#monster rat b | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 1 year

Text

Leonardo's First Love—Splinter's Talk

When Leo realized his heart was being divided, he felt afraid.

His attention had always been captured by his family and his mission—he knew what it was like to love them. But never had he thought his love was going to be snatched up, split, and taken almost wholly by someone of the race that thought they were monsters.

When Leo noticed the pull towards something else, something new, he pushed himself away.

He found himself tonight an observer to soft skin, a vulnerable but inviting form that seemed to master existing as is without striving for status-quo. And it was entrancing, desirable; sparked sensations in him he had put under wraps years ago as a teen. Useless instinct. Basic drive. He had more to expect from the world, and expected more, he did…but every night, went back to the same old scenario. Her.

"Get out of my head," he groaned as he laid up in the quiet lair when he was supposed to be resting, lost in thought. Smooth curves. A small stature against his. Hands, running down—he paused. Somewhere in the middle of a fantasy, he'd heard the words "I love you". That brought him back to the fact that it wasn't just desire. For that there were things he felt embarrassed to indulge in sometimes; but it didn't help anymore. Because those people in the screens, the words on a page of an R-rated book, were not her. Couldn't be, even if he tried. He wanted to know for just a moment what it was like to be human. To have that possibility of love there for the taking. And to never go for it, with all the permission those men had just for being human, he was disgusted. Feeling bitter over that fact sent his mind into overdrive—because he would feel even worse if some man did go for it with her. Like a walking contradiction, he was fighting with himself every step of the way. From she should stay away, to she should be with me.

He got up to practice some forms. Maybe do maintenance on his flexibility. Sharpen his katanas. Anything to stop thinking and start doing. Somewhere during his steady training, he heard Master Splinter enter.

"What is the matter, my son?" asked Splinter. He always knew even when his more stoic child Leonardo was troubled.

"What's the matter? Nothing's the matter. I'm fine," Leo replied, balancing on one leg. "[Y/N] should head home, it's almost time for patrol."

Splinter sat cross-legged down on a cushion with a slight smile. "So quick to mention [Y/N], even when you're preoccupied," he commented, "I told her she was welcome to stay whenever she liked. To repay for her generosity." That generosity being, stocking their fridge with things they couldn't get a hold of, to help out the heroes of New York. Something along the lines of making sure they were eating right for all they did.

Leo paused, "What? I'm not quick, I was just saying…Splinter, it's weird having someone around now."

"Does not have to be 'weird'," Splinter said. Leo felt his black eyes on him even when turned around. He was flustered, still going through the smooth motions of his kata. "Tell me what is really going on, Leonardo. I know you have something on your mind."

Giving up his rotations, Leo slumped a little as he stepped off of the pedestal, setting his katanas down as he faced his father. "I don't know what's up with me, Master. I just don't get it."

Splinter gave a knowing hum. Still, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It seems like you've been quite bothered over [Y/N], my son."

He knew he couldn't hide anything from Splinter. There was no point in deflecting longer; he was only embarrassing himself. Finally, he admitted, "I can't…you know the way it is, Master, it'll never work. She's cool with us, but she's a human. And I'm a mutant." He sat down before his father on a plain mat.

"Yes, a very beautiful human, too," the old rat mused, gently stroking the longer hairs of his chin. Leo flinched and opened his mouth to switch the focus of the conversation, but Splinter beat him to it. "Surely a woman like that would not ever spend money on, cook for, and give quite undivided attention to such a mutant when he's training. You are correct, my son, it's over."

Leo's face flushed cold, blood rushing to his cheeks as he listened to his father. "Master Splinter! I'm being serious!" he fussed as he leaned forward onto his palms. "I don't know what to do, I—"

"—want to stop feeling this way, yes, I know," Splinter finished for him. "Oh, young love."

It was quiet for more than a moment. Leo's face softened, his blue eyes studying his father's as he gave Leo a look of acknowledgement. He gathered the courage stuck in his gut fluttering about his stomach, mind bouncing between [Y/N] and what his dad was saying. "I made myself stop thinking about love and stuff a long time ago. Mikey's always going on about it. I know Raph wants to be accepted more than anything, and Donnie, he's got his secrets. I'm supposed to be the example. I was supposed to show them we can live and not care. That our lives are worthwhile even without humans being involved. But now…"

Splinter raised a brow at him.

"I'm in love," Leo said. "And—and want it so badly."

Splinter reached forward to place a hand on his shoulder. As soon as [Y/N] had entered their lives, he knew this day was going to come for one of his sons. It was inevitable, he thought. "Welcome to manhood, my son, this was fated to happen at some point. I've only been waiting since she arrived."

Leo felt exposed. He felt unsure, and that uncertainty was driving him insane. He was always steadfast in his approach. Knowing he was a fish out of water in this situation disarmed him.

"Master Splinter, what do I do? Tell me."

Splinter's idle smile left as the tone turned more serious suddenly, adding to Leo's growing discomfort. "You must understand that having [Y/N] means that your burden will grow. Not only will it be your brothers you will have to protect, but her, as well. It is your job to defend her from anything that could put her in harm's way. She is not built to fight like you. She is vulnerable, and being affiliated to us will only add to the dangers already present in this world. That is what you must come to terms with. But you must not ignore your heart, either."

Having another body to look after. He contemplated that before answering. When he thought about defending her, it did not feel like an added chore. He wanted to. What was he so strong for if not to also protect the woman he loved? And what he had said before…could she have felt the same way?

"You've prepared me more than enough to be able to handle another person, Master."

He wanted nothing more than to hold her. That was something he could not deny. He enjoyed being an observer to a way of life so different from his; femininity, not always being the one taking care of others. He loved his family, but at times, leading was tiring. He wanted to forget about it for just a little bit, maybe lay down, be with someone he didn't have to "manage".

Splinter would have been lying to have said he wasn't surprised at all. But he knew his sons, inside and out—Leonardo had iron will.

"It is your choice, Leonardo," Splinter said amiably.

His choice? He wanted to laugh. There almost wasn't a choice. He felt like every road led back to her. It was either face his fears, or stay awake every night plagued with the possibilities of what could be. And he didn't handle fear well. It twisted his stomach and ate him up inside when he felt uncertain, afraid. God, one word is all I need from her. Just one "yes". One touch. One kiss. He wanted to feel her hands explore his plastron, run along the edge of his shell. Love what made him, him.

Overcoming the hesitance he felt, he let out a deep breath, committing to a final answer. " I don't know how, but...I want to try. I can't let this go. There has to be a reason all of this happened. If everything that's happened to us up until now has been destiny...I can believe it for this, too. Thank you, master."

Just felt like writing our leader in blue having a talk with his father 😌 Going to make this a little mini series for all the boys!

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo #leonardo #tmnt leo #tmnt leonardo x reader #leonardo x reader #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #master splinter #tmnt 2003

1K notes · View notes

frankiethedarkangel · 3 months

Note

What monsters do you think would struggle to parent a human and why? (Ex: drider, werewolf, orc, etc)

Monsters that would struggle parenting a human.

This was fun :)

Vampire

They’d suck at parenting a human. (Pun intended) I feel like this one is controversial, being that they are a humanoid. Vampires probably wouldn’t understand human hunger. Only their own hunger. They’d definitely have impulse control with a blood bag constantly around. On top of that, they wouldn’t be awake during the day like humans are.

Alien

These guys know nothing about humans. We are as much of aliens to them as they are to use. Their parenting skills are just using you as a lab rat. Plus, humans can’t breathe in space. Huge lack of oxygen.

Ghost

This would be 50/50 depending on the type of ghost. Regular house ghost? Yeah they couldn’t help care for a human. They can’t even touch anything. A poltergeist? Maybe.

Tentacles

They’d accidentally drown the kid. That’s all I have to say about that.

Merfolk

Same as tentacles, they’d accidentally drown the kid. I also feel like they’d try and teach them how to be a siren. Probably wouldn’t go well but they’d b sure you look pretty at all times. Just isn’t idea to raise a human when you can’t even live on the surface.

Gargoyles

Gargoyles I feel would be too protective. They’d know whoever they’re parenting would be fragile. Really fragile compared to the gargoyle species. They’d make sure the kid would be so sheltered. Good luck having your freedom as an adult.

Fae

The fae are bullies. Also, most of the time there’s a size difference (not always). Picture it, a small evil little creature trying to parent a human. That would end in the human having some trauma. Just like having human parents, but meaner.

Mimics

These guys? Good lord. They’d try mimicking a toy and end up traumatizing the poor kid. It’s the thought that counts I guess.

Monster Masterlist

197 notes · View notes

morgana-ren · 3 months

Note

Throwing out the idea that Astarion furiously masturbates over your sleeping body while he drinks your blood. Your blood is the first he’s ever drank in 200 years, it also dosn’t help that you keep being so nice to him. He can’t help it.

I am sorta back after months of medical troubles and I am announcing it in my normal fashion: with a reprehensible smut piece.

Warning: Extreme sexual content, vulgar language, thoughts of noncon, references to noncon, semi-dark Astarion, things that could be interpreted as sexual violence and regular violence, blood and the works.

The skulking has him feeling like more of a lowly rat than usual. He slinks quietly through the fauna like a cat stalking a canary, sneaking across the camp where he has made his own nest, his eyes darting about at every slight flicker of light and every unexpected noise. His comrades-in-arms sleep peacefully, strewn about the ground and various makeshift tents, blissfully unaware that a monster lurks within their midsts, and he fully intends to keep it that way.

As dastardly and lowly as he feels, an unknown feeling courses through him. Something that leaves him feeling strong– predatory. The weak blood of rodents and livestock thrums through his veins, every synapse sparking alive, the string and sinew of his body singing to his limbs in anticipation. Anxiety sends his thoughts racing, and yet, he is giddy as a child with mischief on the mind.

A long-denied truth demands acknowledgement, and so he finally acknowledges it. He is vampire. And he is hunting.

Even a spawn possesses fangs sharp enough to rend flesh from bone and claws of steel, honed to a fine point. His senses so keen that he is aware of the deer that scamper in the forest and the birds coupled away in the branches of trees on the outskirts of the meadow. The pulsing of blood that rings a siren’s song in his ears, awakening the long-dead glands nestled alongside his teeth.

He finds that, for once, he is not the victim in the arrangement. No, he isn't. In fact, he is the horror, looming over his vulnerable and slumbering mark, their body entirely at his mercy— His right to his to sink deep fang and claw and anything else he might deem fit, helpless to stop him. For once, his true self shines through in the dim firelight of camp, and he is not the Astarion he has been browbeaten into seeing himself as. He is not unmolded clay, ready to be shaped at will by clutching hands and eager thoughts. He is not malleable and he shall not bend.

He is not Astarion the spawn; Astarion the mongrel; Astarion the Honeypot; Astarion the tool to be used and discarded. He is not the meek, or the charming, or whatever else his prey finds need of. He is power and gluttonous greed incarnate. He is the prowling shadow over the unsuspecting sweet and he will take what he needs.

He is Astarion the Vampire– and he is ravenous.

The gentle toe-tip-toe through the grass to where his prey lies ignorant, sleeping so terribly peacefully, his silken shoes making nary a sound as he creeps ever closer. Feet light as air, graceful as a swan. Even the wind seems to disregard his presence, passing over him with hardly a fuss through his silver curls.

They suspect not a thing. Even the warrioress Lae’zel, her sharpened senses whetted like a blade, keeps her eyes sheathed shut, her breath even and her body unmoving. There is no cry of anger or protest as he approaches the clutch of blankets where you have made your rest, leering over your slumbering form, feeling all parts pure need as he observes.

Saliva slicks his ivory teeth like a slavering mutt, his hands almost shaking as he kneels on bended knee to witness the gently pulsing column of your exposed throat. It calls to him, sings to his senses, and every ounce of his being begs him to shred hungrily into his meal like a carnivore– like a beaten animal starved of nourishment. Like a dog offered scraps of offal.

But he is not an animal, and you are useful to him yet. He is dignified, but more than that, he is in control of himself. He is in control of his words and actions, and for one time in his all-too-long life, he will not yield to the whims of another, even the dark voice in the back of his mind that urges him to rip and tear and maul like the wretched thing he is.

No, his first meal will not be one of viscera and terror and screaming, even as the idea appeals to the baser parts of him. It shall be quiet and quick as a rogue in the night, and though he would expect disappointment from the revelation, he finds that this moment shared privately with himself and only himself is something he intends to treasure.

He has named you for his mark for this most special of occasions. Even as he knows you likely wouldn’t feel honored by such a thing, he feels a quiet sense of pride on your behalf. You are his first taste of true life. A place of high honor in the triumvirate of freedom:

His first glimpse of the sun; his first venture into the world; his first true meal.

Gentle as a lover, he kneels over you, teeth bared, scarlet eyes flashing in the firelight. A calm hand on your shoulder to steady you, the other splayed across the grass to anchor himself. His fingers quake in both eagerness and anxiety, his hearing hypersensitive to every rustle and sigh that does not belong to the chorus of nature in the evening hours. He has committed himself to this, but to be caught is to condemn himself red-handed to the stake– a fate he’d rather avoid.

As he leans, his teeth gliding gently across delicate, slightly dampened skin, he believes it worth the risk.

The tang of sweat and flesh hits his taste buds as he softly glides his tongue across the pulse-point of your throat. He licks where he intends to find his feast, savoring the flavor of his intended prey. Many times he had caught himself staring, wondering what it might be like; what you might be like, and he fully intends to satiate the curiosity that had been building in his brain for weeks on end.

As he indulges himself in the thought, he finds he can no longer wait. He tells himself he cannot stall– cannot draw this out as he might’ve liked to– but the nagging churning in his gut rings above all else. He is starved and he must sate it. He does not join in the argument between the two warring forces in his mind, and instead resorts to pure instinct to settle the matter.

His fangs dimple tender flesh at first, and then, soft as a whisper, sink inside. Lifeblood floods his mouth like a symphony of rapture, the taste of ecstasy on his tongue, and his lips clamp like a viper on your throat, eager and yearning for more. It is as liquid fire as it slides down his throat, your soft whimpering spurring in tandem with the glory that branches through his every quivering limb and sets his mind alight. His eyes, vigilant at first, now flutter shut, allowing himself to fall into the velvet-cloaked abyss.

The thousand-year fog lifts from his brain as he drinks and for the first time since breath still filled his lungs, he feels right.

Raw strength almost seems to inflate his lean muscle, plucking a harpsichord on his tendons. The pounding drum of your rabbiting heart beneath your ribs plays in tandem with the rush of blood in his ears. The deafening cacophony of the cold, miserable years is blasted away and finally stitches together in unison with an ethereal orchestra of utter intoxication. A preternaturally beautiful song that lulls him into the first sense of peace he has felt in years– perhaps that he has ever felt. A tune he shall never forget for as long as he lives.

His senses soar so high that he swears, beneath the deafening chorus of euphoria, he can hear the revelry as far as Baldur’s Gate. In his mind’s eye, the unsuspecting citizens of the Jewel are celebrating the birth of a new man born under the silvery spears of moonlight miles away. These many long years, he has been truly dead, and only now, he is resurrected in the swaddling shroud of blood and dark. He has been truly reborn. At one with himself at last, he thinks. At one with you.

The blood falls easily down his throat, pooling warmly in his gut in glorious fulfillment. The delirium tendrils outward, gently coaxing bliss and promise where it caresses. His legs buckle, pale cheeks hot and flushed, some unknown sensation taking hold like a fist as he suckles and refusing to relinquish the iron grip. The low of his abdomen tingles, drawing in life like a vacuum to a place once desolate and lifeless.

It is a feeling he cannot place at first. Something dusted and forgotten and placed far and away in his mind, out of reach. And yet, as the delectable warmth floods every inch of his body anew, he experiences it as plainly as when his heart still beat in his chest and youth was as inevitable as the rising sun. The needle-thin hairs of his body stand on end, palms beginning to sweat against your shoulder. A primal need swells in his stomach, a gentle throbbing between his thighs that translates into pain as he strains against the leather of his breeches.

Arousal.

Desire bleeds into itself, separate colors swirling together to become one enthralling splash on the rapacious canvas of his brain. The scalding hot bliss of the feed and the tiny, breathy mewls of your still-sleeping form. You have given him what he so desperately coveted, and now, it seems, his nature demands he take more– everything you hold dear in its entirety offered up at the altar of his superior strength and cunning and existence.

The inherent eroticism of feeding is not lost on him, but it has never held any meaning until this moment. Lust is a cruel stranger that he has opted to spurn. Something wielded against him as a weapon– a barbed whip that has flogged and scarred him into conditioned disgust. It is unfamiliar at first, and yet it screams now with the same familiarity as every other function and twice as demanding.

Pale lashes flutter open, doubled vision focusing in almost too sharply on your strained features: the soft furrow of your brow, the scrunch of your still-closed eyes, the soft pout of your petal-pink lips, slick with moisture from your unconscious whines of pain. He has noticed you, yes, in the way another might notice a dagger or a halberd or a stocky shield to wield. Your appearance is just one in a long line of defenses he intended to harvest for his own gain, and yet now, as he hazily stares at the shadow of your profile that flickers in the flames, he feels the unmistakable curl and coil of a different kind of need.

Something steely clamps onto his consciousness beyond the haze of unreason. He cannot. That is too far, and something distant and shrill in his mind knows it. As desperate as he is to crawl atop and mount you, leaving you breathless and hoarse in his wake, he cannot. Some things can never be forgiven, and he has already crossed that line for his own well-being. Ravaging you as you lie vulnerable and helpless– trusting– serves no purpose in keeping him alive.

He tells himself this, his suckling receding to a temperate drawl, laving tongue and teeth across the puncture wounds. The baser parts of him cry protest, the pulsing becoming more insistent with each passing second, until it leaves him knock-kneed and clutching at the grass for purchase against the cresting tide of want. All variety of debased scenarios fly through his mind, each one more debauched than the last.

Control and lust, two things unfamiliar with each other before now due to the cruel nature of his existence, fold in perfectly as one and sharpen into a vengeful blade he craves to use. How he longs to leave a wound as deep as the one he carries day after day, unrelenting and open as the day it was wrought. He wants to lash out, to strike, to take as he pleases as the world has taken so from him–

A wound not meant for you, he must remind himself through the hot-pink haze, even as it defies him.

No. It is a line he will not cross. He is a monster, but he is a monster of a different breed. You have given him everything, even as you do not know it. More pragmatically, he will not give his life for one brief, violent encounter of forcefully obliged desire. He is worth more than such vile things, he tells himself, and strangely, he finds as he ponders it, so too are you.

He repeats it in his head as a mantra, over and over, practically yelling it over the tidal wave of instinctual impulse that threatens to drag him undertow. He is his own man, and he shall not be controlled ever again; not by Cazador, and certainly not by the more wretched pieces of himself, even as they screech and claw at the cell where he has locked them away, howling their dreadful, unspeakable demands.

It does not abate. The insistent pulse of blood that brings long forgotten life to his appetite, the mortifyingly genuine urge that begs him to touch you, feel you, taste you in the ways he has not craved in eons. It frightens him, and yet, even as he longs to pull himself away, to run and run and run into the darkness where neither you nor this horrible need can find him, he does not. He sits still as a marble statue, almost as if carved in some grotesque form of this heinous moment captured in one rotten, eternal exhibit: half atop your sleeping body, clutching and panting in need, and half splayed absurdly in the dirt, straining and desperately trying to conceal his shame from some invisible force that mocks him.

He cannot have you. Even as he yearns and craves it with a fire that singes and burns his overactive nerves and imagination, he cannot. Yet, his body will not relent, demanding release from the torment that plagues both his mind and his nethers in equal form, paralyzing him in a dangerous inactivity. You won’t awaken– he has taken too much and your weakness is apparent– but the others might and he must act. Compromise is a risk he cannot take–

And still he must.

And so, even as he should withdraw and return to the pitiful, empty loneliness of his tent, he does not. Instead, he realigns himself, as quiet and swift as the wind, still half-perched over you, but with a newly freed hand to his disposal for a contemptible purpose. It snakes the length of his torso to the waist of his breeches, his dexterous fingers undoing the laces with desperate speed and agility, his expression equal parts humiliation, shame, and anxious desire. He slides the waistband down enough that his long-neglected cock springs free, his muscles bracing and tensed as his newly blood-warmed flesh is chilled in the cool night air. Pinprick pores betray his discomfort at the crisp evening gale, but the rest of himself is otherwise occupied, consumed by his present task.

One of his sharply tipped fangs worries at the swell of his plush lower lip as he wiggles his pants further down, both internally cursing and praising the newly unlocked spectrum of his vampiric grace that make such conspicuous actions effortless and reticent. Even as he is agile and practiced, each urgent movement feels fluid and natural. Silent as the grave and insignificant against the sounds of nature that envelop their surroundings. He does not fumble or falter, smooth as satin and with steely resolve as his palm finds his shaft and a shiver runs the length of his spine, settling readily in his abdomen.

In his previous encounters, he could put himself into working order, but nothing like this. It was a job– something that must be done, no matter how distasteful or degrading. What he feels now, it’s almost foreign to him; his cock strangely hot and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Heavy as sin in his hand and just as demanding, just as cruel in its insistence. Stiff and throbbing, a compass point dogged and unrelenting as it seeks to nestle between your wet, silky thighs and burrow there. It shrieks in his head, unsatisfied and wailing at his refusal to acquiesce.

He ignores it, testing with one brusque stroke with his palm. It twitches, pleasure blooming upward through his gut even at the slightest of contact. Again, he tightens his fingers around his girth, pumping slowly as the sepulcher where he had locked away all dead semblance of lustful craving and fervor comes to life once more. As he thumbs the top, he feels the thin, sticky fluid leak from the tip, betraying his eagerness even as he pretends composure– as much composure as he can pretend in this unbelievably humiliating debacle.

He will have to worry about that later.

His eyes sweep over your face once more, peaceful now that his teeth no longer injure your tender neck. Your lips slightly agape, eyelashes fluttering softly as you sweetly dream once more. He imagines how different it might look if he were to uncage his urges– to allow himself the forbidden pleasure of sinking himself inside of you twice in one night. How your eyes might fly open in horror, your lips ready to shriek, little fists balled in defense, only to gasp as he pushes his length between your splayed thighs, enveloping himself in your tight, wet heat. White-hot. Exquisite. Immaculate.

The companions are gone– no, they don’t exist. It is only you and him now, you sprawled beneath him, half shock and half horror, and he– the predator that has stalked you from the shadows, the vampire in the night– taking as he pleases, as is his right. He feels your velvet walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to the cruel new thickness bullying inside them, squeezing him in the most delicious way. Your mouth is still open in a wordless cry as he plunges his tongue between your teeth, tasting a different part of you now, swallowing the desperate sounds you begin to make.

His cock throbs against the calloused flesh of his palm as he strokes himself, teeth gritting to quiet the noise that bubbles in his throat from the blossoming pleasure that takes root and begins to grow rapidly out of control. The fantasy plays in perfect form in his head, and it almost feels real as he gathers the precum in the crook of his thumb and slicks it over the shaft with firm fingers, pretending it’s your body that wets and grips him.

You would fight and struggle– he knows you would– but you are nothing in the face of his sheer strength and dominance. Pinned by the deceptively strong muscle of his lean body, you have no choice but to follow his lead, thighs forced wider to accommodate his narrow hips, back pressed firmly against the ground by his weight. Your tits, warm and soft beneath the thin fabric of your nightshirt and begging to be squeezed, squashed against him with the frantic rise and fall of your chest.

The squeal his first thrust would rip from you would be heavenly. High-pitched and pathetic, and yet almost drowned out by the equally sweet clench of your body around his. So tight that it almost aches him, unaccustomed to the intrusion and compelled to yield to him, moulding itself to the shape of him inside of you. He slides out slow, almost callous and so terribly casual in his malice, making you feel every inch of him drag against the supple walls of your cunt before slamming in again, vicious in his impact. Your body jumps beneath him from the force, whining into his mouth. Your blunt nails digging into his arms and tearing at his frigid, stone flesh. It is futile– he can barely even feel it, and the slight sting he can is laced with pleasure and the reminder that you are at his mercy now.

He is panting, breath coming in ragged staccato bursts even as it is unnecessary to him. Pure instinct has a hold of him now, his hand working in unfailing rhythm between his thighs as he loses himself in the vision. Your injury weeps ever so slightly, and he cannot help the flick of his tongue along the twin-pocked bitemarks, leaving a thinly shining trail of blood-streaked saliva in his wake. He aches to touch you; to slip the delicate sleeve of your nightwear down and indulge himself in the softness of your body.

He is not so subtle in his mind. He simply tears the garment, ripping it from your body with terrible ease. One hand busies itself with containing yours above your head, squeezing at the wrist to keep you captive even as you thrash, the other luckier still as it gropes and pinches your breast. Warm in his hand, he can feel your pulse skyrocketing in fear or perhaps excitement– whichever suits him most– as he reels back and cants his hips forward again.

His hips slap against your thighs with bruising strength, your body beginning to respond to his in kind. He feels your wetness slick over his cock and lubricate his next few thrusts, heightening his pleasure. You mewl against his tongue, body arching into his, perhaps against your own will, fingers flexing and furling fruitlessly in his grasp. He settles into rhythm, cruel but precise, hips grinding with every punctuating impetus. It takes an absurd amount of mental discipline not to simply take you in furious, animalistic fashion as he longs, but he manages through the impulse, lower body moving in circular rhythm, his pelvic bone stimulating you with each contact.

Your panicked breaths become heaving pants, flittering eyes glazing over and becoming heavy, the muscles that are pulled so tautly in defense waver and eventually flop, accepting your defeat at his hands. Perhaps you are betrayed and hurt and hateful, but you desire him. He is beautiful in the moonlight, pale as a ghost but alive and burning with unhinged need and that same fire kindles between your legs and winds and winds tighter like a top before the spin. He releases your swollen, puffy lips only for his fangs to find your throat and your cry is desperate and howling, your blood sweeter than the finest wine as it touches his tongue.

You cannot formulate words– neither of encouragement nor protest– as he fucks you relentlessly into the ground, helping himself to your body and your blood. Only nasally, frantic cries can make it past your throat, your hands grasping at him, pleading and desperate. He hooks your thigh around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising strength, and you clamp it there, almost as if clinging to him for purchase as he bucks and snaps, snarling like a beast perched to pounce.

You are helpless and small and defenseless and vulnerable in the face of him, and he is strong and virile and predatory and fearsome. He has no need of your protection; he is the ruthless power of the night and the fear the lurks in the dark. He ravages you with no regard to the future, knowing only that he holds it in his palm, and if he wants you, he shall take you. He does not walk in shadow and skulk in fear, but boldly in the open, the world and you ripe for the plucking.

He cannot help it. His hand is not enough. Ecstasy builds in his apex, building and bubbling at his fantasy, but he needs to feel. The hand not currently stroking himself in frantic need finds a way under the loose opening of your shirt, defying his mental mantra. The curve of your breast coaxes his skin, swelling and warm against his flesh as his insubordinate fingers find their way lower and lower under your blouse. Your nipple peaks as he gently rolls it in his careful, ghostlike fingertips, squeezing at your chest with an inhuman tenderness that only has him craving harder, more–

Your cries would come in unison with his own, yours wailing and pathetic and squealing, and his rugged and husky and snarling. You would bare yourself to him– all of you– acquiescing to his unrelenting power. He would take you there, on the ground like an animal how he pleased and for as long as he pleased. Now you are the clay for him to shape and play with and use as he pleases, existing only for him and his wants. Your blood is in no short supply, and he sups and dines as he pleases while he uses your body to pleasure his cock and the baser parts of himself that have reignited inside of your core. You are powerless to fight him, so you give yourself over completely to him, debasing yourself for him, crawling for him, needing him.

You’d beg for him, body and soul, so eager and ready. Desperate and pathetic. He’d fuck you until your whines became higher and higher, eventually spilling into the night in humiliating urgency as you came undone beneath him. Your legs quivering and shaking, senses gone and inhibition nonexistent. Your fluttering walls would tighten and squeeze and damn near strangle him, the absurd sound of your wetness utterly mortifying if you had your wits about you, but music to his ears.

Harder and faster with no regard for your overstimulated crooning, he’d take you, working himself to his peak, almost rabid in his unhinged, disjointed movements. His rhythm would fail, becoming more convulsive and urgent with every plunge of his hips. He’d chase his end inside of you, the blissful heat of your body, the cadence of your moans, and snug, velveteen swaddling of your sopping cunt the closest taste of the divines he’ll ever have– that he’ll ever want.

He’d cum inside of you, burying himself so deep that he’d be certain you could taste it. It would spill out of you as he milked himself to completion with your pliant body, heaving against your bloody neck, a hand in your hair to rip your head back and drag down against him. Bruised inside and out in the shape of him, his hands, his teeth, his cock all leaving their permanent mark. It won’t heal, it won’t ever heal, he’ll make sure of it–

It’s his– it’s his– it’s all for him and no one else. Not even the Gods could wrestle this away from him. There isn’t a force in the planes that could pry him from atop you– you belong to him, your body, your mind, your tongue, your taste, your cunt–

His cock throbs furiously in his hand, gritted pants and strangled noises escaping his throat. It is only through sheer supernatural ability that he is able to withdraw his hand from your shirt and catch himself before he slumps completely atop you, no doubt waking you with the force of it. The ecstasy spills over, unfettered bliss exploding outward from his core and sparking fire throughout every inch of his body. His eyes roll backward, head slooping forward as he works his pulsing cock, every last ounce of self-control in his ancient body holding back a howling cry.

He spills into his palm, carelessly covering his shaft in the sticky, gossamer fluid as he milks clean the very last remnants of pleasure from himself with the fervor of a man starved of it. His toes curl in his shoes, teeth gritting to the point of pain as he withholds a sigh of euphoria. His extremities tingle as his body sags, muscles exhausted and screaming from the exertion, and he almost collapses as it fades from him as quickly as it approached, still singing beautiful contentment somewhere deep inside of him.

Sagging completely into the dirt, he lies there, bare and open to the sky: Hand defiled and dripping with the seed of his shame, sweat wetting the delicate white curls behind his ears, breeches pulled cleanly to his akimbo knees. It takes a moment for the world to settle into his foggy brain once more, but shame cuts as cleanly as a knife as the clouds of desire split and the light of reality once again illuminates the situation.

Frantic fear takes hold of his stomach, and his head swivels towards where you sleep, calmed only by the fact that you still sleep soundly with no inkling or inclination as to what he has just done. As he glances around, the rest of the camp is equally unaware, each person neatly in their place, unmoving and unalert. His secret is his and no one elses.

He allows himself a few moments to catch the breath he does not need, wiping the evidence of the encounter into the grass with a sense of disgust and indignity as he does. He feels remarkable– alive for the first time in centuries– and yet it is marred by the yoke of scandal he feels having been bested by such an absurd thing. Overwhelming desire he has not felt since he was a young, handsome elf brimming with potential and swarming with suitors, back when his chest still beat with blood and his skin was flushed and warm rather than pale and pallor.

It’s unfamiliar to him, and he bares his teeth at the thought. Sex is something filthy and cursed– and yet it didn’t feel so in the moment. Even now, his fingertips tingle at the thought of your puckered peak gently caressed, the soft sound of your sighs, the vulnerability you show him. He’d barely touched you and yet you sent his senses alight like a bonfire. The taste of you still lingers on his tongue, and he cannot help but savor it. As he hikes the band of his pants back up his hips, he feels shame, yes, but also something different. Something oceans away from the helpless misery he usually feels after the degrading act.

He feels at peace. He feels satisfaction. He feels right. He does not feel debased, but empowered– almost giggly as a schoolboy at the wrongness of it all.

He chose this. For the first time he can remember, he chose this. He took control and his pleasure did not come at his own expense. It came at yours, yes, but he doesn’t like to make a habit of grappling with fragile, banal things such as morality. He is a libertine, and where he finds pleasure, he shall take it, because he knows all too well what it is to be starved of it and all that makes life worth living.

Besides, you seem fine. Sleeping deep as a babe in the cradle, none the wiser. As he sits right and dabs potion at the wounds at your neck so as to not leave a trace of his crime, he allows himself one quiet, satisfied sigh. It disconcerts him that as he studies your slumbering body and slack face, he feels pinpricks in his core once again, whispering remnants of that desire that had unhinged him so before, but he will have to unpack that later.

He is no fool. Something has changed, and it isn’t the strength that flows through him free as a fountain that was once clogged and stunted, nor the heightened attunement of his mind to damn near everything around him to the point of absurdity. He feels right for the first time with the blood he has stolen away with, and smug at getting away with something so risky as he often does, but more than that.

He is a vampire fully satisfied in more ways than one, and the fulfillment and delight he feels overrides the shame and wrestles it into the quiet.

You are something to him, though he isn’t sure what. He had not questioned why he’d picked you before, but the question begs itself now. He does not allow himself the indulgence of touching you once more. He doesn’t taste you or feel your skin. He only withdraws as silently as he came, backing off and away from the light of the fire that burns low, dying embers spitting against charred, ashen logs, his shadow stretching long before disappearing into the dark of the night.

As he moves back to his tent, he stalks the shadows, but he does so with head held high, back straight as a bow, graceful and the very picture of pride. There’s an unmistakable grin on his reddened lips and a flush to his face not wholly attributed to the blood that now courses through him. Pieces of himself unlocked after so many years of servitude. He feels himself again, and the world feels his oyster once more. What your role is in that world, he doesn’t know yet.

But he has a feeling he’ll figure it out soon enough.

#Astarion x Reader #astarion x female tav #astarion fanfic #But unhinged #See warnings for... warnings #Dark Astarion #At least in his own head #He's conflicted okay?#Are we still doing cringe?#Well I am

181 notes · View notes

planesky · 1 month

Text

Every Outcome I Got Out Of The Website

(thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com)

-I keep updating this-

1. The Gun / Gun - “Oh Yes Oh Yes Oh Yes They Both”.

2. Dorito - Bill Cipher Jump Scare.

3. Matpat / Theory - Matpat Video.

4. Blanchin - https://youtu.be/iW29Peruj-0?si=tJCbMXskZ2PE_2PK

5. Alex / Alex Hirsch - Google Search “Flannel”.

6. Blind Eye - Eye Exam Code.

7. Giffany - “Input Deleted. AI Antiviral. Activated.”

8. T J Eckleburg - “Never Mention That Name Again”

9. Adastraperaspera / Ad Astra Per Aspera - Journal Pages About Bill’s Corpse.

10. Dipper - Note From Bill To Dipper.

11. Mabel - “Lab Now Fully Mabelized” after a few clicks.

12. Stanford - Lab Report.

13. Stanley / Stanley Pines - Ebuy Stanley Related Items, After Six Clicks “The Wheel Of Shame”, A Poem After You Click On “How He Beat Me” Many Times.

14. Wendy - Note To Wendy From Unknown.

15. Soos - Letter From Soos.

16. CIA / FBI - “Your Webcam Is On. We Are Watching”.

17. Nothing - “Something”.

18. Something - “Nothing”.

19. McGucket - https://youtu.be/mOYZaiDZ7BM?si=SpB78zp3ZO5BZyRv

20. Gravity Falls - “Never Heard Of It”.

21. Skibidi / Gyatt - “Life Privilege Provoked. Now Releasing Poision Gas.”

22. Fuck / Shit / Bitch - Note “Not S&P Approved”.

23. Triangle - “)”.

24. Pacifica - A Letter From Pacifica.

25. Gideon - Google Search “Sweet Resistant Bolo Ties”.

26. Mystery- “?”.

27. Journal 1 - “The Journal For Fun”.

28. Journal 2 - “The Journal For You”.

29. Journal 3 - “The Journal For Me”.

30. Axolotl - “You Ask Alotl Questions”.

31. Bill - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eye_of_Providence

32. Bill Cipher - https://youtu.be/cZdiFNhu31c?si=-_-vBtwmRtunKcAr

33. Cipher - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triangle

34. Death - “Life’s Goth Cousin”.

35. Life - “Life: 72% Complete. Now Loading: Death”.

36. Book Of Bill: “Hide It Under Shirt During Pledge Of Allegiance”.

37. Scary - Book Named “Spookemups” By B. Cipher.

38. Ducktective - “Ducktective Stars In “Love, Quacktually” Coming To: “Oi, It’s The Cockney Chunnel Innit?” This Fall”.

39. Card - Bill Cipher Business Card.

40. Geometry / Plato / Greek / Greece - Page About Plato And The Pythagorean Theorem In Ancient Greece.

41. Mystery Shack - Google Search “Confusion Hill”.

42. Babba / Disco Girl - Dipper Singing.

43. Lies - Lies Board Game And Explanation about Truth.

44. Answer - “Question”.

45. Question - “Answer”.

46. Season 1 / Season -1 - “Season -1: Antigravity Falls”.

47. Season 2 / Season -2 - “Season 1”.

48. Season 3 / Season -3 - “Season 2”.

49. Sorry - A Picture Of Fiddleford And Stanford.

50. Lalala / Daddy / Baby - Bill Ultrasound.

51. Disney - “Rat.gif Censored For Your Protection”.

52. Rat - “Thurburts’ Number?”

53. Reality - “Is An Illusion”.

54. Universe - “Hologram”.

55. R34lity - Polaroids Of The Henchmaniacs.

56. Love / Romance - Book Named “The Love Triangle” By Tabitha Lustheart.

57. Waddles - https://pigplacementnetwork.org/

58. God - A video of an Axolotl swimming next to a bill statue.

59. Meow - https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS2dBpWYf/

60. Naitsuaf - A Page About Selling Your Soul.

61. Weird - A Video Of A Man Stuck Inside The Computer.

62. Fixinit - https://youtu.be/zgKSrJ_hmNY?feature=shared

63. Mason - Note From Dipper About Anagrams.

64. Who Are You - “I Could Ask You The Same Question”.

65. Monster - Google Search “THERES A MONSTER AT THE END OF THIS BOOK”.

66. Platinum Paz - A Story About Pacifica.

67. Robbie - Messages Between Robbie And Thompson.

68. Love Ya Bro - A Doodle Of The Grunkle With A Code On The Back.

69. Vallis Cineris - A Video Of Little Bill.

70. Pines - “A Good Family Tree”.

71. Blendin - “Time Agent Lost And Presumed Incompetent”.

72. Imstillonyourmind - A Video Of The Ocean With Unknown Voice.

73. Tantrum - A Transcript Of A Conversation Between Bill And The Time Baby.

74. Hectoring - A Song About Bill.

75. Irregular - Bill Mugshot With A Code.

76. Paperjam - A Picture Of Messed Up Print Dipper.

77. Shave Your Grandma - Textbook Page About The Human Life Cycle.

78. Hotxolotl - Bill Cyper Wanted Report.

79. One Eyed King - Bill Hypnosis.

80. Titans Blood - “Hoot Hoot. Password Please!”.

81. Kings Of New Jersey - Downloaded A Zip File On My Computer, The Zip Contains The Font Of The Code Behind The Love You Bro Doodle.

82. Just Fit In - A Board Game Commercial With Sad Background Music.

83. Music - It Doesn’t Response To The Word, Nothing Changes Including The Background Music And It Doesn’t Show An X.

84. Cryptogram Codex - Fonts Of Several Codes.

85. Divorce / Breakup - Gives you “O’ Sadleys” Logo.

86. XGQRTHX - “Where Do Tri Angles Come From?”

87. When Will I Die - Says A Random Number Each Time.

88. Abuelita - https://youtu.be/1sdZazjDq-4?si=YAwvWQdWJVHE3_QS

89. Portal - “Portal.exe has been deleted. I bet you could build one”.

90. Cray Cray - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mental_health

91. Multilevel Mark - “Who Defeated Silas Birchtree—?”

92. I see - “Is Seeing Believing?”

93. Pinata - Someone Hitting A Bill Cipher Pinãta.

94. Euclid / Scalene - “Life Form Not Found”.

95. Horror / Urban Legend - The “Always Garden”.

96. Forget The Past - Color Techincal Error.

97. Dippy Fresh - Reddit - https://i.redd.it/4p4142atrf381.jpg

98. Morality - Fun Game.

99. Oroborous - Journal Pages About Axolotl And Bill.

100. Xyler - https://youtu.be/lkQE5wuBFeY?feature=shared

101. Well Well Well Being - “Paitent File: Bill Cipher. Greatest Love: Himself. Greatest Fear: Himself.”

102. Theraprism - Brochure With A Code.

103. Deer Teeth - “For You, Kid!”

104. Weirdmageddon - The Gravity Falls Gossiper News Paper Artical.

105. Glass Shard Beach - Wildwoods-Sportland-Pier-2-1024x667.jpg 1,024×667 pixels

106. Curse Wittebane - Bill Seance Board.

107. Tad Strange - Bread Cutting Montage.

108. Burned Inside - A Video Of A Oregon Park Department Tag On The Ground.

109. Boo Berry - The Meaning Of Life.

110. Fuck You Alex - Google Search “Get Help Therapy”.

111. Harolds Ramblings - “How Is Clown Repellent Made?”

112. Butternubbins - “You’ve Earned A Treat! Enter “Dispense My Treat” To Download”.

113. Dispense My Treat - Zip file named “BILLS FILES DO NOT OPEN!!” And contains photos from the book.

114. Goodnight Sally - A Yellow TShirt.

*When you click the skull’s golden teeth you get a “Get Out Of Death Card”.

**When you click the book you get a letter from Stanford to Dipper.

***When you click the McGUCKET LABS Engraving on top of the computer you get a Letter from McGucket.

****When you click “The Book Of Bill” at the end of the page you get a link to the B&N Exclusive edition of the book The Book of Bill (B&N Exclusive Edition) by Alex Hirsch, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble® .

*****When you click the button next to the red switch the computer loses reception.

******When you click the eye in the bottle you get a picture of “Failed Portal Attempt #47: Altantis” with explanation.

Decoding:

Prism Code - SORRY

Stanford’s Letter In The Book - Ad Astra Pav Aspera

How He Defeted Me - (I cAN STilL sEe) Through The Eyes Of Everyone I’ve Ever.

Candle Code - ?

Wall Code - ?

Morse Code Hypnosis - Naitsuaf

Theraprism Code - (In Case Of) The Old One (Do Not Use Elevators).

#gravity falls #book of bill #the book of bill #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #bill cipher #stanford pines #dipper pines #billford

62 notes · View notes

kirbybecomesastarwarrior · 2 months

Text

Marx (Singuf) The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Marx is the Pied Piper of Hamelin but he didn't pipe away rats.. he pied Dark Matters away. (Hunold Singuf was the name of the Pied Piper... in one of the iterations, so I used it for Marx)

Marx despises his former happy-go-lucky self; this is also why he initially hates Kirby (because he reminds him of his former self...) and can't help but taunt Kirby on his overly trusting & good nature (because he used to be like that..)

Especially when Marx realizes how much he and Kirby can relate to each other... a fact that makes Marx second guess himself every step of the way for his plan...and when he realizes Kirby's basically another him... It really shakes him to his core

His main reason for revenge was due to the loneliness he was feeling and thought he couldn't belong anywhere else than Nightmare's fortress with all the other monsters. (Cause Kirby defeated Nightmare & the Cappies blew up the place. )

Basically he wanted Kirby to feel the same level of betrayl he felt with the people of Hamelin... only to find out that him and the cappies aren't as close anymore wha...

PLAN B: So instead he just exposed the growing cracks of his friendship with Tiff & Tuff (Fumu & Bun). Please read Marx's role in the story (here), this contains all the explanation of this and the background info on Marx.

Keep Reading for~

The story of Marx & Hamelin:

So, after the explosion of Nightmare's base, he is one of the very few monsters that survived. (Being blasted onto some remote planet... you guessed it, Hamelin). And wouldn't ya know it he fell right on his head so amnesia!

Marx doesn't remember his purpose (he was a monster that created Nightmare and was supposed to be the perfect friend for Kirby and made to trick him... yada yada yada... I explain it more in the previous post)

Basically, it's a dark mirror reflection of Cappy Town... Marx drops in on the town of Hamelin and the towns infested with Dark Matters. They welcome Marx inform him of the problem and give him all the hospitality they can offer (during this time of crisis)~

Originally, the town was filled with music, but since the Dark Matters came in (no music), the first thing they did was swipe the town's instruments... and now they seem to be going after the people! Half of the town belonged to the Dark Matters.

I wonder why?

The townsfolk so graciously ask for Marx's help (but in reality, they are looking for fresh meat to sacrifice while the other townsfolk have to save the hostages before they get possessed.)

Marx, not knowing what these terrible people had planned for him (throwing him head first into the den of wolves). But to him, he was repaying the nice people who sheltered him so he happily agreed... all he had to do was distract them.

So they went out to save the hostage with Marx running in the middle of town as a distract. Naturally, he was incredibly slippery and managed to stumble to the main stronghold.

Marx, having his natural curiosity figured, "Whatever they were guarding in there must be super valuable..." and scurried his way in. Imagine his disappointment when he found "just a bunch of crummy old instruments- WOAH wait, what that~"

The golden flute (the shiniest one), seemed to naturally catch his attention and before he knew it, it flew into his hands. He didn't know what drove him but naturally he started to play.

And just like that, all the Dark Matters were hypnotized by the flute's spell... Marx understood the power he had. And had the good sense to pipe them away from the town.

The people were all shocked and amazed (especially since they didn't think the little guy would survive the night!) But at long last, the Dark Matter infestation was solved, and quickly dubbed Marx as their savior and protector.

This was all just so new and exciting to Marx, and seeing all the happy faces of the townsfolk made. He feels like he truly belongs... and he couldn't help but say yes to all of it.

Marx mastered his craft, learned several (if not all) instruments, and would happily perform on the streets. Naturally expanding with classic juggling, magic tricks, etc. (Also, it was part of what he was made for by Nightmare~) Just a bring out a smile or two~

Not for pay, he just enjoyed making the people happy... and whenever there was a dark matter he'd gladly take care of it. Even happily helping the other neighboring towns and villages with their infestation problem.

But slowly, as time passed, the people started to take their hero for granted. They'd complain about how loud his playing was, why couldn't he get rid of the dark matter faster, couldn't have avoided the property damage...

And this ungrateful attitude seemed to increase as the town slowly seemed to become richer... buildings were being renovated... property expanding... that's weird...

The townspeople were nice to him still... but this love was all superficial only really loved him when they needed him or after the threat was gone~ He still felt like he was an outsider...Not really offer the genuine love and understanding he needed as an individual/as an actual person...

And it seems they needed the happy-go-lucky fun time Jester Marx... so he just played along...

Sound familiar to anyone~

This all came to a head when he saw the mayor carrying a suspiciously large sack of gold into town hall... Marx couldn't help but be curious... he managed to tail him inside, hiding under the main table to listen in.

The three others entered the room... Four more people made their way towards it to take their seats.

Mayor: Take a look at this haul *pouring the sack* Perhaps we should loan out the little urchin to some more of our neighbors to get rid of their pests.

Councilman: We're so lucky one of N.M.E's monsters fell right at our doorstep... I was surprised by how incredibly expensive a small one would be, I'm sure we could-"

Councilwoman: No we can't so that, you know owning a monster from N.M.E's monster is illegal now... ever since Nightmare's defeated the G.S.A is regaining control the new leade of the-

Mayor: We don't need to worry about him yet, all we need to do is keep him keep a low profile... is all.

Councilman: Fine... after all, we can't risk losing our dear Marx... annoying little brat... but he makes great money for just merely piping a toon, do you when such a thing understand the vaule of money

Mayor: Probably not, and besides, why was he our monster? We were not different from the many others, whoever ordered... this one just managed to drop in our laps, and we should be allowed to use him as

Assistant: We might want to rethink those plans. I just received this *reveal a letter with a G.S.A. logo,* I think they're on to us.

Councilwoman: So before you two idiots rudely ignored me... I've heard of those letters. I'm pretty sure a Star Warriors is coming in a sweep with town for any monster ownership... Sir Arthur will not allow any of this.

Councilman: We have to find Marx immediately... we can't have him getting us all in trouble...

Councilwoman: Frankly I'm surprised he survived this long given he was supposed to be bait... we just got this place back on it's feet we need to think of something quick!

Mayor: Perhaps this can all be solved by our little friend again.

Assistant: Ugh, we need to hurry they could be here-*door slam*

Everyone left sprinting out of the room~ All except one...

Marx was still frozen in horror at what he had heard... He leaves through the back door unseen. His mind was reeling at... "Surely this is a misunderstanding..." Despite only being afraid to find out the truth... Marx boldly ran up to the mayor in the middle of the town square...

Marx: Hey, we need to talk I heard you and-

Only to have someone grab him from behind.

Mayor: There it is.Thank you Sir Dragato so much for taking of this little monster~

Marx: Wha-

Councilwoman: He's been such an inconvenience having him run amok in our town... thank heavens it's over...

Councilman: Yes we do appericate your service nothing to see-

Marx: WAIT, WAIT WAIT- NO you can't this is my home too I've lived here, I'm good please I'd never hurt anyone I', the town protector I-

Lady: I've never seen that monster live here with us

Old man: He probably means the forest-

He watched one by one as each townsfolk helped weave this whole fabricated lie. Not one of them stood up for him or claimed him... Marx's heart sank even deeper with each one.

Councilman: Just one of Nigthmate playing his tricks again if you would be so kind as to get rid of-

Marx: Are all of you-* looks towards Dragato* Please ya gotta believe me they're lying please don't kill me I'm good-

Sir Dragato: *gives Marx an indifferent look and holds the sword near his neck* Pipe down-

Marx was seething with anger at this point and.... wait a moment piped down that's it! (Dragato of all the things you just had to say "pipe down")

Sir Dragato: Everyone! Please *extremely annoyed* it's just a small runt of a demon; there's nothing special about it I can just take him out with- *plays right into his ear* aaarghhaaaa! *Releases Marx*!

The townsfolk watched in horror as the sweet smile Marx bore turned into something sinister. He was overcome with shock & grief; the people who had been protecting them had merely seen him as a tool. Not only that they profited from his hard work! And now they're just going to throw him under the bus like this and... The negative nature he felt inside started to build.

He leaped into the sky raising his flute for one final show. And for the first time, his demoniac instincts kicked him... Then, grandly, the announced:

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN THIS WILL BE MARX SINGUF'S LAST PERFORMANCE AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE I WILL PIPE ALL THE DARK MATTER BACK INTO HAMELIN~

Soon, the town was overtaken by all the Dark Matter quickly overwhelming the town. And started to destroy it ...The people and Dragato watched in horror as the town was ripped to sherds.

Marx took his prized flute (the one he had held on so preciously as a memento on his first day in Hamelin as a luck charm...) and threw it away. And vowed to never play another tune ever again

Dragato is automatically put off by the power of Marx but still believes he could take Marx "You've terrorized this town long enough-"

Marx: Terrorize me.... terrorize me, Terrorize me *Marx's Soul form comes out for the first time, tears in his eyes* I DON'T THINK YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!

And pretty much beats Dragato to a pulp... "You will not succeed you will never take this town-ugh!" *Marx stuffs with a literal sock*

Marx: I don't want this crummy town you dingus *looks over to the townsfolk* I've had enough of it. *Snatches Dragato's bag* And here I thought you Star Warriors were supposed to be something special.

Looking through stuff see a Nightmare Enterprises logo... *triggers a memory* Maybe my answers lie there... *Smirks at the tied-up Dragato* you gave me a useful hit! SO LONG YOU RATHOLE TOWN HAVE FUN CLEANING UP YOUR OWN MESS!

This leads up to Marx's finding out his past and planning his grand revenge on the cappies and Kirby!

Shortly after (much to everyone's surprise, including Dragato's) Sir Arthur arrives... and the first thing he does is pick up the discarded flute of Marx... which was the real reason Sir Arthur sent the letter.

(Not for Marx as everyone had assumed ~)

Soon the mayor goes on to explain (his fabricated story) that Marx was the one who had brought in the Dark Matters... with his cursed flute...and Sir Dragato confirms their story... only for Sir Arthur to look at him disappointed.

Sir Arthur: I already know you're all lying through your teeth... you better tell the truth this time.

Mayor: But we already-

Sir Arthur: No, you didn't! You better tell the truth before I add to the list of charges you've already committed! *Brings out the scary dragon aura* TALK NOW!

Assistant : You're right we're lying~

Dragato: Wait wha-!

So townsfolk are forced to tell the truth, leaving Dragato frozen in disbelief... (Marx telling the truth). After the whole story was debunked Sir Arthur arrested the council members, leaving only Dragato and himself.

Sir Dragato: How did you know they were-

Sir Arthur: This flute is a sacred relic created by the Ancients... when they said it was cursed I knew they were lying and *he looked at Excalibur* these sacred items are all connected... And I knew its owner was in trouble...they were begging for anyone to believe them... but you.

*The golden flute quivered in anger and emulated a sad aura as if it were seeking justice for its owner*

Sir Arthur: You are demoted. You are responsible for cleaning up this fine mess you've made with the people of Hamelin *stares at the townsfolk's guilty faces* And as for the rest I will be confiscating this ill-gotten loot you made from Marx's hard work & whatever is not there you'll have to work to earn it!

Sir Dragato: It was their fault I was lied to... and that- he's one of-

Sir Arthur: We need to take accountability for our actions, and mistakes... *thinking back to Uther's regime* I'm trying to move the GSA in a different direction... one of tolerance away from the age of fear and paranoia I can not push things like this under the rug...

*looks at Dragato*

The situation was made worse due to your negligence... *flute starts angrily trembling* You were going to kill that boy from the looks of it, you don't even feel guilty for what you did...

I cannot trust you with any solo missions so from now on you'll be partnered up with Sir Falspar until deemed trustworthy and-

Sir Dragato: That "boy" as you call him is may I remind you... IS ONE OF NIGHTMARE'S MONSTERS! You can't do this-

Sir Arthur: I CAN AND I WILL! This happened because you ignored that boy's plea for help... You punished the innocent and nearly rewarded the guilty. Be grateful I do not permanently dismiss you...

We need to set an example... report back to me once you're done...

Dragato: *thinking to himself* (grr... you always did have a fondness for strays...*referring to Meta Knight*)

Notes:

Everyone has always said that Marx was supposed to Mirror Kirby in a way so... I made him the perfect Mirror to Kirby. The similarities in their stories are the main reason why Kirby is so sympathetic to Marx and the main reason Marx hates... (and not completely hate Kirby)

All the game characters I try to have them woven into the anime cast... With Fluff I made him have a connection to Falspar by using the Fisher King (King Fisher).

With Marx's storyline matching up with Dragato's... I know it seems like I wrote him rather villainous. But bear with me he has good reasons (aka Mommy issues with Dame Morgan).

Meta Knight, Dragato & Falspar are supposed to be reflections of Arthur, Morgan & Nonsura. (which I will expand on later~)

So Dragato is extremely jealous of MK (similair to Morgan with Arthur but for different reasons...)

I'll explain more on a later day. Right now, I have to stop myself before I write a whole novel.

And for those of you who are wondering what on earth inspired me to connect to mix the Pied Piper & Marx. WELL~

Perception check By Rom Cardy

TRY AND TELL ME THAT MARX IS NOT THE HUMAN BARD & NOT DO VICOIOUS MOCKETY! "LOOT THAT BODY"

(Sorry guys, I just wanted to end this on a light-hearted note~)

I think I'll try to post lore stuff like this once a week while the tournament is going on. I hope you guys enjoyed it & have a great day everybody.

#kbasw #marx kirby #kirby #marx #kirby super star #meta knight #sir dragato #sir arthur kirby #kirby super star ultra #Youtube

61 notes · View notes

literary-illuminati · 9 months

Text

Book Review 70 – American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis

I’m honestly not sure I ever would have gotten around to reading this on my own, but ended up buying it through the ‘blind date with a book’ thing a bookstore in New York was doing when I was visiting (incredible gimmick, for the record). The fact that it then took me a solid three months to actually finish probably tells you something about how genuinely difficult a read I found it. Not in the sense of being bad, but just legitimately difficult to stomach at points. Overall I’d call it a real triumph of literature.

Not that anyone doesn’t already know, but; the book is spent inside the head of Patrick Bateman, high-flying wall street trader and Harvard blueblood at the close of the Reagan era. Also a serial killer. The story is told as a series of more or less disconnected vignettes, jumping from dinner conversations at one exclusive bar or club or another to the brutal torture and murder of a sex worker to several pages of incredibly vapid pontification on Nina Simone’s discography. The story vaguely tracks Bateman growing ever-more alienated and out of control as the year goes on, but there’s very much not any real single narrative or cathartic climax here. - most stuff just happens (stuff that’s either incredibly tedious or utterly nauseating by turns but still just, stuff).

So yeah this is an intensely literary work (obviously), a word I’m here using to mean one that is as much about the form and style of the writing as about the actual events portrayed. Bateman is a monster, but more than that he’s just an utterly boring and tedious husk of a man, traits which are exaggerated to the point of being fascinating– if you told this story in conventional third person narration without all the weird asides, it would be a) like half as long and b) totally worthless. The tonal whiplash of going from an incredibly visceral depiction of Bateman cutting out the eyes of a homeless man to six (utterly insipid) pages on the merits of The Doors is the selling point here (well actually I think Ellis goes back to that specific well probably one time too many, but in general I mean).

Bateman is a tedious, unstable monster, but as far as the book has an obvious thesis it’s that he differs from the rest of his social milieu only in degree. A symptom of a fundamentally rotten society, not a heroic devil among sheep. The book’s climax, such as it is, involved Bateman getting into a drug-fueled gunfight with the NYPD, shooting multiple people in the middle of the street, and then stumbling home and leaving a rambling confession to every crime on his lawyer’s answering machine – but despite very clearly wanting and trying to get caught and face some sort of consequence or justice, people just refuse to believe that someone like him is capable of anything like that. (It’s not, it must be said, an especially subtle book).

There is, as far as I can recall, not a single character who gets enough screentime to give an idea of their personality who I’d call likeable. Sympathetic, sure, but that’s mostly because it’s pretty much impossible not to sympathize with someone getting horrifically tortured and torn apart (at one point a starving rat is involved). The upper crust of New York yuppie-dom is portrayed as shallow and vapid, casually bigoted towards quite literally everyone who isn’t identical to them, status-obsessed to the point of only being able to understand the world as a collection of markers of class and coolness, and totally incapable of real human connection. Bateman is a monster not because of any freak abnormality, but just because he takes all of that a few steps further than his coworkers.

The book is totally serious and straight-faced in its presentation, and absolutely never acknowledges any of the running gags that are kept up through it. Which shows impressive restraint, and also means that none of them exactly have a payoff or a punchline – it’s just a feature of the world that all the expensive meals at trendy restaurants everyone competes for tables at sound disgusting when you think about them for a moment, or that the whole class of wall street trader guy are so entirely interchangeable that ostensible close friends and coworkers constantly mistake each other for other traders and no one particularly cares. Or – and I’m taking this on faith because fuck knows I’ve got no idea what any of the brands people are wearing are – that the ruinously expensive outfits everyone spends so very much time and money on for every engagement all clash comically if you actually looked up what the different pieces looked like. The book’s in no way really a comedy, so the jokes sit a bit oddly, but they’re still overall pretty funny, at least to me.

I like to think I have something of a strong stomach for unpleasant material in books, but this was the first work of fiction that I had genuine trouble reading for content reasons in I can’t even remember. I’m not sure it’s exactly right to call the violence pornographic in a general sense, but as far as American Psycho goes the register and tone Bateman uses to describe fucking a woman and torturing her to death are basically identical (and told in similarly explicit detail), and all of Bateman’s sexual fantasies are more or less explicitly just porn scenes he wants to recreate, so. Regardless, the result’s pretty alienating in both cases – his internal monologue never really feels anything but detached and almost bored as he relays what he does, sound exactly as vapid and alienated as when he is carefully listing the exact brands and designers every person he ever interacts with is wearing at all times, or arguing over dinner reservations for hours on end with his friends and lovers (though both those terms probably deserve heavy airquotes around them). He legitimately sounds considerably more engaged when talking about arguing over sartorial etiquette. It all adds up to a really strong alienating effect.

Anyways, speaking of sex and violence – perhaps because my main exposure to the story before this was tumblr making memes out of scenes from the movie, but I was pretty shocked by just how explicitly awful Patrick is ‘on screen’. The horrible murder, sure, but also just the casual and frequent use of racist and homophobic slurs, the pathological misogyny, the total breakdown he has at the idea of a gay man being attracted to him and thinking he might reciprocate – all of these are entirely in character for an asshole Wall Street ‘80s Guy even if he wasn’t a serial killer, but it’s still oddly shocking at first to see it so thoroughly represented on the page. It makes how comparatively soft-pedaled the bigotry and just, awfulness, of villains in a lot of more modern books stand out a lot more, I suppose? I have read a lot of books that are in some sense About queerness and/or racism in the last year, and no one in any of them holds a candle to good old Patrick Bateman.

Part of that is just the book being so intensely of its time, I suppose. The New York of this book is very much one of the late ‘80s, incredible wealth living side by side with social rot and decay, crippling poverty everywhere and a society that has to a great degree just stopped caring. Absolutely none of which Bateman or any of his peers care one bit about, of course – they’re too busy showing off the latest walkmans and record players, going to the newest clubs, and just generally enjoying all the fruits of Reagan’s America. Recent history has made the fact that Bateman’s personal idol is Donald Trump almost too on the nose to be interesting, but in 1991 I’m sure it was a bit more subtle in how telling it was.

Anyway, yeah, horrifying and exhausting read, triumph of literature, my god did Easton Ellis hate America (this is a compliment). Now time to go watch the movie!

#book review #literature #american psycho #brett easton ellis

129 notes · View notes

whereserpentswalk · 1 month

Text

Hey, western leftist! Please explain why you think American and British soldiers in the Iraq war were just innocent young men victimized by propaganda, but how Israeli, Russian or Chinese soldiers are all cold ruthless monsters who bare full responsibility for the actions of their state. Please give an answer that doesn't A) describe western soldiers as brave and upstanding while describing eastern soldiers as sadistic and bloodthirsty. B) defend the actions of western governments. C) make it sound like you think real world countries are inhabited by uruk-hai and white walkers. D) all of the above. You have fifteen minutes before the rats begin.

42 notes · View notes

velvetvexations · 5 months

Text

The thing about comparing Kipperlilly's grudge to hating DEI and affirmative action is that those things are exactly what she's advocating for. The Bad Kids are not receiving accommodation for anything - and in fact Aguefort seems like the type to despise things like accommodations and would tell disabled people to pick themselves up by their bootstraps, but I digress -rather, they have direct connections to massive save-the-world plots three years in a row now that puts them way ahead of everyone else. Though they put in hard work, that doesn't change the fact that no one else working as hard as they can will ever equal being told to go stop a god from coming back and coincidentally your dad (a) worked directly with that dead god's primary agent in the past and (b) is now a super cool angel secret agent who will directly assist you in the task. Oh, and also, your teammate's parents are the dead god's primary mortal agents. And also they kidnapped your other teammate's dad because he's a powerful demon lord so now she's involved too. And you all happen to end up on Leviathan, where Fabian is an instant celebrity who immediately gets a cult worshiping the planks he walks on because they all work for his rich undead infernal dad.

The issue is that people keep mapping it to the real world and seeing "tragic backstory" like it would be IRL, which is a mistake. It's not a disability. They don't go to normal school to become accountants or NASA engineers, they are there to be doing exactly that shit that their backstories rope them into. Like, this isn't Buffy, they aren't saving the world incidentally, this is school for saving the world to pursue a career in saving the world. Spyre functions so differently from IRL that everyone is dramatically failing to comprehend the actual situation everyone is in.

And the thing about hating affirmative action is that it presumes someone only got into whatever not because they have skill, but because of their race or something like that. That's manifestly different from what's going on here. Kipperlilly has no doubt the Bad Kids are incredibly powerful and skilled - but their backstories gave them opportunities to use that power and skill that no one else will ever have regardless of effort or even luck. The Bad Kids can't go five seconds without tripping over the revelation that the BBEG for the year is one of their second cousins. That just doesn't happen to other people, period. The world revolves around the BK's in ways it will never revolve around anyone else so the Bad Kids will always get the massive adventures to save the world and be the top of their class because they're personally connected to the narrative.

Remember, Brennan has confirmed that other AA students do not do shit like that. They do exactly the sort of missions you'd expect them to - go in dungeon, fight monsters, come back. It's not "uh, the Rat Grinders should have just gone out and saved the world too", that's not how it works. AA students are not usually expected to, their rat grinding is just a more tedious and efficient version of what they would be doing otherwise. The BK's don't get involved with these plots simply because they're the most heroic heroes ever who seek wrongs to right, they do it because every single time everyone but Gorgug (who is for the most part absent major narrative stakes) was born someone that would get those in's, feats reproducible by no one else.

"Ah, but the Seven-"

The Seven prove the tragedy of it. Because Kipperlilly is right, but she's also wrong. The brilliance of BLeeM this season is that he's crafted a narrative inseparable from the meta of how the game works. In a very real way this is like the Dungeons & Dragons versions of Tron. The fact that it's a series of fictional TTRPG sessions is essential to the universe and it's story, in a Twin Peaks-ian way.

Because, see, it's not actually, technically magical trauma that gives out those narrative advantages. Magical trauma is just the most obviously visible side-effect. What the issue actually is is that, as everyone has noted over and over again, the Rat Grinders are NPCs, and it is therefore impossible for the world to ever bend itself around them the way it does for the PCs. Except, most are just saying that as a funny haha joke.

No, like, literally, that's the issue. They will always be in the shadow of the handful of people that the people constructing their world, their timeline, their very existence, has decided matter. They are doomed by narrative causality to be "boring". And I'm going to take a moment to say here, isn't it crazy no one is talking about this when we just got done with Neverafter which was all about this exact thing????? Like, literally the BBEG was the Authors. That is the situation here, more or less.

Anyway, there will never be a demon attacking that due to a curse is only vulnerable to hot licks from Ruben's guitar passed down from the first gnomish rocker. Mary Ann will never be the prophesized liberator of kobolds enslaved in dragon dens. Ivy will never find out her father was secretly a super-soldier for the Council of Chosen who before he was assassinated left her notes detailing a sinister plot within the government of Solace.

People keep having a hard time with this because it intuitively doesn't feel right to ever classify something like losing a father in any context to have some kind of bright side. But if you take nothing else away from this post, let it be this: Adventuring as it's done in Spyre is not something done in the real world. Adventuring is something everyone chose to go to AA to learn and put into practice as their long-term career. And in that, absolutely these things give the PCs a completely one hundred percent insurmountable leg-up on the thing they're all in competition for.

And it being completely insurmountable in that way further goes to show the difference between hating that situation and hating affirmative action. Even AA is not a guarantee that a specific member of the majority will lose out on something and a specific member of the minority will get it instead. As soon as the character sheets were rolled everyone else at Aguefort may as well have just gone home and started studying to be accountants because the main characters had been chosen. Or they could keep going and hope they get a spin-off, I guess.

But Kipperlilly does keep trying, for she doesn't really comprehend the true eldritch horror beyond her existence shackled to the bits of a bunch of comedians, and her solution is to adjust for those unfair advantages.

Which is affirmative action.

How is that not obvious.

#dimension 20 #kipperlilly copperkettle

65 notes · View notes

unbreakabledawn · 4 months

Text

"Why the fuck do I have to go in?"

Somewhere between the dumpster and the sleeping homeless guy, a scrawny rat scurried forward and out the mouth of the alley before Tim or Jason could kick the undoubtedly pest-carrying vermin away.

Tim wrinkled his nose, and turned back to Jason, gesturing down at himself in response. "I'm dripping wet and there's blood on my gloves. It would be rude of me to go in and make the minimum-wage workers mop the floors after me at three am."

"And whose blood is that?" Jason crossed his arms and leaned against the dumpster. There was a faint scratching and rustling sound coming from inside it, and Tim heard the occasional squeak. Great. Hopefully those were normal Gotham rats and not some sort of mutated killer vermin. This night was tiring enough already without the added mutant monster outbreak.

Tim glanced at his hands. Sewer water trickled from his cape. "No idea. I think it's Killer Croc's, but I'm not entirely confident it wasn't from a person he might have mauled, or perhaps eaten."

"Awesome. Really got my appetite going."

Tim raised his hand and counted on his fingers. "Spoiler and Batgirl are stopping the robbery at Twenty-fifth Street, Nightwing is taking the Mad Hatter back to Arkham, the brat has no manners--"

"I heard that!" a shrill voice shouted in his comm.

"--and B is B. Can you just go and get the food." Tim was approximately six seconds away from gnawing on the brick wall of the alley.

“Give me a hundred. Christ," Jason hissed, flinching away from the dumpster as a loud squeal erupted from within. It sounded suspiciously like a rat eating another rat.

Tim sighed. “The food’s already paid for, including tips.”

“It’s not for the food, it’s for me. Pay up or you can spend the rest of the night fueling up on B’s cardboard nutrition blocks. I do think he puts actual cardboard in them, by the way. Also that guy’s not breathing, you should call an ambulance.”

Tim and Jason both looked over at the homeless guy slumped in the corner of the alley. “He’s fine, I took his pulse five minutes ago,” Tim said, not at all sure that it was still there.

A rumbling snore emerged from the man. Jason tilted his head, but Tim couldn't read his expression underneath his mask. After a moment, Tim sighed again and fished a hundred dollar bill from a pouch on his belt and handed it to Jason. He shrugged his shoulders, took the blood-flecked bill and brushed past Tim to head inside, fucking finally.

Tim stood at the corner and listened to Jason kick the door open with much more force and drama than a fast-food establishment required.

"Pick-up for six Bat-idiots," he heard Jason say in his mask-modulated growl. There was a piercing scream from inside and Tim resisted the urge to cover his eyes with his blood-sticky hand.

When Jason reappeared, Tim eyed the take-away bags with suspicion. He couldn't count the items without opening the bags, but Jason wasn't interested in handing them over and set a course for the fire escape without even looking at Tim.

“There’s supposed to be seven orders,” Tim said slowly, following him to the roof. He felt a pair of rat-sized eyes tracking their ascent and was very grateful rats couldn't climb ladders.

“I’m not an idiot. Where's B, anyway? He used to get burgers for me on patrol all the time, he should be the one running your errands, not me.”

"Robbery on Morrison Street."

"At this rate, food's gonna be cold before anyone else makes it here," Jason said, sitting down on the roof's ledge and holding out one of seven burgers to Tim. He pulled off his sullied gloves before accepting it.

"Next time I'll issue a time-out notice to the criminals of Gotham while I'm putting in our food order."

"That's a great idea. You do that, and I'll eat B's fries."

"I heard that," growled a voice over their comm line.

based on a prompt by @unshatters-your-teacup! "the batfam stopping mid-patrol to get food somewhere" which i kind of mangled lol but i did have fun.

i'm trying out prompt fills to practice regular writing, because i'm having a lot of trouble with my actual wips. my inbox and my dms are open if you want to send me one (primarily batfam, superman, or batman, both ship and gen, but i can be flexible) though i can't promise i'll be able to write it <3

#dawn post #my fic #unbreakabledawn fic #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #batman #batfam #dc comics #dc #fan fic #fan fiction #ficlet #post fic

38 notes · View notes

oh-no-its-bird · 3 months

Text

Sat down and was like "What's the dumbest, most out of pocket crossover I can think of with Naruto." Then remembered that one guy who just went "Madoka magica" under my TMA crossover post and started giggling

So yeah, @thr33dogsinatrenchcoat this one goes out to you, I hope ur happy

So my first thought was just Homura in Naruto, but then my brain said no. Kyubey in Naruto. And then I really lost it

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present to you,

✨️ magical girl Kakashi ✨️

Major Spoilers for Madoka Magica below the cut

(Funilly enough, this has been in my drafts for a while now, well before I started getting really into my magical girl izuna AU)

A quick explanation for those of you here for Kakashi content who have no clue what Madoka Magica is;

Kyubey is a pink immortal rat thing from space who offers specifically pre-teen girls contracts to become magical girls. The girl will be granted a wish as their payment for the contract, then have to fight monsters known as Witches.

How big the wish that they can have granted (wishing for a cake vs wishing to revive the dead for example) depends on their potential as a magical girl. The girls magical girl theme and power will revolve around whatever wish they made— ask for someone to be healed and you may be able to heal faster, ask for happiness and maybe you get to be an empath, etc. As long as you can somehow connect the power to their wish, anything is fair game.

It's later revealed that a) the "soul gem" every magical girl is given when they become a magical girl is literally their soul in physical form. Kyubey just straight up removed their soul from their body and put it in a ROCK. Yes this does mean you can torture a magical girl via her soul gem, and yes if the soul gem gets too far from the girl she will collapse like a puppet who's strings were cut.

And b) witches are actually magical girls who fall victim to negative emotions and have their soul gems consumed by darkness either because they were swallowed by grief or from using too much magic without being able to clean their soul gem (which they can only do by killing witches)

Kyubey does all this because magical girls specifically within the age range of a middle schooler, give off a specific kind of energy when they transform into the witches that Kyubey's race farms for reasons I don't really remember anymore but I'm pretty sure has to do with it being mandatory for their race to live? Dunno it's been years since I watched madoka

Ok context over now for the fun part:

Something about the way humans are made in this world means Kyubey is not restricted to prepubescent girls in offering contracts. It's probably related to their chakra coils or something; Which also translates interestingly into how your amount of chakra and your chakra control affects your power as a magical girl.

Both of which Kakashi has in the bag.

I've read a few different takes about how Kakashi's chakra reserves are actually really big, he's just always running dangerously low bc of the constant drain of the sharingan. (I think this was actually confirmed in one of the novels? Which is neat) And since the overall 'potential' of his maximum chakra reserves is what wins out when it comes to the magical girl contract, he's our ideal customer.

Now, for this set up we aren't going to be using the "Kyubey and the magical girl system have just been around for a long while" but instead we're going with the "kyubey is new to this world and, seeing all of this potential energy, is looking to take a few of these bad boys on a test drive to see how well they work."

(Though there's a very interesting fic there with the angle of kyubey as maybe the equivalent of a 10th secret biiju, maybe locked away somewhere, and maybe released by forming a contract with someone— His junchuriki perhaps?)

This brings up an interesting question! A world where theyre havent been any magical girls yet made means that its a world without witches. And in a world without witches, what is Kyubey's explanation for why he needs magical girls when asked?

In the show we are shown that if pressed and asked the right questions, Kyubey will often tell the truth of the matter — that eventually a magical girl will self destruct and Kyubey farms the energy they release when they turn into a witch.

I can't see any shinobi worth their salt just accepting a suspicious contract for even more suspicious power from an impossibly MORE suspicious little magic rat thing. Kakashi especially. Questions WILL be asked and I do think it wouldn't actually be that hard to get Kyubey to give up the truth. Honestly, knowing the things personality and how it likes to take the logical approach, he might see that just telling the truth may actually help convince some people.

Because yeah, horrible fate aside, it's a lot easier to buy into promises of power when you know exactly what the catch will eventually be, and when it'll probably start kicking in.

There's a lot of people in Naruto who would can and have traded a LOT more than just their soul for power and a free wish. I can see people taking Kyubeys deal as is, Kakashi included under the right circumstances.

And besides that, there are plenty of times when the situation is last minute and intense to have the time to ask questions. Kyubey appearing in some life or death battle offering a miracle would probably be able to get a "fuck it what's the worst that can happen" from pretty much anyone

Anyways there are a few different paths we can take with the how's and why's Kakashi becomes a magical girl, and it largley depends on when exactly Kyubey approaches him about it.

1; Minato Route

Wishes for Minato and everyone to please just stay safe during "Madara's" attack, saving them and trading his soul for it in the process. He has no regrets tho, he refuses to.

This path I think would be fun if Kyubey shows up for the first time super last minute and Kakashi is pressed into a rushed contract and rushed wish. But I can also see if maybe he'd been approached by Kyubey beforehand, it's just that he was trying to sort out whether he trusted the rat enough to make a deal and sort out the exact wording of his wish. But oops no more time for that Kyubey please just keep his family safe!

It'd be fun if that was his exact wording actually. "I wish to keep my family safe"

Maybe it'd mean that even in the future, if he finds someone he considers to be his family, the wish will grow and apply to them? And then ""safe"" is such an abstract concept, especially to shinobi. What does it mean to be safe? Maybe it can end up backfiring in some way eventually, idk

2; Obito Route

^ Like he considers obito family, so maybe Obito is out there reaping the benefits of this wish as he tears shit up bc Kakashi never considered his wish could protect someone who might wish him harm.

This'd also mean Minato and Kushina are around!!! That'd impact a fuck ton of stuff for sure. I feel like without them dissapearing as his final push off the edge, Kakashi for sure wouldn't be the same guy we see in canon. He at least has some form of safety net to catch him, even if he's deep in depression and might not realize that net is there.

After either Kanabi bridge or Rin's death, Kakashi is approached by Kyubey, reads the terms and conditions of the contract, and then wishes for Obito and or Rin to come back to life. This, specifically with Obito, I see going one of two ways;

Kyubey, a bastard, who somehow magically knows Obito is alive: "Are you sure this is what you want to use your wish for?"

Kakashi: "fuck you yes I am"

Kyubey: "I mean if you say so lmao" (Less work for me)

Or,

Kyubey, somehow magically knowing Obito is alive and not wanting to have Kakashi waste this wish because say what you will, he's fair about this shit (to a degree anyways): "Unfortunatley I can't revive people who never died!"

Kakashi: "What."

*queue Kakashi going on a mission to find Obito and becoming a sparkly magical girl along the way wooo we love to see it*

3; The great dilemma, aka TIME TRAVEL !!!!!!!!!!!!

He failed Itachi, leading to the deaths of the entire Uchiha clan.

I'm so sorry you guys time travel is like 90% of what I do and I don't think it's gonna change any time soon

So, Kakashi is approached by Kyubey after the Uchiha massacre. At this point he has a whole fucking list of people he might want to try to revive or save, but he can only make a wish so big. He has enough power to wish one or two people back from the dead— an honestly incredibly feat in itself —but not everyone.

He failed his team, leading to their deaths and Naruto's sad orphan life.

He failed countless mission partners over the years, watching shinobi's fall dead left and right because of a wrong call or knife thrown a second too late

Now for his relationship with Kyubey—

He can't wish them all back. But he can wish for a second chance.

And yeah ok as I'm writing this I'm realizing we've turned right back around and started a fr Madoka magica AU I didn't mean to do that actually, oops.

But yeah time travel magical girl Kakashi !!! Given the time to really think about his wish and too many people to save, he wishes for a second chance.

Does he end up in his kid body or does he stay an 18 year old?

Is he alone or does Kyubey (having learned his mistake from Homura and Madoka) make sure to come along with?

Does his sharingan somehow pull Obito back with him or is he really alone?

Fuck ok actually as I write this one I think this might be The One, The AU, so we're gonna shelve this for another post on its own so we can keep just talking ab the set up.

So disclaimer, I haven't actually watched Madoka in forever, but I think it's safe to say that Kyubey is honestly pretty decent when it comes to guiding his magical girls? I mean, up until they fall off a cliff of despair and turn into monsters, but till then he holds up his end of the contract really well? He'll generally come when they call, answer their questions when asked, check in on them to make sure they're adapting to the lifestyle, sometimes even help keep them informed about local magical girls or witches or just give out free advice.

Don't get me wrong, Kyubey is a fucking rat and not to be trusted, he tricks little girls into literally selling their souls, but he has a clear work ethic and method. He's just also incapable of feeling human emotion and seems genuinely confused at why people would be alarmed or upset at, you know, everything.

But I think that's what would make him work so well in a shinobi world! Especially if he looks at the world and it's people and decides that upfront honesty would be the best play in recruiting someone as his magical girl test drive.

I think it could be interesting if Kakashi and Kyubey could have an actually somewhat positive relationship. Well, as positive as it can get for a traumatized ninja boy and a space rat with no real concept of human emotions outside of what it's read in a textbook about manipulating little girls.

They have an alarmingly functional workplace relationship. Kakashi signed a contract knowing what kind of death it'd probably lead him to (and it's not like it's that different from the end he already knows he'll face one day) and Kyubey is contractually bound to stick around and lend a helping hand and a bit of companionship when applicable.

Also, with Kakashi being his first magical girl test run in this world, he's just kind of monitoring the project? He wants to see it to the end before he gets started on widespread magical girl contracts, because again, logical emotionless little rat thing who knows better than to assume that since it's gone well so far it'll end well too. He wants to collect ALL the data before settling in for good.

Kyubey is giving Kakashi weirdly reaffirming (and much needed) positive reinforcement in all of this. He's impressed with how well the project is going! Kakashi is going through so much constant misery that despite somehow not turning into a witch out of despair, he's still giving a near constant output of that same energy Kyubey farms that usually only comes out when a magical girl witches out. Maybe that's also actually something related to the chakra coils— instead of giving one big explosion of energy when they turn into a witch, the people of this world are able to give a continuous stream of it just by existing and being miserable. Which also gives Kyubey even more of a reason to want to see Kakashi keep living! This guy is a one man army when it comes to energy! It's great!

Also it'd be kind of fucked up but in a funny way if Kyubey straight up told Kakashi this (Maybe Kakashi actually asks to be kept up to date on all of Kyubey's little project notes of studying him?) And it being somewhat of a comfort to him. Like. Yeah, he's a failure cursed to always have those he loves die in his arms or at his hands, but at least his suffering is helping the universe in some way! That's something, right? Right???

Anyways, power and appearence time

So like, obviously there's a VERY large chance that Kakashi would end up with some sort of healing power as a magical girl. Because yknow, there is basically no universe where Kakashi doesn't use his wish to either heal someone, protect someone, or bring someone back from the dead— which lines up pretty directly to a healing based power.

But just normal healing is too boring so lets get spicy with it! Let's lay out some power options!

1) Blood healing

So my favorite twist on a normal healing power is a simple one; He regenerates stupid fast, to the point that he can even reattach limbs, but it's all in his blood. As long as his blood is touching a wound, it's healed in seconds to minutes.

This is also means his blood can also be used to heal others! For good or for bad. Fights can get a lot more complicated when your enemy realizes that they can use your own healing methods on them— even if the blood does only work on what it can touch, so they gotta risk shoving that shit in there if the wound is too deep.

If you want an extra bit of spice on top of that also, you can say the blood doesn't just heal people. Maybe it can heal any living thing— plants included

(I'm ngl I typed all this out then kind of squinted at my screen and went wait isn't this what Karin does? I don't actually know the details of her powers no one tell me if I'm right, I don't actually care)

2) Wound substitution

Here's an incredibly in character ability; He can take on the wounds of his comrades. They get hurt but he takes the hit. It'd so fit his self sacrificing ass too.

Maybe he can have advanced healing from the wounds he steals from his companions, maybe he only inherits them by halves, maybe it's the full deal.

Maybe it's involuntary or maybe he can only do it on purpose. Involuntary could be interesting and offer serious consequences down the line.

I'd love to see a dog themed magical girl Kakashi I think it would cure all of my mental illnesses and give me like 30 more.

3) Sheilds but make them zappy

Thunder shields could be interesting. Maybe he can use the shields to encase his limbs to deliver an extra oomf or smthn, just for funzies.

4) Something to do with eyes

You know I gotta at least consider smthn with eyes, like cmon. Whether it's because his wish was phrased in a way that could catch on it, or it's just how the magic interacted with his sharingan, I wanna see some eye stuff!!!

Maybe whatever healing ability he has is all centered in the eye or smthn, or maybe if it's like a self healing ability he regenerates eyes first or smthn idk.

4) Time powers ✨️

You know I had to.

In the route where he wishes for a second chance he so gets time powers. It's very cool. It's also very very fucking OP so it'd be tricky to work around in giving him a fr obstacle. Maybe if Obito comes back with him, the sharingan somehow makes him immune? Like, whenever Kakashi stops time, Obito isn't stopped.

I'm ngl Im running low on power ideas rn so let's move on, but like leave that open ended

Would Kakashi's magical girl outfit be something that adapts to his style and is created by his subconscious desires, as I'm pretty sure is accurate according to Madoka Magica lore? Yes. But do I think it would be funny to put him in a fluffy magical girl skirt? Even bigger yes, put that man in a dress and heels immediatley.

For Kakashi's soul gem, I think it'd be really fun if instead of taking the form of a ring, it was instead either an earring or— hear me out guys, lip ring or tongue piercing

It's perfect! He already hides his face, no one would even know it was there! Also both lip rings and tongue piercings are so cute

His soul gem is red with a silver case and we all know why. When he transforms it doesn't glow red tho, it glows white because something something hatake white chakra or something, idk

Anyways this has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 weeks now, so I'm gonna go ahead and hit post even tho I'm not totally satisfied with what I have here. Better to put it out for the few who'd enjoy it than keep it in the trunk bc I'm unsatisfied, right? Maybe I'll come back to it later, idk.

#i LOVE just going “whats a stupid crossover idea and how can I take it way too seriously”#its so much fun #birds fic talk #naruto #madoka magica #kakashi #hatake kakashi #kakashi hatake #magical girl #magical girl kakashi #magical girl Kakashi AU #hatake #obito uchiha #uchiha obito #kyubey #madoka #magical girl au #obito

43 notes · View notes