#like the glorious Guinea Pig

[verm1c1de]

addendum to my irken boobs post:

efurry time someone gives purredatory ((as in carnivorous,,)) traits to irkens i lose 1 of my 9 lives

[saintvalentinex]

Would we all like to see a glorious Guinea pig photo? Of course we would.

[thirdlotusprince3]

Inside Out favorite animal.

Joy: Dogs of course! And dolphins and porpoises. Penguins care a lot about their families and ducks. Flying squirrels! I think my favorite is dogs!

Ennui: Turtles, sloths, camels, pandas, they just want to eat and sleep. Pandas.

Joy: I love pandas they are so cute!

Anger: Lion, sharks, tigers.

Fear: Why would you like sharks?

Anger: Because they are cool.

Disgust: Cats, swans, peacocks, they always want to show their glorious feathers. Arctic fox, it’s smart and beautiful. What are those bugs?

Fear: Bugs!

Disgust: Butterflies. I would say cats, smart gorgeous, sassy.

Anxiety: What are those rodent creatures?

Fear: Rodents?!

Disgust: Rodents! Ew!

Anxiety: Hamsters, bunnies, guinea pigs, chinchillas, groundhogs. Groundhogs they bury when they are scared. I think bunnies are my favorite.

Joy: I love bunnies, they are so fluffy!

Sadness: Whales. They are very motherly. Did you know, when a baby whale is injured, the mother whale is too distressed to leave, it’s so sad. And elephants thy are smart, motherly, kind creatures, they greive their dead family members and bury them.

Envy: Ooh! I like peacocks. But I like something smart and powerful, I’d say the arctic fox or white tiger or snow leopard.

Embarrassment: Groundhogs, hedgehogs, armadillos. They want to hide their face.

[yandere-sins]

Madness

a/n: I saw a dialogue prompt somewhere and this idea came to mind. Please head the warnings.

Characters: Yandere!Dottore x GN!Reader Fandom: Genshin Impact Warnings: Yandere, Extreme Violence (Reader violently killing someone, Reader cutting open someone’s stomach, Majorly implied amputation of reader’s limbs), Desperation, Mentally broken reader, Mention of drugs/medication/syringes/scalpels/blood/vomit(ting)/disfiguration/experimentation, Reader is a human guinea pig

"Ha... haha..."

Finally, you thought. It's quiet. So fucking quiet.

Nothing, not even your laugh or the clattering of the scalpel as it slipped from your hand, falling on the floor, could break the silence around you. It was over. You had no sense of time, no calendar to keep track of the days, weeks, months you must have been locked up for. But it was finally over, the blood on your hand a small price for ending all this madness.

You should have never trusted the Fatui. Their compassionate speeches and warm invitations. They swore to help you out of the poverty you lived in. They promised they'd give you a roof over your head and a warm meal a day if you joined them, but it never turned out like the glorious future they described to your vulnerable self. It had been too damn long, but you'd never forget your first meeting with The Doctor. You'd never forget that shark-toothed smile as he introduced himself with a handshake. Never forget the first time he tied you to a chair and told you it would 'only be a small sting'.

Days after days, he tortured you. One incision cutting out some of your skin here, a syringe with weird substances injected there. Him telling you to toughen up, and subtle threats made behind medical jargon. "You could lose your eye if you moved," and, "Be careful, or I might accidentally cut into the vein. You don't want to bleed out here, right?"

But what felt almost worse were his hands on your body. Gloved, not gloved, always searching and never resting. He treated you like a sculpture he was forming, placing you into positions he liked. Below him. At his feet. Forcing you to look up at him through dazes and nausea. Only then would he be careful with you, brushing sweaty hair from your face, offering to take you to a bath if you behaved in the next experiment. Telling you he never saw something as lovely as your cut-up and delirious self. That you were the best he ever had under his scalpel.

The sentences haunted you even in your dreams. If you could sleep, that is. Most nights, you laid awake, trembling from the drugs, throwing up from your memories, or tearing your hair out in agony after getting your medicine. You never signed up to be a guinea pig for this madman, but you were told someone had to do it. At first, you relented, seeing the much younger candidates they brought into the room instead of you, but eventually, you didn't care anymore. And Dottore ceased asking. He broke you; every day a little more. Never caring for your feelings, no matter how pitifully you begged and pleaded with him to let you go.

But now it was all over.

It took you long enough. Too long. You barely remained human at this point. Perhaps this outburst and attack on the person that did this to you was the most human about you now. The constant, nagging voice in your head was gone. It no longer blamed you for your naivety. Didn't scold you for crying or hurting yourself. Everything was quiet. Peaceful.

Ironic, you thought, looking down at the corpse at your feet. You stabbed him so many times, if not for the clothes—now died red—no one would have recognized him anymore. It only took one death for everything to be set on the right path again. You thought that killing would be harder than it ended up being, feeling like you now understood why it was so easy for Dottore to experiment on you. It got easier after the first time, the first stab. Then, only rage guided what followed, and soon, it was almost second nature.

Stepping back, you avoided glancing at the reflective surfaces. Not wanting to see the kind of monster you had become after all that happened. You'd never be welcome in your community again, though, if you were honest, you hadn't been before, either. Still, with looks this frightful, you'd have to hide somewhere far away for the rest of your life.

If you made it that far.

Surely the Fatui would not be pleased after what you did to their Harbinger. Life on the run wouldn't be very rewarding, but it would be better than what you went through here. Anything would be better—even death.

You didn't bother cleaning up the blood from your hands, clothes, or face. What good would it do? All you wanted was to leave. Leave this place and memories behind, and disappear forever from anyone's sight. You'd figure things out once you were outside. Once you were finally safe again. It couldn't get worse than what happened behind closed doors in this room. It just couldn't.

Except... it could.

Twisting the doorknob, you pulled. Again and again, you twisted, pulled, then tried to push, then banged against it. Even with all your weight thrown into it and used to remove the door from its frame, you made no progress. There were no windows. You only had this door from which the doctor used to enter and exit. In the beginning, you had been somewhere else, and then, someday, you woke up in this room, not remembering how you got here. You knew this must be your way out, so why wasn't it budging?

Staggering back, you looked at the corpse on the ground. The man you murdered. The very same man you hated with every fiber of your being. Turning over the corpse wasn't as hard as one might assume. Sticking your hands into places you never wanted to feel made you shake with disgust, but you pushed through it, goal in mind. There must have been something. A key, a code, anything. He must have locked the door somehow, and you needed it open before you began to choke on the dread of being locked in.

Nothing.

You turned every pocket inside out, ripped the clothes from his body, and put your hands where they didn't belong. Nothing. With your breathing heavy, you looked at the scalpel on the floor, a last, desperate thought crossing your mind. The idea that popped into your head seemed crazy. Why would he swallow a key he needed to get out? Who'd do something mad like this?

A mad doctor would. Dottore would.

It cost you less effort than you thought to cut open his stomach, find the organ you were looking for, and cut that open as well. Tears and blood went everywhere around you, with no way to discern the fluids leaking everywhere, but no metal dropped out of the mess you made. Frustrated, you threw the scalpel away. This time you couldn't help but wash, letting the icy-cold water run over your skin as you scrubbed off the remains of him until you barely felt your hands anymore.

When you were done with that, you moved on to your face.

It was hard to keep a clear head in situations like this, but as anyone would do, you tried to open the door again. Tears dropped from your eyes incessantly, and you pleaded with the exit to open, begging unknown powers behind its lock to let you out. Euphoria made way for cold, hard reality. You must have cried for hours, wailed, and screamed and shouted until no sound came out. Fear turned to anger, the height of hope into bottomless desperation. Realizing that you were locked in with the corpse of the seemingly only person who knew how to get out was terrifying. No amount of hugging or trying to soothe yourself with positive thoughts could banish the fear.

The loneliness.

You fell asleep a couple of times, only waking up to hunger pangs and thirst, but all you did was cry yourself back to sleep, knowing it was hopeless. After waking up for the third time, you forced yourself to the sink, drinking some water before throwing it up again, unable to keep the sickening cold down. It was cold on the floor, so you moved to the small bed you had been provided with, wrapping yourself in blankets. It was warm, but it did nothing to comfort you. The sleep cycle continued.

Without anyone there to tell you a new day had begun and it was time for a new experiment, you lost your sense of time completely. It could have been days. Or hours. All of this could have happened in the mere timespan of half a day. Who knew? Not you. The only things you knew now for sure were: the Fatui were bad people, you survived far longer than you probably should have, and you'd ultimately die here. Locked away and alone with the corpse of your abuser, having brought on your own demise.

Knowing that, you closed your eyes, hoping it would be over soon.

Only to awake to the soft humming of a person next to you, your body wrapped in tender warmth and feeling less sick and weak than you ever had before. You lived in the harsh coldness of Snezhnaya for years, and you never experienced such ease and peace on your worn-down body and mind. This must have been the afterlife. It was finally over.

"Hm? Look who decided to grace us with their presence again," a familiar voice teased. Someone picked up your hand, squeezing it between two warm palms, and you turned your head to the side to see who had woken you. Maybe it were the Archons. Perhaps you were in a better place now. A happier one.

But at the sight of the blueish strands of hair falling into a familiar face, red eyes drilling into you while a shark-toothed grin completed the look of your greatest nightmare, all you could do was roll over on your side, bile rising into your mouth before you toppled over, throwing up onto the bed and floor.

What a cruel fate, uniting you with your worst enemy, even in death. Dead he was. You made sure of it. There was no way that corpse with the cut-open stomach could come back to life. Absolutely no way. And yet, there he was, standing up and tsking at you before supporting your back as you kept throwing up the remnants of your own stomach.

"How silly you are. I'm hardly that ugly," Dottore sighed, a bitter jest in his voice.

"How...?" you gurgled, feeling like there was nothing left to throw up despite your body trying to desperately.

"Don't think I have forgotten what you did," he replied, rubbing your back attentively. "That wasn't very nice, you know?"

Still holding your hand with one of his, Dottore slowly helped you sink back on top of the pillow, your bed ruined with spew but seemingly not a concern for the doctor. He reached over to the nightstand to lift a cup of water to your lips, wetting them before pressing the container harder against them so you'd open up. It wasn't cold water, and it tasted bittersweet in your mouth, but you had no choice but to gulp it down, as the doctor insisted.

"However, for now, you should rest. I was so relieved I managed to get to you in time. I don't even want to imagine the trouble we would have to go through had I been too late."

"I wish you wouldn't have," you mumbled weakly. Slowly tears crept into your eyes as you stared defiantly at Dottore. His gaze was intense, but now that clarity forced its way back into your mind, all the hate and frustration you felt before stabbing him returned as well. It was almost as if nothing had changed. Almost as if you only fantasized about killing him and trying to escape. "I can imagine what it would be like losing you."

For a moment, Dottore was quiet. Then, a laugh broke from his lips. Hearty, amused, appalling. Reaching out, he touched your cheeks, wiping the tears from your eyes. No gloves separated you, the touch as intimate as it disgusted you. He never was like this. He never cared about your tears before. Dottore only ever focused on his selfish wants and not on yours. You must have shocked him real good for him to act so kindly. The thought crossed your mind.

"I'm glad neither of us needs to have these terrible thoughts then," he chuckled, turning around briefly. You heard the sound of metal as he arranged something on a table behind him, the sight covered by his body from your eyes. However, when he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the tools there, scalpels and saws.

"But I promise you," he spoke solemnly. "I won't let the same mistake happen again."

Gripping your arm, he pinned it down, your body not strong enough to move quickly as he pulled a firm leather strap across your body. When he tried to do the same with your legs, you tried kicking him to no avail, Dottore simply forcing your leg down after you missed.

"I underestimated your affinity for using your hands and legs, but they aren't necessary for what I have planned for you. And I don't make the same mistake twice."

Dottore turned around to the table, and you began to wiggle and squirm, trying to free yourself from the restraints before he came back. He knew what he was doing. One glance at the saw in his hand, and you wanted to throw up again, your mouth filling with bile.

"Feel free to scream. I will have no problem explaining the sounds to whoever can hear you. No one is going to come to rescue you. I won't let them. This is all for your sake. I don't even care you killed one of my clones. "

A mad grin played on his lips. Your eyes met, and you knew you'd never escape this. Never escape his madness. Not even when it ruined you entirely too.

It wouldn't need much to reach that point.

"You are my favorite little experiment, after all," he confessed, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tightly, almost reassuringly. The pressure rose as he pressed your hand to the bed, adjusting the saw just below your thumb, dangerously close to his own fingers.

And all you could do was scream as the pain united you.

[inaaontheskyways]

Pittyober, day 2: puppet

Oof, I'm sorta nervous since this is my 1st time sharing my writing on here, but I just finished this for this year's Pittyober started by @stormyykat, so I hope that y'all will enjoy!

(CW under the cut: light mentions of abuse and imprisonment)

There was no one in the Spiral, especially Valencia, who didn’t know who the Armada were. A military force spearheaded by the Supreme Commander, Kane, and his elite circle of clockworks, who for years had been crushing and overtaking all the other worlds in order to turn them into the mechanical perfections like they were. Cold, calculating, callous; beings who could not feel emotions, who couldn’t understand the hearts of mortals, because all they were concerned about was how to yield the best results no matter the means, even if they were cruel and merciless.

So it would be a terrible shock for just about anyone if they learn of the possibility that Kane might have feelings—or at least to an extent—despite the frigid attitude and behavior all clockworks were known to have. Really, though, it made the most sense, given the fact that he was built to be the epitome of man; the strongest, fastest, but above all, the most intelligent, so it was really only a matter of time that he would act just like one too. And the emotion that was the most prominent within himself was obsession, the drive to entitle and covet whatever he wanted because as the most superior of all specimens, it would only be his right as the one who carried the great burden of taking and fixing all that was wrong with the Spiral.

And there was none who exemplified Kane’s obsession more than his ward, the one he still endeavored to protect all these years, his Ariele. The young apprentice of his old creator, he was the only thing in the whole Spiral who was truly good and innocent—pure—with how kindly and gently he treated everything that he came across. From little bugs in the villa’s garden, to the art utensils he worked with, to even regarding him like he would any other flesh-and-blood person; nothing was ever superior nor inferior but rather of equal value, for they should be one in the same in his eyes. What made him even more amazing was that he would still remain positive despite his being a half-guinea pig, the lowest of the low frowned upon by every corner of Valencian society, always finding it in himself to smile and be happy even when it deeply hurt him.

“Everyone hurts inside, so they can’t help but want to hurt others as well,” Ariele had once said to the clockwork as they sat on the grass together, baby-blues still soft even when downcast, weaving several stems of flowers to form a crown that he would later place atop of his head, “I hope they realize that what they’re doing isn’t right, so that they won’t be sad anymore and learn how to make friends instead.”

That was why Kane resolved to protect him, to ensure change not just to Valencia but the entire Spiral as well, so that none of its filth would ever taint him and the purity that he held. Ariele was his perfect princess, the crown jewel of his glorious empire, and in order to ensure that he would remain so forever, he was kept all the way up in a high tower where his safety and perseverance of his purity could absolutely be guaranteed. There, he would stay and be surrounded by all that he loved, be it his favorite fairy tale books or colorful dresses with intricate stitching, never to be seen by anyone else other than his eyes only.

It didn’t matter that Ariele would try to run away, that he would cry and thrash around when he eventually got caught, that he would need to be injected medicine at times just to get him to sleep and stay still. It didn’t even matter that he would constantly go against the philosophy that he posed to Kane years ago, about realizing how much hurt he was inflicting against him every time he would act up and rebel. Couldn’t he see that this was for his own good, that everything he did was on his behalf to guarantee that nothing in the Spiral could taint his innocence, and he should really be more than grateful for all the hard work and effort that came into spoiling him.

“No, I don’t like this! I don’t want this!” the stubborn thing would sob out every single time their little game of tag would end up in the same way, tears fat and voice gone hoarse, “You can’t keep doing this to me! Letmegoletmegolet me go!”

But even then, that was alright with Kane, knowing that his princess would one day give up and come around to his ideas. He was simply just confused, couldn’t tell the difference between right or wrong, especially given how sleepy and dazed those injections tended to make him feel. He would make him see just how much he cared—cherished him all this time, despite all his short-comings as a weak, feeble-minded mortal who needed some guidance on how things should actually be.

And should he have to resort to just recreating him in his own image in order to achieve that, then so be it.

[circlejourney]

The one basking in infinite glory is you; the one fallen from grace is also you

Hi I’m having thoughts/feelings about TGCF again and need to get this down in words (major spoilers, be warned)...

When I started reading the TGCF novels, I was baffled that Xie Lian had ascended to godhood at 17. We were introduced to his present self first: the one who hadn’t even enough worshippers to build him a shrine, and had to build his own from scavenged scraps. And his ascension was detailed only in brief, broad strokes, always mentioned alongside the fact that he was banished to the mortal realm just years later--twice.

The Xie Lian of the present was such a staggeringly far cry from that martial god upon whom heaven smiled, that all I could really think was: what distinguishes him from the commoner? What sort of glorious past and personage has he shed, to have become like this now?

But as the story gradually unveiled his past, it became clear that this was the story of the man who had ascended to godhood as a teen--though not in the way I had expected, in the least. Because he wasn’t glorious, proud or all-conquering: he was simply...giving.

He was headstrong, yes, but not like the martial gods who waged wars and slaughtered cities and won devotees in the name of bloodshed. He had a special combination of naivety, stubbornness and selflessness that perhaps came from youth, that he truly believed he could singlehandedly change the fate of his country--fight a war, end a drought and curb an epidemic all at the same time, while forgetting his own existence in the process.

He flew, day in and day out for years, with a hat full of lake water, just to pour rain upon a drought-stricken Yong’an--even though that could not change the political drivers that made the crisis so dire, even though the solution could only last as long as he had it in him to enact it. He said he would be the common people’s salvation, so he chose to be that salvation, mind and body.

He held up the collapsing temple for days with his own might, knowing it would kill thousands if it fell. In such fashion, he made his very body the lone bulwark against the collapse of everything around him, and there was no one else he could turn to. He shouldered the entire weight of the temple on himself, and when it collapsed, so did his kingdom.

So it gradually dawned on me, as I read about his past, just how he could be the same person. Who else could become a god at 17? Even without the powers of godhood, it takes a singular kind of person to look at a grand and hopeless crisis and take such pity on his people that he would try to halt it by sheer force of will.

And the truth is, once I knew that story, I saw it in his present self, too. Even as a banished god, he offers himself as the bridal sacrifice to lure Xuan Ji out, rather than endangering yet another innocent. He makes himself the guinea pig in a treacherous dice game to rescue his colleague. Even broken down a hundred different ways, he is stubbornly self-effacing and self-sacrificial.

And though Bai Wuxiang, who was alike in his stubbornness but failed to take the “higher road” when tempted, tries to drive Xie Lian to take the same broken path he did--by starting an epidemic during the war, making him the sacrificial lamb whose fatal injuries would cure his people, and tempting him to destroy his usurping enemies with that same disease--he resoundingly fails.

Because even in the trenches of despair, he would rather he himself be hurt than someone else. Because there’s always the one kind person worth enduring the pain for, in a world as profoundly rotten as this. And one person is enough.

The story really does ring true to Hua Cheng’s words: "The one basking in infinite glory is you; the one fallen from grace is also you. What matters is 'you' and not the state of you." The bait-and-switch, of introducing Xie Lian the trash-collector as a farce next to the God-Pleasing Crown Prince he once was, and then revealing that--no--it truly is the same person, the one who ascended, the one who fought to save his country, the one who lost everything, the one who is now building his own shrine from scraps--profoundly illustrates those words.

And I can truly understand how Hua Cheng--who witnessed every key point in this man’s life, through the heights and the depths (from the moment he “fell” from the terrace and the Crown Prince "ascended” to save him, losing his false mask to show his true face)--died restless with the agony of knowing Xie Lian had been so wronged by the world.

P.S.  I also really enjoy the possible readings of Xie Lian’s name, 谢怜. 谢 - a common surname, but also gratitude, thanks;  怜 - mercy, but also pity, pitifulness. He is the one who shows mercy, and he is the one who is pitied; the two are inseparably him. Literally, “thank you for your mercy”--a beggar pleading for donations, or an exultation to a god who has delivered one from suffering?

[herbertwest]

One thing about me is that even though I don't celebrate Christmas, I absolutely adore Christmas sweaters, especially UGLY Christmas sweaters.

The ugliest Christmas sweater I ever saw was in a company ugly sweater contest and it was GLORIOUS. It was handmade, with an abstract barfing reindeer on it. It lit up, but only by plugging into the wall. It is my White Whale of Christmas sweaters.

While that may be unobtainable, I've acquired a significant collection of Christmas Sweaters of varying degrees of ugliness, which I will share with you today.

First up is this Jack Skellington Christmas sweater. It's pretty straightforward. Jack Skellington in Santa hats. My dad got this for his holiday party several years ago, but since he knew he would wear it only once, he got it a little too small for him, so it's only a little too big on me.

Ugliness rating, 5/10, Cuteness rating, 2/10

If there's one thing everyone knows about me, aside from the whole skeleton in the basement thing, it's that I love guinea pigs! This Merry Pigmas sweater has a guinea pig on it, and the guinea pig is wearing a Santa hat. It's made of sweatshirt material but the pattern is supposed to look like a sweater.

Ugliness rating: 4/10, Cuteness rating: 7/10

This sweater has a whole lot of guinea pigs in Christmas attire. It is not even close to actually being a sweater, but since I can only wear it in the window between Thanksgiving and Christmas (since I'm a coward) I count it as a Christmas sweater.

Ugliness rating, 3/10, Cuteness rating 9/10

This sweater has my dog (Penelope) on it, wearing a Santa hat. It also says Merry Woofmas. I have a picture of myself wearing this sweater next to Penelope wearing an actual Santa hat. It is adorable.

Ugliness rating: 4/10, Cuteness rating 10/10

Now we're starting to get to the actual ugly Christmas sweaters. I love loud German bands, and sometimes the loud German bands put out horrible holiday sweaters that I must own. This one I got on sale in Germany in May. It says 'Metal is Religion' on it, so I can offend everyone. It also has werewolves, and the band's name (Powerwolf) several times in very large text.

Ugliness rating: 8/10, Cuteness rating: 1/10

Die Ärzte is another loud German band, and all I can say is they Understood the Assignment. In addition to their logo, there are skeletons, because why not. The back has the band members' names, and I believe more skeletons.

Ugliness rating: 8/10, Cuteness rating 2/10

This sweater has three gingerbread men wearing sequined hats with pompoms, one of whom is losing a leg. It also has sparkling peppermint candies and normal peppermint candies. The bells jingle, meaning everyone knows where I am at all times. This greatly hinders my cookie larceny.

Ugliness rating: 9/10, Cuteness rating: 5/10

This sweater is the pièce de résistance of my sweater collection. It has an enormous sequined tree, a llama in sequined boots, a 3D scarf, a Santa hat with an actual pompom, functional jinglebells, stripes, and fuzzy stuff around the wrists and collar. It makes my grandpa groan with dismay whenever he sees it, and I have gotten very close to having it banned from family gatherings.

Ugliness rating: 10/10, Cuteness rating, 7/10

[white-boy-bracket]

Childe also. Has irreversible bloodlust. He loves to fight.

Here’s are some highlights from his voice lines;

You know, there are better ways to seek out our enemies than... well, standing here.

This place is pretty dead... By which I mean, there's nothing to kill.

The world looks glorious in the snow. Pure white, like the light of the moon. A perfect backdrop for bloodshed.

A warrior must always be ready to face any challenge with his blade. The outcome of the battle is irrelevant — what matters is that you learn from the experience.

Tell me, how has Mr. Zhongli been lately? Not bad, you say? Seems he's had no problem acclimating to "mortal" life. Hmph, he sure had me fooled. Such a fiasco mustn't be so easily forgiven! The only way to reconciliation is fierce combat! What do you mean I'm no match for him? Hahaha...

Varka? Just the thought of one day going head-to-head with him in combat, the fabled Knight of Boreas himself, titan of the Knights of Favonius... It makes me buzz with excitement. It's a beautiful life we live in this world.

Remember, comrade, one day I will conquer the world!

Face me in person, man to man, and I'll always have a chance of beating you. Same goes if you're a deity or a monster from the abyss. But the Harbingers? They are more enamored with their intangible methods, spending their days scheming and maneuvering. This is why we cannot get along.

Comrade, a word of advice: Don't go yelling stupid things in the heat of battle. They might sound good in your head, but if you think about it, they make no sense at all. I'm talking about things like, "I'm on fire!" That's the last thing we want. Fire leaves behind nothing but ashes. And you must survive at all costs.

Ah, how time flies. One day, you will see how I conquer the world and crush the thrones of gods beneath my heel. In the meantime... no dying, comrade! Keep yourself alive, haha.

There's plenty of delicious food to sink your teeth into in this world... and plenty of fights to sink your teeth into as well. Life is beautiful.

Happy birthday, comrade! Anyone you need knocked off their perch today? Let me know. I'll happily oblige...

Food is like weaponry. A true warrior never deliberates unduly over their choice of weapon, nor do they do so over the food they eat. Neither should you.

Ho, I feel like I've gotten stronger! Now, who shall I use as my guinea pig...

"A warrior's strength is like a dome. The bigger the dome, the more opponents he can challenge inside it." Hmm, who was it that said this again?

Bravo, comrade! Thanks to your help, I am one step closer to my goal of conquering the world. I doubt even the Tsaritsa herself ever expected I would make it this far.

Comrade. Make sure you keep training too. Otherwise, who will be left to fight me to the death when the world lies defeated at my feet?

These are all real voicelines he has

!

[pastel-mask]

Hmmmmm that there looks like a Guinea Bee, aka a Bumble Pig

Glorious specimen fr fr

[splotchyfingers]

Preview -

August 13, 2805

The earth is a murky landscape of towering waste, the once glorious Colorado mountains now shrunken in size by the towering peaks of trash. Humanity is vacant from this planet, it has been ten years since the humans left had died and seven hundred years since the rest of mankind abandoned their planet.

The only sound heard around the desolate city of the once South Park is the dreary wind breezing through the uninhabited landscape, or seemingly uninhabited, but an echoing beat of whimsical music interrupts that thought. The music upon closer inspection is from ancient times, a song of joy and inspiration of stepping out into the world, quite the opposite of what the world was like now. The music is delivered by surprisingly the only living human being.

This lone human, a boy of only seventeen years old, and raggedy blonde hair, walked through the streets with a twitch processing through his body ( dressed in a dirty old green jumpsuit with lord knows what stains, a harness strapped to himself, a scarf protecting his neck from the sun's rays, and ratty old gloves that had been worn to the point were his calloused fingers began to stick through.) He held onto a pile of trash and shoved it into a nearby trash compactor as its gears clicked and it convulsed together the trash into a cube, he lifted the heavy object and began to move it towards the designated tower.

Another life form, a small guinea pig sniffed the air as he followed behind the struggling boy, who grunted with each step of the enormous tower even after ten years of his laboring directive it still weighed on him.

After an hour or so, with encouragement from the music coming from his historical walkman, he not so graciously, dropped the cube on the ones from years to centuries ago, sighing in relief as he was about to leave when a glint of something sticking out of one of the cubes, caught his eye as he inspected it with intense curiosity. He moved to grab the absolutely needed item, however it wouldn’t budge at first and the teenager being stubborn as he was refused to leave it as he pulled harder, placing his foot against the lower amalgamated trash to get more balance, finally, after a few more attempts at his tugging it pulled free, swinging right into his face, making him lose his balance as he fell right on his bottom.

He pressed his gloved hand to his head groaning at the newly forming bruise on his already scarred skin, as he looked down at the shiny aluminum lid of an ancient trash can which was no use to anyone now, besides, for the dirty blond to add to his collection. He switched at the sun, hitting his shielded eyes from his protected goggles which tented even more from the sunlight pressing into it, and his already multiple burned skin.

It appeared to be getting closer to evening by now, and he knew it was best to begin the journey home, he removed the beaten backpack from his harness and shoved the item inside, the backpack was very much torn and patched up but the most peculiar thing about it was the scratched name tag sewn into and barely readable it spelled out the name of the owner as it did on his other label attached to his jumpsuit. Tweek.

A weird name for anyone but he didn’t come up with it and it was far from something he cared about since the only worry was being able to survive at all in this filth of a once thriving town turned city.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50305270/chapters/127083436

Been writing this for awhile! Thought I’d share it on here in case people wanna read it if not totally fine just wanna share my stuff!

[a-grumbling-raevon]

Ôrthurian Ask OC meme

Normally I have this annoying habbit when creating characters for TTRPG's or writing projects to not write much down. This seemed like a lot of fun so here is Ôrthurian as the guinea pig for this! Original post Art work and setting this character belongs to by Grumpy elf Does Art

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do? - Not long, he has a compulsion to keep himself busy.

How easy is it for your character to laugh? - Generally? Very difficult he's got a reputation of being rather stone faced and dour.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?) - Reading, he does like to finish the day with a book from his personal collection.

How easy is it to earn their trust? - It's a slow process for him he needs time to allow someone into his confidence.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust? - Dependant on the situation but generally it takes someone slighting him or going against his beliefs and morals.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable? - For the most part he leans towards to law being sacrosanct.

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling? - Reading through his journals. Through his written word he almost can imagine those memories and it's dependant on what entry he is reading.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child - As a child he was often told that he should never let his frailties hold him back.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word? - Not really on both accounts

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them? - Often he lies about how he feels physically and yes, it has come to bite him many times

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)? - He will seek clarification.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach? - Hold his tongue and try to put up with it.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color? - Blue and he is magnificent in it!

What animal do they fear most? - Honestly? He hasn't encountered an animal that frightens him.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first? - Normally he speaks rather slow and he needs to think about what he is going to say. He also tends to be rather literal in how he speaks.

What makes their stomach turn? - On his worst days the sight of his own reflection.

Are they easily embarrassed? - A little bit, yeah.

What embarrasses them? - His own physical short comings compared to the others of his people.

What is their favorite number? - 29

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so? - He wouldn't have a clue how to explain it outside of very literal definitions.

Why do they get up in the morning? - Because he has a obligation to serve his people.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? - He becomes rather bitter.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? - They wish they could perform to the same standards of the person he feels that towards.

 Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? - Absolutely not.

 What are their thoughts on marriage? - It doesn't factor into his mind. He is Aromantic.  

 What is their preferred mode of transportation? - Often by carriage it's comfortable.  

 What causes them to feel dread? - Stagnation and helplessness

 Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? - He's prefer the truth but it's hurt before

 Do they usually live up to their own ideals? - He tries to.

 Who do they most regret meeting? - Any vain glorious Canrai officer or people who are overbearing

 Who are they the most glad to have met? - Nero.

 Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? - Do detailed reports count?

 Could they be considered lazy? - No, he has had to be ordered to rest.

 How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? - Very difficult he often lets mistakes stick in the back of his mind

 How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? - If it's a subject or item he shares an interest in he is supportive

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? - No, they don't feel any desire.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? - He's very good for remembering names. He likes his lists and paperwork

What memory do they revisit the most often? - The day he stood before his parents in his uniform.

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? - To his own detriment he struggles to ignore them when it puts more work on himself.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?- Very sensitive almost to the point of obsession

How do they feel about children? - They exist.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? - He would love to... if he could figure out what HE wants.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? - It's a no go topic

[jinxthejubilee]

My Thoughts on Obey Me: Season 2, Episode 1

Wow. Where do I even start with this one?Welcome back to the anime, everyone! Where nonsensical plots are abound. Let's take a look and analyze this episode!

Warning: Spoilers for this episode!

Right off the bat, I knew what kind of madness I was in for.

First off, nice callback to Episode 1 of the first season with the name boxes. It completely took me aback for a second.

I wonder how long they were stuck like that. Considering that they were standing in one place, I assume that they were in a somewhat brainless state for a while. But they recognized themselves that they were transformed, so we know that they were aware of it.

I love how done Satan looks in this shot. It just brings me so much joy.

It was a bit cruel of a punishment, I'm not gonna lie. You're body and mind are stuck in a rectangular body, and you could only communicate in a few words related to school and test work. An utter nightmare!

Leave it to Mammon to make money out of anything.

I can't tell if he was actually trying to help, or he was just trying to make easy cash. Probably both?

Honestly, the boys didn't need to do this. They could've just walked away, but they just stood there and played along.

I'm more surprised that Lucifer thought that plan was solid. Like, dude, no. What kind of idea was that?!

Apparently, the joke we English speakers missed when Belphie was saying "I mith them," was that in Japanese, he was actually saying "It hurts."

I saw that from the comments, so I might be wrong, but the person explained that "ita"i (ee-tie) and "aitai" (ai-tie) are two very different things.

"Aitai" is "I miss them."

"Itai" is "It hurts."

The more you know!

I love this shot! It's so cute! 💗

Again, they really didn't need to subject themselves to this. Look at them! They're hurting themselves because of us!

Beel looks like a sad chipmunk. Why are his cheeks puffier than the others?

Okay, so a couple of things.

First of all, when did Mammon have time to make these? He obviously had planned to sell these and used his bros as guinea pigs to see how others would react. So how did he get these made?

Second, how did Mammon know his brothers would want these? Was he just waiting for the right time to bring these out?

The name "Miss 'em," too. Did he make up that name on the fly, or did he actually think on it?

Third, Satan's plush has cat ears on it. Adorable.

Fourth, what is that price?!

I know that Grimm is just gold coins, but how does that translate to real life currency?

I looked into what 10,000 Grimm in Japanese currency is, and apparently 10,000 yen is $74. 42 in American currency.

I mean, that's better, but still! Almost $75 for a plush? As someone who makes plushies herself, that better be some pillow sized, high quality plushies, Mammon!

Fifth, did Mammon know that Lucifer wasn't gonna fall for it? There's no colorized version for him.

And finally, if I had to pick one plush, I'd probably go for the pink one. That, or the gold one.

It always astonishes me that these guys are the rulers of Hell. Let's just let that sink in for a minute.

Also, yay! The next shot is of the side characters, the first time we see the side characters together! They all look great!

Another image that I never knew I needed.

Ah! There's Lucifer and Belphie's plush! The purple and light blue ones are super cute.

So Mammon purposefully designed Satan's with cat ears. Maybe I'm reading to much into details, but if he did, that's really sweet!

Solomon, I had no idea that you such glorious eyelashes! Asmo's taught you well.

Also, don't call Luke out for this. You would do the same thing!

Although, again I ask, why are Luke and Simeon exempt from wearing the school uniform?

The almost evil laugh Mammon has in the background, he's gone mad with power!

All of the promotional material for the Miss em's made me laugh so hard. The romance movie, why?

You know, I'm not surprised at all that Mammon bought this gold mansion, I'm more surprised that he hasn't tried to get one before.

The fact that he did all of this, just to distract himself from missing us. That's just, so...Mammon! He went above and beyond for this one.

He's so extra! I love it! I love him!

Lastly, we need to talk about the end theme. It's so catchy! I wonder when the full version will come out.

I love the end theme art as well. The screen with Beel and Belphie splashing around in the water is my favorite. They just look so happy!

Anyway! That's all from me! I know that it's been a while since I've done one of these, so I thought that this would be a good way to get back into it. I hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless. With that being said, I hope you all have a wonderful day, and I'll see you later! Byeee! 💗

[avissapiens]

Subject caption 14

Most people look at a dude like this and they almost instantly turn tail and run. The size of those glorious arms alone and that broad bulging chest are enough to make sure that no one would ever mess with a dude like Charlie. Professional Bodybuilder, Champion Boxer, Strong labourer; the Ideal rolemodel for the Big Dumb Jock Boy archetype. But most people who got to know him found out pretty quickly that he was such a gentle giant. All of that beef protecting a soft heart and the most supportive personality you could find. The best bro anyone could ask for. The kind of guy who ends up all lovey-dovey and on his ass in the street after a few pints, and then you’ve gotta find a construction crane to lift the big lug home somehow.

But what fewer people knew is what went on behind the soft doe-eyes of the Gentle giant. That every waking moment was accompanied by dark desires and suggestions whispering in his ears, like Abyssal monsters just waiting to drag him down into depths of trance that some people could only imagine. He was a Hypnotist’s dream come true. So easy you could literally just *SNAP* and he’d be out like a Big dumb lightbulb.

But being so easy means he always had to be extra discerning of who he worked with, who he talked to, even who he followed online for fear that they would just end up using him, abusing him and throwing him away like a piece of meat. People saw muscles like his and seemingly forgot that there was a mind behind them, albeit a very weak and very kind one.

He just wanted a bro who he could trust. Someone who could sate those hungering abyssal tendrils and lusts that bubbled just beneath the smiling surface.

Just when he thought all hope was lost, that someone manifested. Almost like his own internal abyss had brought that perfect bro into existence.

He was smart, kind, super good at getting that gentle giant to follow along with his words. What more could he ask for?

Months Later…

If you want to read the rest of the caption visit the site for the full experience.

What's this? a new subject caption after all this time? And honestly one staring a subject I should have featured way sooner. But its fine. Thanks to @bigdumbjockboy for being such a good bro, and such a good guinea pig. His experience as shown in the full story is actually the inspiration for the Rainfall Induction. If you’d like to support the creation of files like the one in this story, or you’d like access to exclusive files and files earlier than the rest of the world, then please, Support me on Patreon. And go and follow me on Youtube for more files. Also be sure to Join me and my community on Discord

[space-blue]

Crosshair Chip Theory

Assuming Crosshair is NOT lying and has not been lied to by the Imperials... In episode 3, Replacement, at time stamp 4:30, Crosshair comes out of the machine and tells AZ to go away... And Tarkin is watching.

Nala Se : "The data shows he's responding favourably to the procedure."

Tarkin : "Let's see if he stays that way."

Chip enhancement isn't mentioned, and Crosshair has already been submitted to very strong enhancement in episode 1. They cranked it up already, why show us this? What "Precedure" is this??

Well, what if it's when they take the chip out? Or de-activate it?

Because, see... Maybe Tarkin knows clones are loyal by training, and FOR SURE he knows they delivered Order 66. So the chips work (mostly) but Tarkin also sees rogue elements like CF99 and he's bound to be left to wonder.

So my theory is that in that scene, Crosshair indeed has his chip removed or de-activated. We can maybe excuse the lack of scarring due to the procedure being done by Kaminoans themselves, and not a helper droid under duress or a scrap yard broken medbay.

Why would Tarkin do that? Well, to test whether a clone with his boosted chip can remain loyal. Crosshair would be a sort of guinea pig. And maybe he's efficient enough that they go on with War Mantle and have commandos train the new recruits. Presumably all under their chip's power. Gregor is another proof that clones with defective chips can't be trusted by the Empire.

Crosshair, being told his chip is gone and he's being evaluated, might still be reeling under the influence of the chip, or not—and still decide to carry out his orders.

In my fic Cross Over My Heart I made Cross a willing Imperial, after a year of chip influence (the chip decays naturally in this AU) and when faced with his brothers 5 years later, he's thinking stuff like this :

At least now he's got more than one purpose, and he's still a soldier. It feels right, to do the thing he was created for, and be respected for it. He suspects his old brothers might have lost touch with that.

It's the Old Loki version of Crosshair, seeking "Glorious Purpose" or really any purpose at all. And to be fair to Crosshair, the lack of purpose for the TBB boys and Omega has been a running gripe of mine and many other fans throughout this first season. Being on the run, chased all the time, working odd jobs and running in with the Pykes and doing jobs for the Hutts, turning into arms dealers... That's not a very appealing life. Crosshair's got a great point regarding Omega. Letting her go, say, to wherever Cut and Suu live, would be much kinder than dragging her around in these conditions.

Anyway. This would mean that this :

Is not the quiet, repressed sadness of a man trapped in his own body, but the darkness of someone who just did something terrible for the sake of the path he's chosen. Which, arguably, might be the only path he felt he had.

Maybe Crosshair WAITED. He certainly calls out Hunter, tells him he didn't have a choice either. Maybe Crosshair waits and waits and waits and no one comes to rescue him.

Imagine, in that case, the gut punch of Hunter telling him he's acting like this because of his chip on Bracca!

So Hunter thinks Cross can't help his behavior... But he still happily left him to rot with the Empire. Either way, the neglect has GOT to rankle. Maybe that's why he misses his shots but he orders someone else to incinerate them. I mean, that was fucked, there's no excusing that act.

Crosshair allegedly wants to convert them. "Join me, do war crimes together" that sort of jazz... He too misses them. Working with natborns just isn't the same. Having them return would be potential to reunite and reinstate CF99.

Yet the moment his kills his troopers to make his point, Tarkin's little experiment is over. Chipless clones can't be trusted. They're more loyal to each other than the new Empire.

And so they fire from orbit and will begin phasing clones out.

Here we go folks, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

Now for predictions...

The scar on Crosshair's head is on the WRONG side to be burn scars.

Hunter seemed dubious enough, and I swear, if the first step on the Marauder isn't to use Tech's gadget to see if he's truly free of his chip, I will riot.

Because there's still the possibility the scar is fucked up cosmetic, and that the long long long con is for Cross to infiltrate the Bad Batch and screw them from the inside. Maybe even at the cost of his team's lives. Certainly Rampart wouldn't mind... But that would mean he was lying to that trooper, so here's me, putting more clown make up on, hoping this is all first degree and Cross is truly on the fence and chipless.

What do YOU think?

Edit : Forgot to mention there's also the possibility the ugly scar is from removing the chip post Bracca, but that'd be a mystery. Why did it? Why? Why make a huge ugly scar? And why would Cross say he's been chip free "for a long time"? Which is why I doubt the scar is related.

Update : Made a fic about that sad shit. Forsaken, 664 words.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/1/2021: DRACULA'S DAUGHTER (1936)

Once in a while I pick out a movie about which so much has been said that I feel a little embarrassed pretending I have anything to contribute. DRACULA'S DAUGHTER, Lambert Hillyer's sequel to the 1931 Universal classic, has become essentially synonymous with the concept of the queer-coded villain, and so, many more relevant voices than mine have offered their interpretations of the movie by now. That's your cue to seek out and read any of the many focused LGBT+ considerations of this movie, if that's your bag! Meanwhile...me.

One of the great taglines of all time.

DRACULA'S DAUGHTER picks up directly from the final moments of Tod Browning's DRACULA, with Professor Von Helsing (sic! I assume this had to do with a copyright snafu) coolly explaining to a pair of bumbling bobbies why they've discovered him in the bowels of Carfax Abbey with a freshly staked Count Dracula. As he begins the ordeal of explaining the secrets of the undead to Scotland Yard, the mysterious Countess Marya Zaleska (the glorious Gloria Holden) absconds with the Count's body. A twilight exorcism-by-fire is meant to free her tormented soul from what she calls "the curse of the Draculas", but as her manservant Sandor (Irving Pichel) grimly affirms, it's all for naught. She will have to go on stalking the night...unless she can find a good conversion therapist.

Gloria Holden is unforgettable as the unblinking, self-loathing femme fatale fated to carry on her father's feeding habits. Equal parts Glenn Close and Morticia Addams, she lights up the night with her glittering gaze and hypno-ring, which she uses to seduce and destroy unfortunate souls like Lili (Nan Grey). When Lili agrees to strip for an artist's study of her creamy bust, the Countess drains her of more than her dignity, an indulgence that will be Zaleska's undoing; she turns to smug psychiatrist Dr. Jeffrey Garth (Otto Kruger) for his reputed ability to "release the human mind from any obsession", not realizing that he is already aiding Von Helsing's (Edward Van Sloane) case with Scotland Yard. When Garth is called upon to examine Lili, already having vamps on the brain, he puts two and two together about the guilt-stricken Countess.

Much has been said about Marya Zaleska's apparent craving for female flesh, which is so explicit that it nearly escapes the realm of vampiric metaphor. Her agonized inability to embrace her own outsider nature completes the picture of her queerness, which critic Mark Clark suggests is augmented by Gloria Holden's own ambivalence toward her first starring role. In his book Smirk, Sneer and Scream: Great Acting in Horror Cinema, he remarks, "Her disdain for the part translates into a kind of self-loathing that perfectly suits her troubled character."

But, for my money, just as much of the subtextual heavy lifting is done by the men in DRACULA'S DAUGHTER. By and large, they are either comically impotent, or virulently misogynist, or both, reminding us that the Countess's female troubles are compounded by her disastrously male-dominated environment. Constable Albert (Billy Bevan) sighs and swoons his way through the discovery of Dracula's corpse, and when Dr. Garth most desperately needs help from Scotland Yard, Sir Basil Humphrey (Gilbert Emery) is cocooned in satin sheets sorting out his stamp collection while his long-suffering butler tries to make him take his barley water treatment. Garth himself is a dyed-in-the-wool woman-hater, who we first find on a hunting trip fantasizing about murdering his female patients: "There are a few birds in London I'd like to shoot, and they haven't feathers either!" His ostensibly romantic relationship with his baroness-secretary Janet Blake (Marguerite Churchill) is more hate-hate than love-hate, and her inevitable rescue from the vampire's clutches is more much dryer and chaster than what a distressed damsel can usually expect. Where Bram Stoker's Mina was torn between her earthly love for her fiancé and the supernatural seduction of the vampire, Garth's conflict is between a patient he sees as a prize guinea pig, and a secretary he'd rather shoot to death...but he needs her to tie his necktie for him, something he is not competent to do alone.

DRACULA'S DAUGHTER may not compete with the Lugosi classic, but it has separate virtues that make it worthy on its own terms. Vampire narratives are so often driven by romantic longing, but there is little of that to be found here. Our antiheroine is alienated by her own carnal desires, for which she seeks a shrink rather than a mate, and nothing is to be solved by the power of love, so the creature's eternal loneliness has a different character than what we're used to seeing in these gothic fairytales. That makes of this sequel a much colder dish than expected, and personally, I savor its unique flavor.

If you have not yet done so, you can enjoy this misanthropic monsterpiece right here--and I heartily recommend it:

https://archive.org/details/DraculasDaughter1936