better if one of us can see clearly at sunset.”

“…Every sunset then,” she said. “Each one we can see. I will be your eyes.”

Link snorted. “What if we’re in the middle of a battle?”

“Heh,” she shook her head and stroked his hair, apparently unperturbed by its sticky contaminants. “Then I advise you not to look west.”

“What if there’s moblins there?”

“I shall shoot them.”

He laughed, pulling back, and taking her advice for the moment—centering her, and only her, in his vision. “It’s a nice thought, but I kind of think the monsters will catch on.” His smile began to fade. “No, I have to learn to deal with it—stop it from happening. How do you stop flashbacks that aren’t really yours?”

“I don’t know,” Zelda said, “but we’ll learn together. And until we have, please accept my assistance at sundown.”

He pressed her to him with a kiss to her forehead, every bit as filthy as his. “Stare at you at sunset. Got it.”

He felt her smile against him.

----

[This is a scene that should show up in the future, just written differently, in Adventure Log+! I felt inspired to write it by the prompt].

[witchofthesouls]

(Anyone remembers that scenario with Getaway and Rodimus siring upon a Fae-Touched!Liaison that got cyberformed? Here we go again.)

Something bothers Getaway, far more than usual.

You had to change your approach. Getaway believes the Nudge-gun had reshaped your memories and it had.

But you got them back.

(A magic mirror once gleamed and asked What do you wish? with your own inverted face. Upon your answer, your doppelganger grinned a million fractals of glorious and damning shards. Splintered infinities and Truth. It reached out and placed a shard into each eye and you both bleed like monsters and gods.)

You stare into the mirror of the captain's private shower rack, and blue lenses and white pupils stare back. 

If you stare long enough, you can divine the shards, each of them spinning and spinning, fracturing, repairing, growing, clawing out of the white-

The newspark cries and you snap back into the present.

The newspark cries and you nuzzle their soft body as they fret into your neck, tugging on the cables that mimic your hair, gumming on it. Milk-white optics blindly stare as they pur, slipping into your field, buzzing and yanking until you soothe it into a steady, easy pattern. They buzz, searching for a laughing sun that’s no longer with them.

Rodimus is gone. Getaway might as well be as he drowns in his captaincy.

The newspark purrs, no longer crying, and you plan.

_____

The thing is, Getaway lies.

It’s not condemnation. You know he lies. The problem lies where Getaway does it to himself as well. He believes in his own fabrications. A shallow mask that becomes his reality until something breaks it.

(Getaway could be the most marvelous actor if given the proper training and the chance, but it would eat him until he had nothing left to give, and you suppress the shiver that rolls down your spine at the ghostly, distant cheer of the starving, distorted voices.)

You can see it as he crushes you to the couch, when he watches you with hot-cold, hungry, optics across a room, when he pretends to sleep in the berth as you take care of the newspark, when he spins a dazzling tale to all the other mechs in the ship, when you cradle him in your lap…

This new vulnerability is strange from him. It began after Rodimus (and the others) had been left to fend for themselves.

Before Rodimus would sprawl across the couch, taking it over, and allowing you access, only to throw a leg across your lap with the newspark cradled on his chassis. Getaway would be either perched on the arm by your side or using your own legs as a cushion on the floor, viciously hogging the snack bowl and the remote until Rodimus finally relents to trade the bit.

You expected him to take Rodimus’ space on the couch on movie nights, but he doesn’t. He had taken the captaincy, the office, the berth, and even the snacks and personal products by Rodimus.

But strangely enough, he still perches on the couch’s arm by your side or sits by your feet, leaning on your legs. The newspark curls over the leftover space, seemingly so much smaller as they soak the faint remains of Rodimus’ biosignature.

Somewhere during the movie, Getaway will start drifting a hand up your leg, and will eventually find his way on your lap, pressing his face into you with a quiet almost-sigh. Field muddled in a not-quite agitated way until you ‘absentmindedly’ start to stroke across his back, careful not to go near his exposed neck.

The film keeps rolling into another and another without a word between you and him in this strange, truthful intimacy. It only breaks with the newspark fusses to be fed and then it’s time to move to the bedroom.

Some nights Getaway spawls across the berth, taking up the Rodimus-less space, turning into his pillow with little to say, besides a ‘good night’ and mimicking sleep as you settle in.

Some nights, he fucks you as he something to prove. Rutting you with a brutal force as he punches the air from your frame and drinks your expression with a burning focus, leaving both frames steaming and electrical burns on the sheets. In this mood, he doesn’t move from you. You learn to sleep under the weight of his frame and his spike still twitching inside you.

No matter what, he’s gone by the time you wake up.

_____

You don't like the look in Froid's optics. You barely like the mech at all. 

Under that veil of professionalism is the spark of madness that’s familiar to you, that raw, consuming, and greedy hunger as he looks at you and your sparkling.

(Did Getaway tell him anything? Or did Froid figure it out?)

You titter guilelessly at the psychologist, turning into Getaway’s shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings as newlyweds in love do. Getaway is too well-trained to freeze from the sudden behavior, but he acts the part of a loving partner, pressing his mask to your crest. You hold his gaze and over the private comm, you tell him to be careful.

Froid has that same look of greed when he looks at Getaway.

______

In the privacy of the shared quarters and in bed, you feed the newspark and clearly state, “Be careful when you make deals. You don’t play directly against the house. Toll is unforgivable.”

He doesn’t answer. Pretending to sleep.

(Getaway likes to manipulate and play but he has a visceral need to be slanted in a good light. The fact he doesn’t even tries to soothe that worry or deny the accusation that he can’t handle himself is damning in and of itself.)

______

You leave the newspark with First Aid, who’s lonely in an empty medbay, and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Take good care of my darling moonbeam.”

First Aid asks what's wrong as your child barely fusses in his arms. Those blind optics stare at you in a strangely knowing manner before tucking into the medic for a nap, frame curling into the mech and field disappearing like morning dew.

You tell him a truth:

You need to clean house.

[whbtheories]

Character Preview: Satan

Domain: Gehenna

Sin: Wrath

Birthday: July 14 (Cancer)

Idiosyncrasy: spanking

Mental condition: depression

Ability: shapes the blood of those who love him

Theme colours: red, white

~

Interest

Of all the demons in What In Hell Is Bad? seen thus far, Satan's proclivities are perhaps the most tame of all, with only spanking highlighted as sparking his interest.

That said, his subjects are apparently big fans of being hit on the regular by their ruler, and his depression makes him quite the slapper.

Depression and Satan often go hand in hand, whether he is being blamed for it afflicting mortal beings, or portrayed as conquered antagonist or tragic figure.

And of course, his love of violence fits his sin to a tee.

We are told he is a lover of being both the spanker and spankee, but that anyone who gets with him on that level will soon be used to the submissive role 👀

(NB - the usage of S and M as personality traits in this context don't fully translate to sadist and masochist, but rather to dominant and submissive, or assertive and passive personality types.)

July is not a month associated with Satan, however the 14th is apparently Pandemonium Day - with Pandæmonium also being Milton's name for the capital of Hell, ruled by Satan, in Paradise Lost.

If we turn to the lunar calendar then July is also home to the Hungry Ghosts Festival, in which the ghost door opens and allows spirits to walk among us 👀

(The 15th of the 7th lunar month is when Dìguān, the Earthly Official of Taoism, visits this realm to absolve people of sins... And perhaps Satan seeks to beat him to the punch with his tempting deals.)

~

Personality

The ruler of Wrath is unsurprisingly said to be the most violent of all seven kings of hell, but despite this he is friends with all his subjects, an interesting feat.

It helps that the residents of Gehenna actively enjoy being the target of his wrath, with even Ppyong enjoying being slapped on his lil booty.

Satan spends his nights drinking with lesser demons in back alley taverns, suggesting a more casual approach to his conduct. Not so prim or proper.

He is also the first demon we meet in-game, and he is depicted as intense, knowledgeable, and tactically smart. And of course, exceedingly horny. He has a lot of ego but seemingly the skills and wisdom to back it up.

In this respect he is similar to Obey Me Satan in having a strategical mind and a flair for the dramatic, but unlike that Satan, WHB Satan seems confident in expressing multiple emotions without losing his head in his passion.

In tandem with Lucifer - and including Beelzebub who is often conflated with both - Satan is the demon most frequently portrayed in our media, historical and contemporary, and generally appears as one of two archetypes: the odious and not terribly bright monster of Dante's Inferno, often gifted with red skin and pitchfork; or the charming tragic figure of Paradise Lost, who may or may not bring ruination to us all.

This Satan is definitely in the latter camp, though just how charming he can be is yet to be revealed...

~

Aesthetics, symbolism, and my rating in the cut! ↓

Aesthetics

Satan is very much the pretty boy of the demon kings we've seen thus far, with long flowing locks, elegantly long horns, and an innocent looking face - well, other than the glowing red eyes, black cross pupils, and inverted cross mid-forehead.

His long black horns are tipped with blood red to match his eyes, and this colour also highlights his jumpsuit with a Seal of Solomon on each arm.

That seal is repeated in silver as his belt buckle, giving us a demon that is marked by Solomon three times - quite the statement. And in case it wasn't clear, he has the number 666 on him twice, as well as 'Gehenna'.

A full view of his outfit also reveals some katakana but it's beyond my translation abilities - I get something similar to boom/explosion isle which feels half correct at best. Although actually...

I wonder if it's a nod to Bakuon Rettou itself, which would certainly explain Satan's bōsōzoku style outfit 🤔 It's a subculture look from the 80s in Japan, consisting mostly of jumpsuits and bad biker boy aesthetic, with a dose of pseudo-nationalism to a greater or lesser extent - very problematic for irl nationalism, but fitting for a king of hell. They also put slogans on their jumpsuits that were translations of "cool sounding English" (eg "boom island", the literal translation of Bakuon Rettou.)

Bōsōzoku are an old fad now, but as a fashion type they are still popular in surrounding countries, thanks to popular media like the Bakuon Rettou manga.

(And on an even bigger tangent, they were heavily associated with nameneko merchandising, which as you can probably guess is cat related! OM Satan would approve of that part.)

If we see Satan on a motorbike, consider that one solved!

The inverted cross is also repeated - on his boots, his pants, and in the negative space of his heart pendant. This is a far more modern symbol of the occult, as until recent decades it was a holy symbol representing St. Peter.

In modern pop culture though the inverted cross is synonymous with Satan, hence its appearance here.

The placement on the forehead is also notable, as this is where the ash cross is placed on those repenting their sins - the inversion of that would suggest pride and relish of one's sins. Again, fitting for Satan himself.

And he has a final inverted cross on a long cord trailing from his hips to his knees - in this case one that is remiscent of Celtic high and Anglo-Saxon crosses of old.

This cord, along with his many belts and those boots, also ties in with the bōsōzoku vibe.

His thematic colours of white and red are a very provocative choice. White is a colour mostly associated - in this context - with angels and beings of celestial origin, as well as the concepts of purity, divinity, and origin.

For Satan himself to sport the holiest of colours is deliberately bold, not least with it accented by the colour of blood, of violence, and of passion.

His outfit is casual to the extreme but styled expertly. He very much gives the vibes of a delinquent king who is down to drink with his subjects, and he is also the leader whose outfit has least in common with the other residents of his realm.

In some ways this could suggest a demon who is careless about his throne, but imo Satan's look more strongly suggests supreme confidence in his reign.

A (pink-toned) blonde Satan reminds me of Lucifer from DC/Vertigo comics, who unlike Tom Ellis is platinum blonde and fed up of hell, as well as Satan from Ao no Exorcist who is the king of, wait for it, Gehenna.

[I'll dig into Gehenna in another blog ( ಠ▿▿ಠ)و ̑̑]

The only portrayal that comes to mind that has both blonde hair and red eyes though is Lucifer in Shingeki no Bahamut: Genesis - who also sports long black horns tipped with red. Personality wise though, they are completely different.

Overall his look is quite becoming, youthful with a knowing smirk, and absolutely made to tempt with large eyes, and teasing tongue behind a fanged grin.

~

My Rating

Firstly I should admit my own bias - after Mammon, Satan was always going to be the demon I would judge most harshly as I am a big fan of how he is portrayed in Obey Me.

That take on Satan, and the intricacies involved in his origin from Lucifer and subsequent strained relationship and burgeoning personality, are admittedly undercut by later in-game writing that reduced him to a far flatter interpretation. But still, the juice was there!

So, bear in mind that this is a harsh personal eye I am casting upon this Satan.

Satan and Lucifer both have the biggest challenge in being portrayed in a new and unique fashion, having been done so many times before, and in my opinion this Satan does an excellent job of establishing himself with an iconic new look.

The long pastel hair and large eyes give great contrast to massive horns and slit pupils, while his outfit is impressively modern and stylish.

Only one very minor criticism would be the lack of tail, but considering none of the WHB demons have yet been shown with one, that is either a deliberate stylistic choice for the whole game, or we simply haven't yet been granted permission to see them. Either way, as it applies to all, it can be disregarded.

This Satan stands as very distinct from OM Satan, and really from any other Satan I can think of. The long hair is a really nice touch, especially given his overall contemporary vibes.

One of the prettiest Satans I've seen, and one of the most intriguing.

10/10.

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

there are some concepts for aliens and monsters in pop culture that aren’t even “I can see how someone would find this sexy” and are just “this character is just the amalgam of a bunch of kinks”

my favourite one for this is Venom (AKA The Symbiote) from Marvel comics. its literally living clothing that covers you in black latex and turns you into a buff alien with fat tits and a foot-long tongue

also, in Eddie’s case, the inherent eroticism of wearing your boyfriend 👌👌👌

I personally fantasise a lot about the possibility of being bonded with a symbiote, it’s just an avenue for so much

the symbiote finds you one night, its tired and helpless in its unbonded form, and latches onto you in the hopes of at least feeding before moving on. perhaps it drips from the ceiling, splashing over your chest as you doze in bed just before sleep. then, as it covers you and you awaken to feel it spreading over you, the symbiote starts to feel a connection. it covers your entire body from the chest down now, and it feels so strange but so good as it wraps around your lower regions. it extends from the back of your head and over your face, and then the bonding is complete as you feel a throb of pleasure ripple through your body, your newly fanged maw opening to let out a sigh of satisfaction. you and the symbiote both realise that this is more than just a one-time thing, you two are compatible. how else would this arrangement feel so natural, so effortless?

you get up to check yourselves out in the mirror. you’ve grown by about a foot and a half, and are covered in tight muscle. your face is little but a mouth with knife-like teeth and devious white eyes. opening your mouth, your tongue is a long, dextrous limb that drips with alien slime - useful if you ever wanted a third in your relationship, perhaps.

for now though, your new body is still vague, unformed. intuitively, you start to experiment with its versatility. it’s easy as flexing a muscle to, for example, create yourself a thick cock from your groin. it extends out, pink and fleshy next to your otherwise uniform skin, feeling like an extension of your human genitals, ready to be used. a thought and a flex later, and it shifts to gain a large, bulbous knot at its base. another flex, and it splits into two separate cocks, perfect for penetrating both holes of a human at once. you keep experimenting, inverting the cocks into a tight cunt which you briefly finger with your clawed hand (you both shiver with pleasure, your skin rippling with a sigh) and even creating various tentacles and stranger things.

turning your attention away from this area, you find it easy to shift any aspect of your appearance. fingers turn to claws, horns of any shape or size extend from your head, tentacles from your back, or anything you could desire.

once your body is perfect, the bond is truly complete. you know you could change back into your human form any time you like, but your true form is always just a thought away.

.

[breezybangtanbebe]

Voyager: Kihyun x Hyunwoo ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

A/N: Shownuxreader with roommate Kihyun, unprotected sex, fellatio, voyeurism, masturbation..😈🌚

3.5k words

"Shouldn't we shut the door?" You asked.

Hyunwoo's hands don't stall in unclasping your bra. He shoots a glance in the direction of his cracked doorway and shrugs with indifference.

"Naw, it's fine. Nobody's here..." he mutters.

He pulls the straps of your bra over your shoulders and you allow him to remove it fully, tossing it aside.

You pout your lips at his response but quickly become distracted by his lips closing around one of your nipples. A tiny gasp passes through your lips and you stumble forward when Hyunwoo pulls you into him by the waist with him kneeled slightly and level with your chest.

His lips are soft against your pebbled skin and his tongue flicks and swirls slowly over you for a few seconds before he pulls away to begin kissing down your tummy.

Though this impromptu quickie was your idea, Hyunwoo was most enthusiastic about gett straight to the deed while you seemed overly concerned with the fact that his bedroom door was still open.

"You...ooh shit...you sure?" Your eyes flutter from the way Hyunwoo's peppered kisses felt on his way down to the button of your jeans.

"Uh huh.." he responds, unsnapping and unzipping your pants quickly. He all but yanks them down, making you giggle as you stumbled back to land on his conveniently placed bed.

A sly smirk crosses Hyunwoo's face as he stooped down to finish pulling your jeans and panties from your legs. Once you were naked, it was now his turn.

You hurriedly unzipped his fly as he removed his shirt, tossing it aside with haste. Your hands make quick work of pulling his pants down to his mid-thighs and tugging the waistband of his underwear down enough to free the monster you'd been craving all day.

Hyunwoo's dick was perfect.

From the shape, proportions, length, girth, and color.

The veins on his shaft bulged as he made himself jump slightly, the act causing the light brown rounded tip to tap your bottom lip. Your eyes glide up from his member to admire his perfectly toned and defined abs. His long torso only exaggerated the presentation of his muscles and you couldn't get enough of looking at him.

Finding you admiring him from that vantage point arousing, Hyunwoo smirks down at you warmly as he slowly begins to stroke himself.  His abs flex and contract as he hid, pumping his length slowly and right in your face to tempt you.

Your eyes cut towards the open doorway again then back up to Hyunwoo's face.

"....but What if your roommate comes home.." you trail off when the weight of Hyunwoo's dick taps at your pouted lips again. Except for this time, his brows are inverted and his eyes are begging for you to open your mouth.

"Please...stop worrying about the damn door and worry about where you want me to put this first....."  Hyunwoo gestures towards himself with a smirk, looking arrogantly attractive as ever.

Reminding you of how horny you already were and how you were a bit pressed for time, you commence to scoot towards him and swallow him whole. Your lips wrap around his tip and suck him deep into the warm cushion of your mouth.

As you allowed your lips and tongue to get as wet as possible, you took him deeper gradually until he was touching the back of your throat.

His thickness has you gagging and your eyes roll back in satisfaction. A moan surrounds him as he pushed himself deeper and it causes him to inhale sharply between his teeth.

"Ffffuck....." he groans, tilting his head back. His large hands cradle your face, holding you gently and tangling his fingers into your hair as he slowly rocked his hips.

You catch his rhythm, allowing his dick to glide in and out of your mouth, holding him at his thighs and relaxing your throat for him. He ups his pace gradually, reducing you to a wet and sloppy mess as he fucked your face.

This was what you needed. After a day of dealing with grumpy humans and crappy weather, the only thing in the world that could cure your sour mood was right in your face.

Literally.

10 or so minutes later...

The lock of the front door shifts as the nob turned and Kihyun sings a random tune under his breath as he entered his apartment, bobbing his head to the music in his AirPods.

Due to the weather, his supervisor gave some of the crew the green light to leave early. Kihyun was thankful for it. He was exhausted and ready to just shed his sweat and rain-soaked uniform and crash for the remainder of the day.

He steps out of his shoes at the door and hangs his keys on the hook near the entry as he did every time he came home, still singing along to his playlist distractedly.

Once officially inside, he makes a beeline for the kitchen and opens the fridge curiously. He was hungry but had no clue of what he wanted. Perhaps his roommate would be down to go half on some take-out since he notices his keys on the hook as well.

As he leans down to inspect the items at the back of the fridge, he's blissfully unaware of the noise now filling his home. At least until there's a break between songs and his AirPods go silent. In that millisecond he's made privy to the sound of your unbridled moans.

"Fuck baby....oh my god yes!"

Snatching the air pod from his ear immediately, Kihyun shoots back with a straightened posture and scowl of confusion. He wasn't sure what he'd heard at first and he proceeds to pull his phone from his jacket pocket to silence his music.

That was the moment he heard you again.

"Oh fuck...yes! Yes!"

Loud and clear.

Now he was sure of what he'd heard.

"Wow...." he whispers, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He glances over his shoulder towards the front door, considering leaving and coming back later when he figured the two of you would be done.

Nope.

The forecast predicted heavy rain pour for the rest of the day with no breaks. There wasn't anywhere he could go that rivaled the warmth of his bed. Especially since he was dripping wet from the storm already.

He sighs, considering his only option.

He would have to walk past his roommate's door to get to his.

"Fuck it...." He mutters, turning away from the fridge as he closed it and exits the kitchen.

As he neared the dark hallway that led straight to his bedroom at the end of it, Kihyun notices something off-putting.

Hyunwoo's door wasn't closed. Which explained why the sounds of you moaning were so audible from the front of the apartment.

Kihyun groans inwardly as he stepped tentatively into the hallway, hoping he hadn't made his presence known to either one of you.

This was awkward enough.

From a few feet away from his room, Kihyun could just about guess how much you were enjoying whatever his roommate was doing to you.

The sounds of the mattress squeaking are perceivable as well, confirming exactly what the two of you were in the midst of.

He steps carefully over the wood floors and the sounds increase in volume as he approached Hyunwoo's door, his eyes lingering on the crack of light seeping through the thin opening.

"Just get to your room Kihyun...almost there.." he says to himself.

However, his curiosity betrays him once he steps into the small beam of light that leaked out from the bedroom. He steals a quick glance through it, catching an eyeful of skin in that split second.

He does a double take, his eyes widening slightly at the scene beyond the doorway.

Hyunwoo is completely nude, standing at the edge of his bed with you spread for him. His hands are holding you by both of your ankles, keeping them suspended in the air as he drove his dick into you over and over.

The sound of his pelvis slapping into you is obscenely loud, making it obvious how hard he was fucking you. Apart from how loud you were screaming for him.

Kihyun's lips part and his tongue skim over his bottom lip when his gaze falls onto the point of contact, watching the shaft of Hyunwoo's dick disappearing inside of your wetness over and over. He wasn't even pushing himself in, stroking you midway with only half of his dick inside of you.

"Shit..." he says to himself, considering for the first time ever how well endowed his roommate was.

At the thought, Kihyun felt all the blood

drain from his face and travel south until the bulge beneath his underwear aches.

His dick was hard at the sight and sounds of his roommate fucking his girlfriend, neither of them aware of him watching at all. Which added to the appeal in a way and he never imagined he'd be the type to get off on such a thing.

Sure, he knew Hyunwoo fucked you often when he was home but he was usually more mindful of the volume. He must have thought Kihyun wouldn't be home for a while. Naturally. It was barely noon and he usually didn't come strolling in until the early evening.

"This is wrong....this is so wrong..." he thinks. The rational part of him seemed to leap from his body and was attempting to drag him by the hand away from the cursed doorway.

But a different side of him...

A side he didn't even know he had, just couldn't look away.

Just then, Kihyun hears Hyunwoo for the first time when he lets out a few labored grunts. His abs glistened, as does the rest of his muscled body. An attractively erotic sight by itself.

But it's the way he moved that added to Kihyun's urge to grab a hold of himself through his pants.

Hyunwoo's bottom lip was trapped between his teeth and his brow furrows from the effort of him snapping into you faster and harder, making the lewd wet sounds between your legs crescendo. Other than his deeply toned grunts of exertion, his sounds pale in comparison to yours. 

You were very vocal and attractive in the ways you praised his efforts. Calling his name and gasping when he pushed himself deeper than before.

At the strain in your voice, Hyunwoo releases his bitten lip to smile and his hold on your ankles drops down to the back of your knees. He bites his lip again as he put his weight into his lean, falling into you as deep as he could go and relishing in the long drawn-out moan from you at his length.

This makes Kihyun's brow crinkle pitifully due to the way his member jumps and the ache worsens from it being trapped in his underwear.

Not being able to resist it any longer, he takes a quick glance towards the end of the hall before pushing his hand beneath the waistband of his sweats and underwear. The curve of his dick is tucked under a bit and he has to squat slightly to bring it forward to get a proper hold.

Once he has himself gripped firmly at the base, it takes some effort on his part to keep from groaning in relief at how good it felt.

He strokes himself cautiously, mindful of his limbs so as not to bump the wall or slightly ajar door inches from his face.

He checks back in just as Hyunwoo is leaning over you, rocking into you missionary style at a relaxed rhythm. Kihyun has to tilt his head a bit to spot the way Hyunwoo was looming over you now, lip still bitten with hooded eyes on your blissfully pleasured expression.

You're nearly touching at the tips of your noses and Hyunwoo rests his forearms on either side of your head before dropping his to kiss you.

A soft peck.

A lingering peck.

Then the rhythm of his hips slow to match the pace of his lips slowly parting yours, his tongue curling with yours in an open-mouthed kiss.

Kihyun feels a pang of envy in his chest at the sight of you two interacting, the intimate kiss complimenting the way he was handling your body.

The way he was rolling his torso to maintain a slow and steady stroke. The way he was now running his hand down your side, squeezing your hip and coaxing you to lift your leg higher over his waist as he kissed you.

All of these variables had Kihyun stroking himself harder, squeezing himself on the downstroke so that the beads of precum collecting at his tip begin to stain the front of his underwear. He releases a soft huff of annoyance at how confined he still felt and he promptly tugs his dick so that he's hanging over the band of his boxer briefs, now having a bit more room to jerk at himself.

Meanwhile, Hyunwoo is upping his pace. He keeps his lips on yours as he snapped his hips into you faster, rocking your body against the mattress and forcing the volume of your voice to increase again.

You break the kiss and arch up from the bed slightly at how amazing he felt inside of you, hitting every spot you needed to cum. Which you were very well on the way to doing.

"Oh fuck baby...." You exhale, your chin trembling and your eyes fluttering. Hyunwoo takes heed to what your body was telling him and he ups his ante.

Fucking you harder but maintaining his pace.

Reaching up under your armpits and digging his elbows into the mattress as his hands held you at the back of your head, simultaneously anchoring him on top of you.

"Gonna cum? Hmm?" He murmurs to you softly, his lips grazing yours as he spoke.

At the question, Kihyun felt the fuse deep from within him coming close to its end and he increased the rhythm of his hand as you responded.

"Yes..yes baby yes.." you sputtered, barely able to answer from how fast your orgasm approached. Hyunwoo hums in acknowledgment as he continued to fuck you, slamming into you hard as you begged for it.

"Oh, shit..." Hyunwoo murmurs, feeling your walls already clenching around him in preparation.

This alerts Kihyun to two things; you were about cum. Hard. And so was Hyunwoo.

Knowing that alone pushed him even closer to the edge of undoing and Kihyun's breathing increased as he fucked his fist faster.

"Oh fuck..I can feel it..." Hyunwoo groans, his controlled toned sounding less so as he surrenders to the feeling. His jaw falls slack and his forehead is now pressed against yours, his dick steadily driving into you over and over.

Kihyun matches his pace on himself, his eyes slowly beginning to roll at the thought of feeling your heat surrounding him.

Feeling you clench and quiver on his dick the closer you got to your peak.

"Don't stop! Please...don't stop!" You cry out and Hyunwoo groans in response, the strain in his expression evident as he was coming up behind you in the race towards the end.

Kihyun would most definitely be neck and neck with his roommate, his lip now tucked between his teeth and his brow furrowed as he focused all of his energy on reaching his release.

He wasn't as cautious about remaining undiscovered at this point, feeling as if all parties would be too distracted by pleasure to even care. 

As the three of them chased their high, Kihyun felt a slight weakness forming in his knees. This causes him to reach out with his free hand to lean it against the wall adjacent to the doorway for support, subsequently leaning his head back and clenching his eyes shut.

"Oh my god....." he says in tandem with you and you draw out the exclamation as your orgasm washes over suddenly, making you gasp and shudder beneath the strength of Hyunwoo's embrace.

His rhythm kicks into overdrive at this point, taking advantage of the way you were clenching and squeezing him. The added slickness from cumming makes the ride smoother for him to milk himself to the brink of exploding.

He tenses when his release hits him,  whimpering and groaning into the crook of your neck as his hips stalled out. He burrows himself deep inside of you with no mercy, hugging you close as he came.

Like kismet, the hand Kihyun has on the wall snatches away to cover his mouth to muffle the sound of him groaning as he too spilled into his fist. He stumbles away from the crack in the doorway and he carefully collides with the wall across from it in the hall.

The hand around his member is still busy at work, jerking and stroking until the entire front of his pants is stained with his seed.

"Oh fuck...fuck...what the fuck..." he whispers breathily, panting as the sizzle of his orgasm tapers out. It only takes a few seconds for his sense and clarity to settle back in and Kihyun stealthily steps away from the wall. He's mindful of his steps and how quietly he's able to open his bedroom door, only a few feet away from the couple now floating back down to earth.

Half of an hour or so passes and Kihyun had long since freshened himself up. Jumping into his shower and washed away the sweat, cum, and residual shame.

He couldn't believe what he'd just done but he decided it would be better to not dwell on it if he wanted to move on from it. It wasn't like Hyunwoo knew he was watching and if he was concerned about it, he would have made sure his door was closed.

Right?

Voyeurism wasn't something Kihyun ever imagined to be something he'd be into, being on more of the conservative side. Don't get him wrong, in the bedroom he got busy and was quite flexible but it never occurred to him that watching other people get off from such a short distance would get him off.

The more you know...

Some time skipped on and Kihyun found himself mindlessly humming a tune as he tossed some veggies in hot oil around in a skillet.

He was now dressed in a fresh pair of sweats, his brown hair still damp from his shower and his guilt-ridden anxiety from earlier drifting to the back of his mind. At least until he hears a pair of voices beyond the kitchen drawing near from the hallway.

Kihyun glances in the direction of approaching sounds and quickly schools his features as Hyunwoo and his partner come into view.

Your hair was damp and pulled up in a bun to dry and you were dressed comfortably in the clothes you came over in. You had your keys and phone in hand, along with the strap of your bag hanging over your shoulder.

Hyunwoo stands behind you near the doorway, wearing only a pair of dark sweats with his hair still dripping as well. His bare chest flexes as lifts his arms to stretch above his head as he watched you prepare to leave. He stands by while you toe'd at your shoes to slip them on.

At the sound of the food sizzling, he immediately lifts his gaze and acknowledges Kihyun's presence with a nod and Kihyun reciprocates with a tight-lipped smile.

"Hey, how long have you been home? Didn't hear you come in.." Hyunwoo perks his brow and Kihyun averts his gaze when you lift your head to look at him.

You smile politely despite him avoiding eye contact but he gives you a tiny wave to be cordial before responding to his roommate.

How the hell was he gonna be able to act normal now that he'd seen you naked, spread eagle, and exposed?

And not to mention the fact that he'd been attracted to you for while, even with you being with his roommate.

Another reason he held so much guilt. Hyunwoo was his friend as well as his roommate. Lusting after his girl was most definitely against the bro code.

Perhaps this wouldn't be as dismissible as he'd hoped.

"Um...not too long ago. Why?" He follows up and Hyunwoo pouts his bottom lip obliviously as he shrugged.

"Just asking. You're usually home later...." he shakes his head and Kihyun nods as Hyunwoo resumed his attention on you.

"Alright...let me know when you make it home ok?" He tilts his head, regarding you softly with the request. You nod with a smile, rising up on your tip toes to smooch him chastely before reaching for the door.

Hyunwoo swats your hand and grasps it himself to open it for you, making you giggle.

"Will do. See you later." You say with a wink. Hyunwoo winks back and smiles at you with fondness as you moved to step outside.

"Bye Kihyun! Good seeing you.." you call over your shoulder as you leave and Kihyun smirks at the irony of your words as he stirred at his dinner.

"Yeah.....Good seeing you too.."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: I know a voyeur and voyager are two different things. Its a play on words...Lemmelone.

*Part 2*

[kit-ken-writes]

Status:: Rewriting stuff I wrote last summer

Genre:: Dark Romance, Dark Fantasy, Monster Romance, smidge of Lovecraftian Horror

Themes:: Coming of Age, Fate & Free Will, Empowerment, Isolation, Fear of the unknown, Human’s place in the universe, desire, love & companionship

Warnings:: Depictions of suicide, child abandonment & neglect, brief mentions of sexual harassment, bullying, Power imbalance (eldritch god and sacrificial offering), age gap (Kyveli is 20 and Yozuthalus is like millions of years old), yandere-like tendencies

Story:: Deep within the mists of the Southern Montlow Sea, lies an island steeped in secrets and tradition. Thoania is home to a people seemingly stuck in history, detached from the rest of the world in complete ignorant bliss. But it's not only the people of Thoania that call the island their home. Something old lives in their bay, within the deep blue hole. Something that came before the island itself, something older than the sea. The One Beneath the Bay. 

The people of Thoania had always worshipped the mysterious entity in peaceful understanding until a momentary uprising illustrated the sheer power and wrath of The One Beneath the Bay. Now in penance, they offer their daughters to the sea. Until one hundred years ago, when the bay claimed none. Now the islanders live in fear of unknown mistakes, wondering if the sea will show its fury again. 

That is until a young orphan, outcasted by the island, takes her place in the line of girls upon the bay’s shore. A young girl who will change the trajectory of Thoania’s stagnation, and alter her future altogether.

Kyveli is the illegitimate daughter of the current magistrate and a local barmaid. Due to the circumstances of her birth, she and her mother were ostracized by the town. And Kyveli often faced severe bullying from the likes of the town children. After her mother's death, Kyveli is effectively an orphan left to her own devices. Until a fateful ceremony will see her life inverted and her future change.

Kyveli is described as being a gloomy child, with rarely a smile upon her face. She has a cynical and apathetic approach to life. And most people conversing with her are often thrown off by her bluntness. Despite her cold demeanor, Kyveli has always been a curious child, seeking out books and scrolls to tell her the secrets of the isle. Or stalking the shores for shells and trinkets. And despite her impoverished upbringing, the Priestesses all note her observant and clever nature.

Yozuthalus is the forgotten name of The One Beneath the Bay. An ancient entity existing long before Thoania and the sea itself. It's unknown if they created Thoania and it's residents or if they just allowed their creation in their domain. Regardless, Yozuthalus considers themselves the ruler of the sea and the people of Thoania have always considered them their god. Its also unknown what Yozuthalus's true motivations and intentions are but for the most part they appeared peaceful as long as the islanders stayed there. But they did exhibit a deep wrath and little care for those who defied them. Yozuthalus is known to be quite mysterious and has never directly spoken to the people. Only using the sea and rain to converse with them. For the last one hundred years, they have refused all offerings, mystifying the islanders. Until a young outcast stood on the sands of it's bay…

Yozuthalus is an omniscient and omnipotent entity who's age transcends time and who's being is incomprehensible to mortal minds. They have an indifferent attitude towards mortals, as long as they stay in the island and follow their unspoken contract. Should it be broken, Yozuthalus is capable of immense fury. But has also shown the ability to forgive presented the right apology. Yozuthalus also shows great wisdom and intelligence about all things, yet has an inquisitive nature when it comes to the lives of mortals, or perhaps just one mortal in this case.

What you’ll find:

Greek/Roman-inspired society

Eldritch-like entity

Lots of water imagery

Black sheep trope

Sacrificial Lamb

Kissing the monster

The voice inside her head

Surreal dreams

Outcasted even as the chosen one

Ancient Rituals

Giving into temptation and desire

© 2024 kit-ken — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform