#monster decrees

[monsternobility]

ill be sat for oblivion remastered once the microsoft boycott ends yall dont forget about it LOL

[kinglazrus]

I need fanfiction writers to stop treating a character’s monstrous/demonic form as a separate consciousness. I get it. You want to make them something more. But don’t you get it? Why it’s supposed to hurt? Where the pain comes from?

There is no alter ego to hide behind. No second consciousness controlling them. No excuse for their actions.

There is no monster. It’s always been them.

[ap-kinda-lit]

Yugi: Fuck!

Jonouchi: *stares*

Anzu: *stares*

Honda: *stares*

Kaiba: *stares*

Monsters on the field: *stare*

Villains: *stare*

Atem, in the afterlife: *gasps*

[unable2sitstill]

i literally yelled my voice hoarse playing dokapon kingdom. i get the feeling this is a common occurrence with this game...

[puppetmaster13u]

SO I NEED IDEAS.

Vampire (& Dhampir) Batfam. I already have ideas on who is what. Who was born vampires, who was turned, who is a dhampir, etc. But I need ideas for the story.

I would love any ideas put forth.

[wingylalkasartstuff]

And an alterante version without salad boob to show off my cool headcanons (ironically)

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.

[duckiemimi]

the opening decree in punishment for a monster is actually mostly based on canon jujutsu laws!

here are my sources:

1.) Article 9 of the Jujutsu Regulations on Execution

the opening for this fic and this particular point were mainly inspired by these panels:

here’s an excerpt on the actual article and regulations from the official fanbook (click), translated by Kyle Scouter:

2.) Article 5 of the Memorandum of Duty of Jujutsu Sorcerers on Punishment; and

3.) Article 8 of the Memorandum of Duty of Jujutsu Sorcerers on Secrecy

these two points are actual articles from the jujutsu sorcerer protocol in the vol. 22 extras. i originally used this translation by tumblr user Tempenensis (click), but there’s a newer translation, too (click), with slightly different semantics. here are the newer translations by Damaito (click for the original imgur link):

4.) Decree of the New Jujutsu Alliance on the Amendment to the Memorandum of Duty of Jujutsu Sorcerers

this is the only non-canon point; this was how i imagined laws would look like post-culling games! in pfam, the system is less of a hierarchy and more like a union (hence why i named it an alliance—they’re technically employed by the government). actually, i sprinkled in a lot of this (the workings of their new system) into the story! the title (a punishment for a “monster”—metaphorically and quite literally…well) is what ties everything together!

a lot of my metas on the jujutsu system and on curses (click here and here respectively, and click here for a mini analysis on mahito) are in the same line of thought, too! actually—tell me how you think the title relates to the story, tell me in any way! i’d love to hear your thoughts!

[theknightmarket]

"I've got your back."

In which an apocalypse survivor gets more than first-hand experience. TW: cursing, violence, gore Pages: 19 - Words: 7,500

[Requests: OPEN]

The issue with Monster Gulch was that it was never the same. The coffeehouse might have been infested with cannibalistic goblins but the bank down the street played greenhouse to venomous plants. You couldn’t go three steps forward without falling down a sink hole but take three steps back and you’d be launched miles into the air like you’d triggered a springboard. If it weren’t for lives being at stake, it might have made the entire experience the closest to fun you could get in an apocalypse – but, there were lives at stake, so it only made learning how to survive harder. Especially if you were on a short time scale. 

Like, for example, two minutes until you were mauled by the werewolf hot on your heels and used as a toothpick after your flesh got caught in its teeth. 

Mark lamented how accurate that example was. 

Everything about his situation, he lamented. Their lack of food, their broken shelter, the fact that he had become friends with a sparkly vampire. He lamented that last one the most, even if it didn’t matter when he was being chased along a river. He should’ve stayed in the forest, more chance for him to lose the beast, but the place the group had pitched up at was unfamiliar to him, so following running water was his best bet at finding them again, especially at night. 

Why they didn’t just stay at that murderer’s cabin, Mark had no clue – oh, but wait, he did. That sparkly vampire. His biggest problem was his maintained moral compass that told him it was wrong to kill the guy, but it was totally fine to raid his home for supplies and then set off into the distance. And then where did he lead them?! Only to a werewolf’s ‘summer home’ that took the entire day to make it to, so who should greet them at the door but that exact goddamn werewolf. Snarling, drooling, just waiting to pounce, and pounce he did, right onto the sparkly vampire. And because he was such a hero, and Dodger forced him to, he got the werewolf’s attention and drew it away from the others. 

The only thought that kept Mark pushing his legs forward was the reminder that Enis owed him, and he had to be alive to collect his debt.

Fright was draining out of him, allowing for a more logical sense to return. The huffing of the monster was gradually fading from his mind, granting him a little peace that he had to refuse for the moment. Dodger had yelled about a tall tree before Mark got too far from her, and that was where he was heading. Whether they made it or not, he wasn’t certain, but it was the only place he could think of that had a chance of keeping him safe, and out of the jaws of a werewolf. 

A splash of his boots in water. A rustle of leaves in the wind. A panting of his own breath. A yowl—

What?

Mark slid to a stop in some mud. Not smart, but his confusion overrode his survival instincts. And that noise had been far away, further than he thought the werewolf should have been. Had it lagged behind? He didn’t think he was that fast, but adrenaline did crazy things sometimes. He twisted on his heel though made sure to take trepidatious steps backwards still.

Another yowl. Now out of the haze of a sprint, he could pinpoint the reason. 

The thing was in pain. 

Along the path of boot marks from where he had come, Mark saw, distantly, a heaving clump of a creature, hunched over something nestled in between twigs and leaves. 

His steps flipped direction. 

A voice in his brain yelled at him to stop, begged for him to go back and just forget all about the werewolf. He’d done it to that maniac in the cabin, he’d nearly done it to Enis. But it wasn’t sympathy that forced his feet forward. It was pure, dumb, human curiosity. That monster had been huge, at one point, it had been seconds away from tearing him in half with claws sharpened to a knife’s edge. Nothing small could stop its chase. So, what was it? And, more importantly, was it a danger to him?

He made sure to go slowly, having to reel in his interest when he started to pick up speed, but he made it within six feet to get a good look. 

The teeth of a bear trap were sunk into the werewolf’s leg, another hung off its shoulder, and a third, more damaged, was thrown to a tree with half of its tail in its jaw. Blood pooled into the dirt and the flash of bone made it obvious it wouldn’t survive the night, if not from shock, then from a bigger fish finding it. 

Mark took a step closer. 

It wasn’t moving – not that it appeared able to with the trap nearly splitting its leg at the knee – but its eyes spiraled in the sockets. A timid growl echoed from the cave of its throat, and from the difference between this one and its first, he was sure its bark was bigger than its bite. 

“Huh.” 

They certainly weren’t traps for game. Anything that big would be mutated or deadly to eat anyway. No, these were supposed to catch and kill the monsters that lurked around every corner. Take them down quick, easy, and without forcing the owner to get their own hands dirty. They were defensive. That begged the question, then, what was it defending?

“Throw out your weapons and put your hands behind your back.” 

Mark wished that he came to conclusions quicker. It wasn’t a talent he’d honed recently, and it was taking a toll on his survival, it seemed. 

Slowly, he removed the machete from his belt, not risking turning around to see who had a knife against his throat. Nothing else mattered besides that aspect of their character because it decided how this encounter would turn out, and in whose favor. Even swallowing with his rising heart race was turning the tide against him. 

When he had his weapon out of the sheath and chucked to the ground, he felt his attacker sigh against the nape of his neck. Relief, annoyance, exhaustion? He couldn’t tell. 

“That all you got?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

The chill of the sharp edge was removed from his throat, the hand going with it, and Mark thought he could breathe freely until a grip tightened around both of his wrists. Great, a kidnapping. Just what he needed. Enis’ debt was growing by the second. 

“We could play cops and robbers, and I could pretend to read you your rights, but how ‘bout we just skip that part and jump straight to—” a rope strangled his blood flow through to his hands, “—what the hell are you doing in my neck of the woods?”

Still facing the dying werewolf, Mark barely noticed the hand that snatched his machete from where it laid but notice it, he did. Cutting the ropes was a no-go, then, though getting that knife was still an option, albeit incredibly dangerous and stupid. 

“I’m just trying to get home,” he answered, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

“Hmm, and where’s home?”

He wracked his brain for what Dodger had said. It had been hazy before but, under the threat of a stranger with a weapon-advantage, he was coming up blank. 

Poor move on his part. 

His feet were kicked out from under him, he fell forward, headed straight for the still-breathing, still-deadly werewolf’s maw. Those glistening teeth got closer and closer, the thing’s paw twitched, one of its last breaths came out as an eager growl. Milliseconds passed and he was inches away from its reach. 

Two hands held him like a machine gun, one restraining him at the back of his jacket and the other at his ropes. Eye to eye with the werewolf, he could see the desperation for him to get just that much closer, so it could bite some part of him in revenge.

“An answer,” the voice demanded behind him. 

Mark spluttered, feeling the same effect in his heart, but he managed to choke out, “Tree- a tall tree, I don’t know!”

He waited for a reaction. Such a vague response was sure to set you off if only his silence had warranted a threat. It was just a matter of how he was going to be offed – let him drop and the werewolf take a bite out of his face, or use that knife, or even his own machete, to slice his throat. 

But you did neither. He was back on his feet after a moment of silent deliberation, his ropes not gone but relaxed somewhat, and his heart rate gradually coming to a healthier pace.

“I know what you’re talking about.”

“You do?”

Mark didn’t know what he was talking about, so he was glad someone did, but that still begged the question of how.

“A lot of people use it as a checkpoint. You won’t wanna stay too long there, gangs tend to gather at dawn.”

A tug at his ropes and he was walking away from the werewolf. A limp gaze followed him as he moved, but the rise and fall of its chest stopped by the time he was a few feet away.

It was dead. And he was alive. Thanks to the person who was now, presumably, kidnapping him. 

He didn’t know how to feel about this scenario. On one hand, he was completely defenseless, worse than defenseless, he was bound by his hands and forced to walk backwards into an unfamiliar wilderness by a stranger. On the other hand, he was not werewolf food, and he’d take being a prisoner over dying any day. 

So, a plan; he had no clue whose prisoner he was, that was the first item on his list. First, figure out who was dragging him in such an awkward position – second, get out of the rope binding his wrists – third, get to that tall tree. 

None of those sounded any easier than the rest.

You would admit that you didn’t exactly know what you were doing. Not out loud, of course, lest your prisoner get any doubts about how dangerous you could be, but you would admit it to yourself. Finding this guy had been a stroke of, well, something. Luck or misfortune, you didn’t know, but it was chance. You hadn’t seen a living person in months, and, if you needed evidence that your social skills had massively deteriorated, your attacking and then disarming of the first person you came across would be a good example. 

What were you supposed to do in this situation? You knew where you were taking him, but could you talk to him, or did you have to stay a silent antagonist? You were a survivor. You knew how to start a fire, dress a wound, poach a boar. You didn’t know how to interact with people. It was making your heartbeat faster than being chased by a carnivorous plant. 

“Hey,” you started, immediately regretting your choice to pipe up but forcing yourself to continue, “what happened with that werewolf?”

You couldn’t see the guy’s face, but you felt his hands stiffen. Weird sensation but it gave you an idea of what went down. 

“It, uh, it jumped my friends and I, and I distracted it to buy them time. Chased me all the way to that trap, hell, through it. I had to go back to see why it stopped, but I’m damn glad it did.” 

“Friends?”

The tension in his body rose to match that of the rope within seconds. “Yeah,” was the tepid response you received.

“Did they survive?”

He slowed, ever so slightly, before he caught back up again. He hadn’t thought about that. 

“I hope so,” he admitted, then sighed, “I mean, one of them I couldn’t care less about, but I wouldn’t want to have run all this way just to have to dig a grave when I get back.” 

You knew it to be tiring work, so you understood the sentiment, nodding slight enough that you weren’t sure he noticed. The conversation waned with your silence, the rustle of leaves filling the gap it left behind. There weren’t many birds left, if there were birds at all, and you missed the song that you used to try and learn when you were bored. You had gotten so close, too, but something was missing, something you never found. 

At least you had cicadas. They made some noise, made sure you didn’t go crazy, and helped to warn you of danger when they stopped. 

The wind rushing through the trees was louder in their absence. 

“Shit,” you whispered. Normally, that would have been to yourself, but now you had another body with you. Another body that you needed to think about. Your eyes followed the path from your hand to his, along the rope that tied his arms behind his back. Your ears clocked the distant rumble along the trail you had been taking, like the warning of an active volcano.

“Shit.” 

You couldn’t risk him running into the danger. It would draw attention to you, and you’d lose a rope – but you couldn’t just tell him not to move. You’d bound the guy; you didn’t present yourself as particularly trustworthy. 

With a lack of options and the pebbles on the ground bouncing up and down, you pulled the machete from your belt loop and slit the rope in half before shoving him into the brush. You jumped in after him just as the gray fur of deer rounded the corner. 

One thing about your new companion was that he knew when to shut up and stay still. All the better for you. You could focus on counting the pairs of hooves you saw go by your little patch of shrubbery to get over the pulsing of your heart and brain. 

Four. Eight. Twelve, sixteen. Twenty.

They swept right past you. Five of them gone. 

“What—” You slapped a hand over his mouth. You would have applauded your aim, especially under the shadow of shrubbery in the light of a barely rising sun, had you not been preoccupied with not dying, either from the heartache or the slower of the pack that was newly sprinting along the path. 

Twenty-four, twenty-eight… thirty-two. 

Cautiously, you retracted your hands and placed it on your knife’s handle. Eight deer was a normal count, but stragglers weren’t unheard of. So, you waited. And waited. Sticks and stones dug into your knees, the bend of your toes made the ends go numb. You waited a few more seconds.

It was when the cicadas picked up again, humming in the high pitch of an alarmed sensor, that you stood from your position.

“Think that’s all of them.”

Brushing your hands off on your legs, you turned to pull up the guy who’d almost got you both killed, only to find him already on his feet, rubbing at his wrists and staring at you.

There wasn’t a deer behind you, was there?

A quick glance over your shoulder revealed just the wilderness, the same as the ones you’d dove into. If he had any reservations about it, you were sure he’d have already been dead long before you forced him in. 

“Do you want to keep going, or…?” you asked, almost huffing at his quietness. You’d already admitted you weren’t great at the whole socializing thing anymore, but you were above staring at somebody after they spoke to you. 

You almost pulled at the rope to get him moving, but it appeared you’d used all of your perception on that stampede. Both his and your own hands were free. You glanced down just to make sure, and the confirmation made you swallow. The good news was that he didn’t have a weapon, but the bad news was that you’d killed plenty of things with your bare hands, and he didn’t look like such a pacifist himself.

Like a manual cart on the tracks, your chests moved in and out in unison, and, when your eyes caught, neither of you risked looking away. You offered the next move to him, and vice versa, which put you in a rough position. 

You didn’t know this man. A stranger stood in front of you, heaving and painfully aware of the situation, whose hands were completely free from your rope. 

You wished he were a wild animal, rabid and immoral and insentient. Looking into his eyes and seeing humanity made it harder for you to decide what to do. The skills you’d honed through years of trial and error were thrown fifty feet away when you were against something you couldn’t convince yourself didn’t feel. You wouldn’t be putting it out of its misery – him out of his misery. You’d be in the wrong for killing an innocent person as innocent as possible in an apocalypse.

The side that you had to take was obvious. You couldn’t bet on what way he would lean in this moral crisis, and the root of fear, for once, wrapped around your heart and squeezed.

The hum of the cicadas crescendoed.

He nodded, you nodded, and you pulled the both of you back onto the path, the dirt trodden down like a game of whack-a-mole.

 

Mark felt like he was going to throw up or pass out or both. What was he doing? What stupid spirit of empathy possessed him to follow along with the person who kidnapped him? And all because they said that they knew what he was talking about. A checkpoint. Sure. How was he supposed to know you weren’t just leading him on a wild goose chase while you thought up the best ways to cook him? Oh, but it would be his fault, because he didn’t take the shot when he should have.

His mind stilled, as if he’d thrown a bridge over the flow of his thoughts.

‘The shot’. He didn’t know if he meant running or the worse option – he didn’t know if he was capable of killing you point blank after you’d saved him from a stampede of infected deer. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, now walking by your side instead of towed behind. You looked competent. You’d made it this far, of course, you had to be. But it was weird. Something was off.

You lacked… the thing, that a lot of the other survivors had. Dodger, that hellhound guy, himself, they had all dropping something into the pit of Monster Gulch that they never got back. It was the norm, at this point, to have the hallowed look of veterans in the eye of a scavenger. Even after they had been carved out of the skull of some unfortunate soul, that gleam was seared onto the retina, like a vile brand.

It wasn’t that the signs weren’t there. You’d have to have been trapped in a tower for the last thirty years to be completely free of it. Instead, as Mark tilted his head to get a better look, he saw that it was a scar that had healed over. The flesh had hardened into a streak, but it wasn’t some weeping wound anymore. Whatever happened to you, you were free of it.

“Is there a reason why you’re staring at me?”

Mark snapped to attention, military in his stance for just a second as he realized he was caught, before he reverted to his original stance, minus the apparent gawking.

“No- no, I was just…” he struggled to spit out an excuse. He couldn’t say that he was trying to figure out what, or wasn’t, wrong with you; you might have just changed your mind about the whole killing him thing. In the end, he swallowed and asked the first thing that came to his mind. “Do you have a group?”

You raised an eyebrow, seeming well-aware that it wasn’t the main thing on his mind, but you answered anyway, “Nope.”

That surprised Mark in turn. “Really?”

Shrugging, you kept your eyes on the path forward. “I’ve been with people before but going out alone has been better in the long run.”

“What’s that thing people used to say,” he paused and then snapped his fingers, “’hell is other people’, right?”

Your light chuckle spread throughout the forest, bouncing off the leaves and dirt and wood, reflecting back onto your pair. Mark found that, despite the threat it posed, he didn’t mind. There was probably some psychology behind the way that it made the sides of his own lips quirk up, something about pack mentality, and not just that he preferred your laughter to the cold command you’d sported a mere hour before. In the back of his mind, he was only glad that he remembered a professor’s lecture on Jean-Paul Sartre.

When your chuckles died down, beckoning in the sounds of the forest once more, you hummed in amusement. “I don’t know,” you muttered, “it’s not that I hated working in a group. I think… I think it’s effective if you trust the people who you’re with, you’re not just with them out of necessity, because, if you are, then nothing’s stopping them from just turning on you for their own gain.”

He supposed that made sense. Mark had been with Dodger for a couple years now, and Enis, well, he wouldn’t admit aloud that he was growing on him. He didn’t really have a use, so it couldn’t have been out of necessity, at least. But your comment brought him more questions than answers, and also swapped out that cheery mood for a more somber tone. He didn’t want to add to it, no matter how much he wanted to delve into your backstory, so he kept his mouth shut and continued the steady march forward. 

Or, he’d planned to, until you said, “You can ask, if you want to.”

And that was all the go-ahead he needed. Mark had spent so much time hyped up on adrenaline, the need to survive, that just having the ability to slow down let loose a flood of thoughts – all of them questions that he needed answers to. 

“Who were you with before?”

“A larger group. Sixteen, seventeen people, maybe? I didn’t know a lot of them personally, but they preferred it that way. You know how businesses used to say they’re like a family when they really just want them to not press charges? It was like that.” As you spoke, Mark noticed your hand shifting to your belt and running over the hilt of your knife. “Except three of them were my actual family. My parents and a cousin, we all ended up in Monster Gulch together, trying to survive on our own, before we found that group. My father jumped at an opportunity to be a part of a community. Said it would take a weight off our shoulders—” a laugh strangled your story, “—so we threw our lot in with them. And it was good, for a couple months. Made a few acquaintances, learned some new skills. One of them taught me how to fish.”

Your speech was slowing down, breaks becoming more frequent and occupied by the sound of the forest. Mark could tell where this was heading, if not from your downcast expression taking hold, then because it was the way it always headed.

Casting a shallow look down the next path, you continued, “My cousin caught something. It wasn’t even anything serious, it was just the flu. But that was enough to put them out of commission, and that was enough to get them kicked out of the group altogether. They said they weren’t gonna help someone who didn’t contribute, so they could find their own food.”

Your grip on your knife tightened.

“My family went with my cousin, of course, we did. Food was scarce enough; they’d get nowhere coughing and wheezing around the animals. We couldn’t leave them. We would stay by their side until they got better, and we’d tough it out.”

But that didn’t happen. Mark knew that didn’t happen. Your grip was so tight he thought you might pull it out and stab the closest thing out of anger. He was surprised you hadn’t done so already, but even with that thought, he couldn’t and didn’t fight the urge to lay a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Squeezing, he hoped you’d get the message. 

The slight grin you shot back at him was worth the risk, and more so when you kept speaking.

“A week went by, and they got worse. Pneumonia, I would bet. But they didn’t…” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “they didn’t die from that. They kept fighting because they were a fighter, and a spiteful bastard, and they refused to go down that easy. We were all so proud of them, that we took them out into the forest to forage, tried to find berries for a celebration.”

You took a deep breath.

“Hellhounds ripped them to shreds. All of them.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and minds of their own, they trailed down your cheeks. Mark didn’t think you were aware of it, but he didn’t think you were aware of everything. You stared blankly at the air before you, ignoring the path you walked or the trees you were heading for. He had never been in this position for – distant memories of sentimentality were long chased away by adrenaline flushing his system – so he decided to simply let you talk. You’d been doing a good job of it so far, and he was more than ready to be extra attentive to the surroundings. If it let you get all of it out, he would walk backwards again to cover your backs.

“Those traps you ran into—” You seemed to take a hard left in conversation, but Mark didn’t interrupt you, “—I only had a few, so I spread them around the burial site. I didn’t want anything getting in to dig them up. I was just coming back from checking on them when you ran by, followed by that mangy mutt.”

The little joke you ended on flopped, understandably. The only sound in the in-between was the forest ambience. Maybe it was the effect of the apocalypse, but it felt better that way than pleasantries for the sake of pleasantries. The final squeeze of Mark’s hand was something more comforting than ‘I’m sorry for your loss’, if your slight smile was anything to go by. For a moment, he took his arm back, but he didn’t waste any time in slinging it over your shoulder in a half-hug. A look of faint disappointment was washed away as quick as it came, and he was sure that he much preferred you trying to hide a grin, anyway.

It wasn’t long after that when the tree you’d been looking for came into view passed a section of river. Debris floated down in droves, more bits of wood and plastic than there was water, but that would just make it easier to cross.

“Looking forward to seeing your friends again?” you muttered, focusing on trying to find a better path than just walking straight and hoping.

A grunt and a dull, “if they’re even there,” was your response. You’d asked about his group before, and he’d used the same tone, but now you recognised the affection buried in it. He might’ve been refusing to acknowledge it, but it was there, and it made you laugh to yourself quietly.

“They’re not gonna be dead, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Nope, I’m thinking of something much simpler.” You sent a confused look towards him, one raised eyebrow and a small pout, to which he simply gestured to the river.

Dropping to one knee, you started to roll up the bottoms of your pants. “What, they can’t swim?”

With the scuffle of him following suit, you almost missed his amused scoff. “Worse,” he replied, yanking the fabric to his knee, “he’s afraid of water.”

You laughed. It was cruel, but you laughed, to the point that you almost choked on air and had to beat it out of your chest. “How did he get this far?”

“He stayed holed up in his mansion, that’s how. Scared out of his mind at the first stream we came by.”

“What is he, a vampire?” you joked as you switched to the other pant leg. You expected him to laugh along with you, tell you that he might as well have been, maybe tell you another fear of his.

You didn’t expect him to look at you, caught red-handed, eyes wide and an unstable smile on his lips.

You got up from the ground, slowly.

“He’s not bad, he just – and I can’t believe I’m defending him like this – doesn’t understand how it all works,” he rushed to explain, also standing as though to catch you in case you ran. “First time we met, he got us reading from this dumb book that was supposed to cure a friend of a—” He swallowed, “—wound, but- but it didn’t work, and we did it twice over, the second time backwards, and then we had to leave the place, and he brought a damn kazoo with him!” 

Quite frankly, he sounded desperate. The haste to get his words out and the subject matter itself was a combination that made him come off frantic and worried. Like he was begging you to understand. Even in the light glow of a sunrise, you saw the flash of useless hope in his eyes.

But a vampire? A bloodsucker who could attack you at any point for the chance at a drink?

Then again, the man in front of you wasn’t untrustworthy. There was no getting around that you believed him when he said his friend wasn’t bad. And if he’d gotten this far without getting punctured like a balloon, there was no reason why it wouldn’t continue like that.

The only thing you didn’t like about this situation was the fact that you came to this conclusion quicker than you ever had before. You would trust him.

Disappointed in yourself, you sighed. “You care about him.”

His eyes blew even wider than before, before relaxing into some kind of sarcastic offense. “Pfft, yeah, I care about getting back what he owes me for saving his ass from the werewolf.”

You dropped back to one knee momentarily to make sure your pants were stable. Walking around with moist calves was one of your least favorite sensations. “Keep telling yourself that,” came your muttering.

“Maybe I will.” 

That made you smile. A little spite was helpful, if not amusing. Boosted morale and showed that he had no reservations about you after your lapse. The thought made you smile even more.

“How’d you get past that river anyway?” The thing about bodies of water was that you couldn’t exactly go around them.

You heard a snort before a trailed off chuckle started getting closer. “Want me to show you?”

Breath hit your neck, cooler than the early morning air, as you were finally satisfied with your pants. You never had to go through rivers anymore, not since you’d built ramshackle bridges over the ones near your camp that were really just logs of wood you’d hacked to a plank. Adventuring like this was sort of exciting, you had to admit. And the company wasn’t half bad either. “You didn’t throw him, did y—”

You took it back. Immediately, you retracted your statement and every other positive thought you’d had about the monster, the heathen, the worst of the worst that you were travelling with. You should have just left him to be eaten by the deer or that werewolf, because then your legs wouldn’t have been swept out from under you, and you wouldn’t have been caught in the arms of a savage madman who was only put on the earth to annoy you.

One of his arms went underneath your knees and the other at your back, lifting you against his chest. You cursed him, your cursed yourself, and you cursed that this didn’t happen earlier, when your vicious blush could be disguised by the darkness. You scrambled to get a hold of something, which ended up being his shoulders, and it bolstered the redness like adding logs to a wildfire.

“I swear to whoever is watching, if you don’t put me down right now—!”

“You asked how he got over, I’m showing you!” His laugh had the heart in your chest thundering wildly against your ribcage, out of anger or something else.

“I would’ve been perfectly fine if you just told me,” you hissed.

“Yeah, but that’s not as fun as this.”

Your grip tightened around his shoulder blades, enough to cause bruising later on. “So, so fun.” Plots to get revenge swept through your mind, but they kept being pushed aside by the feeling of his hands around you.

“I’m glad you agree with me.”

You didn’t register that you were across the river until you noticed the sound of rushing water getting more and more distant. The heartbeat in your ears was gradually dying down, edging towards the pace of the footsteps beneath you. The footsteps that were definitely not yours.

With your mouth open to protest, you paused.

Was… was this really so bad? If he was willing to carry you, then was there really a point to turning it down? You’d need your energy to protect him later. You would be able to return the favor tenfold, in a better situation. Of course, it would be safer, in the long run, obviously. There was definitely a genuine reason to your hesitation to be put down, and it wasn’t just because you enjoyed having his arms around you, because you missed being cared for, because you actually hated being on your own all the time and these past hours with a man, who you basically kidnapped, were the best you’d had in months.

And looking up at him, eyes shining brighter than the backdrop of the orange and reds of the sunrise, the ones that had rivalled the stars you’d travelled by, wasn’t the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen.

And you weren’t fighting the urge to lean in and kiss him.

“And that’s how I got him over the river.” You were only aware that you snapped out of it when you were back on the ground, dirt caving around your boots. Trying to bury the slight feeling of disappointment, you started walking forward, estimating in your mind how far away from the tree you were. Less than a mile, it wouldn’t take too long. You could be there in ten minutes if you hoofed it.

There was a pressure around your hand. When you’d been put upright, his hand trailed up from your back, across to your shoulder, and then down to your own. He didn’t let go.

“Smooth,” you mumbled to yourself, not trying to shake him off.

His chest puffed out in pride. “I know.”

No matter how much your cheeks burned before, you were sure the flame upon being caught was nothing compared to it.

And yet you continued like that, walking away from the river and towards the tree poking out of the canopy in the distance. You wondered what would happen when you got there; you’d probably deliver him to his friends, maybe get some food as a reward, and then go on your merry way.

Alone, again.

The pressure tightened around your hand. Even after a couple hours together, he seemed to be able to read your mind.

“If,” he started, immediately taking a breath, “you wanted to, when- when we actually get to my group, you could – if you wanted to, of course, there’s no pressure – maybe come with us, just for a bit.” He caught you watching him as he rushed through his offer. “For a trial run, y’know, a test to see if you’d want to join us, permanently- not permanently, you could leave anytime you want, I just think it’d be better. For you, obviously, I don’t care either way! Well, I do but, y’know.”

He was out of breath when he came to a hasty stop, eyes flitting across your face for any sign of a sliver of a reaction. You cocked your head and met his eyes. He held still at that, breathing deeply and waiting.

“Sure.”

“Good. I’m glad you agree.”

The crunch of twigs and dirt underneath your feet was the only sound for the entire rest of the journey. Hand in hand, you passed toppled trees and abandoned shacks, keeping your eyes and ears open for suggestions of danger. You were so, so close. You couldn’t risk letting your guard down yet. When you were safely in front of the tree, with the open fields around you, you could relax. For now, though, being awake and aware was top priority.

You supposed that was why you noticed the sound of fighting so easily. And not just fighting but yelling and clashing and… something else that sounded an awful lot like a kazoo. No matter what it was, it was coming from the checkpoint, and that spelt danger.

Danger that, with your hands clasped together, a slight nod to the other, you sprinted towards.

Adrenaline built up in your veins. All the walking and waiting was overthrown by the need to fight. When you broke through the tree line, it spiked. There was no time for talking, and yet, as you pulled out your knife and your partner drew his machete, you heard a statement that made you grin ear to ear.

“I’ve got your back.”

He was looking at you with what you could only guess was pride. In return, you nodded.

“I’ve got yours.”

And, with that, you threw yourself into the fray quicker than your mind could prompt you to.

You stabbed the first thing you saw in the head, puncturing through to the eye and popping it out on the end of the blade. Not monsters. Humans. You should have thought about what you were doing, but your own warning echoed in your mind. Gangs tended to gather at dawn. Judging by the sun hovering above the world’s edge through the leaves, you got there right at the wrong moment.

The second thing you caught sight of was dispatched with a slice to the throat. The third, fourth, fifth, all in a similar way that left them empty husks at your feet. Blood splattered across your chest and leaked down to your exposed calves. The vivid squelch as you stepped closer to your next target directed more attention to you, but you didn’t care. You took the brief moment between melee to look around the battlefield that had been created. In only a second, you clocked two more people fighting against the group at the base of the tree, some attackers aiming from the tree line, and, dammit, where was he?

Something flopped to the ground at your heels. Your glanced over your shoulder. There he was. Quick on his feet, hacking at the gang’s arms and chests like chopping down a tree. Dark liquid dripped from the edge of his machete and onto his hands, a manic grin cutting up his face. He looked insane as he drove his fist forward, impaling someone through the vest they wore and then kicking their legs out beneath them.

If it weren’t the apocalypse, you might not have found that incredibly attractive.

Practically absentmindedly, you spun your own knife into the heart of another attacker heading toward you. Twenty more to go.

And go they did. You played around with a couple, mashing their hands when you’d knocked them down. It was cruel, that was obvious to you, but it’d been so long since you’d fought actual people, and you swore you could see familiar faces until they were blocked by the dirt or blood. Probably an adrenaline-induced illusion, but you could dream. Not now, of course, you had to get closer to the tree and those two people, who you assumed were the friends you had been looking for.

A couple of times you were nicked by a blade or an arrow from the sidelines. The ones close enough received a stab to the throat for their efforts, while you stole from the dead to chuck towards the people at the tree line. You were so proud of your aim sometimes.

There was only once that someone got a genuine wound on you. Someone you had just missed the heart of pulled you down to the floor with them, held a knife to your throat and started the motion. Your heart was beating louder and louder in your chest as the single second they took played like slow-motion. Whether the blade would take you first or an early heart attack was your question – but it was swiftly answered. Neither. A machete halved their skull before you had the chance to try and fight back.

As they flopped, dead, onto you, one of your hands came up to shove them off, while the other gripped onto the one extended to you. You were level with the beautiful brown eyes that had saved your life, and you wished desperately that you weren’t fighting because there were so many things you wanted to do in that moment. It only spurred you on to get rid of the stragglers.

The battle itself only lasted ten minutes, but it felt an eternity longer. Nobody was undamaged – you sported a few gashes, your partner, who you joined the second the last gang member hit the ground, was bleeding into his shirt by his shoulder – but that was really the best you could hope for. But you still felt high from the energy flowing through you. You were more adrenaline than thought in the open space in front of that tree.

And when you made eye contact with him again, the remaining consciousness went out of the window. Despite where you were, surrounded by corpses, bones shattered beneath your feet, vultures swirling overhead already, you had an impulse that, a couple hours ago, would have sounded insane. You would have considered the thought itself downright stupid, let alone acting on it. But there was a small voice in the forefront of your mind that, against logic that seemed to dwindle every second that you looked at him, encouraged it.

Oh, fuck it, you could die at any moment.

You twisted your fist into his shirt and pulled. He barely had the chance to stumble forward before your lips collided, all of the adrenaline you’d been fueled by for the past ten minutes creating a spark that travelled along the surface of your skin. It felt like electricity as you tugged him even closer. The primal instincts of a fight batted away any awkwardness of worry you might have otherwise held; right now, you were entirely focused on tasting every inch of him that you could reach. Not that any fears wouldn’t have been banished when you coaxed a low groan out of him, one you swallowed with a smirk. With one of your hands trapped between you, the other was left to grip his hip. You couldn’t account for where his hands went, but you weren’t protesting when they found purchase along your waist and neck, and you certainly had not complaints when he followed through with a dip. Dramatic, maybe, but neither of you cared. It let you get a better angle, after all, and being held again was amazing.

You barely parted long enough to exchange panted breaths.

“I haven’t done that,” you whispered, “in a long time.”

“You’re good at it.”

“Could say the same about you.”

His eyes flickered back down to your lips. “Hmm, think I need some more practice. It makes perfect after all.”

Had you the time, you would have gone in without a second thought, or a first, but a voice broke the, well, certain kind of tension between the two of you.

“So, are you gonna introduce us or…?”

You both turned your heads to see two people, the ones you’d been fighting to get closer to. You were propped back upright as they came closer, one of them politely stepping over the mulch while the other let the bones crunch under their boots. You assumed that those were his friends, his group. 

But he didn’t answer.

Instead, an expression of concentration overwhelmed the remaining blush on his face. He looked to be struggling for something, something that took a few seconds for you to realise.

And then he looked at you, the person who he’d travelled over hill and over dale, who he’d risked his life for, who he’d kissed with reckless abandon just seconds ago, who he did not know the name of. And you looked back at him, similar thoughts running through your mind to the man who you did not know the name of, either.

“I think introductions are in order.”

[This doesn't actually have anything to do with the apocalypse AU, I just got really excited that I could make Monster Gulch fics, and ended up going insane for a week to make both this and a whole apocalypse AU. Thanks for reading!]

[seokmattchuus]

Finally had time to watch the second season of hellbound and someone tell me if there's another season in talks bc I refuse to let it end where it did

[himedere-bunny-bitch]

Fake monster fuckers are so weak. If it's a monster, I'd fuck them. I could make it work.

[monsternobility]

do u guys remember when michael sheen was a fruity lil twink in tron

[yugiohcardsdaily]

Royal Decree

"Negate all other Trap effects on the field."

[arwainian]

fun quote from today's monsterhearts: "you detransitioned sammy???"

[sangelune]

snaps photo of severing my gold crown bala's tail on my own with glaive

[codenamethebird]

God I have so much to say about Melinoe's characterization, and the fasinating implications about her future arc/the overarching plot of hades 2. I want to make a larger think piece with pictures but for the moment I'm just going to focus on this one specific thread.

In the wake of the Prometheus reveal, she has a slew of convos about his motivations for siding with Chronos, and the gods basically all go: this is his vengeance for us punishing him a tad cruelly. And Nemesis is like, yeah the gods 100% deserve it. But Meli's responds that he must have more motivation than just vengeance, it can't just be that. But when Prometheus explicitly goes, 'I'm doing this because the gods are horrible to humanity and I love humans,' she basically goes, no he must be lying. That motivation is both too pure, but also humans kind of suck why would you care about them?

Mel's humanity hot takes deserve it's own essay (Ms I think Humans should have never gotten fire and are better when they are dead), and I just want to focus on the former for now. She can not comprehend that Prometheus is fighting the gods for noble reasons. It just does not make sense to her. Mel's world is so black and white. She doesn't understand the nuance of the situation, and the thought that the gods might be actually in the wrong doesn't even get close to crossing her mind.

It's a fascinating (and horrifying) result of her upbringing. Of the constant state of war and the very convenient big bad that is Chronos, the evil monster who stole her family. If she accepts that his side isn't completely evil, that they might even be right in some (even many) respects, she would have to grapple with her whole life. Everything she believes would be thrown into question, the literal thing she was training her whole life for.

She can't have Prometheus fighting for a noble cause, because he fights for Chronos whose the Bad Guy tm. But he also can't be fighting for something as simple as vengeance, because that would also mean she would need to really think about what he's angry about. If the punishment was truly so unnecessary cruel.

When talking to Odysseus about Prometheus, when Ody's saying how much he respected him for stealing the fire despite knowing the consequences, Mel says that it was the price to be paid for breaking Olympus's decree. To her, Olympus's rules are sacred and ultimately good. Unquestionably. Prometheus broke the rules with intent, so to her, why would he be so angry at the consequences? Especially if he knew because of his power they were going to happen.

So he must have another reason, some secret machiavellian plan that drives him. Except as I already said, it brings her right back to him doing it for humanity, which she also can't accept. Because that would be admiting that the gods did something wrong to humans. She twists herself into knots to justify her worldview, and it's fascinating! She's so messy I adore her.

Please Supergiant please the final surface boss has to be a human pleeeaaasse (preferably a living one). Or at least have one (or more) show up in some other capacity. Mel needs to come face to face with the other side and have it utterly destroy her worldview.

And/or have (Pan)Dora betray her for Prometheus, that would also be very fun haha.