#The slow descent into madness is real

[karniss-bg3]

Do you thnk Driders (Kar'niss included, of course)) molt like spiders do?

I've touched on this topic in this post. I did have an additional thought regarding the idea though. If driders do molt...can you imagine the shed left behind? That'd have to be one of the most disturbing things to look at. I guess it'd more depend on how much of their human half is covered in chitin. What if they hang the leftover molt on the walls as decoration...or a warning? Could a human crawl into the molt like a sleeping bag? What if they had Drider drycleaning services? ...The fuck am I talking about? I need more sleep in my diet.

#kar'niss #baldur's gate 3 #karniss #bg3 #drider #baldurs gate 3 #answered #bg3 kar'niss #It's awesome y'all get to witness my slow descent into madness in real time #Drider drycleaning? Christ. I've really lost the plot.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Do you ever see a literal mr peanut looking triangle and go from "haha wow even after all the atrocities it's hard to take such a goofy design seriously" to "....wow what an unknowable eldritch being full of power and knowledge and infinite potential forms....." because no one warned me about this possibility

#godsrambles #another draft from 2022. HDJFHDFJH #love coming across posts i made before I got brainworms about bill. watching the slow descent into madness in real time

[binch-i-might-be]

ten minutes after I arrived at work I remembered why I hate this place so much and now I really want a new job

unfortunately the only thing I'm probably qualified for is this shit so all I could do is switch to a different (probably Even Worse) store that's also farther away than this bitch

#currently contemplating if i would qualify for welfare if i quit or nah #y'all are watching my slow descent into madness in real time #rayrambles

[genuineapoptosis]

Eyes on you (Sub! Obsessive! Miguel O'Hara)

Characters: Obsessive! Sub!Miguel O'Hara x Nb!Reader

Themes: sub/dom dynamic, stalking, masturbation, guilt

Lenght: ficlet

Could've made it more fucked up. Maybe part 2 idk

It's always the ones that portray themselves as superiors that end up being the most sick. Though, for the most part, they do not happen to be aware of it. Unfortunately for him, with Miguel O'Hara, this simply wasn't the case.

Perhaps it was because his descent was so gradual. That with every single step he took, he knew he was doing it willingly. He knew his actions were strange and he knew his behavior should never be shown to the world. So, for the longest time, he tried to rationalise it. Over and over and over again. And after he could do it no longer, he was too far gone not to accept it.

It started off slow. It always does. You had joined the spiders. He took interest in you. Workspace crushes are nothing new, after all. Wanting to spend more and more time in your vicinity was a normal action in such a state.

Of course, that lead to your promotion quite early upon your enrollment. But you were good at what you did. Ungodly good. So nobody would even think it was caused by ulterior motives, when you had yet to have an unsuccessful mission for the two months you had been with them.

Perhaps that was one of the first reasons he liked you. You worked hard and then fucked off. No lingering, no afterwork chats. You'd do what was required, and then simply disappear. An air of mystery around you.

It drove him mad.

Soon enough he started holding meetings. Standard thing in such a field of work. He'd go over the organization, schedules, tech updates, and the likes with you and other higher ranking individuals. For the most part a tedious, yet expected thing.

Not to him though. To him, those were the few rare occasions outside of missions where you'd actively engage with everybody. But most importantly, you'd actively engage with him. And he was so very thankful for that.

He very much loved the sound of your voice. They way you spoke had a certain ring to it that he couldn't get enough of. He'd run your words through his head on repeat when on his own. Every time you had used his name. Every time you laughed. Though none of it was as good as the real thing.

Slowly, the meetings became more frequent. With fewer and fewer members invited. Until it was just the two of you. Everyone had accepted the fact that you had simply become his right-hand man. And for the time being, they had yet to have a reason to think otherwise.

You'd gotten closer to him than you were expecting. Perhaps that was because he was one of the few people you worked with whom you didn't find bothersome. It was very apparent how exhausted he was menaging everything on his very own. The least you could do is provide your help. And besides, you did enjoy holding power over other people that you wouldn't have without his apparent devotion to you.

On his part, that same feeling was amplified. He was alone with you for hours on end. So close to you yet not enough. Everything you did made his heart speed up. The smell of your perfume. The look in your eyes when you were deep in thought. Oh, and how he loved it when you'd take care of anyone trying to interrupt. Having them end up looking like a small child as they leave the two of you alone once more. How that sort of state came so naturally to your being. As if you simply demanded control just by existing.

He needed to know more about you. About your history, about your interests. Though, that was a normal thing. After all, he wanted to be able to hold better conversations with you. What other way is there to it, than to try and know every last thing about your being?

He starting going into your files. What you had done in your universe. Why you were such a force of nature in combat. Oh but how it made his stomach turn when he had gotten to your past lovers.

God, they were all so revolting and useless. Nothing compared to you. You shouldn't date someone so below your league! You shouldn't date someone so worthless! You should date someone made for you. You should date someone like-!

He was surprised by his own resolve. He has yet to crack.

You were analyzing data from one of the more recent multiverse anomalies. Calling him over the give him the watch from a spider who had gone MIA. Looking at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours as you explained the situation. None of the actual words entering his mind, just the sound of your voice. Handing it to him, you had let your hands touch his.

Fuck...

He turned around immediately, trying to hide how disgustingly hard he was just from that single touch.

You were to be excused. Immediately.

Unaware of his current state, you had simply left the quarters. Knowing his usual temper, you had assumed he just had one of his episodes after they lost one of their men due to incompetence.

If only.

No. No, this was no good. Up until now, he could deny his feelings. But now he had such apparent evidence.

He should be better than this. He should act accordingly. Not get aroused by your mere touch.

But it was so gentle.

You were always so gentle with him. So helpful and patient. Yet you didn't want him. If you did, you wouldn't have left. If you did, you'd spend time with him outside of meetings. If you did, you'd see right through his facade.

He had to be satisfied with just your smell, your laugh, your distant presence. But it wasn't enough. How ever could it be enough?

When he wanted you to wrap those tender fingers around his throat. When he wanted you to tell him how you knew everything.

He began palming at himself through his suit. Thinking about you ridiculing him for being a stalker. For the way he isolated you from everyone just so he could have you for himself. He was pathetic. He wanted you to tell him that.

Just use him up any way you'd want. He wouldn't mind. He deserved it. Sink your teeth into his flesh, leave marks deep enough to bleed. Hurt him or humiliate him. It wouldn't matter. As long as he gets what he deserves.

He pictured the way you'd look while fucking him. Those same eyes focused on him, now filled with a different sort of spark. You'd tell him what the others would think if they were to see him like this. A pathetic mess unable to string words together. Getting railed until he can't function anymore.

He was close. He needed it so bad. Why won't you give it to him? Why won't you show pitty on him? Hasn't he earned it?

He'll do anything.

Just fuck him.

He came into his suit. Shame overflowing him as he did so.

He left immediately. And if he were any better, he'd act as if none of this ever happened.

But he wouldn't be able to. Not when it felt so good cumming to the thought of you.

He already had plans for tonight.

#my writing #sub!miguel o'hara #sub miguel o'hara #dom reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spider man: across the spider verse #atsp

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 13: The Fallacy of Power

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

TW: Astarion's past abuse under Cazador is mentioned/visited in this chapter.

She has been cold and withdrawn since their discussion when he refused to say what she wanted to hear. She avoids him if possible and ignores him unless he directly speaks to her. When she walks around the manor, she is like a phantom gliding, lifeless and vacant, the ghost of a ship long ago wrecked at sea that still wanders the waters wayward with no purpose. So far, he’s left her alone in her misery. Should he be trying to cheer her up? His heart tells him he should, but his head tells him it’s unbecoming of the Vampire Ascendant to postulate himself in such a way. He should not have to seek her attention. She should give it to him willingly. If she wishes to wallow in her desolation, so be it.

He’s missed her in their bed, against his skin, and on his lips. Her silence is as deep as demise and simultaneously deafening. He misses her laughter, happy giggles, and his name on her tongue in her sweet, musical voice. Hells, he would even take a scolding from her right now as long as she’s speaking and more expressive than this wall of dysphoria. He will take anything but this pale apparition of surrender and hopelessness. He’s tried to goad her into arguments if only to get a rise from her, but she does as he requests without question, challenge, or emotion.

She wants a real relationship, but what does that mean to him? What kind of relationship is he capable of giving her? That presence in his head bids him to control, claim, and make her belong to him with or without her consent. It encourages him to give the command to make it so. The Vampire Ascendant does not request love - he simply fucking takes it because he is entitled to it. He is entitled to have anything and everything he wants, including her.

No.

There his thoughts go again, getting away from him, towing him down like quicksand. He must be careful not to let himself be cast down that ungodly rabbit hole. He may not get the chance to surface. Astarion’s hands rack over his face and through his hair. He needs the physical sensation that often interrupts the slow descent into madness.

Astarion. He reminds himself. I am Astarion.

She does not acknowledge his presence when he enters the library. Her sullen eyes are moored to the book lying in her lap, and she flips the pages idly. She did not even bother to light any of the candles, scones or oil lamps. She sits in the shadows like a lone lily, white and fair, against a pond reflecting dusk.

He clears his throat to get her attention, “I need you to attend my business meeting with me today. It may put you in a position where you are… uncomfortable, but I will be there to protect and stop you if needed.”

She closes the book, staring straight vacantly, not bothering to look at him. Her voice is as whisper quiet as a catatonic echo, “You’re taking me to a business meeting?”

“Yes,” he replies softly, making his voice as warm as a summer day as if he could warm her with it. “I need my consort by my side.”

“I am not your consort, Astarion,” she shakes her head with a despondent expression. She is so cold it makes him shiver. He’s used to flames veritably leaping off her tongue when she speaks. This... He has never witnessed this in her, but he recognizes it. This is how he was when he all but gave up after a few lashings, “I will go with you if you need me, but I am not your consort.”

Please, don’t give up on me... just yet.

“If you do not like the word consort, that is fine,” he crouches and takes her hand. It remains limp, and she still does not look at him. Astarion gently cradles her cheek and walks her eyes to him. They seem to look through him instead of at him, and his heart seizes in his chest. “Tell me what you would prefer. Partner? Girlfriend? Soulmate? Bride? Hells, wife? Just tell me what you want me to say. Please.”

The words scour his tongue like steel wool. Can his spawn truly be his partner, girlfriend or… Good Gods, he said wife, didn’t he? Where in the Hells did that come from, and why does the notion fill him with genuine joy? Will he be able to see her as an equal? He is the Vampire Ascendant… No one is his equal, and no one could ever be. But he is also Astarion. Which him does he want to be? Does he even have a choice?

He stares at her, trying to discern how he views her. When he looks at her, does he see an equal? Or does he see his spawn, his puppet, his favourite little toy to play with? He views both versions in parallel spaces of his mind. He cannot ascertain which one is him and which is the Vampire Ascendant.

“Consort. Partner. Girlfriend. Soulmate. Bride. Wife,” she repeats hollowly as if she’s saying the words without thinking about them, just a recording being played back, “None of them because we are none of those.”

“Perhaps not yet,” he retorts with a plea clinging to his voice. “You said you want something real, and I agreed to try and give you just that. Let me try.”

“Are you capable of love,” she whispers, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“I… don’t know,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re view of what love is may differ from mine, but perhaps we can meet in the middle?”

“When do we leave?” She asks dryly and slips her hand out of his, “And what do I wear?”

“I had something made for you,” he smirks. “It’s in your room. Wear it or don’t. The choice is yours.”

“You’re giving me a choice?”

"Darling," he drawls in an unemotional infection, “I admittedly do not know much about relationships, but I don’t think forcing you to wear something would be very… nice. You are free to dress yourself in whatever you wish.”

“What if I decide I wish to wear a burlap sack?”

“Well…” he cringes. Gods. He would not put it past her doing just that to prove a point. Would he let her do that? Could he? His skin crawls just thinking about it. “You would look very foolish, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

Hells below, he hopes she does not wear a sack.

Truthfully, he does want to control what she wears, where she goes, and even how she does her hair and makeup, but he does not understand why he is so drawn to it. He does not recall feeling the need to be so controlling when he was a spawn. He must quell those desires and untoward thoughts if he has any hope of showing her that he can be what she wants and needs.

Because he needs her…

He’s almost afraid to look when she walks down the hall, scared she’s going to see if he truly means what he said, but he’s elated to see she decided to wear the ensemble he had fashioned. An extravagant, high-necked navy-blue robe with delicate golden lace sleeves and a bodice embellished with dragon wings with gleaming rose-gold scales to match hers.

His coat is very close, except it is raven black, inlaid with deep purple and golden embroidered dragons revolving around his arms. His chest is embellished with dragon wings expanding across the breast.

“Dragons?” Her hand glides down the breast of his coat, “I thought you were fonder of bats.”

“It seems I have become rather smitten with dragons as of late,” he winks. He feigns puzzlement, bringing his finger to his lips, “I wonder why.”

She gives him some semblance of a smile. It’s the first time he’s seen any emotion in days. It fades quickly, and her face is once again a smooth plane of vacancy.

“What do you mean I will be uncomfortable?” She mutters, eyes fixed straight ahead as if looking at him pains her like staring directly at the sun. “You promised you would not put me in a situation I cannot handle.”

“And I won’t. You have my word.” He bows slightly, “There will be people around. If you need to leave, you say the word, and we will go. You know I could compel you not to feel that hunger…”

She scowls at him and hisses, “Do it, and I will walk out that door. I will not return.”

Well, even anger is better than emptiness.

“It is just an offer,” he nods curtly with his hands up. “I would not do it without your expressed permission. Shall we go?”

You follow Astarion, twisting down alleys and paths in the Lower City. You refuse to hold his hand and are attempting to use pure willpower to ignore all the tasty citizens scurrying about. They smell good, and it’s making your mouth water. No matter how much you eat, bloodlust is insatiable, unquenchable and never fully slumbers. There’s always this stitch in your side and a dryness to your throat that will not ebb. When you smell blood, you are immediately starved, and your stomach pinches in your belly. It could easily send you into hysterics. Astarion always keeps a close eye, sticking by your side and matching your pace instead of his usual elongated strides.

You recognize the alley with the guards and the secret door, “The guild?”

“The very one,” he nods with a cunning smirk.

“Lord Ancunin,” the guard bows low and stiff. “I see you have brought a guest.”

“Lady Ancunin,” Astarion drawls, confident and poised. If your heart was beating, it would surely have skipped beats and possibly stopped. “She is to be treated with the same respect as I. You are to follow her orders as you would follow mine. Is that clear?”

“So you command, so shall it be,” the guard bows low before you. “Lady Ancunin.”

You stare detached past the guard, barely noticing the reverent display before you. A welcome numbness has incorporated itself into your psyche. You felt so much, and now you feel nothing. You’re not sure which is worse.

“Come,” Astarion gestures to the stairs.

The Guildhall has been rebuilt with more extravagance. The walkways are now properly constructed and far less shabby looking with richly coloured wood. It is organized, not the haphazard mess you remember. There are so many hearts beating the chant of life. Their blood smells like Elysian fields teeming with ichor blossoms. Pressing your eyes shut, you try to tune out the thump, thump, thump assaulting your ears. You clutch Astarion’s hand and squeeze as hard as you can.

Yes, this will be a challenge.

Astarion senses your apprehension and squeezes your hand reassuringly, “We can leave whenever you want. I do not have to be here long.”

“You operate the Guild now?”

“Yes and no,” he grins, devilish and handsome enough to make you melt despite your discomfort. “Nine Fingers still handles the mundane day-to-day. You know I have never been a details person.”

“How did this come about?”

“Simple,” he smiles wolfish and sly. His eyes glint mischievously. “If you know the right people to coerce, anything can be taken. Grease a few palms here, blackmail some merchants there. You know how it is.”

“Coerce or kill?”

“Well, negotiations don’t always go as planned,” he chuckles with a cavalier shrug. “But I do not go around killing everyone, just those who need killing anyway. Gods. What do you think of me? I’ve been manipulating people for 200 years. This was hardly a challenge.”

“Ah, Lord Ancunin,” Nine Fingers strides up with a tight look as if she’s working hard not to frown. “How nice of you to bless us with your presence. I do not believe we have a meeting scheduled for today.”

“I’m here to make sure you’re running my,” Astarion accentuates the word with a low, threatening growl, “Guild befittingly. I received reports of your idiot pickpockets getting caught by the authorities and inconsistent yields. Do I need to appoint someone more suitable for such a role?”

“Lord Ancunin,” Nine Fingers snickers, and you wonder how he hasn’t killed this one yet. She was always snarky. “The pickpockets have been dealt with. They did not even make it to prison. As for the yields, I’m looking into it. You will not find anyone more proficient at running your guild than I.”

Astarion and Nine Fingers continue to talk business. Boring. You walk away, down the stairs and watch the people flitting about, ledgers in hand, counting shipments of what looks like silk from Cormyr and imported liquor. Others with clearly stolen pieces of art and other antiquities. The bottom of that cesspool pit has been cleaned up, and it appears new tunnels have been put in place, with more still being constructed.

You catch bits and pieces of a conversation between a short, rotund man in a burgundy coat speaking about a shipment being lost or damaged. Leaning on a railing, you watch the conversation play out with a shrewd eye for a while before you make your way over there. The closer you get to people, the harder it is to control yourself, but you’re getting better.

You sit close to the conversation so you can listen and watch. Nine Fingers sits beside you, “I remember you. Jaheria’s friend, right?” she gives you a scrutinizing once over and then her eyes finally settle on yours. “I remember you being much more… alive the last time you were here. The lords doing, I presume.”

“I wanted it,” you growl through your clenched jaw. “There is nothing further to discuss on it.”

“I’ve seen his little compulsion trick,” she says sourly. “It’s not a stretch to believe-“

You cut her off by grabbing her by the neck and pushing her up against a support beam. The rhythmical pulsing of her vein is felt on the pads of your fingers. Good Gods, you are tempted to take a nibble. Just a little sip...

No. You throw her away from you before you lose your precarious control.

“Watch your tongue,” you snarl, baring your teeth. “I am just as deadly as the lord.”

“Deadlier even.” Astarion chuckles, leaning close to your ear, “Are you okay?”

“I’m managing…” you whisper. Raising your voice, you point to the man, “Who is that?”

“A local merchant. He caters to the aristocracy.” Astarion arches a brow, “Why?”

“You were talking about inconsistent yields,” you watch the man circumspective, who now stares at you wide-eyed. “I think you will find he is the reason for some or all of your inconsistencies.” You sneer at the little fleshy liar, “Won’t we?"

“No,” Nine Fingers interjects. “That can’t be. He’s been working with the Guild for many years and is well-known and respected by the patriars. He’s an invaluable asset.”

“Silence!” Astarion orders brusquely, making her flinch. “Your superiors are having a discussion.” Astarion’s fingers come to his chin. “Go on, darling. How do you know?”

“His speech pattern is all over the place. He does not make direct eye contact. He’s fidgeting nervously. I can hear his heartbeat kick up from here every time he has to alter his story, and he’s sweating like a pig,” you smirk. You are good at this, and it feels natural. You give the man a grin as you virtually hear his heart sink, “You are a terrible liar. I think you’ve picked the wrong business.”

“Well,” Astarion cocks his head while watching the man as sweat rains down his face, “Let’s find out, shall we?” He points at the rotund traitor, “You. Come here.”

“Y-yes, Lord Ancunin.”

Astarion hauls the man into the air by his coat with an eerily cordial smile, “You’ve been stealing from me. Come clean now, and I will consider allowing you to keep your pathetic life.”

You expected to hear the anger in Astarion’s voice, but it’s matter-of-fact and impassive.

“My lord,” the man’s eyes widen, and his feet kick uselessly in the air. “I would never dream of it. Honest!”

Astarion’s eyes glow that wicked crimson of compulsion, and he brings the man close to his face, “You will tell me the truth. How long have you been stealing?”

The man’s eyes become glossy as the red tendrils of compulsion twist around him and into his mind. His body becomes limp. “I will tell the truth.” He repeats hollowly. “I have been skimming off the top for years. I misconstrue reported earnings and inventory, record shipments as lost or damaged and keep them for myself.”

The man continues spewing his transgressions, and you can see the rage start building in Astarion.

“That wasn’t so hard. Was it?” Astarion smiles manically. His eyes start to flash as he draws his dagger.

You put your hand on his shoulder, “Astarion…” You soothe and request the connection with his mind. You do not want to undermine him, but you need him to stay in control. He opens it, and you wince at the pain that splits through your head. It feels as if your skull has been cracked open. You push through it and roll your thoughts over the bridge, “His death will not gain you anything, Astarion. Hold onto yourself.”

His muscles strain under your fingers, and sweat starts to sheen his skin, but he answers in your thoughts, “His death would serve as a reminder to these insolent fucks that no one betrays the Vampire Ascendant and lives.”

“Astarion, please.”

“I am the Vampire Ascendant!” He bellows in your head so hard you wonder if your ears are bleeding, leaking your brain matter.

“Is that all you are? Is that your entire identity?”

He growls viciously aloud, snarling and turning his head to look at you with violence humming in his flickering eyes. With a pained grunt, Astarion throws the man on the ground and hisses, “Leave. If I ever see you in my city again, I will kill you and your family.”

Astarion whirls, taking your chin roughly in his fingers, bringing his mouth to yours, savage and hungry, with enough force to split and bruise your lips. You can hear that tittering in his head, straining against his control, trying to claim him. It bites like a serrated blade at your mind, and Astarion tries to close the connection to save you from that pain, but you rue against it.

“Don’t,” you think. “I can be your light. I can help you, but you have to let me.”

His fingers curl into your hair, and his tongue laps at the blood smeared across your lips, sucking on the cut gently. Your fingers caress the back of his neck. You’re not exactly sure how you do it, but as if on instinct, you flood Astarion with every iota of your love, light and fire into his psyche, upending the darkness and silencing his demons.

His body relaxes. His fingers no longer grip aggressively but embrace, and he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on yours as he pants. As your senses return to you, so does the angelic chorus of beating hearts and the enticing smell of blood, and you clench your jaw as your stomach does cartwheels in your abdomen. Your fingernails incise your palm.

“I’ve got you, my treasure.” Astarion interlocks his fingers with yours to stop you. “Hold onto me.”

Astarion turns to Nine Fingers. She’s staring at you with a speculatively arched brow, “We will be taking our leave now. I expect to see improved totals on your subsequent report, or we will have a very unpleasant discussion, and if any more pickpockets get caught, you will not be calling yourself Nine Fingers any longer. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Lord Ancunin,” she nods curtly with a twisted mouth and narrowed eyes. “Do bring your spawn along more often. She is incredibly useful, it seems.”

Astarion roars, slamming Nine Fingers against a wooden column, splitting it. He bellows when he speaks, making sure everyone can hear him, “No one is to call her “spawn.” If I hear anyone utter that word in reference to her, I will hang them from the rafters by their intestines while they still draw breath.” Astarion looks around with a frightening scowl, verifying everyone is paying attention, “She is my right hand, and you will treat her with due respect. Any orders from her should be treated as if they are coming from me directly.”

“Astarion,” you whimper, scratching lacerations into the top of your hand to keep yourself grounded. “I need to go.”

He releases Nine Fingers, spins and grabs your hand. He keeps a tight hold on you until you’re back in the alley. He orders the guards to stand further away. You sprint to the dead end and grip a fence as hard as you can, taking in large gasps of air to try and quiet the bloodlust ravaging your mind, bullying you into mania. Astarion’s hands come to the rail on either side of you, caging you in with his chest pressed against your back.

“You did well in there,” he purrs. “Controlling the bloodlust.”

“You could have warned me that I would want to eat everyone with a beating heart,” you groan, leaning into him.

“I suppose I could have been a tad more forthcoming,” he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “To be fair, I was a young spawn centuries ago. It’s not exactly fresh in my mind.”

“How did you learn to control it?” you sigh. You’re falling into him again, slipping into that blissful completeness that melts that icy numbness keeping you sane.

There’s a quiver of torment that dithers across the harmony. “Cazador…” he starts, spoken with a desolate undertone. He folds his arms around you, holding you close, and he trembles, “Cazador would starve me and then have people stand in the kennels while I was chained or caged. He would cut them, small at first, but gradually worse. They would get progressively closer. If I made a move or lost control in any way, I would be punished. Severely.” He pauses with a sigh, and his brows turn down at the sides. “I lost control a lot.”

By the Gods. You would not have been able to understand how torturous that would be without being a vampire yourself. Bloodlust hurts, a physical pain that progressively gets steadily worse until you are nothing but a writhing, rabid animal with no semblance of sentience.

“Astarion…” you turn to him, wrapping your arms around him. “That’s… Gods, there are no words. I’m so sorry.”

“Come,” he clears his throat, uncomfortable with the emotion as if he does not believe he deserves your empathy. “Let’s go home.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You murmur, hoping you’re not overstepping, “About… him. I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

“Partners talk about this type of stuff openly, yes?”

“I…” you balk at the question. It seems so out of character for him. You expected him to ignore you or scold you for bringing it up further. “I suppose they do, but-“

“Yes,” he cuts you off. “I know what we aren’t. You keep reminding me every chance you get. You requested real and real you shall have. I never wanted you to see that side of me.” Astarion sighs and looks at the setting sun reverently, his face softening, a glimpse of his former self, “Cazador is no longer an off-limits topic for you.”

What?

Can you trust him not to fly into a blind rage when you speak of his former self, the pathetic spawn he is so genuinely disgusted with? Perhaps this is not the time to test the limits of this newfound freedom.

“Lady Ancunin?” You quirk a brow at him. “That’s not my name.”

“Not as of yet, it’s not,” his arm wraps around your waist, and a smile flashes over his face like wintry sunshine. He whispers, “You bear my name beautifully, my love.”

Your eyelashes flutter open, and you’re shocked to be in the familiar halls of the Crimson Palace, but it does not appear as you remember it. Everything is washed in a drab sepia tone, and you blink, trying to clear your vision. The walls and floors appear to wave as if they are an illusion. Servants blink in and out of existence as they flit around. You try to walk in the way of them, waving your arms to get their attention, but they pay you no heed, blinking out and reappearing behind you.

A scream you would recognize anywhere reverberates through the ghostly halls, shrill and bone-chilling.

Astarion…

You sprint toward the sound, descending the dark staircase two or three steps at a time that appears to end in a black well of nothingness. You’re trying to grip the weave and call on your magic, but when you reach for it, you find nothing but a yawning void where it should be. Staring at your palm, you shake it, confused, as you burst into the hall leading to the spawn quarters. Another cry echoes. You forget about your lack of magic as horror grips your heart, and you sprint around the corner and halt dead in your tracks.

Astarion stands in the hallway. He’s hunched over with hands pressed against the doorframe as he stares distantly into the room before him - the kennels. He is the only thing in undulled, vivid colour. It’s a stark contrast to the atmosphere of mousy undertones.

“Astarion?”

He jolts, whirling and staring at you with a disoriented tangle of sorrow and perplexity. His jaw tightens, and his eyes shift quickly from side to side, “No,” he mutters, shaking his head, “No, this isn’t right. You would not have been here.”

“What’s going on?” You sputter, voice breaking. “I don’t understand.”

Another strident shriek. You are stirred into action, dashing down the hall at full speed. Astarion’s eyes widen as he gauges your target, and he takes long steps to cut you off. His arm wraps around your waist, hauling you backward from the open doorway.

“No, darling,” he coos, trying to swath his voice in velvet. “You don’t want to go in there. Please, trust me on this.”

“What?” You’re panicked, clawing at him, trying to push his arms away. “I can’t just stand here! Let me go!”

“You can’t help him… Me. You can’t help me.” Astarion rasps. His eyes are sad, but he tries to smile. “This is long over and done. It’s a memory - my memory.”

Anguished wailing reverberates, making the walls appear to shudder. You can’t take it, you can’t fucking take it, and you push out of Astarion’s arms and charge into the kennels.

The scene that greets you makes tears instantly flow down your cheeks, and you can’t help but dry heave as your stomach shoots into your throat.

“That’s right, my boy.” Cazador snickers, compulsion glowing in his eyes, tendrils stirring the air. “Sing those sweet, sweet cries for me.”

You try to grab Cazador, screaming in anguish, but your hand swishes straight through the apparition. Arms come around your waist, hauling you up and out of the room while you reach and clamber, trying to do something. Anything.

Astarion sets you down, folding his arms around you, “Shhh, little love,” he purrs. “It will be alright.”

“Astarion,” you sob, knees quaking. Astarion braces you against himself, “What in the Hells is happening?”

“I’m not entirely sure. We are tranced, in the manor, I think. This... it already happened long ago. So long, I cannot even recall the colours anymore.”

His thumb clears the rivulets of tears storming down your cheeks so sweetly, like the whisper of a fairy dream. His eyes, so intensely crimson, are doting, inviting you to get lost in them.

Another soul-crushing outcry discharges from the room, and you can’t help but scream with him. Astarion firmly but gently places his hands over your ears, trying to provide you amnesty from the howling cries.

You lean into him and beg, tugging on his clothes, “Make it stop, Astarion. Good Gods. Make it stop. Please. I can’t… I can’t… Wake us up.”

“I’m trying,” he breathes faintly, pressing harder on your ears as another jarring yowl rolls over you, and you start slipping to the floor in a puddle of sorrow.

Everything dissolves around you, turning black and silent, and you’re pitched into a bottomless void that makes your stomach lurch.

You thrash in your bed, convulsing so violently that you throw yourself to your hands and knees on the floor with a discordant shriek. Your bedsheets and clothes are soddened with sweat, the delicate fabric clinging to your body, and you tremble so turbulently that you can barely push yourself to your feet.

You blink rapidly, trying to see through the distortion caused by unshed tears. Your chest heaves in quick, rapid breaths as you sprint into the hallway. Astarion is already running toward you, and you slam into his arms as your legs give way.

“It’s okay,” he comforts you with a soft, deep baritone, a salve to your pain. “Everything is alright.”

Your mind sees that gruesome vision, a ghostly layer veiling the man before you. Your stomach twists and knots. Saliva floods your mouth. Pushing out of his hold, you scramble away as far as you can, and your liquid dinner is a sanguine spill spreading across the floor. Astarion holds your hair back and rubs your back as you continue to dry heave between your rapid breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs.

“It is I who should be sorry,” he sits on the chaise, beckoning you into his arms. You curl up in his lap once the wave of nausea eases, desperate to be close to him. Astarion strokes your arm, “I left the connection open. I did not know you could get transported into my dreams. I will not make that mistake again.”

You look up, cupping his cheek in your palm and searching his eyes. That beautiful face is calm and carpeted with earnest affection but otherwise unfazed while he sweeps strands of your hair behind your ear, “Are you okay?”

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he kisses your palm. “I have relived many of my memories hundreds of times over. There are only a few that truly disturb me anymore. Thank you for asking, but I am fine.”

“Okay...” you breathe deeply, unsure if your mind can accept how undaunted he is. The last remnants of your weeping shudder through your body, “I’ll clean that up.”

Pushing yourself away from him is a monumental task. He is warm like sunshine and comforting like darkness. You hate him a little for being so… him.

“Will you come to bed?” Astarion looks at you longingly. “ Our bed, I mean.”

“No.”

“When are you going to stop punishing me?” He laments, following you while you grab a rag and bucket of soapy water from the rarely used kitchen.

“I’m not punishing you for anything, Astarion.”

“Bullshit.” He exclaims sourly. “Do not think me blind. You’ve been ignoring and avoiding me purposefully. I- I miss you.” Astarion’s arms fall limp at this side, “Tell me how to make it right.”

You hand Astarion a cup, “Break this.”

His brows pinch as he turns the cup over and over. He looks at you, confused, but throws it to the floor, shattering it. “What was the point of that?”

“Now, fix it.”

“I have many mind-blowing abilities,” he stares at the shattered pieces strewn across the floor, brows pinched. “Fixing broken goblets is not one of them.”

“Because not everything can be fixed."

You start wiping up your sick in the tense muteness between you and Astarion. He sits on the chaise, just watching with a grief-stricken expression that makes you want to weep.

“I can run up walls, walk upside down on ceilings, turn into a bat and mist, among other things. All this power…” A low laugh rumbles in his chest, crestfallen and mournful. “All this fucking power,” he clenches his fists, craning his head to look up at the ceiling, “and I still cannot have the one thing in the world I want most.” He sighs, shaking his head. Astarion cocks his head to look at you and smiles bleakly, “Sleep tight, my love.”

Astarion disappears into his room, and you bite your tongue to stifle your crying. After you’ve finished cleaning up and are back in your bed, you toss restlessly. How long will this harrowing purgatory go on? You take deep breaths, but it does not even begin to fill the void in your chest. You are fragmented without him in your head or against your skin. As if you’re soul has deformed, warped and splintered into a mangled husk.

This is why you’ve been avoiding Astarion. His words tear your heart open, dissect it, and then you must stitch yourself up anew. How many times can your chest be torn open and your heart ripped to pieces before the scarps are too small to glue back together?

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

In the hall, you jump at the sight of Astarion halfway up the long corridor. He halts, and you stare at each other in reticence. His hair is a disarrayed jumble of soft silver curls. The moonlight streaming in from the windows brilliantly sets the ivory skin of his bared chest aglow. His shoulders are slumped in a disconsolate stature you’re not used to seeing on him. The iron countenance and steely confidence he oozes are absent.

“Love,” he whispers wearily. “Lay with me tonight.” Astarion gestures toward himself, splaying his hand on his bare chest. Desperation clings to his voice, “Be with me. We can workshop the details as we go.”

“Tell me you love me,” you say, moon-eyed, lips quivering.

“I-I,” he pauses. Anticipation clenches your heart in your chest. Please, you think, please just fucking say it so we can stop playing this game. You think he just might until he grimaces. “I can’t.”

“No. Of course, you can’t,” you mewl. You wrap yourself in your comfortable cloak of numbness to preserve your sanity, “Because how could you love a lowly spawn like my good self?”

He does not answer, and that is answer enough.

You’re crouched low in a dark alley, skulking around in the shadows in the Lower City. Astarion went out to deal with some business you were not invited to, so you’ve taken the chance to survey the tavern you last saw that purple-haired bitch at - Elowyn. Your intuition tells you she has something to do with the Gur attacks, regardless of Astarion’s assurances that she’s harmless. The earth-shatteringly handsome man can be blinded by his overconfidence at times.

You’re not sure what Astarion will do if he gets home and you’re nowhere to be found, but you left him a note saying you went for a walk. He probably won’t tear the city apart looking for you. You’re not a caged bird. You can come and go as you please.

... Right?

You’re about to give up for the night when you see her. She glances out the tavern doors, askant, surveying her surroundings before pulling up her hood and slinking down the street. Elowyn takes an oddly winding route, up and down dark alleys and paths, often doubling back. She strolls confidently but takes acute notice of her surroundings. She is practiced and methodical in the way she observes. You should have eaten her when she cornered you with her singsong voice and dainty little face, spewing filth and lies. Maybe you should eat her now…

No, no. You can eat her after you figure out what she’s up to. You smile sadistically at the promise to yourself, licking your lips. You will eat her when you’ve ascertained how she means to harm your master.

Gods. Where did that thought come from?

Elowyn turns abruptly down a side street. Casting Misty Step, you appear on a roof, crouch at the edge and watch her intently. She walks up and down the pathway, looking in all directions except up, much to your delight.

Hardly anyone looks up.

She leans down and opens the entrance to the sewers, climbing down and replacing the cover. The sewers… You fucking hate the sewers. It’s the last place you want to follow her, but nothing can deter you.

This place is a maze of tunnels and run-offs. It’s an arduous task to track her with any degree of certainty. The rayless, glum passageways look similar, but you glimpse her here and there. Her course is consistent with the streets above as she makes arbitrary turns left and right, retracing her steps before continuing. It makes you question if she spotted you and is just taking you on a wild goose chase for shits and giggles, but it’s doubtful. There is purpose in Elowyn’s steps, even if you’re not quite able to understand it yet.

Elowyn steps onto the wooden platform, pulls the lever, and floats up the nauseating river of excrement and contamination. You recognize the area she is going to by smell alone. She’s heading into the lowest floors of the ruined temple under the Crimson Palace. You frown. You’ve been all through those lower, ravaged corridors.

You used to try and hide from Astarion down there, but he always found you. You shudder at the memories of playing some sick, twisted version of hide and seek, where the consequences were more dire than being tagged “it.”

What could be down there that’s of any interest to her? Does Astarion know? Is that where he set the Drow up to do her assessments? Unlikely. He would not want Araj that close to home.

There’s a barely perceptible shift in the atmosphere. The chilled air starts to warm unnaturally, embers floating around. Your skin prickles as the hair on the back of your neck and arms rises. You smell the smoky stench and pollution of sulphur crawling through the air. It stings your nostrils, twisting in the back of your nose and down your throat, choking you. A liquid black maw opens in the stone before your feet, and the inky, viscid silhouette emerges from the gaping orifice, taking shape and wings stretching with a boastful flare.

You jump backward, filling yourself with the Weave, heating your palms and skin with spells dancing on your fingertips and primed on your tongue.

“Darling,” a toothy grin greets you. “Now, now, Sorceress. Put those spells of yours to rest. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Mizora.”  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

It's never a good sign when Mizora shows up. We are getting into the thick of it now :)

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

[archer-kacey]

Problems with erasing Bendy Book canon:

With the FNAF books, we were told they were canon-divergent fairly early on. For Bendy, this was never specified, leading many to believe this was all just straight-up canon information that they were running with for theorycrafting. For a long time.

Why the hell would you de-canonize the ENTIRE origin story of Boris? He's a central character to Bendy and the Ink Machine.

You're going to throw out THE ENTIRE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF YOUR MAIN VILLAIN? THAT'S.......NOT A GOOD IDEA!

(And before it's pointed out, no, we don't "need" Illusion of Living for "gay evidence." The point here is y'all released an autobiography for one of your two main characters and you're saying it's not canon. That's ludicrous.)

Things that were explained/brought up in the novels that apparently "aren't canon anymore": how Sammy got infected, Thomas's conflicting feelings about the machine he created, the origin of Boris the wolf, several instances of Joey's gaslighting and manipulative behavior and his slow descent into madness after Henry's departure, a look into Gent technology and the Gent experiments that took place after they switched over to "research", Abby Lambert (who SHOULD be in the mainline games all things considered), Joey Drew's ENTIRE AUTOBIOGRAPHY including his PHILOSOPHIES AND REAL ASS LIFE, ANDDD the themes of classism, racism, and sexism that were VERY present at that time in history. Among other things.

You're taking out several new characters for no reason. I'm not saying they all need to return, but it makes zero sense to introduce a bunch of new guys and then immediately abandon them...only to introduce a bunch of OTHER new guys.

I've seen a few comments in response to Mike that go along the lines of "oh thank goodness now I don't need to read the books to understand the lore!" No disrespect, but I think that's a fundamental misunderstanding of what the books do. They enhance your understanding of all the background plot. You don't need to read the books to understand the games. But that shouldn't mean erasing the existing information's canonicity because not everyone wants to read it.

Bendy isn't FNAF. Bendy has a much more streamlined plot. Not everything fits perfectly of course, but to take out such a large chunk of what we THOUGHT was the plot (or plot-adjacent) is headscratching to me. You claim to care about the plot, characters and worldbuilding and then you decide that some of the BEST written interpretations of these characters and their world just aren't "legitimate" now? .......All of a sudden?

I want to punch something

#I'm starting to get really irritated at M+M downplaying the books. no sir they aren't fun extras that's just the actual plot you threw out #this decision would also erase the books' minority and women characters. which I don't think is the intention at all but that's the result #people who are really into bendy are gonna want more canon lore...we should really leave the canon-divergence to fanfics at this point #bendy books #i'm dying #dreams come to life #the lost ones #bendy fade to black #illusion of living #joey drew #adrienne kress #mike mood #themeatly #bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the dark revival

[fourphoenixfeathers]

New niche obscure crossover au upon ye!

This time on Ingo getting eeby deebied: SCP 3001!

Some of my followers might have heard of 3001 bc I love this article, but here's some context:

Short version: a scientist accidentally opens a wormhole into a dimension where nothing exists, and he starts to fall apart because the nothingness is contagious.

Long version: Robert Scranton researches ontokinetics, the physics of reality warping and how to counter it. He and his wife, Anna Lang are working on something they call the Lang-Scranton Stabilizer that they believe can stop things that would warp or manipulate reality in dangerous ways.

An earthquake happens on site and breaks many prototypes, causing a wormhole to open up and suck Robert in, along with a nearby control panel. For the next five years, Robert records his experience and his slow descent into madness on that control panel. The control panel returns to reality, telling the people in the real world what happened for the five years it was recording, but Scranton's true fate is unknown. It seems unlikely he makes it out alive.

The original article is heartbreaking and has some descriptions of gore and psychological horror, but if you are good with that, I encourage you to check it out! My au will be lighter on the psychological horror but about the same on gore, so.

Of course, I had to get attached to this sad man and his sad ending. So I will be throwing Ingo into the evil nothingness dimension so I can pull him out and give him the happy ending I want for Scranton sjjsjfnncn

This is a dojoshipping au bc it's my favorite ship and I feel like Robert and Anna are precious to me. Really that's the only reason why. *Holds Zisu gently* I just think she's neat.

Extra doodles, as a treat!

#submas #ingo #emmet #zisu #dojoshipping #scp #scp 3001 #submas 3001 #au tag? maybe? #rae art

[nerdraging4point0]

Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter Three // Wonderland AU

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

A.N.- Although Characters may have face claim to the Bad Omens band as well as Poppy, I have changed their names for the sake of the story. Despite this change I hope everyone still enjoys the story as a whole!

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people's faces but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @poisongirl616 @ladyveronikawrites @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @littlefoxkota @silentglassbreak @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @catharsis-in-darkness @dsireland86 @skulliecadaver-blog @laurpartyprogram @faceless-mirror @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @thisbicc @cncohshit

The wind rushes past my ears as I plunge deeper and deeper into the abyss. With each passing second, the light above grows fainter while the darkness below swallows me whole. I’ve lost all sense of direction, unable to discern up from down in this vortex of shadows. My stomach lurches with each flip, tossing and turning without control. Strands of hair whip wildly across my eyes, blinding me further in this endless freefall. I flail my arms, grasping at nothing but air that slips through my fingers.

I feel the need to scream but nothing comes out.

The grey swirling mist around me gives way to dark tree branches as I see the forest come through around me. My heart leaps into my throat as I desperately grasp at passing branches and shrubs, trying to slow my momentum. Just when I think my fall will never end, the sleeve of my cardigan snags on an outstretched tree limb, abruptly halting my descent. I dangle helplessly in the air, my feet kicking below me as I struggle to regain my composure. Adrenaline courses through my veins from the sudden shock of my fall and narrow escape. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, clinging tightly to the branch as it sways under my weight. The quiet creaking barely registers before an ominous snap pierces the silence. In an instant, the branch gives way and I plummet the remaining distance to the forest floor. I land flat on my back, all the air forced from my lungs on impact.

My eyes focus on the sight above me. Gloomy grey clouds swirl in whirlwind circles, like the way a hurricane might look - dark, menacing, and ominous. As I take in the dreary sky, the clouds appear to be spinning faster and faster, morphing into a giant whirlpool directly over my head. I can almost feel the power emanating from their rotation like a vacuum trying to suck me up into oblivion. Sitting up slowly, I feel the soreness in my bones, as if I had slept on the hard ground all night long. The aching penetrates deep, making even the slightest movements arduous and painful. I check for broken bones, wiggling my fingers and toes, bending my arms and legs, and nothing is seriously damaged. 

My hands are covered in dirt from the forest floor, if a forest is what you call it, I brush the soil from my hands as I scan the dreary trees around me. The floor is not covered in grass or moss, but a dark and crumbling soil that clings to my skin. It is as if the very life has been sucked from this place, leaving only dust in its wake. The trees that surround me are gnarled and twisted, with branches like boney claws grasping desperately at the oppressive gray sky. They are barren - not a single leaf or bud in sight, just rough bark that seems to slough off in scales. There is an unnatural stillness here, and a damp chill that seeps into my bones. The only movement comes from the fog that swirls eerily between the skeletal trees. It dances just out of reach, sinuous tendrils of mist that seem to have a mind of their own as they curl and twist. The fog circles me like a predator, watching closely but never coming close enough to touch. There is something sinister about this place, as if the very air is heavy with malice.

The world around me is eerily quiet - it's as if someone has hit the mute button on life itself. No birds singing, no rustle of leaves in the breeze, just deafening silence. All I can hear is the rhythmic ticking of a clock, though I see no timepiece nearby. The steady ticks seem unnaturally loud in the void of sound, almost oppressive as they count away each passing second. 

I stand from the floor, whipping my head around slowly to find the source of the ticking sound. When she surprises me, she steps out from behind one of the trees. Her long blonde hair cascades straight down to her waist, and I see her soft caramel eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of my dirt-covered self. I jump back in surprise as she stands still where she is, her nose twitching ever so slightly. I relax a little, recognizing the girl from the coffee shop as she steps around the tree, a lace-covered hand still holding to the black bark as if it will save her should I be dangerous.

I feel the panic set in when I see what she is wearing, even more so what rests on her head. Platform shoes that are taller than her feet are wide support her, white stockings disappear under periwinkle leather shorts, which cling tightly to reveal subtly muscular legs. A navy and white corset pulls her narrow waist in dramatically, leaving her body in a perfect hourglass figure. The long tail of her navy trenchcoat brushes the back of her knees as she walks, the black lace at the hem an elegant and beautiful touch. On the top of her head protruding from the platinum locks are two white bunny ears, they stand straight up twitching as she stares at me intently. She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out a silver pocket watch placing it in the palm of her lace gloved hand. Regarding the time, one of her ears flops over as she tsks softly and looks back up at me, stating simply in a melodic voice, "You're very late." I stare in bewilderment, wondering if I'm hallucinating this strange yet alluring sight before me. The girl tilts her head quizzically, bunny ears perked up once again, as she waits for me to respond.

“I…I…late for what?” my voice cracks a little, I have been sucked into this dream again and it’s starting to get old. 

The young woman smiles trotting over to me before taking my upper arm, pulling me along as she skips merrily down the forest path, her sheen white hair bouncing with each step. "Come now. So very little to do and so much time," she sings, her voice light and melodic. I hurry to keep up, worried she'll twist an ankle in those heels as we push on through the uneven ground littered with sticks and stones. She stops abruptly and I nearly crash into her back. Turning to me, her face grows pensive, her brows knitting together in concentration.

 "So little time, so much to do. Yes, yes, that's it!" she exclaims, having sorted out some internal debate. She resumes her brisk pace, heels clicking on the hard dirt before sinking into the soft soil.

 "You should have come through the door. You would have been closer to Hatter that way," she advises as we walk. "But the mirror will do. They are tricky, tricky, tricky. You could have come through completely upside down!" She elaborates on the precarious magic of portal mirrors - how I might have emerged feet where my head should be, eyes planted squarely on my chin. Such a disturbing image, but she seems utterly unfazed by the prospect of such chaos.

 "Upside down?" I ask, unable to grasp how that would even work. 

"Oh yes!" she readily confirms, no trace of doubt in her voice. Stopping short again, she spins to face me, eyes narrowed.

 "Let me see your hands," she demands. I hold them out obediently as she inspects them for the proper number of digits. Satisfied, her expression clouds again. She leans in close, peering at my face intently, and whispers "Do you have hands on your feet?" Mystified, I shake my head no, and she relaxes, beaming.

 "Good!" she declares cheerily before pirouetting away once more down the path.

"I'm sorry,"  Her brisk pace through the winding forest path leaves me struggling to match her graceful steps. She glides effortlessly over fallen branches and mossy stones while I stumble clumsily behind, longing to pause and catch my breath. The further we go, the more I yearn to turn around, retrace my footsteps and return to the place I began. But the mysterious maiden shows no signs of slowing, so I press on, determined not to lose sight of her flickering white dress between the trees up ahead.

"Who exactly are you?" I ask. She giggles white lace glove covering her soft pink glossy lips. My blunt question elicits a melodic laugh as she conceals her mouth with a dainty hand. I fail to grasp what amusement my inquiry brings her. With an elegant twirl, she stops abruptly and faces me, throwing her arms out wide as if presenting herself to an invisible audience.

"I am all that I am and all that I will be. I am Melina, herald to the late white queen," her face falls a little growing somber as she delivers her final line, "and the great red queen." Her prideful introduction gives way to melancholy, ears falling ever so slightly as she seems to choke on the word ‘great’. 

After sharing a somber beginning to our encounter, her demeanor suddenly shifts as a radiant grin spreads across her face, lighting up her cheeks with a rosy flush. Her long, snowy rabbit ears, which had drooped mournfully just moments before, now perk up with delight. With renewed enthusiasm, she begins merrily spinning and skipping down the forest path, practically bounding with each step. Her movements are graceful and spirited, reflecting her improved mood. I hurry to keep up as she continues on ahead, but struggle to match her graceful, nimble movements.

“Okay,” She effortlessly scurries up the side of the path, climbing over a large fallen tree blocking our way with ease. I attempt to follow her over the obstacle, but cannot mimic her graceful agility. “Next question, where am I? How did I get here? Isn’t this just a dream?”

Stumbling clumsily back onto the path, I watch her continue on, now skipping backwards so she can face me as we talk. Her mood is clearly much improved from when we first met, transformed from melancholy to positively gleeful in mere moments. Yet while her sadness has passed, my confusion remains. I hurry after her down the path, determined to make sense of this strange world I've found myself in.

“That is three questions, shall I answer in order or answer the ones that would make more sense?” she giggles continuously. 

“Nothing makes sense!” I argue looking directly at her soft white bunny ears knowing for certain no person could have ears like that all the time. 

"Well, you will never know that something makes sense unless it is said." Her response is not wrong but it doesn't sound right either, I can feel my head splitting already as I touch my temples. Her cryptic words echo in my mind, their meaning just out of reach.

“Where you are is, Otherland. I already told you how you got here-or how you should have come here.”

“The door,” I nod along as she speaks, acting as if I comprehend, but my confusion only grows. Her guidance feels less like truth and more like riddles. I want to believe her, to latch onto any clarity amidst the haze enveloping my mind. Yet as much as I strain to assemble the fragments, the full picture eludes me.  “But, I can never open it.”

“Well, now you couldn’t, not with red queen guarding it with her life.” Her elusive responses just leave me grasping at ghosts, the truth always dancing out of reach. If only she would just tell me plainly, perhaps then I could make sense of this madness.

"I hear what you’re saying, but none of it is making sense." I try again to comprehend the confusing words and concepts she is conveying, but they continue to elude me, slipping through my grasp like smoke. She lets out a soft sigh, her eyes rolling upward in frustration as if searching the empty void above for divine inspiration.

Realizing the futility of her abstract explanations that seem clear to her but remain a jumble to me, she concedes: "I am horrible with explanations, too many thoughts scampering about in my head. Dax is far better, he should be with the hatter now. We should keep moving." 

At the mention of "the hatter," vivid images from my shadowy dreams flood my mind - a tall, lean figure lurking in the darkness, clad in an impeccable black suit and glossy top hat. Could this be the mysterious man she is referring to? As I recall his chilling words uttered to me in the dead of night - "Ember, set me free" - a shiver runs down my spine. I sense this puzzling dream world and obscure reality are somehow connected, but the link remains just out of reach, as obscure to me as my companion's convoluted elucidations. 

We delve deeper into the sinister forest, the canopy now so dense above us that not even a sliver of the gloomy sky peeks through. All around us come unnerving cries and screeches from unseen creatures lurking in the shadows. I flinch with every sound, imagining the unseen horrors to be stalking us, waiting to strike. Never could I have imagined that venturing farther into the impenetrable darkness would reveal such thriving, albeit twisted, life. A screech erupts frightfully close by and I can't help but let out a yelp of fear.

"What was that?!" I exclaim, my voice quivering.

"Bandersnatches," Melina replies matter-of-factly, not missing a beat in her brisk pace. "They roam wild in these woods but won't bother you if you just keep moving." I scurry to stay right on her heels, her flowing jacket now within arm's reach. If any nefarious creature is out to get me, I want to stay as near as possible to my guide through this nightmare realm.

Without warning, another shriek pierces the stillness, causing Melina to halt abruptly in her tracks. Her tall white ears stand erect, nose twitching as she scans the darkened trees around us. I stop short as well, peering anxiously into the shadows, though I know my human eyes are no match for her heightened animal senses. Through the tense silence, the forlorn howl of a hound echoes.

"And that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I follow the mysterious girl through the dark forest. She pauses and turns back to me, silver hair glinting as if it is radiating it’s own light.

 "Harlan," she says just as quietly, a hint of urgency in her tone. "The hunt has begun." Her words send a chill down my spine as somewhere in the distance, I hear the baying of hounds. "No, no, no, I'm late," she mutters, checking the silver pocket watch she wears around her neck repeatedly, mumbling "no" to herself as she scrambles up the mossy forest walls on either side of the narrow path.

"Wait!" I cry out desperately, stumbling after her, not wanting to lose my strange guide in this ominous wood. But she halts and holds out a slender hand to stop me as the chilling howl of the hound cries out once more, closer now. She looks frightened, almost torn between staying to lead me through the dark trees and fleeing from some unseen pursuer.

 "No. Stay on the path. Move with haste, but stay on the path," she instructs firmly, her luminous eyes boring into mine, willing me to heed her warning before darting off into the blackness of the woods. I'm left alone on the winding trail, my heart pounding as the baying grows louder, wondering who or what hunts these woods at night and what fate awaits if I stray from the path.

I continue the way we were headed, my feet moving with much greater purpose now. The sounds disappear behind me and I feel my heart rate slowing, the dark forest breaks free and I can see the sky once again. The winding forest path stretches on endlessly before me, narrowing as it snakes between the ancient, towering trees. Their gnarled branches reach out overhead, blotting out the moonlight that had briefly illuminated my way. The ground underfoot grows more treacherous, littered with loose rocks, tangled roots and fallen limbs that threaten to twist my ankles with every hurried step. I've been walking for what feels like hours now, though it's impossible to tell in this timeless dreamscape where minutes blend seamlessly into days.

I look down and I no longer can see the clear path in front of me, I panic just slightly turning to see where I may have lost it and think I can retrace my steps to find it again. But behind me the fog has curled over the path like a cat curling around my legs, obscuring any signs of the trail in a thick, milky haze. All I can see now are mangled branches and other forest debris emerging from the mist. Oh fuck, I'm lost.

 I turn on my heel, ready to run back and find the path again, afraid I may no longer know my directions in this featureless sea of black. What if I am lost among this forest forever, doomed to wander endlessly through the featureless void? I'm stopped only by a soft whisper, turning I can see the fog whispering in curls as if the wind is blowing through it. The whisper is a soft low sound, rhythmic, like snoring...no, purring. 

"I wouldn't if I were you," the disembodied voice purrs, its notes echoing off the trees and curling around me like the fog itself. The voice seems to emanate from the fog itself, surrounding me with its hypnotic susurrus.

"Going back would be cat-astrophic."

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #wonderland!au #alice in wonderland retelling #bad omens smut #bad omens au #wonderland!omens #madhatter!noah #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction

[doiefy]

mad city // nct series

GENRE: sci fi, biopunk, dystopian, thriller PAIRINGS: features both x reader and mxm fics MEMBERS: johnny, doyoung, jaehyung, jungwoo, mark, possibly more to come!

note: if this series looks somewhat familiar, it's because it is! this is a massive rework of my old 'fight or flight' fic for doyoung, which I posted almost two years ago (pls don't read it, like 69% of it isn't canon anymore and I kinda hate it anyways). it's been a real struggle turning it into something I actually want to write for again (which involved changing the original plotline from x reader to dojae, for which I am VERY unapologetic, don't fucking touch me), but after a year or so of on-and-off planning, here it is. I can't guarantee that I’ll get these fics out super speedily, as I also want them to be very visual and will be spending a shit ton of time on graphics; but if you're interested in a tag list for any of these fics, let me know!

WHAT PEOPLE HAVE REFERRED TO AS THE SPLIT: the fracturing of life as it once was, the steady decline of the natural world, all perpetuating political tensions and rampant crime in two rival cities. 

To the north lies Iameh, an urban paradise of impressive art and culture, resulting from centuries of mining and exploitation—a pristine exterior built upon the hardship of their southern neighbours. In one of their forgotten limestone quarries lies Siacia: Iameh’s shadow, their forsaken history, but a thriving metropolis nonetheless. 

Siacia is all the blinding colours and deafening sound that Iameh is not, boasting citizens with supernatural powers and the most sinister advancements in biotech. From their empty mineshafts and grotesque lifeforms in the quarry lake arises Burner: the Siacians’ fuel, their weaponry, and their only chance against the genetic mutations that plagued them for generations.

But like all things that come out of the ground, Burner is exploited. It is quickly monopolized, used as a drug, turned into a bargaining chip by the Assembly, a loose organization of businessmen and mutants claiming to be Siacia’s ruling government. Those on the streets of the Quarry and its four cardinal faces know very well: what the Assembly demands from them must be given, lest they face their wrath. 

So the fissure spreads and opens wider between the two cities, between all people—only a matter of time before one finds themselves dangling off the edge. 

VOLUME 1: FIGHT OR FLIGHT

pairing: doyoung x jaehyun dark comedy with a side of angst, gay shenanigans and way too many dirty jokes.

KIM DOYOUNG HAS SPENT THE LAST THREE YEARS surviving the Quarry streets alone: hunting bounties for the Coffee Cow (a ruthless contract killing agency despite their name), making poor decisions at drinking establishments, and searching for his missing brother. 

It’s on one trip to the bar that he runs into Jay: a charming, well-mannered businessman from the East Lanes, with a dimpled smile and particular taste for aged whiskey. One occasion turns into two into multiple—the two seeing each other more frequently with slowly-changing intentions, until the truth comes out. Jay, Jung Jaehyun to his close colleagues, is one of the Assembly’s founding members. Which, unfortunately, means he might have something to do with Doyoung’s missing brother, and makes him one hell of an enticing target.

The resultant cat-and-mouse chase across the city is as frustrating as it is exhilarating. But in a shocking turn of events, it reveals a destructive force beyond the both of them, one that needs their immediate attention and collaboration—regardless of who they are to each other. 

anticipated release: summer/fall 2024

VOLUME 2: VIOLET CRAZY

pairing: kim jungwoo x f!reader, johnny seo x reader angst wrapped in drama, tumultuous relationships, a slow but sure descent into madness.

In the aftermath of Johnny Seo’s return, the city of Siacia is not as it once was. Tensions with Iameh are on a steady incline, Assembly politics remain a treacherous game, all while a new strain of Burner spreads through the streets like wildfire. You and Kim Jungwoo are most apathetic to the recent chaos—the two of you like two sides of the same coin, both endlessly spiteful, now embroiled in a feud of your own. For as long as you could remember, your relationship with Jungwoo was one purely of grudge and petty revenge. 

But when Johnny begins his reign of terror, perhaps the two of you are in no position to be idle bystanders. Tragedy strikes Jungwoo’s family, and he has a reluctant change of heart. On the other hand, you remain by Johnny’s side, simply watching his flames burn hotter and rise higher. Merely overnight, your long-standing rivalry with Jungwoo has turned into a struggle for the future of the undercity. The inevitable resurfacing of your past, your forgotten history with Jungwoo, and Johnny’s inexplicable grip on you—it won’t be long before it all reaches a boiling point in the crucible. 

And certainly not long before you’re forced to face the repercussions. 

anticipated release: summer 2025

VOLUME 3: RIDE OR DIE

pairing: mark lee x gn!reader from meet-cute to heated romance. ride or die. madly in love to the bittersweet end.

Breakfast tea with magazines and tabloids. Clay-stained aprons and paint-smeared jeans. Afternoon tea with so-and-so, then back to the kiln and canvases. Dinner party with your fellow curators, handling flawless plates and dainty dessert spoons and immaculate champagne glasses—rinse and repeat, again and again, the routine of an Iamehan artist and socialite. 

Quickly growing tired of all the glitter and glamour of topside, you take a trip back to your roots: the north faces of Siacia, where you can shed all the silk and cashmere in exchange for the nightlife you grew up with. Dancing wildly to rediscover yourself and inspire your art, that’s when you find your muse: Mark Lee, a VIP at the Obelisk Nightclub, blue-haired and bright-eyed, immersed in the stories you tell him. 

You could stay with him forever, seeking thrills and adventure until you reach the ends of the earth. And yet, there is still much more awaiting: the unpleasant and the unideal, and the thwarting of your course by the stars above. 

anticipated release: TBD

VOLUME 4: WHEN THE SUN SETS

pairing: johnny seo x gn!reader psychological horror turned body horror. toxic romance and a tragic end. (!!) mature content, including manipulative, toxic relationships and darker themes some readers may find disturbing.

Johnny Seo is a reasonable man. A patient man, certainly, never reckless, never cruel. Johnny is loving, the perfect lover. Devoted, and devoted wholeheartedly to you. 

In the days and months after the Assembly’s establishment, he keeps you with him at every turn of the road: arm around your waist, head in the crook of your neck, always whispering and promising you better days. A sovereign Siacia is coming, he says. She will be free from the clutches of your northern neighbours, free to do as she pleases. You believe him—until one night, when he comes home bloody and beat-up, furious and unrecognizable. 

Johnny Seo is a meticulous man. A calculated mastermind, certainly, never reckless until he’s perfectly sure, never cruel unless he has to be. Johnny is cunning, the perfect trickster. Obsessive, and obsessed with keeping your memory alive. Obsessed with keeping you with him, an eternal part of him.

anticipated release: TBD

#nct fanfic #nct angst #nct fluff #nct smut #nct images #nct timestamps #nct blurbs #nct scenarios #nct #nct 127 #nct doyoung #doyoung fanfic #nct jaehyun #jaehyun fanfic #nct johnny #johnny fanfic #nct mark #mark fanfic #nct jungwoo #jungwoo fanfic

[kikibumblesqueaks]

I am Unalived🪦✨

Right so… funny thing about me, when I get high I also get extra stupidly ticklish for no particular reason. It’s also very easy to dissociate and feel ghost tickles as if they are real🫠🫠🫠

Anyway…. Fjjfjdnfhfjenkfk….. I took edibles last night to manage my anxiety….. then @the-shy-ler called me and just friggin ANNIHILATED me😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫💀💀💀🙈🙈

I’ve never felt so ridiculous in my LIFE🫠🫠

I was totally unprepared…. jfjjfjfj…… IT WAS SO UNFAIR!!! I wasn’t allowed to laugh out loud because my family was home😤😤 and my camera was turned on so Shy could watch my slow descent into madness as I was consumed by silent hysterics and it was absolutely mortifying🙈🙈🙈🙈

I COULDN’T SAY OR DO ANYTHING EXCEPT NOD, SHAKE MY HEAD AND JUST… DIE.

SO NOT FAIR!!! GAHHHHHHH😵‍💫🤯😤

It probably looked very funny though ngl💀

But just…hhh… IT FELT SO REAL?!? I was flailing so much I kicked stuff off my bed onto the floor fjfjkdjdNFNFND….. I kept turning my head to hide my face which left my neck exposed to Shy’s fingers and then if I protected my neck it left my armpit open for attacks, I couldn’t hide my tummy or my feet even if I tried😭🙈😫🙈

AND HE USED MY DEFINITELY SUPER SECRET INSTANT DEATH TEASE WHICH IS ILLEGAL.

My synesthesia goes absolutely haywire when I’m high as well, the light show happening behind my eyes was rather spectacular🤣🌈✨

Aftercare 10/10, I low key happy-cried🤧🥹💜

ILYSM @the-shy-ler 😖👉👈💕

That was the best t word experience I’ve ever had🥹👉👈

#The Stoned Squeaker Chronicles #i am deceased #silliest lee ever probably #I couldn’t bring myself to look at my face on screen but I probably looked absolutely unhinged #still haven't recovered #my tummy is full of giggles #WHY SHY WHY #best thing that ever happened to me #MELTINGGGGGG #Kiki’s content #How To Kill A Kiki #squeaky Kiki #Kiki’s crushin it #Kiki’s beehive #bumble rambles #tickle community #tickle #sfw tickles #tickling #tickle thoughts #tickles #t word #t word community #ticklish #t word experience #tickle blog #sfw tk blog #sfw tk community #sfw tickle community #sfw tickling

[blueluneacy]

its time for my yearly post, real

ive been thinkin about dottore genshin impact lately. hes so silly :) did more of a horror aspect bc i like horror??? idk if youve been around long enough youll notice my slow descent into more horror based writings. but its ok, i like it!

on one hand you might be able to consider this yandere. on the other i think this is just how il dottore is in my mind. just a little creep. i wonder if hes single

tw: manipulation, blackmail, implied human experimentation

You were nothing to him. 

In some way or another, you knew that. You knew that you were lowly in comparison to him. You were a student, barely half way into a thesis while he was well… It’s hard to define what he was. An outcast, but a genius. Something out of your grasp, intangible and arcane. Maybe that’s what originally got you interested. You’re a student after all, driven by curiosity and a need for knowledge. Perhaps he liked that about you too. 

It was also that which was forbidden that intrigued you. That which you had seen scholars go mad for, he held in the palm of his hand. Things that you knew that were forbidden were always so delicious, weren’t they? You indulged in them, in what he could give you. It’s not as thought you didn’t give what you could in return, but really, what could you give a man whose power rivaled the gods? You should’ve known better. Your tutors, your peers, everyone could’ve warned you, did warn you, but you chose not to listen. 

After all, he did tell you that this version of himself was the most selfish. 

Perhaps then it wasn’t strange that you never saw what happened next coming. When he told you that it was time to leave Sumeru, you were shocked, almost baffled at the proposal. 

“I can’t just leave everything. I’m still working on my thesis, my friends are here, I still have things to do here.” You told him, as if your words would do you any good. He merely smiled at you, shaking his head as if your points were silly, meaningless. 

“I think you’ll find your research coming to a halt very soon regardless of if you leave or not. It seems that some restructuring will begin to take place here very shortly. It would be best if you were to leave, while you still had your dignity intact.” He always made himself sound so… Reasonable. It was something you once admired about him, but now, it was grating on your nerves. How easily he tossed aside your concerns. Had he always done that, trivialized the words you were saying like this?

“I can’t just give it all up. I’d hate myself if I did that. You should already know, that’s not the type of person I am. This is my life’s work.” You told him, immediately turning your back to him. He only gave you a small chuckle, shaking his head. 

“Oh please. It was an average thesis that’s frankly, derivative and uninteresting. Not to mention your advisor is about to lose his job. You don’t really think it’s worth it just to work 10 more years on something new once the dust settles, do you?” He made broad steps to close the distance between the two of you, leaning over your shoulder. You had always known that the man was much larger than you, but it was the first time you noticed that it made you nervous. Perhaps that was the first time you acknowledged him for what he really was. Not as a friend or a lover, but as the Doctor, a powerful, dangerous man. 

“Even so, I’m a student here at the Akademiya. I can’t pick up and leave just because you told me to. The answer is no.” You had to firm with him. If you weren’t, if you just went with him, you had a feeling that you would end up as nothing but a puppet, a pretty doll to look at for the rest of your life. What a shame that you hadn’t realized such a fact before it was too late. 

“Is that so?” He seemed more amused than he was angry. You winced as he leaned against you from behind, draping his arms over your shoulder in a way that he perhaps meant to be affectionate but felt more imprisoning with his inhuman strength. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. You shuddered as you felt his breath against you , a pit of fear forming in your stomach that threatened to come out as a scream. 

“And what are your plans as to what happens next? I’m sure that everyone would love to know how interested you’ve been with the things I’ve taught you these past few months. How interested you’ve been in that which you knew to be forbidden.” You froze at his words. Was… That his plan all along? To lure you in, and then blackmail you into never leaving? “Do you really think you could just get away with a slap on the wrist for this? Something as horrid as this, well, I doubt there would be must hesitation to sign your expulsion papers.”

“You… Why? Why are you doing this? Why me?” You could’ve help but let your questions tumble out of your mouth. You felt betrayed, but why? Shouldn’t you have always known the nature of this man? How he takes and takes, giving nothing in return. How absolutely foolish.

“Ah, look at that expression! How fascinating. I wonder, what else could I do to induce these emotions in you? Such lovely features being distorted with such despair…”  He cooed, running his hand over your cheek to wipe away a tear. When did you start crying? You reached up to feel your own tears, attempting to brush the Doctor’s hand away at the same time. 

“We’ll have plenty of time to look at more of your reactions once we reach home. I look forward to our continued work together once we reach Snezhnaya.” As his words reached your ears, you finally broke out of your fog, pulling away from the Doctor. You backed up a bit, but he so easily seemed to just step forward once more, not giving you any space. 

“I don’t care. Even if I become an outcast, I’ll bare with it. I… I can *redeem* myself, I won’t just let you take me away to some lab in a bunker somewhere to do who knows what to me!” You shuddered as thoughts raced through your mind of what might happen. Of how he might cut you open, the fluids he could pour into your body, the *agony* he could cause for you only to stitch you back together. You knew of the consequences though. Why are you so surprised when the chickens come home to roost?

For his part, the Doctor only laughed, leaning down and grabbing you by the chin. His grip was hard, and in the back of your mind you wondered if bruises would form later. He forced you to look up at him, examining your expression with a sort of cold clinical air that you should’ve been used to with him by now. 

“Oh, my dear… You act as though you ever really had a choice.” 

Despite your best attempts, the dam finally broke, and you let out a scream as the horror of the man in front of you finally set in. You thrashed, squirmed, cried, begged, pleaded, did anything you could think of to try and escape this, this agonizing situation that you only had yourself to blame for. 

And for his part, all the Doctor did was laugh. 

#mine #writing #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #my writing #yandere x reader

[ali-dot-txt]

yo i played persona 5 for the first time (I)

(This post is going to be long, and the ones that follow are liable to be even longer)

I started playing Persona 5 Royal on July 4th of this year.

But I did not want to play as this boy.

Why not? I dunno. I didn't want to. I spent far too much time pretending to be a teenage boy in real life, and I felt no particular desire to do it again.

So, what am I to do? Well, seek out a way to play as a girl instead, obviously.

Which is where this comes in:

An in-development mod to let Joker be a girl instead! Exactly the push I needed to convince me to buy Persona 5 Royal.

So, meet Hina Satou, amateur girl and professional assault-charge-haver.

Hina is significantly shorter than regular Joker. Cutscenes are not adjusted to account for this.

Many animations look really messed up. This is just the price of entry to Hina's beautiful story.

It's at this point, just after the beginning of the game, that we notice...

Much of the script is yet to be changed. So Hina is referred to in masculine terms by a lot of the cast for a lot of the game.

You could take this as just a facet of the incomplete mod and pretend that it isn't happening, or you could do what I did:

Hina Satou is trans! And it's 2016.

So if she's trans, then the lines that change are reflective of how the characters see her.

Everyone just thinks she's a guy who cross-dresses, I guess? Look, the headcanon takes some work.

Given how she looks, people probably wouldn't have even known she's trans if her record hadn't been released by Mishima on Kamoshida's orders.

Some script changes are implemented, however.

In contrast to regular Joker, it seems pretty obvious that Hina's hair is not like that out of a deliberate stylistic choice, but because it just literally will not behave.

Another instance of Hina being short in a cutscene

A change to the entire context of a conversation to take into account Joker being a girl. These are, as of now, few and far between.

This scene is unchanged, despite Hina normally using the womens' side in the bathhouse, so it looks like Hina was peer pressured into joining the Bros Bathing Time

She has to be, like, neck deep in the water to pull off this ruse.

You see how this as-yet-incomplete mod changes the context of so many of the game's lines and events.

It's a well-made mod. The new VA work from Alexa Farron is really good, the models and new outfits look great, and the writing changes, where they exist, are excellent. But its currently in-development state means that my trans headcanon works surprisingly well, and that I got more than a few glimpses through the curtain to the original, unmodded script.

So, now you understand the context. Next time: impressions of the game overall, and my slow descent into madness over this headcanon.

(Next post here, and final post here!)

#persona 5 #incoming post series #p5r #persona 5 royal #p5r spoilers #joker persona 5 #hina satou #first impressions #modding #trans headcanon #trans joker persona 5 #what's his canon name? #uhhhh #akira kurusu #? #ren amamiya #it's one of those? or both?

[ourpickwickclub]

B, Explain more about how every year it's sinking in to ML about her screw ups. I agree with the anon that stated ML is spiraling like she did in 2018. It is obvious with the stalking and selfie gate last July. Now she acknowledge the pink pistol in TX. It only took 7 years. Weird. Any insider information from Nashville regarding ML or her fake marriage recently

My feeling is that Blake kept trying even after he found out about ML’s long term affair at the Grammys (same night Gwen found out about GR and his long term affair with the nanny). Blake didn’t end the marriage then (and neither did Gwen). But then ML stopped wearing her wedding ring, stopped thanking Blake at shows, was not trying at all. And she most likely started the affair with Anderson during the time the Southern Family album was being recorded in March or April of 2015. She was pretty openly having a relationship with another man while married to Blake. There are lots of theories and stories from OK people about July 4th 2015. It seems he found something then. Maybe that she really was in another relationship. They both played at the Greenbrier golf thing on July 4. ML and then Blake was the headliner. By all accounts they did not interact or come onto the stage with one another at all. He flew in and out without her. Timing seems to show that he filed for divorce right around then.

I think ML realizes on some level that Blake tried and tried. At the time I believe she thought that they could become a country legendary love story where they divorced, stayed friends, and eventually reunited after she had had her fun. I don’t know if that would have happened because that would require Blake sacrificing a lot more pride the. He did (which was a lot). But I’m sure ML believes it would have worked that way.

And I think Rat was barely trying also, because he was sure that they had three kids and she was Catholic and would not leave. But then Blake announced his divorce to the other coaches and two people that had chemistry they would not have acted on because they are loyal, were free to act. It’s no coincidence in my mind that Gwen announced right after Blake. They had from taping in June to early August to talked and flirt and see if there was something real there. There was. GR feels like he was the one betrayed (ridiculous asshat) because he was “trying” to work things out and it wasn’t enough for Gwen. And I think ML’s world began its slow descent into stalker crazy regret because she never considered that Blake would fall madly in love with a worldwide icon and that icon would become his whole world. And she would feel the same about him. Giddy, in love.

If someone had told ML that she would lose Blake to Gwen if she continued her affairs, I think she would have acted differently, at least for a while. She never meant to lose him forever. I think he was her best friend in a lot of ways. She commented once on thinking they were going to share custody of dogs, but that didn’t happen. She tried following Gwen to get a wedge in there. Gwen brilliantly only liked a post of hers about family, but never followed her back. It was war from then on. Pistol Annie’s retooled their account and came back only following two people… Gwen and Blake. She was so mad she was barely even hiding her crazy. But her team had effectively spun Blake and Gwen as the cheaters so they overlooked her copying Gwen’s videos and the weird follows and how she tracked down people close to them both and used them for her projects, or how she mimicked their posts, copied Gwen’s fashion. Etc etc.

ML thought Anderson would be the next big thing. Bigger than Blake (laughable) but he wasn’t. She used him as a cover but when she got him to insult Garth publicly and all that got her was her and Anderson dragged and Blake got a coveted GB collab, she dumped him and tried for the next person she thought would be a big thing. Evan. She didn’t count on Staci not folding easily. She married the cop to save face and he clearly is not into her. He is with her because she is famous and that’s it. So, now, she may be seeing how badly she messed it all up.

I just laid down pretty much my whole theory. Not saying I’m 100% correct but I think it’s a pretty good base idea at what happened. And yeah, I think she is coming with something big. Whether it works or flops, we will see. She and Marion will not let her go down professionally as easy as she does under the ugly lights (I had to get one in there). 😂

But once she is out of options, she will start writing a tell all and that tell all will paint Blake as the bad guy (and Gwen too) in very unspecific ways and with no evidence. Just enough to get headlines. When I say she was the worst thing that ever happened to Blake, I am not kidding. She will never stop.

- B

[black-rose-writings]

I've had this idea about how the show would have been massively improved by making one little change.

The show, especially it's second season, feels boring, pointless. The only driving point of the whole season 2 is to yell "Darkling Bad". They obviously don't care about established characters, the worldbuilding or lore. Definitelly not about Grisha oppression.

So, what small change would give even the slightest hint of a point and theme to it all, a theme that transcends the creators' need to shit on their most popular character?

Make Alina Aleksander's daughter.

Narratives about cycles of abuse and generational trauma are really popular these days, so instead of making it a story about shitting on the Darkling, make it a story about how Ilya being a shitty father and a mad scientist literally fucked over the rest of the world. Instead of making the show a story about destruction of Morozova's legacy, make it a story about it's redemption.

(Again, my ideal version of the story would be one that works with the themes, characters and plots of the original books and expands on them in a way LB was too much of an american lib to do, but this is "how to make the show better with as few changes as possible")

First, some tweaks to Alina's backstory to account for this change (well, giving her a backstory pre-Keramzin):

There was a more open conflict with Shu Han like 25 years ago, that required Aleksander's presence. During his stay, he spent a few nights with a local woman (possibly anonymously initially, but she did end up finding out who he was, this is important) of Shu descent (though she considered herself Ravkan). The conflict ends and much of the Dva Stolba valley falls under Shu control, giving more explanation for the tension and racism Alina experiences later. Alina's mother stays in Ravkan territory, because, again, despite her ethnicity, she considers herself to be Ravkan, and a few months after the end of that conflict, she gives birth to Alina. She does attempt to contact Aleksander, wanting him to claim the child, but he initially doesn't, both because it's impractical and because he doesn't really believe he is her father, though he does arrange for her to recieve some money.

A few years pass and Alina starts showing signs of Grisha powers, and her mother attempts to contact Aleksander again, telling him of this. She is unable to explain Alina's powers, because she knows relatively little about Grisha and has no idea how Sun Summoning would present. Aleksander does respond this time and urges Alina's mother to take her to be tested and that it would be safest for Alina to keep her parentage a secret (he still doesn't fully believe Alina is his daughter). Before Alina can be tested, however, the family gets caught in the middle of a Shu raid and Alina's mother (and maybe stepfather) are killed, and she ends up in Keramzin, now having an extra trauma reason to hide her powers (taking some inspiration from Alina's cut pre-Keramzin backstory from season 1).

Now, for the changes in season 1, those would be largely in the form of Aleksander's flashbacks and slow realisation of who Alina is. You can still keep the make-out scene/"romance" bits if you really want, because GSI (genetic sexual attraction, a syndrome/phenomenon where closely related people who have been separated for the vast majority of their life, like through adoption, deadbeat/cheating parents etc. upon meeting as adults develop an attraction to each other) is a real thing, incest in media is also unfortunately popular, of course this fucking family would do it, and antis will enjoy getting even more reason to hate Aleksander.

If we go the non-ew route, there would be some changes to the tent scene (to account for Alina being a living amplifier) and perhaps expanding/adding scenes to the journey to Os Alta, giving room to vocalize some of these differences (like explaining the living amplifier thing earlier). Maybe having Alina saying something that prompts Aleksander to be reminded of her mother, and being confused as to why at first.

Their interractions in season 1 would need to be reframed through the father-daughter lens, but it wouldn't be all that dificult, because it already has mentor-mentee undertones. Ideally, there would be a point somewhere before the Winter Fete, possibly as a catalyst for Alina's breakthrough with her powers, when he tells her who she is. It would give Alina a personal stake in the story, because she clearly doesn't give a fuck about her duties/responsibilities as a Sun Summoner in either version. She doesn't have to destroy the Fold because she's a Sun Summoner, but because she's the descendant of the Black Heretic. She's not just the savior of a country she doesn't give two shits about, but the redemption of her family.

If we want to go the "shit on Aleksander" route, nothing about his interractions with Alina would change all that much and the reveal of her parentage, at least to Alina, would come through Baghra, giving Alina more obvious emotional reason to run away and feel betrayed (especially if the almost-sex-on-the-big-map still happens, because "ew, I almost fucked my dad, who know we're related" would be infinitely more understandable of a reason to run away than what Baghra actually tells her).

Either way, the information that she isn't just a distant descendant of the Black Heretic, but his actual child, that she has a grandmother he didn't bother telling her about, that he told her they were going to redeem their family, when he only planned on continuing his work and using her for it, hits Alina like a truck. Alina going though StuffTM emotionally makes her decision to run away make a lot more sense.

Anyway, there would be very little change plotwise, just some dialogue adjustments, maybe mentioning how the Stag is her legacy, her heritage.

It would reframe Alina's fear of becoming like Aleksander, that permeates the second season, have some basis. It would give a reason for the "fuck Ilya and everything he touched and made" narrative Baghra is spinning. Baghra telling both Mal and Alina the story of her family, of why she believes now that it all much be destroyed, how her father's greed drove him to create abominations, to twist the world in unnatural ways, and she looks pointedly at the two as she says it.

Make Alina's stand against Aleksander her way of saying "the cycle of abuse in this family ends with me. I will make our family better.". Make her and Nikolai's political marriage a symbol of a new begining for Ravka in more ways than one - redemption of the Morozov(a) and Lantsov families. And bonding over "I can't tell anyone who my real dad is because it would cause trouble."

But of course, at the end, it fails, because both of them misunderstood the fundamental reason why things became as bad as they did.

IDK, I just think that changing Alina to Aleksander's daughter would improve their dynamic and a lot of the surrounding narratives massively. Even in variations other than the show.

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone au

[agnezluf]

The Yandere Magician Can Only Love the Statue Maiden

Plot : 9/10

The yandere : 9/10

Artwork : 8/10

Author : Crane

Artist : Sekimori

Alternative title : Yandere Mahoutsukai wa Sekizou no Otome shika Aisenai - Majo wa Manadeshi no Atsui Kuchizuke de Tokeru

Pleasantly surprised by the quality of the plot and artwork. I thought it is going to be sub par, given the artwork is not really my style and also wordy panels are really not my thing. But but buuut hear me out! I love it when an author understands the push and pulls of plot build up and pay off. This manga brought a somewhat cliche or overused trope and elevated it into something excellent.

The reversed “little prince and his rose” taming trope is not a foreign concept in yandere stories. But for some reason, this manga has enough details, enough angst, enough characterisation and just enough everything really, that I do not mind reading such a overused trope. It has an older female care taker and young boy type of taboo, but cleverly even it out with the plot and time skip. If you do not like too far of an age gap, this one may feel less icky.

The male lead is a tsundere for the female lead at first. His affection and obsession for the female lead is a slow build up at the beginning. It was a perfect set up for a character to descent to yandere madness. Readers are made to understand why he became like that. Heck, seeing how cute and noble the female lead is I might as well fall for her if I were the male lead. She is so likeable!!

The plot is moving back and forth between the past and current. This gives depth to chatacter’s motivation and decision. I honestly do not feel bad about reading the wall of texts as there are a lot of details and easter eggs sprinkled here and there. The world building in this one is excellent. I also like how all characters are not one dimensional. Even if the female character is a do goody, she is not a Mary Sue. She is pragmatic to boots and feels like a real person.

Highly recommended if you like the worshipping obsessive yandere type with “i-have-never-seen-you-as-a-man-until-now” trope. Do you know what is even better? It is a smut!!

#male yandere #yandere boy #yandere boys #yandere #yandere recommendations #maleyandere #yandere male #yanderemale #yanderemales #yandereboy #yandere manga #nez manga review

[shannonsketches]

Was writing when I came up with a headcanon question for you. What do you think Ganondorf did when, after conquering Hyrule and eliminating all resistance, he was left with basically nothing to do except wait around for leads on the Triforce (which never came) and just like... basically languish in his victory? What was that like for him, in your opinion?

I'm so sorry for the wait on this one, I started to answer it, second-guessed if I remembered things right, didn't, started again, put it down, and then forgot what I was doing lol

I hc Gan as a bit of a workaholic, so while I definitely do think he touched the castle bricks and really soaked in his This Is Mine Now moment, I like to think after he dominated Castle Town it didn't take him very long to be back to strong-arming the other nations, both in search of Zelda and also just to punish them for not complying with the sacred gems.

In my headcanons I imagine there were three things that never really let him relax at first:

Where the hell did that kid's body go? He had the Ocarina.

Where the hell is the princess? How is Impa hiding her this well?

What the fuck is going on with my brain/body since I got this triforce

1 I think he figured out very quickly, when reports of this boy seemed like he was showing up with impossible knowledge and skill, and knowing he'd had the Ocarina, which prompted him to start working on setting up some long-game traps.

2 I think took him the entire seven years, and it wasn't until Sheik started appearing wherever Link would be that he put that together. He'd heard rumors of a Sheikah running around Hyrule a few years into his search, assumed it was Impa, and sent minions out (and they, of course, would not be returning).

As much fun as the Sheik Manga Lore is, in the game, Ganondorf can feel the Triforce resonating and knew Zelda had a part of it when he found her, so I really enjoy the idea that if he got too close to Sheik, they'd both feel it, and Sheik would have to find an escape route quick before Gan could spot him and start connecting dots. High Stakes Metal Detector Tag.

And 3 is really mostly my hc that Gan dealt with a slow descent into madness while trying to control the power and its influence over him, which I'm sure Twinrova could help with some, but not much.

I think the novelty faded really quickly for him. He won a battle, but his war was bigger than Hyrule's throne, and that war was not yet won. I think he was often terribly bored, because he had no real challenges except for playing a relentless game of Where's Waldo with a highly trained ninja across five different territories, plus whatever expanses of land we don't see in the game.

So tldr I think he probably just bullied the neighbors (gorons, zora, kokiri) a lot for fun, and sometimes hung out in Gerudo Valley to bask in some praise before going to hunt down Impa and Zelda again. And, yknow, generally tried not to lose his mind to the godshard.

#ganondorf #headcanons #thank you i loved this question i hope your project is going well! #lozhc