#the mutilation of the master manipulator

[bambinafangirls]

the mutilation of the master manipulator (bones, s10 e9) is so crazy to me?!? who let that prof recreate the milgram experiment? why didn’t they mention milgram once!?!? this is so unethical

[sigmarara]

It's so funny bc ik that they're testing if I'm obedient and trying to gaslight me lmao

[aventurineswife]

So, reader decided to play mouthwashing due to its positive reviews and how it became popular enough to gain fandom. Maybe Ratio, Aventurine, Kafka, Blade, Silver Wolf, Jing Yuan and Jade decided to watch reader as they play? How would they react to this game's plot, it's characters and opinions?

HSR Characters Reaction On Mouthwashing

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Blade X Reader, Psychological Horror(not the actual fic but the game), Character Study, Game Reactions, Manipulation, Redemption, Survival, Dark Themes, Self-Destruction, Fractured Minds, Immortality.

Warnings: Strong Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Mentions of Mental Health Issues, Psychological and Emotional Distress, Dark Themes of Suffering and Redemption, Self-Harm (Implied, Related to Destruction and Pain), Death and Death Imagery.

A/N: I haven't fully watched the whole gameplay, so this might a bit ooc but I do know some basics of what happened and all I gotta say is: I hate Jimbo‼️🧍‍♀️ also shortened this to three characters because tags won't take the others and I probably would've to write each characters individually for their reactions on each characters so sorry if this disappoints you :')

Kafka lounged gracefully on a velvet chair, her fingers tracing the rim of a crystal goblet filled with a dark, undisturbed liquid. The soft glow of the screen reflected off her red wine-colored hair as she observed the game unfolding before her. Mouthwashing, a psychological horror game that had garnered significant attention, was the latest entertainment distraction.

The game's plot piqued her interest immediately—stranded in space with dwindling supplies, a mutilated captain, and a fractured crew. Kafka found the dynamics between the characters fascinating. The tension, the fractured relationships, and the slow unraveling of sanity… it was like watching a perfectly woven web fall apart. She couldn’t help but admire how the developers had manipulated the player into becoming complicit in the escalating violence.

Her eyes narrowed at the unraveling storylines. "So, it’s a game of power and survival," she mused, sipping from her glass. "But with a touch of madness, I wonder if the creators intended to turn the player into the true villain. The emotions on display—guilt, betrayal, desperation—can only lead to one outcome: unraveling."

Kafka's attention shifted to the player’s choices. The tension between the crew members, the twisted relationships, and the manipulation—it felt familiar. She was a master of persuasion, a manipulator of emotions, but this game was something different. It made her wonder how the player would handle the sense of culpability for the crew’s inevitable downfall.

"I suppose," she mused, "this is what makes games like this addictive—the slow collapse, the control one has over others... It’s almost poetic, in a sense." She couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen as the final moments played out. Jimmy’s tragic end, believing he had redeemed himself by placing Curly in the cryopod, was something Kafka could relate to—a misguided belief in redemption after irreversible actions.

Turning her attention back to her glass, she smiled softly. "I would have handled it differently, of course. But I suppose that’s the beauty of these games—they allow us to explore paths we’d never dare take in reality."

Silver Wolf sat cross-legged on a low sofa, her sharp gaze fixed on the screen as the game's opening scene began. Her fingers twitched in a restless, almost instinctive motion—an impulse to hack, to break the system and rewrite the story as she often did. But she forced herself to focus, her curiosity about the game's mechanics outweighing her usual inclination to manipulate.

The dark and gritty atmosphere of Mouthwashing quickly drew her in. The world-building was minimal, but what Silver Wolf found compelling was how the game subtly forced players into moral corners with each choice. The crew’s personalities were rich with flaws, and the tension between them was palpable. Her fingers flexed, itching to dive deeper into the psychological undercurrents, analyzing each interaction like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

"Not bad," Silver Wolf muttered, studying the way the plot twisted and turned with each new revelation. The complexity of the relationships, particularly Jimmy's unraveling sanity, fascinated her. "It’s like hacking a system, but instead of codes, it’s the characters' minds. The more you understand them, the more control you have over the outcome."

She watched intently as the player made choices, her eyes narrowing when the characters’ fates grew darker. “Hmph, some people just can't handle the game. They don’t see the bigger picture. It’s all about the challenge, about beating the odds. It’s not just survival—it’s about making it through with your mind intact. The chaos is part of the fun.”

Silver Wolf tilted her head as she saw Jimmy make his fatal choices, his mental state breaking down under the weight of guilt and fear. "That's one way to go out," she muttered. "Pathetic, really. I would’ve used that moment to break free, to rewrite the whole scenario. But I suppose that's why it's not me playing."

She smirked, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Still, I can appreciate the game's challenge. It's not about winning, it's about seeing just how far you can push the boundaries before it all collapses. Just like the game of life." Her fingers idly tapped against her knee. "Maybe I’ll try a new strategy next time."

Blade stood motionless in the shadows, his piercing eyes fixed on the screen as Mouthwashing unfolded before him. The plot resonated in ways that few things did—survival at any cost, fractured relationships, and a constant drive toward self-destruction. His cracked sword, an eternal symbol of his fractured existence, almost felt lighter as he watched the characters’ struggles.

The captain, Curly, with his tragic fate, reminded Blade of his own cursed immortality. Mutilated, unable to speak or act, yet still alive—trapped in a state of perpetual suffering. Blade’s gaze lingered on the screen, his mind replaying his own endless cycle of death and rebirth. He saw in Curly a reflection of his own fate: an unending existence that could only end in violence and ruin.

"What a pitiful display," Blade muttered, his voice low and cold. "Surviving only to slowly lose everything—your sanity, your humanity… That’s what this game is, isn’t it? A slow descent into madness, with no way out."

He watched as the crew's relationships deteriorated, one by one. Jimmy’s spiral into madness, his attempts at redemption, and the eventual tragic end... it all felt too familiar to Blade. "How weak," he whispered, his fingers twitching at his side. "No honor, no purpose. Just mindless survival."

Yet, there was something in Jimmy's desperate final act that resonated with Blade. The desire to find release, to end it all after causing so much destruction. It was the same goal Blade had sought for so long: an end to the suffering, an escape from the endless pain of immortality.

As the game neared its conclusion, Blade’s eyes narrowed. "They think they can redeem themselves," he mused. "But redemption is a lie. There is only the inevitable conclusion—endless destruction." His hand brushed the hilt of his broken sword. "This is the true path. There is no escaping it."

The game ended, and Blade remained silent, his expression unreadable. "A fitting end," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But not my end."

[gayguybln]

Ron Garcia, 24, was called Mr. Handsome or The Handsome Monster as he led people into dependency to him by being nice and careful. But at the end of the process he switched to brutality. The nice fitness trainer and influencer is bisexual and over the time he manipulated many people into financial domination and/or drug addiction.

Blackmailed clients

He seduced his clients into sex and blackmailed them as he threatened to publish their sex tapes as he recorded often how he seduced other people. Several times he pimped out his own brother who is two years younger. Last time he pimped him out to participate in a sex orgy. This was the situation his brother reported tot he police. After some media reports about that case many victims reported Ron to the police. Some of his clients went into debt to pay him because of his blackmail threats. Several victims were beaten and he forced them to beg for more as he filmed this to blackmail them further.

Selling drugs & forced prostitution

Ron forced some people into drug addiction and became their drug dealer. He forced them into prostitution to pay their drugs and dropped them when they became too ugly and mentally broken due to drug abuse. There are suspicions that he murdered some oft hem with overdoses but there is no way to prove it.

BDSM to exploit others

Ron played the role of a BDSM master to several guys and forced them into total power exchange. He took over everything, plundered their bank accounts and sold their valuables. He branded them with his initials on their chests against their will. With slave contracts he took over three houses and five appartments and promised his slaves that they can live with him what was true at the beginning. After exploiting them he dropped them. He had those victims who had transferred a house or apartment to him placed in a mental asylum. He wanted them to be silent about what happened tot hem. This was easy as the former director of that mental asylum was one of his blackmailing victims. This director was fired and is waiting for his own trial. He performed mutilations - genital and others - on his victims.

Behaviour in prison

Even in prison Ron played his mind games and made two other inmates to his personal slaves and seduced one prison guard. This led into being placed into solitary confinement. He has so many groupies - female and male - that are still writing him after he confessed a few of his crimes and was sentenced. Some are demanding his immediate release, others offer to marry him despite he's in prison. There are several fan accounts on social media for Ron Garcia as his fans don't believe that this nice influencer can do such disgusting things.

It is very likely that Ron Garcia will spend the rest of his life in prison and there are still investigators who try to prove his direct guilt in the overdoses. That would allow a murder charge and Ron could end up at death row and with a deathly injection into his arms.

[nataliasquote]

Welcome To My Head At Midnight | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is her own worst enemy and maybe this fight isn’t one she’s so sure she can win.

Warnings: more depressing stuff, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, isolation, depression, overall angst

wc: 2k

note: inspired by ‘Midnight’ by Bow Anderson. I listen to it too often so why not write a one shot about it to fuel angst. I’ve worked on this in small bits for a few nights now, and it’s not a fic exactly, but anyway, here it is :) enjoy

-⧗-

They say the brightest smiles hold the darkest secrets, their shimmering landscape a disguised war zone of trepidation. And those who dared tread there risked mutilation of their closest loved ones in exchange for the truth. No one came out of there unscathed, but perhaps the one who could never leave had it the worst.

Natasha knew how to keep herself occupied. Her work was her top priority, not having a secure bond with family nor friends to latch onto in her darkest hours. She threw herself into whatever she could, often picking up extra should she find simply a few spare minutes in her day.

But those hours weren’t taken for the hell of it. Her body wasn’t driven into the ground and her knuckles weren’t battered and bruised just for the fun of it. She needed solace, but nothing was ever strong enough to keep the lid on the overflowing terrors in her mind. She never would be strong enough, for this kind of pain was never made to be handled alone.

But the Black Widow, a feared warrior, would only ever be alone. Her hand crafted smile was simply a ruse but no one seemed to see through the cracks in her mask, no matter how large they felt from the inside. Her master manipulation worked a little too well, her silent cries for help falling upon deaf ears.

Among all of this, she couldn’t slow down. Just a momentary standstill had her grip on her emotions slipping, one by one her fingers losing contact with the sheer cliff face she found herself hanging from. Natasha may fight assassins and aliens with a fearless prowess, never batting an eyelid or showing a flicker of terror.

But the same could not be said for her own mind. The part of her that formed her every thought and controlled her every movement was simultaneously destroying her from the inside out. Her thoughts paralysed her, a punch to the gut when her guard was at her lowest. But no hours of running would ever let her escape these violent clutches that her fears had on her. She was trying to lose her shadow, an impossible fight.

She was always two steps ahead of both her enemies and her anxieties. The faintest lurch of her stomach or tightening of her chest had her appearing at Fury’s door in a breathless stupor, voice icy as she demanded an immediate mission. Her superior had his skepticism but always agreed, sending her across the country at the drop of a hat. Natasha never cared where she went; frankly, she never noticed. She would go anywhere, do anything.

But even she was forced to have days off. They felt like a fever dream, and Natasha found herself unable to partake in the excitable chatter rumbling among her friends at the prospect of their weekend plans. She could barely muster a smile, never mind a verbal reply whilst her hands began to tremble and her eyes turned glossy. Dread sank into the depths of her stomach like a stone - a day off meant isolation, it meant fighting her battles by herself - a death wish. Relaxation would never come, yet she braved a smile and lied through her teeth to dodge the inevitable questions.

Lifting her aching body out of bed was an impossible task. Her pillow was often soaked with tear stains but she barely noticed as her cool palms hit the wet fabric. The heavy curtains that fell to block out the world never twitched, and sunlight never got the chance to kiss her pale complexion. She didn’t want a reminder of what the day was like for everyone else. She remained a victim to the darkness, both inside and out.

There were no interruptions, why would there be? What little sleep she got was plagued by nightmares and she still shook from the aftermath as she shuffled to the bathroom, legs shaky and cheeks damp. The harsh reflection in the mirror only highlighted her anxious state, so she ignored it, too scared to be faced with what she knew would stare back at her. Mirrors across her room were covered up- she’d go crazy if they weren’t.

Natasha hated this side of her. Where was the tough woman she was supposed to be? How could she feel this much emotion when it had been beaten out of her since she could walk. How did any of it still remain? Nevermind enough to debilitate her and curl itself around her windpipe, slowly crushing her from the inside out and forcing every last piece of hope out.

She knew she was a failure, but not to this extent. Despite her success, she was fucking up her life and the demons in her head screamed this to her over and over. There were so many little girls who looked up to her. They admired the strength she had and her resilience and she wished she could tell them to stop when they uttered the words she was scared to hear.

“When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

No you don’t. You really don’t.

Because they never got that insight into how she really survived each grueling day. They never saw the way her legs gave way the moment she stepped through the door, or how her hand clamped so tightly over her chapped lips her sobs were muffled. No one saw how many times she’d had to sweep pieces of shattered glass from her floor after her shaking hands had lost their grip on a cup, or the state of her nails after she’d picked them to death in an attempt to calm herself.

Everyone only saw what they wanted to see; the good. They didn’t want to know the bad. But Natasha had no choice, she had to live this nightmare. Her whole life had been spent running and she was exhausted from the fear that was always moments away from drowning her. It rested in her stomach like a grenade, the slightest movement could jostle and be fatal. But sometimes it felt more like the lingering touch of a ghostly figure, slowly dragging a nail down her back and igniting all her nerve endings so her body was on fire.

This ever-tense state that she had found herself in was exhausting and Natasha was tired. Simple tasks had become a chore and even small trips to the grocery store would result in a sudden, debilitating wave of tears and laboured breaths. A box of cereal still in hand as she kneeled on her kitchen floor, forehead pressed against the cupboard as she cried a silent scream. Anxiety hit her like a truck completely unexpected, snuffing any hope she had of a ‘good’ day.

But the worst times were the silent days. She had no tears to cry out, no thoughts to tumble into a panic attack about. She was just floating somewhere between wake and sleep, a hazy mess of a woman with no life behind her eyes.

There truly was no one who was worse of an enemy that she was to herself. She wasn’t afraid of death - no one was able to kill her.

No one but herself.

No one could love a killer like her. All the lives she had taken without a single drop of remorse, moving through crowds with a holstered gun like a goddamn machine.

Shoot, reload, repeat. Shoot. Reload. Repeat.

Where did ‘cry’ fit into this? Where did ‘self loathe’ fit into this? Where did ‘drown inside your own mind’ fit into any of this?

It didn’t. It shouldn’t.

Silence wasn’t a word in Natasha’s vocabulary. Screams rang in her ears like tinnitus, although she probably had that too.

‘No one’s going to love you’ she would mutter as she obsessed over her reflection with burning red eyes. Not with those scars. And certainly not when she was so fucked in the head. Who would want to love someone who spent the whole day smiling only to come home, flick off the lights, crawl under the covers and completely break down?

She hated that she craved someone’s touch, the coldness of her pillow failing to replicate the comfort a human would bring. But she was nothing if not a living, painful contradiction. Natasha never let herself get close to people, too scared they’d see the horrors she had to endure. So the chances of ever having someone to hold her at night was becoming slimmer by the day. But it was all the broken little girl inside her wanted. To hear someone’s comforting voice whisper in her ear that she wasn’t a monster. She wouldn’t believe them, her anxiety would fight against it, but to not go through this alone? It hurt her more than she’d ever admit.

The waves got stronger throughout the day until midnight hit and Natasha felt as though she was suffocating, water flooding her lungs as the monsters in her mind finally crawled out of their caves. It was just her in this lonely fight, weakly holding her weapons only to find them clattering to the ground in a matter of minutes.

She was tired, so tired of constantly fighting. She wasn’t born to be a soldier, she was born to be a lover, to be loved. But her trembling lip and curled up body tightened as she wrapped her arms around herself in a grounded effort to ease the pain.

As she silently shook in her bed and finally gave into the horrors, allowing them to submerge her under for another night and drain her energy and desire to live, there was one underlying question that felt heavier than everything else.

Was this her life now? Would she ever win? Or would the end of Natasha Romanoff come not from a wound gained out on the battlefield, but rather from one that had festered inside her for years, slowing growing and expanding until it consumed her in her entirety.

Was there anything worth living for anymore?

[appendingfic]

Also people call Dracula a master manipulator, but I think you run best comparing him to the character Camellia from Wrath of the Righteous. For a (spoiler) serial killer she is an AWFUL liar; you keep finding her standing over mutilated corpses and when asked she goes "...I found them like that?"

But she benefits from being high enough class that most people don't seriously have the authority to question her, so she gets away with a lot.

Dracula owns the whole country around his castle. Everyone KNOWS he's a vampire. Even a dude who thinks vampires are fake takes less than three days to realize there is something incredibly off about this dude.

He had just ensnared people in social obligation and the powers of nobility to prevent them from DOING anything about it

[whumpsandwhimpers]

INTRO POST!

HI fellow whump lovers!! I'm Aster! (my main is @ablatheringblatherskite!)

I have finally decided to make a whump blog. Mostly because I'm having a hard time sorting and finding the posts I reblogged on my main. My main will still be getting a bunch of whump stuff, but this sideblog will be exclusively whump!!

I'm mostly a fanfic writer, although I do have some original stories in the works!

Some fandoms I've written for (and want to write for): Phantom of the Opera, One Piece, HTTYD, Les Mis, Spider-Man, Daredevil, Wednesday

Blorbos I've Whumped (Or will whump): Raoul de Chagny, Erik (the Phantom), Roronoa Zoro, Sanji, Tyler Galpin, Peter Parker, Matt Murdock, Hiccup Haddock III

READ MY WHUMP FICS HERE!

IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm also a Christian. So far the only whump I avoid is explicit and NSFW whump. I'm fine with graphic gore and violence, but avoid the more sexual side of whump. I ALSO DO NOT EVER INTEND TO WRITE KINKY THINGS!

Some whump stuff I like!:

Restraints!!!! (shackles attached to the wall or ceiling, chained, tied to a chair, bound on the floor or in a stress position, gags, cloth gags and duct tape, collars and muzzles, hidden restraints, etc.)

Kidnapped and capture!!

Body horror (especially paired with non-con body mod)

Resigned whumpee, especially a defiant whumpee becoming broken and resigned and afraid

Small cages

Trophy Whumpee (Whumpee to be shown off and be pretty)

Mouth/eyelids stitched shut

Manhandling!!

Royal whumpee

Stress position

Dehumanization, Infantilization, and Humiliation/Degredation

Torture!!

Pet whump (obviously not the NSFW kind)

Creepy whumper

Intimate whumper (yes ofc not the NSFW kind. More like ruffling their hair, patting their cheeks, holding their face, playing with their hair or ears, etc.)

Non-sexual, noncon touching

Exhaustion (but particularly when it's with an art form)

Performance whump (is this a thing. Like being forced to sing/dance for whumper's entertainment, or for whumper's gain)

Art whumpee (whumpee that's somehow turned into art)

Cosmetic whump

Experimentation and lab whump/medical whump (Lab rat whumpee!!)

Living Weapon

Forced obedience

Manipulation, mind games and gaslighting

Body control (Like, when whumper is only in control of the body but not the mind, so whumpee is maybe trapped in their mind and forced to watch)

Enslaved whumpee (IDK WHAT THIS IS CALLED but basically when a usually non-human whumpee is forced to serve and obey their master, whether that came about through a contract or the master somehow finding a way to trap them into servitude)

Whumpee being turned into a puppet (literally and figuratively)/Literally being puppeteered with strings

Brainwashing/mind control

Cybernetics whump

Sensory deprivation

Branding

Carving skin with a knife (carving words, or maybe a creepy smile on the corners of whumpee's mouth!)

Public whump (public humiliation and being used as an example/to discourage people mmmmm)

Dismemberment/General Mutilation/Permanent damage

Waterboarding/Head being dunked into water forcefully

Good ol' classic beating while whumpee is restrained/already down

And probably more that I've forgotten!!

Aaaand that's all I guess! Let the whumping begin!

Tags and stuff:

#asterrisks, #favorites, #aster's writings, #aster's snippets, #my reblog additions, #blorbos

#whump writing, #whump writing references, #whump, #whump art, #whump gifsets, #whump prompts, #whump writings, #crack whump, #whump dialogue, #whump humor, #masterlist

#whumpee, #whumper, #caretaker, #carewhumper, #multiple whumpers, #multiple whumpees, #non human whumpee, #trophy whumpee, #lab rat whumpee, #resigned whumpee, #broken whumpee, #possessive whumper, #intimate whumper, #creepy whumper, #creepy/intimate whumper, #royal whumpee, #defiant whumpee, #scared whumpee, #sarcastic whumpee, #stoic whumpee, #royal whumpee, #sadistic whumper, #scared whumpee, #immortal whumpee, #child whumpee, #owned whumpee, #battery whumpee

#restraints, #bound, #chains, #duct tape, #hanging from the ceiling, #tied to a chair, #tied to a tree, #cells, #gagging, #muzzles, #mouth stitched shut, #muted, #blindfolded, #leashes, #collars, #shock collars, #electrocution, #forced drinking, #drugged/drugging, #paralysis, #stress position, #forced to watch, #forced to hurt a friend, #forced smile, #forced labour, #forced obedience, #mind control, #controlled, #body control, #loss of autonomy, #punishments, #manhandling, #kneeling, #stepping on whumpee, #noncon touching, #bullying, #torture, #sleep torture, #past torture, #injuries, #digging into injury, #beating, #stripping, #whipping, #starvation, #strangling, #suffocation, #waterboarding, #branding, #tattooing, #noncon haircut, #noncon body modification, #experimentation, #sensory deprivation, #solitary confinement, #gunpoint, #guns, #knives, #glass whump, #curses, #sacrifices, #sickness #being recorded, #used as bait, #transportation, #mutilation, #dismemberment, #gore, #permanent damage, #death

#conditioning, #mind games, #self-deprecation, #self harm, #mind games, #screams, #sobbing, #resignation, #dehumanization, #humiliation, #infantilization, #degradation, #desperation, #trauma, #triggers, #vague discomfort, #distrust, #dazed, #horrified, #mocking, #betrayal, #guilt, #amnesia, #hallucinations, #exhaustion, #begging, #gaslighting, #manipulation, #abandonment

#captured, #body horror, #rescue, #recovery, #hostage whump, #royal whump, #lab whump, #medical whump, #magic whump, #superhero whump, #pirate whump, #superpower whump, #undercover whump, #public whump, #surprise whump, #pet whump, #domestic whump, #cybernetics whump, #performance whump, #cosmetic whump, #living weapon, #hurt/comfort, #parental whump, #family whump, #psychological whump, #roleplay whump, #prison whump, #performance whump

[the--grin--reaper]

On the surface, the gang is just a happy found family but

Lindon has struggled with self worth all his life, being told that if he was murdered his clan would have to apologise to his murderers, and generally being treated like he's less than dirt. He didn't even start to see himself as important or strong until book ~eight that's how deep his insecurities ran. That is 3 years away from the valley, as a guy in the top 16 of the Uncrowned Tournament. He still felt lesser. When he saw his family again it all got worse and set him back probably months on the measure of his self worth because they still saw him as a useless unsouled. It makes it worse that his underlord revelation was literally "I practice the sacred arts because I don't want to be useless anymore".

Yerin has abandonment issues. Her whole village got killed by a monster, a monster that then lived inside her. Then her master got killed and she was left alone again and in her povs you can see how deeply this affected her, especially in the early books. She was enraged that the Sandvipers attacked her and Lindon whilst he was advancing to Copper because it was cowardly, sure, but she also thought "they wanted to leave her alone again. That was unacceptable." Her Underlord revelation was about never being alone again. She always panicked when Lindon leaving was mentioned; when Cassias told him that they would send him home she froze up, worried that Lindon would leave her alone. She didn't want him to leave her behind, the mere thought of him leaving her frightened her.

Eithan has a deep set loneliness and is the antithesis of what he wants to be. He has been ahead all his life. A prodigy, a genius. But that means that he left all his friends behind. He had no equals, still doesn't, even among the most powerful beings in the universe. He was alone his whole life. When he manifested the broom icon for fun, a bunch of people killed themselves. He wanted to be a healer but he became the literal God of Death. He found a way to reverse death to manifest the Life Icon, and instead manifested the Death Icon. He was compatible with every Abidan type, except a healer. The one he wanted. He created a weapon called Penance. Penace. As penace for everything he's done. Then he had to spend millenia reaping worlds - billions, trillions of people. Regularly. A change in the system could lessen this, he wouldn't have to reap so many lives (lives that he feels the sorrow of) if they just changed the system. But they won't because this one works "so well". At the expense of the one Judge that can never stop, never leave, because he doesn't have anyone that could take his place.

Mercy has mommy issues and was the victim of gaslighting. Throughout the series Malice treats her like a prized possession to be discarded once her worth is lessened in her eyes. Malice shamed Mercy over the fact that her friends are better, she made her feel lesser and weak. She was horribly manipulative towards Mercy and tried to hold her hostage. She lied to Mercy to keep her on her side, and only ever showed Mercy love when Mercy needed to be manipulated. Mercy feared her. Malice also publicly humiliated Mercy, in front of friends and family. Meanwhile all Mercy has ever wanted was to make her mother proud. She even physically abused Mercy, when Mercy was trying to urge her to ascend, and verbally abused her because she didn't want to see the truth.

Ziel got tortured and lost the will to live. He wasn't suicidal, but he didn't care whether he lived or died. He was forced to watch as his whole sect died, then got mutilated and crippled by a mad scientist that took pleasure in torturing him and fixing him up wrong. Then this same scientist threatened to hurt him again and he was prepared to let it happen, prepared to endure it again, because in exchange Yushi and Calling Storms would send the others to help Lindon. He was so apathetic and depressed because of what he went through, and suffered for years, his spirit causing him pain, hardly considering himself a sacred artist. And the worst part is, that he is just a genuinely nice guy. He helps Lindon in Ghostwater. He stays with Lindon after his contract to Eithan expires. He tries to cheer the group up by jumping out from behind a couch, pretending to be Eithan, because they miss him. He doesn't deserve to have suffered so much, but even then, he still finds a way to be kind. Despite his suffering, and having lived with it for so long.

[weixuldo]

Allow me// ch 13

Vader x Reader

a/n: so this one is kinda short but is necessary for the plot!! we’ll have some vader and reader interactions in the next chapter!!! :) ty for the support!!!

Vader has been gone longer than anticipated…

warnings: cursing, angst, harm, body horror?, cannon typical violence

_____________________

You walked down the brightly lit corridor with a small transport droid behind you; it carried your tool bag and some parts that had to be specially ordered to fix one of the hyper speed engines. 

Once you reached your destination you swiped your security badge and the deep belly of the ship opened its maw to you. The machinery and technology that allowed the vessel to operate was all at the tip of your fingers. 

You had always wanted to come down here and surprisingly you hadn’t ever had a reason to, but before Vader left to meet with his master he noticed the engines had been running at lower parsecs than usual and asked you to take a look. 

The Executor had been docked on Hoth so that you could inspect and repair the engines (otherwise you would be vaporized if you attempted to inspect them while they ran).

You had actually never been to the icy planet and were excited to see a few sights before going back into space. Vader told you that he would take you on a stroll when he got back- he knew how much you loved exploring new systems and biomes (a conversation of one of your many late night talks). 

Hopefully the meeting between Vader and the Emperor went well and you could debrief with V later today.

Earlier you had seen Palpatine’s ship go off to another system, so that seemed to be a good sign.

Though, you hadn’t heard from Vader yet- but it was common for you not to hear from him until later in the day- especially when you had a demanding task; so you didn’t think much of it.

___________________________

Vader’s mind was consumed with painful memories and the anguish his body was currently feeling as he laid on the burning shores of Mustafar.

His prosthetic ports ached and the flames licking at the metal didn't help the surviving skin that surrounded them. 

Half of him was just ready to give up- He had been in this same position before and chose to cling onto life, but what did that life provide him?

Days of pain and suffering in a suit that would be his coffin, mental anguish over the decisions he had made, manipulation from the man he was supposed to be working with… all he was here for was being a weapon of the empire. He didn’t matter. 

All of this re-lived pain because he aided his dead wife’s handmaiden (who knew that he was Anakin and told him Padme’s last words were ”there’s still good in him”).

He didn’t know if there was still good in him- if everytime he attempted to prove his wife’s last words true, he got punished; how would he go on trying to be good?

But on the other hand; why live if there was no good in him- why bring more suffering into the galaxy? 

In his moment of thought the bank of the river started sliding and he felt the heat intensifying by his legs. In defeat he closed his eyes; what else was there to live for?

The last time he was here, Padme was what kept him going. At the time he thought she was still alive and he needed her. He stayed alive for her, he dragged his mutilated body across the burning coals to get back to her. 

He remembered the pain he felt when he found out she had passed… he would not survive news like that again…

In that instance a burst of color flooded the nothingness of his closed eyes; beautiful greens, blues, and purples.

Soon the colors started forming images, images of you. Your smile, your hair, the adorable look on your face when you finished a big project, the look you gave him before falling asleep curled up to his side. 

You. 

He needed to get back to you.

In his panicked state he pushed you far from his mind; never would he want to associate suffering with you. But now he understood, you were his motivation.

His pillar of light, his guiding hand.

His eyes shot open when realized that was a double edged sword; yes, you were his reason to live, but he also knew that his master loved to manipulate him… and he would spare no soul who would give him more power. 

And now Vader wasn’t there to protect you.

As he slipped further down and the flames began to lick at his already burnt skin, his eyes widened and he gripped the gravely bank with all of his might. He was going to come home to you. 

He needed to get back, he needed to make sure Palpatine didn’t do anything drastic (the emperor already intervened in his previous relationship and he would not let that happen again). 

His desperation and worry soon became anger and pure rage- the thought of Palpatine laying a hand on you made Vader livid. 

After he made his grueling crawl up the scolding shores he wasn’t even thinking about his recovery time and procedures he would need done once he got back; all he could think about was making sure you were safe. 

_________________________________

You usually at least saw Vader once a day, even if for only a short period of time, so you were rightfully anxious when you hadn’t seen him in almost 48 hours.

No matter how much you tried to ignore it you couldn't help but worry about him; the other night he told you he had to meet his master, most likely under unfavorable circumstances…

Would the emperor have done something to him? He couldn’t have, Vader was his strongest, right?

Plus Palpatine left the other day…

Your brows knit together as you tried to fall asleep; why were you so worried?

Vader was a grown man who was more than capable of taking care of himself. You just needed to stop being “worst-case scenario”-

Wait. 

You sucked in a sharp breath when you realized that you couldn’t sense Vader’s force signature; the more you thought about it, you hadn’t felt it this whole time- you were too wrapped up in your work to notice. 

But, again… He was perfectly equipped to handle himself…yeah- no need to worry. 

No need.

…

…..

…….

As much as you wanted to believe what you were telling yourself, your gut told you something was wrong. And you’d be damned if you were just going to sit here and let that worry fester. 

You knew the Emperor was scheduled to come back aboard tomorrow morning to oversee a transport. You could act dumb and attempt to coax information out of him; It was definitely a lofty and irrational idea, but what else was there to do?

________________________________

The air was thick with dread and tension as you slowly made your way up to the loading dock with your helper droid that carried your tools. You pretended to tinker with one of the ventilator shafts until Palpatine was within your view. 

After a few shipments were packed and transported, you took a breath and headed towards the emperor. 

Only a few steps away and his sickening yellow eyes landed on you; in a panic you bowed to him and rushed out an apology. 

“Stand, my young friend” he spoke with a curious tone. 

You did as the sith asked and allowed him to examine your features. 

“What troubles you?” he asked, placing a wiry clawed hand on your back. You hold back a shiver. 

“I am one of Lord Vader’s mechanic’s and I have not received another task from him in a few days. I have finished all of my pending duties and I worry the Lord will become angry if he returns and I have not accomplished anything further” you spoke formally and as if you had no idea where he had gone. 

“I was debating whether or not to approach you. I know you are a very busy man, but I also know that you are my Lord’s superior, so you may have a more urgent task I can attend to- I would rather not putter around and waste the empire’s time”.

The hooded man smiled a toothy grin, “Ahh, young one- your ambition pleases me. I may have a task for you, but first what is the other question you wish to ask?”.

You did have another question, but you didn’t think you indicated that you had one.

“Oh, I was just wondering if you knew where my Lord went off to? It’s not like him to disappear without letting his staff know” (that wasn’t entirely true, but you might as well see what you can get out of the old man).

“I’m not sure where he’s gone off to, hopefully he will return to you soon. I can tell he means a great deal to you” the pale man creepily smiled before dismissing himself to attend to other matters. 

Shit. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. 

_________________________

Vader groaned in pain as the mouse droid he just rewired began to fuse a random droid’s leg to his port; He needed to be able to walk somehow and this is the best he could do as of now. 

He knew it was going to hurt like hell when he would eventually have to get it seared off (He wouldn’t be able to get his new prosthetics on without getting this replacement leg off.)

Once he was relatively put together he prepared himself to hoist himself up. He winced at the pressure of his weight on the unfamiliar legs, but nevertheless, he pressed on.

He made his way through the dingy compound, looking for ways out and back to you. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a low level bounty hunter. Did this fool really think he could take Vader? 

Without any effort, Vader slammed the armed man against the opposite wall once he started to get too close.

If there was one, there were more, Vader needed to get out of here before a real threat came his way…

***

a/n: thanks for bearing with me through finals eeekkk sorry i’ve been on an atrocious upload schedule

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai i @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger @duckyhowls @monada43 @lauriidoesstuff @vienettacream @ray-rook @itswhatever06 @ilovenielperry

[captainqster]

LFRP - Roster

BOYS BELOW

Ilya Rehw-Jord > visit his blog for his personal page and gposes

Summary:

An exiled Rava from Golmore. Ilya is in his mid-twenties and currently resides in Gridania. After ten years of an abusive relationship with his Wood-Warder master culminated in the murder of Ilya's secret Hyuran lover, he fled Golmore, barely escaping with his life after a violent altercation. He was given sanctuary and traditional medicinal care in a small village where he spent months recovering. Thus indebted, he embarked on a series of favors to repay the time, resources, and space given to him. The last of these favors, which involved travelling to Eorzea to mutilate an upstart businessman who'd swindled a Kugane merchant, at last landed him in the Shroud. His travelling companion encouraged Ilya to register himself as an adventurer and build a new life for himself in Eorzea. He's been there since, isolating himself as he copes with the guilt and shame of his former life.

Notable Traits: avoidant, curious, proud, teasing, tactless, protective, conversationally direct, morally grey

Notable Habits/Skills: archery, knife-fighting, tracking, general survival skills, whittling, wandering, avoiding his responsibilities

Solis pyr Nola > visit his blog for his personal page and gposes

Summary:

The only son of a prominent pureblooded Garlean family and now a defector. His childhood consisted of integrating and learning to manipulate high society while perfecting every extra-curricular deemed strategic by his parents. He lived his privileged young life buying into the empire's propaganda, attended college for political science and economics, then enlisted in the military to be stationed in Doma. The inhumane treatment of Domans witnessed there shook Solis, but he spent several months in cowardly silence until family ties elevated him to the position of optio. Taking advantage of this new position, Solis began to relentlessly file reports of the war crimes his fellows committed. His naivety and whistle-blowing eventually resulted in being dragged from his bed and beaten until he instinctively retaliated by shooting one of his aggressors through the face. Fleeing in the tumultuous aftermath, he landed in Ishgard where he strives to hide his identity and become someone he can be proud of.

Notable Traits: well-mannered, organized, bad at lying, conversational, confident, bossy, hot-headed, eager to learn, easily embarrassed

Notable Habits/Skills: boxing, piano, piloting, marksmanship, finances, social manipulation

Lidell Locke > visit his blog for his personal page and gposes

Summary:

Another exiled Rava from Golmore, his forest name was Ari Djt-Dvre. He lived the typical male lifestyle for more than a century, excelling under his Wood-Warder master's tutelage until he achieved mastery and struck out on his own. He was a devout follower of the Green Word and sired several daughters by the same woman from his birth village. He would often watch them from a distance and leave small gifts for his lover and children. His birth village, being small and near the edge of Golmore territory, was ransacked and torched by a Garlean force. Ari's only obtainable vengeance was to track a straggling Garlean survivor over the course of days, where he strung the man up, skinned him alive and left him to the jungle's mercy. Exiling himself afterwards, he adopted a city name, Lidell, and travelled to Dalmasca where he joined the resistance. His hair-trigger temper and bloodthirst eventually had him forcibly discharged from resistance forces. Now he roams, taking on mercenary work as he tries and fails to find some peace from the unrelenting grief and anger.

Notable Traits: contemplative, genuine, honest, combative, aggressive, weary, lost, temperamental

Notable Habits/Skills: lancer, archery, general survival skills, hunting, herbal medicine, celestial navigation

OOC:

Hello, I'm Dom, I'm located in the southwestern United States. I prefer long-term, multi-para rp, most likely on Discord for organizational purposes. I'm happy to meet up in game sometimes but I don't typically rp there.

I enjoy dark content BUT I do enjoy wholesome things. I'm also very open to OOC chat so feel free to hit me with a million questions and ideas. Message me here, I can provide my discord name for chat/planning!

Please check the individual blogs linked in the above character summaries for rp status.

[k-s-morgan]

Hi K. I’m sorry the war rages on and that things haven’t gotten better. It does seem like the world has completely gone to shit, permanently. I wish I could do something to help. I’m sorry I can’t.

If it’s ok, and if it’d help get your mind off of things for a bit, I wanted to ask a hannigram-related question.

It’s not clear on the show (if I remember correctly) whether Will dismembered and did the museum tableau of Randall Tier by himself or with Hannibal. It was my understanding that him and Hannibal did it together, however, in the script, Hannibal asks Will something along the lines of “why didn’t you get rid of the body (Randall’s)?” [instead of displaying it?]. So the script implies that Hannibal wasn’t present and didn’t do the tableau with Will, and that Will did it all himself, instead of disposing of the body. (I do think though that this scene from the script was deleted). But on the scenes we actually saw on the episode, it does give the impression that they did it together because later, when they’re on Hannibal’s study, Will says “we’re going to get caught” when they’re discussing Randall and the tableau, so again we’re made to believe they worked together. What is your view? Did they display Randall together or only Will?

Hi! Thank you so much for your ask. The world has indeed is becoming a darker and darker place - or maybe, with the Internet, it's just more obvious now. It seems like people can never just enjoy life, there is always horror and suffering and the indiffrence.

And yes, of course! I think Will staged Randall's body by himself, and while the scene that definitely proves it remained only in the script, I think there is still enough text in the show to heavily imply it.

It starts with Will admitting:

WILL GRAHAM: I don't think I've ever felt more alive than when I was killing him.

HANNIBAL: Then you owe Randall Tier a debt. How will you repay him?

This sounds like Hannibal wants to Will to mutilate Randall himself to repay him for becoming the sacrifice on the altar of his transformation.

Later, after Will, Hannibal, and Jack are watching the body, Jack and Hannibal present different theories, and Will disagrees with them both almost defensively:

WILL GRAHAM: He isn't mocking him. This isn't disdain. He's commemorating him.

To me, this means that positioning Randall like this was his idea, his way of expressing his feelings, and it's important for him to make his unique meaning clear to everyone, including Hannibal.

Then Will moves to the space of his own head, and he and imaginary Randall have this conversation:

RANDALL: You made me a monument.

WILL GRAHAM: You're welcome.

RANDALL: The monument is not to me. It's to you. This is pride.

WILL GRAHAM: I gave you what you want. This is who you are. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.

RANDALL: This is my becoming. And yours.

Will shakes his head, this is not his becoming.

Will: This is my design.

Randall says that Will in particular made him a monument, and Will speaks only about himself when explaining that he gave him what he wanted. The idea behind this monument is to show that Will is developing his own unique design - Hannibal shouldn't be involved in this because it's a deeply intimate thing that's unique to everyone, and while Will and Hannibal are absolutely soulmates, they still have different MOs and preferences. At this moment of time, Hannibal fully mastered his, but Will is only starting to spread his wings. The deleted scene from the script elaborates on this notion:

HANNIBAL: Why didn't you dispose of the body? It was the prudent course.

WILL GRAHAM: Randall deserved to be seen.

HANNIBAL: Randall, or your work on him?

WILL GRAHAM: You called it "artistry." Is that how you see your own efforts?

HANNIBAL: I also called it "savagery." You mutilated the body. Displayed it.

WILL GRAHAM: The bird is leaving the nest, Dr. Lecter. Spreading his wings.

HANNIBAL: How did it feel? To manipulate what was a living man into a message all of your own.

WILL GRAHAM: Like I wasn't finished till I had.

Hannibal absorbs this.

HANNIBAL: Did you take a trophy too, Will?

WILL GRAHAM: A memento of my first rodeo? What do you think?

HANNIBAL: I think it would be the act of a serial killer.

WILL GRAHAM: By definition, one body doesn't make me a serial killer.

Also, if Hannibal was there, I think he would be interested in what Will did to Randall's meat, and probably where he took his costume, which would lessen the impact of Will bringing this meat to him later on, passing it for Freddie's.

As for the "We're going to get caught," maybe you meant the scene in E12? Will says this to Hannibal after Mason and Freddie in the hope to bait him into killing Jack and escaping. This is not directly about Randall, Will meant their crimes in general.

HANNIBAL: Jack Crawford already suspects you killed Freddie Lounds.

WILL GRAHAM: If Jack told you he suspects me, it means he suspects you.

HANNIBAL: I know.

Will considers their options a moment, then:

WILL GRAHAM: You should give him what he wants.

HANNIBAL: Give him the Chesapeake Ripper?

WILL GRAHAM: Allow him closure. Reveal yourself. You've taunted him long enough. Let him see you with clear eyes.

So, I think the display of Randall was entirely Will's doing.

[ohemgeeejay]

2k3 Shredder and why he fucking terrifies me 💀

I’m having some intense ass 2k3 tmnt brain rot rn, and I need to talk about this Shredder. This bitch is horrifying. Note that I am only about half way through s3, and this is my first time ever watching the show in full, so there is a lot I haven’t seen yet. All of my knowledge and opinions are based off of the first 3 seasons.

Onto the why!

First of all, this mf has been an intergalactic war criminal for hundreds of years. Based on all the shit we see going on across this universe, you gotta have done something pretty damn horrific to become a war criminal. Like this lil’ freak can easily be considered a terrorist. Even if we disregard that, he’s still the leader of a gang that borders on being a cult.

He has killed so many people? Using people as a broader term for any intelligent, sentient life forms- so humans, Utrom, etc. We don’t have a kill count or anything, but he’s probably directly killed over 100, and indirectly killed thousands more. Thousands may seem like an unrealistically high estimate, but when you really think about it, it’s not. Saying he’s indirectly responsible for 1000 deaths is a generous underestimation. Think about it, all the people his Foot Clan goons have killed, all the gang wars and violence he has incited, all the buildings he had destroyed, livelihoods of innocent people he completely demolished, and everyone who died for him. Not to mention how any and every person who died in the Triceraton/Federation invasion of earth only died because of a millennia long chain reaction resulting from this evil little flesh sack stranding the Utrom on Earth.

Even without all the actual deaths he caused, the things he is shown to be willing to do to others are nightmare fuel. He has no morals whatsoever, no compassion for any living thing other than himself; there is no line he is not willing to cross. He brutally killed Hamato Yoshi, he was willing to leave the turtles & co. locked in a fridge, in a burning building, with a gas leak, and a bomb ready to go off. He inflicts life altering injuries on his “employees” to punish them for not accomplishing his impossible goals. He regularly threatens death on those he views as lesser, and is perfectly content to go through with it.

A perfect example of his sadism is Baxter Stockman. Stockman was just your average corrupt, greedy tech CEO. Shreddy-boy saw the chance to exploit that, recruiting Stockman to be his robotics guy. Every time Stockman failed to do what Shredder demanded of him, he lost a part of his body. He was dismembered and tortured and taken apart like a fucking LEGO set. I mean, he got so mutilated he was literally nothing but a brain, a spinal chord, and an eyeball in a tank. Shredder destroyed every part of Stockman that wasn’t useful to him, which was everything but a genius brain. With all of his body gone, Stockman didn’t have the choice to leave the Foot, he physically couldn’t leave the Foot because he would die. If he ever dared to stop serving the Shredder, he would inevitably die, whether the Shredder ordered it or not.

Which segues into my next point, his manipulation. The way this ugly ass quishy tissue blob manipulates everyone around him is sickening. The way he treats Karai, someone who sees him as her father, is nothing other than abusive. He lies so easily. He almost convinced Leonardo to join him by pretending to be some benevolent ninjutsu master. He views every life other than his own as expendable, and he sees himself as a being above death, a god above God.

Which brings me to my final point. THIS MF JUST WILL NOT DIE. Every single time the turtles seem to have defeated him, every time it seems like he’s finally dead, THIS BITCH JUST COMES BACK. The mental anguish and paranoia that would cause anybody once it happens over and over again is enough to land you in a psych ward for eternity. And it seems like every time he returns he returns more powerful, more evil, and less human than ever before.

So yeah. 2k3 Shredder fucking petrifies me and I am not at all ashamed to admit that. It’s a pretty reasonable fear imo.

[traceofexistence]

here's some Karlach meta that is about Karlach and not her abusers.

What we know lore wise, is that Karlach is very big in size (210cm tall) that is like a tall basketball player in human terms, and teiflings are like humans in size (as they were humans themselves once)

so she's big for a tiefling.

Karlach lost her parents in a young age, the assumption is that she was a teen. (a very crucial age to have guidance and support)

she's not the smartest cookie in the jar, and there is a line she says that indicates she didn't finish school (whatever level of education there is in fearun). her actor Sam even suggests that she dropped out school the moment her father died(her mom died before her dad)

we know also that she's an immature person, we can see that based on her reactions and wording, and kiddo enthusiasm at times, and also in terms of romance.

what immaturity mean in her case:

prone to be manipulated

prone to affiliate with the wrong crowds

prone to use substances (soul coins) without thinking of the consequences

emotionally vulnerable

a kid without guidance is more likely to be taken advantage off

there is also something that Sam said that puts in perspective the point about her size, and I think it is an extremely valid point.

Sam has a friend who was a very big build when he was young, and while as kid he was a good kid, with well meaning parents overall. because of his body type he was clocked by gangs for recruitment. and his parents had to do extra work to protect him from something that had nothing to do with their parenting, or his character but his body type. because as Sam pointed out when you are 14 and look like 20 and even big for that age, gangs want muscles, and a 14 year old doesn't have the maturity to see the red flags and flee. Sam said that story specifically to put Karlach in perspective for us, they also of course told us that their friend is a whole grown up now with family of his own, and he managed to avoid the wrong crowds as his parents did the utmost to protect him. Karlach did not have that, because her parents were dead at the time she needed them most.

see for example the orphaned tiefling kids in act 1, they do petty crimes all around because there are no adults around who care to guide them.

Karlach probably started in the same way in her teens, because of her huge body she got into protection/intimidation (her friend Fytz asked her if she's still in the business of intimidation, so we know that was something she was doing)

and when she was old enough and deep enough to not have an alternative, G got her, a slaver, an abuser, and a master manipulator. Karlach was in need of a decent job, he gave her that. it was what she could do, it paid well, and it gave her a lot of freedom too, being the bodyguard of someone like him certainly opened doors for her way easier.

on top of that in terms of her romantic life, she never loved, and she was never loved, as she says herself whatever walked on two legs she would climb aboard, no strings attached. her first fantasy out of the hells is for her to fuck her way through baldur's gates, two at a time. the way she can not manage her own feelings when she meets us and falls in love for the first time. all those things are indications of her immaturity.

she also trusts very easily, whoever will help her. G was someone who helped her so she trusted him, protected him, did his bidding. she was fully aware he was one of those shady fucks who had his tentacles everywhere, she says so when we ask her. but in her naivety she thought he cared enough for her to keep her around.

instead he manipulated her quite easily to do the job until he didn't need her anymore, or more precisely she was more valuable sold to a devil and experimented on, to him, than being his bodyguard. he could find plenty of muscle if he wanted to. but someone who could go through mutilation and survive enough time to get his prototype?

she trusted him so much that if he was to tell her his plan, she would probably agree to do it, get an engine for a heart and all. but no he betrayed her he didn't even inform her what will happen to her, he just made a deal without her, he treated her like a thing, like a tool.

and lets not forget that when we meet Fytz, she tells us that he told everyone that Karlach just left, he LIED about what he did. blamed Karlach made everyone believe she just abandoned everyone without a goodbye.

he sold her to slavery, and then assassinated her character, so nobody would look for her.

she was the perfect victim, she didnt have anyone who would look for her, and she was completely in the dark of what he had planned to do.

Karlach was not a bad person, she was just loyal to a horrible disgusting abuser.

she tells Jaheira, that she wished she had met her before G, that way she would put her talents in good cause instead of doing what she had to do.

she never wanted that life, she never chose that life, she had ambitions, and she had heroes she looked up to.

I dont think the game through Karlach really puts in perspective the amount of torment Karlach suffered in hells.

they way she mourned her heart that her mama gave her, it is the only concrete enough indication of how torturous and sadistic the process of the engine installment was.

there is not reference that her heart is kept somewhere, and she can go and retrieve it. from the mourning what I personally get is that her heart was extracted and then mutilated, and thrown to the imps to eat. and Karlach was conscious during the entire process so she could feel all the pain. physical and mental

zariel made karlach her possession, all the tattoos and burns scars, the carving on her horn. she was marked, so everyone could know who her slaver was.

and then she made her an addict as well (soul coins)

Karlach managed to survive slavery, and escape, but the impact that had on her is unimaginable.

so yes she tries to live, she tries to leave the past behind her, Faerun is like a child's play in comparison to what she had to do to survive in the hells.

so she becomes loyal to the first people she meets. the first people who showed her compassion.

but she also is being upfront, she doesnt hide who she is, who she was, what she has done to survive. when we asked her about the asshole she tells us all about what her life was like.

when we ask her as tav what she thinks she would be doing in not for the tadpole, and she asks us back, and if we choose the adventurer answer, she's thrilled about us doing all kinds of shit, and wants to join us.

she's the type of "wherever life takes me" as long as it's not the hells, but even that, we can convinces her to go so a little while until we find a way to fix her.

final verdict is that

Karlach is best girl, with a past, and also a victim of abuse and slavery. and all the blame goes to the abusers and slavers and nobody else, especially not her.

[deluxewhump]

Erik's Journals pt 2 (2011-2013)

Content Warning for entire series: institutionalized slavery of a minor (11-18), emotional abuse and manipulation, dubious comfort, pet whump, disordered eating, violence, guns, mutilation (off screen, no main characters), corporal punishment, sexual content/dubcon ( character is 18+), broken bones, death of a parent, unreliable narrator

2: What the Fates Allow

December 2011

Feelings toward my new pet that are paternal in nature have been growing for some time, but last night I felt them so acutely I feel compelled to record the instance.

I had just come home from a week’s absence. (I was in Stockholm with Mathilde and our cousin Karl, settling some family business and enjoying an extended visit.)

I was exhausted from jetlag, and I’d spent all that afternoon until it was dark with Keith in the warehouse going over the minutiae of that side of the business. Though I needed to catch up on emails for O&H, I found myself absentmindedly watching a movie with Carlo.

Besides the TV, the only light in the room was the warm yellow glow of the Christmas tree in the corner. Its thousand tiny bulbs reflected against the black panes of the bay window like Van Gogh stars. Carlo was on the opposite end of the sofa, wrapped in a beige quilted blanket.

It was pleasant to share the room with another person, even a quiet pet. Poor thing. He’d been alone all week but for visits from his tutors and the maid.

It’s not just any pet you could leave alone for a week and not worry about. I called him a few times, to say hello. He always gave polite, perfunctory answers to my questions, though they were meant to be conversational. To a warm “how are you?” he’d answer “well, Sir, and you?” My gently exasperated laughter did nothing but push him into longer, more uncomfortable silences. I could picture him standing in my study, the cordless receiver to his ear, tracing patterns on the sun faded oriental rug with his toe in the socks I’d bought him.

I was an uncomfortable business call to him. He gave me the same stilted, self conscious reports as when I called one of my lower management team unexpectedly. “Did Anna make you your Italian wedding soup yet? I put your favorites on the menu for the week.” “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

Eventually I would put him out of his misery and let him go. He is still adjusting. Despite my measured efforts to reassure him, he is so acutely aware our relationship to one another, my status as his master and head of the household that has become his fishbowl-world. I know he will grow more comfortable with me over time. 

More importantly, I had no doubt he’d be here when I got back, lessons done and house clean, no trouble. His behavior so far has been exemplary, and I try to remember to praise him on it. 

The movie took a sad turn (to ramp the ethos of the genre up to ten). The aging matriarch of the family was hiding a medical diagnosis, probably cancer, from her adult children so as not to put a damper on Christmas, and they had all just found out. I happened to glance over at my pet. In the soft light from the tree, I could see he was crying. 

“Carlo,” I said without thinking, my voice infused with nearly amused concern.

He turned his head away from me.

"Oh, hey now." I patted the spot next to me. I regretted the tone my voice may have taken when I said his name. “It’s alright. Do you want to come over here?”

Without looking at me, he did as I suggested, curling up fairly close. He didn’t touch the tears on his cheeks, as if acknowledging them would be worse than ignoring them. 

To preserve what he clearly considered as his dignity I said nothing further, but I wondered if it was just the tear-jerking tactics of the film with the doomed mother, or a mother-shaped ache of his own that had gotten him to cry.

I very much doubted if his mother hadn’t died that any of this would have ever become of him. As you can imagine, the trade is filled with orphans, runaways, drifters, and those with similarly tenuous ties to society. And even then, the state rarely offers up one so young as this one- still only a child. I put my arm around him.

“Things always work out in these types of movies,” I said. “Don’t you worry.”

He must’ve felt the affection in the weight of my arm, for he was bold enough to lay temple against me. The movie was coming to a relatively happy close a few minutes later, and I pulled back just enough to look down into his face.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded unconvincingly.

“You miss her, don’t you?”

This brought fresh tears, and he turned away again to hide his face from me, muffling a choked sob as he did. He said something that was lost in the tear-tight back of his throat, but what I think was an apology. 

That unfamiliar, deeply personal ache, what I can only describe as something akin to paternal affection slipped painfully as a knife between my ribs. Gently, I turned him back towards me by his shoulders and held out my arms in an offer to hold him. He accepted, placing his cheek against my chest and letting me wrap my arms around him. 

“Of course you do,” I soothed, rubbing my hand between his shoulder blades. “It’s not fair, is it? I know it isn’t. It’s okay to miss her. You’re home, you can feel however you need to feel.”

I shushed him rhythmically and repeated any comforting nonsense I could think of until the tears subsided and he sat up sniffing, wiping his face like someone who’s just tripped in public hurries to brush themself off, afraid to look and see if everyone is watching.

“You’re my pet, Carlo Holstrom. I know you know that, but do you know what it means?”

He managed a wobbly, obligatory answer, keeping his chin and eyes down. No, Sir.

”It means it’s my job to look after you. Just like I’ve shown you your jobs, I have one too. It’s to take care of you. Always. You’re not alone, and you’re never going back to a state home, or with anyone else but me. I know I have to go on trips sometimes, but I’ll always come back.”

”It’s like family, then?” he glanced up cautiously. His eyelashes were wet, his nose red. “I know the difference,” he hurried to add. “But, kind of?”

”Oh yes,” I agreed seriously, and with fondness smoothed down a stray curl of his hair. “It is just as binding.”

Jet-lagged, compelled by his innocence and my own apparent sappiness, I made a promise. “I can’t bring your mother or anyone else back, Carlo. But I promise you that as long as I’m living, you’ll always have someone in your corner.”

-

That night I pulled an extra quilt from a linen closet to drape over his bed on account of the cold temperatures the weather channel had called for. When he thanked me for it, he said thank you, Papa, from his pillow, already half asleep.

I turned out his light and walked down the dark hallway with a feeling like a physical weight in my chest. This boy was only here because of misfortune and the banal ugliness of the world compounding one onto another sure as misery loves company. And of course, because of my own casual participation in a thing as tainted and archaic as the pet trade. One day he would understand my participation for what it was. I was complicit in all the ubiquitous systems of the world that put him on that block for sale or slaughter. 

Tonight I had shown him an ounce of human kindness, mostly because I have been pleased with his good behavior, and he had responded with generosity and trust tenfold. I know the difference, he’d said, assuring me he knew his place in the world. Papa, he had called his master, his captor. Half asleep. Like a lullaby. 

I had forgotten how beauty is sometimes made, crushed under the oppressive weight of the ragged world like a diamond. How it can persist not because of, but in spite of. I had forgotten how painful it could be to witness. 

3: Classically Trained

January 2013

In addition to English and math, I hired a piano tutor for Carlo, an old acquaintance who came recommended to me by a friend.

I know a little of the piano myself, just enough to substitute when Claude can’t make it, until Carlo advances beyond me. 

Yesterday was one such day. Claude canceled late, citing a toothache. I sat down at the piano bench with Carlo after dinner in the music room, a shoe-polish black baby grand surrounded by the seeking branches of potted plants striving hopefully towards the windows. Outside, the nighttime sky was bright with a corona of blue-grey light, heavy with unfallen snow.

“Show me where you left off last time.”

He flipped forward in his scorebook to Schubert’s Der Tod und das Mädchen, everything about his manner careful and stiff. I thought at first he might be nervous to play in front of me, which was alright.

“Show me your placement,” I said gently, and he did.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He began to play, slowly at first like the first laborious push of a bicycle pedal, a timid touch gaining momentum on the mournful opening notes of the Leid.

At a transition, his thumb missed its intended note. Discord barked where the other notes sang, a dropped set of car keys among wind chimes. He froze. At this point I still assumed his behavior was just shyness of me, and his usual sensitivity to criticism. 

“Pick back up from here,” I said, pointing to the last half note. “Slow down over that transition to C. Piano, not pianissimo. You’re doing well.”

He seemed not even to breathe, fingers still poised over the keys where he’d made his mistake like it was the scene of an accident. I noticed not for the first time he had been biting his nails, some of them down to the tender quick, leaving pink half moons on his fingertips. Momentarily, he did as I asked, tread slowly past the note where he’d faltered before. It seemed it was his relief and pleasure that made him lose his concentration next. He faltered again when he picked back up to speed, his small back as straight as an ironing board next to me.

This time I reached over to lay my hand on his, guide him over how the movement would have felt if he’d mastered it. He flinched from my touch. I pulled back.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said automatically. Eyes on his fingers, fingers on the mute keys. He glanced up towards his sheet music, then away as if shocked by static electricity.

I followed his gaze carefully. How had I not seen it before? Tucked behind the sheet music on the music rack was a long black switch like an antenna, metal alloy tapering to an end as thin as a pencil. At first I thought it must be a pointer, like a conductor's wand. After a slow moment of understanding it occurred to me it might just as well be an instrument of discipline and punishment. Like a nuns right-hand ruler, it was perfectly made for inflicting pain.

“What’s this?” I asked, drawing it out by the tip. I held it flat in my palm like a carrot.

He avoided my eyes.

“I asked you a question.”

He drew his hands into his lap, his shoulders losing some of their rigidity. “It’s a switch,” he offered, in case I was just stupid.

“Is this your tutor’s?”

A reluctant nod.

“What is this for?”

No answer.

“Carlo,” I said in low warning.

“To correct, Sir. Only when I make a mistake. Or don’t sit up right.”

“Where does he hit you with it?”

“My hands. Fingers.”

I sighed. I almost told him that he should have told me, but he probably assumed I knew about Claude’s methods, since I’d hired him. Communication requires trust. I am still working on that with him. 

Claude is a decent pianist, but a twit. Julliard trained about a hundred years ago, which everyone knew by virtue of him letting everyone know. Roman Catholic, though no longer practicing. He fancied himself an outcast of the Church now, prone to Marxist commentary and mystical in ways he was sure they found threatening and lately sporting a bristly fundamentalist beard. Rasputin minus the charisma. Still, the sin and corporal punishment crowd often struggle to forget their roots.

But to presume to touch— let alone hit— my pet without asking my explicit permission? I’d given his manners too much credit. I would not soon forgive his overstep, making my own pet flinch from my touch in learned fear. I hoped his toothache pained him fiercely.

“That particular tutor won’t be invited back here,” I said, and tucked the switch into my jacket pocket. “He’s not fit to teach you.”

For the first time since I’d sat down beside him he dared turn his head to look at me. “What about when I make a mistake?”

“You try again, until you are making better mistakes on harder pieces. Mistakes and disobedience are not the same thing. And pain is excellent kindling for art, but not the kind inflicted on children with a switch. You understand the difference?”

“Mistakes are not the same as disobedience.”

I nodded at him to ready his hands at the keys again.

“From the beginning,” I told him. “Take a deep breath. Lower your shoulders.”

Next

[enchantedbat]

We don't know a lot about witches. The following is not canon. I try to use what it given to us but we barely have any information on the witches and their powers.

Let it be said first: I hate how the witches are used in the show. Cloud Tower is taken over again and again and again... Griffin was also part of the Company of Light and she was powerful enough to be paired up with Valtor first. Why is her school always hijacked?

I believe, the witches are often running away and, most of the times, cowards because Griffin taught them that nothing is as valuable as their life. Not even their dignity and pride.

Anyway! To understand the powers of the witches better, we should have more background on their education. A simple curriculum by yours truely:

Botany & Herbology

Psychology

Meditation

Potionology

Ancient & Magical Languages

History

Laws & Contracts

Demonology & Monster Studies

Sigils & Wards

Abjuration:

Resistance

Nullification

Dispelling

Conjuration:

Summonings

Binds

Banishment 

Teleportation

Creation

Alteration

Metamorphosis 

Mutation

Transfiguration

Illusionary Magic

Invisibility

Glamour

Mimikry 

Phantasm

Bewitchment

Cursology

Charms

Hypnosis 

Mind Control

Necromancy

These classes are more or less the basic skill set of witches. Of course, some master a few of these better than others. The Trix.

Witches can form coven, advised to have atleast three members and not more than thirteen. Most of them do not want to be in a group.

While we had at least some information on the Alfea fairies, we have almost none on the witches. What we have are a ton of names. Let's dive right in.

Shilly - Witch of Blood

blood manipulation & body control

healing, blood doping & blood thinning 

blood production, solidification and constructs need either her own blood or that of others (it can’t go back into her body!)

blood consumption through touch 

familiar: I mean, it has to be bat.

she is always getting the others in danger because this woman only dates red flags. poor Shilly just wants to meet her true love!

dated like four vampires before Lucy out a spell on their dorm, so all three witches have to grant them entry (Pulisatilla likes to enable her friend's bad decisions)

Shilly was a bad student and failed enough courses that made Griffin worry about her having such a great power

she is protective over her friends and can be extremely dangerous when angry.

she always tells Bloom the newest gossip from Cloud Tower and who she is dating right now

Pulisatilla - Witch of Fears

fear immunity 

fear augmentation and negation

fear detection, inducement and manifestation 

fear embodiment (illusionary and shapeshifting)

fear creation

familiar: spider. I think they get a bad reputation and are feared the most. 

Shilly and Pulisatilla became friends after a while which is rather rare for witches. they appreciate both appreciate a good flirt and a successful shopping spree.

she wanted to be their coven leader but Lucy really impressed her and somehow they ended up being good friends.

while Lucy and Shilly have friends at Alfea, Pulisatilla just accompanies them. she pretends to have no fun when they are out with the fairies but secretly enjoys some of their companies.

Ederaviola - Witch of Souls 

soul and spirit manipulation

possession

reincarnation

soul mutilation & destruction 

soul energy solidification 

soul sealing

familiar: jackal. Anubis-inspired.

While Shilly and Pulisatilla join Lucy's coven, Ederaviola stays on her own. She is deeply connected to the Cloud Tower as their souls "touched" throughout her whole school years. She will stay to teach there.

I spent a lot of time on their powers and finding very good explanations and connections to their names. I had to stop myself. Well, the honorable mentions (and my chosen powers for them!)

Karen - Witch of Misfortune

Lucrezia - Witch of Greed 

Lunilla - Witch of Voices

Tabitha - Witch of Nightmares

Vera - Witch of Lies

Verbena - Witch of Metals

Gerbera - Witch of Mushrooms

Euphorbia - Witch of Diseases 

Hecate - Witch of Travel

Endora - Witch of Undead

(one day I might try to do a meet the cloud tower witches slideshow.)

[abbatoirablaze]

AOD, All For You Master List

This series is completed! ✔️

Long before Bucky Barnes was part of the Drysdale mob family, he sat atop his own pedestal.

Women loved him.

He was set to inherit the Barnes family territory.

And he had his best friend, Steve Rogers by his side.

But then he met her.

James Buchanan Barnes knew that he would give up everything for her.

And the only thing that stood in his way, was her overprotective brother and father.

Chapters

A Prince In Love

The Love Story Without A Happily Ever After

Dishonored

A Pound Of Flesh

A Sealed Promise

The Journey's End

This story will not include warnings in each chapter. It's part of the Angel Of Death universe and includes death, murder, mutilation, manipulation, betrayal, and other dark themes. Read at your own risk.