#true @meathook @in

[marypsue]

Well, the gleefully gruesome slasher horror of Girls, Ghosts, and Meathooks has taken a weird turn into a transcript of an in-universe true crime podcast and a sympathetic look at what happens to the people left behind after the final shot of the final girl standing bloody and triumphant over the (totally-not-actually-dead) slasher. I was expecting to end up writing one of these things.

[markrosewater]

Maro’s “Look Inside the House”: A Duskmourn: House of Horrors Teaser

The new plane of Duskmourn is a perilous place, but if you can survive the horrors within you may come out stronger than ever. I’ve been there. I’ve seen the darkness and to that end, here are some hints of things to come – but will this information help or hinder your journey? Only time will tell. As with any good piece of horror media, you’re only receiving partial information and things are not always as they appear: 

 First up, here are some things you can expect:  

• A component of the set with a frame using technology first designed for an Un-set

• A tweak on an ability word that first appeared in the third set of a block

• Counters used in the set: +1/+1, -1/-1, finality, flying, lifelink, lore, loyalty, nest, possession, rev, stun, and time

• The first ability word to reference “second main phase”

• A 10/1 creature for UUU

• A variant on a mechanic that itself was a variant on another mechanic

• A modal three mana white mass removal spell

• A character returns as a legendary creature that first appeared in flavor text in Alpha

• A new ability word that cares about a card type and a (new) keyword action

• Creature tokens: 1/1 white Toy, 1/1 white Glimmer, 2/1 white Insect, 3/1 white Spirit, 4/4 white Beast, blue token copy, X/X blue Spirit, 2/2 black Horror, 6/6 black Demon, 1/1 red Gremlin, 1/1 red Balloon, 2/2 green Spider, 1/1 black and green Insect, and 0/0 green and blue Fractal

 Next, here are some rules text that will be showing up on cards:  

• “unlock a locked door”

• “Search your library for a Demon card,”

• “where X is the number of creatures you control with power 2 or less.”

• “Exile any number of target instant, sorcery, and/or Tamiyo planeswalker cards from your graveyard.”

• “The same is true for creature spells you control and creature cards you own that aren’t on the battlefield.”

• “You have no maximum hand size and don’t lose the game for having 0 or less life.”

• “Whenever you cast an instant or sorcery spell that targets only a single creature you control, copy that spell.”

• “Shards you control become copies of it until the beginning of the next end step.”

• “of creatures you control that don’t have the same name as this creature.”

• “(2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, and 31 are prime numbers.)”

 Here are some creature type lines from the set: 

• Creature – Human Doctor

• Creature – Kor Survivor

• Creature – Goat

• Creature – Shark

• Creature – Eye

• Creature – Fish Insect

• Artifact Creature – Monkey Toy

• Creature – Human Clown Berserker

• Legendary Creature – Elder Demon

• Legendary Creature – Rat Ninja Wizard

 Finally, here are some names in the set: 

• Acrobatic Cheerleader

• Don’t Make a Sound

• Exorcise

• Friendly Ghost

• Jump Scare

• Let’s Play a Game

• Meathook Massacre II

• Orphans of the Wheat

• Split Up

• Unsettling Twins

 Tune into Duskmourn’s Debut at 2pm PT, August 31 – streaming live from PAX West – where the House will finally reveal more of its secrets.

[izzystizzys]

the thing about being the highest-ranked and most-decorated officer in any GAR/Guard capacity, fox thinks, is that unsurprisingly nobody could give less of a shit or listen to anything he says. it’s not like he earned those medals and recognitions and perfect test scores or anything, now is it, kote?

or, after the zillo beast disaster, the coruscant guard medbay just so happens to be much closer than the GAR one, and surprise surprise, senators don’t want meatdroids to be treated in their facilities after they’ve just protected them with their lives. fox tries to reason against this. fox is unsuccessful, because no one listens to fox.

which is how he finds himself crammed into a corner along with cody, ponds, bly, rex and their jedi, looking out across a medbay which is quite frankly a goddamn disaster rivalling the fight with the zillo beast in proportions. skywalker tries to step out towards one of the medics, and has to be pulled back by the collar of his shirt by amidala, squawking loudly when he’s nearly rammed over by mauler, crucifix and a shrilly screaming crash cart.

it’s not like fox said this would be a bad idea or anything.

“um, vod”, cody begins, unsure, “what’s - is that guy sewing wooley up with thread?!”

meathook, who is in fact sewing wooley up with thread, and looks about as happy about it as his patient, and who fox honestly thought was going to cry when he announced the influx of patients about to descend on them, snaps something about triage over his shoulder at hound, whose arm is decidedly bent in a way it shouldn’t be, jerking his head to gesture at the rickety cot next to cody’s ARC. fox is pretty sure they salvaged the thing from a dumpster. he slaps a bandage on the stitches that fox fears might be from the same dumpster.

“putting those advanced reconnaissance training skills to use, kote”, says fox, who invariably turns into the worst possible version of himself whenever cody opens his mouth within a klick of his vicinity.

skywalker harrumphs, evidently at the end of his impressive patience. “well, why?! hey, trooper! these men need bacta!”

“do they, now? i’m sorry, i hadn’t noticed”, a low voice hisses angrily behind them, and fox is the only one who doesn’t jump on account of he’s too dead inside to be scared of his CMO anymore. a grave error, he’s sure. “i guess i’ll just go pull some out of my ass along with a tank and painkillers, then! hadn’t thought of that yet!”

warcrime, whose eye is twitching and who is holding a bloody saw in visible consideration of using it, pins skywalker with a look that has had shinies all over the guard peeing themselves. “we don’t have any fucking bacta, you absolute numbskull.”

“but that can’t be right”, cody pipes up again, next to a very troubled looking generals kenobi and windu. fox sympathises very much with the patented migraine-glare on windu’s face. “why do you not have any bacta?”

“because i like to smear meiloorun juice all over my patient’s stab wounds, commander”, warcrime says. “it’s a homeopathic medicine thing. because the chancellor refuses to give us any, genius.”

“what?!” skywalker says, bristling. “that can’t be true! he wouldn’t -“ he’s cut off by his comm pinging loudly over the moaning and crying in the medbay, and warcrime leaning close enough to be heard with a whisper.

“well, he would, and if you don’t believe me, there’s a holorecording of him telling marshal commander fox why biological weapons on the homefront have lower priority and therefore half rations of everything. now get out of my medbay or find out why they named me warcrime, sir.”

amidala, the collective braincell holder for both her husband and the senate combined (on occasion), tugs him out of the way of warcrime’s bonesaw and ire. fox, who very much enjoys not being the primary target of a medic for once, unfortunately also has to be the adult in the room. “sirs, a transfer to the GAR barracks medbay might be a preferable- AH, MOTHERFU-“

“get him, stabby!”, rabid whoops from where he’s resetting thire’s nose, who echoes a much more nasal and muffled, “go, ftabby!”

“get kriffing FUCKED, stabby, you absolute-“, fox seethes, trying to swipe for the medic’s head and nearly planting one on cody instead by accident, who unfortunately manages to evade the swing fox is admittedly projecting very obviously on account of the sedation hypo jammed into his flank.

“medbay rules, sir”, stabby calls, dancing away towards mauler and his crash cart, while someone bumps something solid and flat against the backs of fox’s thighs that he can’t help but tumble back on, already seeing two codys and blys dancing around his vision. “commander fox protocol dictates he is to be helped to sleep as often as possible, sir.”

“a desperate but well-founded measure, i’m sure”, kenobi of all people agrees, and fox waves an unsteady hand in what might be the general’s direction to the sound of cody’s scandalized gasp. “as you were, officer… stabby.”

“traitors”, fox slurs, just as his com-unit begins to ping with an urgent notification. before he can try and answer it, warcrime has ripped it off his arm and flung it somewhere out of his sight. eh, it probably wasn’t anything THAT important, fox thinks. and if he wakes up two days later to a near-hysteric meathook kissing the glass casing of the guard’s brand new bacta tank over and over again, he decides to just roll over and go back to sleep.

[creepling]

if i may suggest a slight idea for a nubbins/sonny drabble… perhaps something wholesome like nubbins giving him a charm bracelet or necklace? maybe its even made out of animal bones (or so he tells sonny) so it doesn’t totally scare him LOL

NUBBINS/SONNY MY BELOVED. they are my jeland at this point and and i love this idea so here's what i came up with!! been a hot minute since i've written a c/c pairing heheh.

tags: nubbins sawyer/sonny williams. gift giving. captivity. slight mention of death. this is as fluffy as tcm can get lol. 744 words.

Nubbins spent all day making the bracelet, scraping up the small bones scattered around his room and taking grandma’s old sewing kit. She had those elastic strings that are good for bracelets. Nubbins tied it together, sticking his tongue out in concentration. Once it was tight enough, Nubbins got up from his dusty mattress and placed it delicately into his pouch – heading straight to the basement.

“He’s gonna love it – yeah – gonna love it!” He muttered under his breath. He lowers into a crouch as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, sneaking past Drayton in the kitchen peeling potatoes and down to the basement. He slides the metal door open, hoping the radio upstairs is loud enough to mask the thud. But Drayton did not holler, so Nubbins took his chance and slid the door closed, jogging through the tunnels to the makeshift ‘holding cells’.

Nubbins liked to think the basement was a barn, rooms sectioned for the meat. But one room had more than just meat. Inside was Nubbins’ new best friend.

Sonny flinched as Nubbins entered unannounced, the clank of chains haunting his ears and Nubbins locked the door behind him. Sonny sensed every move they made, tracking their whereabouts. The last few days – no, weeks? Sonny has noticed the wiry guy that caught him in a trap only visits him. As his friends rot in cells, or on meathooks – the man visits him with gifts, food, and a shit eating grin. At least once a day, without fail. But Sonny still cowards in the corner when he enters, unequipped for the day he decides to take him to the slaughter.

“Hey!” Nubbins had all the confidence until he was faced with Sonny. Then he shrivels back into his shell, twitching smirks on his face that he cannot control. Sonny saw he had a lot of tics; face tics mostly. But sometimes he swings his hands too close to his pockets. Where he keeps the knife…

When Sonny didn’t answer, Nubbins lowered himself to his level on the ground, slowly approaching him like wounded prey. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I ain’t hurted ya yet, have I?”

You caught me in a trap, asshole. Sonny wanted to say. His ankle still ached, but the guy patched him up before it got infected. Said something about not wanting to spoil prime meat. Sonny levelled to reason with him as best he could. He noticed he’s more calm – even excited when he’s nice to him. Anything to keep him alive, I guess.

Sonny watched his hands carefully as he dug into his furry pouch, pulling out a bone bracelet with a flat hand. Nubbins presented it to Sonny like a peace offering, his twitching smirk spreading into a wide smile.

“I made this for ya,” Nubbins giggled, “Do ya like it?”

Sonny hesitantly took it from his sweaty palm, examining it with careful eyes. His callous, bruised fingers traced along the dry bone. Its fragments were too small to make out where the bones came from. God forbid if it’s–

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sonny forced a smile, finally having the courage to make eye contact with him. Nubbins witnessed the glint in his eye, his brown eyes dark in the lightless room; still shining like they do in the Texan dawn. Nubbins scratched the heat crawling up his neck, averting his eyes in a sheepish manner.

“Sure I did. It- It will go nice with ya other bracelet. Oh – and the necklace!” Nubbins said, “I made it small since you got small wrists. Like me.”

Sonny slid the bracelet along his wrist, feeling the grooves of the bones scrape against his skin. It was true to size, like Nubbins said, and if it wasn’t for the circumstances Sonny would feel flattered.

“Thanks, man,” Sonny slightly choked on his words, replacing the uncertainty with a slight smile.

He liked it. He really did like it. Nubbins was pleased, fiddling with his fingers, filled with so much joy that his body began to rock back and forth like a giddy school girl. Ever since Robert went to Vietnam, Nubbins has been awfully lonely. Like a part was missing from him. For the first time in years, he feels that has been filled. He now has Sonny, who likes his bracelet, and vicariously can like him too. Nubbins sure hopes he likes him like he does.

“Anything for my new best friend!”

[transcendingirl]

MtG has always shifted and changed what it could be, but Duskmourn makes me worry. Simply put, I think MtG is quickly becoming self-effacing. We are getting "The Meathook Massacre II" in Duskmourn, as well as an aesthetic based on the contemporary world and a trailer that includes scenes mirroring our contemporary media. The narrative is crumbling and it's hidden behind a thin cardboard veneer and winks to the audience.

And that's bad, right? This game is losing its identity. Rapidly. MtG-specific species are being removed from creature types (while we get new ones anyways). MtG's story is now a mishmash of characters from different worlds, losing all sense of scale or importance. Universes Beyond keeps growing. And we still see the same rapid overturn of sets while staff doesn't increase. Worse, they get to be laid off.

(Of course, ultimately, lack of staff and time is the true issue at hand. Too few people, too little time, too many things to do. But this doesn't mean a trend cannot reach its logical, very corpo, conclusion.)

I'm worried that art and storytelling will become superfluous to a company that seems to be actively working towards removing the game's identity from itself. WOTC is toying with image generation already. Masters and Modern sets don't have an attached narrative - neither do Commander decks. And an endless repeat of old things to feed our nostalgia is right on point too (case in point: the existential nightmare that is selling Futuresight frames to us as retro).

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 4. Luck

part 3 of The Prodigal Tiefling - also on AO3

(CW dead bodies, human sacrifice)

“Knight-Commander. You haven’t slept in at least forty-eight hours. Now that you brought my wife back safely, I’m officially declaring bedtime.”

“I just have to make sure—”

“About face, soldier.” Anevia seized his shoulders and turned him toward his tent among the trees at the base of Lost Chapel Hill. He almost expected a boot in the backside.

“Fine. Wake me at midday.” Maybe a couple hours’ sleep would prevent him making rash decisions, like running the Hellknight paralictor who’d invited himself along on the crusade out of the camp before he could make another scathing remark.

Scathing remarks that hit too close to home.

The paralictor was right, anyone minimally competent would never have let this happen. The Crusade had been woefully unprepared.

If only he’d deployed more scouts, reinforced camp defenses, put a stop to the drunkenness and gambling, and been more vigilant for traitors, just as the Inquisitors kept warning him to do even as he sent them packing back to Nerosyan.

Yet he had to stay true to his vision. That sleepless night at the Defender’s Heart when the Queen had proposed he take up the banner of the Fifth Crusade, his dreams of igniting the flames of freedom to fight the Abyss felt like divine inspiration, as if Desna Herself breathed hope into his heart so that he could lead this Crusade in a whole new fashion, one never attempted before, like his homeland Andoran a grand experiment in the strength of egalitarianism.

There would be hitches. He’d never deluded himself otherwise. But this was one big hitch, and entirely his fault.

The moment he closed the tent flap behind him his whole body shuddered violently. This was why he didn’t want to sleep, and why he didn’t want to be alone. The last thing he needed was time to think.

The gargoyle disaster. The last-ditch march on the Lost Chapel. Crusaders transformed into ghouls and hung from meathooks. The showdown with Nulkineth. Another surge of power like the one at the Gray Garrison, this one stronger yet, making him feel too big for his body, like his insides were made of pure, boiling stars and magic, like he was an alchemist’s bomb and the glass was cracking. This whole thing was one huge cosmic mistake.

His hand went to the butterfly pendant at his throat. Lady of Dreams. Wake me, tell me this is a nightmare.

He dropped onto his bedroll and shakily tried to remove his soaking boots and socks, until one sock stuck and he didn’t think he had the strength to peel it off his leg and he began to sob.

And the worst of it.

Woljif.

Of course he ran. He had every reason to run. Why did it bother him so much?

The Knight-Commander crumpled onto his bedroll, one wet sock halfway off, crying into the crook of his arm.

Gods, they had to find him, out there alone in the Worldwound. If the gargoyles didn’t get him something else would before long, resourceful as he was, and that would be one more death on Siavash’s conscience he really didn’t need.

The Sellen! I’m sure of it.

Pretty sure.

With the renewed energy of the last dying spark of hope Woljif waded through tall grasses onto the riverbank and began to stagger downstream, boots dragging on glacial gravel. He reckoned Kenabres couldn’t be that far now. Probably. Maybe.

Half-dead from exhaustion he didn’t even see the remains of the campfire until he almost stumbled on it. His feeble heart leapt. Civilization!

The campsite was by no means fresh, but strewn around the ashes were comforting signs actual people had been here, maybe only a day or two ago. They’d pulled bleached logs into a circle around their fire, all cozy-like, and roasted something on whittled sticks that still smelled tantalizingly of grease.

Not far now. Just a little rest and a few more hours’ walk and we’ll be there.

Where? Wherever—a hunters’ lodge or a farm or the temple of an evil god or anything would do at this point. He knew his last dregs of strength would soon run dry.

Knees wobbling, Woljif lowered himself onto one of the logs and then jumped up again in horror as it ceded with a disgusting, foul-smelling sigh under his weight.

A dead body.

Dry-heaving to within an inch of his life he crawled blindly away toward the river.

It was bad. A couple days old, ashen-skinned, bloated and fly-ridden. A human man, stripped to his trousers, his hands bound tightly behind him, and a great, ragged hole carved out of his chest like somebody didn’t quite know how to get to the heart and had to dig around. When he realized the dark patches on the river gravel were blood, their pattern suddenly resolved itself into a sloppy pentagram.

His head spun, his limbs felt like lead, every inch of him hurt. The hunger was a raging animal tearing him up from the inside.

Woljif lay flat on the gravel and moaned at the cursed morning sky overhead.

I’m not gonna make it. This is it. End a’ my miserable, pathetic life. How’s that for tragedy. He died young and poor, tossed on the riverbank like an old rag for nothin’ but crows to find and eat out his eyeballs. Never had time to strike it rich. And just when things were lookin’ up, and he had his legacy and fr—associates and everything.

Tears rolled down Woljif’s temples and soaked into his curls.

And nobody could care less.

As soon as his head hit the folded-up cloak he used as a pillow, all the pent-up anguish exploded into Siavash’s skull, hammering so he thought he’d never be able to sleep. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as if to hold his skull together and played his last resort card: prayer.

Great Dreamer, Song of the Spheres, Lady of Luck.

Help.

All right, I know you’re not going to come down and sort out this whole mess, so I just ask one thing. One little thing is all, though gods know I don’t deserve it. Not for me.

Just make sure Woljif is safe. Please.

The prayer was barely finished before sweet oblivion took him.

Though he’d given up all hope, lying there on the riverbank until Pharasma took pity on him just felt too pathetic even for him. Woljif eventually hauled himself to his aching feet and carried on trudging down the river, mind blank, regret clawing at his heart and the shadow raging in his ears.

It was for sure talking to him for real now.

Unless he’d gone completely off his head, which was more than likely.

Especially because he now thought he could smell nice, crispy roasting meat on the wind. No way that was real.

Or was it?

Had his luck turned? The smell jolted him out of his daze so thoroughly he got his wits back just in time to stop himself from stumbling like a madman into the campsite that he soon located. Instead he laid low, listening in on the morbid conversation around the campfire and plotting his salvation. Some poor sod in mud-stained Iomedean colors languished roped to a tree while the cowled figures around the fire debated how best to go about removing his heart still beating, because surely that would invoke the most powerful of demonic magics, and then they would have it made.

So that’s their game.

Idiots. I can pull this off.

He drew the Moon of the Abyss out from his collar so that it shone in full view, summoned up a good gout of blue flame, and stepped into the circle of firelight with all the semblance of self-assurance he could muster when he felt like he was about to pass out.

“Hail Baphomet.”

[serickswrites]

Make Me Your Villain XXI

Master list here (includes links to chapters, summary, and character bios)

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, wounds, injury, unconsciousness

Liam groaned loudly as he woke. By Nova’s best guess, he had only been unconscious for about half an hour before he started to wake. “Oh thank God you’re awake. Talk to me, baby, tell me how you’re feeling.” The words tumbled out of Nova’s mouth messily.

Liam’s hands immediately went to the chain on the meathook. He winced as he pulled himself to stand. Exhaustion made his normally bright eyes hazy. “I’ve been better,” he rasped out. He swallowed. “How long was I out for?”

Nova tried to soothe herself. Tried reassure herself that there was a way out of here. Tried to tell herself that Liam was fine and wasn’t slowly being tortured to death. “Not very long. Maybe only half an hour.”

Liam nodded, but didn’t say anything. She could see that he was doing everything he could to keep awake and focused. Nova couldn’t help herself. “You came for me. I didn’t think you would. I knew you wouldn’t. Why would you do that?” The tears that had been threatening to fall for the last hour streamed down her face. Why was she such a blubbering mess.

“Of course I came. I love you, Nova. I would never let him hurt you. I would never let anyone hurt you. I will never stop loving you.” His pale eyes found hers. “Even if you’ve stopped loving me.” The statement was everything and nothing.

Nova sobbed harder. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t know why I said that. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

Liam gave Nova a wan smile. “I know you didn’t mean it, gorgeous.”

“Then why did you let me say all those awful things to you?”

“Because I love you. And…and if I was wrong, I didn’t want to rob you of what you wanted to say.” He shifted his feet, hissing as the meathook pulled tight in his shoulder.

“Why did I say those things? Why would I do something so stupid?”

“Jude made you.” Liam’s voice was tight as he slowly shifted his weight back, his face contorted with pain.

“I don’t—“

“He had an apprentice who could manipulate emotions. Heighten them. Make you feel things. I’m sure that’s what he did. He came to the Haven while I was indisposed and then all it took was a little push from him to send you over the edge.”

Nova shook her head. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. I’m so sorry, Liam. I don’t know how I can ever earn your forgiveness.”

Liam gave her a big smile, melting her heart even further. “There’s nothing to forgive, gorgeous. And when we get out of here, and that should be soon, I think you and I have earned a very long vacation somewhere with no people and only beaches.”

His promise made her anxiety mount. “How are we going to get out of here? I don’t know what he injected us with, but I can’t heal anything. And your shadows…” her voice trailed off.

It was true that his shadows still swirled at his feet, though they seemed more fully formed than they had half an hour ago. “I think I know how he did that, too. One of his current apprentices can nullify someone else’s power. I…I was on the receiving end yesterday. That’s why I got burned. It’s also why, I think, I’m less impacted than you are. My body already knows what this is and is working to fight it off faster than you.”

“That’s all well and good, Liam, but how the fuck are we going to get out of here before he kills you. You’re powerless, I’m powerless. How are we going to get out of this?”

“Henry’s on his way. I…I may have left without him and I fully forming a plan.”

Nova groaned. “That was so stupid. And reckless. Why would you do that, Liam? There’s only one you. And you’re our only chance at defeating Jude. There’s only one you, Liam!”

“One: I am not our only chance at defeating Jude. I’ve told you, Nova, it’s you. I can’t heal him, but you can. And two: there is only one you. I told you, I will not be the reason why he kills you. I couldn’t live with myself. And don’t worry, I have complete confidence that Henry will get to us soon. And then he can lecture me, too, don’t worry. He’ll get here and we can all go home and be one big happy family again. Nova burst into tears again.

Liam looked confused. “Gorgeous, what’s wrong? Did I say—“

“I’m pregnant,” Nova sobbed.

Liam stared at Nova, his pale eyes watching her carefully. Nova’s heart dropped as she could see him trying to contain himself. “We’re going to have a baby?” He smiled at the last.

She nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of her own lips. “Yeah. Found out yesterday. I came home and was going to tell you and then, well, you know what happened.”

“This is all the more reason why we’re going to stop Jude today, gorgeous. You, the baby, Henry, me, we’re all going to be free of him!” Liam’s face lit up with his happiness. She could see him being the most enthusiastic dad out there, hyping up everything their child did.

His face faltered a moment. “The baby?”

Nova schooled her own features, trying to hide her own terror about the baby. “They’re ok,” she lied. Better he not know the truth of what she could feel, dampened senses and all, that the baby was fading away. “I can feel them. They’re ok.”

Liam visibly relaxed. He shifted his feet again, crying out sharply as the hook pulled tight, reopening the bloody wound one more. “That’s good,” he said, voice tight with pain.

“I’m sorry I can’t heal you yet. Sensing is about all I’m good for now.”

Liam nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. “Don’t worry, gorgeous, Henry should be here any time now.”

“I’m so sorry, Liam. I should have….I should have known better,” Nova said again. She would never stop saying sorry.

“Gorgeous, I already told you, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” Liam closed his eyes for another moment, letting out a great sigh.

“I love you,” Nova said as she watched him struggle to remain upright.

Liam opened his eyes once more, pale eyes finding her golden eyes. “Love you, gorgeous, in this life and the next.”

Tags: @dutifullykrispyland@jesssmolfur@parad0xical2@st0rmm@keeper-of-all-the-random-things

@pigeonwhumps@gala1981@allylovessweets@whumpitywhumpwhump @giggly-evil-puppy

@cravesunconditionallove @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @ay5ksal @celestialsoyeon

@hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump @steh-lar-uh-nuhs

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The Dark Picture - Masterlist

Summary : All my works/fanfiction on The Dark Pictures Anthology universe, The quarry and Until Dawn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Man of Medan

Coming soon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little Hope

°The fire is out -> Anthony x reader = hurt/comfort, emotional,angst

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

House of Ashes

Coming soon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Devil in Me

°Kissing scars ->Charlie x reader = fluff,comfort

°Broken glasses ->Charlie x reader = getting to know eachother, comfort, fluff

°Right time wrong place ->Charlie x reader = fluff, kissing, honeymoon

°Blood red drops of art ->Charlie x Du'met (du'lie)=+18, not for kids, dark, brutal, bloody

°Tears in humiliated eyes ->Charlie x Du'met (du'lie)=+18, not for kids, blood, torture, loss of limbs, implied rape, dark

°The artisans witch muse ->Charlie x reader =smut, fluff, comfort, +18

°Little friend ->Charlie based One shot= fluff, loneliness, getting a pet

°Fireworks of silence ->Charlie x reader=fluff, comfort, kissing

°The heart coffe ->Charlie x reader=fluff, just a nervous Charlie

°True Love ->Edit of Jamie x Erin

°Stress kiss ->Charlie x reader=weapons, swearing, fluff

°My obsession ->Charlie x Du'met (du'lie)=+18, dark theme, obsession, implied sex

°Meathook ->Charlie x Du'met (du'lie)=+18,dead dove, minors don't interact, dark content, romantasized murder/death, blood, wounds, murder/victim relationship, torture

°Captivating addiction ->Charlie x Du'met (du'lie)=+18, obsession, dead dove, dark theme, torture, blood, one sided love

°New hairstyle ->Charlie x reader=fluff, comfort, kissing

°True love in a game of horror ->Edit of Jaimie x Erin

°Understanding a joke->Granthem Du'met x fem reader

°Welcome back->fem reader, fluff

°My Marilyn->Du'met x fem reader=fluff, kissing

°Kiss in intoxication->Du'met x fem reader, fluff

°Two Artist->Du'met x gn reader, fluff

°Kiss till death->Du'met x gn reader, fluff, comfort

°First for everything ->Charlie x fem reader, fluff, kiss

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Quarry

°Easter eggs ->Travis Hackett x reader=fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

°Rising moon ->Dylan x Ryan=angst, emotional, fluff, comfort

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Until Dawn

°Climbing and sun -> Sam x reader=fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Curator

°Christmas tree ->Curator x reader= fluff

°Mistletoe ->Curator x reader= fluff , kiss

°The only heart ->Curator x reader= emotional , death, crying , angst, comfort

°Helper ->Cuartor x reader=fluff, implied death

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[monoxology]

Ok since y’all liked creatures weird eyes I GUESS I have to explain some lore oh this is such a tradgedy….😈😈😈

Ok so basically

Az likes to use a certain special neurotoxin like drug on his closer workers that is kind of based off devil’s breath where in smaller doses it basically makes them do anything he wants them to and they have barely any recollection of what happened. He only uses this on his verrrry special workers when he either doesn’t want them to remember what happened and claims he did it to ‘protect them’ from what he does which in some cases (cough creature cough) is actually true but in majority of other cases he just does it because he knows they will probably refuse to do what he asks and he can’t afford to risk that.

In larger doses it does what the small does does however it also triggers the fight or flight response which most of the time ends up being fight bc that’s how most monster brains are hardwired which comes in very handy in the ring if you’ve placed a lot of money on a fighter and want them to win lol

However if too much is used it triggers too much of a survival response and the sheer amount of adrenaline that’s produced just stops the heart so u gotta be rlly careful

Long time use of the smaller dosage has a damaging effect on the cardiovascular system as well as the central nervous system and can cause shitty stuff like hallucinations and seizures and blindness cause the drug either completely dilates the pupils or shrinks them depending on what sort of monster it’s used on. It can also cause something the dealers call a ‘void eye ’ where basically the pupil dilates so much it exploded and the whole eye turns black and usually turns the user blind and causes immense pain whenever the eye is moved so in most cases of this happening the void eye is removed

Ik that’s not realistic and would never happen but idrc bc it’s cool and also it’s fantasy 😋

It also causes the eyes to change colour due to damage to the veins in the eyes cause of excess dilation/ shrinkage which is why creature’s eyes look like that. He also has problems with depth perception and colour blindness occasionally

Creatures eyes are very similar to Cas’s eyes because she used to be a fighter Az worked with for a while. Her nickname used to be Ms Meathooks bc honestly look at the absolute gutters she has

She also has problems with her sight but some of them are just caused by old age lol

Anyways yeah that’s why their eyes are so funky but feel free to ask if u wanna know something else 😋😋😋😋🫶🫶🫶🫶

[gravelydevoted]

Meathook is about Mercer, and how positive he is that Sommers is the Butcher, a killer running rampant in a grimy little city. Only after Sommers is strung up from the ceiling on meathooks, there’s no way that’s true. So then he goes, well, I’ll do a total 180 and flirt with this guy who I’ve been harassing for the last month, and Sommers for some inexplicable reason is just like, yeah, okay, I’ll run with that. At least he’s not trying to frame me for murder anymore. And then they team up to try and find the actual Butcher.

[marypsue]

On an entirely unrelated note, I am now a chapter deep into Girls, Ghosts, and Meathooks, and I'm excited about other people getting to meet these characters.

[carvinglittleholes]

writing a story by hand want to post the first part but handwriting is shit want to read it aloud but voice is shit would type it up on some device but too lazy want to revise and edit but too lazy this is the true life of a creative being too shit and too lazy to accomplish any of your goals hallelujah im not sad or angry this isn't me going graaahhhh I hate myself im so mad its just funny because well actually it's probably only funny to me but anyway bloodplay drugs and a hint of transgenderism I love my life this is the future the woke left wants all men and women chained up stuck with meathooks bloodied and scarred and bruised im like YES PLEASE YEAH THATS ALL WE WANT ITS ALL WE ASK FOR

[conquerthroughfear]

Amara "Ironmonger"

Naomi Scott / she/her  ———  no way is that Amara "Ironmonger". they’re a 21-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being VICIOUS  &  UNFORGIVING but there are some people who have seen them being BRAVE  &  SELFLESS.  if you ask me, they remind me a lot of CRIMINALS HANGING FROM MEATHOOKS, A WEAPON FORGED IN THE HELLFIRE OF WAR, THE SCRAPING OF METAL OVER METAL, THE CIGARETTE BURNING YOUR LUNGS TO REMIND YOU YOU ARE ALIVE, BARBIE SKIN WRAPPED AROUND A WALKING TANK, but that could just be because they’re considered the VIGILANTE around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..    /  J., 24, he/they, CET (GMT+1)

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TLDR: A runaway project of Vanguard Security, ironically designed to take out defective fellow "prototypes", now working as a mercenary and vicious vigilante. Deeply troubled, cares a lot about others but nothing about herself.

KEYWORDS: Fearless. Vicious. Intimidating. Confident. Headstrong. Self-destructive. Tough. Paranoid. Sardonic. Practical. Selfless. Self-destructive. Harsh. Unforgiving.

//. NAME: Amara. She did away with her last name a long time ago.

//. MONIKERS: Ironmonger, Iron.

//. HUMAN: But more machine than flesh at this point.

//. APPEARANCE: Tall and strong, standing at 6'2"/1.87m with a muscular built. Tanned skin that's uncannily smooth and unblemished. Deep brown eyes that usually carry a bored expression, and do little to hide the inner workings of her mind. Short, brown hair that's so dark it usually appears black, worn in a mane to just above her shoulders. Carries herself with aggression and bravado, marching into any room as if she owns the place. Known for her trademark grin, and to never smile.

//. ORIENTATION: Bisexual biromantic, strong femme preference.

//. OCCUPATION: Enforcer for the Violet Messengers, mercenary. Spends most of her days making worse people's lives living hell.

//. CYBERWARE: A ridiculous amount of combat implants, geared towards heavy weaponry, close quarters combat and, most notably, taking down others just as 'borged out as her. A walking tank, but wrapped in synth-skin that leaves her unable to scar. For a detailed list, see: TBA.

//. PERSONALITY: Broken by the wheel of abuse during her training as a living weapon, Amara has, in her own words, no humanity or goodness left. In reality, there's a noble spirit buried deep down under years of both receiving and inflicting violence. She will jump to protect those in need without a second thought for her own safety. She cares for others deeply and sincerely, but will push away anyone getting too close. On the one hand she fears she'll hurt them, on the other she simply doesn't believe she's worth liking, let alone loving. Instead she tries to find her comfort in what money can buy: booze, drugs, and sex. Her years of being forced to kill and somehow cope have left Ironmonger with an addiction to violence. One she's all too happy to indulge in whenever she gets her hands on criminals targeting the innocent, the corporats who form the pillars of the hellscape we live in, and any other twisted motherfucker unlucky enough to cross her path.

//. STRENGTHS, SKILLS & ABILITIES: everything you'd expect from someone who's essentially designed from the bottom-up to be a super soldier; killing and hurting others in all manners known to humankind. Specializes in close quarters combat. Has a knack for intimidation, interrogation, and everything else having to do with instilling fear. Was quick to adapt her former skillset to streetwise applications. Struggles with reading, but can look at a map once and know the directions by heart.

//. OTHER: Her actual weight is much higher than even her athletic frame would suggest, due to the amount of implants installed within her. This causes her footsteps to be remarkably loud when she's not making an effort to be quiet. She has no idea how to handle children and is mostly annoyed by them, but she has a soft spot for most animals. Cats especially are sure to draw her attention, and felines tend to be one of few living beings not fearful of her presence.

"Touch me again and you lose the hand."

//. Background (TW for mentions of violence, coercion, murder, human experimentation, and child abuse.)

The problem with human meat is that, once someone's all grown up, you can only replace so much of it with cybernetics. Before long someone will lose touch with their body so badly they never recover from it, or the body simply starts treating whatever new you put in as a foreign object. A child could provide a solution, but that's off-limits. Deemed inacceptable by the law.

But that was a risk Vanguard Security's R&D department, and their off-the-book & under-the-table sponsors from DrakeTech and Epsilon Labs, were willing to take.

One might think a custom-made synth would offer a better solution. But somehow in the 22nd century, where meat is cheap and morals are cheaper, it was less risky to kidnap a child than to manufacture a synth that didn't hold up to code.

So it happened that Amara's home was invaded when she was just eight years old. So it happened that a strange man was waiting for her in her room when she went to hide. So it happened that when she was offered her family's safety in return for her servitude, in return for her to help him help save others, she thought of the man as her savior.

Fuck had she been wrong.

The man, who called himself "Ruyxil" like some demon of old, was cruel, and subject to a twisted obsession in Amara's progress into the perfect killing machine. Amara, a young girl with no heart for violence, didn't live up to anyone's expectations at first. Knowing what was at stake if she couldn't please them, couldn't be what they wanted her to be, she kept pushing, and she kept training.

By the time she was sent on missions to hunt down Vanguard Security's "traitors", little of the person she once was remained. And she'd gotten horrifyingly good at everything they'd taught her. As only a teenager, she'd been redesigned from the bottom-up to take down even the most borged-out of their former ranks. She earned the moniker Conqueror for her vicious tactics and pristine record. Life didn't become any better for it.

Eventually, Conqueror was sent on missions abroad. Eventually, she was sent somewhere near her hometown. Though she knew it'd be a death sentence for her family if she got caught, she couldn't pass up on the opportunity, if only to just lay eyes on them after all those years.

It turned out they were dead.

So she did the only logical thing - fake her own death. If she ran and they thought she were still alive, she'd be hunted down like a rabid dog. She left them her armor and a bloody trail to lead them to believe scavengers had picked her cyberware apart. She knew some efforts to search for her would be made, but nothing too much. Projected costs could never exceed expected results, after all.

Conqueror cursed her own name farewell, and took up the new title of Ironmonger. Something some back-ally ripperdoc had called her upon seeing all the chrome she was packing. Returning to Dallas-Fort Worth, she hid amongst the criminal underworld. They might not be actively looking for her, that didn't mean she couldn't still be picked up by their ever-present security and surveillance systems.

She started going on a violent crusade against the corporation that'd taken everything from her and every other motherfucker who was unlucky enough to both cross her path and deserve it.

[cyberplex]

Howdy, J, and welcome to the Cyberplex! Please submit your account to the main in the next 72 hours and look over the rest of our checklist here. We look forward to seeing Amara 'Ironmonger' on the dash.

Naomi Scott / she/her  ———  no way is that Amara "Ironmonger". they’re a 21-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being VICIOUS  &  UNFORGIVING but there are some people who have seen them being BRAVE  &  SELFLESS.  if you ask me, they remind me a lot of CRIMINALS HANGING FROM MEATHOOKS, A WEAPON FORGED IN THE HELLFIRE OF WAR, THE SCRAPING OF METAL OVER METAL, THE CIGARETTE BURNING YOUR LUNGS TO REMIND YOU YOU ARE ALIVE, BARBIE SKIN WRAPPED AROUND A WALKING TANK, but that could just be because they’re considered the VIGILANTE around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..    /  J., 24, he/they, CET (GMT+1)

[deuterosapiens]

It occurs to me that June is almost over, and July is about to begin. Pride Month is gone, the way of the Dodo, and I haven't said anything about it, talked about it. Feels like I should, though I couldn't really think of anything to say that was worth saying.

It's weird to me. I don't have the sort of history that's grief-wrought. I don't have the pain or the experiences that others have, nor a story that's courageous or inspirational. I mean, I have a history of emotional abuse from my father, but that's got nothing to do with me being gay. He more-or-less stopped after I came out (probably realized that disowing his gay son would inherently make him look terrible or something, I don't know).

So. What's there to say?

I consider myself to be a homosexual. I went through various mental processes that resulted in that conclusion because simply calling yourself "gay" isn't exactly a thing that one should do in my part of the world (though I suppose it's quite a bit better for me than for many, many others). In the single digits, I didn't think about girls. In the early doubles, I still didn't. 'Sure, bisexual then,' I would think when I thought about it at all. Then on-line I discovered the word demisexual and felt like that was as good an identity as any. Not really. Call a rabbit a rabbit. "You are GAY." Nothing fancy or complicated.

Waited until I left for University though to start actually exploring that in finer detail. Had a boyfriend then, not just a crush whom I would think of randomly at night but never bother to talk to. Had the humorous revelation later that some of those guys I'd think about were varying degrees of LGBTQ+, but that's them, and they moved on and away, and really so did I. That first-year boyfriend and I broke up, I was devastated. Mind snapped and I kind of went crazy.

The road to recovering my sanity from that break-up was paved with poor decisions and some, shall we say, a somewhat lax set of personal standards regarding preferences for partners. Discovered the Lars von Trier film Nymphomaniac (not strictly relevant to this story, just felt like dropping it in). Got back to square one with myself though, which was not just good, but good enough.

Rimshot.

At work I'm something of a punchline. I make and take jokes at my expense. I'm the brooding gay with the all græy wardrobe, and the obsession with jackets in the summer. I'm also heat-proof, reasonably so.

Flash-forward to this year, I guess. Two very specific, unrelated events, lead me to question if my assumptions about myself were, strictly speaking, as true as I thought they were. I'd given no thought to myself as a cis-male, for the same reason I don't exactly think too much of myself as a gay-male. The idea of that simply not being the case never occurred to me. Then, during a conversation with a coworker, they revealed that they'd spent the entire time thinking I was non-binary. Which again, never really came up as a consideration of mine.

So suddenly that question was in the back of mind. Then, after reading Redfern Jon Barrett's Proud Pink Sky, the question came up again, this time digging into me. Like a Cenobite's meathooks digging into the mental flesh of my understanding of my own gender expression and presentation.

I'm still not entirely certain where I've landed myself on that. Am I non-binary? Am I something that lies outside that spectrum? I don't have an answer. I don't really believe in binary dichotomies as a part of our natural world anyway. Even something as simple as day and night has dawn, dusk, evening. The afterlight. Not so binary at all, when examined closely.

For the time being, I continue to view myself as male, for simplicity, and because I have simply not explored this whole world of potentiality in its entirety. I'm still looking to understand, in its entirety, what I am with regards to myself.

Not a very good conclusion, I suppose, but that's an ongoing thing. I've got a thing for Labyrinths, and I guess it's fitting that my late night introspection should lead me into one. What can I say, I'm just a humble gargoyle.

So, nothing important to say that hasn't been said a thousand times a thousand times, and by a million times a million people who are far more equipped to tell it.

For a long time, I had a difficult time loving, or even liking, myself. I'm getting better at that. Kind of. Being something else besides the thing I am at work, at home, in my day to day life, something entirely separate of that person-suit, has helped.

The beauty of anonymity: I'm more myself than I am when I'm myself.

[yank-a-ton]

I know there's no canon ending but what was your motivation in picking B? I feel like both A and B are possible for different reasons and depending on how the player interprets Franklin's relationships and loyalties. I really love the other endings for all the implications and possibilities there is and it's a shame that C overshadows them because it's the Vaguely Happy Ending.

aw man. To me B felt like the choice Franklin would make. Get ready for a long one because I have a lot to say

Here's some of the bigger examples:

Michael is his mentor, he looks up to him a lot. He introduced him to an entirely different world of crime and pushed him to become something great. He admires him and he'll always be appreciative of the things he was taught. He's a role-model in a lot of ways.

But throughout the story Michael does little things to let him down. Shows his true colors a bit. I think that'd influence Franklin's final decision.

When Devin withholds the payment for the cars, Franklin asks Michael for help. Michael is dismissive at first (kinda understandable, the meathook incident just happened, i'd be dismissive in that moment too lol) but eventually says "i've got this other deal with Weston, down at the film studio. So we gotta wait for that to play out before I got any leverage over your deal". There's no leverage to be had by being a producer at majestic. Mikey has his dream job, and he wont jeopardize that opportunity. He frankly doesnt care if Franklin gets paid, because It's not his problem. It's invested. it'll work out.

In the fireman approach to the FIB heist, Franklin gets knocked out. He wakes up alone, M and the team already gone. Michael calls him over the coms relieved he's okay, telling him to meet up. Micheal had the mission on his mind and decided Franklin was either already dead, or would maybe meet up with them later. Which I understand for a random heist member, he tends to not care when they die (The helicopter crash in the obvious approach to The Big One is a good example. Trevor is upset with Mike "You dont even realize the people you employed are dead" and all Michael can say is "and the metal?" only concerned about the lost gold.) For him to treat Franklin the same way, as someone disposable, that's gotta stick with a guy. Especially after everything Franklin has done for Micheal.

And the Coup de Grace imo. Franklin has a front row seat to how Mike treats Trevor. Trevor is loyal and honest. He views M as his best friend, even after everything they've been through. Franklin knows this. At every turn Michael tells Franklin that T is a monster, that he'll do something awful eventually. Kill either of them.

After the Fresh Meat mission, Franklin asks Michael what happened in Ludendorf. Michael is cagey, tries to get out of the conversation. He's trying to protect himself. "We're up in North Yankton, right? And he goes off on one. He's about to kill me Franklin." or the alternate dialogue "Ah shit. We're up there and Trevor freaks the fuck out. He was about to kill me, Franklin" which we all know is not how it went down. They get to Mike's house and Franklin asks about Brad. About everything that happened to make Michael and Trevor so unstable when it comes to each other. Mike doesn't give him a solid answer. His answers are vague. "I made a judgment call. I dont know if it was the right one. I did what I thought I had to do" is about all he gets out of him. Franklin telling him "Man, you burned every motherfucker you've ever known."

Frank was with Trevor right before Fresh Meat. He saw how fucked up whatever happened in Yankton made him. He's prone to anger and outbursts, but his behavior after coming back is a whole other level of hatred and hurt. Michael refusing to tell Franklin what happened is suspicious as all hell.

In the end I think all these little things would add up. How can you trust a guy so willing to burn every person he comes across. People that would die for him, do anything for him. He sold out his best friend to the FIB. He ignores Franklin when it doesn't work in his favor. He lies and lies and lies.

Who's to say he wont turn on Franklin too?