#nasty heinous creatures

[the-heartlines]

i think what people should know about me is i’m a monster fucker first and foremost

[alice-after-dark]

So...the falling out (ft. why Vox is in Hell)

(Getting this out of the way, I have VERY mixed feelings about Valentino. On one hand, he is a great character. On the other had, he is an absolutely horrible person and I just can't bring myself to like him the way I love Vox and Velvette. I am very interested in seeing what the show does with him and how he is handled, considering the concept is all about redemption and the dude has done some pretty heinous shit)

But ultimately this post is about Alastor and Vox and their falling out and what - or rather who - caused it.

TW for implied sexual abuse, abusive relationships, gaslighting, manipulation, and other canon-typical triggers. Also gonna put homophobia with the disclaimer that Alastor doesn't actually mean it that way, but that's how Vox hears it. Perceived homophobia is more accurate. This also technically contains StaticMoth but I'm not tagging it because it's not exactly in favor of the relationship and I don't want to dump it into the tag of people who enjoy the ship.

See, while Alastor may be a serial killer, we see that he has his own twisted moral compass, so someone like Valentino rubs him in all the wrong ways. He greatly dislikes the moth and detests the idea of any association with him.

Vox on the other hand, well, scumbags are a dime a dozen in his industry. From his perspective, it's just something that comes with the territory, a necessary evil. You want to succeed in this industry? You put up with some nasty behavior. So when he sees Valentino rising to power and creating his own empire, he only sees the business potential. His industry has already well trained him to turn a blind eye to things like Valentino's unsavory nature for the sake of progress and his own success. How he feels about things on a personal level doesn't matter. The industry doesn't care about your sensitive little morals (will probably expand on this further in a different post, but I do believe that Vox learned the hard way that no one cares and you have to do what you have to do to get ahead).

So when Vox initially proposes an official partnership, Alastor is actually down...until he learns Valentino will be a part of the package. This leads to them arguing, Alastor basically telling Vox he has to choose between them, the first time Alastor calls Vox a "pathetic sell out," and the Radio Demon flat out accusing him of whoring himself out to Valentino for a business deal (this one particularly hurts because, again, the idea of sleeping with someone to get a better deal is just par the course for Vox. He's learned to push down those feeling of self-disgust and now here Alastor is dragging them out into the spotlight and shaming him for it). Alastor utterly refuses to be associated with Valentino and is disgusted that Vox would even entertain the thought and this ultimately ends with a fight and them parting ways, both feeling self-righteous, betrayed, and offended by the other.

And Valentino, having witnessed the entire thing and ever one to take advantage of a situation, gets his claws deep into a VERY insecure and hurt Vox by just reinforcing that Alastor never cared about him and was just using him for entertainment.

"But don't worry, Voxxy. I care about you..."

And now Vox, who has spent his entire human life hiding that his attraction extended to men as well as women and is desperately looking for comfort after losing someone he allowed himself to care very deeply about, falls right into the moth's trap, ironically getting himself into one of those situations he always turned a blind eye to (it is Hell after all and what is Hell without ironic suffering?).

Meanwhile Alastor has lost one of the few demons he viewed as a true ally and friend and to make it sting all the more he lost them to someone like Valentino. The very idea that Vox picked a disgusting creature like Valentino over him is crushing. He feels used, discarded, and worthless (which is a state ripe for some bad deal making, wouldn't you say?).

Tis all for now. Would love to hear people's thoughts on this!

[alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice]

Weaving Constellations Pt 9 - A Light in the Darkness

Part 8 / Part 10 / Part 1

This is an ongoing story of short scenes of Gale and my warlock Tav building off canon. If you'd like to be added to the tag list to get notified of new parts you can go here.

A/N: Gale reflects on Mystra's command and the party enters the shadow cursed lands. We're staying with Gale for another chapter because I needed to write what I imagine going through his mind before that "I once read a book" dialogue.

Tag List: @vespaer77 @lalectricedumonde @odd-dragon @aylin-the-barrel

The orb is quiet now.

Small mercies are afforded to the soon-to-be-deceased, Gale supposes.

He had forgotten what it felt like to not have that constant nagging, insistent pull. The absence of it is equal parts relief and… a strange sort of grief.

Why in the world would he be grieving? This is the best news he has had in ages. He was always destined to die, really, he knew that all along. Now he can die with purpose. He can save the few friends he has had the pleasure to make in far too long, and have a chance to see Elysium on the other side instead of the endless gray skies of the fugue plane. He owes this to Mystra, she is offering a chance at forgiveness for his heinous actions.

This is good news!

Why does it not feel like good news?

Lyra is adamant that he will not be dying, that there is another way to stop The Absolute. She speaks with such conviction, such certainty, like he would be a fool to think that he will be meeting his end any time soon. How easily she disregards the command of a goddess, as easily as she would refute that the sky is green.

It’s that confidence, perhaps, that allowed hope to sneak past Gale’s defenses. He hoped that he would be able to cure his affliction and live.

He hopes still, despite his better judgment.

The shadow-cursed lands seem designed to sap all hope from a person.

Even with the dancing lights that Gale and Lyra cast, the torches that everyone carries, there is a heaviness that suffuses the air and seeps into their lungs. Shadowheart is the only one in truly decent spirits, unaffected by the deadly despair that permeates the land, but Karlach tries to keep everyone’s spirits light with terrible jokes.

It isn’t long before they come across the Harpers, joining together to keep close to the meager lights.

Then, the shadows attack.

It’s a fight unlike any other they have experienced before. These things that swarm them are not material, not really, but they are not ghosts either. They are whatever is left of poor souls lost to the curse, twisted into these wailing monsters desperate for company in their misery. Though they swirl like smoke, they grab and claw like ice-cold flesh. Gale favors lightning and fire spells now, desperate to bring some light to battle the darkness that presses in on all sides.

Gale is backing away from an oncoming wraith when a freezing, shadowy hand grabs his ankle and yanks, sending him face first into the dirt as it tries to drag him into the shadows. He scrambles to aim at the creature that has him, the incantation on the tip of his lips, but he cannot twist himself properly to get a proper shot. 

It almost has him outside the fragile protection of the torchlight when a bolt of sparking red strikes across his vision, striking the monster square in the center, forcing it to reel back and release its grip on Gale. He looks up, and wonders if someone has cast a slow spell upon the both of them, for time itself seems to slow when he looks at her. The image before him, though only glimpsed for half a moment, will be burned into his memory.

Lyra’s eyes are wild, burning with determination. Her hand is still outstretched and fingers still sparkling with the energy of the eldritch blast she fired off. Stray hairs that have fallen out of her careful up-do stick to her face from the sweat of her brow, and she is sporting a nasty cut across her upper arm, blood staining her robes mingling with dirt. The silver-white scales are even more like stars now, sparkling in the darkness.

Another wraith creeps up behind her, and the incantation that was just on Gale’s lips fires away easily now, sending a firebolt hurtling through the head.

She whips her head around in shock before she smiles at him, the breathless sort of smile of both “thanks” and “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Gale has never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

Lyra helps him up and they move back-to-back in sync, firing off eldritch blasts and firebolts to keep the shadow monsters at bay.

This is not the time to be distracted! But her body is pressed so close he can feel her warmth, drawn to it in this place that tries to sap it away. He can feel the curve of her hips pressed up against his, and she is gorgeous and strong and damn that shadow is getting too close. “ARDE!”

Finally, the creatures retreat, and they have a safe-haven to reach as well.

As they journey to the inn, Gale struggles to keep his eyes off of Lyra. This pull he feels to her is just as strong as before, just without the added inclination to sap the magic out of her soul. What a fool he has been, to not realize sooner just how much of the draw he feels to her is pure desire of a human nature, not a magical one. 

Of course he has known all along she is an attractive woman, with a sharp wit and a kind heart, but gods, he does not have much time left and the one thing he would like to do before he dies is her. It’s a crude thought, he admits, but perhaps the thrill of saving each other in battle has him more excited than normal. 

He could actually be with her, now that the orb is no longer the same danger it was before. Except… would she accept him? He feels she is attracted to him as well, those images from their magic lesson still vibrant in his mind, but perhaps she is still loyal to her patron.

If she rejects him, he’ll have a few days at most to feel the sting of it before his demise. A last fleeting chance at love is worth the risk. As soon as they reach this inn, he will make his feelings known.

[gothsuguru]

You Have to share some little bit details about the Halloween fics.. like the tropes and dynamics pllllsss 🐍🐍

OH BESTIE I GOT YOU COVERED THANK YOU FOR ASKING :3 ALSO love the snake emojissssss 🐍

• “faceless beauty”

— OKAY THIS IS THE ONE I WAS TALKING ABOUT BEING MOST EXCITED FOR! this’ll be based on the korean film “faceless beauty”/“hypnotized”, i’ve never watched it & i’m only taking a few plot points from it so essentially it’ll be about: suguru being in love with satoru’s wife, and he hypnotizes her so at midnight she will always come by his room. it’s quite dark/morbid, & it’ll be a delving into suguru’s unstable obsession and the aftermath that causes to everyone involved.

• “tar black soul, blood-red jam”

— vampire!priest geto my beloved… this one will be almost like a character study about the inherent darkness that lives inside suguru that overcomes him. in my personal opinion, corruption & devotion go hand in hand, therefore him being a “priest” & a “vampire” works so well! suguru has an obsession with reader & this small town has a string of heinous murders happening with no leads to who’s doing it. suguru wants to keep reader safe and will do whatever he has to do in order to ensure that.

• “inertia”

— suguru is a detective & reader is a serial killer who’s responsible for multiple murders in a once calm town. suguru finds himself utterly obsessed with reader but can’t seem to get them out of his head… reader is dangerous, heinous, a psychopathic murderer who doesn’t feel much, but knows they feel a certain… glee, when they see suguru. this story has a lot to do with corruption of self & how far one will go in order to feel something.

• “kiss of death”

— no curses au! grim reaper!reader follows suguru along the course of his lifetime from high school to adulthood. suguru finds an odd friend within the angel of death, and catches himself in multiple shenanigans with the specter! a fun little take on the grim reaper & the souls they reap — or don’t reap.

• “the house on the end of the street”

— suguru geto, the town’s infamously beautiful man, owns the house on the end of the street. everyone says the house is teeming with ghosts, ghouls, & terror-inducing creatures — that the manor’s owner is the cause of all these curses and ghoulish frights! reader is new to town and wants to befriend everyone, even the devilishly handsome man the town steers clear of. the incarnate of gothic horror (suguru) meets the incarnate of modern delight (reader)!

• “we’re a little ditzy!”

— satosugu x reader but let me explain the gist: satoru x reader are a ditzy couple! richboy toru & silly sweet reader are soooo enamored and in love with each other! their best friend suguru (who loves them both but desperately is in love with reader), tries to get with them in the best way he knows how — role play as GHOSTFACE bc his two little dummies won’t know/care! this is a smut so it’ll essentially be suguru corrupting satoru & reader (but he loves them so much, he’s just a nasty freaky perv!) it’ll be: dom!geto x sub!reader x brattysub!gojo

• a few more ideas in my mind: angel!geto x fallen angel!reader, morticia!geto x gomez!reader, finalboy!geto x ghostface!reader, & a few soft autumnal fics of geto as well! <3

[safrona-shadowsun]

Teatime: What is the worst thing someone has done to her? What is the worst thing she's done to someone else?

Teatime Tuesday

The initial question seemed to steal the little mischievous delight Sana often inspired in her in confession. The pleasant smile waned as she prepared her truth in a cooled, quiet tone of revelation. "The worst instance I recall is being used. And I don't mean being blackmailed as a professional," her smile returned to briefly hitch up knowingly at Sana - "or in a sinfully fun way."

Her voice returned after another quiet beat of preparation, mouth cutting hard around some words with emphasis - she did not want to live in the trauma of the memory long: "I talk of an invasion, of a violation that strips you of your will over your own physicality, but holds you hostage within it to watch as someone puppets your actions. You find yourself wishing for death just to stop the horror. The worst part is feeling your violator's jabbing pride in what they are doing to you, and the part of you that never really recovers from it even after breaking free. It is an experience that scars."

Safrona clicked her teeth at herself and reached for the bourbon she'd set out, finding the need for its sweet burn as a reward for such harrowing confession. "As for the sins I've committed, they number as the stars do. They have a place for me in the Deadlands I'm sure, etched into stone. But I'll give you a nasty truth, sweet Sana: devouring a soul is probably my most heinous act, perhaps even more heinous than the horror that was enacted on me. Maybe in a twisted way I deserved those minutes of torment for being the creature I am."

The void elf's eyes cast their luminance on Sana, searching for connection in the cold, pretty face as she bled out another secret in an intimate whisper. " But, in the grand scheme of things, I would do it again if given a choice, and I will likely continue to if the need arises. My Path's one littered with dark necessity."

{ @twosidedsana }

[hannahwatcheshorror]

GREMLINS (1984)

I had only really remembered the fountain scene from when I was a little kid and watched the movie so rewatching it was interesting to see all the new scenes that jumped out at me. My favorite had to be Billy’s mom kicking GREMLIN a** in the kitchen before anyone even knew what the f*** GREMLINS were. Seriously, she was awesome. Watch this movie with your loved one, watch it alone, watch it because it is Christmas and you want to see Mrs. Deagle get hers, either way, happy GREMLINS.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Trigger Warning Talk of Suicide

A father goes to a semi-shady, semi–mystical shop and finds a semi-shady, semi-mystical pet there which he buys for his normal kid (who already has a great dog). Gizmo is the name of the Mogwai creature who is an adorable little bipedal, bat eared baby boy who is pure and deserves protection. He has three (3) rules: One (1), no bright lights, two (2), don’t get him wet, and three (3), never feed after midnight. With those ominous rules they take the cutie and go off to have adventures. The first adventure is singing (yay)! The second adventure is spilling water on him (boo). This makes his little body explode balls of living fur that become new Mogwai. Gross! Absolutely yucky!

The new Mogwai are different from Gizmo, they have a leader named Stripe who is kind of a bad seed. They get up to mischief and one night that mischief includes tampering with the clocks so that they get fed past midnight! What happens next is similar to a scene in ALIEN with a bunch of gross eggs all over the place. Everyone is just kinda jazzed and/or casual about this even though it was the last of his only rules and these eggs are menacing but it’s all fine, don’t even go ask the guy you bought it from, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? So the eggs all hatch with fog and green goo and it is heinous and wonderful and then we have these nasty little green things that aren’t very nice at all and in fact might just be killing folks.

Well they aren’t able to kill yet, there aren’t enough, first they need to break out of the house which they nearly cannot do because of Billy’s awesome mother who gets the call about the eggs hatching and immediately starts killing the little bastards with no hesitation whatsoever and no fear. It was incredible and she was incredible, she was my hero, but of course the movie is called GremlinS plural so you knew that Stripe was going to be taking a dip and when he did hundreds of Gremlins were born from his nasty flesh. NOW the killing begins, bye-bye Mrs. Deagle, you old hag. The little guys run riot until near morning when they all gather in the movie theater to wait out the sun but Billy just blows up the fucking theater. Wack. 

Stripe was out getting candy though so he didn’t die. Boss battle in a drug store! The store has a large fountain though which is not great. It also sells guns which Stripe knows how to use and uses. The Mogwai are super smart and have intimate knowledge of the world and know how things work, it is honestly pretty scary when you think about the things they did on their rampage (the one who changed the traffic lights to all green so there would be accidents was advanced). After fighting, Gizmo in a Barbie car, Barney the dog attempting to come to the rescue, and Stripe almost multiplying, he ends up being melted by direct sunlight. Sucks to suck! Gizmo is taken back by his original owner in the end, good. Billy is sad but ultimately doesn’t complain. Gizmo says “Bye Billy.”

[ravenloftian]

Spider Spider Burning Bright...

November 29, Y356 (Game session 12/1/2023)

The trio of paladins discover a beguiling unicorn statue at the end of a hallway and begin to explore the niche. Enraptured by the majestic equine form, Percival climbs on its back. He manipulates the horn and triggers a mechanism that unleashes a poisonous fog and unveils a clandestine passage. The gas causes Val and Costi to fall into a trance-like sleep.

Their companions try to wake them up and when they don't respond to typical stimuli begin to apply more draconian measures. Percival goes as far as to burn Val's hand with a hot blade. At their wit's end, Marcus carries the unconscious men back to the chitine lair where they hunker down and wait.

A day later, the men wake up and report similar dizzying visions, hallucinogenic dreams, and the slaying of a white unicorn. The symbol of a skull with a lemniscate symbol between its teeth is the same as the one they saw on the wall. The heinous visions leave them rattled.

Once more the adventurers set out to explore, heading back to the hallway of the unicorn statues. Costi figures out a way past the pit trap and reaches the door on the other side. At the end of the hall he discovers an ancient cellar filled with cobwebs. While most of the bottles have spoiled, he finds four one-gallon wine jugs with ethereally exquisite wine tasting of mountain lakes and fresh berries. When the paladins partake of the vintage, they feel a surge of might and heroism.

They head south and come upon a wide hallway with a series of doors. One of the rooms is filled with a flock of spider-like flying creatures whose paralyzing bites instill fear. The webbirds were being grown as a food supply by the chitines as evidenced by the broken cages. From one of the dead corpses in the room, it appears the creatures incubate their eggs inside the bodies of their prey. Using Euphonious, the paladins communicate with the dead to discover that the gray-skinned humanoid is a race called "Darro."

The next room yields tattered glowing webs and a vicious phantom spider. The creature manages to paralyze Percival but is soon dispatched by the rest. Unable to hit it with his weapons, Costi resorts to throwing a vial of holy water which burns the thing as if it were acid.

Beyond the webbed lair, they uncover a door leading to a room filled with debris and a rocky nest. The opening of the door triggers a magical trap that sends a piercing gong reverberating throughout the dungeon. While battling the axebeaks, they are confronted with a trio of giant spiders from the rear. Costi is poisoned during the encounter and gets progressively worse as time goes on. Luckily the venom begins to fade after a quarter hour.

The axebeak nest contains two unhatched axebeak eggs, 35 gp, 131 sp, four sealed crystal vials each containing a potion, and a bone ring.

Upon exploring the wide hallway, Costi uncovers another pit trap along the south wall. The party realizes that they can jump from the side of the trap into the adjoining corridor. The first warehouse along the hallway is empty, but the second and third are occupied by more phantom spiders–one of which manages to paralyze Percival. As the party begins to look for secret doors, they disturb a nest of webbirds and the creatures pour out of a hole in the ceiling.

Shortly after, they are surprised by another axebeak, but at Val's behest, the party holds their attack. Val has the strangest sensation that he can somehow befriend the beast–and sure enough, he does. A few jerky tidbits later, the bizarre creature out of time is eating out of Val's hand.

The hallway ends at a round room with rotting and stained plaster that has long ago peeled and flaked away from the walls. The ceiling of this room reveals rude stone. Broken masonry, statuary, and other odd­ments are visible beneath the layer of undisturbed dust. Several minutes of diligent searching reveal a hidden door.

Costi disarms a nasty needle trap and a door opens to reveal a chillingly cold chamber. The air inside is dry and stale and dust coats every surface, including a rough block of some crys­talline substance. The dust-covered block stands several feet tall and measures a few feet to the side. A large blot of darkness mars the center of the translucent, dust-shrouded object. A closer inspection reveals the block to be solid ice. The party decides to leave whatever is trapped inside alone and closes the door once more.

Next to the round room, they find a room with a spiral stair leading down but decide not to descend. The party retreats back to the chitine lair to heal and regroup. Val takes the Axebeak eggs with him.

Two days later, they descend the stone steps shown to them by the chitine guide. The stone stairs descend 20 feet toward the east before breaking into the ceiling of a large cavern. The stair is carved into the side of the cavern, though there is no railing along the side to protect against a fall.

The first room the adventurers explore is a bioluminescent garden. Fungi coats the walls and ceiling of this natural cavern, illuminating a fungal garden. Underworld lichens, fungi, toadstools, mushrooms, and unclassifiable growths run riot in this chamber. The smells range from pleasant to revolting, and a strange whining and crying seem to emanate from the north. The brave men follow the wailing sound to discover another cavern with a rocky protuberance erupting from the earth. The rock formation looks like a giant's hand clenched tight but for one finger. This room is also lit by softly glowing fungus, though subtle, the growth here is more restrained. Growing all around the finger are strange fungal puff balls that shiver and shake. The puffballs emit a continuous vegetable wail.

On their way out they encounter two chitine mushroom pickers armed with spears and a brief scuffle ensues. The fight comes to a sudden end when one of the gardeners cuts into his own leg and bleeds out, causing his companion to flee.

Great job everyone! You've earned 2150 XP each!

[greenjellydragon]

Him

disgust

anger

resentment

rage

are all my feelings for him

i cant bare to see his eyes

to look back at what once was

how i made a simple selfish move

that made me the monster i have been made out to be

that i somehow am the biggest villain 

when there is always another face in the mirror

there is two sides 

one side just is more loud

one side is quietly moving on

one side can keep their composure

one side can barely keep their head up while the other walks by

one side can be mature

one side has to try and tell the world they’re a victim

Him pt.2

i am upset

leave me alone

let me be

stop trying so hard

what do you want from anyone anymore

i cant bare to look at the disgusting creature you have become right in front of my own eyes

you are scum

you are gum stuck to the desk

that the janitors try to scrub off

but you won’t move

because you’re selfish 

you think this is your show that your walk of life is the path everyone also has

you are nasty

you are filth

i wish you a long hateful life

i wish you nothing but pain and shame

Him pt.3 —Your actions

karma should strike his hand down on your back and make you carry the burden of your actions

your actions that you have victimized and made a fabricated story out of

the way everyone talks about you is cruel

the way you think about me is spiteful

but i am better

because my body doesn’t show it

but my brain is loud

screaming 

yelling

hitting

simply demolishing who you are

my brain is holding you on trial and sending you out to burn with the witches

my brain is having you hung in the  public square

my brain is having your head cut off with a clean sweep in front of all the French

my brain—

just as rage filled as all were when they did these heinous crimes 

it seeks revenge

however 

you will 

never 

see me break.

[theenchantedecho]

Malignant Masquerade: Death Eaters Dance the Night Away in a Sinister Soiree!

My dearest, wickedly delicious readers, are you prepared for the most scandalous, gossip-filled scoop to date from your enchantingly nasty and encyclopedically vicious journalist, Rita Skeeter? Brace yourselves, for it's time to unmask the secret gathering that sent shivers down the spines of our magical community.

Far from the watchful gaze of the Ministry, within the dark halls of a sinister manor, a gory gala took place. Death Eaters and their depraved associates waltzed to a macabre melody, dressed in their most viciously vile attire. And who, my lovelies, orchestrated this depraved event? The Dark Lord himself, our very own He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Indeed, this grotesque affair was a gathering of the wickedest witches and wizards this side of Azkaban.

Now, one might wonder what the purpose of such a twisted celebration could be. Rumour has it that the ball was a heinous contest, where the most ruthless Death Eaters competed for the Dark Lord's favour. One can only imagine the diabolical deeds that must have been committed to secure a spot at this despicable dance. Did the attendees engage in a dark magic duelling tournament or perhaps a race to conjure the most vile of dark creatures?

But hold onto your broomsticks, for the wicked whispers don't stop there! Reliable sources (who will remain nameless to protect their fragile necks) have informed me that Albus Dumbledore, the seemingly saintly leader of the Order of the Phoenix, had an undercover agent lurking among the loathsome partygoers. The identity of this daring double agent remains a tantalising enigma, but the mention of a certain rogue Black family member has been making the rounds. Could this mysterious spy be attempting to dismantle the Dark Lord's dastardly plans from within? Or is it merely a ruse, a cunning double-cross orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself to deceive Dumbledore and the Order?

As for the masquerade itself, it appears that the Dark Lord spared no expense in orchestrating a night of unparalleled depravity. From the blood-curdling decorations to the unspeakable hors d'oeuvres (which I dare not describe for fear of inducing violent nausea), this fiendish fête was a true testament to Voldemort's wickedness. I've heard whispers that the wine served at the event was a sinister concoction brewed from the tears of innocent Muggle-borns and the blood of fallen Order members. Simply ghastly!

And what of the attendees themselves? My dear readers, it seems that even the most repugnant of souls seek companionship in these dark times. With the dance floor awash in a sea of sinister masks and blood-red robes, one can only imagine the twisted alliances and treacherous trysts that may have been forged beneath the flickering candlelight. Who was the enigmatic figure in the silver serpent mask, whispering sweet nothings to a witch with a viper coiled around her neck? Could it have been Lucius Malfoy himself, or perhaps a lesser-known Death Eater vying for prominence in the Dark Lord's inner circle?

As our world hovers precariously on the edge of pandemonium, one cannot help but wonder what other shameful secrets and salacious scandals remain hidden, waiting to be unearthed. Fear not, my loyal readers, for your enchantingly nasty and encyclopedically vicious journalist, Rita Skeeter, will leave no stone unturned in her pursuit of the most delectable, drama-filled stories. Stay vigilant, for the next tantalising tidbit is just around the corner.

Could the gory gala have been a precursor to an even more malevolent plan? A wicked scheme designed to strike fear into the hearts of the magical community? One can only shudder at the thought of what horrors may lie in wait. It is whispered that some Death Eaters may have been tasked with infiltrating the very institutions we hold dear, such as the Ministry of Magic, St. Mungo's, and even Hogwarts itself. The mere thought sends a chill down my spine.

And speaking of Hogwarts, it seems that the venerable institution, once a bastion of hope and light in our troubled times, is no longer immune to the machinations of the Dark Lord. Whispers abound of professors with hidden allegiances, students being coerced into joining the dark ranks, and hidden chambers containing untold horrors. Could Dumbledore's once-impenetrable fortress now be teetering on the brink of collapse?

But, my dearest readers, let's not allow the shadows of despair to overtake us completely. In the midst of this darkness, there is still hope, as evidenced by the unwavering courage of the Order of the Phoenix. I have it on good authority that Dumbledore and his band of valiant warriors are working tirelessly to thwart the Dark Lord's vile schemes. And while the identities of many Order members remain a closely guarded secret, I've heard whispers of prominent figures such as James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, and even our very own Ministry employee, Arthur Weasley, standing bravely at the forefront of the fight against evil.

In the end, my darling readers, what we must remember is that in these treacherous times, it is more important than ever to remain vigilant and united. So, as we face the darkness together, rest assured that your favourite Poison Pen will continue to delve deep into the heart of the wizarding world's most scandalous secrets, sordid affairs, and treacherous intrigues. Because, after all, my lovelies, there's nothing more enchanting than the deliciously vicious truth.

Until next time, my wickedly delightful readers, remember: if there's a sinister secret, a scandalous scoop, or a delectable drama just waiting to be exposed, you can count on Rita Skeeter to be there, quill in hand, ready to spill the tea.

@malfxylucius @mighty-prongs @fauvehoof @afracturedstar

[antielevator]

After seeing the first glove, Sebastian keeps his eyes peeled for the second, quietly appreciative of Benjamin's partner and her efforts. In a way he'd expected the scent of rot to hit him as soon as he'd passed the threshold of the cave, but it goes far deeper than he'd expected. He and Benjamin may not be descending vertically quick enough for any abrupt changes in pressure to be felt, but if he really thought about how long they've been walking and tried to compute the distance...

This is a stupidly long cave, isn't it?

Much like all the other new information Benjamin feeds him, this talk of ghouls and trolls is filed away for reference later. Sebastian doesn't have a point of experience to draw any conclusions from what he's told, but he's of the opinion that this creature choosing not to kill its victims on the spot could probably be construed as a good thing. The delayed gratification gives them time, assuming that its victims aren't used for some other heinous reason.

Never one to dwell too long on hypotheticals, however, Sebastian's brought back to reality with Benjamin's question, and he nods once and clips his flashlight back onto his shoulder holster to free his hand.

Pulling his sidearm out, one hand reaches for the door to the room (he notes the marks on them, as if something had tried to break in-- what could've made those?) and pushes. Sebastian exerts enough pressure to check if it's locked first, but as the door goes the rest of the way, he decides to move it as far as it's able to go.

He can't tell how long this base has been here. Considering the scent of water that's been lingering-- groundwater? Some other source?-- the rusting on the door doesn't really help. As he enters, nothing jumps at him, and a quick circle of the room doesn't bring any nervous skittering or other noises of alarm with it, either. After making certain the larger cabinets and drawers are uninhabited, he says, "It's clear.

"Looks like something went down in here, though."

For all that it's empty of any creatures, it certainly isn't free from mess. The upturned seats, remnants of torn clothing, broken coffee mugs and pot, and what looks like a nasty stain of blood spatter on the wall don't print a very pretty picture. Sebastian follows the trail with his eyes and suspects whatever had left it was hit particularly hard-- the blood had arced in a way that would imply force beyond the spurt of a major vein or artery.

A single boot left behind makes him mutter a "Cinderella, huh" under his breath. Hopefully Benjamin hadn't heard it.

"Whatever did this took down a pretty big person." The boot's a bigger size than his own, after all, and Sebastian's six feet. "This look ghoul-y, or troll-y?"

Sebastian's gun is replaced with the safety back on, and he takes his flashlight in hand again to start rifling through what's left. There're quite a few documents: he finds a rolled up map that might come in handy, furrowing his brows at just how far the god damn mine goes; he finds a day-to-day journal, etched mostly with stats and some of the manager's personal thoughts; and he sees family photos covered in dust that make his chest go tight. Sebastian turns away from them rather quickly to look elsewhere.

"Huh. Check the handwriting out on these ones, Wagner. Looks like whoever wrote 'em did it in a rush."

Left underneath what looks to be the manager's desk are a set of notes that make his brow raise. They must've dropped in the kerfuffle-- some blood's soaked the bottom half of a page farther away from the others, and it makes him wonder if that means the notes had been made just before the attack happened. Sebastian bends to pick them up, holding the paper at a slight distance as he tries to decipher the scrawl.

"If you're reading this," he mutters, "you must be investigating the reason we didn't send a report last week. Over the past few days my guys in the deep have been reporting seeing and hearing things, and three days ago Johnson claimed they've been making moves like they're itching to leave.

"Yesterday, Williams was attacked. We still don't know what the hell they are, but the guys who were with him said the creatures put up a hell of a fight. Before things get worse, we're thinking of collapsing..." The pen skitters off the note at this point, leaving nothing but a black squiggle, but Sebastian gets the gist of it.

It's the last page, the one stained with blood, that reads the following: "Collapsed mine. Didn't stop the bloodbath. It's scratching at the door while I write this. Should've listened to Ma about the cave."

And while the bottom half's all red, Sebastian makes out the ink well enough to read: "Run."

man-made monsters... hearing that alone painted a rather dreadful mosaic of possible past experiences. even if sebastian didn't elaborate, benjamin could get the general gist that his previous encounters hadn't been pleasant. there was a certain terror to fighting and exploring the unknown, but it was entirely different kind of horror when you put a human's touch into the mix. he gave a faint hum of acknowledgement but said nothing else on that matter.

the conversation turned as sebastian assured him of his convictions. he wouldn't freeze, he promised. given his demeanor and what little he'd shared, benjamin had to take him at his word. it had only been a minor worry, really - but to have the verbal reassurance was nice nonetheless.

benjamin slowed his pace as signs of past workers cropped up; abandoned tools, lunch boxes, etcetera. sebastian at least held onto a bit of humor, noting the smell of the miners long forgotten meals. good - a few witty remarks thrown out here or there only helped solidify his claims of not easily losing his head. humor was a better coping mechanism in these instances than panic, anyway.

he took a moment to carefully shine his light across the scattered items, looking for any last minute clues. more assertions of being useful from sebastian and benjamin vaguely wondered if this was a sore topic for him - he'd come here alone, but perhaps it hadn't always been that way? his attention snapped towards a stray glove on the ground and he crouched down to observe it. it was caitlin's - he looked up, light guiding his eye as he further investigated the area. sure enough, a few feet away was another glove; cast aside just before the fork in the clearing they were in.

"she left a trail." he stated to sebastian. atta girl, cait! benjamin stood up and briefly regarded the detective with a slight incline of his head. "and you have my gratitude then, for your support. i would not so readily call you 'inexperienced', however." a small nod. that was as far as his pep talk went, as he moved on to the next glove:

it was a short walk through a smaller tunnel than the entrance, and the next clearing they entered was smaller than the one before. a small metal structure, like a manager's room, sat elevated on a slightly raised ledge - while the rest of the room was caved in or flooded. benjamin turned the possibilities in his head, and answered sebastian's request for clarity slowly.

"based on it's choice of home and it's diet... i would venture a guess into something of the ghoul genus." it was a rather broad description, to be frank. "or perhaps a kind of troll." the characteristics of a troll were more specific than that of a ghoul, but neither option was really better than the other. his lips dipped slightly. there was no way out of this area, save a dip in the ill-formed 'lake'. they could also take the stairs up and a look at the manager's room...

"if it's ghoulish in nature, then it will be more primal - driven more by instinct and hunger. should it be a kind of troll, or something similar.. it would be more keen; intentionally malicious. the fact that it's been taking its victims back to its lair instead of simply devouring them on the spot is what concerns me." it muddied his guess at what it could be, since the behavior was strange of a ghoul and more in line with a troll - but the fact that there was very little else stolen (not even the miner's tools seemed to be taken) made him second guess the latter theory.

benjamin nodded towards the small metal room, "shall we take a look inside?" this time, he prompted sebastian to take the lead. to err on the side of safety, benjamin unholstered his gun and held it alongside the flashlight - a show of his support to back sebastian up just the same as the man had promised he would do for benjamin.

[kalixora]

(0)

"You're worthless, Y/N, nothing but a nuisance that Lord Megatron keeps around at his disposal," Starscream says to me with a nasty scowl and slight eregon emanating from his repulsive mouthplate .

"And yet our lord favors me over you," I sneered, shoving Starscream's faceplate away from mine.

"You're weak," growled Starscream while pushing back.

"And you're a pitiful excuse for a decepticon, I should've killed you while Megatron's back was turned you pathetic insect," I scoffed Starscream while smacking him on the side of his helm.

Starscream and I were standing on a tall building having our usual argument like we used to back home before the war. We both made our quick remarks, but this time Starscream seemed more tense.

Nevertheless, I don't blame him...

We had just landed on this planet known as Earth, where it seemed that Lord Megatron had failed to retrieve the All Spark that had been lost among the galaxy's stars.

The plan to recover Megatron and the All Spark was revealed to me by Starscream, but it is difficult now that there are living life forms on this planet, humans.

They are a repulsive, sensitive race that is nothing more than inferior beings to us. Why Earth, out of all the locations in the galaxy?

Starscream then transformed into what my scanners say is a F-22 Raptor fighter jet, one he claims to have scanned from a military base in the humans possession.

I jumped from the structure and landed in the dirt; this planet ought to be called the "dirt planet" given how much of it there is.

I must admit, if we're here, the Autobots aren't far behind, and I'm a bit concerned... things might not go as anticipated seeing as Starscream is in command.

I have more experience and skill than Starscream could ever have, I'm twice the cybertrion he is, and yet my league still chose him over me after all these ages of Megatron leaving him in command instead of me.

While Screamer was nowhere to be seen, I was fighting on the front lines of the war. I had no qualms about killing a multitude of Autobots, but maybe if I had confronted Optimus Prime, Megatron would have picked me?

I'd never seen or met Optimus Prime personally, but I have met his scout, Bumblebee. That Mech was the only one that moved my spark the way it did...

I'm not sure if he's still alive.

I doubt it. It'd be a shame if we crossed paths, I'd have to kill him.

He never did good in training, I'm not surprised if he died within seconds of the war breaking out. It's strange that he sided with the Autobots while our commander at the time was a Decepticon.

Com Link: Blackout reporting, knowledge of the All Spark successful

I was tasked to get into contact with a human, and stay with them until giving the next phase of the plan.

Starscream purposefully made me sit and wait while he completed the majority of the work. It's a nuisance, but I'll let him have it for the time being; acquiring the All Spark and Megatron is the priority.

I moved through the dirt, seeing a large road ahead of me, and scanning the vehicle closest to me. A Porsche Carrera GT. (Can be whatever color or design you want.) 

I sped farther into human civilization as I passed more humans; there are many of them and they are all distinctive and yet so vulnerable. There are humans who appear to be smaller than average-sized beings; they must be the same as sparklings.

Watch them grow up and then send them into the world to watch their dreams die as they fall into the guidelines of people who profess to be higher than oneself. I honestly feel sorry for these heinous creatures. I moved into an area with less individuals; it was an area where humans resided and interacted with one another; there were more buildings with vehicles in their residential streets. One of the cars was comparable to mine, so I approached it and parked behind it; the other automobile was a huge black truck.

The structure is formed like a squared S. To each side, the two extensions stretch into a garden path. The second level is the same size as the first, but it extends over the edge of the floor below, forming an overhang on one side and a balcony on the other. This floor is designed differently than the floor below.

Com Link: Y/N in position

I said through the com, before going into recharge.

...

3rd POV

"TRENT!" A man yelled, he was slightly toned, he had no hair on his head, and he was fairly tall.

"Yeah, Dad?" Trent, a guy with broad shoulders and washboard abs, went out the door while wearing a light-colored shirt.

"Who's car is this?" the man asked, tracing his finger over the sides of the passenger side door. Trent shrugged as he approached the car on the driver's side and opened the door, "I dunno, it wasn't here last night, but it's unlocked."

Trent's father chuckled, "This is strange, your mother and I were just talking about buying a new car, You had someone over here that I don't know about, son?"

Trent shook his head, "No sir."

Trent's father hummed as he opened the passenger door and climbed inside. He then cast a quick glance around the vehicle, his eyes settling on a symbol in the center of the steering wheel. Reaching over, he touched the button and asked, "Hey son, you kids into these designs lately?"

"Nah, that's not something I've seen before," Trent said, squinting at the symbol. "Do you think the car was brought from Japan or something?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, but I'll drive it around the neighborhood later to check if someone left it here by accident or something, and if no one claims it, I'm keeping it," Trent's father adds as he steps out of the car.

"Wait, don't do that because someone might lie and say it's theirs," Trent says.

"Got any better ideas?" Trent's father asked, raising his brow.

"Yeah," Trent said with a smile while biting his lower lip. "I know a little bunny who would love to ride this beauty." 

...

"Hey baby," Trent says as he pulls up to the side of the school, where a girl with slick brown hair and blue eyes turned around, arms crossed, and a piercing glare on her face.

Trent got out of the car, smiled at the girl, placed the keys in her hands, rested his forehead against hers, and placed his hand on her hip, "I got this beauty behind me for the most exquisite girl in the world."

"Your mother," the girl hums.

"Don't be like that Mikaela, you know I'm talking about you, right?" Trent kissed her forehead. Mikaela pursed her lips, "And you realize you learned a new word, right? Exquisite, did you look it up before coming here?"

"No, but thanks," shook Mikaela's head as she clung to the keys. While fiddling with the keys in her palm, Mikaela turned away from Trent and walked towards the school's entrance.

Trent grumbled and followed her, "Great..."

1st POV: Sometime later 

Mikaela, a human female, drove me back to her house among a bunch of other automobiles, which her father allegedly owned, however I've never seen him. The girl sat beside me merely ranting about the human male named Trent, I presume they were conjunx endurae but I was mistaken, she doesn't feel the same anymore as she once did.

Conjunx Endurae: Romantically involved/partner.

Mikaela continued to berate the male, "Why do guys always think that we are useless, I mean like seriously, they always think we can't handle anything like freaking were their little bunnies in a cage, God I hate it when he calls me his little bunny, Ugh, I'm done, I'm so done with him I swear!"

"And I'm just here like an idiot talking to a car, and I just-"

The girl leaned on me attempting to hold herself together before breaking down, and within a minute she did. Drops of liquid trickled from Mikaela's optics, and from what I can tell, our species isn't all that different anatomically.

Optics: Eyes 

I could just kill her and leave, but that would be a foolish course of action. A ringing sound caused the girl to stop weeping and sit up straight. It's kind of strange how I'm just sitting here letting this creature express feelings to me right now... 

Mikaela snickers, snuggling against me once more, "Tch, you'd never believe who just called me. He wants to talk things out... you know, whenever I go with him, it's like he never listens to me, but that's what I get for falling for guys with broad shoulders and tight stupid abs, all that muscle but no brain, such a cliché, right."

I have no understanding what she is explaining. I've never been romantically involved with someone; I've only ever observed it among my former peers. I do remember instances in which Bumblebee would glance at me during training sessions, but he never approached me unless it was truly unavoidable, when he did he'd always stay with me until training  was over.

An old colleague of mine always urged me to speak to Bumblebee outside of training.

 I wish I did. It's far to late for that now, I'm a decepticon. I fight for lord Megatron and for my home.

"I wish you could talk, so it doesn't seem like I'm losing my mind y'know..." Mikaela stood up stretching her frame and rubbed her optics, she looked at me still with a soft expression, "I'm gonna head inside, honk if you need anything haha." 

For now, this human is given a pass; she is fortunate.

Com Link: Barricade reporting, Ladiesman217, Samuel James Witwicky, he has seen our language, sending coordinates.

Within a few kilometers of here, the coordinates are nearby-Mikaela returned, wrapped in a cloth, opened my door, and sat down on the seat."I'm gonna sleep here if that's okay with you," she muttered as she settled in.

Of course she is...I can't even signal them without alarming the her.

Scarp. 

Mikaela went into recharge rather longer then excepted, the femme seems to have a lot on her mind if she's that anxious over a mech like Trent. He gets it from his sire for certain. 

Sire: Father/dad 

Two days later

It sickens me to say that I've grown fond of Mikaela.

It's been two days since Mikaela left to a lakeside party Trent kept pestering her to attend, so she caved and declared it was her last time ever speaking to him. I made me think a lot about Cybertron, and I stayed by Megatron's side and did everything he asked of me successfully. Mikaela's words from the night before made me question whether I was like a bunny to Lord Megatron. There are other femme deceptions. They aren't as skilled as I am, so that makes sense, but why not put me in command?

Com Link: Barricade requesting back up Y/N, located the boy. 

I started my engine and tailed it to Barricade's location. 

[julek]

“Jask—”

“—and then he has the nerve— the nerve, Geralt, to blame me for setting his hair on fire!” Jaskier paces a small hole into the floor of their inn room. “Like I wasn’t completely and wholeheartedly justified to!”

Geralt tries not to pout from where he’s very, very comfortably laying on their bed. “The nerve,” he echoes, then coughs. “Come to bed.”

Jaskier doesn’t stop pacing, his hands up in wild, incomprehensible gestures. “And then— oh, then! Then he acts as if it’s what he’d wanted all along!” His face is red with indignation. “He goes oh, yes, this is perfect, now my hair will look freshly cut for tonight’s ball, just to save face!” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Bull-shit, Geralt. Bullshit!”

Geralt burrows deeper into the covers, his eyes starting to droop slightly. “Absolutely, dear,” he says, his voice as soft as ever. “Your sleep clothes are in my bag,” he reminds him, gently nudging him toward his goal: cuddles and sleep.

Jaskier doesn’t look ready for bed, though. “I mean, he didn’t even have the common decency to spit at my feet and call me evil while his mouth frothed rabidly!” He slumps down on the chair, defeated. “He didn’t even appreciate my nasty, ill-natured intent— and wasn’t it just, Geralt? Wasn’t it the most spiteful thing one could think of?”

“Are you coming to— what? Oh,” Geralt says, blinking himself awake. “The evilest.”

Jaskier’s lips twitch.

He tries harder. “Most irredeemable creature, you. I can’t believe I let myself be associated with such a foul and cruel individual.”

It’s a full-blown grin, now.

“Mmm,” Jaskier says, nodding to himself, and finally, finally begins pulling on his sleep clothes. Geralt could cry. “You’re right, dear, that you are.”

Then, he finally, finally climbs into bed and into the shelter of Geralt’s arms, and Geralt feels the sweet taste of victory in his mouth. “Vicious bard,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s hair, their legs a tangled mess, every inch of skin accounted for. “Venomous,” he kisses his temple. “Bloodthirsty.”

Jaskier makes a happy sound, and buries his face in the nook of Geralt’s neck.

Barbaric, heinous, sanguinary, Geralt thinks, as the gentle sound of Jaskier’s heartbeat under his palm lulls him to sleep.

[wclovewhatismortal]

Story / Character Inspirations

As we approach the ending of the fic, I thought it might be fun and illuminating to show you guys where some of the inspiration for certain parts of my story came from. There’s a myriad of media in here - some you might appreciate, others you might not. Keep reading to find out more! (banner credit to @cinnabarts )

Let’s begin with one of our protagonists:

First off is Hollyleaf and Kate Austen (LOST):

Diane: What did you do? Does Wayne know about this? Kate: Just remember that you were here and you didn't see me, okay? Diane: Katherine! What did you do? Kate: I took care of you, Ma.

I’d be lying if I said that Kate didn’t help me flesh out Hollyleaf’s character. These characters have such stark similarities that there was no way I wouldn’t have mentally equated them. Hollyleaf and Kate are both morally grey individuals with qualms over the circumstances of their birth. The took fate into their own hands by murdering a heinous man in cold blood. Hollyleaf slit Ashfur’s throat, leaving his body to drown into the lake. Kate blew up the house of her abusive father Wayne, engulfing him in flames as he slept. Fire and water.

Both characters paid the consequences, no matter how righteous the act might’ve seemed.  Inevitably, they ran away from their families and pasts, into a tumultuous future.

(headshot credit to Kor-ka on dA)

Next in line is:

Thistleclaw and Petyr Baelish (GoT):

“You know, you remind me of another girl. Beautiful, like yourself; and intelligent, like yourself. But she wasn’t happy. She cried, often.”

If you know anything about Petyr Baelish, then you know that he’s one nasty motherfucker. So, in my mind, this was a great fit! In fact, when I wanted to learn how to better write a manipulative, child-grooming narcissist, I intentionally sought out his character to use as an example. 

Utilizing a character such as Thistleclaw always felt like toeing the line for me, but I reminded myself that he is, in fact, canonically written that way. I just took what was already there and expanded on it. I gave him a more dubious history with some milk-curdling depth. Personally, I dislike my Thistleclaw more than the canon version, and part of that is thanks to Baelish.

(headshot credit to Kor-ka on dA)

NEEEEEEXT!

Maggottail and Darth Vader (Star Wars):

“I don’t fear you!” “Then you will die braver than most.”

If you re-read Intermission II, then you will notice that I actually commandeered that quote for Maggottail to use against one of Thistleclaw’s cronies. What can I say? 

My original inspiration for Maggottail was a Vader-esque character: someone who shed their old identity, consumed by the darkness and birthed into someone else entirely. If you’re all caught up with LWIM, then you know that Maggottail’s true identity is a cat known as REDACTED. Like Vader, he’s an old man with lingering injuries (from a lightning strike... or maybe a FORCE lightning strike?) who has little to no ties left to his distant past.

Maggottail grew from there into someone else entirely. He’s a religious nut from an older age where Medicine Cats held far more power. He used that power and influence to his advantage when he usurped the leadership position in Shadowclan. His journey after that is something I’ve contemplated writing before, maybe as a post-story one shot.

(headshot credit to Kor-ka on dA)

Moving on...

The Black Rock (LWIM) and The Black Rock (LOST):

Did I take a location from LOST and turn it into a location in the Place of No Stars? Yes. Yes, I did. TBR in LOST is actually a ship in the middle of the jungle (no, I’m not explaining that). It’s filled with dynamite; likewise, TBR in LWIM is a popular place to start shit and Fight Until Someone Is Dead. As you can see, death is an outcome for both. The coincidences stop there.

(^ amazing art credited to the wonderfully talented @amande-dooce​)

~

The next one is purely based off a scene from an indie movie I saw when I was 20.

Creature: High five! Gordon: Ask why it wants a high five. Harry: Why, in your own words, do you want a high five? Creature: Because high fives... I want a high five because high fives is what man does! Gordon: Come on, keep it talking. Harry: Gordon, please let me do my job.  Gordon: Why are we here, “Brynn”? Creature: Life is a series of incomplete moments from which there is no escape. Harry: Well, that's different.

This scene from Dave Made a Maze always stuck with me. The protagonists approached a cardboard caricature of one of their friends, Brynn. The cardboard creature looked and spoke like Brynn, but obviously wasn’t her. It was some strange entity, using the fake body to entice her “friends” to come closer, close enough to reach...

Similarly, One Eye (aka the “Shadow Creature”) did the same. Come closer, and it’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know. Too bad Hollyleaf forgot to tell Maggottail the part about not to walking further into the cave once you feel sand on your feet. Oh well. What’s done is done, right?

(art credit for One Eye to dreamtrailarcade)

Thanks for reading! If you’ve come this far, here’s a tiny excerpt from the last chapter:

For one very real moment, Sorreltail thought she was going to die.

The concept of mortality was complicated enough to those who were already dead. In spite of that, the sight of Thistleclaw’s sharp, glistening talons reminded her that this might be the last thing she ever saw. As far as she knew, there wasn’t anything else in a post-Starclan reality – just a big, empty nothingness where Sorreltail didn’t exist, and nobody else did, either.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (13/16)

In which Maul learns what he has done to his brother.

3.8k | Zombie Savage AU | warning for graphic body horror

The world is sluggishly textured, a mess made of strings of gentle metal and rough sleazoid skin; the breath is soft, and Maul is safe. Tame fat cables undulate and rivets melt into him as if they had finally found their home. The skin does not recede either: it encloses Maul into its arms and soothes the worries in his hearts, the questions, the force battering against it, as green and swollen as summer wind. The skin and the steel are his brother, Maul realizes and has always known.

He must not have managed to catch himself, this time, before he tumbled down onto fallen Savage inside this half-remembered nightmare, must not have braced himself up and grabbed hold of his brother’s face. He must have failed his desperate attempt at controlling air and force and life.

Still, there are no wet gasps—no sounds at all, and no blood on a dirty Sundari floor that he left weeks ago.

There is no frivolous apology gasped out with a weak apprentice’s final breath.

Only the steel and the skin remain.

Maul’s hungry hand digs itself into the warm cables and dissolves into shrapnel, into gristle; the cilia of his lungs and the bone marrow and gut bacteria unravel eagerly into a boy that was never allowed to exist. A boy that is held—that is safe, here, for this moment that lasts forever, because this fleshy soup will not harm him: Savage would never, Savage loves him, and this tangle of sweet metal and worried bone and tender force that is melting Maul down with it is Savage, Maul has always known and remembers over and over with every jolt, every breath, every second the pain of being unguarded does not come.

Outside, the howling force and the spluttering green light churn and spin a cocoon.

Inside, they are safe. There is no more child in an empty facility, trained up to become a pointless attack dog by a malcontent liar. There is no first loss, no dissection, no empty exile. There is no vengeance. There is no heinous defeat at the hand of Maul’s—abuser—Master and there are no lightsabers piercing his brother’s—it’s not his, never was, this disfigured fake—chest and their hands do not have to hold on and cling to the one person they ever possessed. They do not have to stand back up and beg for mercy—they do not have to lie helpless and feel every millimeter of their useless torn ‘saber worm itself into their charred torso—they do not have to feel themselves tossed over and over into walls and floor before their Master carries them off to further torture—they do not have to wake up alone after they failed the one brother they had left—they do not have to lose their sisters, their mother, their clan—they do not have to mourn—they do not have to mourn—they do not have to mourn, here, they do not have to mourn, they are liquefied and safe. They are wrapped in each other, alloyed, and neither the force nor the Mother could assort what is left to make any coherent wholes again. Neither the force not the Mother could let one die and another survive, not when all that’s left of their lives is each other. They are amorphous and safe. They are cartilage and rivet and cortex, oleaginous and oozing and ready to eclose. They do not have to mourn.

They are safe.

They’re safe.

Safe. The feeling is terrific; terror-filled; tearing; suddenly, it is far too alien to bear. Safe. Safe? Reality lays its tumescent eggs into the goo of his conscious, eggs bursting and birthing memory and rationality and dread: bringing forth everything Lord Sidious has ever taught him. Safety is a lie. Maul has never been safe. There is no mercy. The very desire is debasement, pathetic for its infantile holdout against education, eradication. Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short; it is impossible to bear, and the only reprieve is victory. Passion, strength, power, victory: and Maul but a loathsome worm who lost everything that could ever be taken from him. Legs. Purpose. Grace. Duty. Mother. Title. Planet. Brother, over and over again. Safe? There is no safety in a world of power and irrelevance, where those who wield might will slake their base desires using those who are weak. Where those who wield might will extirpate Maul’s brother before his very eyes and he can only scramble and beg, impotent wretch that he is, for the person he deluded himself into loving. It hurts. It hurts. It shouldn’t. Pain is no teacher, Maul reminds himself. It serves no purpose. He is but a failed apprentice to the Sith, and that dark power will never be his. Pain is pain is pain.

Hope serves no purpose either, save the acolyte’s attempt to protect herself. Savage lives, Ventress had said, and yet, Maul saw him on the cot motionless and her crouched over him with her ‘saber and he begged again and—it is but false hope. Hope is nothing but pain, pain deferred.

Maul’s head rests on the chest he is so sure belonged to his brother, and he forces his hearts to beat louder to drown out the silence where his own rhythm should meet an answer. It hurts. It shouldn’t. Pain is pain is pain, and there is no power to be gained from wallowing in it. From hoping.

He must open his eyes. The false safety will not return, however long he begs childlike again for his brother. The cocoon has disgorged him. He is in the lair of Sidious; he lies unconscious on the sacrificial altar of his brother’s corpse. He must open his eyes.

He does.

The torso looks much worse than it felt. The torso: adorned with Savage’s familiar markings, but that is not all it bears. From his vantage point resting right above the silent hearts, Maul catalogues open sores, suppurating and infested with shining maggots and dark worms, yet clear of any blood. And why should there be blood, when the dead do not bleed, and Savage is dead? Unutterable pain is inscribed gaudy and blatant on Savage’s body. On his brother, whom Maul had left for weeks, abjectly paralyzed by defeat and apathy and fear of his Master—had left him there for weeks, and Maul is learned enough in the decomposition and rot of humanoid bodies to recognize that Savage could not have died weeks ago. Of course, the rate of decay could have been affected by water contact, humidity, the presence or absence of certain insects, availability of oxygen, or heat—though if Master had had the corpse refrigerated for imaginative torments to visit on his failed apprentice, there should not be this many nimble insects inhabiting Savage’s carcass.

This many insects—the body is teeming with steel-shining creatures, far too massive for mere blowfly eggs, and yet there is no bloat. Maul runs his fingers over the belly, carefully pushing aside the shreds that remain of his brother’s old armor and prodding feather-light against unbroken skin, avoiding the edges of burns and slashes so as not to hurt—he cannot hurt a corpse, though the piteous superstition rides deep within him. He can’t hurt Savage. Anyway, Savage’s dead. Dead, but not for weeks. Not for days, even. Not for hours. No bloat. It should have started in the belly—unleashed enzymes should have broken down his intestinal walls—but the stomach is slightly pudgy, soft, warm, not turgid in the least. The muscles aren’t rigid. Its state does not match up with the steel-colored insects, heads like cross-recess screws—the steel-colored…

The corpse moves.

Hot air snorts against the top of Maul’s head, once, twice; the body underneath Maul shudders and stretches. Savage wakes the way he always did in the months he and Maul played at being crime lords, deeply unhappy with his sudden consciousness but far too dutiful to turn over and give in to sleep once more. A warm steel hand touches the back of Maul’s neck.

“This is a dream,” Savage’s familiar baritone rumbles.

Maul rears up and falls to the ground.

“Maul, is that really you? Where did you go?” Savage is sitting up now, the back of his right hand—the arm bisected by a deep wound and full of ferrous maggots though it was whole and hale when Maul last saw him—right hand carefully wiping sleep grit from his eyes. He yawns. “I have not seen you for so long. Is this a vision again? Tell me it is. Tell me where you are, brother. Please—”

Maul scuttles backwards.

“Brother?”

“Lord Maul?”

Voices, taunting. Maul has fallen for these tricks too often—fell for them again, just now, even though the naïve child apprentice was deceived and hurt so often that even he learnt one day not to trust the offerings of his Master. Hope is a foolish pursuit. In the wretched company of his honest brother and loyal fanatic Death Watch, he must have unlearned this most vital of lessons.

Hope is foolish. Mercy will not come. Maul is accustomed to agony.

And yet, he cannot bear this.

Savage’s corpse, moving, and did he not just wonder whether Master refrigerated it to prolong the torture…

“Fight me, Master,” Maul growls. Attempts to growl. It comes out as a plea, a whine, a sob. “Fight me. Kill me. There is no need for puppetry.”

“Brother—”

“Lord Sidious, what do you gain from—”

“Lord Maul! ‘Alor! Maul!”

Rook Kast enters the edges of his narrowed darkening vision, Kast who does not serve Sidious, or does she—? Maul has trusted his senses before, trusted his followers, and it led him here. If even Savage, his apprentice, his brother, was turned into a tailor-made torture, how could he ever discern… how…

A prick in his neck, he must fight, and—

Maul is kneeling on the floor. His head aches, the edges of his vision still bruised—tell-tale sedation. His back is braced against a warm solid chest, and there are yellow-black-metal arms poised at his sides, ready to help hold him up if he should buckle but otherwise not caging him in. Well-practiced, a caution born of prior experience when a feverish Maul attempted to fight his way free, and… Savage would not have shared this knowledge. He would not use it to further the ends of Maul’s Master, Maul’s abuser as he always says. He wouldn’t.

“I apologize for the tranq dart, Lord Maul,” Kast says. She is kneeling as well, a few meters away. “You were having a panic—you were growing slightly discomfited.”

The tips of Savage fingers dance along Maul’s forearm, a comforting gesture. Master would not have known this type of contact soothes Maul. He has never treated—or even witnessed Maul ever before being touched with any kind of gentleness.

“Apology granted,” Maul says.

“What you were saying before—Sidious isn’t here. He’s on Coruscant.” Kast shrugs her shoulders. “While you were—indisposed, I had an instructive conversation with Ventress and the captive General. We are in agreement that Sidious must die. We were waiting for you to wake up before we discuss strategy.”

Sidious is on Coruscant.Where they will fight him. Nobody here is in his employ—they are all his enemies. It must be true, if Savage doesn’t object, because despite the lifetimes of pain inscribed in his brother’s open wounds, the confused state of decay, the person guarding Maul’s back is Savage. Master would never have managed to imitate his mannerisms, his gentle care. Savage is far too alien, too unlike anyone Maul has ever met.

Sidious is on Coruscant. Far away. Too far to hurt Maul. It is a boneless relief—Savage’s hand braces him carefully—and yet… And yet, Kast wants him to discuss strategy for an attack against the unassailable eternal Master of the Sith. She still does not grasp that attacking Sidious is suicide, and neither do her compatriots. She does not understand that finding Savage far away from Him is all they ever could have hoped for; that all the future holds for them now is a desperate scramble to avoid arousing any notice every again, if they want to live. Kill Sidious? Kast is delusional.

If Maul owes any loyalty to Death Watch, for helping retrieve his brother, he must dissuade her. He must tell them again about Sidious. He follows.

On the walk over to the war room, Maul attempts surreptitiously to catalogue his brother’s injuries. It’s not easy, since Savage wordlessly fell into his usual position of guarding Maul’s back, albeit walking much closer behind than he would have, earlier, so close that he would get in the way should Maul have to veer around to protect himself. A tactical mistake, though Maul is not inclined to correct it. He himself is trying to subtly glance over his shoulder. He could order Kast and Savage to halt, so Maul could visually inspect his brother, but then Savage might attempt to engage him in a conversation he does not know how to have. The weeks apart have unbalanced their easy relationship—Savage’s torture has, and Maul’s desperate search, the revelation of how deeply he values his brother—and a repeat conversation about the awful might of the Sith Master is much easier to have than whatever words Savage might expect. So he does not stop.

He listens, instead. The rhythm of Savage’s steps betrays no hidden pain, though they are a fraction more frequent, as if something had shortened his strides.

Maul chooses his path so that he passes under a low-hanging light fixture, and Savage clears it without bumping his head.

Savage’s breath is calm and measured; he does not falter once; he effortlessly matches Maul when Maul speeds up.

He follows behind Kast and Maul into the war room.

Saxon and Jagrub are in there, as well as a random Clone Trooper, Asajj Ventress, and—

Kenobi.

“I was warned that you would show up,” Kenobi says.

Maul bares his teeth.

Behind him, Savage growls. Suddenly, he is so close that Maul can feel the warmth of his skin against his back. Dark cables flare around him to form a makeshift cocoon guarding Maul, and the air crackles dangerous and green.

“In this moment, we have a common enemy. I wish to dispatch this Sidious as fast as humanly possible. I am reliably informed that Sidious did not exactly treat you with kindness, either. He is my priority. I am prepared to forget our—” Kenobi looks pained— “our history, as long as this threat is defanged.”

Maul feels the air vibrate against his skin. He and Savage managed to take on Kenobi once before, though after they had laid a trap, and Maul is still muddled and buoyed by the aftershocks of his dream and Savage’s marked by weeks of unknown torture. They have allies here, but Dooku’s acolyte will likely side with Kenobi again, and Death Watch are resourceful but they still lack the force entirely, and might as well be discounted in a duel of Sith and Jedi. Kenobi and Ventress against Maul and Savage, again. And Savage’s still injured. Kenobi targeted Savage’s weak defenses in the fight on Florral, and Savage was in a decent form then and still tore a knee and lost his arm. He is weaker now, and his survival far more tenuous given Maul doesn’t even know the full extent of his injuries yet. In a fight, Kenobi will most likely kill him. Maul just found his brother impossibly alive after weeks of torture, and Kenobi would…

It’s a calculation Maul never before had to make, because his death would have furthered the ends of the Sith or have proven he did not deserve life in the first place, but Savage was just returned to his side. Even if the demise of a weakling is well-deserved, it would make tactical sense to retreat until he is at full strength once more, wouldn’t it?

“A temporary alliance until we find Sidious is all I propose. Believe me, I’m not happy either.”

Savage would die if Maul attacks now. The walls and the floor swirl in the corner of Maul’s eyes, a faint green vortex—Ventress takes an alarmed step towards him—Savage would die, and Maul wants to murder Kenobi and he wants his brother as far from Sidious as possible and so he says—

“Lord Sidious will asphyxiate us with His mind. Attacking Him is suicide.”

“The Jedi have exterminated plenty of Sith before.”

Maul breathes. In, out, in. He does not remember tasting the ashes of the dead of Malachor. He doesn’t. He would kill Kenobi if he did. And Savage would…

“I fought you,” he growls instead. “I fought you on Naboo and you barely won. I fought you on Raydonia and you needed the aid of Ventress to escape; I fought you on Florral and you barely won, and on Mandalore I beat you.”

Kenobi looks angry. “On Mandalore—” He swallows his words. “Barely, you say? I seem to remember that you were barely half a Sith when I finished with you.”

Savage rests his shuddering hand against Maul’s back. Maul hardly even feels it.

“You barely beat me,” he repeats, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but a hooded man laughing. “My Master squashed me like a bug. He could do anything He wanted to me, right until I deployed to Naboo, and He toyed with Savage and me on Mandalore despite any skills we might have learned. I watched Him skewer Savage, and I know it was not happenstance but His brag that He controlled every moment of our battle. The power of Lord Sidious dwarfs every single one of us, and He will beat all of us together.”

Kenobi is quiet, but just when Maul begins to hope he has finally met a rational creature, he says, “What can Sidious do against a foe who does not die?”

Maul growls again. He bared his vulnerabilities to prevent a predictable massacre, and Kenobi spins fairytales?

But Kenobi keeps on talking, “You created a technobeast, Maul. Are you too squeamish to use it?”

A technobeast: part machine, part organic Sithspawn mutant. Lord Sidious was not impressed with Maul’s fascination for this area of force manipulation, back when Maul’s studies focused of the elementals of Sith history and technique instead of practicalities for carrying out his Master’s plans. Nevertheless, He allowed Maul the study, if only for the reason that droid mechanics and forceful manipulations of machines was occasionally useful. Technobeasts, Maul recalls, are created by infecting living organisms with the nanogene spore, a technovirus developed through a combination of Sith alchemy and a Force technique called mechu-deru. The virus grows metallic tumors over the bodies of its victims, ultimately lobotomizing their brains and transforming them into weaponized cyborgs. Metallic tumors… like worms that resemble cables, and maggots made from screws.

Does Kenobi mean to imply…

“I entered Savage’s mind and saw it,” Kenobi says. His eyes are heavy, sad, disgusted. “You can deny your crime all you want. I saw you transform your own brother into a zombified machine slave. If you did not mean to use your immortal weapon to take on your Sith Master and take his place, then why did you use mechu-deru on Savage Opress?”

The maggots and worms inside Savage: of course they bore such resemblance to metal. Maul has worked on enough droids and speeder bikes and ships. He should have recognized their components. He remembers that moment on the floor in Sundari palace, reaching for every animating power he could to just keep Savage breathing for a second longer: and Maul has always felt the movement in inert matter, has felt the force presence of droids and ships and treated mechu-deru as a fact of life. And mechu-deru and Talzin’s magic were the only force powers animating inanimate matter, after all. So when he reached out back then…

If Kenobi is right, then Savage is dead, and yet Maul brought him back. Maul took away the vulnerabilities of mortal flesh, and changed his apprentice forever. He plugged up every injury with metal, and every further injury will be fixed with more metal still. Maul has power. He could make the choice Kenobi has already condemned him for. He could use his brother against his Master. He could be safe. With Savage changed, undead, undying, they could kill Sidious, and they would not have to live forever terrified of his reprisal. He could…

The warm hand on Maul’s back retreats.

Maul turns around. Savage looks down at him, one eye tender and worried, the other a crater of sluggish shrapnel.

He still had both eyes when he died.

Mechu-deru is a dark art for a reason. It does not respect bodily integrity, consent, independence. It is never mutual but always imposed by the strongest. It is Sith. To infect a living creature with nanospores means lobotomizing their frontal lobe and rendering them incapable of higher thought. Nothing more than a weapon. Savage might be more powerful now, but truly, has Maul ever valued him for his power? The person who found Maul on Lotho Minor and whom he took on as an apprentice was a decent fighter, certainly, and strong but unpracticed in the force, but Maul treated him the way he did because Savage threw him food in the freighter when he was still spider-bellied and insane with pain. Savage sang him songs and tried not to hurt him. Savage was gentle and he cooked inedible food, and he was the only person Maul could turn his back to and sleep leaning up against, because Savage was not just a powerful apprentice, but his brother, his brother whom he claimed when he lowered guard long before he could even acknowledge the word. Before anything, Savage was his brother.

And Maul turned him into a technobeast.

There are thousands of primitive legends a brainless Savage will never be able to whisper at night. Thousands of bad recipes he will never try. Thousands of smiles that will never grace his face.

Every injury will draw in more metal, until there is nothing of Savage left.

Lord Sidious controlled every inch of Maul’s life when he was young, chose his food and his clothing and knowledge and training and, on Mustafar at the very least, the very air supply. But for want of skill or knowledge of the option, Master never possessed his apprentice as utterly as this.

It’s not conditioning nor fear of punishment that leads to loyalty, no: Maul inserted his will into Savage with the very metal that keeps him alive. There is no choice for his brother now but to obey.

No other option.

Not even death.

For the first time in his life Maul has surpassed Lord Sidious.

In the realization there is nothing but shame.

Feeling cold as a glacier, he allows his eyes to stare straight for the first time at the monster he built out of the only person who ever loved him.

[yurileclercseyeliner]

A Dumb Rant About A Webtoon

Okay so I’m actually super into reading webcomics (I read them on both Webtoon and Tapas), and although this has nothing to do with my blog (I AM considering making a side blog for webcomic content/reviews tho) I sort of feel like ranting about one that I saw. I’m sorry, but if you like Athena Complex this is probably going to piss you off. Admittedly, I couldn’t get far into the comic without being upset about this so I stopped reading a few chapters in, so that may affect my opinion here. This is mainly my opinion though, and if you disagree with me it’s fine.

So I did mention in my Fire Emblem kelpie beast unit post my opinion on mythological adaptation. Essentially, I believe that when you adapt any sort of mythological being into your story you need to keep these two things in mind:

The recognizable features/symbols/abilities: by this I mean what physical features is this being known to have, what are their physical/magical abilities, what objects are they most associated with, etc. You don’t need to have every single thing that is mentioned in the source material, just a decent combination of them that can allow the reader to easily connect the adaptation to the source material.

This factor mainly applies to individual characters as opposed to a full species or classification of creatures (I have read a decent number of mythological adaptations and have seen a mythical species depicted as evil in one adaptation and benevolent or neutral in another and enjoyed both, it all depends on if it makes sense in the context). What are the character’s main personal views, goals, and motivations? By this I mean how do they think and what are their views on the world around them, and what is the context surrounding that? Essentially, what can their main personalities and motivations be boiled down to and why?

After those two factors, I think that you can then go buck wild with any other characterization as long as it isn’t contradictory and makes sense in your story.

Now that I have set that down here’s my deal with Athena Complex. Athena Complex is a Webtoon based on Greek mythology that follows Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom and strategy. She falls in love with Poseidon, the god of the sea, and is rejected by him. Fueled by vengeance and a desire to win his heart she takes the form of a high school boy in order to take revenge on his reincarnation. Basically, this entire Webtoon is practically a public execution of a large part of what makes Athena, well, Athena.

First off, I will give credit to Athena Complex for at least getting the symbolism correct, Athena is a goddess of wisdom and war and when in the form of a goddess her design reflects that with her armor, among other things such as her association with owls, so the first aspect that I mentioned is fine.

Additionally there is the fact that they also did heavily tap into the prideful aspect of Athena’s nature. Essentially in the source material Athena is a VERY prideful goddess and will take any opportunity to prove her worth if someone attempt to upstage her, and gets very angry when she fails or is insulted in the process (ie the story of Arachne, the story behind the double flute). This aspect could also be seen slightly in Athena Complex’s Athena’s behavior, which I can also give them credit for.

But that’s where a lot of the similarities end. Tbh a large majority of these issues surround the second aspect, the basics of the figure’s personality and motivations.

First, Athena’s stance on romance. Original Athena...literally wanted nothing to do with any sort of romantic relationship. Seriously it’s one of her main things one of her epithets is literally “Parenthos”, which means virgin. No lovers, no sex, no marriage, no intentionally created children (I say intentionally bc she and Hepheastus accidentally created a child when his snot got onto a torn piece of her cloak, but that’s a different weird story), nothing. She solely focused on the expansion of knowledge and learning. She had no time for any sort of relationship. Making Athena in Athena Complex heavily motivated by an unrequited romantic attraction literally rips one of her main core values to shreds.

And this in my opinion one of the worst offenses, MAKING THE SUBJECT OF THAT ROMANTIC ATTRACTION POSEIDON. Literally one MAJOR thing for the original Athena and Poseidon is that they HATE each other. (Also Athena is literally Poseidon’s niece, but tbh that’s a less heinous crime bc Greek mythology was weird about that shit, multiple gods married their siblings/cousins/uncles/aunts/nieces/nephews/etc., it’s weird. Also in Athena Complex Poseidon acted the main person raising Athena, which is ALSO really fucking weird and concerning, anyway back to why they hate each other).

The Contest for Athens: Basically before the Greek city of Athens was called Athens the people were looking for a patron deity, and both Athena and Poseidon tried to lay their claim. In order to determine who the city would go to, they decided to have a contest of who could give the city the best gift. Poseidon gave the city some horses (for transportation and farmwork) and a small spring in the middle of the city (note: the water in the spring was salt water and therefore undrinkable). Athena gave them olive trees (for food, making oil, wood, etc.). The peoplr decided that Athena’s gift was better and thus named the city “Athens” after her, leaving Poseidon incredibly salty.

The Medusa Incident (TW: possible rape/non-con): So Poseidon was having a nice little affair with a mortal woman named Medusa (you notice how this name is familiar, right? that’s important). It’s a little iffy on whether or not this affair was fully consensual on Medusa’s end due to the sort of victim blame-y aspects to this story, hence the trigger warning. So Poseidon his having his fun and decides to find a nice little place they can go to do the nasty. Where does he think would be a great idea? One of Athena’s temples of course! You know, a literal place of worship dedicated to his rival who is known to dislike involvement in romantic/sexual relationships? Nothing could go wrong at all! They of course get caught, and Athena, being pissed, decides to curse Medusa with snakes for hair and the ability to turn people into stone just by looking at them (see why the name was familiar?) For good measure she also curses Medusa’s two sisters with the snake hair. The sisters are then dubbed the Gorgons and then go live in isolation on a island until they are killed by Perseus (a hero that Athena was helping).

So this Webtoon completely ignores the context behind this hatred and decides to make it into an enemies to lovers story based on unrequited feelings (the feelings of a person for their childhood caretaker too...still weird). I guess they wanted to do enemies to lovers and such based on a rivalry dynamic, but in doing so they erased most of the actual substance behind that rivalry by making it romantic and destroying the characterization of one of the main characters.

I can understand taking creative liberties, but before you do so you NEED to have a full understanding of the characters that you are adapting. If a mythological character is known for a certain practice (refraining from romance) or for having an extreme distaste for another figure (Athena hating Poseidon), INCLUDE IT. You NEED to have all of the bare bones basics before you start taking liberties.

For example, the original Athena:

Goddess of wisdom and strategy

Association with owls, olives, carries a shield known as Aegis

Highly values learning and knowledge

Prideful to a fault

Virgin goddess with no interest in romantic or sexual relationships

Extreme hatred for Poseidon as a result of repeated negative encounters

Those are the bare bones basics, after that you can do what you want.

Honestly I don’t think that this Webtoon is necessarily BAD, but it is VERY annoying when you have the context behind these characters (hence my frustration and inability to make it past 10 chapters). In my opinion, if the author wanted to write this storyline, they should have made their own OCs as opposed to butchering a pre-existing figure’s characterization.

(Also I’m so sorry I know that this isn’t relevant to my argument BUT THE POSEIDON REINCARNATION LOOKS SO BORING HE LOOKS LIKE A BACKGROUND CHARACTER WHERE IS THE FLAVOR????)

[lordeasriel]

Do you have a take on what Phillip and Vera’s daemons would be? Or any of the other guests’ for that matter?

Hehehe yes I do, I've been waiting for this question for so long lmao I'm working on a new fic that is ATTWN written by the Agatha Christie of Lyra's world so I had to come up with daemons for all of them.

I'll start in reverse order, from Vera to Marston, since you asked about her first anon.

For Vera, I was torn between a brownish/greyish owl and a marmoset. I really can't imagine any other Vera than Maeve Dermody, and because appearance is important when thinking about Daemons (because daemons lend something of their animal form to the human, ie 'a serpent daemon usually has a human with a serpentine vibes' this was said by Philman in an interview), I think an owl would have suited her. She has big eyes, that are always darting around; she's often immobile, observing her surroundings. However, I think that a marmoset suits her better because Vera has a Hannah Relf quality to her (another marmoset daemon, in case you haven't read the HDM books). It's that silent attitude, keeping to herself, wary of her surroundings and while she seems weak and fragile, Vera is not afraid to act or reacts extremely if the situation calls for it. She is also very shrewd, and I chose the marmoset for her because there is something so appealing to see Vera, big eyes and shrewd attitude behind a mask of silly girl, with a daemon clinging to her neck, observing the room, tiny and silent, but just as clever as she is.

For Lombard, and this one was a no brainer, he has a panther. Show! Lombard would have a black panther, because it suits Aidan Turner's looks; for the book, it would still be a panther type, but a spotted leopard one. Book! Lombard is more earthy than Show! Lombard, hence his daemon having a lighter, more brown palette. As for the reason, there wasn't a lot of thinking when I chose this; in the book, Lombard is described many times like a panther: dangerous, lithe, moving quietly about the house. Everyone in the house feels this vibe and they know he is dangerous, and he sees them as prey (because one of them is the killer and he is just waiting to catch them). I think for a man like him, having a big, dangerous daemon, is very suitable. There is also something of Asriel in him, both in the show and book, so it's fitting they have the same/similar type of daemon.

For Blore, I knew it had to be a type of dog. Everything about Blore screams "barks more than it bites", and while he can be assertive and take control, he always defers to people if they say the right thing to him. Book! Blore would have a boring, but bigger dog, I imagine; he is described as a big man, and he has a very thuggish attitude. Maybe a German Shepherd. Show! Blore is more sleek and clever, less thuggish more alert and paranoid, but also more in control. He dresses nice, is rather vain specially towards his skills, so I gave him a black poodle, a small one though. Blore, although assertive, always is overwhelmed by Armstrong and Lombard, both men that have a bigger presence and willpower than he does.

For Armstrong, I was torn between weasel and a badger, and I think the badger suits him better. It's tempting to go weasel and say he was oh cunning and sleek, but I don't think that's true. While Show! Armstrong loses his shit fairly quickly, even in distress he maintains some control (like when he insists to take care of Mrs Rogers despite Rogers saying she was alright; or when they are all dancing and he is staring at Vera and Lombard, suspicious, trying to steady himself). The Badger fits him better: grounded, stable creatures but also very vicious if they have to be; if my doctor had a badger daemon I would feel safe, I think. Examples of badger daemons in the books I think it's Malcolm's mom, who is incredibly down-to-earth and assertive, which represents Book! Armstrong better, I'll be honest, but I can see Toby Stephens with a badger daemon as Armstrong as well. His character is a man with a sense of belonging, and he perceives his surroundings very well. In the book, Armstrong is more cool headed (for the show, him and Vera have their attitudes swapped, which I like but it's fair to mention here as well) and more in control of his motions. He moves around everyone and doesn't start dissent like in the show, which I think makes sense for his daemon. He doesn't fight unless he has too.

For Wargrave, and this was fun, but I was torn between a butterfly and a chameleon, and I ultimately decided for the butterfly because I thought the chameleon was too on the nose with his twist. This is for both show and book, and if there are changes it's probably just in colours and patterns. In the book, Wargrave is often described as someone with a reptile smile, hence why I chose the chameleon at first, but I think he is still a fragile man at his core. Butterflies are synonym of beauty and change; they tend to be associated with evolution and growth, and that's Wargrave's story I think. He is a man who spent his life working in law, seeing dozens and dozens of criminals come and go and die: he was known for having a high death rate, so I imagine he dealt with heinous crimes the most (I don't know for sure but I don't think they hanged people for stealing or whatever in the early 20th century, but take this with a pinch of salt lmao). Then one day Wargrave meets this Edward Seton, a total sadist (and a serial killer in the show) and he realised things about himself that he didn't know before. In the show, he has a line about Seton having a legacy of terror to be remembered, while he and everyone else would be forgotten and I think that's very much what the butterfly represents for Wargrave. When he finds out he is sick, he finds growth in pursuing his true passion, which was murder. The butterfly is also a very fragile daemon, and because of that she doesn't reflect his true physique (despite sick he is nowhere near as frail as he appears to be), and her beauty helps lure the trust of people, make him seem trustworthy (Vera on the show, Armstrong in the book). Just to add, he is also separated from her, and this is how he manages to fake his death well. (i was saving this twist for the fic but I might never finish it lmao)

For Miss Brent, this one had me thinking a lot. Like, a lot. I was torn between a toucan and a spider, and I ultimately decided to go for the toucan, mostly because I think it suits her better. Spiders are often associated with storytellers and creative people and Emily Brent is far from creative. She is judgemental, conservative, vain and nasty towards anyone she considers unworthy. In the show, she has an attitude towards the General, she likes him well and they don't quite explain why, but I think it's because he is from her generation - and social status - and she respects him for it. The same goes for Wargrave and Armstrong, but towards Armstrong she just respects his status, not his age. She sort of sees him as "still young but on the right path". She absolutely resents Lombard - as she does in the book, probably for the same reason: he is pretty much a living hands to mouth kind of guy and he is immoral according to her - and she doesn't think highly of Blore either, also because of social status. Anyway, I can do a separate post about this, but I chose the toucan because they are beautiful birds, a little menacing, and they have a bit of a bitchy attitude. No deeper thought to that to be fair lmao. Toucans make me think "vain" and I love this concept because Miss Brent loathes women who wear make up or show off, but I think this Is clearly a façade on her part, because she is also vain, in her own way.

For Rogers, I was torn between a big, posh dog and a fox. Now, this one is tough because we fall into that "good servants have dog daemons" rule, which I think it's too simplistic to define a person's nature. I'm more inclined towards the posh dog, mostly because I think that helps Rogers fit in with a crowd that isn't his; and sure, he is a cunning man (like a fox daemon would evoke) but I think a dog like a Dobermann suits Rogers best, in the book at least. A fox would suit show! Rogers better, but the dog suits him too physically (tall, slender, mean looking), so I'm sticking with the dog.

For the General, I think a hawk. A bird of prey. He was a soldier and he was fucking shrewd to send a man to die in such an inconspicuous way. Birds of prey Daemons have very passionate humans - Ma Costa, Tony Costa, Anthony Hassall, as well as Bud Schlesinger and Marcel Delamare with their owls - but while owls are tame and introvert, hawks tend to be extreme and out there, lashing out and being menacing with ease. This was a natural choice for me, although I also considered eagles for him later, but changed my mind. (On my notes I wrote "def not an owl" lmao)

For Mrs Rogers, I think a mouse would suit her, and I know this is painfully obvious, but that's the vibe she gives me. A small person, being coerced and oppressed by a petty tyrant, and she just lets things steer her by, absolutely not in control of her life. I also gave her a same sex type of daemon, because she just has that uncanny aura, I don't know how to explain it; I can see that affecting her life since childhood, and steering her towards a man like Rogers, who would take advantage of her loneliness. Same sex daemons are rare and the example we had was in someone extremely sensitive, and I feel that in Mrs Rogers.

And lastly, Tony Marston, and this one I had too many options, but I opted for a Margay, who was suggested to me in fact. It's a feline daemon, very slick and lithe but also very ethereal looking, which I think suits Marston: handsome but lacking substance (not lacking so much substance in the show tho lmao get it? cause he did cocaine? a substance? Haha please don't unfollow me). Frankly, because he dies first I didn't give this too much thought, but I knew it had to be a wild daemon, quick and lithe.

Honorable mention to Fred Narracott and his seagull daemon. Thanks for asking this anon, I had a blast!