#springtime horror

[horror-aesthete]

The Wicker Man, 1973, dir. Robin Hardy

[theemmtropy]

Coraline as Springtime Horror

I've been pondering the seasons and how they play a part in horror stories. The easiest motif to incorporate is Autumn, of course, since Halloween, dying plants, and longer nights all play into the creepy feeling we get from horror. But we have examples of other seasons being scary, with things like Midsommar and Krampus. I think that Coraline exemplifies Spring horror, and here's why.

Winter has just passed

We see pretty early on that it's almost the end of winter break, the time when the Jones family moved into the Pink Palace. Coraline's friends in her photo are all bundled up, and Coraline goes shopping with her mom for school clothes. We also know from the accents of her friends in the moving picture (and from them calling her "Loper") that she is from Michigan, a cold northern state in the US. Coraline's longing for the life she's left behind, now frosted over and preserved in these winter memories, is echoed when her parents are trapped in a snow globe- another winter landscape- by the Other Mother. The despair felt by Coraline is the context to her actions.

Water as a theme

The passing of winter leads to an excess of melted water, and subsequently, mud. We know that Coraline's mother hates mud, despite being a writer for a garden magazine. The opening of the movie is Coraline looking for an old well (a source of water), and Wybie calling her a water witch.

Coraline gets a poison oak rash from this activity, and the Other Mother soothes it with: mud. And all throughout the movie, there is rain, mist, even a broken shower that drenches Coraline as she explores the house. The theme of TOO MUCH water, TOO MUCH change, TOO MUCH melted snow that keeps her away from the winter of her old life is prevalent. In the real world, her frosted, glittering memories melt into new, disappointing, muddy ones. The rain and mud keep her trapped in the house, and the boredom she feels is the motivation that keeps her coming back to the Other Mother.

The return of bugs

When the ground thaws out, bugs find their way back to gardens, houses, and everywhere they're not supposed to be. There are so many bugs in this movie, but the only ones Coraline interacts with positively are the slugs that she and Wybie take pictures of together. Note how the bugs are outside, not in her home, and so she's okay with them. Compare that to her smashing the bugs that crawl around in her house that she finds while exploring.

(There is a mantis vehicle she rides while in the Other Mother's garden, but this is very much shown to be mechanical, until the Other Mother attacks her with it later on.)

The Other Mother is awakened when Coraline moves in, and we see as the movie progresses that she is also bug-like; specifically, she is a spider, especially in how she plans. The creeping horror that Coraline experiences as she realizes just how well the Other Mother has laid her web- her trap- is the crux of this horror story.

Even the treats that the Other Mother offers to Coraline turn out to be infested. And the Other Mother doesn't even try hiding the fact that these treats are bugs. Coraline's realization of the trap is paralleled by her recognizing the consequences of her actions.

The return of flowers

Ultimately, we know that the Other Mother is stopped, and through the muddy relationship Coraline has with her parents, a beautiful closeness begins to grow. But the Other Mother also had flowers.

But Coraline has learned that the flowers that miraculously appeared for her weren't real. They were too wonderful, too perfect, too convenient to be real. The garden at the end of the movie is one that everyone helps with, and is therefore more real and close than anything the Other Mother could have given her.

The melted water turning soil to mud, the murky relationship with her parents- these are things that Coraline has realized must be worked through, by both her and her parents. The horror of the movie is the false perfection, and the resolution of the movie is the genuineness that can be gained from boring reality.

[ailius-suffers-through-art]

did a redraw of an old piece from an au!

( below is the original. its in bad condition because its sorta been all over the place in the past few years )

but yeah ive been calling it Transcendental Anomalies in my notes so far.

The premise is that Dipper has been having strange dreams after his 19th birthday. Dreams where he finds himself exploring a weird world filled with bizarre rules and horrifying creatures. Oddly enough, he isn't all that scared by the world and takes to figuring out its secrets and enjoying the new experience.

It's constantly raining. Filled with dilapidated buildings. Stairways that crumble and shift under your feet. A 100 step pathway that leads to another dimension. Parts of the world that crumble into the void and are consumed by static. A ballroom dance with shadows.

An upside down clock tower above the void. Endless staircases into the sky and void alike.

Streets crawling with shadows. Black hair leaking out of crevices. Eyes that watch you from holes.

A bus that travels around, taking you god knows where. Tall buildings with elevators. A giant neon red cross always further in the distance. A heavy fog over collapsing buildings. Black torii gates leading to a dark forest. A woman carrying an umbrella whose gaze you must never meet. A parade of tall and lanky men and women twirling down the streets. Gigantic beasts that rise from the void. A library with no top or bottom extending endlessly where bodies fall from the top floors. Festivals of shadows where human flesh and other such things are sold. Red paper lanterns float down the festival lanes and hang from special buildings. A starless night sky that hangs over the world like a black void.

These are only a few of the sights Dipper sees there.

No humans are seen in the world because they are very quickly eaten by the creatures within or they're in hiding. Ghosts and spirits roam the streets. The smart people who visit make sure they dont stay long. The ones who survive dont stay long enough to get found.

At one point, Dipper tries dancing with the blind dancers. This is where we meet our second protagonist, Bill.

Bill decides to come visit the Middle Ground for a while for a vacation from being a menace. While there, he goes to the ballroom to have a hoot and starts talking with one of the blindfolded creatures (in human form since its not the easiest to work around his own triangular anatomy for square dancing).

They swap names and chat as they dance, Bill looking down on the dumb monster as a lower lifeform. Still, he gets curious about what the thing looks like under the blindfold and pulls it up. As one has already guessed, the dance partner was Dipper.

Bill is surprised to find his partner wasn't actually one of the creatures, but puts 2 and 2 together when he sees the birthmark. Unfortunately, he's not great at metaphorical math and just assumes its another demon on vacation. Thinks the guy is pretty dumb for following the rules of this world, but shrugs it off.

They meet several more times in the middle ground, exploring the more dangerous facets of it, until Dipper moves to gravity falls with his sister to take care of his great uncle, and finds he can no longer leave.

as you can probably tell, this au has a LOT and i mean a LOT of inspiration from internet urban legends. if you see something you think is a reference, it most definitely is. i have...... so many gravity falls aus. im still a bit stuck in 2014 gf fandom tumblr. if things dont hold up with the book of bill canon forgive me (I haven't read it yet sadly...) but yeah its a bit trope heavy but i love urban legends and horror stories so i wanted to make a world where all of them can fit together nicely. thats how this came about.

[bondaged9ngel]

Let’s see our future together 🔮✨

[holidazehalloween]

Happy first day of spring!

[stellarspecter]

what if i said this tornado loves you ben hargreeves & the horror & jennifer gifset. what then

[lapseperhaps]

mayor mistimum

[cryptic-paw]

Does anyone else notice this? | Cryptic Paw Adventures

Follow on TikTok @crypticpaw.official

I don't know what these trees are called, but I suffer everytime I walk past them in the spring because their white blooms smell EXACTLY like a drowned corpse. It frustrates me that others don't seem to notice or know that's the smell they're smelling!!! 😣

[viewfinder-chernobyl]

I AM NOT FEELING WHIMSICAL OR SILLY

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Biker Upgraded To Cyborg

For as long as anyone could remember, Jake and Eddie had not only been best mates, but they’d been crazy about motorbikes. Both their dads were bikers so it was no surprise that as kids they were introduced to bikes in real life and got to watch MotoGP, WSB and BSB either in real life or on TV with their enthusiast dads.

They were riding off-road in their early teens. They got their first mopeds at 16, upgrading to 125cc bikes a few months after their respective seventeenth birthdays. Now in their early 20s they have held full licences for nearly three years. Jake rides a black Honda CBR600RR, bought second hand through the weekly motorcycling title, MCN. Eddie rides a used Red Yamaha R6 that he bought a couple of months earlier from the main dealer in the city where they live. Springtime and the light evenings meant they would be out as much as possible riding 'the highways and byways', and this day was no exception, but it would be a day that changed their lives forever. 

Jake and Eddie had spent most of Sunday riding and were at the edge of the city when Jake’s bike had started spewing smoke out of the engine before rolling to a stop alongside a large industrial estate. Jake jumped off his bike, but with no tools to hand he had no option but to seek help. He pushed his bike into the entrance to one of the large modern warehouses that populated the industrial estate. Jake kicked the side stand into place and sighed heavily. Eddie pulled in alongside Jake, kicked down the stand on his before turning off the ignition.

Although they were back in the city, they were still about ten miles from home. Jake reached into his leathers for his phone only then realising that they were in an area without mobile phone coverage. Jake and Eddie looked around for a payphone to call the breakdown service - but in this era of mobile technology, BT had removed most of the phone boxes - so there wasn't one within sight. Realising they needed to get help they looked around for signs of life. In front of them was a sprawling grey structure resembling more of a fortress than a warehouse. Its metallic surfaces gleamed under the late afternoon sun, making it look otherworldly. Figuring it might be their best chance at getting help—or at least finding a phone—they started walking towards the massive building.

The front gate was oddly open, inviting yet silent. Jake and Eddie didn't think it weird for a security guard building to be unoccupied with the gates open. More concerned about getting help they walked towards the main building entrance. Jake pressed on the intercom button and waited for a response. After a minute he pushed the button again, but this time there was a buzz. Jake looked at Eddie and shrugged his shoulders, pushing on the door, it opened. They walked inside.

Expecting to see a reception area the two friends were surprised to enter the building at what appeared to be the beginning of a long dimly lit corridor. Jake and Eddie looked at one another, Jake spoke first, “Why don’t you wait here, while I see if I can find anyone to speak to”.

Eddie nodded.

Both looked at one another, for a moment unsure of what to do. Then Jake smiled, turned and started walking along the seemingly endless corridor, his boots echoing on the cold, concrete floor. The air was chillingly sterile, as he walked he would pass the occasional door and window revealing glimpses of high-tech interiors.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice disappearing into the ether without an answer. The lack of response was unnerving, but as he walked on he could hear noise coming from much further along the corridor. Jake kept walking, driven by his need to get to a phone and call the breakdown service to sort out his bike.

Eventually, the corridor turned to the right, after another dozen or so yards it opened up into a colossal space. What Jake witnessed was like a scene reminiscent of a sci-fi horror film.

The room was stark yet brightly lit. On one side it was filled with row upon row of raised surgical beds. Yet these weren't like the ones you’d see in a hospital; they were repurposed contraptions where human flesh was being melded with alien, synthetic and electronic components. Shocked by what he was witnessing, he turned his head, but there was no escape from the nightmare he found himself in.

The other side of the room was populated with dozens of cylindrical tubes. Jake’s eyes widened as he took in the sight before him—humans, all young males, lined up and undergoing transformations into, well all he could think of was 'something else'. Whichever way he turned he could see men his age were being outfitted with mechanical limbs, others had technology intricately woven onto weird shiny black body suits, still others were in varying stages of being processed into full cyborgs.

The horror gripped him; his instinct was to flee back to Eddie and both to get the hell out of there. But before he could move, cold metal hands grasped his shoulders with an iron grip. His heart sank as he was spun around to face what had caught him—a cyborg, its body a haunting hybrid of human and machine, expressionless yet totally menacing.

“Welcome," its voice an unsettling blend of tones, both mechanical whilst still eerily human. "Your arrival is opportune. Your integration process will commence shortly."

Panic surged through Jake as he struggled, but the cyborg's grip was unyielding. Despite putting up strong resistance, he was dragged towards one of the ominous stations. Glancing around, he noticed the other captives were not fighting; their eyes showed a haunting resignation, some flickering with the vague light of fear.

As he was forced onto what appeared to be a surgical table, Jake looked around frantically, hoping for any chance of escape. His heart raced as mechanical arms equipped with various tools whirred to life around him. 

In a split second metallic straps shot out from the surgical table and tightened around his limbs and across his torso, a sense of utter helplessness began to wash over him. His heart pounded hard against his chest. He desperately sought that extra bit of human strength that would allow him to escape. He struggled and struggled against the restraints, but the metal straps simply wouldn’t budge.

Stage one of his transformation was about to begin. From above a helmet descended slowly from the ceiling, its approach marked by an audible, mechanical whirring. Jake squinted upwards, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He was used to his bike helmet, but this was unworldly.

Two drones approached the surgical table Jake was strapped to and grabbed the helmet, which had opened up. One lifted his head slightly and the other slid the back of the helmet under the back of his head. As the helmet closed over his head, a claustrophobic fear gripped him. The world outside the helmet faded, leaving him in a confined sphere of existence. Almost immediately, an overwhelming barrage of white noise bombarded his ears, punctuated by low, droning hums that seemed to resonate through his bones.

Then, the visuals began on the inside of the visor. Spirals of colour appeared in front of his eyes, intertwining and unraveling in hypnotic patterns. Reds, blues, yellows and greens blended into a kaleidoscope that threatened to absorb his mind. Jake tried to close his eyes, but the images were inescapable, imprinted on the insides of his eyelids, searing themselves into his brain and more nefariously his subconsciousness. Almost as if recognising Jake was finally submitting the noise and visuals seemed to become amplified.

As the sensory overload continued, Jake felt a strange detachment creeping through him—a numbness that suggested the audio and visuals were beginning to take effect. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice screamed in terror and defiance, urging him to resist, urging him to hold on to his identity.

With a surge of willpower, Jake focused on that voice, blocking out the chaos threatening to engulf him. He concentrated on memories of standing in the stands watching the best riders in the world, the challenging rides with Eddie, the feel of his motorcycle, the wind against his leathers. He thought about his best mate Eddie and the fun they’d had. He thought about his family and his other friends. These human experiences, these emotional connections to his past life, became a lifeline to cling onto.

As Jake fought against the sensory bombardment, the helmet detected his resistance, It recalibrated its internal mechanisms in response to his defiance. Suddenly, the white noise in his ears shifted, morphing into a series of low, almost inaudible subliminal messages. Each word—"relax", "comply", "obey", "drone", "conform", "follow", "respect" could be heard—the words flashed across his vision, barely there long enough for conscious recognition, but deeply penetrating his subconscious.

The colours that swirled before his eyes intensified, becoming more vibrant and pulsating rhythmically, as if to synchronise with his own heartbeat. It was a sensory assault designed to break down the walls of the individual, to reshape his mind into something more compliant and obedient. Jake’s initial surge of resistance began to wane as mental exhaustion set in, the messages infiltrated deeper into his psyche, their insistence relentless and overpowering.

His eyes, once sharp with determination and fear, started to lose focus, the vibrant spirals turning into a soothing blur. The resistance in his muscles softened as his body began to accept the inevitability of his situation. His thoughts, those last bastions of his free will, were slowly suffocated under the warm, smothering blanket of compliance and security that the helmet now forced upon him.

With an audible click and a beep, the helmet sealed its final adjustment, signalling the completion of its preparatory phase. At this cue, the two drones, their movements precise and devoid of any hesitation, glided smoothly towards the table where Jake lay subdued. Their appendages were equipped with various tools and devices necessary for the transformation process.

The drones worked efficiently, attaching additional apparatus to Jake’s limbs and interfacing seamlessly with the helmet. As they initiated the physical transformation, Jake’s body was being prepared to receive bio-mechanical enhancements that would connect him irrevocably to The Hive which he learned was housed within the humongous building.

Somewhere in the dwindling recesses of his mind, the essence of who Jake once was—a biker with a love for the open road—flickered weakly. This essence watched as his limbs and muscle fibres were methodically integrated with synthetics and his nervous system was integrated with advanced circuitry. The process was both horrifying and fascinating to watch.

As the transformation progressed, Jake’s human senses were gradually overridden by electronic inputs. His vision, once clouded by the colourful spirals, now interfaced directly with data streams providing real-time analytics about his environment. His hearing was no longer filled with subliminal messages but was tuned to various frequencies beyond the range of human hearing.

By the time the transformation was complete, Jake, as he had been, no longer existed. In his place stood a new Jake, a cyborg, what was exclusively biological had been augmented with technology. The drones, recognising another successful integration, had begun to step back.

The new Jake climbed down from the surgical table to be guided by the two drones. He moved with a robotic precision that was both chilling and enthralling to witness. He was led to what looked like a modified dentist's chair, but larger and imposing. The chair had been upgraded and was fitted with numerous ports and circuitry interfaces. Without hesitation, he sat down, his actions appearing devoid of the personality that had once defined him.

He leaned back so that his head touched the headrest. The chair immediately sprang to life, adjusting to accommodate his new form. A second later the old Jake would have felt a light sensation on both sides of his head as what can only be described of as two metallic ear pieces, out of which came sets of wires slid into his ears and began to work. 

Somewhere, an echo of the old Jake could sense what was happening, words echoed around the room and in his head. Screens nearby flashed “accessing biological memories…beginning total erasure”. 

“NNNOOOOOOOO”, But even as the word was said, Jake’s relatively short lifetime of memories were disappearing, flashing before his eyes for a split second before evaporating into nothing - gone forever. 

Monitors next to the chair flashed “Memory Wipe successful,” again, the words echoed around the room. 

Any human observer in the room looking at new Jake’s face would describe it as passive, distant, dull, emotionless. Empty. His eyes were missing their human sparkle. 

Then the drone formerly known as Jake again felt another funny feeling in his ears, as if a static charge was coming out of the wire. Suddenly the screen flashed “Beginning Program Upload”… While that happened, nearby monitors flashed, “Emotional Centres being accessed”. 

“Installing Human Emotion Suppression Software”

“… 10%… 20%… 30%… 40%… 50%… 60%… 70%… 80%… 90%…  ”

“Human Emotions Suppression Software installed. Fully functional.”

The monitors flickered for a moment and then more text appeared, “Beginning Cyborg Program Upload”. The upload began. The Hive, a vast network of interconnected AI and data banks, started feeding a stream after stream of programming directly into Jake's brain. These were not merely instructions; they were directives that informed behaviour, dictated functions, and defined purpose.

For hours, data was input into him, a relentless torrent of information reshaping and repurposing him; any lingering traces of his previous humanity now completely overwritten. His eyes, once vibrant with youthful emotion, now displayed a steady, unblinking focus as the programming was embedded, ensuring his obedience and efficiency.

At the appropriate time the interface with the new Jake confirmed the programming had been successful. “Operating at 100%,” it said in an emotionless, synthetic voice. “Organic memories have been wiped. Emotional Suppression Software is fully functional. The new data and objectives have been successfully uploaded with zero errors”.

The chair returned to an upright position, and the new Jake stood once more. His movements were smooth, almost graceful, a stark contrast to the somewhat ‘cavalier’ sports biker he once was. He was a product of advanced technology, a being created to serve a purpose far beyond his previous human desires.

Approaching him now were two more drones, carrying items that symbolised his final transformation. They presented him with a set of Dainese bike leathers, not ordinary leathers but augmented to interface seamlessly with his cybernetic body. The leathers were equipped with sensors and conductive circuitry that could communicate directly with his system, enhancing his interaction with the Hive.

Then they presented him with a pair of white boots, larger to accommodate the modifications of his feet, designed not only for protection but also to enhance his connection to the ground and his bike. Gloves that reached up to his arms were fitted next, embedded with micro-circuitry to increase his grip and control.

Finally, they brought over a new crash helmet unlike any other. This helmet was his direct link to the Hive mind. It was designed to keep him constantly connected to the Hive's data stream.

As the helmet settled over his head, a subtle hum filled the air, signalling the activation of all its systems. The new Jake stood there, a figure of both awe and dread, transformed entirely from the young man who had once freely roamed the roads on his motorcycle.

Now equipped, Jake was led to a new motorcycle, one that matched his new form. To the casual observer it looked like a traditional bike that had been upgraded; integrated with technology that responded fluidly to his enhanced senses and capabilities. As he mounted the bike, the connection between man and machine was seamless, a perfect union crafted by the Hive’s sophisticated engineering.

The new Jake rode the highway on his futuristic bike, a sleek and menacing marvel of technology that effortlessly caught the eye of any enthusiast. Its design was unlike anything on the roads—sharp angles, glowing panels, and a subtle hum that hinted at its advanced capabilities. It was designed not just for speed and efficiency, but as a lure to attract exactly the kind of individuals the Hive sought to convert.

As he travelled along a popular bikers’ route known for its scenic views and biker cafes, he spotted his next targets. Two young bikers, probably in their twenties, had pulled over in a lay-by, their bikes parked as they enjoyed a brief pause in their riding, catching up on conversation and checking their mobile phones. The new Jake slowed down, looking at the two bikers oblivious to Jake’s presence, his connection to the Hive confirmed they would be perfect candidates for upgrade.

Pulling over smoothly, Jake dismounted his bike. His helmet's visor slid up as he approached them, revealing a face that was human enough to be relatable but enhanced subtly with metallic hints that suggested something more beneath the surface. 

"Hey," Jake called out, his voice modulated to be friendly and inviting. “Hey there. Not seen you riding ‘round here before.”

The two young bikers, intrigued by the stranger and his extraordinary bike, smiled and walked over. “What is that you’re riding? It looks like it’s straight out of a sci-fi movie. What is that?" one of them asked, his curiosity piqued.

The new Jake chuckled, a sound perfectly calibrated to put others at ease. He needed to win their trust so began to make conversation with them. "It’s a custom build from a place not too far from here. They’re experimenting with some next-gen and EV tech. You guys interested in seeing where something like this comes from?"

The offer was tempting. The allure of advanced technology and the chance to see more bikes like Jake’s was too good to pass up for any avid biker. The young men exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them before they nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, definitely,” the other replied. “We’ll follow you!"

Jake smiled and nodded, turning back to his bike. As they put their helmets on and started their engines, a part of Jake’s programming confirmed the successful engagement of two targets. He led the way, riding at a pace that was thrilling yet careful to keep his new followers comfortably in tow.

The journey took them away from the familiar routes into less traveled roads, the scenery shifting subtly as they moved closer to facility where he had been transformed. The two bikers were unaware of the true nature of their destination, caught up in the thrill of the ride and the excitement of seeing advanced motorcycle tech.

After some time, they arrived at the vast building that looked more like a huge distribution centre than a motorcycle manufacturing factory. The gates opened automatically as Jake approached, a silent signal of his authority and belonging.

Jake signalled for the other two bikers to do follow him down a roadway between two buildings. Jake brought his bike to a stop, opened his visor and announced, ”we are here.” The other two brought their bikes to a stop, dismounted and removed their helmets.

Jake walked forwards into the huge building just ahead of them; the two other bikers looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders and followed. They would ingress through a different route compared to the one Eddie and Jake entered.

The space inside they walked into was clean and modern, filled with prototypes and machines that made the two young bikers' eyes widen in awe.

"This is incredible!" one of the exclaimed, walking closer to inspect a particularly sleek model that caught his eye. "How do you get in on this?"

Jake's response was calculated, his tone still friendly but now carrying an undercurrent of persuasion. "Well, there's actually a selection process. Part of why I brought you here. If you're interested, there’s a quick tour and some tests to see if you're compatible with the tech."

Excited and completely unaware of the implications, the two young men agreed eagerly, following Jake deeper into the facility. As they walked, the doors behind them closed silently, the outside world receding as they moved further into the realm of the Hive.

Little did they know, their fascination with bikes and the temptation of combining their love of biking and dreams of futuristic bikes had led them into a trap. This walk would be their last as mere humans, as they stepped unknowingly into the next phase of their lives dictated by The Hive's needs.

=========

Oh, are you wondering what happened to Eddie? As you might have expected The Hive detected his presence and determined a new purpose for him, but that’s another story.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Springtime Caresses

IV. Dadstarion, but he's only just figuring that one out.

Good things were happening to Astarion, at least on occasion. It had taken him years to accept that, to trust that his luck wasn’t about to run out at any given moment; to believe that he was worthy of whatever goodness came his way. And things were good, so very good—the Elven woman trancing in his arms was all the proof he needed, was she not? It was thanks to her magic woven into the protective canvas of their tent that he could feel the late morning sun warm his skin. It was her graceful body entangled with his that anchored him to a present worth living, having him excited for the future. It was her heartbeat echoing through his hollow bones that called him back from unwanted dreams, filling the refuge that was their worn tent with the only sound of life that truly mattered to him. It was his favourite melody in all the realms, one he could pick out in the densest of crowds; a tune he knew by his undead heart. And that was why he was still lying awake long past dawn today, holding his breath, listening. Wondering.

What was this faint, fluttering sound rippling through him where Tav’s bare chest pressed against his own?

For nearly half a century Tav’s heart had been singing for Astarion by now, and he took great pride and care in memorising each of her songs. Every piece in his collection was a personal favourite: the steady hum accompanying peaceful nights spent in each other's arms. The giddy pulsing of excitement whenever they were run out of town for a misdeed they might or might not have committed. The urgent pounding of her heart racing him through the throes of passion…But this strange off-tune beat disturbing his rest now, that one was odd—that one was new.

Astarion couldn’t say when he’d first noticed the unfamiliar sound. It might have been there all night, perhaps even longer; it mingled so subtly with his beloved’s heartbeat that it was easy enough to miss—especially when he’d been distracted by all those divine seductions Tav’s body offered him well into the early morning hours. She had tasted so intoxicatingly sweet with his fangs and cock buried deep inside her; the heels of her feet digging into the small of his back, greedily drawing him closer—deeper—as her blood rushed through him, and her legs and cunt had made the framework that was his entire world. It was ridiculously easy for him to lose himself in Tav. She was the one constant in his existence, the dance to which he could anticipate every next move. But now that his hunger for her was sated for the night, and Tav’s heartbeat had calmed into the gentle whisper of slumber, this novel symphony was deafening in Astarion’s sensitive ears. He wet his lips that still tasted of sweet, darling Tav.

Once, Astarion had been very good at ignoring things. It had been a skill long honed, perfected over centuries—how easily had he been able to just close his eyes, turn his back on the ignorant fools sleeping next to him? It had been such a well-rehearsed dance; him knowing what horrors were about to unfold, how irrevocably a life would change. But, night after night, it hadn’t been his life-changing, and so it had been of no consequence to him. Now, though, it was Tav he watched over as she tranced; whom he’d embraced for so many nights and yet not nearly enough. It was her soft, warm breath caressing his skin, making it impossible for him to unhear, let alone ignore, that ominous sound entrancing him. The moment Astarion had acknowledged the lingering change, it had settled in the thus far unoccupied space between him and his beloved. Already, Astarion could feel it deep in his bones—a shift in his world—and for the first time in many many years, he did not quite know what beat he was to dance to. And so the vampire spawn did what he was wont to do: He watched the even rise and fall of Tav’s bosom, filling his empty lungs with air. Slowly, he breathed in and out, tried and failed imitating that melody that was undeniably Tav and yet, somehow, more.

Very slowly it dawned on Astarion, then. How hadn’t it occurred to him before? It would be impossible for him to fall into that familiar, steady rhythm of Tav’s heartbeat this morning because where there had been one heart beating against his chest for all these years, there were now undeniably two.

Astarion’s useless breath caught in his throat. They’d known it was possible; it had been the probability of it all they’d doubted. And yet, here they were. The vampire spawn stared at the elf in his arms. There had been signs, Astarion realised as he reached for the small hand resting on his ribcage, grounding himself. Now that his world was shaking, he could see all the pieces fall into place. Didn’t Tav tire untypically fast lately, while her trances kept her from him well into the evening hours? And didn’t she smell different, too; taste even sweeter? She’d been changing right under his nose, had she not? He couldn’t even recall when he’d last indulged in her moonblood as he watched a well of memories flutter behind Tav’s eyelids. Her pink lips were slightly parted, brushing the gentlest of kisses against his skin as loose strands of her lustrous hair tickled his chin. She was glowing with life, and Astarion couldn’t help but wonder: did she know? Because, to him, it was suddenly clear as day that something had come alive between them—or rather half-alive, Astarion supposed.

Or half-dead, a mean little voice countered inside his head. 

Careful not to rouse his beloved from her trance, Astarion slowly untangled himself from Tav’s embrace, feeling at once cold at the absence of her touch. Kneeling next to her, Astarion gently placed Tav’s head on the pillow, brushed a stray lock from the face he could recognise blind. Crimson eyes wandered over Tav’s slight form—lean limbs and restless hands; a traveller’s body that rarely saw the sun. A body that could be better fed and more well rested. A body that could be stronger—a vessel that needed to be stronger for the unnatural presence it held. Deep within him, in a place that had lain dormant for many blissful years, Astarion could feel fear and shame settle. Nothing good tended to come of a union made flesh between mortals and monsters. There was a reason dhampirs were this rare; there was a reason mothers to dhampir children were even rarer. The strain of bearing life from death was too great—and it was entirely Astarion’s fault. But what was he to do? Could anything be done about this…predicament, now? All Astarion knew was that he couldn’t bear seeing Tav suffer; wasn’t she paying such a high price for his affliction already?

But Tav didn’t look like she was suffering, not now and not ever. Astarion scoffed at the discontented frown carved between her eyebrows as her hand searched blindly for his, only relaxing when he laced his cold fingers with hers. It was true, Tav was a little pale and her body bore all the signs of a future that had thus far been unwritten. And yet, now that Astarion bent over her, he could see the slight swell of her belly, the firmness of her breasts and recognise them for what they were. Tav was nothing if not resilient, always believing—knowing—that good things came their way. Had she ever given him reason to doubt her?

Carefully, Astarion rested his cheek below Tav’s navel, and there it was—the epicentre of their future, fluttering against his ear as if Tav had swallowed a little bird. He listened closely to the two heartbeats and tried to learn the intricacies of this new song. The sharp ends of Astarion’s fangs pierced his lower lip as he smiled widely against Tav’s belly. For nearly fifty years he and Tav had made love, and now love had eventually made something in return. But it had only just begun, hadn’t it? There was much to consider. They would have to settle down somewhere; being out in the wilderness, going town to town—it wouldn’t do any longer. They needed a safe place where Tav could gather as much strength as possible, a place where their child could thrive. They needed a home. Everything else would fall into place, surely…

There was another change in Tav’s heartbeat, signalling that she’d woken. It only took a second for her free hand to ghost over Astarion’s arm, his shoulders and the nape of his neck before it found its way into his dishevelled curls.

“What are you smiling about?” Tav asked, a sleepy curiosity laced in her voice that made Astarion look up at her face. He wondered again whether she knew of that second heart beating inside her or not, but Tav was a shit liar, and worse at keeping secrets—unlike Astarion.

He considered her a moment longer before he lifted his head off her middle and laid back beside her. Tav hummed contently as he pulled her against him, resuming their earlier position as if nothing had changed. “Just about how pathetically in love I am with you, and how my love for you only grows each day.” 

“Oh, just the usual then,” Tav yawned against his chest, mirroring his smile. “Nothing grand.”

She didn’t know, Astarion was sure of it. And he wouldn’t say anything, not at all. Tav would notice the change in herself soon enough, but for now, it was their secret—Astarion and the little life’s he’d discovered within her. “Nothing grand at all, my dear. Nothing grand at all.”

A good thing was happening to him; he could hear and taste it, feel it grow right there where Tav’s bare chest pressed against his—but who was he to keep that to himself?

“Darling,” Astarion blurted out. “How do you like Baldur’s Gate around…let’s say early Spring, I suppose?”

more Dadstarion content

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[horror-aesthete]

Hatching (Pahanhautoja), 2022, dir. Hanna Bergholm

[ikarust]

i talk about tearing flesh from an arm with my teeth and you stare at me in horror like you haven't tasted blood before. i talk about being crushed like a small animal on a fast lane and you ask me how it's humanly possible of me to cling to the stone of the sidewalk the way i do. my mother could skin her hands at the sink and it would still not rid her from the truth that is that she has fed me her body and that she is convict to the manslaughter of her child.

quick question: how does one write about their mother without mentioning their mother? mine is a fortune teller. she tells me in the dead of the night while i am on the kitchen floor with the boning knife in one hand and and a towel in the other that i will never be loved right. that i will never find real love. that i will always suffer if i look for it.

mother knows best.

she tells me she destroyed herself for me and that i am selfish and cruel for not destroying myself for her. she begs me to be beautiful. she begs me to be the daughter she wanted to have. my friend tells me on the swing on a beautiful springtime evening that i am selfish and cruel for devouring every little piece of every damn thing that has ever tasted like love to me. and when i go home in the evening, my mother looks at me like she did the night she told me she wishes she'd killed me when i was a child. i tell everyone i am starving. my mother tells me she told me so.

i stare at the red in the ball of spit i hawked onto the bathroom floor. i retouch the scars on my thighs. i hack away at my hair with the big crafting scissors. i pray to god that i will wake up tomorrow beautiful and loveable. i wake up the same way. my mother tells me to never come back when i step out to leave for work. i tell her i am trying my best but nothing is working. she tells me she told me so. she tells me she's glad to see me in pain because i deserve it.

maybe i do deserve it.

i visit a clothing store and step into the fitting room just to see the way i am reflected back and forth in the front-and-back mirrors. i look and i see a morbid, mangled ruin the greatest what-could-have-been of all time. and by that i mean, i see a million possibilities in one. all the girls i could have been. and at the very center, where the image gets so small it's blurry and barely visible maybe i am beautiful. maybe i am loveable. maybe i find real love and maybe i don't suffer for it.

maybe i am the daughter my mother wanted.

[blood-orange-juice]

There's already Fantasy Russia doomposting, let's have Fantasy Russia wishes too!

We have Balkan and Greek references in the game, so no need to restrict yourself to Russian Empire. Go ham. I'll start.

Name change. Please. It's so cringe currently.

A world quest chain based on Bazhov's tales (miners' folklore mixed with Ural and Slavic fae stories). Non-negotiable.

Trains and trams. Do I even need to say it?

TRDLO. Look at it. Look at it. We can have Western Slavs too and if there's no trdlo I'll riot:

(for the US people reading this: it's a sweet pastry cooked on metal rods over coals, popular street food in Prague, although it was originality Hungarian. eating it on a cold day is an Experience)

Frozen lake sounds, they sound a bit like whalesong.

Sami people. Finnish references in general.

Childe's family's side of his story.

A tired playwright bullied by censors.

Sirin and Alkonost birds! Half-birds half-humans who could put you to sleep or kill you with a song.

A black cat called Behemoth. iykyk.

Pulcinella as an Alexander II reference ("ruling Snezhnaya is not hard but it's pointless").

A giant bridge over a harbour.

Greenhouses. Just giant greenhouses.

Some steppes. A girl can hope.

Bog.

A springtime area near the sea with rhododendrons in bloom.

Space program. If Natlan can be modern then Snezhnaya can have space program. We are going to the moon to poke at a dead goddess (now where have I seen that... hm).

Cyberpunk and medical horror.

Pantalone's Ayn Rand era.

Atonal music.

Linguists.

An ice skating mechanic.

I'm assuming that Soviet adaptation of The Snow Queen (one of the things that inspired Miyazaki to draw) is a given, so here's an obligatory mention.

And, the last but not the least, 6 nations coalition army entering Snezhnaya for humanitarian help after the country falls apart on its own.

Hoyo, please. Allow us to have nice things at least sometimes.

[skittlesfics]

something soft

name: something soft

pairing: Joel Miller x gn!Reader

word count: 1212

summary: Settling down in Jackson has given you and Joel back a lot of things.

content/warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, established relationship, Jackson!Joel, vague references to outbreak difficulties, unbetad

author's note: OMG, so I have been writing Joel fics/Pedro character fics for over a year now and have been too much of a coward to actually post anything. I decided to finally suck it up and join an event so that I was forced to post. This is a valentine for @beskarandblasters . Hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. -

Joel’s hand was warm where it wrapped around your ankle, his thumb stroking idly at the skin just below the joint as he turned to the next page of his book. It was a large-type Western that you had looted from an old library as a joke – but one that he became more appreciative of as the strain of years on alert made it harder and harder to focus on smaller script at night.

Many things were different now that you were settled into Jackson proper, but this was definitely one of your favorites.

Quiet moments out on the road meant that Joel was planning your next move or that all three of you were gathering energy for whatever horror was to come next. There was no space for leisure or relaxation in that quiet, even if there were rare moments of levity dappled into the shadows of survival. Here, though, in Jackson, you were both learning to let the quiet in.

Joel pushed his thumb into your ankle a little harder, just enough to pull you out of your reverie. Those memories were a dangerous path that you both had trodden too many times; He could see the spiral starting in your expression even before you knew it was there. When you lifted your eyes to meet his gaze, he smiled, sliding the bookmark Ellie had drawn for him as a Christmas gift into place. (Holidays were another thing that Jackson had given back to the three of you.) You let your eyes get drawn to the sketch of the astronaut floating over something that vaguely resembled the moon. I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down!

“Got something to show you, if you’re amenable.” He said after setting the book down carefully on the fraying arm of the couch. His voice was rich and low, thick with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes seeking something in yours. If you didn’t know any better, you might have said that Joel Miller was nervous.

You couldn’t hold back your own soft smile, swinging one leg off of Joel’s lap in an attempt to sit up. He held onto your other ankle for a moment, tracing idle circles into your flesh with his thumb before realizing his error and releasing you.

You sat up and bookmarked your own novel. Well Read Mother Clucker is what yours said, with a drawing of what you supposed must be yourself as a chicken. “I suppose I’m amenable.” You answered, nudging his shoulder as you stretched to loosen your taught muscles.

He huffed, fond smile still crooked on his lips, and stood.

“You stay right here and close those pretty eyes. Give me a minute.” He commanded. He pushed himself up with an audible complaint from his knees, a soft grunt marking the effort in the motion that he had hidden from you for so long before Jackson. You bit back your giggle, letting him believe that the sound blended in with the staccato crackles from the wood in the fireplace.

With your eyes closed, you tried to map Joel’s path through the room. You could hear his footsteps leading away towards the kitchen, the board next to the dining table groaning in protest. He didn’t say it, but you could already hear his grumble. Gotta fix that come springtime. That was a new thing in Jackson as well, planning for the future in this one place. Building a home. The thought brought a warmth to your chest that distracted you from his next movements.

Firelight danced behind your eyelids, and you let yourself sink back into the couch, shifting into the pocket of warmth Joel had abandoned as you heard him open a cabinet door. It creaked only slightly – the China cabinet perhaps? You wondered if he had finally listened to your complaints about chipped plates and managed to loot something whole to eat off of. Or maybe he’d managed to find another bag of stale coffee out there somewhere to replenish your dwindling supply. Practicalities that felt like luxuries.

Joel didn’t leave you waiting long. You followed the path of his footsteps back to you, tilting your head towards him even with your eyes closed. He leaned in and pressed a soft, warm kiss against your forehead, reaching out to cup your cheek before straightening again and placing something on the coffee table in front of you with a heavy clunk. The plates then?

“You can open.” He said, sinking into the seat you had abandoned in pursuit of his warmth. “It’s not much, but…”

You weren’t sure if he trailed off or if your brain simply stopped processing sound as you opened your eyes to reveal a small red crock speckled with white and black spots. There was a clumsy ribbon tied out of strips of sun-bleached red fabric from God-knows-where around it, but inside. Delicate, carefully crafted roses were arranged in an explosion of natural wood tones. If it weren’t for the colors, they would have appeared lifelike, almost. You reached out, carefully stroking one of the petals. It was nearly translucent, but undoubtably wood. He had made them.

When you looked over at him it was through watery eyes. He was watching you, expression impassive, betrayed only by the slightest quirk at the edge of his mouth.

“You made these?” You asked, breathless.

“’s hard to get fresh flowers in February up here.” He explained with a shrug, like that explained it. Like it hadn’t taken hours of painstaking labor to shave each individual petal out of wood that he had cut down and prepared with his own hands. Like he hadn’t filled your heart to bursting.

He opened his arms and you slid into his lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders and squeezing tight, like he might try to get away. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as you rained kisses across his face, one large hand finding your hip and resting there, the other finding your chin to pull you in and kiss you properly. It was a slow kiss, soft and reverent, like he wanted to memorize the press of your lips against his, the soft sigh you let out against his mouth, the way your body relaxed into the warmth of him.

“They’re beautiful, Joel, they’re everything.” You whispered finally, dropping your head down to rest against his strong shoulder.

“They’re alright.” He deflected, cradling you against his chest, “Next Valentine’s Day, I’ll get you something nicer.”

It struck you then, the date. Another thing that Jackson had given back to you was a calendar to go by. You hadn’t gotten used to tracking the days as the passed yet, more focused on the weather than a number. But of course Joel would notice, especially after he saw what Christmas had done for you and for Ellie. Valentine’s Day here, after the end of the world.

You burrowed your face into the warm cotton of his shirt, knowing that he would feel the wetness of your happy tears against his chest and not caring. He held you there, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. Something simple, something soft, something yours.

[epitomereally]

H/D Erised 2024 fic claim: Pillar of Salt

by epitomereally // E // ~62k

From the lake in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco knows three things: 1. Mirror universes exist, and he’s going to find the best one—the one where he did the right thing. 2. Harry Potter and him are awfully cosy in some of these other universes, whereas Potter in real life is starting to act very odd around him indeed. 3. Draco’s reflection—the mirror version of him, the worst version of him—seems to be growing crueler. And stronger.

Surprising probably no one, I decided to write a horror fic for Christmas, and was enabled by a cabal of demons in the mirror (love you all): @sleepstxtic for the incredible alpha advice, midnight dms, and cheering, @bettsfic—this was my first time working with betts and it was so incredible working with a coach, will do a full rebloggable write-up in the future, promise—@mourningmountainsbindery who encouraged me through some of the darkest times of writing this and who caught my bad british-isms, and @citrusses who relentlessly forged through my run-on sentences and forced me to think about which ones were me being lazy vs. which ones were essential. Thank you SO MUCH.

Thank you to my fellow co-mods @nv-md and @thehoneybeet. It was insanity to try to write a 60k fic and mod at the same time, and you both saved my skin more times than I can count.

And lastly, thank you to my incredible giftee @agentmoppet. Your sign-up and your works have always been & continue to be a treasure trove of inspiration. I am so grateful to have gotten to write this for you and THANK YOU for accepting a Christmas horror fic with open arms. I was extremely nervous hitting that submit button (I hadn't originally intended to write horror when I started writing, but the muse took me where it willed!). Your lovely words while reading meant the world to me.

A snippet:

Draco should’ve known: the second he discovered the lake, Potter would take to it like a dog to a bone. It might’ve taken him a month, but now Potter won’t stop looking at Draco.

Potter won’t stop staring and it’s making Draco want to lash out. It’s making Draco want to tear out of all Potter’s stupid long sooty eyelashes. It’s making Draco want to claw his fingers into those stupid springtime eyes, dig his fingers in and pop them like grapes.

Draco tells himself it’s not about what he said in Potions class the day before, that it’s not pity. But how could it not be, with Draco’s stupid mouth and stupid brain running away from him and saying something as imbecilic as I wanted Harry Potter to notice me. It’s not even true. Draco knows it’s not true, because now Harry Potter is noticing him and it fucking sucks.