#shit can get dark

[gothamsworst]

Jonathan Crane, also known as: Creator of the World's Worst Exposure Therapy.

[beybuniki]

in hindsight, i rlly like that some of their inevitable conversations aree left covert i love to fill the gaps myself i love to think about their awkwardness :)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Average Drama Enjoyer observes some peak drama.

[heynhay]

let's drive out

[frizzdotbizz]

feeling emo for the murder siblings

(don’t tag as ship/proshippers dni)

[knightforflowers]

if you can’t tell what this is about, i’ve had enough and i want out

[howlsofbloodhounds]

killer deliberately provoking people into attacking or hurting him—especially anyone who claims that they “don’t want to fight him” or “don’t want to hurt him”—sometimes for the purpose of satisfaction and validation in the belief that pain will always be a part of his existence and everyone feels the same urges to hurt or be hurt that he does and everyone would love the chance to hurt him if he just let them or gave them a valid excuse.

he really likes provoking the so called “pacifists” into doing horrid shit like snapping his bones or you know almost killing him cuz its just further proof that he’s right

[probadbatch]

Thinking about Hunter's nearly black armor in that one trailer... the boys are really going through it, aren't they? Hunter's not taking care of himself at all when he's worried about Omega. Makes me really worried about him. Well, all of them, really.

This season better end with everyone safe and in one piece happily repainting their armor somewhere peaceful or I'm gonna riot.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

wooooo warlock Wally and his delightful totally normal patron

[gwensy]

hello... you may notice you are strapped to a chair infront of a computer screen.... you must either saw off your arms or read two hours worth of mcu influenced daredevil fanon

[zuppizup]

The way dark magic can use parts of a sapient being without their knowledge or consent. The way Claudia could track down Rayla with a piece of her hair and Rayla didn’t even realise that was what was happening, how she thought the lights were cute and tickled…

The way it reminds me of those “if you’ve nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to fear” type arguments when it comes to the surveillance state. How parts of you (your data, your DNA) can be stored away until it is useful to those who might want to control you.

All to say, I am having the most fun with my dark magic AU.

[dootznbootz]

Menelaus rambles a lot about not only Helen, but also Hermione. About how she used to say Olive like "Olifs". How she lost her first tooth running too fast and running into a low branch while out with Helen. How he'd sometimes wake up to Hermione leaning over him and poking his face to say, "Dad, can we go see the horses?" even though it was barely daylight. How she was much nicer waking Helen and how he thinks Hermione did that on purpose because she found "dad's face funny". How her favorite color was every color.

And Odysseus listens.

And he thinks about how his son only had a few teeth coming in when he left, teething on everything. How he could only say one syllable with his babbles. How his son needed balance to stand but Odysseus was so proud that Telemachus was very good at rolling over. How his son loved pulling at his and Penelope's hair.

How his son would be talking, walking, maybe even lost his first tooth by now. And he doesn't even know if he'll ever know his son's favorite color.

[wikitpowers]

okay some people might want money and fame but what i want is art of kit and dru together <3

[front-facing-pokemon]

[lackingspace]

Pernicious (Feyd-RauthaXReader)

Rated: M Word Count: 3.2K Summary: A summons from House Harkonnen is unlikely but never improbable.

Warnings: A lot of world-building and info dump like normal. Basically an OC, but reads like a xreader. Nothing until the Harkonnen show up, then bring on the violence.

Author Note: Hi, I've returned from the ether to drop this here. I watched Dune part II and they made Feyd a perfect little sociopath. Not my fault. ✧

AO3 link: Pernicious

Chapter 2: Admonish

The colds seeped in again.

The full body shiver emphasized that thought as the door slid fully open. The drop in temperature had slowly become noticeable as you walked closer to your lab. As you stood with the cold snaking through your dress all but sinking its fangs into your bones, there wasn't a question as to where it was coming from. 

Of course…of fucking course this happens today. This was just what you didn’t need. 

You had awoken in a foul mood. Cleo, your personal attendant, could attest to it by the scowl plastered to your lips and the curt responses you’d given. Breakfast had only made it worse. Your mother was a strain on your self-control normally, but today the addition of your aunt made the half hour you were stuck with them beyond grating. Their laughter and easy banter pulled giggles from the servants and mounting aggravation from you.

You’d decided during that unappetizing meal– staring at a serving of fruit and bread– that research was the best chance of a reset to your mood. To relax into your current fascination was the perfect escape. That had been the idea anyway. It seemed today was meant to be a trying one. A God somewhere must be laughing as they gazed down upon you.

Although you liked the lab colder than the rest of the compound, this was more than a downshift of a few degrees. Like stepping into an ice box the air was an assault on your senses. Warmth drained from your fingers before ice tried to claw its way up your arm and into your veins. Breathing turned into puffs of vaporous exhales as your lungs screamed in protest on your inhales. The type of cold that stung your eyes even without a breeze. Goosebumps made a home under the sleeves of your shawl.

Taking the first step inside had the lights flickering to life. Everything was the same as you'd left it. All equipment in its place, Petri dishes stacked neatly, specimen containers in the cryoseal locked tight, notes left open next to your microscope where your pen sat slightly askew. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself in hopes of conserving a little warmth, you gazed across the room. Nothing visibly screamed that someone had made a trespass into your sanctuary. Besides, there wasn't anyone with enough contempt to see your work ruined.

At least not anyone in current residence that you were aware of. Your family compound wasn't hosting any non-relatives and all other Ezharien knew not to come between you and your research. However, that observation was quickly followed by the thought, ‘Maybe it's stupidity instead of hate. There's certainly a few individuals capable of that.’

Jaw clenching as faces flashed behind your eyes. They'd essentially sign their death certificate if you found anyone had been messing about your lab. Not even cousin Josephine’s rank as Jarl's daughter would save her.

If it did come down to someone tampering with the room’s stabilizer, there was a specific nuisance that came to mind. 

Annoyance bubbled at the base of your skull as Yisella’s smiling face fluttered behind your eyes. Your mother's personal maid and your personal annoyance. Her lack of intelligence was only surmounted by her abundant compassion. 

She had the tendency to create problems for you where previously none existed– but you could concede her heart was always in the right place. 

The thought of her in your lab had an ache forming behind your eyes. Pinching the bridge of your nose to alleviate the building tension before it could evolve into a bigger problem as you thought of what kind of damage she’d do.

You could conceive a scenario where Yisella would leave a window open with the defense that you'd mentioned a cold lab has better working conditions. She would technically be right in that assumption. You did like a cold lab, better for specimen longevity, but this was a biting ache that dug too deep too quickly. It was detrimental to your own longevity. 

The other houses had a saying that ice was in Ezharien veins. But even we couldn't withstand the tundra forever. Not without proper equipment or protection. 

Yisella may not be a house member, but that wasn't any excuse. She was still Erifian. Not a tourist visiting the equatorial tropics. Every true-born Erifian knew that Erif IV’s tundra shouldn't be tested. 

It would always win.

That's why the first house rule was so simple. Secure the compound.

A window left open or a door unsecured could jeopardize the whole house's integrity. Yisella must have had that drilled into her. It was no secret that to serve a great house, at least the Ezhariens meant intense training. However, time and time again she'd proven that conventional wisdom escaped her.

A sweet idiot. With a sigh you dropped your hands to your side, but an idiot all the same. She's lucky mother is of the same ilk. 

Also lucky your lab didn���t have windows. 

Rubbing your hands up and down the cloth covering your arms for some sort of heat as you mused, ‘If the thermostabilizer isn't tampered with, then it's likely the geothermal compressor…again.’

Walking towards the far left wall where the stabilizer console hung. You half anticipated the readout would show a manual override of your set temperature. The digital console slowly blinked to life like it was made sluggish by the cold as well. After a moment the readout staring at you confirmed it wasn't Yisella who had tampered with your lab. 

The numbers were as you'd left it. Set to the standard temp, no overrides, only the ambient room temperature was concerning. Which meant that the compressor wasn't kicking on to compensate for the difference. It might not be Yisella's fault this time, but there was another imbecile to blame.

I told father the compressor should have been outright replaced, but did he listen? Another shiver racked your body as your brow pinched in annoyance. Your father's chiding refusal came back to you now. 

He'd been stern in his dismissal as he often tended to be with most things, “Daughter, cousin Hans is the technician, not you. If this were some medical issue I would defer to your opinion, but as it stands, yours holds no weight. If he's certain a replacement is wasted here– it is wasted.” 

Your eyes rolled at the memory, ‘Cousin would do well to watch his back from here on out.’ 

The longer you stayed in the room the deeper the icy tendrils sunk into you and the higher your contempt rose. 

It wouldn't do to sit here and freeze to death. You'd not give anyone the satisfaction of such an embarrassing death. In only a thin dress and shawl you'd need to remedy it with layers. Moving back towards the entrance there was a cubby that served as a storage area. 

You'd left thicker blankets, shawls, coats, and coverings for emergencies. Grabbing a thicker coat you slipped it on and eyed the few thermalheaters that typically saw no use. You couldn't remember if you'd ever used them in this room before.

Eyes narrowed as you grab one of the two small dusky orange orbs. Your fingers pressed against the tremellose casing as the hard inner machinery pressed back. It was gelid on your already frozen hand, but the thermal liquid still swirled beneath the surface.

Pursing your lips as you clicked the series of hidden buttons to turn the device on. A silent promise arose in the back of your mind as the orb began to glow. ‘If cousin is also wrong about these being enough to heat this space, the next time he's floundering at an inter-house banquet…’

You made a clicking noise with your tongue as the small device began to quickly heat in your palm before it lifted and slowly hovered around the room. Bending down to grip the second device and click it to life.

‘I'll let him choke.’

Straighten up, you watched the two orbs slowly dance around the space. The gentle pulses they radiated were divine but nowhere near a comfortable temperature. There wasn't much more to do than wait and hope. You couldn't call anyone for repairs at the moment and you didn't feel like heading back to your rooms.

Even if you’d wanted to place a repair request you couldn’t. Father was the only one with that power. Unless an emergency, which this situation didn’t qualify as, House Creed stated that repairs were something only the head of each family compound could request. 

Supposedly a way to avoid bogging down the system with unnecessary requests. So nothing could be done as father had joined the Jarl for a logistics meeting. Luckily it was only a day trip and he'd be back in time for the family meal. So you'd wait.

Walking towards the desk your notebook sat upon, you pulled out the stool before taking a seat. Thankfully it was covered in black cloth making the cold less biting than naked metal would have been. Pulling your coat tighter, you flipped through the pages before settling a few entries before your last.

It'd been only two days since you were here, but brushing up on your train of thought wouldn't hurt. As long as the room continued to heat it might even be pleasant.

It must have been half an hour or so before the room was up to a reasonable warmth. Comfortable enough that you deemed it safe to remove specimens from the cryoseal chamber and began your observation.

It wasn't much longer after you'd placed the first slide beneath the microscope that the door to the lab opened. Quickly following the sound of steps was the scent of pleniscenta. It assaulted your senses with its exotic floral fragrance. There was only one person in your compound who wore that.

Without pulling away from the scope you asked, “Yes, Desil?” 

The gasp he let out was likely less to do with your educated guess and more to do with the temperature of the room. “My lady, you'll catch your death sitting in this chill.” The temperature of the room indeed.

Adjusting the lens magnification while answering, “The thermalheaters are doing their job well enough. I'll be fine.” You could hear the frown in his response, “Your father is going to take issue with this.” You do love starting a conversation with a not-so-hidden scolding. 

Rolling your eyes was the safest response as they were hidden from view. You'd have snorted if it wouldn't be deemed unladylike and damnable by present company, “And how would he know? Oh, that's right. Nothing escapes your daily report.” Watching the cells squirm as they reacted to the substance you’d injected. A few began to shrivel and succumb to death, “Tell me, will it be before or after you counsel Father on the best method to reprimand my poor attitude?” 

A mix of a chortle and huff quickly followed your question. The sound full of his dismay and exasperation, “My lady, you well know that daily reports are expected in your father's absence.” A noncommittal hum left you, “And you do love not to disappoint him.”

If you'd bothered to look up, you'd have been graced with Desil pinching the bridge of his nose, “I take pride in looking out for the Ezharien name. That means detailing your stubbornness is well within my right.” You heard him step forward, deeper into the room, “As is checking whatever humor you find yourself in, lest it reflect poorly on your house.” 

He wasn't wrong either. As much as you'd like to argue Desil was a good aide. From the outside, he may appear to be just another servant, but his position gave him unique privileges. One of which is the ability to speak freely. 

If anyone asked your opinion on the matter, he took far too much pleasure in censuring you. But that could be your earlier irritation talking.

To be fair, if he'd cared to ask, you would admit your mood was soured which had your patience abnormally thin and tongue loosened. It was probably best to avoid whatever interaction was to take place if he didn’t want a verbal spar. 

If he wasn't family, you'd be more guarded, but he was family and you were annoyed.

His tongue clicked in a tutting rebuke, “I really must ask that you return to your rooms until repairs can be slated, or have you given so little thought to your health?” 

That kindled your earlier annoyance back to life full force. Sparking it as quickly as if he'd struck a match to paper. You would take his chiding on your attitude, your choice of words, or even your manner. You likely deserved it. But you wouldn't stand him questioning your judgment about this. He knew you well enough to know your triggers.

“Remind me,” Jaw clenching as you finally lifted your gaze from the magnified slide to catch the eyes of your father's personal aide. Tilting your head as you tried for calm, but the tone was too tight to be convincing, “Are you a Suk?” 

His dusky olive complexion paled at your question. Sharp green eyes widened as his thin mouth dropped open, “I-I…I only meant tha-'' cutting him off with a raised hand. Your lack of patience couldn't take a sputtering rant, gaze turning flatter, while uttering a sharp call of his name, “Desil.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times in quick succession. Worry hung heavy on his brow. Visibly swallowing before he quietly muttered, “No, my lady. A Suk, I am not.” 

Lowering your hand to the pen that sat on your notebook, “I thought not.” 

Willing yourself to relax was more difficult than necessary. Neither your clenched jaw nor the irrational anger wanted to release their grip. Having your medical opinion questioned was always a surefire way to get under your skin. He was very much aware of your pet peeves at this point.

Desil was detail-oriented, he was good at tactfully phrasing things, and he had a gift for negotiation. It's why your father favored him for the 30-odd years he'd been in the position. Longer than you'd been alive. At this point, he was more family than many of your blood cousins. 

Holding a breath before slowly releasing it was your attempt to save Desil from your bite. It was another moment before you pointedly said, “The thermalheaters will do fine for now.” 

The tentative acceptance looked more like defeat on his features. His own jaw clenched before he countered, “As you say…” the look on his face said he had more to add as he continued, “But Sir Malakar will be unhappy with this either way.” 

Eyes narrowing at his response, “Unhappy?” Annoyance coated your tone and a smile that was more of a snarl tugged at your lips. A barbed quip was on the tip of your tongue, a seething retort that was dying to let out your frustration, but Desil’s worried eyes gave you pause. 

Taking another deep breath willing yourself to remain civil– that Desil wasn't the source of your irritation and although he was being a nag, he didn't deserve the venom that wanted an easy victim.

There was another moment of silence before you wrangled your anger enough to reply. Snarl settling down into a strained smile with a clipped tone, “Kindly advise my father that the next time I say a compressor needs replacing, he take my advice instead of our spice-addled cousin.”

The sigh Desil released was more relief than anything. His shoulders dropped and the worry that'd pinched his brow lessened, “ I will remind him as you say. But please keep the remarks of your cousin's proclivities to a minimum. It's unbecoming.” 

Tilting your head and clicking your tongue at him before you answered, “Did you need something? Or was the chance to grate on my nerves your only reason to seek me out?” He shook his head, but the curled edges of his lips spoke of amusement.

You turned back to the table and picked up your discarded pen. Jotting down a few of your previous observations as you waited for a response. Desil was ruffling around his pockets before he began to walk closer, “you received a message-capsule.”

Your brow raised, but your gaze stayed locked on your notes as you continued to write, “What does it say?” His footsteps paused and your patience couldn't take another round of banter so you beat him to the chase. Eyes rolling as you spoke, “I know you read my messages and report to my father. Yes, yes, I'm sure it's something he requested, so just tell me what it says.”

The silence stretched before he answered in a quiet voice, “It's sealed. I thought it better you be the first to read it.” 

Your pen paused on the page. Now that was interesting. “Oh?” Sealed missives were generally only for official house communications. Only the head title bearer of each great house held a seal. For the Ezharien, that was your uncle, the Jarl. 

As far as you were aware there wasn't any scheduled event that you should be expecting an invitation to. If the message was addressed to you specifically that meant it wasn't a generalized request for assistance from Ezharien as a whole. This was likely personal, but if there was an occasion of special significance, generally an heir debutante, you might receive a personal invite. There were too many houses for you to remember who and when they were set to debut.

Desil's voice cut through your thoughts, “It bares the Harkonnen seal.”

Your pen pressed deeper into the page as your grip tightened, “Fuck.” 

It spoke volumes of Desil's own anxiety that he didn't chastise your language. If the Harkonnen were seeking you out in particular this was personal. And personal with the Harkonnen’s was…difficult at best.

Official Ezharien relations between houses typically remained neutral. Better for the tourist business that'd established Erif IVs economy. We didn’t enter dealings that could ostracize one house or another.

The Harkonnen tended to make things less neutral. 

The Baron had mastered staying within proper interhouse etiquette– barely. As an outside observer, it could even be considered impressive how he navigated the political sphere. Being put into his crosshair directly? It was an inconvenience at best and deadly at worst. If the missive wasn't some forgery, which there was little chance of to begin with, there was only one logical reason for it.

The small inked diamond on your forehead. 

The cylinder came into view as Desil placed it next to your frozen hand, “I feel it pertinent that you open it.” Your joints protested but finally unlocked as the momentary shock wore off. Grasping it with numb fingers you broke the ram-headed seal and your eyes swept over its sparse contents. 

“I have need of your skills. Come to Giedi Prime.” 

If the seal wasn't enough to convince you of the missive's authenticity, the signature of Vladimir Harkonnen was. No one impersonated the Baron. In their right mind or heavily spiced— if one wished to continue breathing, that was a forgery you declined. Besides, you weren't important enough for that kind of trouble. 

Desil stood watching you. Hands nervously wringing together, “Well?”

With a sigh you held out the cylinder to him, “It seems the Baron calls me to Giedi Prime.”

The Gods really were laughing.

[karleksmumskladdkaka]

Diabolik Lovers Dark Fate Vol. 3 Chapter of the Last Quarter — Short Story Translation

A short, sweet, and comedic tale about the Mukami brothers being supportive siblings… and nearly committing accidental fratricide in the process. Meanwhile, Yui watches with increasing concern as the disaster unfolds.

Please refrain from using or reposting the translation anywhere without my permission.

[Note: The story is written in Yui's POV.]

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"Uh...something's wrong..."

Kou-kun groaned as he stared down at the pot.

"Should I help after all?"

"Eve, you mustn't get involved...okay? Just quietly watch over us."

Even though he said that, an increasingly terrible smell was spreading throughout the kitchen. Despite being told not to interfere, I was starting to get a bit worried.

"Maybe it needs some sugar-chan!?"

"Ah!!"

Before I could stop him, Yuma-kun dumped several sugar cubes into the pot, filling the room with a foul stench. I felt a sense of despair.

The whole mess had started when Ruki-kun injured his hand.

"Ruki-kun always cooks for us, so let's all pitch in today!"

And so, Kou-kun's plan of making dinner ended up as disastrously as I had feared.

"...This is...?"

"Well... It's supposed to be curry..."

Kou-kun glanced at me as if pleading for help. When I looked at Yuma-kun and Azusa-kun, they averted their eyes. In short, something horrible had been created. Its color was... to put it nicely, pitch black. After tasting it, Yuma-kun commented nonsensically that it was "bittersweetsalty". Dubbed "Mukami Brothers' Style Curry" it had transformed into a mysterious substance resembling anything but curry. Just by looking at it, anyone would instantly recognize it as inedible.

Yet, Ruki-kun was peering at the plates lined up on the table with a happy look on his face.

"Maybe it's better if we don't eat this..."

In spite of Kou-kun's uneasiness, Ruki-kun scooped up the substance with a spoon and brought it to his mouth.

". . ."

"It's disgusting."

We all shared the same fear. That even though he's immortal, Ruki-kun might die from this.

Despite his words, Ruki-kun's expression suddenly relaxed. We stared at him in amazement.

"R-Ruki-kun...!!"

"Ruki..."

"Ruki...! Damn it! Yer such a...!"

The three brothers, seemingly drained, collapsed to their knees on the spot. Ruki-kun simply watched them in silence as he continued to eat.

And then, afterwards—Ruki-kun was bedridden for three days and nights. Even though Vampires aren't supposed to get sick...

Seeing this, his brothers made a firm vow to themselves. They would never try to cook again.

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