#starvation is real and a man who is starving to death such that he is almost insane will do astonishing things for food

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I am convinced the only possible way to be happy is to have absolutely no sense of the self or of one's own needs or desires

But the problem that I keep hitting upon is, there is a certain amount of food you need to live. There is a certain amount of oxygen you need to live. No amount of zen indifference to your surroundings is going to keep you alive in the vacuum of space.

Is there some baseline of emotional well-being you need to have even to begin to abandon your sense of self yet continue to live? If depression is an excessive self-regard or self-obsession, is the problem that you have your legitimate needs met but you don't know, or you have your legitimate needs met but selfishly want more, or could your heightened self-awareness actually be caused by a legitimate problem, in the same way that you can be hyper aware of your leg because your leg is actually broken

[ukranianacearo]

"Mother", a strong word

Part 2 Part 3

F!reader

Word count: almost 4k

Mention of Innocent zero's real name.

Tw: Mentions of starvation, enslavement (like what Russian empire did to Ukrainians back in 18-19th centuries), mentions of blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of birth, harrasing, and attempts at SA and I think that's all. Please, do inform me if you see more.

Pairing: romantically there's none, but reader has to marry Innocent zero.

Genre(?): angst.

Tags: @aiscreamcake (I thought you would be interested)

Author's note: This has been rotting in my brain for over a week and @fellow-anime-weeb927 post only strengthened this lol. Sorry for any mistakes, I didn't recheck it before posting and English isn't my first language. More under cut.

---------------------------------------

Escaping the empire would be dangerous and risky. But even death would be better than what you had to endure. Your nation has been occupied and enslaved by another nation for centuries already, poisoning your people's minds, destroying your culture and language and killing those who were against the system. You weren't a person. At least wasn't considered one. Your lord, the one who owned your family, was a cruel man. Not only towards you and your family, but even to his own kids and his ill wife. When times got tough even for him, you were only 5. His wife's condition worsened, she got bedridden; there even was talks about her possible death. It was the first time he tried forcing himself on you. Fortunately for you, you escaped. Times got worse with the arrival of international market. Selling got worse and so did your family's condition. Your lord paid less and less, to the point where your family starved for days, sometimes even weeks. The first to die was your youngest brother; he was only 3 years old when he died of starvation, you were 6. Two months later, your mother died. The same cause, the same ground buried her. There has started to run rumors about the lord marrying you, since his wife will die soon and he had kids to take care of. Your father had no say in it, after all, you and your family are nothing more, but his property.

You were 7, your oldest brother died at the age of 17. He too, died of starvation. After a few months, your last brother died, at the age of 16. You and your father were devastated, but you only could bury your brother next to your other two brother and your mother. One of the days, you heard your lord talking with his friends about some ships taking people to another land, to another country. But, it was really risky, you could die from any cause there; not that it mattered to you, you could never even imagine having the money to buy tickets for you and your father. So you just continued working. A year passed, then another and now you're 9. One of the evenings, your father didn't come back and you started worrying. You had nowhere to go and seek him, but the lord's house. When you arrived at the door of the house, it was open and you could see your father and the lord talking about something. While trying to focus on what they were saying, you leaned slightly against the door, making sure it didn't move nor made any sound. It was muffled, but you could understand that they were discussing your marriage with the lord. Your father tried to reason that you were just too young for the lord, you only 9, after all. But the lord didn't care.

That day, you lost your father and killed your lord. That day was also the second time your lord trying to force himself on you.

You buried your father next to the graves of your family members the best you could. It was the middle of the night and lord's kids were sleeping in their respective homes, since most of them were old enough to have it. Not caring about lord's dead corpse laying on the floor of his house, you took the money there was; you didn't know how much a ticket to the other country would cost, but even if you had more than needed, it was better to have more than less.

...

The travel wasn't pleasant at all, but you finally was here. Most people at the port called it The Magic Empire. You didn't know if it was because there was actually magic and people could use it without being punished or if it was because people's dreams and wishes would be satisfied. Noticing that many people had some lines on their faces, you didn't want to stick out so you decided to use your necklace. Clenching it in your hand you increased the zone affected by it. Feeling their magic power being stored in the necklace, you changed the course and way of the magic in the necklace to create an illusion of a mark similar to the people around you. As you put the hood of medieval cloak on your head, you start going in the city; the cloak covering your figure completely, hiding the broken clothes you wore; a pair of pants and a T-shirt.

...

In the past 5 months you lived in the Magic Realm, as people from here called it. You were fortunate enough to know the language that people speak here, since you learned it from a dictionary someone threw out while you were still living in your home country. But, life was still challenging, of course. Although, 'challenging' would be an underrating. This realm worked such as higher your magic power - higher your status. So, you had to lie, to live a lie; you didn't have your own magic, you only could use or manipulate magic that you 'stole' with the necklaces. If you stole it by defeating a person, that person's magic was copied by one of the necklaces, and if you 'stole' it by just increasing the area that was under the necklaces' cancellation of magic, you could use a person's magic for as long as they were in the area + a certain amount of time after they were out. In these past month you have worked as anything you could: cleaning people's shoes, selling newspaper, running errands for people, etc... You did your best and most of the errands were done perfectly, and your employers were satisfied with your work, paying you a bonus every now and then. You tried to save as much as possible while still eating something at least once a day. Your plan was to go to a middle magic school, but to do so you would need to deceive many people and even the government, so that they could think that you had actually alive parents, at least. For that, you would need to defeat someone who possessed a mind controlling power and you only had three years to do so: that's when middle school start.

...

It was easier than you thought. That boy really thought he could use you as a punching bag, but ironically, he was the one laying on the cold and dusty ground. Now, you're one step closer to succeeding.

...

This mind controlling magic was actually something. You carefully created a well written story for your play, the realm your stage and everyone the audience. The school you wanted to go accepted you, just like you planned. And thus, the played started.

...

No one has suspected a thing. Which feels kind of weird. But you decide to continue the show, there's nothing else to do.

...

The middle school was good, it had bedrooms for every pair of students, a kitchen and many more things. Just a perfect entrance of a grand show.

...

Few years past by, and it's time to decide the academy where you'll go. There were three options, the ones that will appreciate the show. Easton Magic Academy, Walkis Magic Academy and Saint Ars Holy Magic Academy; in Saint Ars, rules are most important thing and rule breakers are punished harshly. Definitely not for you: you would be considered a criminal at this point. Walkis focused only on strength which is also not the best, tho this academy produced the most divine visionaries at this point. So, you're left with Easton Magic academy.

...

The entrance exam was pretty easy. After that you were assigned to the Orca dorm. Not bad. You can work with this.

...

Eyes. No matter where you went, they followed you, like the hunting past. Were you in class, in the kitchen, training or even in the deep past, you remember eyes following you like a predator. When you were in middle magic academy, you didn't have time to ponder about it at all. Nor when you were doing errands for someone to earn extra money. Sometimes, when you tried to look at the one who was the person with such intense curiosity, you only saw white hair of a passerby, who you guessed was your classmate. Trying to follow that person was impossible, it's like they disappeared the moment you approached the place where magic lingered the most. It haunted you. You had a guess who it was, but with no evidence, you could do nothing, but try to be careful around that person. Cyril Marcus. He was the only one who had those long white locks. And his magic... Rather he used basic spells or his personal time magic or even if he didn't use any at all, you could always sense that difference between his magic and the magic of other people. When a person's potential is great in terms of magic, you can sense their magic differently. But this scared you very much. Even if you knew that your necklaces worked on him as well, you were scared. Better treat a gun as a loaded gun and not as a non loaded one. He seemed much eager to fight against you in the tournament for divine visionaries' candidates.

...

Your fight against him just ended. You won. After all, he was nothing without his magic. But, in your opinion, he was more testing you than fighting you. Right now, it was break time before continuing with the tournament. As you sat on one of the couches in the room, you clenched the necklace in your hand. The other three core necklaces were still deep inside your skin, in the same spot, even after all these years. The square body of the necklaces had some difficult artistic style. You still couldn't figure out which one exactly, but it resembled the baroque style very much. The black hook that was on one of the edges of every body wasn't as delicate as it seemed, just like the black chain that went through it, embracing your neck loosely.

-"You seemed so brave out there, but look at you now." - You snapped your head towards him, the look of shock on your face making him chuckle. His mocking tone didn't help, as it made you more uncomfortable. But you were used to the feeling, so you didn't let it show just like always. - "Don't look at me like that, it makes me think that you didn't expect me." - Deciding to play safe you calmed down your expression to a neutral one and let go of the necklace.

- "What do you want?" - There was no need for chit chat, especially between you two. You two weren't on bad terms exactly, but you weren't friends either. Still, your suspicion about him being the person who stalks you was present on your mind.

- "You're so straightforward, as always."

- "It's better to save the time and energy used to talk about nothing." - As you crossed you arms across your chest while Cyril smiled in that typical sly smile, although to you, it looked more like a smirk.

- "This...show that you play in front of everyone is quite the spectacle. I must admit, it took me a while to see the truth."

- "What are you talking about?" - In this type of situations it's better to play dumb. You couldn't afford for the show to end just yet. It would be a fiasco. Anyway, how did he figure it out? Has he been stalking you for so long just because of that? You made sure he couldn't see your thoughts on your face.

- "Don't play dumb. We both know what I'm talking about. At first I thought you were just a 'Disgraceful Mage', just to find out later that you are magicless. I must admit, your cover is good enough to make me think about you and your magic for quite the years. This fight in particular has confirmed my suspicion. Your necklace isn't just an accessory, am I right?" - His words froze you as he pointed at your necklace. The situation got to the point where you couldn't just deny your way out.

- "It would have been better if you continued thinking that I was a 'Disgraceful Mage'..." - You mumbled, making Cyril look at you with a curious smirk. - "What do you want from me? You wouldn't be here just to talk with me, would you?" - You tried to stay calm, but it was the first time someone saw past your costume. Instead of the character in the play, he saw the actor. You already realized why he was going in circles while fighting. He was out of the zone affected by the necklace, so he still could see magic power. Truly, that potential you saw in him would be enough to end your show.

- "Don't worry that much, I wouldn't want for the show to end just yet. After all, you could call me the most loyal fan of your spectacle. Who else would sit and watch it, while seeing your true form and not the character's?" - It was as is he read your thoughts with magic, although it was impossible, your necklace still worked around you. - "I don't mind your magicless nature, but what about others?" - He slowly walked closer and sat on the couch in front of you - "I'm sure you know they wouldn't accept you if they knew, otherwise you wouldn't be putting this good of a performance. How convenient that I have just the offer for you, wouldn't you say so? You see, I plan on becoming the perfect human, but for that I need to find more knowledge and strong allies."

- "What do I have to do with all of that?" - The palms of your hands have started sweating, but you still somehow managed to act calm enough. Hearing your words, Cyril smirked slyly and put his leg on the other.

- "We both know that magic users tend to rely very much on magic - myself included - and you're someone who shifts their situation a lot with just a lift of your hand. Or even without it. As years went on, you taught yourself to manipulate that necklace very well. When the time will come, I want you to join my association and plan. Of course, I, on my end, will make sure the government won't get you." - It was tempting, but the actor can't just disappear from the stage, it wouldn't be fair. You clenched your left wrist with your hand as you looked at him a bit troubled, trying to stay calm. Seeing your hesitation, Cyril chucked. - "Don't worry. I will give you time to think about it. But when I'll come for an answer, I hope you'll have it." - He said as he got up, walking towards the door in his usual slow and elegant way. You wanted to answer, say at least something. But it felt as if the words got stuck in your throat, sinking in your stomach, leaving you alone with your thoughts haunting you, trying to come up with something, anything. - "So long, dear actress." - He left the room as the voice of a commentator announced the break time over. You were left alone, looking at the floor while your thoughts got to you. How could you afford such a mistake? Your performance was supposed to be perfect, without even the slightest flaw. Clenching the necklace you tried not to let emotions get the best of you. Even if there was a break between the acts, the actor shouldn't forgot that they're an actor. People are supposed to only see the character that they portrait, not the person behind it. One person in the audience saw the actor as they are, but that shouldn't matter. Especially when the person continues to watch the show peacefully.

...

- "Tell me, Cell war," - You started while watching your 'son' in the tank, or better say, in an incubator. Cell war, who was a creation of Innocent zero, turned to look at you patiently, waiting for you to continue. In the past years, Cyril Innocent zero really weird choice of name got to know that for achieving his goal to become "The Perfect Human", he needed six hearts of blood related family. That's how you got to this scene of the show. The audience changed, but the actor and that one specific person stayed the same people, probably. He mixed his DNA with your to create a life. You promised yourself that no matter what, your 'sons' won't live as bad or even worse than you; you would not allowe it as long as you breathe. - "How do you feel about his plan?"

- "If it's something 'father' wants, then it should be done."

...

- "You shouldn't be up this late." - You said in a scolding voice while standing behind the four young boys that stood outside your bedroom door.

- "Mother!" - They four said in unison, as they turned around to look at you. Fanim and Delisaster immediately went to hug you by your legs, since they didn't reach any higher yet, while Doom and Epidem stood by your sides taking your hands in theirs. They all seemed very exited and happy to see you again.

- "We wanted to see you the day you came back from this mission, so we stayed up." - Doom explained in a shy manner. You patted their heads as you hummed, giving a sign of acknowledgement.

- "That's very sweet of you, boys. But you shouldn't lose sleep just because of me. Sleep is fundamental for your health." - You answered in a caring voice, you truly couldn't be angry at them for long. Hearing your words, they looked between each other and then all looked at you.

- "But, mother is also very important for our health." - Delisaster started.

- "You train and play with us." - Doom continued.

- "You don't get angry at us for the slightest mistake and explain everything that we ask you to." - then Fanim continued.

- "And you give us all kinds of sweets." - Epidem finished. You were shocked. All of them were still so young, but understood so much. It wasn't uncommon in your experience, many kids you knew from the streets when you were younger had to grow up too soon - yourself included. But these four boys didn't live that life. Your best guess was that they were so aware of everything because of Innocent zero, their father. You smiled softly at them as you hugged them all.

- "What would I do without you guys, hm?" - They basked in your attention. - "But you gotta go to sleep now, it's already late." - Hearing that they whined in unison, but obeyed and you guided them to their rooms.

...

- "Did you see mother?" - Delisaster asked Doom, as the later was sharpening his sword. The former couldn't find you for a while now and he really wanted to show you one his new tricks with his pole arms.

- "Did you not know yet? She fell into a coma." - Doom tried to act as calm as possible, but in reality he was devastated. The fact that you just fainted out of nowhere wasn't positive at all, especially for the sons. There was no logical explanation for this and no one could figure it out. The ones who were probably affected the least were Domina and Mash, who were still too young to understand it. The room fell into silence's embrace as Delisaster tried to process the devastating information he just learned.

...

- "Domina, you should be useful. That's what mother and I would want. You understand, right?" - His sly tone of voice echoed in the small dark room that could barely be called a bedroom. He stood in front of Domina, looking at the small boy from his height. - "We must do it so that mother can wake up. Do you want her to wake up? Domina."

- "Yes, father." - The small boy looked pitiful. His pink-ish hair was cut just above his shoulders with bangs covering his eyebrows. He was just around 5 years old, yet he seemed as if he didn't eat enough. Domina's was determined to do anything to help his mother regain consciousness and make his father proud. What he didn't understand was that, he shouldn't be the one to fight for it.

...

- "I see you still don't understand, Mash Burndead. If you continue to fight against it, mother won't wake up." - Doom said as he blocked one of Mash's punches.

- "I don't know that mother much, but I'm sure that destroying the world won't help wake her up." - Mash answered in a usual monotone voice as he punched Doom in the abdomen.

...

- "Who is she?" - asked a tall man with white hair and a big sword at his hip.

- "She was retrieved from the castle. Supposedly Innocent zero mixted his DNA with hers to create the six sons. Her name is [Y/N] [L/N]. She studied in Easton Magic Academy back in the days alongside me and Innocent zero. Was reported missing by some acquaintances after graduation. Later on was discovered that she lied to the government, a lot." - Another tall and old man with grey hair answered.

- "So she's also Mash's biological mother... I wonder why she joined Innocent zero in his plan." - The tall man with the sword murmured.

- "I'm sure Innocent zero had some cards in his sleeves to play to manipulate her. She wouldn't go for such length just because of someone else's desires. Especially Innocent zero's, she couldn't care less about the man."

- "Maybe she was in love with him." - The tall man with the sword suggested turning his head slightly to look at the old man. Right after the man finished his sentence, the old one started laughing; when he finished laughing he sighed and started talking.

- "That's impossible, Kaldo. Not even love potions could make her feel something so deep. She herself said that she was unable to feel such love since birth; her brain lacked in that part. I guess she had a secret that the world shouldn't know and Innocent zero knew it."

- "Like what?" - the curiosity got the better out of the man with the sword.

- "Hmm, I don't know. We should ask her after she wakes up. For now, call Mash; I wanna talk with him." - The man with the sword bowed and walked out of the door, while the old man continued looking at the woman in the nurse bed. - "Mother, such a strong word, huh..."

----------------------------------------------------------

And that's it :D I hope you enjoyed this fanfic. If you want to be added into the tag list, please comment.

[usagikei]

꒰ა  YANDERE HEADCANONS with donquixote doflamingo. [n.sfw]

CONTAINS... fem!reader, abusive relationships, mind break, noncon, manipulation, somewhat graphic gore, typical doffy things, et cetera. A/N... i do not condone any of these things in real life. this was so self-indulgent that it's kind of humiliating. i'll most likely end up making a part 2 regardless of how well this post does. ♡

♡ Doflamingo is a man who will get what he wants, even if it means playing the long game. He's had his eyes on you for longer than you can comprehend, and every little occurrence in your life from then on was all a perfectly constructed ploy to have you all to himself. Getting laid off from your job? He bribed your manager. Nearly getting mugged in an alleyway? He hired the thieves. Your landlord kicking you out of the house? He threatened the landlord to do so.

♡ He plays with you like that for a while; all from the distance, enjoying your reactions to your life slowly going downhill. Then, after a year or two of terrorizing you, he gets bored of it soon enough, and finally decides to take real action to make you his.

♡ It's only natural he strikes when you're at your lowest. You can't seem to find work, you've nearly used up all your savings just trying to survive, and there's only so much begging you can do on the streets before your pride tries to fight back. However... just when you think you're finally done for, starving, trembling from the cold, and curled up in an alleyway, a shadow looms over you—and the first thing you see is a malicious grin.

♡ Doffy strikes a deal with you: work under him and he'll cover your food expenses, living expenses, and even throw in a little extra if you ever wanted to treat yourself. It almost sounds too good to be true at first, but that's exactly what Doflamingo's trying to go for. He knows you have no other option but to accept or die from starvation outdoors; his evil grin only grows impossibly wider when you accept his conditions, head hung low out of shame. You were coming with him either way—being submissive was the best choice, however.

♡ But don't get it twisted. You're not joining the family. You're his and his only. He'll either have you reside in his own personal quarters or a room right next to his, and brings you everywhere he goes even with force. You'll be on his lap or by his feet during meals, meetings, any time. He won't put shackles on you or anything; he trusts that you know what will happen if you dare disobey him or act out.

♡ In fact, any attempts at rebelling against him will end absolutely horribly. While he does enjoy someone who fights back here and now to make things fun, it does get irritating after a while. Doflamingo won't hesitate to do the unthinkable to you, even if he does love you; you stopped any attempts at rebelling against him when he used his devil fruit ability to force you to cut his name onto your body until you were sobbing from the pain and pleading for forgiveness.

♡ "After all I've done for you... I graciously took you in when you had no money, no food, no shelter, yet this is the thanks I get? You have no idea where you'd be without me, don't you? Most likely dead in a ditch or sold off to the slave market for a cheap price. Love, I think you should know your place."

♡ Doflamingo won't hesitate to make a statement to anyone else that tries to mess with you, either. Messing with his property was akin to asking for a death wish. Although, he's rather forgiving when it comes to his family—in fact, he finds it amusing when you're blushing in shame as Trebol and Diamante hurl the most vilest words you've ever heard in your life at you. (...he'll even let the two of them have a go at you if he's in the mood to watch you suffer.)

♡ When it comes to sex, he'll expect you to satisfy him whenever and wherever he wants to, completely oblivious to your own needs. Sorting through important documents or discussing certain things with the executives? He'll have you warming his cock with your mouth or your cunt, paying no mind to your embarrassment or to the other's prying eyes. Taking a bath? He'll have you cleaning him with your mouth. Any time, anywhere. Or else.

♡ He doesn't do soft and gentle. Doflamingo will have you crying, bruised, begging and sometimes bleeding by the time he's done with you. Even if you can't handle his cock in you (I mean, come on, he's 10 feet tall for fuck's sake) he'll find a way to shove himself deep in your cunt even if it means hurting you. He'll alternate between derogatory language and praises, trying to take in any reaction he'll get from you in such a sensitive, naked state.

♡ "Look at you, taking in all of me. Did your pretty little cunt miss my cock that much, love? Or have you finally ended up accepting your role as mine, as my whore?"

♡ Expect a lot of kinky shit from him; he'll have you calling him names like Sir, licking his boots, all tied up for him to touch, et cetera... He adores making you feel like you're beneath him, that the two of you are as different as heaven and the earth itself. Sometimes, he'll even share you with his own clone string to see you all fucked up from him and only him.

♡ "Did you think it was over already, dear? Oh, no, trust me, it's only just beginning. I'll have you fucked so hard you'd wish you were dead by the time I'm done with you. Too bad I wouldn't even let you die if you begged me to kill you, huh, darling?"

♡ While he is a yandere, he doesn't... really show his love for you in a typical manner. To him, he's satisfied with showing his love through sex even if forced and spoiling you with gifts after physically and sexually torturing you for hours ends. He doesn't really care if you don't return his feelings for you, because you both already know what'll happen to you if you dare try to reject his advances.

♡ However, in the case where you do finally break and give in to Doffy's unpractical form of love... Oh, dear, you're in for a ride of a lifetime with this cunning, cruel bastard of a man.

—- by cheri usagikei. 2023.

[afreakingdork]

Inflorescence

RotTMNT Donatello x Original Female Character One-Shot

The absolutely stunning chapter art was done by @goodforwho

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Creampie, Yearning, Love, Established Relationship, Touch-Starved, Light Bondage, Light BDSM, Plant Bondage, Married Couple, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Penis In Vagina Sex, Gift Fic, One Shot

Synopsis: From a young age, Jun resigned herself to being alone. It's been years since and that hunger has not abated.

This one shot is dedicated to, inspired by, and a gift for @grumpytheunicorn who's OC, Jung-Hwa "Jun" B. Lee, fills me with nothing but glee. I hope you like it.

Also available on Ao3

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Intimacy.

It wasn’t something Jun ever thought she would have. It wasn’t just that she convinced herself; it was a patent impossibility. She was untouchable in this world. There was family that evaded that rule when she was younger, but that time was finite. Clinging was something shy children grew out of. They grew into anxious adults that were plagued with loneliness until they did something about it.

What if there was nothing to do?

Starvation was baked into Jun’s skin. It was etched in the very green lines that Donnie was tracing with his tongue. It didn’t matter how much he touched her, it would always be there. It ghosted over every inch of her and only asked for more. This was what came from her lineage. Genetics had laid out designs on her very being. She was a colorful rendition of darted toxicity in amphibian form. For as visible as she was to ward off others, the years of neglect weren’t. Those were palpable, not tangible. It was hers alone to suffer with. 

Did Donnie know?

He acted like it sometimes. He would look both at her and through her to see that wraith draped over her shoulders. He’d tug her close under the guise of possessiveness or slap a hand onto her shoulder to keep the spectre at bay. Late at night when she was sure she would be consumed, he would roll over and wrap around her like a security blanket. He was everything she wanted and more.

It wasn’t enough.

Not when she was built to keep others at bay.

Not when her personality was wretched.

Not with the ilk that invited death painted her skin.

There was more still.

For her hunger, she had teeth.

A row of pretty sharpened fangs lined up in her mouth.

Why?

She was enough of a carnivore. 

Why did she of all things need a secondary defense mechanism?

Why was she the one cursed to be alone?

Donnie grabbed her then.

He moved on from his tasting to gripping and kneading. This, he didn’t know and never would. He couldn’t know that all of this was unnecessary. She loved the gambit of lovemaking and would never tell him that he alone soaked her. Her years of intangible fantasy nearly equaled those where she convinced herself she would be a solitary creature.

The two went hand and hand in what once stabilized of her sanity. If she couldn’t have touch in real life, then she had it in spades in the immaterial world. Through fiction and fantasy she fed and by the time Donatello came along he fit the mold of insertion whether he knew it or not.

Guilt had eaten away at her for fantasizing about her friend all those years ago.

How she yearned to tell her younger self that it would be okay.

That he would be the one.

That he would be holding her now, in vivo, and more.

Her life partner.

Her Nightshade.

The man that was unknowingly wasting his time with foreplay.

She threw her claws in to not be a passive participant. Those she minded less. They were wasted on pricking fingers when even the tap of a tip had enough toxic mucus to kill a lesser being. They were cosmetic in that sense and she fancied them. Her nails were pointed lines that made it easier to pick books or tick up page corners. They weren’t the mark of a prey animal needing to be protected.

Not that Donnie saw her like that.

To him, she was the predator. How, she would never know, but his face said it all. Even when he looked down on her, he was looking up at her might. His eyes shined with that spark of fear and it was in that where she always wondered.

It couldn’t have just been her being.

It had to be more.

He hadn’t been scared off by her fear.

He hadn’t been scared off by her poison.

He hadn’t been scared off by her teeth.

What was left?

He had to know about her hunger. He had to know that she wished to devour him. He had to know that despite their bond, their years, their time, their pledges, their children, and their culmination that she wanted more. That being twisted up around him only furthered the ache. That she wished to splice her genes with him until they were finally one being and she could know the true peace of another.

In that way, she supposed she was a predator.

She stalked and sought and her beloved matched her by wrapping the whole of his hands around her body. It was his might she craved and he gave it by lifting her. Another hand dipped between her legs to find the debased nectar that had been leaking from her since the moment their kiss promised sex.

She was ready.

She was always ready.

She had always been ready.

For him.

She was nothing, but an object to be moved as he lined her up. Sure, he spoke. He asked and she answered, but that wasn’t where she was. She was on a cellular level examining how close their particles could match. Her outer appearance was something that read a green means go, but inside she was wary stoplights. She needed to etch all those feelings before they evaporated as they always did. Coupling was another finite act and she needed to remember.

His scorched tip seared her entrance and marked her like words to a page. His ink would pen legions and be filed away amongst the scripture. It was a stroke, a rub to keep blotches from forming and she counted chapters off with the ridges of his cock. She descended each line of them with shivers and shakes. To the end of one section and onto highlight another, she was the bibliophile. She was a savant and voracious to a fault.

It wasn’t enough.

Not when he bottomed out.

Not when he used her like a frog shaped stroker.

Not when sweat beaded down her body and dropped like acid around them.

Not when he was holding her and she equally had him.

She was too small.

Not for the act, but for the play.

She needed more of him.

She needed once for him to truly know.

No more scientific hypotheses.

Donatello deserved to know.

For all that he had given her.

He was too lost in the throes to see the green mysticism crop up.

It blossomed within her like the color of his skin and she always wondered if it had foretold his arrival. It circled the brown of her eyes in the way he encircled her heart and burst forth with the only might she truly believed she had. Plants blossomed around their martial bed. They crept and snuck the way her mind had. Hidden from view, but breaking ground, they were the ill-fated weeds.

No plant was truly unwanted.

She had long learned that.

They only needed to find their place.

Their life.

Their match.

She pulsed around Donnie’s length and waited for the moment his eyes shut in ecstasy. She had always been a merciless fit for him and clenching his length siphoned more. She struck then, flora reaching out tendrils that only then gave her any form of pause. She had to meter them here. She had to exert control.

As much as she desired, this wasn’t just about her.

To be with another was to know their struggle.

Donatello knew hers, but not its depths.

She knew his the same.

Equal and opposite.

One could never truly be there.

He would never really understand her years of seclusion just as she would never know Krang possession.

She would never make him relive that.

Her plants weren’t hyphae.

She was Belladonna, not fungus.

She wasn’t trying to worm her way under his skin.

She blanketed him.

She coveted him.

She protected him.

More than her tiny fingers could ever reach of his muscles, vines thick with her mystical life blood curled up and over his biceps. He jarred at them and he wasn’t privy to the new bedmate until he realized there wasn’t one. Jun was enveloping him and it only took a flick of his pupil to give his consent.

He was hers to have and to hold. 

It lit further green flames in her eyes and she let loose her consumption.

Plant life licked and swallowed the jade of Donatello’s skin. It ate inward, clinging and growing over the expanse of his huge body. For every bulge, it wrapped and clung until his trellis was adorned. He was a stunning picture of greenery that enhanced his landscape. Pockets of need beaded between growth and caused a slip and slide of the water plants craved. They leeched it away from his skin and sought further until she was the one fucking herself on his cock.

She bounced as he gave way to the many limbs and felt wickedness leak into her expression. He was within her bondage and one snap of her mystical energy drew the ropes. It strung him backwards, pulling his deltoids to peak protuberance and knotted cuffs around his hands. Grips slid up his brain stem to capture the width of his mind and tugged to full attention. He was primed for the Ludovico technique in which he couldn’t look away. This was his rare glimpse at her true depth and he took it with only that fearful awe she never quite understood. It shone bright in his eyes and a wrap of root tucked itself around his throat. For a moment she let herself think about his life in her hands for once and she squeezed.

It cut off his oxygen and she waited with bated breath.

Her dark lips parted plump because she could take in whatever she wanted while he couldn’t.

He mouthed a few times for her until he got his lips in order.

She slammed down his length to take one last jab of his cock before she coaxed him closer to her tympanum.

The restriction of his esophagus caused his irises to swim as a murky bubble leveled with her eye line.

“I love you.” He rasped.

She could have come right then.

Hearts puckered her pupils and she bequeathed him his life back by letting go of his throat. He wheezed stars and she tore into the unrelenting nature of his plastron for a hold. There wasn’t one amongst the nicks and wear, so she made one with her vegetation. Holding the reigns around his body, she fucked him mercilessly. He gave up his power in the dynamic easily in favor of euphoria. 

He’d cum just like this, she decided, and felt the slap of her tits against her torso. It marked the speed at which she was plowing him and, for once, he was the tender field. She would elicit any number of crops from him depending on how she proceeded, but all she wanted was the climax. She wanted to see him give way to her and his winding was imminent by the way his eyes disappeared in a roll.

She could join him.

She decided she would.

As a treat for her little reveal.

She held him steady and, in a swivel of her hips, she caught her favorite pleasure points. Ones deep inside and only accessible and reachable by her Donatello, she struck a dangerous flint to stone. It was her mortal enemy's tinder, her flora’s ever opposite’s flame, and her great undoing that within only a few strokes she was close.

He was closer and it was the pump and pinch of his cum that sent her over.

The seeding a palpable one, she gave wholly over to the sensation and quivered for the sake of it. The blotch painted her insides and leaked out of the tiny space and back down to him, its owner. In a sudden unfurling, the plants tucked backward to blossom and a sea of calla lilies burst forth to signify their union. It was a white on white from her stunted vision and the yellow only came in after as a pistil’s lick of the beared fruit.

“I love you too…” She ushered the end of their session with her response before collapsing into him like sleeping petals who had temporary satiation from the sun.

At least for now, until the appetency came for her once again.

💜💚

(If you'd like to support me or keep up to date on what I'm posting, I've got my Patreon)

An extra special thanks to my betas who still deal with me even when I coldcock them with something like this out of nowhere @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[oceanlipgloss]

CIGARETTES

BEELZEBUB.

+ warnings: dark themes, erotic hues, strong language.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns, hints of female mc’s official appearance.

She was used to that.

It was the new definition of normality, how he lit cigarettes as she talked. And it was pretty, the way shadow and light painted his face, sensual like the curl of bitter smoke. Watching a vermillion eye glow and glare up at her was routine.

And God, was it obscene.

Smoking is such a hideous thing—it turns lungs black and rotten—they could say that all they wanted, but with that thin roll of white cancer locked between his smirking lips, she thought he looked much too sexy.

Because damn it, wasn't he?

No matter how many stale batches of reports and diagrams science put together to cook into bland facts, she would forever think he's hot, honestly. Physics, biology and chemistry are as real as anything, but so is twisted beauty.

She even fantasised about him and his sweet cigarettes. In that profane realm of her own making, her fingers picked the pitiful remains of one cigarette out of many from his ashtray, and her angry hand crossed those stupid tattoos out.

His silly, moronic tattoos.

Seriously, how much of a psycho can one man be? Bite me, kiss here, suck here?

All bullshit.

Yeah, he was crazy.

But she was crazier. Much crazier.

Why else would she take nub after nub and scratch the messy ink over with a brand of hunger that would make him dizzy?

He never even needed those black absurdities on his body in the first place, did he? Not when so many souls ate ideas about him oh so filthy and liked to imagine falling at his feet.

And anyways, that was truer than ever at this point. He didn't need those writings on him, because she was there now. Everyone else could feed on their tasteless daydreams, but she knew what it was like to sink her teeth into the real thing.

He couldn't crave another; she wouldn't let him. Why would she, when he had her now—in the flesh, with her blood and all of his gluttony? 

However: such zeal must never be mistaken for simple jealousy, as she felt his sin gush like death in her veins, really! It was everything—starvation, need, indulgence—and it was boundless. It respected no limits and crushed satiation between its teeth as though it were mere candy, just like he did.

He was all about having more, more, more. And fuck, she wanted to give him more, whatever that was. After all, she too wouldn't allow anyone to feast on her property. Actually, in her fantasy, she was the one who swallowed him whole—not the other way around.

Who cares if he was the one with the spitting image of gluttony?

She could also be.

Flesh—to devour all there was. So be it, she itched to see him try.

Sex—insatiable desires. She would take the cake, with pleasure, right before his eyes.

Drugs—drugs in his blood. Too bad. She would turn him into an addict pathetically famished.

Sometimes, she was just as starving as he probably hated to be—as starving as he was. Starving for dirty heat, starving for sickly passion, starving for sweaty skin.

Starving for him.

One line, two lines, three—each melding into the shape of the glazed muscles on his body. How cold and soft cigarette ash could be! Kind of feathery.

Purple hair—brushing his hot skin with ticklish tips while she circled around him like a devil herself, her thoughts nasty.

Another line—slithering down his arm, then curving towards his back in a pleasant arc.

Pale fingers—sliding under wet fabric, pushing it higher, higher, higher, giving that line a chance to coil around the perfect contours of his tense stomach. Oh, that's just an excuse, by the way. There was no need to push it that high away. She just felt hungry.

Hungry to see more, to touch more, to tease more.

Again.

In her mind, ashy streaks smeared him, both perfect and jagged from lustful tremors despite the challenge that continued to blaze in his wild green eyes.

Soon it got too much, though. Lips swelled, saliva dripped, cigarettes puked gray entrails. They had to stop, do something else.

Was time to satisfy the palate again, now was it?

+note: given what I'm about to say, I should've put this in the beginning, but I always stamp my notes at the end, so...BEHOLD! Welcome to the buffet. Feast on my first WHB fanfic :P yes ik it's too late to say that when you've already finished eating reading shhh now

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[envihellbender]

An immobile feedee starves their feeder

Rating: Mature (horror and kink)

Characters: Zachary Redvers, Horatio Ewart, Claud Ewart (OCs)

Content: Extreme weight gain, starvation, death

—

“Thank you,” Zach said politely as he took the cup. He gave a warm smile to the terrified young man before him before he sipped his tea from the chipped ceramic mug. He delicately placed it onto the stained coffee table and resisted the urge to look up towards the groaning, wheezing noise that came from the ceiling above him. He was sat on the threadbare sofa and opposite him was Horatio Auclair (now Ewart), someone he’d been trying to track down for weeks. He was a missing person who Zach was convinced was connected to the latest in a string of disappearances. He was convinced the terrifyingly skinny young man opposite him was the answer to everything he needed to know. However, one look at him and it was clear he was a victim, he was as pale as paper with sharp edges poking through his skin. His silver eyes were half lidded and he shivered even underneath his several layers of clothing.

“Who’d you say you were again? Are you a detective?” Horatio asked shakily, he was looking around the room as if trying to avoid Zach’s gaze. Where he didn’t look however was at the yellowing ceiling where strange snorting noises were emanating from.

“Yes. Apologies for not formerly introducing myself,” Zach smiled, folding one leg over the other. “My name is Zachary Redvers. A private detective, I was hired by a Mister and Missus Hector McCarthy to investigate the case of their missing son. Theodore.”

“I- I haven’t lived here very long,” Horatio rambled, he sounded terrified, a tremor in his throat with his eyes growing wet. “I don’t know anyone especially not anyone who’s-”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t,” Zach interrupted. “I’m dropping in on everyone in the area where the boy was last found. Maybe you’ve seen something peculiar lately that seems completely unrelated.”

“Um. Well. Alright. What does he look like? The boy who’s gone missing?”

“He’s seventeen, white, little short for his age, a few pockmarks on his cheeks, curly brown hair, green eyes, and a snaggletooth. He walks with a limp on his right side,” Zach repeated from his notebook. Or at least he was pretending to act as if he was reading, in reality he was watching Horatio and studying the dawning recognition on his face which he was trying to hide.

“Sorry, doesn’t sound familiar,” Horatio mumbled. He began chewing on his nails.

“Ah, I thought it was a long shot-” Zach hesitated as obscene, squelching noises rang down the stairs.

“I apologise, my father is extremely unwell, I take care of him. It’s why I moved here,” Horatio interrupted, his skeletal cheeks burning a deep pink in embarrassment.

“Oh your father, that would be Claud Ewart, yes?” Zach knew that was the only declared tenant of the house, and also that no one knew him to have any children.

“Well, yes it- it would-” Suddenly there was a loud banging and a shout of something wheezing and garbled that could have been ‘Tio’. “Excuse me, I have to see to him.” Horatio got to his feet and hurried to the stairs without a second glance and before Zach could reply. He noticed that Horatio was struggling for breath, he definitely seemed like a victim in all this. Would the Courts see it the same way? Zach waited until Horatio reached the top of the stairs and then quietly got to his feet, now he was alone he could get to the real reason he came.

It didn’t take him long to find the cellar, the house was small, it was tidy and clean, but the wallpaper curled away from the wall and the furniture seemed ancient. The kitchen was filled with barrels and crates, it smelled like an old butcher shop but no where near as appetising. Behind an old, barely used ironing board was a door to the cellar. Zach was expecting to need to pick the lock but as soon as he twisted the handle it opened, so suddenly he almost lost his footing. He snuck down the rotting stairs, worried that his boot would go through one as he heard a wheezing, furious yelling from above. When he reached the floor he coughed and spluttered, he took out his handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose. He recognised that smell.

The cellar was badly kept, the floor was damp and there was a strange substance congealing on the floor. If Zach had to guess he’d say it was liquified organs, blood, and waste that had been left to rot. There were two rooms in the cellar, one that was filled with rubbish and clutter, that had scurrying noises filling the air with the distant shouts from above. When Zach entered the second room he froze. This is what he’d been looking for, he was a mixture of horrified and relieved. Before him was a large pile of bones, bigger than he’d ever seen before. When he inspected them further the several rib cages confirmed they were human without the need for any testing. They looked as if they had been sucked clean by animals, or something. As he rummaged through them he deduced there would be at least twenty adults worth, perhaps more. He was so focused that he didn’t notice the shouting had stopped. It when he was holding a collarbone and studying it that the voice interrupted him.

“I had hoped you wouldn’t pry too much,” Horatio said causing Zach to drop the bone and spin on his heal, his cheeks burning red when he saw two genuinely sad grey eyes looking at him.

“I- I apologise. But I had a job to do,” Zach answered, had he been found by the killer he’d have lied. As it was he thought the truth might win Horatio over. “You don’t have to be afraid. If you come with me, I can tell them your father made you do this-”

“What- no. I can’t-” Horatio swallowed and his eyes looked up. “No. I can’t leave Father. I’m sorry. I’ll have to bring you to him.”

“Why don’t we go back upstairs for a chat? Or perhaps we could go somewhere, I could buy you something to eat?” Zach offered. Horatio’s eyes widened in desire, something primal and desperate to be fed filling him.

“I- you- well- I erm-” He spluttered, his skinny arms wrapping around his torso. “I- you- really? Like what?”

“Well, what’s your favourite?”

“Baked potato?” The absolute desperation that Horatio showed at such a simple food made Zach’s chest ache.

“Absolutely.”

“I- okay. Well, erm,” Horatio paused. “Father wanted me to bring you upstairs anyway. So I’ll have to. But. Erm. Maybe we don’t tell him who you are. And then you leave?”

“We leave,” Zach corrected.

“Yeah. We leave.” Horatio’s tone was uncertain and he gently took Zach’s wrist and pulled him firmly towards the stairs. The detective wasn’t convinced he’d gotten Horatio on his side and this wasn’t a trap - but he was out of the basement and that was a step-forward. Horatio wasn’t strong, and even though his grip was attempted to be firm it wasn’t. He was too weak and hungry and to do so. When they reached the kitchen Horatio stopped and turned to Zach. “I told him you had just moved in to the boarding house next door. Said you wanted to know some directions and we got talking.”

“Oh, I- yes. Thank you. Really, that’s really brave of you, Horatio,” Zach said, his rich brown eyes blinked a few times in shock and his lips parted as he found himself truly stunned. “Can I ask about the cellar-”

“They… were the others. He’s not-” Horatio swallowed. “He’s not my Father. He- I’ve only lasted this long because I kept bringing him- there were twenty five before me. Twenty five that fed him until they starved. And I brought him eight. I didn’t- I didn’t want to die. I don’t want-”

“Hey,” Zach interrupted as he saw Horatio getting more and more panicked, he placed one light brown hand on Horatio’s shoulder. “I believe you.” There was a wheezing loud shout from above that made Horatio wince. “So what’s the plan?

“If you pretend to be the neighbour then- then he should be- he should let you go. And. And I can-you’ll protect me?” Horatio asked. His voice was a whine, almost like a lost child’s. Zach forced a smile, attempting to seem stronger and braver than he was.

“Yes. Absolutely. What- what would he do if he doesn’t let me go?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Let’s… You don’t want to know.” Horatio didn’t say any more and took Zach’s wrist again, pulling him upstairs, and he realised they Horatio just desperately needed some human contact. Zach followed dutifully, repressing the urge to cough and vomit when he felt the intense, overwhelming smell of sweat fill his body as he climbed the stairs.

“Papa,” Horatio said, his voice softer and more submissive than it had been downstairs. “This is Zach. From next door?” He spoke as he opened the door and pulled Zach inside, and the detective for the first time in a long time after years of cases froze.

Before now, the biggest person he’d seen was the five hundred pound police chief, but this creature could have swallowed him whole. The upstairs seemed to be predominantly flesh, mounds of sweat and filth covered adipose that was at the top a grunting, groaning, wheezing head that was just a thick appendage sinking into a huge neck tire. Zach felt his blood and organs turn to ice and then water, he began to wonder if either him or Horatio really would ever leave.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

I just finished a re-read of Apsley Cherry-Garrard’s account of his time on the nightmarish Terra Nova Antarctic exploration, and it inspired me to look again at some helcaraxë art. I think Tolkien would have been aware of all of the most prominent Antarctic explorers, who were active when he was a young man and were very famous in their time, and I wonder how much he was thinking about their specific experiences as he worked on the story of the Noldor who were forced to cross the grinding ice.

Some of the real life accounts are truly horrifying and, of course, a bunch of them end with death. You’ve got people forced into unexpected terrain without access to proper supplies, trying to cross a hellish ice plain with a single axe, 15 meters of rope and boots with screws and nails pushed into the soles. 

You’ve got people trapped away from camp and racing against starvation to get back, starting out at full rations before cutting to half and then a quarter and eventually getting down to one biscuit per day per person, and even that is sometimes given up so that the weakest among them can have a little more and perhaps stave off disaster for a little bit longer.

You’ve got groups trudging across a mountainous ice field with snow blindness, hurricane force gales, every mile of forward progress requiring 3 miles of walking because they have to keep doubling back to help stragglers and retrieve supplies, but they’re still gamely trying to sing songs and hymns that can be heard above the screaming wind to remind themselves of better times and places.

You’ve got guys walking along one minute and the next they’ve vanished, swallowed up by a crevasse that didn’t even exist 10 seconds ago and now they’re broken and battered at the bottom of it.

You’ve got people having to hole up in tiny little snow caves to wait out storms that last for weeks on end, everyone so on top of each other that they all end up with dysentery and they can’t keep a fire going because the smoke chokes them, so they’re shivering so hard that their teeth break and every humid exhalation freezes immediately into a layer of rock hard ice on their clothes, gear, sleeping bags, skin.

You have injuries that no longer heal, frostbite that deprives people of the ability to walk, malnutrition that drains people of the energy to do anything at all, and so others are not just pushing forward with the weight of their own bodies and their own gear but the weight of the makeshift sledge that’s pulling their incapacitated friends because all the ponies and dogs have long since starved or been eaten.

You’ve got people who can see clearly that their dear friends’ refusal to abandon them despite their desperately poor condition is endangering the lives of others, and so one night they make their peace with death and quietly walk off into a blizzard on their own.

But despite all of that, some of them survived to tell the tales. They made discoveries. They pushed the limits of human knowledge and achievement. They went home to have families, or not. They became lifelong friends, or forever blamed each other for decisions that were made. They were endlessly proud of what they’d done, or regretted that they’d ever become involved. They went on to great historical acclaim or relative obscurity. They lived.

I don’t know. Feels relevant.  

[astarab1aze]

Viostra Notes

a lot of this is very messy and mixed in refinement; please don't mind the disasterrific amalgamation of nonsense that doesn't seem related but is.

Viostra is an extremely old city that was once sister to Miraglas. A land now cursed by Hydre to forever remain suspended in rot, decay, unending cycles, suffering, illness, mindlessness, starvation, and more for the crime of Knight-Commander Azfodel's constant push for war - and the eventual destruction of Miraglas in the War of Souls - and the pollution of the Enum Glais, the river of life, cutting through Viostra's cliffs and forested arboretum. As a consequence of the curse set upon them, Azfodel fell deeply into insanity upon returning home from the war, death and trash polluting the river, and thusly waged the Viostran Civil War, which saw to a much more...violent culling of the people than was seen in Miraglas despite some castles, healing houses, schools, the like still standing. This madness was much more deep-seated than you might thing, and in some ways reasonable -

There are and were many who sought to harness Fate, Destiny, Life, and Death and such natural cycles. Azfodel returned from a long and arduous journey to find his home littered with the rot of hedonism and inequality, an oppressive ruling class crushing its servile classes beneath. He was righteous and just once. The enemies of Viostra (Miraglas, Hydre), too, sought to destroy them and take over, to covet the river's clarity and power (actually, Hydre was pissed about his water being polluted). Then starvation began, civil war broke out, and war with their enemies, too, was waged. Chaos.

Azfodel, too, was revived time and time again, steadily becoming more and more influenced by the "river's will" (the curse). He was only corrupted by his own anger, his own hatred, as is often the case in the real world. Noble causes becoming twisted and corrupted by the selfishness of their actors. The 'river' took advantage of his stalwart yet obviously broken will. To protect what still remains. Or did it? Does the river have a will, or is Azfodel batshit? Is Azfodel a good and noble man even in his unlife, or is he corrupted and enraged by the suffering he's been witness to? By the suffering he was forced to take part in? Is the River protecting what remains of itself by calling in the souls of stronger heroes from other worlds? Reviving them, subjecting them to untold suffering of their own so they yet become stronger, to put an end to evermore suffering?

Much of the wanton violence is a direct result of panic brought on by famine, widespread cannibalism. But why were they starving? The civil war, the aftermath of Miraglas' destruction, the curse. A battle of attrition, really. The once beautiful, clear river now runs red with the blood of those caught in it all. You might imagine there's also a shitload of bodies floating around in there. And since souls are real, tangible things in this world, it is their remaining life force that provides the Trespassers with revival. In the end, the river, despite its hideous appearance and all that's polluted it, is still life-giving after all.

Mage Class

Abyssus Prima are a methodical, meticulous, neurotic, scientific, and extremely powerful sect of sorcerers specializing in Void Sorcery. And also extremely hostile. They developed gravitational magic, shadow magic, abyssal magic, and were at one point favored by the Viostran Crown, with a number of its alumni enlisted as Royal Court Sorcerers. They primarily dress in silky, elaborate robes and their colors are black, silver, and white. All void sorceries are characterized by the same monochromatic shades, a glowing abyssal shimmer.

They have a not so friendly but not quite confrontational with the Natura Prima, who are sorcerers dedicated to the school of natural magic, spells involving bestial sorceries, earth magic, and some healing magic. The Natura Prima lasted far longer than the Abyssus Prima following the Viostran Civil War, but they ultimately succumbed to the consumptive, disastrous chaos themselves. They were favored by the nobility and often hired on as private tutors or on expeditions of varying natures to be healers/support - that is to say, they were more respected than the Abyssus Prima by the people, albeit the middle to upper classes mainly. They are associated with brown and green as well as vine and floral motifs, and their strange, breathy style of incantations.

The Flumen Prima are the 3rd sect of mainstream, acceptable sorcerer factions and focus solely on water-related sorceries. They are considerably more mysterious than the other two and it is thought that their sect is much smaller in population; Elusive and woefully, dramatically enigmatic. They developed all types of combat-related water sorceries; Manipulating water in all its forms is a hallmark of their combat style, though they aren't particularly well known for engaging in battle. They are hermits all, and loathe to be bothered for anything by anyone. Naturally, they are associated with dark and light blues as well as wave patterns and 'fluid' spellwork.

They were once a unified coalition of sorcerers, but if they had a collective name, it is no longer known. Nor is it known why they are divided, though it may have something to do with events leading up to the civil war.

The Sightless Eye

Sanctuary of Eyes, The Eyeless Sanctuary, something like that. This faction's magic is referred to as Cosán Dall, or the Blind Path. Initiation is done through the voluntary gouging of their eyes, which they are to offer to what they say 'sees all, knows all, and teaches all' - they call this entity the Sightless Leighis (Irish Gaelic for medic/healer/etc; sounds sort of like yay-giss. ish, close enough).

The Killgarden (the actual garden of eyes) is a sort of defense mechanism for the Sanctuary. A maze-like garden surrounding its cathedral, full of horrible things for would-be trespassers to get killed by. This is protection offered to initiates, what keeps them safe within their sanctuary, both pre- and post-eye gouging. The Sightless Leighis is considered to be benevolent and incredibly wise, and is associated with the air and storms here; the colors green, gold, and light blue; the sigil a vine-laden half-open eye with Storm Flowers blooming at the ends of the vines, a three-ring pattern where the pupil should be.

Now, the Sanctuary is in utter shambles. Broken down, crumbling stone, rotted wood, collapsed roof and broken Cathedral Anatomy Things. Shattered windows, blood splatter everywhere, bodies everywhere. Sections of the garden burned, Duskmorne soldiers among the bodies. And a single Grand Cleric of the Rún Bás* in just the right spot to make her seem entirely out of place, perhaps up to no good... And also very much dead. This particular Grand Cleric was Bláthóir (blaw-hayr), which means 'golden flower' (Irish Gaelic is a little tough to work out lol).

*The Rún Bás are the Sightless Leighis' assassins.

The Duskmorne

A faction within the Viostran city-state that touts strict adherence to values of a bygone era. Their true beliefs are ultimately rather unclear, as their behaviors suggest they are hostile as a whole and unwilling to divulge much information. They are characterized by a mysterious sigil involving an archaic moon above a sun with three lines vertically slicing through them, and the colors purple and silver. In addition, their symbols are often accompanied by Viostran star-runes (runes drawn from constellations, both in terms of power and appearance). The moon is a primary symbol and water is the element they are most commonly associated with. Before the war that would plunge Viostra into utter, unceasing decay, Duskmorne was considered a respectable institution that merely didn't put up with being slighted; They were perceived as just and capable, spiritual and righteous as they were calculating and sometimes cynical.

The god they followed - the Maiden of Evenfall (Mausza, technically) - commanded reverence and brooked no quarter, thereby considered to be an 'unflinchingly harsh mother' to her Duskmorne. Structure, piety, and propriety are notable principles among adherents, as unbending loyalty, duty, and selflessness (specifically in regards to the Maiden) are virtues. Whatever Her will, they exist to fulfill it. They believe her to be benevolent, to 'know what is best' and act accordingly, even if they do not understand why. To question or challenge their faith is widely considered heretical as well as pointless; She is the answer, and to deny Her is to deny truth, reality, love, loyalty, and so on. To deny Her is to deny guidance and faith.

There are few adherents who managed to maintain their sanity - and life - after the War of Souls, but nearly all remnants are mindless and hostile shamblers without purpose. They sided with Azfodel, who was himself a Duskmorne adherent.

They are alternatively referred to as the Twilight Order and Duskmorne Knights, though they have other names.

The Maiden of Evenfall is believed to appear as an ethereal, beautiful young woman clad in wine-colored, hooded robes dotted in starry patterns and an archaic full moon, with hair that shines of 'starlight and polished silver' and dimly-glowing eyes. The breadth of her power is unknown but believed to be rather wide, implying she is all-powerful or at least close to it.

Some Items

⸻Crystallized Blood Stones, Soul Stones - Curiously, a human soul seems to have condensed and crystalized into a glowing orb. While its use remains unknown, there is undoubtedly a feeling of strength emanating from it, and it appears to invigorate whosever holds it… ( desc. courtesy of @melancholymirth )

⸻Wings of the Valkyrie, Valkyrian Wings - What appear to be the wings of the mythical gryphon, hide torn from where they were plucked, now fashioned into a cloak that promises agility, altitude, and the potential to glide for the wearer. Its exquisite stitching and decoration, contrasted against obvious marks of rugged wear, suggest that it once belonged to a warrior of high rank and privilege. ( desc. courtesy of @melancholymirth )

⸻Unnamed Restorative* - A reddish-brown liquid, with crystalline powder settling at the bottom of the flask containing it. Like dirty water in appearance, that's been allowed to settle, more red in hue. Almost the same shade as the Enum Glais, but with the crystalline sediment making it almost, almost, almost prismatic in the right lights. Gives it an air of oh yes this might NOT be poison! A sort of shine that's dulled over unknown lengths of time. A little river water mixed with crushed quartz and Soul stones, and a select herb or two.

⸻Champions' Ripclaws - Formerly belonging to a champion of blood sport, who also served bloody justice to those condemned to death under the rule of barbaric law. These claws were designed to effortlessly rip through even the thickest animal hides, to say nothing of what it would do to the doomed villain's flesh and bone. It seems years of dedicated use has not left the steel any more dull than when first forged. The padded, leather lining makes these claws comfortable to wear. ( desc. courtesy of @melancholymirth )

*It's common practice to know how to make things like this, though I suppose there would be a group or two specializing in medicine at one time or another. With the cannibalism in Viostra, a sect of Plague Doctors would have become a thing since people eating other people inevitably results in madness and disease - and some of them would of course be avid liars, charlatans, thus turning their sect into a target during the civil war.

[bonebabbles]

First Battle Aftermath

For the first battle itself go here

lol. Lmao, even.

Not, "Oh my god what have I done," but "I'm so weak. I can't even kill," while wearing Rainswept Flower like a new pair of fur boots

first Adoption Win in 3 books. What's the tally on that one-- 1 to 10?

Clear Sky doesn't understand the point of burials lmao. Dude did leave that dead mom he killed out in the open for the flies to find, until Wind Runner and Gorse Fur came across the corpse and put it in the ground.

And he can't remember killing Rainswept Flower either, in spite of the fact he was coherent enough to justify his actions to Gray Wing, because the Clear Sky chapters aren't meant to be a glimpse into the mind of a detestable character. They exist to garner your sympathy.

Was that enough regret for you? Hope you got your fill because it's RIGHT back to Gray Wing's Excuse Hour

WE?!

WE LET IT GET TOO FAR

We Let It Get Too Far

"My brother :(((( He's a good man :(((((((( He's a good guy even though he just starved Jackdaw's Cry before trying to murder everyone and told Thunder he shouldn't exist and slaughtered Rainswept Flower in a fit of rage :((((((((((((((((((( He gave up some food after I asked him to when we were like 17 so that means he could never be a bad person"

It's right there on the goddamn page, Clear Sky wasn't BORN EVIL so he's GOOD ACTUALLY because NO CAT CHANGES THAT MUCH.

It's EXPLICIT, am I going crazy here?! The narrative says EXACTLY that because he was good when he was young, he can't possibly have changed into a monster. "No one changes that much"

FEAR OR GREED. GOOD OR EVIL. The writing is SO BAD that they attempted to tell a story with an ounce of more nuance than usual and just ended up re-inventing a Light vs Darkness dichotomy with different nouns!

And just when you thought we'd hit rock bottom, StarClan arrives with the reinforcements needed to DIG DEEPER

Enjoy Clear Sky being called a fool once, just a silly little slip-up, an Oopsie Daisy. "I only wanted--" goes UNADDRESSED as Turtle titters about "killing only ever leads to more killing" because they have to find SOME way of getting mad at Tall Shadow too.

Turtle Tail says some romantic schlock to Gray Wing about the kits and thanks Thunder for scraping her pancaked body off the pavement where she died, and then Gray Wing decides that actually he's mad that her magic ghost came down from the heavens because it's Too Painful to see her again or something. Because he's a GREAT character.

"We came to spread the Good News Gospel, Gray Wing. You need to know that god is real to live here peacefully."

DOTC is about to say that the cats need StarClan to avoid these sorts of massacres, because actually Clear Sky is fearful, NOT greedy, and believing in God means he won't be so scared that he feels the need to abuse women and children

(But also that everyone's kinda responsible for the First Battle because Clear Sky is a good boy and WE let it get too far)

Anyway, Fridge Wife 2 starts interrogating Clear Sky. They do this incredibly insulting chapter transition where Gray Wing goes, "idk if he wants to listen to herrrr..." and Clear's chapter opens up with "LOVE OVERWHELMS HIM" because, AGAIN, Clear Sky's chapters exist to garner your sympathy.

"I was scared my heart would break if I had to see someone else die, which is why I wanted to kill orphans, threw disabled people out into the wilderness, clobbered a kitten, told my son he shouldn't exist, performed public humiliations, and beat 3 women to death"

Wanna take a break and go check out the tally of things he did in the past 3 books, and compare it to his self-defense? Be Storm! Go check that out, keep everything he did in mind.

Ask yourself this; were his actions truly consistent with someone who was just scared he would see someone die of starvation, OR, were they consistent with a domestic abuser who enjoys the power he has over people?

Storm buys it.

"FEAR IS WHAT DROVE YOU," she said with relief.

If you're AFRAID then ABUSE IS UNDERSTANDABLE. IT'S OKAY! It's all fine in the end if your motivator wasn't greed, AKA "BORN EVIL"

"Now you see there's no need to be afraid because God is real, death isn't the end, and the assurance of religion with an eternal afterlife will make you a better person"

They're saying pain is less painful if you believe in God and this is why Godless Heathens are bad in the Warrior Cats series. When Gray Wing decided to proselytize to Wind Runner and tell her it was good that her weakest child died, because it meant he was in a "better place", THIS is what that was building to narratively.

PIETY will fix Clear Sky's abusiveness. YAAAAAAY!

ALSO THIS IS TALL SHADOW'S FAULT TOO SOMEHOW?!

DIE AGAIN, SHADED MOSS, BEFORE I BEAT YOU INTO COSMIC DUST. I HOPE THERE'S MORE TRUCKS IN HEAVEN

"how did you know he was going to kill-" CONTEXT. CLUES.

SHE MADE AN EDUCATED GUESS BASED ON ALL THE CATS POKING HOLES IN EACH OTHER AND SHOUTING "it's murderin' time!!!"

She was a female Warrior Cats character in the general vicinity so they had to make sure to shame her because god forbid they imply that Clear Sky is the only one to blame for this bloodbath

In fact they do it again, Clear Sky snaps and starts barking at River Ripple for being a foreigner in his presence, right in front of God, and they don't skip a beat,

It CANNOT remain about Clear Sky, EVER. Storm whips over to GRAY WING and accuses HIM of bringing death to the mountains too, closing out the whole rant with, "ALL of you need to make amends"

This is like when a bully spits on you, calls you insults, and slaps and hits you where the teacher won't see, all while you keep trying to negotiate, but then YOU punch back and you both get equally punished because retaliation is just as bad as being attacked.

The book ends on the cats deciding it's time to bury the dead. Thus concludes The First Battle, and Clear Sky's Redemption Arc begins in Blazing Star. Because this means they nonsensically get rid of their main antagonist, they have to conjure up an Evil Foreigner to take his place.

"Unite or Die" isn't a message about actual peace and unity, that thing that the Non-Clear Sky cats have been hopelessly committed to, it's actually a message about how they're about to have a very convenient common enemy.

Y'know, someone who isn't "scared," just "greedy," one of those evil Godless Heathens, so we don't have to 'feel bad' about murdering him. One Eye time!

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Hi! Do you know any ironstrange fic where they are fae or magical creatures? Thanks, love ya.

A Crown of Thorn and Shadows | Mature | 58,465 words | Complete

Anthony Stark, King of Blood and Darkness, ruler of the Unseelie court, did not expect to find Prince Stephen Strange of the Seelie chained up in his torture chamber, cold iron being driven into his hands. Stephen Strange, a Seelie healer, never dreamed of finding himself in the court of nightmares, being cared for by the king that the Seelie called a monster. They must work together to find the traitors in two Faerie courts that have not spoken in over six hundred years and reclaim Stephen's memories before the courts descend into war once more.

The Bride | Mature | 15,721 words | Complete

A large black hand with claws was raised in his direction, taking the veil gently and lifting it to expose Tony’s face, and giving Tony the chance to see the creature’s face in return. In front of him, there was a man… well, not a man exactly. The face was a man, and the body seemed human… at least kind of human. Were those feathers real or was it just a very weird cloak.

Dreamt by the Stars | Mature | 5,783 words | Complete

Tony didn't dare look at it. He still didn't know what the thing wanted from him. His father, Howard, had traded him to the monster in exchange for peace, to stop the raids on their mines and towns and castles. It was a smart choice, Tony knew. The only way to ensure the safety of their people. Knowing that did not stop his resentment, or his fear. He told himself the beast wouldn't kill him. If it wanted blood and death, it did not need to make deals. But if you listened to stories, there were worse things than death that a dragon could do.

The Sorcerer of Ephemeral Colours | Teen | 130,241 words | Complete

For centuries, the sorcerers of the Sanctum have been the first line of defence for the Kings and Queens of Veston. Stephen, after becoming a Master of Time, wants nothing more than to join his fellow sorcerers in their task and pledge his life to the study of the Mystic Arts. Imagine his surprise when he gets assigned to protect the wilful prince Anthony, instead. Dark secrets start to unravel and Mastery of Time will not be enough to save the kingdom, let alone Tony. While Tony has to overcome his own difficulties, Stephen must Master all six Aspects in order to do what he was always meant to do – no matter what both he and Tony might lose in the process. Magic always requires a sacrifice, after all.

you can't force a love to grow | Teen | 29,013 words | Complete

The people of Midgard say the drought is a final curse wrought by the Red Skull as he and his men were driven from the land into the churning winter sea. King Fury of Midgard believes in no such curses, but his people are starving and riotous and he is desperate. He puts out a call for aid to the other kingdoms. The desert only howls its answer, the messenger to Asgard is turned away at the border, but the messenger to the mountain kingdom of Kamar-Taj returns - shaken and babbling of ghosts and demons - carrying a scroll. Kamar-Taj will open a route of trade, but in exchange, they want a bride for their prince. King Fury, childless, puts out a call to his noble houses. Lord Howard Stark of the Southern Mines senses an opportunity for advancement and offers up his son, Anthony, who fits the specifications listed in the terms. Anthony would argue. Wants to fight and scream and flee. He’d dreamed of a love marriage like his mother always spoke of. The King paints a kind picture of duty and dignity: this marriage will save his people from starvation. His father threatens to throw him to the desert's mercy. There's no point in arguing. His heart probably won't last long anyway.

[voidfeather]

finished playing the coffin of andy and leyley and gonna throw out my theory that i'm sure other people have already thought of

i think that the parasite emergency is just a front and that the government is actually wanting to starve out and sell the blood and organs of "undesirable" people en masse, not sure why they're targetting AB-types specifically rather than say O-types considering AB blood is the universal receiver while O blood is the universal donator but it'll probs be answered when the full game comes out...whenever that is

as for why i think that they're several apartments worth of "undesirables" is mainly because all the people that have been shown so far are, as few as they are, aren't really the types that are "acceptable" in society:

ashley seems to have ASPD or at the very least something similar, has repeatedly been described as being someone who other people find annoying, and is highly codependent with her brother to the point of (technically just being an accessory to) murder and possibly even to the point of covert and/or overt incest

andrew has PTSD (that he seems? to hide relatively well) in addition to his codependence (even if it's not as prominent as ashley's, except in extreme circumstances such as when she's in danger...or when she mentions sleeping with another man lol) and while he's charming enough to have a gf that doesn't really matter when ashley harasses them

the cultist is...well, a cultist (it's clearly something he was interested in long before the quarantine judging by the front door sigils and the fact he has all the materials ready) also maybe it's just the desperation but the fact that he apparently has no problem blasting his loudass music may indicate traits that have lead to people casually wishing his death

the girl from 302, a hardcore hikkikomori and while her beauty may make her a bit more appealing that doesn't change the fact that she's functionally agoraphobic and doesn't want to provide for herself

ahley and andrew's parents are clearly pretty neglectful but the timing is just. a little too convenient y'know? like I'm pretty sure they knew this was happening, and the fact they were so ready to get a new apartment as well like we don't really know when in the timeline that happened but the fact that they're just so ready to move on like that is so suspicious

idk how the lady who got in an ambulance fits into all this though, there's just far too little information about what happened to her for me to say -- i don't think she's getting her organs harvested though, the ambulance wouldn't be in such a hurry if she was

now it is possible that the parasite problem is real and the infected apartment are just really unlucky or really neglected by the government, however, with the whole selling organs thing it just doesn't seem all that likely to me considering yknow nobody wants infected organs

a possibility is that the government is starving the apartment dwellers for the purpose of inducing starvation ketoacidosis which may kill the parasites somehow??? before they harvest the organs, not sure why the blood type would matter though if that were the case

now, since demons do exist in this world, it could (and most likely) be some other secret third thing but with all the information we have right now this is all i can really come up with

[lingshanhermit]

Lingshan Hermit: The Choice of a Ruler

On a frigid winter morning in 1636 AD, as the king of Joseon looked out from the fortress walls of Namhansanseong, he saw the endless snow-covered mountains stretching into the distance, the yellow tents of Manchu Emperor Hong Taiji atop the mountain peaks, and the tribal soldiers of the barbarians occupying the hills and valleys as far as the eye could see. As the sovereign of Joseon, he had been in refuge here for months. Within these fortress walls were just over ten thousand soldiers and common folk left. Food was dwindling away, people had begun slaughtering war horses to fend off starvation, and there was still no sign of the legendary royal army coming to their aid. The troops were already starving and freezing in the harsh winter, and a sense of hopelessness had settled upon the people in this bitter cold.

The Manchu army had marched on Joseon in 1636 to punish the Joseon dynasty for refusing to acknowledge Manchu legitimacy, and to force their submission by military might. For the Joseon king and his court, surrendering to these barbarians who had only just emerged from the Siberian forests would be unimaginable humiliation. Raised under Confucian teachings, wearing Ming dynasty robes and using Ming writing, Joseon saw itself as a great tributary state of the mighty Ming Empire. Yet the overwhelming military force arrayed against them confronted the Joseon leadership with an extreme choice - surrender or be killed. Endless debates ensued between those involved in the decision. One faction argued that righteousness was more important than life itself, and that the king should choose death before dishonor. The other contended that without life, righteousness was meaningless, so for the sake of preserving the nation, the king should submit to the barbarians. Those with modern educations might find such debates unbelievable, as they would choose life without hesitation, dismissing righteousness as intangible and abstract. But it is difficult for them to fully appreciate the weight these concepts carried for those raised under Confucianism. As you all know me, I am not one to be enslaved by modern notions - I have always believed modern thinking to be regressive. As I've said, I am an ancient man of today - I do not consider righteousness and integrity to be intangible things. On the contrary, I believe them to be quite important. However, if asked whether righteousness or life should be chosen in such dire circumstances, it is not straightforward to answer. Sometimes, righteousness is more important than life, while at other times, life takes priority over righteousness. It depends on whether you still have important work left to accomplish, and whether the impact of that work is significant enough for you to endure tremendous humiliation and responsibility in order to go on living. If you have sufficient cause and duty to survive, then you should do so. If not, then yes, righteousness takes priority, for reincarnation is real. In the film The Fortress, the final choice of Joseon was the humiliating path of survival. The Joseon king groveled before Manchu Emperor Hong Taiji, enduring tremendous shame in performing the ritual of three kneelings and nine prostrations.

Just a few years later, the Chinese also faced the same excruciating choice when Manchu troops defeated Li Zicheng in 1644, marched into Beijing, and brought an end to the last ethnic Han Chinese dynasty. The very next year after occupying the Forbidden City, they instituted the Queue Order, requiring all Han Chinese men to adopt Manchu hairstyles and dress. As expected, this decree enraged the entire Chinese populace, sparking countless acts of defiant resistance. Countless resistors were killed under the brutal repression that followed, and those who survived were left with no choice but to abandon a hairstyle tradition thousands of years old in order to survive. There are hardly any films depicting this profoundly important historical event.

In 1636, the Joseon king had no choice but to kowtow before the barbarian emperor to preserve himself and his people. His son was taken hostage to Shenjing, hundreds of thousands of his people were captured and sold into slavery, and he had to endure humiliation and learn how to live under the enemy's tyranny. Many great figures in human history have done the same, because they knew the nightmare would eventually pass, and that their survival meant something to the world. They knew who they were, why they were there, and what deeds they had yet to accomplish. They understood the significance of their work to the entire world, that these tasks had to be completed by them, so they chose to live on and bear it all.

In the pivotal Battle of Yamen in 1279, the Mongol army thoroughly destroyed the final stronghold of the Song dynasty, driving the hundreds of thousands of Song soldiers and civilians alike into the sea. The last Song emperor Zhao Bing drowned himself in the waters. According to historical records, a soldier surnamed Chen was fished from the sea after that major naval engagement. He later settled in Weiyang, Jiangsu province and lived over ninety years. He raised two daughters, the second of whom married a man named Zhu Shizhen. Their son Zhu Chongba became the founding emperor of the Ming dynasty, leading armies to drive the Mongols back to the northern steppes. Sometimes, survival is crucial, while at other times, righteousness takes priority. For the Song emperor to drown himself in that world-shocking naval battle was the right choice, just as it was also right for the soldier who survived not to then commit suicide. Each fulfilled his own purpose.

Written by Lingshan Hermit, May 4, 2022

灵山居士：国君的选择

[thefoxlady]

Some redesigns of Dr. Higgsbury and the Hunger Mime. I think they needed an update, I've even updated their backstories.

TW: Murder, Death, Insanity, Death by Starvation.

Dr. Higgsbury:

When Higgsbury moved in his new house, he was unsure if he would like it, but some science stuff won him over when he got to the attic. He got the house when he saw an ad on his way to college.

He suffered some dreams, or rather nightmares of a shadowy figure that looks like him. The shadow keeps showing him people who committed terrible crimes, all the while saying "These people are evil hearted... Disrespectful to anything that has a pulse."

"You know exactly how to get rid of them..."

Wilson begins to loose his mind the more he sees this shadow figure, both in his nightmares and in real life. He finally lost his mind, the shadow tell him to use science to get rid of the evil that plagues the earth. How? By performing surgeries, replacing the limbs with pig legs and having the victim's whole head covered by a pig's head. He would kidnap his victim after they he spiked their drink, he would then take them to his house, if someone were wondering why there's someone sleeping in the back of their car that he was driving, Wilson would say, "They had one too many to drink tonight, I'm going to take them to my house to sober up.". Wilson will then perform the surgery while they're awake, the next morning they would be found with their limbs replaced by a pig's and their being covered by a sewed on pig's head.

Hunger Mime:

Wes was mime who was down on his luck.

He was poor and hungry, he mimes to make money to pay for food. Despite all the bad luck, he saw that people can be good and could change with the right motivation. He helped a lot of people in Paris, the people, especially the children loved him... Who would want him dead?

One day he tried to retrieve and give a doll back to a little girl who accidentally dropped it from the window, he chased it to an alley, a woman and some men took him somewhere no one would see him again. He went missing that day, he was starving in a dirty, empty room with only a water dish. Wes tried to chew on bits of his shirt to numb his hunger, but it would always result in his stomach growling loudly and hurting him, he was suffering. He died of starvation and his body was found in a forest, people who knew him were shocked and saddened when the news of his death were made public. The people wanted to know who's responsible for his death and wanted them punished for their crimes, they got their answer in the most unexpected and disturbing way... The men and woman responsible were found dead with their abdomens cut opened with their stomachs ripped out, each of the victims had a message carved on their backs, it said "They Starved Me. -Wes". They confused and horrified, Wes was dead yet they were killed by him, How could this be?

A pastry chef who usually gives Wes food reported to the French police stating he had encountered Wes one night after closing, he said "I saw Wes, but he looked different... He was taller than any man, he had a sad look in his face, and I could've sworn I saw that he has sharp teeth and nails. He had this long tongue, he was constantly drooling, he didn't speak but he was making this croaking sound, I had leftover carrots on me and I gave them to this... Thing... After he ate them, he left. I was scared what he would've done to me if I didn't gave him those leftover carrots.". The people now believe Wes came back as a vengeful entity, they now call him the Hunger Mime and would carry food if they're in the forest he resides in or at night in the streets of Paris so they could be spared from being his next meal, if you don't have food on you or refuse to give him food, he'll rip out your stomach, eat your stomach, and leave you to die. Children and pregnant women are spared due to the fact he doesn't want to see a child suffer because of him and he doesn't want to kill something that isn't even born yet.

That's all I've got to share, I'm planning on releasing more Don't Starve: Urban Legends AU stuff. If the stories need more work, I'll try my best to make it work.

[garden-ghoul]

Happy Gushiwensday Monday! Or rather, miserable, miserable Gushiwensday Monday, because we’re back with more Wen Tianxiang. Some day I’d like to find a poem by him that’s not about his war PTSD but that day is not today. Presenting “Nan’an Army”!

we navigated the plum blossoms, south to north, the wind and rain soaking my uniform. come down from the ridge? look who I came with. return home? I couldn't return like this. the mountains and rivers endured unchanged; the city walls wouldn't always be theirs. but I could only resolve to starve myself to death. in my dream, I went to gather ferns...

original text and notes under the cut.

南安军

梅花南北路，风雨湿征衣。 出岭同谁出？归乡如此归！ 山河千古在，城郭一时非。 饿死真吾志，梦中行采薇。

I swear I thought this was going to be less depressing than our other WTX poem. This poem refers to the war between the Song and Yuan Dynasties in the 1270s, during which Wen Tianxiang recruited an army at Nan’an (in modern Fujian). He was captured in 1278 and offered a prestigious office in Yuan if he surrendered, but refused even after the fall of the Song Dynasty a year later. So that’s the kind of guy he is. This is a poem about being a prisoner of war and contemplating killing yourself by hunger strike---so to me it was very important to put it in past tense. He didn’t kill himself. He lived. Even if maybe he felt like he was violating his principles by doing so.

But don’t worry! He died for his principles anyway five years later when he refused Kublai Khan to his face, starting an uprising to rescue him!

the plum blossoms --- refers to a ridge on the border between modern Guangdong (south) and Jiangxi (north), which is heavily planted with plum blossoms. I’ve avoided putting this explicitly in my translation because the original text is cryptic as hell.

my uniform --- I’m not sure whether he was being transported with other prisoners, but I chose the singular to accentuate his hopelessness.

come down... return like this --- some great line structure here. 山河千古在 “leave ridge like who leave”; 归乡如此归 “return hometown like this return.” WTX did something similar in Crossing the Ocean Alone and it ruled and it still rules. It’s an oblique reference to the fact that he’s being escorted by his captors and not by his own soldiers; he’s ashamed of it.

the city walls wouldn’t always be theirs --- 城郭一时非 “city walls one time isn’t.” Delightfully confusing syntax; I got my translation from Gushiwen’s notes, and Laurence interpreted this very differently having not looked at them. I kind of read this as a comparison of the landscape to specifically the human part of a city---maybe the walls themselves are almost as enduring as the earth.

but I could only resolve... --- the original 饿死真吾志 “I truly aspire to starve to death” has a VERY different vibe, doesn’t it? I chose to word it like this to link it to the enduring nature of mountains, rivers, and even walls; WTX is only one man, helplessly frustrated by his failure.

I went to gather ferns --- according to Gushiwen, this is a reference to two high-ranked soldiers from the Shang Dynasty who were defeated and fled to the mountains as their own dynasty fell. If I understand the notes correctly, they had access to real food but chose to forage for wild ferns instead, and died. I’m not totally sure if this refers to death by starvation or death by poisoning; some ferns contain a cyanogen (ie produces cyanide inside your stomach) that has to be removed by blanching before you eat them. Eating the fiddleheads rather than the mature fern is supposed to mitigate this, and it’s a common thing to forage for, so together with “dying of starvation” it seems unlikely that they were trying to poison themselves. But I’m passionate about cyanogenic glycosides so I’m telling you anyway. Did you know that bamboo, cassava, and sorghum are also cyanogenic before processing?

[astersatdawn]

To Cloak Yourself in Fiction, To Breathe Life into the Dead

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Past One for All Users, Past One for All Users & Past One for All Users

Rating: T

Tags: Angst, hurt/minimal comfort, past-but-literally-just-happened Major Character Death (RIP Yagi), ghosts, Alternate Universe (no powers, haunted house)

This was written in 2023 for the Realities Visions: A One For All Vestiges Zine

Oneshot | 2.2k words

Ghosts. The chills. The creaky stairs. A dead, decaying body. It leads to one conclusion.

“This place is haunted,” Izuku mumbled, curling in on himself, “or I am actually going insane.”

-

[Or, Izuku's real estate agent was dead, and his terrible day was about to get stranger.]

Ao3 Link

The simple reality of life was that Midoriya Izuku was a young starving artist—the fate of any artist without prestige, really. It meant struggling paycheck to paycheck, it meant choosing between food and rent, and it meant, when starving and unable to pay rent, that he needed to either move back in with his mother, or find somewhere cheaper.

He won’t ever tell his mother, because she loved his childhood home and the people from his rural hometown, but it was an easy choice for him to make. There were too many breathing ghosts in that place that would leave him with more discomfort than starvation ever would. 

Instead, he made up some excuse about why it wasn’t a good idea, that he should try to find another place of his own first, which was followed by further fretting, before she remembered somebody who could help. 

That brought him to Yagi Toshinori, an old real estate agent, and long-time acquaintance of his mother’s who happened to owe her a favor. His portfolio of properties were varied and he had at least one listing in most regions, ranging from the extravagant to the utterly shabby. 

The place they were looking at today was surprisingly nice—every inch of the two-story traditionally styled home came fully furnished, and it was far more space than Izuku ever thought he’d need, which meant that while Izuku had been certain it was way out of his abysmal budget, Yagi insisted they take a look.

“Will you tell me what the listing price is?” Izuku had asked before he caved to Yagi’s insistence. 

Yagi had looked at him for a long moment, before he smiled, set a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, and said: “free, if you pass.” 

Now, Izuku knew this: he had failed. Catastrophically. Why?

Because the current reality was this: Midoriya Izuku stood teary-eyed at the very top of an unsuspectingly creaky set of stairs, and Yagi Toshinori laid at the very bottom, with an undoubtedly broken neck, blood pooling out from underneath the yellow-but-morbidly-may-turn-orange suit. 

Izuku would like to make it clear that he did not push the kind man down the stairs. He had tripped, seemingly on nothing, and now Izuku had a body and no idea what to do. 

Would he be accused of murder? Izuku didn’t have a motive, but he thought this scene looked rather suspicious, considering the allure of treasure (a house) for a low price (free) if he did one thing that Izuku will not (can not) specify (absolutely suspicious). So, instead of finding a place to live that wasn’t his childhood home, he decided murder was the way to go, because he’d find himself with a roof over his head either way. 

But he had to call the police. He couldn’t leave Yagi’s body here. Even if he actually wanted to cover this up, it’s not like he knew where to find a shovel, or an accomplice, considering Izuku was in no shape to drag even Yagi’s frail-looking corpse far away. 

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled, sniffling as he stared down the stairs, eyes catching on the untainted pinstripes and trying not to think about how long they had until they were contaminated. “I just… tell them the truth. Right? It’ll be okay, this isn’t like—” Izuku swallowed, thinking of a pile of lies and jeers that clung to him like a second skin, “like that, so they’ll believe me. It’ll be—”

A chill ran not only down his spine, but all across his torso and crawled down his sleeves, seconds before that cold slammed against his back.

His foot slipped down one step, arms pinwheeling to restore any semblance of balance. He heard something that oddly sounded like a “I got you!” just as something pinched the back of his shirt and tugged him backwards. Over the back of the top of the stairs he tripped, collapsing on his butt like he hadn’t almost managed to mysteriously follow Yagi’s fatal tumble. 

Izuku took deep gulps of breath and closed his eyes, hands cradled above his heart as he reminded himself to breathe. Despite how warm his hands were and the sweet pooling down his neck, something like ice on a summer day sat on his shoulder, rather than the blizzard he had felt before… before whatever made him fall over. Did he trip over his own feet?

“Feeling better, kid?” 

Izuku blinked. It was like what he heard earlier, the same tone and everything, but that was impossible, because Izuku was alone now that Yagi was dead—

There’s a translucent hand on his shoulder.

“Kid?”

Izuku screeched, scrambling backwards on all fours until he bumped against the wall. 

The man, because that was definitely a bald see-through man right next to where Izuku was sitting, raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

Izuku stared, heart hammering beneath his ribs. 

“I’m Banjo Daigoro. What’s your name, kid?” 

Izuku kept staring.

“Kid..?”

He swallowed. ���Mi—Midoriya Izuku…”

“Nice to meet you, Midoriya. Since you’re here, that means Toshinori told you about us, right?”

“Yagi-san?” Izuku’s brows furrowed. “Wait, us?” 

That seemed to give Banjo pause. His eyes flickered off to the side, and Izuku followed his gaze, only to find nothing there. His eyes found Izuku again. “Yeah… us… he didn’t..?”

Slowly, Izuku shook his head. 

“Uh, guys,” Banjo raised his voice, and Izuku would almost assume he was insane, but that was probably Izuku, considering the decaying body nearby and the imaginary figure he apparently made up to cope with it. “Someone get Toshinori here.”

Oh, he was definitely going insane. 

“—my lead.” Another translucent man in green appeared down the hall. He wasn’t looking at Izuku, but had his arms out like he was helping someone maintain their balance. “Think of it like you are a bird returning to the nest.”

“I don’t think the nature metaphors are helping.” Izuku’s neck snapped to the other side, where another person in a long turtleneck was standing next to another man with a ponytail. 

“It clearly doesn’t stop him from trying.” The ponytail man rubbed his forehead. “Why do we not have a protocol for this yet? Yoichi’s the only one who’s been able to explain it right…”

“You wanna author the How to Be a Ghost manual?”

Ghosts. The chills. The creaky stairs. A dead, decaying body. It leads to one conclusion.  

“This place is haunted,” Izuku mumbled, curling in on himself, “or I am actually going insane.”

“Uh, guys, you’re not helping,” the bald man said. 

A hissed-in breath. “Oh yeah, that looks bad. Sorry.”

“Then shut up.” Another ghost appeared, one with a large scar across his face, behind the other two. 

The turtleneck man moved like he was about to say something, but he only ducked his head down a moment later as he finally absorbed the point. 

“—you got it.” A new soft voice said, but whoever it belonged to was someone Izuku couldn’t see. “Come on, we shouldn’t keep the others waiting.”

“Of course.” This one was actually familiar, and for a brief second Izuku allowed himself to hope, but as two men and a woman appeared behind the bald man, his shoulders slumped—it was Yagi, like he thought he heard, but Izuku could still see the panels of the far wall through his torso.

Pinstripes caught his eye, and he followed them up to the unblemished collar of an unwrinkled button-up. His throat clogged on the harrowing taste of a fresh memory, and Izuku’s eyes drifted to his lap—at least there he couldn’t see the illusion of a long neck that had so easily snapped.

“Soooo, what did you tell him, exactly?”

“I… didn’t get the chance to explain anything…” 

A sharp voice spoke, “you’re his real estate agent. You live—lived here.” Yagi lived here? Then why had Yagi been so insistent on Izuku seeing this place? “You had time, and knew perfectly well what to explain what living here means.” 

“I planned to after—”

“After what? You died? This—”

“My friend, please, calm down.” Izuku glanced back up to see the soft-voiced stranger, a white-haired man, step in front of Yagi to quiet the scarred man. “This is not the conversation we should be having now.”

The scarred man crossed his arms, glaring at Yagi. His gaze swept to Izuku, narrowing even further, and Izuku flinched, trying to bury himself further into the wall. His frown deepened, and he finally looked away from Izuku with a huff.   

“Later.” Izuku wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a threat—maybe both.

“Thank you.” The white-haired man relaxed, and his attention was back on Izuku. 

He approached, each step slow and cautious, as if one wrong move would send Izuku running down the staircase, tripping over the body, and out the door like the criminal Izuku wasn’t. 

Izuku might’ve, if he thought he could. Between the trembling of his bones and being surrounded by ghosts on all sides, it didn’t feel like an option. 

“It’s… Midoriya-kun, right?” The white-haired man knelt before him. “I’m sorry about all of this… I know this situation is… unpleasant, to say the least.”

Izuku didn’t know what to say, so he nodded, pulling his knees closer to his chest. 

“I’m… Yoichi.” He paused. “I wish we had more time to discuss this now, but it will have to wait. I promise you that you will not be alone. For now, I think the best thing you can do is take out your phone.” 

Izuku blinked. It was a simple thing, but considering the ghosts appearing one by one with their loud voices and ominous comments, it had been easy to forget. He scrambled for his phone and held it tightly between his hands. 

“Okay, and now you call…” Yoichi turned sheepish. “You do call them nowadays, right?”

There were a few soft chuckles, and the woman stepped forward. 

“You call them,” she affirmed with a smile. She crouched down next to Yoichi with a little wave. “Hey kiddo, you can call me Nana. Would you feel better if we made the call with you, or if we left?” 

He stared at her for a long moment, then let his eyes travel over the large group of strangers here, who looked at him with unfamiliar expressions that overwhelmed him. What were they thinking? He was so used to glaring, not whatever was going on here. He’d only find these sorts of looks directed at him in fantasies—but maybe this meant Izuku never knew how to read any faces at all. 

“I’d… I’d rather make it alone.” He peeled at the phone case with his thumb. “Please.” 

“I understand. This already has to be a lot.” Nana stood up, followed by Yoichi. “Alright everyone, let’s give the kid some space. We can have a nicer meeting when he doesn’t have as much to worry about, alright?”

There were a few nods, and one by one, the other ghosts faded, some without another glance, others with brief waves or promises of seeing him again, each one deepening Izuku’s frown. Nana, too, departed with a smile and a brief glance at Yagi, who lingered longer than the others. 

“Midoriya-shounen…” Izuku met his eyes for a brief second before he stared at the ceiling above him. “I do not know if it means much, but I’m sorry I dragged you into this.… I’ll do what I can to make this easier next time we meet.”

It was odd how certain all these ghosts seemed so sure Izuku would see them again, but it was easier to nod his way through the conversation at this point. It worked back home, and it worked here, when his stomach curled in on itself and his eyes played tricks on him. 

It was enough now, as the blur of yellow in his peripheral vision faded, and Izuku was alone again. 

The phone was a grounding weight in his hands, with its old battered superhero-themed case. It kept him from drifting away with the ghosts as he unlocked his phone and shakily pressed three numbers. It reminded him of more comforting tales between every hitching breath that accompanied each ring without an answer. 

The stories of superheroes were ones of fame tied with secrets and loyal friends and misadventures. Nothing like Izuku would ever know, even if, for these past few minutes, he let himself imagine a what-if as a trauma response to watching a kind man die right before his eyes. 

It was a reminder, too, to keep that quiet. He’d already been called delusional for believing he could someday have friends as a kid. He didn’t need to be sent to a ward because of what just happened. He would be okay, like he always was. Just like his personal stories with bullies as the protagonists, he could keep this quiet from his mother, and anyone else who might try and poke at the wound. The hallucinations of today would be his own little secret. 

It might be the only time he’d ever feel close to those few childhood comforts, and right now, he needed to cling tightly to them all if he was going to get through the rest of today, and whatever came after.  

[fightaers]

headcanon:   sai  +   ROOT.    mostly manga-compliant,  but grr i try to reference the anime if i care to ( spoiler alert:   mayhaps i won’t ).   in any case,  this is how i’ll generally portray sai when it comes to his affiliation with root.   this has trigger warnings inclusive of:   discussions of child soldier,   violence,   starvation,   death tw   etc. this was taken directly from my old blog.

# — sai  does not  have a name before meeting team seven.    he’s been assigned many names and aliases while he was under root:   inclusive of the orphanage he was from,   the district he was from,   a serial number at one point,  until he’s saddled with the alias  “the painter”  or,  in its japanese,  “gaka-san”.

# — i found out sometimes the translation call ROOT as “The Foundation” so sometimes i be calling it that.   as a whole,   root is an organisation   within the ANBU   who is under danzō.   this means their operation is quite similar:   same variation of outfit,  masks,  codename as opposed to real names,  etc.   the only difference is that it’s really rare that the general ANBU are mixed with agents of root on a mission;  although i can imagine sometimes such rare cases tended to happen one way or another.  they also report to different superior:  ANBU, the hokage.  ROOT,  danzō.

# — i also do imagine that,  as opposed to ANBU,  who is recruited via the pool of typical jōnins;  a lot of ROOT members are recruited independently,  and at an early age.   most typically,   they abduct children at a very young age;   preferably those without proper guardianship  ( so there won’t be many raised eyebrows ) ,  and they raise them in a totalitarian environment where the kids are primarily trained to kill-first.

# — the kids do not have names in ROOT.   i mentioned this one above,  but i emphasised this again because the story behind is that,  it’s become tradition among ROOT members,  especially young ones,  to not reveal their real name:  it’s the last piece of information they had about themselves before they’re taken in,  and it’s considered sacred.  sai obviously didn’t know this,  so he didn’t think much about his birth name and therefore,  has forgotten them.  sai calls his late brother,  “brother” in a lot of his narratives.  because he’s forgotten the brother’s name, too.  (  it’s shin.  )

# — sai’s motivation to thinking that ROOT isn’t as bad as people made it seems is just that,  ROOT fed him and gave him a room to read and paint.  it’s such a minimum standard,  yes,  but as a young kid in a forgotten orphanage,   being able to eat at a regular schedule and not share beds with other children is a blessing.  then again,  he’s also probably purposely forgotten the few times ROOT starved him when he failed in any evaluation or task;  and how angry he’d been,  but how more motivated he became to excel and have his peace.

# — sai is employed on a mission at eight years old;   had his first kill at nine.   the first one was spying:   he had to stay in a small box in a room where he had to spy on two individuals for eighteen hours.   his first kill had been a man who was just not supposed to be there during the real assassination.  it’d been a kunai to the throat.  sai vomited and was sent without dinner after.

# —   sai memorises and could speak in eight dialects:  five from the fire country,  the other three are foreign country’s.