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twilightspinkyfinger · 7 months

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A Talk of Scars

Part of the Hyrule Historian AU, for more information, check out my masterlist.

Warnings: angst, scars, mentions of death, blood, canon typical violence

There were many things that went unspoken amongst the chain, and for the most part, scars were one of them. The specific details of your and Wild's past were also one of these unspoken topics.

You assisted Wild in his journey to defeat the calamity and that journey left you both with more scars than you could count, both emotionally and physically.

Wild had chosen to share some moments of vulnerability with the chain, as he felt like he knew these men already, the soul of the hero binding the Links together. You on the other hand were not so quick to divulge your secrets to the chain.

You did not become close friends with the chain until after the whole debacle of them misunderstanding your relationship with Wild. They had been too afraid to get close to you, lest they make Wild jealous. However, after the air had been cleared, and you had clarified that you and Wild you in fact not in a romantic relationship, many members of the chain started to open up to you.

That being said, some things are better left unspoken.

There was one particular scar that littered your body that you tried your best to cover and never mentioned it or the events that gifted your skin the twisted ruby mark. This behavior was not for your own sake, but rather the sake of the hero who mourned letting his best friend sustain such an injury, for the hero who continued to mourn his failures.

However, sometimes secrets become uncovered and there is nothing you can do to stop the flow of emotions that follow such a poignant reveal.

You had been injured, a Moblin had slashed a fairly deep wound into your side. The boys circled around you after the battle, as they managed to not sustain any injuries themselves, they moved to help their fallen companion.

Wild knelt down beside you, ordering that you remove your tunic so that Hyrule could treat the wound. You hesitated, knowing what would be revealed if you followed your best friend's command.

After a moment of pause, you finally decided to lift up your shirt revealing both the Moblin slash and the massive burn mark that covered your entire stomach. You could feel Wild's eyes linger on the scar, deep in thought, clearly remembering what had caused the wound.

Both you and Wild were on the last leg of your journey. The only thing that needed to be done now was to enter Hyrule Castle and defeat the calamity once and for all. That sentiment was clearly easier said than done. Hyrule Castle was utterly infested with monsters and guardians alike, that was no secret, but your duo was definitely not as prepared as you should have been.

You tried your best to keep your guard up, you really did, but the exhaustion from fighting had more than cemented itself into both of your muscles. Wild seemed even more distracted than you. He was hellbent on moving forward no matter what, and had little regard for his own safety, or yours for that matter. This behavior worried you, and so you had taken it upon yourself to monitor the blond man's movements. After all, the kingdom of Hyrule really couldn't afford the hero failing for a second time.

It happened so quick. You were quick to notice the red beam of light that centered itself on the hero's back, you knew there was no time to call out and warn him. Instead, you did what you thought was best for both Wild and the people of the kingdom, putting your own body in between the hero and the cruel blast of the guardian. White pain seared through your body as you pushed Wild to the side with all the force you could muster.

Your body collapsed, ears ringing, and vision splotchy. Your brain was foggy but you were still conscious enough to register the fact that Wild was parrying the oncoming beams of the guardian. When the beeping had finally ceased and the mechanical beast lay unmoving, Wild ran to your side.

His hands lifted you up, trying his best to reposition your body so that he could administer first aid as soon as possible as a growing puddle of blood formed beneath you. As Wild moved to hand you a healing elixir, you raised your hand up to push it away. Confused and panicked Wild attempted the same thing and once again you refused his assistance.

"Stop being so stubborn or you are going to end up dying! Let me heal you please," he voiced quickly and full of fright.

"No, you need the all elixirs you can get for when you face the calamity, I don't want to be the reason the hero of Hyrule was one potion too short and couldn't vanquish the scourge of Hyrule," you stated simply despite the pain that engulfed your body.

"Absolutely not, I am not leaving you here to die," Wild commanded as his hand moved to open the cork of the elixir.

You looked up at your best friend before sternly voicing, "I will happily die here by myself if it means that the entire kingdom is safe. You know how bad the monster attacks have been recently, Zelda needs you now."

The argument continued to go on for several minutes before Wild finally conceded to leaving you to bleed out. The only thing that convinced him to move forward on his quest was you stating that he was only prolonging your pain, and if he left now and not a second later, then there was a chance that once he defeated the calamity, there wouldn't be a dead body, your dead body, laying on the side of the castle.

You lay there by yourself bleeding out, praying to all that is holy that Wild would be able to save Hyrule and that your sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. You tried your best to hold on to consciousness but you were fighting a losing battle.

Wild flung himself at the Calamity with such force and anger that he even worried himself. But he had a mission to complete, he had to get back to you, and he couldn't let another one of his friends die because of his failure.

As soon as Zelda returned to the surface of Hyrule and put an end to Ganon, Link took off running towards the Castle. Zelda worriedly followed him trying to figure out what was going on. It was when they arrived before you that a great sense of dread could be felt in the air.

Wild collapsed next to you sobbing and checking for a pulse that was no longer there. It was then that Zelda walked up behind the hero and dropped to your side as well. In a last-ditch effort, Zelda reached out and engulfed your body in glowing warm light. It was then that your heart restarted.

"Stop staring at it, I am fine now aren't I?" You said dismissively as Wild eyed the mark the guardian left on your skin. The wound on your side had just been healed by Hyrule and you were about to put your tunic back on.

"You died, that should have never happened," his harsh words rang out. Each member of the chain snaps their head in your direction. Sure they had heard that the champion had died and got back up to fight once more, but you? They had never heard that story, at least not until now.

They would ask questions later, but for now, they would respectfully ignore the new piece of information they learned about their dear historian.

Clearly you and Wild had a lot you needed to talk about if the tension in the air was anything to go by. Time ordered that the others leave the two of you alone for now, and you were once again left with your best friend by your side, begging you to see the fault in your sacrifice. He didn't care that Hyrule might have fallen, he only cared that you fell, that your heart had stopped beating, that you had left him to fend for himself without you, he only cared about you.

#link x reader #linked universe #loz #lu x reader #linked universe x reader #lu wild #the legend of zelda #mowrites #the hyrule historian #the chain x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending

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anotheroneofthegaysharks · 1 year

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PLEEAASEEE SHARE

I'm gonna eat it all up, I'm so desperate for any and all lovebug interpretations 😩😩😩

OK FINE HDHDHDHDGDG My brain is fried but I will try. For you dear anon ❤️

So basically the lovebug is this pretty brutal virus that disguises itself as "love" to feel less dangerous. how it works is there are these little spider lookin guys that bite people and cause them to get, you guessed it, the lovebug virus, except my version of this virus is a bit... darker 😈

Basically what it does is it tricks you into thinking you're in "love" with symptoms like a faster heart rate, inability to think straight, butterflies in your stomach, all that stuff. Then it slowly turns you into sort of a love zombie, slowly draining your life and assimilating you into this sort of lovebug hive mind (ORCHESTRATED BY THIS HOTTIE THAT I DESIGNED. This is basically like the master of the whole thing. This IS Lovebug).

So no, it doesn't make you attracted to one person specifically, it just makes you appear very lovey dovey in general and in time, it makes you mindless. And another thing is once someone who's infected touches you, it's contagious, so you're fucked. So basically here's how the story goes:

Stanley wakes up in his office as always. But when he wakes up, his office is covered in these neon pink cobwebs, and what's stranger, his coworkers are THERE. But they're not normal, no, they're fucked. They're infected. They're all crowding around Stanley, trying to get to him, showering him in compliments and praise and whatnot, trying to grab at him and shit. He locks himself in his office and assumes that the Narrator can handle this, can fix this, that the Narrator can reset the game or erase the coworkers. But one problem. The Narrator's infected too. So that makes Stanley in even MORE trouble.

I kinda turned it into a zombie apocalypse situation. I picture Stanley searching for the original Lovebug whilst also hiding throughout the office building which is just INFESTED with lovey dovey zombies. Here are some more doodles I made btw!

#tsp #the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp stanley #tsp lovebug au #BIG post

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cyber-dump-171 · 10 months

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Chapter 15: Divine Fury

Left for Carnage (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Chapter 14 | Masterlist | Chapter 16 →

WARNING: N/A.

Note: Hello everyone! This chapter was meant to be posted earlier but this week has been wild from my computer dying to an entire day without light because of a storm. But hey, we’re here! Savanaclaw’s arc starts next chapter and remember that if you want to be notified whenever I upload a chapter, you can find the tag list on the masterlist. Enjoy!

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You open your eyes to find a vast sea of darkness. No stars or clouds are dancing in the sky, just a black void that eerily yet quietly calls your name.

You turn your head to the side, focusing on the ghostly hues of white and dark green grass that act as your temporary bed. It's a strange sensation, to be lying on top of it without feeling the annoying and pointy blades of the lawn poking and stinging at your exposed skin, causing itchiness and irritation; instead, you feel nothing, only a bizarre sensation of floating and dizziness alongside the heaviness of your eyelids, a silent plea to just close them again and drift off into a deep sleep.

Yet, you ignore those signs, your curiosity taking the lead, wanting to find the answer to the question as to where you are. You get up from the ground, discovering that you're still in your pajamas and barefoot, and turn your body towards the north, only to encounter the ominous void that acts as a wall, preventing you from seeing what's beyond this place. You look down at the ground, finding that a few meters away from where you are, the grass ends, swallowed by the darkness. It's as if you're on an island, but the sea has been replaced by the night sky, and all that remains is a small patch of land, isolated from the rest of the world.

‘Yeah, I'm definitely dreaming.’

You turn around and let out a soft gasp as you witness the small yet dilapidated structure that lies in front of you. A cemetery.

There are several graves hidden behind a thin cloud of mist, in the middle of the structures is a path of gravel and muddy earth that leads to a small church made of dark oak and brick whose color looks worn, almost gray. The wood of the building looks rotten and is full of holes of different sizes, the dirty windows are broken and some pieces of glass are scattered on the lawn, and an unknown structure that sits on the highest point of the roof is rusty and split in half, its counterpart nowhere to be seen.

‘Even a small gust of wind could cause that building to collapse.’

Intrigued by the sinister scene ahead of you, your feet move of their own accord as you traverse the rather small graveyard, though you notice at the distance that some of the tombstones have also been swallowed by the darkness. How far does this graveyard extend? You hear the crunch of the stones and earth beneath your feet, though your brain panics as you can't feel the texture of the elements touching your skin. The sensation of floating returns as your footsteps feel more like small jumps that remind you of the video of the first man landing on the moon.

Your gaze falls on the graves near your path. They're incredibly old, with faded words and unintelligible epitaphs carved into them, their structure showing various cracks filled with small cobwebs and moss.

Some of the tombs still have offerings placed in front of them, or at least what's left of them; the years have reduced many of these items to complete dust. Wilted flowers with delicate and dead stems, rotten items of food infested with small bugs, letters reduced to a tiny pile of mush or their contents completely erased by the rain, and some pictures that held memories of the dead no longer show their faces, only a semblance of what was once a happy remembrance.

However, something caught your eye when looking at one of the graves. The date... these people died away centuries ago. You crouch down, careful not to step on the remains of some candles, your fingers gently brushing on the stone.´

In loving memory of: Opal Vaughn. (1276 - 1302) Beloved wife and mother.

And then the next one…

Here lies: Sebastian Caldwell. (1285 - 1302). Loved by all

Wait… you recognize that last name! The Caldwells are the only other family of nobles that live in Sleepy Hollow. Unlike your family's home, which is tucked away in the mountains and surrounded by lush forest and tends to be more introverted, the Cadwells live in a huge house near the center of the village and have a more prominent presence in society. They're practically known for running the whole town, with their children holding high positions such as mayor and head of the Neighbourhood Association.

They have invested much of their money in making Sleepy Hollow a tourist destination, funding the International Museum of Medicine, attractions that highlight the more macabre aspects of the town, and they even organize the annual town fair. Recently, however, you have noticed that many of the buildings have fallen into disrepair or have been completely abandoned, such as the police station which you recently visited.

You got along with the eldest son of the family since he was around your age and he was nice and told good jokes. However, your meetings with him became more complicated and less frequent as your father had the bright idea of picking petty fights with the Caldwell patriarch. In the end, you and he went off to live your own lives and you lost touch. You look back at the grave and think how impressive it is that the Caldwells have kept their surname for so long.

You keep looking at the epitaphs on each of the graves in this row, even glancing at some of the tombs behind you. The text in some of them is incredibly difficult to make out, however, you reach the conclusion that each tomb has a different date of birth, but they all have something eerily similar that twists your stomach into knots:

All these people died in the year 1302.

You stand up quickly, stumbling a little due to the force you placed on your legs and the wobbly, slippery terrain. That date gives you a feeling of déjà vu. You don't know if you've seen it in a history book or heard about it somewhere, but something is telling you that this number is important.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to concentrate, digging deep into your brain to find that particular date somewhere in the vast library of information stored in your mind. But your train of thought is interrupted as you are startled by the sound of the dilapidated church doors slamming open, echoing against the outside walls of the building.

Taking a few steps back to get some distance between yourself and the entrance, you squint your eyes to see what's inside that may have caused the noise. In real life, your first instinct would have been to run out, get a good distance away from the place, and perhaps call for reinforcements, since setting foot inside the house would most likely mean death. However, you are aware that you are in a kind of lucid dream; the lack of sensation of textures and the feeling of floating, but being aware that this place is not real, are the first indications that you are dreaming.

This does not mean that you want to set foot in the frightening church, but rather you want to keep your sanity and not have your heart explode or burst out of your chest because of some fright from whatever or whoever is roaming inside that building.

You begin to creep slowly towards the building, ready to bolt in the opposite direction if anything jumps out of the church. Details of the interior become clearer as you realize that it is a wreck, which explains some of the damage done to the exterior, such as the holes in the walls and windows.

Pews and tables have been split in half or thrown against the wall, sending small pieces of wood flying all over the room; a simple, quaint chandelier that once hung from the ceiling is now completely smashed to pieces on the floor; pieces of cloth that may have once belonged to mantles are scattered around the room; and the few paintings that once adorned the walls have huge gashes on them.

But what catches your eye is the large object that sits in front of the altar. It's a coffin, one that from the looks of it was built with really cheap wood judging by the prominent scratches and the thin quality of the material. The lid has been busted wide open, the hinges barely holding on to the material by only two tiny and rusty screws, you also notice from the angle that you're standing on that there's no padded cloth inside of the hexagonal box.

It reminds you of the “plague caskets”, a somewhat crude term used in Sleepy Hollow to describe coffins used during plagues or other disasters. In your hometown, they were known to be funerary boxes made of common and cheap wood, such as pine, and their utility was, as their name suggests, an object that could be quickly mass-produced and used to store the bodies of the deceased when catastrophes struck. So, needless to say, your rotten curiosity has once again taken the reigns.

You carefully maneuver your way toward the middle of the room, avoiding the shards of glass and the splinters from the wood, completely forgetting that you can't feel anything. After a bit of tiptoeing through the disaster, you're finally a few steps away from the coffin, a familiar combination of nerves and anger settling deep in your stomach as you begin to lift your head to see who's inside. But you let out a sigh as a sense of relief washes over your body when you realize that the only thing inside is a dusty but very elegant jacket and a dirty handkerchief.

"The body is sitting right here, human," the momentary relief is gone as your entire body jumps at the sound of the voice dripping with malice. You quickly turn around and take up a defensive position, ready to strike whoever has suddenly appeared behind you.

Your heart beats loudly in your ears as your eyes focus on the figure sitting on one of the pews that managed to survive the unknown disaster that swept through the small building. The man sits in a slumped position, his head hanging low as his long red hair spills over his face, obscuring his features, his wrists resting lazily on his knees as his hands sway loosely but gently with the movement of his body, and your eyes widen as you see the pale, long set of nails he sports that could easily tear through flesh.

Before you can even mutter a word, you hear the person grunt in annoyance as his shoulders become tense. "You really gave me a good beating. You did so much damage that it took me way too fucking long to get in touch with you," he murmurs in a low tone, standing up as the bones in his neck crack loudly. You freeze in horror as you feel an angry and murderous aura emanating from the mysterious man, bright purple eyes peeking out of his hair to stare at you.

"Who-" you can barely get the words out as the incredibly tall man slowly approaches, his footsteps echoing in the empty church and filling you with even more fear. How is this possible? You're not easily frightened after all you've been through, but this man's mere presence makes you tremble with terror!

"What do you want?" you finally manage to sputter out some words, your eyes never leaving the man who has finally stopped a few inches away from you. He leans down to stare directly at your face, and you try to shake off your nervousness and put on a brave face. Whoever this person is, he's probably enjoying seeing you tremble with fear, judging by the small but very prominent smirk that adorns his lips. "Not so brave now, are you?"

After a stare-down that lasted a few seconds, but seemed like hours to you, the man lets out a snort before lifting his head and stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. "Enlighten me, faithful servant of the night, do you not recognize the power that stands before you?" his sudden change to a more 'polite' language gives you whiplash as the fear disappears from your body, replaced by utter confusion. "Am I... supposed to know you?"

You did not think that your genuine question would irritate the man any further, though you're proven wrong as his eyes light up in anger and he opens his mouth to reveal a set of very pointy teeth. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, STUPID HUMAN? You destroy the jewel that gave me life, weaken my host and destroy my glorious form, and yet you don't remember me!?" this man is a lunatic. He turns and stomps over to the pew, harshly taking a seat and making the wood creak under his weight. He reminds you of a child throwing a petty tantrum, especially when he starts mumbling incoherently as he stares daggers at you.

Yet, the mention of a jewel and a host brings forth a surge of very fresh memories, and your eyes widen in pure confusion and surprise as you stare at him. "Are you... some bizarre incarnation of Guddommelig Raseri?" at the mention of the divine beast, the man jumps to his feet, joy lighting up his face as he laughs out loud. "BRAVO! YOU DO HAVE A BRAIN!" he shouts, and you finally understand why you felt so much anger coming from the man. After all, the beast is the pure form of anger and recklessness itself. However, as you narrow your eyes another question pops into your head.

"But aren't you supposed to be... you know, more... beastly?" your hands help you to visualize your question better, using your index fingers to act as fangs as you make a "scary" expression. The man stops his celebration as he once again stuffs his hands in his pockets, and the angry expression returns to his pale face again. "Ha! I would, if it weren't for the fact that your damned powers have torn my mighty form apart!" he spits once more with malice, a scowl on his face.

"I'm getting distracted. I don't want to be here with you for long, so let's get on with the introductions," the man spreads his arms and makes an exaggerated bow, the aura of fury once again invading the walls of the church. "As you already know, I am Guddommelig Raseri, the Divine Beast of Fury and the King of Fire. I welcome you (Y/N) (L/N), to my own memento," the beast says, and you move a little closer out of curiosity. "Memento?" you question with a slight tilt of your head, Raseri nodding with a wide and menacing smile.

"That's right, you goblin. I have summoned you to my memento, a place that only exists in the dream space. We divine beasts have the ability to place our consciousness in our favorite memories, where we can regain our strength and rest," you ignore the man's insult, preferring to concentrate on his explanation of this unusual place. Before you can ask anything else, Raseri continues. "Even though I want to pulverize your damn skull for what you did to me, I have summoned you here because I recognize that you have a power that few humans are lucky enough to wield... and..."

The man makes a disgusted face and sticks out his tongue as if he were going to vomit. After a few seconds of Raseri continuing to make stupid faces, you let out a frustrated sigh and prick the bridge of your nose with your fingers. "Stop your nonsense and spit out what you have to say. I'm tired of your act and your insults," you mutter the last part, completely fed up with the childish and eccentric behavior of this divine beast. The man turns to you with a furious expression, letting out a short sigh of anger. "SHUT UP! This is not easy to admit, much less to someone who is my enemy..."

Sighing in frustration and rubbing his hands roughly over his face, Raseri finally spits out the words stuck in his throat. "I need your help," he mumbles softly, embarrassed and disgusted by what he has just said.

You, on the other hand, are completely surprised. Your eyes widen and a broad smile spreads across your face. ‘Ah, this son of a bitch. He has the balls to ask me for help after he spent every second insulting me.’ You're about to open your mouth to taunt the divine beast, but he silences you, knowing exactly what you're going to do.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND LET ME EXPLAIN!" he shouts, frustrated by your expression, while you just let out a slight laugh, the Cheshire cat grin never leaving your mouth. "Ugh, I was summoned out of the blue a week before your foul presence appeared. But instead of appearing in my beautiful beast form, I possessed a human," he explains with a sigh, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead on two of his fingers. "It's an insult to us to share a body with a human. After all, we have so much power that we could rule the heavens... but this possession... it wasn't something I did voluntarily. Someone forced me to possess that weak human. And I couldn't even fight my captor back for control."

You let out a small gasp of surprise. This was no joke. Ancient texts and legends explain that Divine Beasts are indomitable animals with such power that they can fight and win against all-powerful gods and wipe out humanity in an instant. There's a reason they ruled ancient Twisted Wonderland for so long, and it took millions of men and some good strategy on the part of monster hunters to put them to sleep. Even that didn't stop them, they woke up several times and wreaked havoc, and again it took too much manpower to defeat them.

"Someone with enough power to control a divine beast is terrifying. With that power they can cause too much destruction," you mutter under your breath, your eyes blank as a thousand thoughts run through your head. Raseri nods his head in agreement and continues his story.

"It's good that we at least think alike... Whoever it was, they took so much of my power that the spell you casted practically obliterated my physical form and a good part of my soul. There was hardly any traces of my power left, so when you fell unconscious, I was able to escape the hands of my invisible captor and merge what little was left of me with your soul," upon hearing the beast's declaration, your hands shoot up to cover your chest, near where your heart beats a thousand times an hour. He did what!?

Your blood boils in anger as you want to punch this guy until he stops talking. Raseri, however, raises his hand to rudely silence you. "Don't worry, I won't do anything. Well, I really can't do shit. It already took me too long to bring your consciousness to this memento, I only have a short time left before this disappears completely. Besides, I don't feel like dealing with another stupid human, much less someone like you," he comments with a tired tone. Meanwhile, you frown and cross your arms, wanting to know what you could do in this situation.

"Alright, but why do you want my help? Don't even think you're going to convince me to find you another host or vessel so that you can cause more chaos, you already pissed me off so much," you reply somewhat frustrated, the surprise that the power of a divine beast now resides in your soul not fading from your mind. He simply responds with a short laugh.

"No, you idiot! As I told you, I'm currently too weak to possess a body," he finally lifts his head to look at you with an intense stare. "I want you to stop whoever brought me here. I have a feeling that the bastard will also involve my brothers and sisters soon enough and will hurt them as the captor did to me," he sounds genuinely worried at the mention of his siblings, his expression dropping as dark thoughts most likely plague his mind. "I also feel that this asshole probably stole my power to bring Ulykke here, for what purpose? I don’t know, but I feel that the bastard will soon make his appearance," his voice shakes at the mention of the ultimate divine beast.

There is something strange about Raseri’s statement. He regarded the other divine beasts with warmth and even concern, calling them siblings even though the legends describe that each beast was born from a different source and ritual, but at the mention of the ultimate divine beast he shudders with fear and disgust.

"Is Guddommelig Ulykke also your brother?" you ask quietly, his purple eyes widening in surprise before quickly turning to anger. "That asshole!? No, not in a million years will I call him a brother! That bastard is an omen of death and he won't hesitate to kill us all!... he has no regard for us, we are nothing but stepping stones for him," he whispers the last part, the angry and furious façade slipping away.

You're shocked to find that this divine beast is incredibly complex regarding his thoughts and emotions. It's almost as if he's a human being who was cursed and transformed into a terrifying monster with so much power that he throws away his emotions and uses a trait to instill fear in anyone who crosses his path, wreaking havoc on innocents. Yet, in this dream plain, he reverts to a human form, a thing he considers weak and stupid, but he copies the same traits of those same mortals, spewing his feelings for people he holds dear or he detests. You’re truly mesmerized by Raseri, though he’s a complete asshole.

You approach him with a blank expression, wanting to know more about his plan and what he has in mind. He seems to understand your silent plea and continues to speak. "You will most likely have to fight my siblings soon enough, and while you can control the power of darkness, you will be pulverized if you go up against one of them alone, especially since you are still grasping at straws for your unique power," he explains.

"So when it's time to face one of them, call my divine name and summon the fire that once burned down hundreds of nations and ruled over the world. Rage is a powerful element, and when combined with your unique power... Oh, I shudder in excitement at what magnificent combination of power humanity could witness in that battle!" his eyes shine brightly as he begins to imagine the battle that will take place in the future, a huge smile painted on his face

You, on the other hand, let out a long and exhausted sigh as you rethink the situation. Yeah, that admiration for Raseri’s complexity? Gone. You’re angry since it seems that there's no room to even refute the offer since this divine beast’s power is already deeply embedded inside your soul. From the way he put it, it's a command on his part that you will have to use in battle if you want to preserve your life and not suffer a brutal death at the hands of a divine beast.

'This motherfucker left me no choice in this matter. Thankfully, at least it gives me some comfort that I can protect myself better in the next battle. Though I'll have to tell Malleus of this development, hopefully, I don’t get myself into more trouble,' you think before turning to the young man, wanting to ask him a few more questions about the situation.

But as your eyes focus on his figure, you let out a gasp of surprise as his form begins to blink in and out of reality, his legs becoming more transparent. “What’s happening to you!?” you ask in a panic as your eyes dart around the room when pieces of rubble begin to fall from the ceiling. The room suddenly begins shaking, as if an earthquake had suddenly appeared on this small, isolated island.

The man looks down at his transparent legs and simply smiles and lets out a long breath, his reaction completely the opposite of yours. "Finally! Well, our time is running out. Any last questions, human?" Raseri celebrates, your hatred and anger coming back in full force as you stare at him in utter confusion.

You have thousands of questions fluttering in your head, yet your brain momentarily freezes when you see Raseri's body starts to disappear. At the last moment, you remember all the graves that are outside the church and the date of death engraved in all of them, the year 1302.

"What does your memento represent!? Why is it a graveyard!?" you ask agitated, your brow furrowed as you watch the divine beast's expression turn neutral. Suddenly, a macabre smile spreads across the face of the divine beast, showing its sharp teeth as the man watches you with a sadistic expression.

"Outside there are a total of 876,478 tombstones, you can't see them in their entirety because, as I told you, I was left with little power to project the entire memento. All those people... were the ones I killed when they summoned me for the second time to this world… That is the proof of my power and my nature as a divine beast. Goodbye and good luck (Y/N)," with that last message, Guddommelig Raseri , and his memento vanish from your sleep, leaving you floating in a black sky, confused, dazed, and tired.

You open your eyes once more but this time, rather than being greeted by a void, is the ceiling of your bedroom. It's time to wake up, you must get ready to leave for Sunset Savannah.

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Tag list:

@r0texe @hellokittykuroo @d3nz3lm0rn @alureasoley @kirmalight @xxrabbitcultxx @warcelia @lucian-kinnder @maximumphantomlover @hillichurl @keqingsfavbestie @stardustgreydragon @raimenshko @h0n3ysgh0st @valveii

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always-andromeda · 2 years

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i. sound of a love song | Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Word Count | 3,043

Summary | A washed up former lead singer, Joby Taylor finds himself drunk at a bar and listening to you, a singer who’s way too good for him.

Author’s Note | My first ever multi chapter fic is here! This piece is so self indulgent and I’m trying not to feel too bad about it because I crave this man so deeply. The Joby Taylor brain rot I have from working on this is not even funny! Also just adore the idea of Joby falling in love with a reader with Lana Del Rey vibes and trying to be totally chill about it the whole time.

Warnings | none! please let me know if I need to add anything!

Joby Taylor was a mess. The fact hit him as he shifted in his bar stool and rested his head on the bar. He hadn't showered in days and even he couldn't ignore it anymore. The pomade he liked to run through his hair almost every morning was starting to build up, making him look particularly greasy. The alcohol certainly didn't help his appearance either. His tolerance was high and he was determined to keep drinking until he was on the edge of blacking out. He wanted to stumble back to his hotel room and flop down on the lumpy, probably bedbug infested mattress and pass out. Or maybe he would just pass out on this bar. It was all the same to him.

He didn't mean for it to get like this. Being a rockstar wasn't just about drugs and sex and alcohol but it sure helped the days pass by. And Joby had always been one of the guys who said he could stop whenever he wanted. His friends would jeer at him as he got more and more fucked up. No one stopped him. So he figured he didn't have to. It made his touring days much more eventful. But he didn't have the rockstar excuse anymore. He was just some poor bastard rotting from the inside out, listening to droning live music in a shitty bar.

Hours earlier, the night crowd was rowdy enough that he didn't notice the music. But, as midnight came closer and the crowd had thinned out enough, the soft guitar had come through. He turned his head and fought to keep his eyes open. Through blurry vision he saw you. You were at the microphone, hips swaying to the music. Your cream colored dress fluttered back and forth at your knees. The peasant neckline showed your chest, breathing slowly as you waited for your cue to start singing. He thought you were pretty. But any sort of terrible thought he could've had snuffed themselves out once you began singing.

"Hey, what you doin'?" Not a lot

Shakin' and movin' at my local spot

Baby, don't ask me why, don't ask me why

Why, why, why, why, why, why, why

Your voice was equal parts sad and sultry. He wasn't used to the gentle sound. He didn't typically like that sound in the first place. But it paired well with his mood.

Lay, lady, lay

On that side of paradise

In the Tropic of Cancer

'Cause if I had my way

You would always stay

And I'd be your tiny dancer, honey

He could've sworn that you looked at him then. He thought he saw you wink at him too. He licked his lips and tried to pull them into a smirk. His head was spinning. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it down. You're too fucking drunk. He didn't want to begin to entertain the thought of you flirting with him. You were just doing your job. As long as the men in this bar thought you were singing to them, they'd stick around and buy more drinks. Pretty girls like you did well in these kinds of joints.

The man off to the side of the stage strumming on the guitar looked agitated, some of his chords hitting harder than they were meant to. Joby figured it was your boyfriend, just worked up seeing his girl making eyes at middle aged men. He chuckled at the thought. If he felt better about himself at the moment, he probably would've tried to flirt back. He would've pulled you into a shadowed corner after your performance and pressed his lips to your pretty neck. He would let his hands wander and get himself familiar with your figure underneath the flowing dress. But he was so tired he could barely piece together the words you were singing.

Joby lazily hummed along, missing most of the notes and not quite getting a hand of the tune. The song ended as his eyelids began to flutter closed. He heard light applause, some wolf whistles, and a male voice thanking the crowd on the microphone before soft rock continued to play through the bars speakers. He felt a tap on his shoulder and jolted awake. There you were, sitting next to him as though your form had simply materialized there like an angel.

"This is how an artist dies, hmm?" you said, swiping your tongue over the rich red lipstick on your lips.

He blinked a few times, trying to process the sentence, "Huh?"

"Joby Taylor...didn't think I'd get to see you again. Especially not this trashed." You had the stem of a maraschino cherry between your fingers. You plucked the cherry with your teeth and your wet lips wrapped around the fruit. The maneuver had him entranced. Wait, he shook his head a little, you'd seen him before? He scanned his mind, trying to place your face. Despite you now sitting next to him, your face was still a bit blurry.

"You don't even remember me, do you?" you sneered at him.

"Of course I do..." he trailed off. He wished he hadn't drank so much. His head was pulsating and nothing was clear. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of someone as pretty as you. But who was he kidding? He smelled like complete shit and looked worse. He’d worn the same leather jacket he’d worn for years now, the stench of cigarette smoke pungent from years of smoke breaks. Sweat had dried to the hoodies underneath the leather from the nights he’d tossed and turned, trying to find sleep. You, with your styled hair and glittering eyes, were way too good for him.

"You're a terrible liar, Joby Taylor." you laughed lightly and wrapped your lips around a straw. You were drinking something clear and bubbly. Probably just a soda. Of course you weren't like him, taking a few shots before performing on tour. You were put together and presentable. Again, way out of his league.

He finally processed what you'd first said to him, "How does an artist die?" Were you trying to deliver some weird riddle? Now he knew he was way too drunk to figure that out.

You motioned towards his slouched body. "I'm watching an artist die right before my eyes."

He sighed heavily, "What makes you think I'm dead?" Shit, he wasn’t even convinced he was alive either. Not for a while, at least. He was just on autopilot.

You chuckled shyly, "I've seen you perform before. You really know how to turn it on for a crowd.”

"You seem to know so much about me and I don't even know who you are."

"You really don't remember me?"

Joby shook his head, hair falling over his eyes.

"Damn," your face fell, "I'm y/n l/n. We played at a couple festivals a few years ago. James and I are friends."

Joby grimaced as you mentioned the name of his old bandmate. James was a fucking snake. He stole his band. Took credit for all the work he had spent years putting into Snake Trouble. But you knew him. He was working to click the pieces together in his brain. He vaguely remembered your name; remembered you with flowers in your hair and heavy eye makeup. Your voice...that was what he recalled clearest. Your melodic sound echoing through a microphone. He remembered feeling held by the song you had sung.

When you said James name, you saw him wince. It must've been a sore spot for him. But you kept prodding, "I actually talked to him a little while ago. He said that he's out of a lead singer now. He said you quit."

"Well, James is a fucking liar because he kicked me out. I wouldn't have quit that band even if I was on my fucking deathbed." His speech was angry and slurred. His body was too worn out to express it but his face began to turn red.

"Oh, his loss, I guess." you shrugged.

With that, Joby felt bad. James wasn't that terrible. None of his bandmates were. They just didn't get it. They knew a little about Claire but they didn't know about the divorce or the custody battle with Ellen. Hell, he didn't think he'd ever told them he had been married in the first place. His marriage with Claire had only happened to appease her parents when she'd gotten pregnant. They'd gone to a courthouse, signed the papers, and that same night he was playing another show. Then he never talked about it again. In the years following the marriage, his vows had never really mattered. He still slept with other people and dated around. James and his other bandmates witnessed all of it. Hell, they encouraged it for a while. They were once his friends but over time he started to see them more as coworkers than anything.

They didn't get his sound, his ideas, his art. That was alright on its own, but they didn't have to be assholes about it. They didn't have to rub it in his face about how hard he had fallen. That didn't matter anymore though. James could take his stupid band and write his own stupid songs. He didn't care. He did care, though, that you seemed to think he was good enough. He sat up a bit straighter, raising his head from the bar. He stuck out his chin and managed a sleazy smirk.

You recognized the look plastered on his face. You'd seen him in a similar state after shows and at a handful of parties. It was more annoying than attractive. You couldn't help admitting you had a thing for guys like him. They had a type of sway and attitude that made your knees weak. Simultaneously, you despised his type, especially in your industry. If you had been blackout drunk at shows, flirting with fans, and passing out on random couches, you'd be a laughing stock. No one would want to work with you. Only an asshole like him could pull all of the shit he did and still pass off as a tortured male musician. But it all seemed to be catching up to him now.

You remembered seeing him on stage at a festival, years before. He had looked a lot more controlled even with the black eyeliner just starting to run down his face. The girls thought he was hot and he played into it well. He put all his energy into the music, flipping his dark hair and swiveling his hips. Your ears had been ringing from all the girls shrieking when he ran his hands down his chest seductively while performing. You had rolled your eyes. He was hot, but way too full of himself. And now he was next to you, looking more pathetic than he ever had.

"You sounded good up there." he tried a compliment of his own.

You lit up. Very rarely were you admired for your talents. And even though the praise came from him, it meant a great deal. Most of the time the men in these bars leered at your body. They'd offer to buy you drinks in return for the alluring performance. You always rejected them, not wanting to let yourself be vulnerable in any way. It made some of the men mad, of course, but you felt all the more comfortable keeping those walls between yourself and them.

"Well, I'm flattered. When do you think you'll get back up on a stage again?" You hated to keep talking about the music but it was the only subject you figured you could relate with him about. Besides, you really were wondering. James had told you the last time they'd performed as a band had been less than a month before. Joby's expulsion from the band left them to postpone the tour, scrambling to find a replacement. But if your observances of his performances said anything, you knew it wouldn't be easy to find someone that could live up to Joby's presence. He was the lead singer for a reason.

“I could just never get on one ever again. Who fucking cares. Who would listen anyways.”

He was fishing for some flattery. You weren’t about to feed into that bullshit.

“Maybe you’re right. There’s enough sad bastards writing about women who won’t fuck them anyways.” You smiled sarcastically before taking another sip from your straw. He glared at you, surprised at the biting remark. Yeah, his lyrics could get a little stale sometimes, but what else was there to write about? It’s not like his life has been filled with much else. Besides, who were you to be talking shit while you were up there, whoring yourself out to sell drinks?

He scoffed, “Oh, yeah, like I see you doing so much better up there, little Miss Lana Del Rey cover artist.”

Your blood ran cold. If that washed up asshole thought he could insult you like that, he had another thing coming. “At least I’m doing something. And at least I do it well. And I take my work seriously enough that I don’t show up wasted for it.” you spit back, crossing your legs and suddenly feeling indignant.

He fumbled for a bit, grasping at straws for some sort of retort. He couldn’t fault you on any of those points. He could call you any nasty name he wanted to but that didn’t change how shattered he felt inside. Music had been his whole life. But almost as soon as the band had taken off, he lost the spark. He’d had humble roots and a story to tell back then. Now he was a one trick pony. He was pretending that he didn't absolutely fucking despise the singles that gave his band a name; reciting lyrics that he’d written when he was younger and his writing was sharper. The substances hadn’t fried his brain and the touring hadn’t drained his spirits then. He was a joke. A nobody. A washed up relic of albums people listened to during their high school days. You are a dying artist.

“I’m sorry…” he shook his head, feeling like his brain was a water balloon ready to burst, “I’m really not myself right now. I think I better head out.” He stood from his barstool, hand braced on the bar top to steady his lumbering frame.

“Wait, where are you staying?” Your gaze on him softened and you placed a concerned hand on his leather clad arm.

“Uhhh…the Motel 6 across the street.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna walk back there like this, are you? You have someone who can take you, right?” You looked around, trying to see if there was some girl you'd missed before. Any time you'd seen him at a show, he always had some girl hanging off his arm. But Joby met you with silence. You’d known the answer before you could even finish speaking. Most of the people Joby considered his friends left him in the dust when he got kicked out of Snake Trouble. Of course he was drinking alone.

“Shit. Let me drive you back.” You insisted. You would hate yourself if he got hurt on the way back. Over years of going out drinking with friends, you had quickly designated yourself the sober one that would make sure everyone got home safe. Besides, you had a bit of a fondness for Joby. As much of an asshole as he was, you were drawn to the persona. Especially this rawness you’d never seen from him.

Joby nodded and mumbled an okay in your direction. When he started to walk, he stumbled over his own shoes, almost falling forward and smacking his already vibrating head on the bar. But you caught him just in time. You put one hand on his chest and one on his lower back to support him.

He almost felt ashamed when he leaned into your touch until your forehead was almost on his shoulder. He hadn’t been touched in a while. The depression falling over him made it impossible for him to want to engage in one of his favorite pastimes. Even when he was having sex, it wasn’t like this. It was a closeness with all of the intimacy removed; skin rubbing on skin without making a single spark. And while he could get off, it would never compare to truly being familiar with someone.

Your hands were soft and your voice was smooth as you whispered, “You alright?”

He nodded again, this time his breath seemed stuck in his throat. Be normal about this, will you? She’s just being nice. You need nice right now. But the breath stayed stuck as you grabbed his hand and led him out the door to your car. God, he was going to have the most insane headache the next morning.

The car ride was quiet until you turned on the radio, letting some random country music station play. When you finally pulled into the motel and helped him out of your car, he still felt that electric feeling on his spine where you’d touched him. He felt around his pockets and searched his wallet before realizing that his room keycard wasn’t with him. Mentally retracing his steps it hit him.

You saw his face go blank when he admitted, “I left my keycard in the room.” It would be too late to go to the front desk and ask for another. But you couldn’t just leave him. Not when it was this cold out. You were already shivering in your light dress.

You sighed, “Come on, let’s just go back to my place. We’ll come back in the morning and you can sort this out when you’re sober.” Joby couldn’t believe his luck that he managed to run into you, didn’t even remember your name, and insulted you, and yet you were willing to take him in for a night. You’d let him sleep on your couch and then he’d get to see you again in the morning. Sure, he probably wasn’t going to see you again after that, but it was something to him.

#danonation #paul dano #joby taylor x reader #joby taylor #for ellen #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

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slycecaik · 7 months

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Random OC/Music Lore Dump #1

How Trixie, Saiko and [More] Stitches are connected

Trixie (center) is one of my main 3 'sonas I've developed over the years. On the left is variant of her that came before her current design, featured in my track SAIKO. On the right is a variant made for MORE STITCHES. Neither have any names as of now for the reason that they are merely vessels that were mass produced then experimented on, all of which have an uncanny resemblance to Trixie herself.

saiko!Trixie is a lab vessel that is based on Trixie's possibly unstable, and thus rarely used, power form. (Somewhat like Chaos Shadow or Fleetway Super Sonic)

How her power was collected is up for debate, but the 2 most prevalent theories in mind are:

Being captured in a lab somewhere and her energy is harnessed

Being tracked by a nanobot that waits for her to transform in order to collect a piece of that energy

Both are valid candidates as the impetus of the events of SAIKO.

saiko!Trixie is more unstable than the power form its based on, resulting in it going AWOL and mindlessly wreaking havoc on anything within its path, including the main city where various other OCs have been residing for a period of time. Of course, upon hearing the news, they would agree to find and apprehend the perpetrator.

After their defeat via Blasting-Off-Again, this vessel would be found trudging in the wilderness, where they begin to develop self awareness and become lost in existentialism. They are still very reactive at the time when they are captured by an unknown party.

Directly after saiko!Trixie made their escape, the machines that kept the vessels in stasis have quickly become faulty due to the stress of surrounding machinery taking on an unstable power source, which causes random stasis chambers to combust and explode, resulting in the few mature vessels available as well as multiple still-developing vessels being blown to bits, many of which have been reduced to ash. Various remains have then been gathered and relocated to another lab location to be used in a Frankenstein's Monster scenario, as indirectly demanded by [REDACTED] out of desperation, resulting in the birth of stitches!Trixie.

Despite the cries of anxious and disapproving lab employees, [REDACTED] was far too stubborn and misguided to listen to reason. He only desired to see progress. Nothing but tunnel vision. No regard for any possible consequences.

This new vessel has proven to be even more unstable, being driven only by sadism, resulting in all but 3 lab employees meeting a horrid fate. This vessel has next to no chance at attaining sufficient self awareness, as their brain is far too decayed and infested, like the rest of their patchwork body, to allow any additional neurological connections.

stitches!Trixie has also made an attempt to go AWOL after leaving the secondary lab in fiery ruins, but not without accelerating the steady decomposition of their body during the whole event. As of now, pieces of them are scattered in the woods, with the remaining top half of the body floating down a creek.

That's what happens when whoever's building you are forced to haphazardly stitch together random flesh nuggets with no guarantee of compatibility. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The 3 lab employees then banded together to get the gluten free fuck out of there via ambulance, and agreed to form a movement against the industry they once looked up to. Unbeknownst to them, various other labs have been demanded to keep the ball rolling on the unintentional "Stitches" project...

#oc lore #trixie #traelmyx #lore #lore dump #caikslyce #oc #caik.txt

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sgcairo · 2 years

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i was literally just abt to ask you of ur opinion of the pantalone/baizhu brothers theory before i read the latest chapters of a small telegraph… do you have any more headcannons yourself or will it be revealed more in the fic 🤨

I have many headcanons on these two, but a lot of them will be revealed in the fic! I'll throw some of them out there anyways though, because this brainrot has been living in my brain for months (quite literally)!

-Pantalone is the older of the two. I didn't specify if they were twins or just siblings, but Pantalone is also generally "bigger" (though they're so close in age that it's not super obvious when looking at their younger versions). Baizhu was always smaller because of his weak complexion, and often fell ill as a result.

-Because Baizhu was too weak to be running around all day, Pantalone often had him rest in the shade while he begged for money and scraps, and if he did scrounge up enough money, he would buy new clothes (especially shoes) for his little brother. Though this wasn't often, as Pantalone barely scrounged up enough to eat on a good day, let alone enough for decent quality clothes.

-Pantalone took several beatings for being caught thieving, mostly on his back and hands. He never told Baizhu except for when they were obvious, and several got infected because of this. Begging the local herbalist for a salve was humiliating, but he couldn't leave his brother alone.

-Once Pantalone was old enough to work, he took on as much of it as possible. Enough to put a (not exactly clean) roof over their heads, even if it was dinky and infested with vermin. It was better than laying out in the open, especially during monsoon season, when Baizhu would get especially sick.

-As you can guess, not many places would take him for work, but a dilapidated tea shop took him in, but it wasn't easy or rewarding work. Pantalone was sore, miserable, and overworked, for barely enough money to pay rent, let alone pay for food. It was better than starving with no home though, so he was happy to do it for his brother's health.

-Baizhu eventually managed to score a job at the pharmacy as an herbalist's apprentice. Pantalone was happy, but also jealous, as it was a well paying job, not to mention that Baizhu got to live in the back complex, which was much nicer than their current home. But he was also relieved that Baizhu would finally be able to take care of himself appropriately. Through that opportunity, Baizhu was eventually recommended to the Academia for his outstanding talents in botany.

-Pantalone fell in love with someone, once upon a time. They were both poor, with little to their name, but they had each other. His lover died shortly afterwards in the mines that surround the Chasm, and there was no way to retrieve the body. Baizhu had never approved of the man in the first place, but was silent about the death, focusing more on his studies than his grieving brother. Was that what caused their falling out? Partly, yes.

-Baizhu getting his vision was the final straw.

-The falling out between them happened shortly after Baizhu accepted the invitation to enroll in the Academia, the day before he was set to leave. After that argument, Pantalone stormed off in a fit of anger and hurt, leaving Baizhu to see himself off on the journey to Sumeru. His years at the Academia were long and arduous, and he returned home with in incurable illness, but it was well worth it, as he was now the owner of the pharmacy and adept in his knowledge surrounding plants. When he returned to their old home, however, he found that Pantalone was gone, his things still in the long since abandoned housing complex. After asking around, he found out that Pantalone had vanished that day, after storming off. No one had seen him since.

-Current time, Baizhu still worries about Pantalone, wondering if he was kidnapped or was lost that day. Perhaps his brother died, alone and where no one would ever find him. Or someone took him, undoubtedly to do horrible things and leave him for dead. Either way, he listens for any mention of anyone that sounds like his brother, often when he's out roaming the harbor. He occasionally buys things he thinks his brother would like, hiding them in the back of his closet- hoping. He's well off now, but he's long since realized that his neglect of his only family was the worst mistake he ever made. If he could go back, he would do everything in his power to bring his brother with him, tell him how grateful he is for Pantalone's work, let his brother cry on his shoulder after the tragedy that forced them apart. But it's too late, isn't it?

-Pantalone is satisfied with how his life turned out. Though he still wonders if his little brother is okay, occasionally sending a Fatui agent to Liyue to make sure he's alive and healthy. He knows about Baizhu's illness, and part of him wants to go back and spend as much time as he can with his brother before the inevitable... But he can't force himself to go back, for some reason. He's afraid, though he won't admit to the feeling. He's also hurt, his brother made it clear where he stands. That he hates Pantalone, that he wants him dead. He would go back, but he can't. It would be admitting that he misses his brother, his family, and that Baizhu was right. He is a greedy, horrible man, but he used that to his advantage. He holds his position because of it. Baizhu would hate him for it, surely. Especially after the stunt with Ozial.

That was more of a brief history, but there you go! Hopefully these two come back together soon, their dynamic will be interesting.

#baizhu #pantalone #fatui harbingers #fatui headcanons #baizhu headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons

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spinningbuster98 · 1 year

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Wake up folks it’s time for some new Metroid headcanons!

1) I once saw someone notice how the Chozo Memories of Samus Returns seem to imply that the Chozo accidentally found the X while digging into the planet. As in they clearly weren’t on the surface or in the upper areas of the planet, otherwise the Chozo would’ve encountered them way earlier, and I agree, I’ve always found it weird how Fusion and later Dread depict the X as incredibly voracious and quick to reproduce and yet SR388 wasn’t an X infested hell hole when the Chozo first went there.

However I wanted to follow up on that

See one of my personal pet peeves about the X is that their 2 main characteristics, their insatiable hunger and the speed with which they can infect a huge number of creatures, doesn’t mesh very well: if a predator is completely unmatched and can kill so much prey in so little time they will eventually run out of food and cause their own extinction. The only time we ever see the X pass up on an opportunity to chow is when they “spared” the Etecoons and Dachoras, though Adam hypothesizes that it’s because they considered them useless, not due to any desire to conserve food for later consumption.

My personal headcanon is that the X are an ancient lifeform belonging to the primordial era of SR388. Back than the X had more natural predators capable to fend them off keeping the food chain balanced. After several cataclysmic events not unlike those our own planet has faced (Ice ages, asteroid impacts, super volcanoes erupting etc) the X hid undergound where they went into a dormant state for millenia, until the Chozo accidentally unearthed them and woke them up.

The ironic thing, to me, is that had the X kept going they would’ve run out of food quickly, as the modern lifeforms of SR388 hadn’t evolved any means to counter the X, unlike those of prehistoric times.

2) Samus’ suit can defend her immune system from diseases and infections due to it being bound to her body, however it also responds negatively to human, and non-Chozo in general, medicine, as it recognizes it as a potential threat to her organism. Samus has modified the suit to include human medicine within the “acceptabòe” substances.

3) Ridley’s constant defeats at the hands of Samus have cost him the respect of High Command. By the time of Super Metroid he is mostly just a general in name only, as he is no longer given any actual troops to command, like in Zero Mission, and he is ordered to be Mother Brain’s obedient little dog following her every whim as punishment for his failures

#metroid #metroid headcanons

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flatstarcarcosa · 3 months

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[gun slide noise]

ME!AU RAPID FIRE:

*abarahm resident over powered biotic. vanguard. heavy reliance on barrier+charge plus has done some incredibly illegal mods to his service shotgun. concussion rounds+experimental incendiary that blows you open and burns you out from the inside. you're better off getting slammed. the van brunts are also like, the closest thing to royalty the alliance has which means he's even more arrogant and egoistical than regular canon because he has never, at any point, had to deal with the fallout of anything he's ever done.

*i cannot stress to you enough this man's response to ichabod saying "abraham we can't do that, it's a war crime" is "only if there's batarians left alive to tell anyone". he doesn't even have a good reason to dislike batarians outside of alliance propaganda and like. blatant racism, if i'm honest. man is not remotely empathetic enough to actually CARE what any of them have done he just Craves Violence.

*and speaking of, ichabod. infiltrator, squishy as fuck counterpart for abe's tank but it's fine because he's in, done with the mission, and out before anyone knows. (if he's....yknow. not with abraham. that is.) he's also, for some reason, basically the only person that can stand to be around abraham for any length of time, likely because they ended up in basic together and just kinda clicked despite differing personalities.

cutting bc there's a lot, rapid fire or not-

*one of the things i put a lot of effort into back when this was a thing i did on the RP blog was making abraham and shepard's stories mirror each other, if not entirely, in a lot of ways. abraham was the original poster boy, and he was actually the first line draft pick for human spectre.

*it doesn't come to pass when a mission goes tits up, and he nearly dies. family name and money catches the attention of cerberus, who slide in with promises they can fix him, like, totally, we prommy. he does get fixed, he gets top of the line cybernetic implants and in the end it's nothing some PT can't fix.

*except oops! mommy and daddy van brunt stupidly trusted the known terrorist organization because they were more interested in making sure The Family Legacy went the way it was supposed to! and now their already OP son is infested with fucking reaper tech no one knows about!

*the injuries abe sustains when he almost dies includes a TBI. the TBI has the fun little side effect of actually interfering with the indoctrination from the reaper tech. lots of notes in abe's recovery with him commenting about buzzing/humming noises no one else seems to hear and "i swear to god my teeth itch".

*abe's first mission once cleared for duty ALSO goes tits up because harbinger tries to awaken what's supposed to be the best little sleeper agent Its ever Had only to find out the fucking sleeper agent is defective. it begins an ongoing battle where harbinger is constantly trying to outright control abraham entirely, but it doesn't always work.

*he officially gets listed as MIA--POSSIBLY AWOL

*ichabod and abraham's plots revolve around everyone lamenting that the alliance golden boy just cracked under the pressure and couldn't cut it, with ichabod sincerely believing that's not the whole story. "abraham is an arrogant ass, he's not an unhinged coward" is repeated quite a lot.

*abe and harbinger's back and forth for control means sometimes he loses. sometimes harbinger is able to make the indoctrination work and operate him like a fucking meat puppet from dark space, and that fun little TBI that causes the back and forth also means he's completely aware the whole time it's happening.

*eventually he notices a pattern in that getting his shit rocked (ie more brain trauma) tends to shake harbinger loose, which results in one encounter with ichabod and abe where he tells ichabod 'the next time you find me trying to kill you, aim for my head'

*basically a lot of it is the concept of like. Worst Guy You've Ever Known Finally Faces Consequences except. it's also one of those stories where at a certain point you're no longer thrilled by these turn of events, you're kind of uncomfortable. it seems less like comeuppance and more like watching someone slowly get fed into a meat grinder for no reason.

*which. remember the early concepts for saren and tim where the reaper tech was slowly eroding any organic parts of them? yeah. yeah he's not having a good time.

*abe also ends up targeting cerberus when he's controlling his own mind, particularly when he finds out they were only able to save shepard because of what they did to him. feels a lot like being the test run.

*which leads me back to shepard and abe having mirroring stories. in the end the reaper war ends and they're both dead, but only one of them is remembered.

*abe's death takes place during me3. i never got as far as plotting the details but it was always meant to be a last ditch "fuck you/ i'm not what you made me" type thing. there's also a smidge of suicide by sacrifice to it, because again, he was already dying because of the reaper tech and just. was so goddamn tired. it's shades of vega as well in like, what he does is very big and very good and saves a lot of lives (ichabod's included) but it's. just that shepard was already elsewhere, doing bigger things.

*after ichabod gets cleared after abe dies, he basically gets a "tyfys here's your next posting" and asks what about abraham which is met with "what about him?"

*ichabod then starts demanding abe's status get changed from MIA--POSSIBLY AWOL to killed in the line of duty along with a posthumous commendation of valor. i'm thinking he gets a call from hackett about joining the crucible project and agrees, but on one condition, mostly because the idea of ichabod yelling hackett down is kinda BDE if i'm honest.

*also of importance: abraham being a whole ass home of sexual whose also big brained enough to be like "actually asari aren't women so yes i can fuck them despite being gay"

*and finally if he ever found out aria t'loak fucked mordin and not him he'd blow up afterlife and everyone in it

#txt.txt #abraham #anyway rice is delicious btw if u even care

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crimson-chaser · 9 months

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You guys ain't ready for the Spiderverse! Shawn AU I have...

SO IMA TELL YOU 'BOUT IT 🙈

Okay so this all started because I had seen some of the fanart of the newer cast as spiderman/spidermen(idk what the plural term would be) and since I am obsessed with Shawn I started thinking of a Spider version of him. An then the ideas started 😈.

Shawn's Universe

Shawn's universe is infested an crowded with thee Un-dead species. That's where His phobia come's in, When he is traveling other universe or needed somewhere other then his normal world he's always turning his head an constantly Checking the surrounding areas incase of a surprise Zombie attack that could come out of nowhere.

When suggested to go to Shawn's universe he tries to re-direct them somewhere else an explain how "zombies will eat their brains out". That's why everyone in the spider community thinks he's crazy, He usually just give's up an let's them see the true hell that he has to deal with.

After that they never ask again...

Canon Event

(tw for blood an death)

He had heard of 'canon events' happening but he never really could believe that anything WORSE could happen to him when he was basically walking through a living hell-zone every time he had to step out of his underground bunker.

but it got MUCH worse.

After sometime of being an getting used to the fact that he was now spiderman. That meant he would be off doing whatever he was assigned to do way more often, One day of his life, that's all it took,

one day to mess shit up.

He was sent off to fight in a different universe because some of the others were too hurt to continue the fight against the overly powered villains. Though he couldn't help but feel like something was off, an not like his usual paranoia, it was like a tingling feeling in his mind that would not let go of, and he's good at letting go of things, because "you can't trust anyone or anything in the zombie apocalypse".

Once he had got all healed an bandaged, he sped back into his own familiar world with the tingling feeling still there, It had gotten more intense each moment he wasn't speeding back to his home.

When he'd gotten back to the bunker he found blood on the doorway of the place, he thought it was weird but just pushed it off saying it was probably some 'brain dead zombies' trying to break in.

he called out to his family expecting his usual responses back, the "hey honey" from his mother or the nonchalant "Wazzup" from his sister, he started panicking thinking of the worst. An sadly it was true

he had walked through thee entire bunker over three times in a panic wondering where his family could be. he reached back into the main living space to finally discover a yellow post-it note sticking on the kitchen table with rushed messy but readable hand-writing

"Hey bro just wanted to tell you that a hoard came after us an we had to scram, mom an dad did not make it, an I'm taking the rest somewhere safe, I am not sure if ill see you again so this is my final goodbye, bye lil bro, love you <3

-Val"

this is it.

this is thee event he was expecting.

he knew if hoards were capable of breaking in the bunker he couldn't stay there, so he knew what he had to do.

he grabbed everything he needed an shoved it in a strapped bag an headed out the door to find his uncle's bunker.

when he got to his other relatives bunker he started to think of why She didn't just bring the kids there.

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

OMG IM ACTUALLY IN LOVE WITH THIS AU NOT GONNA LIE, SHOULD I MAKE A PART TWO CAUSE I HAVE SO MANY MORE IDEAS!!!

I ALSO HAVE HEAD CANONS ABOUT THIS LIKE AHHHH

#td shawn #total drama #tdpi #shawn td #across the spiderverse #atspv #Atspv au #atspv! Shawn #spiderman Shawn

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thedarkcoven · 8 months

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Yaaaaaaaaay struggling time for about 5 days for my family to try to figure out how to get some food until the third... Already checked food pantries around. They're closed and they will give food to us we can't cook cause we went through them before (We live in a hotel and have been for a year + now) and we only have a small ass mini fridge so the food would go to waste before we can even think of touching it. I am 20+ weeks pregnant and has a 3 year old and my husband is type one diabetic. We have some sides (the like pasta and rice packets) but that's not gonna last us. Could someone PLEASE donate something to us or at least share? We were supposed to be getting paid more but the person who did our paperwork fucked it all up and we aren't getting it until the third. So please could someone help or at least share? :/ Donate to our PayPal ( toxikinsanity89 ) so we can get some food? Id be very grateful! <3 Also if anyone gives me negative comments of any kind you will be blocked. If you do not know my story what I'm going through atm then please keep your judgements to yourself. -The reason we are homeless is because our apartment was falling apart and was infested. We kept telling the new "landlords/slumlords" (turns out they didn't have their licenses) and he kept refusing to fix anything or to sign the papers that the Department of Social Services was providing to have them sign so they could get payed but kept denying yet wanted to keep bugging us for money (legally we had the right to not pay them because when he took over as the new "landlord" he kept refusing to sign legal papers). Well someone had called CPS on us (We believe it was the woman who was helping me with motherhood stuff cause NY state has that type of program for new mothers/expecting mothers and families BECAUSE it was fishy she asked "Well why not CPS They have a preventative case and they'll help ya with things you need and if you're homeless you'll be in a home in no time!" and then as soon as we got moved out she stopped being my worker....) so they came in we told them what was happening and they even got proof for us to back us up from the "landlords" and the government (Department of Social Services) moved us into a hotel then moved us into a shelter and now we are back in the hotel we were before and have been homeless for a bit over a year now... So that is why i say if you don't know my story of why we are homeless with kids please keep the negative comments to yourself because DSS is only giving us a homing budget of $650-700 for rent.... for a family of 4 (about to be 5) people... yet they think that will still help us with the situation we are in (Apartments here in NY are for like 800+; and the ones in our budget is studio and asking for only one person to move in) . Sorry if none of this makes sense/sounds scrambled. We are kind of in panic mode and stressed plus I have adhd brain and trying to explain everything I can all at once for you guys to better understand

#homeless family #thedarkcoven #struggling family #we arent getting paid until the third #gonna be struggling for about 5 days #if you cant help please reblog/share #no we dont have cashapp

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post-avant-garde · 2 years

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minecraft origins-esque concept for the warden mob that was added today. i wanted a place to infodump my dumb little guys. took inspiration from the ancient city and the way it seemed to be infected by the sculk. enjoy

Sculkhide are a “species” that thrive in the ancient ruins among the mass sculk infestation. They appear to be human, or at least once human, though masses of the sculk organism have infected their bodies. There are different stages of infestation.

STAGES 1-3: INFECTION

STAGE 1: Dark, slime-like sculk growths appear along the spine. The skin begins to lose pigmentation, blooming from the chest outwards. The victim is cognitively unaffected at this point. They will experience an itching sensation where the pigmentation is vanishing and along the edges of the sculk growth. This stage lasts around a year, though time varies depending on the individual’s health.

STAGE 2: Presence of pain is what draws the line between stage 1 and stage 2. At this point, the sculk has usually spread over the shoulders, causing the victim to slump over slightly. As the organism roots itself into the victim, they will experience pain, starting at a mild and tolerable level but evolving into severe pain. As the pain increases, the victim will experience bouts of blindness, intense headaches, and vomiting. The loss of pigmentation has now spread to most if not all of the body, and the skin is flaky. This stage typically lasts two to three years.

STAGE 3: At this point, the victim is struggling to live. Growths (both fleshy and sculk-like) are protruding from their bodies, and their fingernails are hardening and growing. Severe and deep pain immobilizes the victim. They are hardly able to function, if at all, and the vast majority pass away by stage 3.

At the point of death, if the body is not disposed of through cremation, there is a high chance that the sculk infection may reanimate the deceased body.

STAGES 4-5: SCULKHIDE

STAGE 4: if the victim was not cremated, the infection will continue. If the individual is reanimated by the disease, they are now labelled as “Sculkhide” and not considered human. The infection has now reached and overridden the brain and provides a new heart for the victim. The heart has a hard, leathery outside, and pumps a mixture of blood and sculk through the victim’s body. It is found directly beneath the ribcage. Any remaining hair is used as a base for sculk tendrils to form, especially atop the head. The skin is leathery and thick, and any holes in the skin show internal organs infested with the sculk organism. The sculk growing on their back is now hard and nearly impenetrable. The Sculkhide is not blind (they still possess eyes, though they are white and cloudy), and is highly sensitive to changes in light. A quick change to bright lighting may ward off a Sculkhide, as they will retreat and flee to the nearest darkness or attempt to shield their eyes. It is believed that abundance of light creates a severe burning sensation in the eyes. Following reanimation, this stage of infection tends to last around two to three decades as the body continues to slowly change. They are unpredictable and impulsive; interaction is highly discouraged. They have shown to be almost “friendly” sometimes but will not hesitate to maul any other organism that interacts with them. They are able to vocalize and may even make sounds that resemble human language.

STAGE 5: If the victim has survived to this point, they are considered “Wardenkin”. The sculk has grown over their eyes and face, completely blinding them. Their ears have grown to seem almost like that of a bat, and they droop downwards. Their upper limbs have lengthened and become heavy, creating a hunched-over posture. Their hands and feet have morphed into a more paw-like anatomy, with huge claws where the nails used to be. A long, powerful tail has grown, and seems to be used for balance with their forward-heavy stance. Highly vibration-sensitive tendrils protrude from most areas where sculk has hardened on their body and is found densely along the head and base of the tail. Dark, slimy sculk “waste” flows from vents on the end of the tail, often congealing to create a clump. If a victim has progressed to the Wardenkin stage, their life may span for centuries to come. They seem to be able to burrow into solid stone and hibernate, lessening the need to feed while they wait for prey to draw near. They are extremely violent and attack any moving thing they can sense. Their senses of smell, hearing, and touch have heightened drastically. Even the smallest of movements or sounds may give away your position. They can still vocalize, though it has progressed into more of a shrieking roar. This roar seems to boom around whatever cavern they may be in and overwhelms its prey’s auditory sense and nearly immobilizes them for a few moments. They seem to be resistant to many types of attacks, even burning, and most weapons seems to glance off their skin with minimal damage. Stabbing them in the mouth or the heart seems to be the most effective form of defense. No human that has faced a direct, uncontrolled encounter with a Wardenkin has come out alive.

#minecraft #minecraft warden #minecraft sculk #sculk #minecraft mob #mineblr #art #minecraft 1.19 #minecraft art

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moomitheartist · 2 months

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-The World is Glitching-

A spurt of gore coated the front of Brendan’s jacket as he smashed his metal bat into the skull of the rabid, neurotic man, who then collapsed to the dusty ground in a messy pool of his own fluids and clumps of brain matter. Cadell stabbed a rusty metal pipe into his assailant’s jaw with a grunt and wrenched it around until a wide, steady stream of dark red began soaking the woman’s shirt at a speedy pace, then pulled his weapon out and kicked the gurgling and twitching body away with the toe of his boot. The few remaining cannibalistic, deranged people stumbled closer as they drooled and growled with the desperation of a family of starving dogs.

Their sense of reason and logic was absolutely enveloped by the primitive desire to feed and fend off their inevitable starvation for even a little while longer; they were as good as animals at that point thanks to their prominent lack of food, and so they couldn’t care less about the obvious death that they would face at the hands of Brendan and Cadell- that, or each of them equally believed that they would be the only survivor, blessed with a filling and tender meal.

However, they were all utterly mistaken. Each individual was killed off by the two teenage boys until only one remained- a tiny, petite girl who foamed and frothed at the mouth with gruesome infections of many kinds covering her weak body. Her previously blond hair was matted with mud and infested with strange parasites beyond recognition, and her watery, foggy eyes were swollen and red thanks to the many miniscule pesticides that burrowed into her pupils and decaying brain.

You may have even felt bad for the young girl, if she weren’t trying to tear you apart and feast on your body. She stumbled closer to the pair while softly growling meaningless and slurred curses that simply evaporated into the stifling air that lazily swirled around them. As soon as she was only a few feet away, Brendan swung his bat at her head, causing her to collapse in an instant with a final rattling gasp; from the deep, messy, fleshy cavity in the body’s head, a slimy flood of brains and insects became a filthy and squirming puddle.

With heavy breaths, Brendan grasped Cadell’s arm and dragged him away from the bloody scene of their fight wordlessly. The faint sound of stumbling footsteps and howls of desperation echoed around the tight, dark, damp alleyways of Harson City- the disturbing mixture of deranged giggles and agonized sobs bounced from every shadowy corner of the concrete maze. Brendan pulled Cadell closer to his side as he looked behind them every minute in tense anticipation, as though a threat would appear out of thin air and try to kill them once again. Well, sometimes that did actually happen.

“Come on, dude, let me go,” sighed Cadell in exasperation as he tugged back his arm in futility. “I can’t feel my fingers anymore!” The taller boy remained utterly silent, as usual. His grip didn’t waver in the slightest at Cadell’s persistent yanking. After a couple minutes of his companion’s unrestrained complaints, he finally let out a brief and straightforward response- another habit of his.

“Stop resisting. Stay close to me, unless you’d like to become a three-course meal for those freaks.”

“Okay, I’ll stay right next to you! I won’t even think of wandering off, sounds good? Damn, I think you squished my hand…” Brendan spared Cadell a fleeting sideways glance as if to warn him; the usual lack of an expression was much more frightening than any threatening glare to the slightly shorter boy, and so he quickly reminded himself to never too travel far from his best friend’s side, lest he wanted to end up like the mutilated corpses that were left in the street behind them.

The stoic boy released his partner’s arm as he turned his gaze forward once again. “Remain right next to me, understood?” “Yes. Geez, I already agreed.” The alleyway seemed to go on forever, but in reality it must have been only a few minutes. After an awkward and tiring walk of absolute silence, the teenagers came across an open area- the dilapidated and gloomy shopping district of Eve Street.

“Stay quiet,” whispered Brendan to his partner as they glanced around for any signs of recent disturbance. Not a sound could be heard from within the many grayed, ruined buildings; even though this was indeed a good sign, it was impossible to know for sure whether there was a threat actively wandering around or not. The city was full of gruesome surprises, and the longer someone has lived there, the better they knew that.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, Cadell allowed his sparkling emerald eyes to slowly travel upwards, gradually gaining view of the horror that was the sky; the first element that immediately captured his attention was the throbbing, pulsing, tyrannical heart that was their warped and corrupted sun. Its methodical beats seemed to shake the world off of its constant orbit and into the endless bounds of space.

The furious, dark, oppressive clouds let out a reverberating gurgle and released spurts of nauseating, stinking pus onto the gore-soaked ground- a sure sign of the rainfall that would soon plague their crimson sky. The strong yet dull odor of electricity gas assaulted the pair’s sense of smell and caused them both to clear their suddenly irritated throats. “Close your eyes, Cadell,” Brendan snapped as he pulled the bronze-haired boy farther away from the open area of the still district.

He quickly did as he was told, knowing exactly what would happen within the span of several seconds. Just as he placed his hands over his eyes and turned his head away from the sky, bright and vivid flares of neon colors glitched across the disorienting atmosphere, causing the undertones of the overpowering fumes to grow even stronger than before. After a few moments of the blinding flashes, they suddenly seized their intrusive attack and allowed the two to open their eyes once again.

“It’s gonna rain soon. We should probably wait it out here, where we know there’s enough cover. I don’t think those things are coming after us anymore,” said Cadell, turning to look at Brendan. He studied the boy’s angular and pale features, obsidian hair, silver eyes, and the scar that trailed from the right of his jaw down to his collarbone. If the reserved, serious seventeen-year-old could be described in one word by Cadell, he would use “moonlight”. Everything about his appearance and personality was just so similar to a silvery ray of illumination seeping through the shadowy branches of trees in a thick forest- something about him was just so mystical and strange, just like the glowing orb.

Brendan nodded in agreement and motioned for his companion to take a seat on the cool, solid floor of the concrete alleyway as he himself sat down. Cadell followed his invitation and crouched near the noirette quietly, waiting for the storm’s inevitable arrival; soon, after a couple of minutes, it finally began. Rainfalls of blood and fresh, raw meat crashed down to the soaking ground from the blackening clouds, the wet slaps of chunks of maggot-infested innards and flesh falling like warm, slimy hail. The sickening splats joined the ever-present electrical hum overhead in the scarlet empyrean that cried revolting fluids.

“Look away,” mumbled Brendan, who himself was persistently staring at the horrible sight with a transfixed, fogged expression. Once again, Cadell followed the boy’s instructions and tore his eyes away from the scene immediately. The irony tang of gore and the rotten stench of ground, severed chunks of parasitic flesh made the silver-eyed teen’s stomach twist unpleasantly as he continued gazing at the perverse rainfall; in his mind, there was an strange emptiness taking over all of his coherent thoughts, and at the same time an indiscernible racing and blurring of his psyche.

He felt like he was falling into an endless abyss of chaos and confusion with every chunk of squirming meat that hit the floor in squelches; the world disappeared around Brendan as his mind fell further and further and further- A firm, grounding palm was placed onto his shoulder, shaking him awake from his dissociative episode. He gasped slightly and turned his head, his wide eyes landing onto the soft and concerned gaze of Cadell, who then scooted slightly closer to Brendan. “Hey, you okay?” With a harsh sigh to steady his racing heart, the noirette ran a hand through his dark, shiny bangs.

“I’m fine.” He briefly placed his own hand on top of Cadell’s, then pulled it off wordlessly. “The storm will be over soon. Let’s move on afterwards, as quickly as possible. I don’t like it here, I feel like something’s wrong,” said Brendan monotonously. The copper-haired boy nodded, allowed his hand to drop down to his side, and leaned against the damp wall behind himself. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from his best friend’s infatuating visage. …

Brendan Raynott tossed and turned in his disturbed sleep restlessly, his usually deadpan expression now replaced by a pained grimace. He dreamt of his horrid past for the hundredth time that month, which always caused him such unease at night, preventing him from getting any actual rest at all. No longer could he sense Cadell’s comforting presence among the cruel nightmares that plagued his mind. After such a lengthy day at middle school, Brendan eagerly awaited the comforts of his house and family.

Throughout the entirety of his walk home, he craved the delicious muffins that his mother promised him before he left his home that foggy, rainy morning. The twelve-year-old began jogging as he neared the final block to his beckoning house. Within a few short minutes, Brendan at last reached his destination breathlessly, slightly regretting his choice to race; he reached out and twisted open the entrance’s brass doorknob, slipping into the dark residence and shutting the heavy door behind him.

What greeted him was a shocking, filthy mess. The fallen coat hanger was splintered into thousands of spiky shards, which were all speckled with droplets of dried blood; plates were smashed across the marble floor, plants were ripped out of their pots and scattered along the dirt that used to surround them. There were deep punches in the walls, the dark holes looking like infinite tunnels to the other side of the planet. The young boy gasped as he studied the absolute disarray that was previously his home, and he wondered in fear where his mom, dad, brother, and sister were.

With a dry swallow, Brendan cautiously made his way through the lower floor and to the staircase that led to the upper level of his home. He winced at nearly every creak that sounded from the mahogany steps and bounced around the empty building. The uncertain Brendan began hearing quite a ruckus as he grew closer to the second floor; it seemed to be coming from the master bedroom, near the second living room. He crept closer to the chambers and pressed an ear against the cold wood of the closed door in order to hear what the commotion was about- he could make out muffled shouts and crashing objects, and immediately worried for the safety of his family members.

Subsequently, he let out a long breath and braced himself as he pushed open the entrance and ran into the chaotic environment. What greeted him was something that Brendan would never be able to forget for the rest of his brutal, miserable life. Mrs. Raynott bit a tender, squishy chunk out of her husband’s neck and chewed on the stringy meat until she could swallow it down, then reached out to rip out another strip of his flesh before he gurgled, grabbed her arm, and clamped down onto her cheek- viscous blood spurted out from the gaping wound on the woman’s swollen face. Mr. Raynott collapsed as gore filled his lungs, causing raspy breaths to accompany his demented growls; with a final wet gasp, his battered body began convulsing as his inhales ceased entirely.

Brendan’s mother let out an ear-shattering shriek and started clawing madly at her own neck, her fingernails digging deeper and deeper into the tender tissue until she reached raw muscle, choking and spitting dark red and snorting like an ill pig, until she too fell dead in a pathetic heap. Little Ethan repeatedly bashed his young sister’s head into the floor, making Lilia inhale and gag on her own juices as she tried in vain to lift her head from the growing pool of fresh crimson and chunks of grayish-pink brain. He giggled and screamed while ripping out globs of sticky hair from her ravished scalp and shoving them down her contracting throat.

Lilia’s hoarse heaves and snarls were eerily similar to that of a rabid creature being violated and tortured mercilessly. After a few more moments of utter savagery, the tiny girl stopped struggling entirely, allowing Ethan to begin feasting on her deceased body in euphoric glee. Bits and pieces of flesh and gore flew across the room while he messily devoured his own little sister. Brendan watched the entire scene in a catatonic state of horror; his mother, father, and little sister were all dead, and his younger brother was completely lost in insanity.

Bile burned his throat as he doubled over and vomited up the contents of his stomach, the foul liquid splashing onto the ground before him like some sort of moldy, rotten stew. He coughed up the remaining fluid, then stumbled and ran down the staircase, through the lower level, and all the way through the front door. Slamming it shut, Brendan rested his forehead against the cold material while tears streamed down his blanched cheeks- when he finally caught his breath, he slowly turned around to fully face his street.

The sight that greeted him was no kinder than what he had witnessed within his home. Hundreds of children were gnawing at the twitching corpses of the disassembled corpses of their parents, men and women were bashing in their own heads with balled fists, and animals looked twisted and sick as they ran crazed around the neighborhood.

And the sky- oh, God, the sky- the sun was… an organ. A beating, raw heart that was suspended high in the dark red, gloomy atmosphere. The previously white and fluffy clouds were dark gray and looked furious, and they appeared to be full of strange fluids. Brendan’s knees grew weak, and he slid down to the dry, dusty, dark ground in shock. With a loud squelch from above, the clouds opened and it began to rain. …

With a start, Brendan opened his eyes to see Cadell leaning over him while roughly shaking his shoulders, a panicked expression on his striking countenance. He sat up and looked questioningly at the other boy, who, he noticed, kept glancing behind them and into the black alleyway instead. “What is it?”

“We have to leave now. I think I hear those people coming back- the storm stopped, so let’s go,” responded Cadell. The noirette immediately stood and backed out of the alleyway’s exit with his companion as he began hearing the distant snarls, too. In the open area of the shopping district, they both felt vulnerable and exposed; the pair tried their best to rush through while still remaining as silent as possible, and soon the disturbing sounds grew further away.

They continued to look around keenly as they eventually made their way past the many crumbling buildings and closer to the nearby forest. Brendan and Cadell stopped walking as they arrived at the edge of the wilderness and began discussing their next move. “We’ve gotten ahead of them, but I know that they’ll keep trailing us. We should go into the forest to confuse them, I think. The trees will screw with their sense of direction.” In response to the bronze-haired teen, Brendan furrowed his brows.

“There are dangerous things in the woods. We’re going to have to be very quiet and careful make our way through there, so make sure to-”

“Stay right next to you,” teased Cadell with a laugh. “Yes, dad.”

His best friend fixed him with that deadpan expression, causing him to immediately snap his mouth shut and obediently trail after him as Brendan began his path through the gloomy forest. In the shadowy area, there was almost complete silence, save for the occasional chirps of stray crickets hiding in shrubs and naked trees. Just as the two were beginning to grow slightly comfortable, a sudden snicker sounded from behind a spiky bush; Cadell and Brendan spun around, readied their weapons, and stepped farther from the disturbed dark shrub.

With another manic giggle, out stepped an aberrant, abnormal creature that resembled a fox- its coat was matted with dried scarlet fluids, mud, and prickly burs, and its face was absolutely abhorrent. A large, twisted smile was stretched across its wrinkly wet maws, and its eyes looked like gory diamonds stabbed into its disgusting head.

“Walk backwards slowly,” muttered the taller of the two, beckoning for Cadell to get behind him; the creature crept closer at a gradual, steady pace. With another overjoyed snarl, the fox sprung forward with opened jaws, its many razor sharp fangs gleaming ferociously. …

Panting, Brendan and Cadell weaved through the many trunks and branches of the thicket, gaining increasing distance from the fox that pursued them energetically. The forest was like a never ending maze that required pure luck to overpass, and it seemed as though these two were very lucky indeed. Within the span of several more seconds, they reached the edge of the wood’s end; the companions blasted through the last few remaining feet of trees and stumbled into a large, wide area of grayed fields and stubby, dark brushes- in the very center of the meadow, there imposingly stood a towering and crumbling mansion made of gloomy and worn bricks, rusty steel, and cracking windows.

Its inside was completely dark and lacked any noise whatsoever, which made the two teens feel a shiver of uncertainty trickle down their spines like ice water. A howl came from the forest, accompanied by pounding steps and wet pants. The pair spun around to see the creature bounding towards them only a few feet away, and they pounced into action after a wordless debate of what they should do next- they sprinted to the mansion, leaving behind their pursuer.

Brendan leaped forward, yanked open the jammed, creaky door, pushed Cadell forward, then followed behind him and slammed the entrance closed. Scrapes and whines followed the sudden bang that followed them after the door was sealed, and they simultaneously let out sighs of relief at the realization of their close escape and near death.

“Come on, let’s move away from the door,” ordered Brendan. Cadell muttered, “I think we might wanna just neuter that thing next time we see it.” The pair glanced around the building’s interior for the first time since they arrived, and were quite astonished by the beauty of it, regardless of its weathering. Old intricate paintings with golden frames lined the dark, smooth walls, a shattered glass chandelier glittered on the high, curved, crumbly ceiling, and the floor tiles- although dusty- were beautiful swirled marble.

Before the partners could get too distracted by the mansion’s appearance, another loud crash from outside alerted them; they shot a final fleeting glance at the door, then made their way deeper into the silent building. Peeking behind every door to check for any unwanted companions, Brendan was very much on edge for the entirety of their rather brief exploration- Cadell, though, was carefree and relaxed as usual. He yawned and attempted to speed up the paranoid process of his now aggravated best friend, who began ignoring him completely after his sixth complaint of boredom.

“Whoa! Hey, come here, Brendan!” The sulking noirette fixed the emerald-eyed, excited boy with a tired, irritated, and quite frightening glare as he walked out of an empty room that he was scoping out, finding Cadell leaning into the entrance of a chamber illuminated by the light of a match, which the copper-haired teen found lying on a table near the front door.

“It’s a study! There’s papers and books and pens everywhere,” he remarked, traveling deeper into the messy room. With a sigh, Brendan followed after him unenthusiastically. He noticed that Cadell wasn’t downplaying his descriptions at all- it was absolutely chaotic with stray, ripped out pieces of paper and dusty books scattered across the large ebony desk in the center of the study as well as the entire floor.

Brendan tried his best to avoid the many objects as he followed his companion to the shiny wooden furniture. When he stood next to the slightly shorter boy, he could make out with the assistance of the candlelight the messy writing scribbled onto the pages; it was rather difficult to read in the dim lighting, but he noticed that the paragraphs looked like they belonged to a lengthy research project.

“I think a researcher made this stuff. Look, the things that he wrote about look like observations and hypotheses- and look at that open book on the floor! It looks like it’s a journal or something, there are entries and dates,” said Cadell, voicing Brendan’s exact thoughts down to his recent discovery of the interesting leather book.

“You’re right. I’d like to take a closer look at these; you read the journal and I’ll scan the papers. Tell me if you find anything of importance,” responded the silver-eyed teen. “Got it. I’ll light some more matches- let’s try to make sense of this mess.” …

A dull ache encased Cadell Lynch’s small, battered, torn body, and his mind was nothing but a monotonous buzz. The bloody twelve-year-old could feel the sting of a warm, slimy, rough tongue scraping against his raw wounds and the pain of canines digging into his soft flesh with every gnaw of its drool-covered maw. He felt his weak grip on life growing looser by the second; just as his shallow breaths grew slower and he became cold, Cadell felt the continuous lapping of the bloodthirsty dog disappear and heard an agonized howl come from the animal- then, utter quiet.

A hand was placed onto his chest, right over his heart. The last thing Cadell felt before he slipped away was the feeling of being lifted off of the freezing concrete and held close to a warm chest. Cadell was always close to Brendan. Always. Ever since the day that he saved his life from that mutt, the two were practically inseparable; well, Cadell was always annoyed by the noirette’s serious, blunt, overly-protective behavior- but, when he looked up from the book and at the sitting figure of Brendan, he was reminded of just how much he loved the paternal and reserved boy.

Without him, Cadell believed that he never would have been able to survive for as long as he had. The responsibility that the boy always showed kept the two of them alive for over five years, and most likely for many years to come. Usually, the pair stayed very close to the suburbs of Harson City because it was one of the safest areas, but recently they had been traveling towards its outskirts; Brendan had approached Cadell a few weeks ago with a strange look in his icy eyes, and a firm, determined expression on his elegant features.

He then told his partner that he wanted them to leave- not just the abandoned suburbs, but the entire city itself. Cadell tried fruitlessly to convince him not to try something so risky and hopeless, but Brendan had never been more stubborn in his entire life. Eventually, the dismayed boy had no choice but to go along with the pointless plan, as his best friend was more than set on escaping the Hell that was their home. His emerald gaze found the contents of the book once again, and he suddenly snapped out of his daydreams and recalled all that he had read earlier.

“Brendan! This guy was trying to escape the city, too! He wrote about his experience of trying to figure out a solution,” chimed Cadell in excitement.

The paler of the two looked up and said, “These papers… really are experiment results. They’re incredibly detailed and organized; Cadell, I think we’ve found something amazing.” For the first time in a very long while, the ghost of a smile flickered across Brendan’s mouth. “Maybe we could actually figure out a way to get out of here using this information-! Hold on. What the Hell?”

“What is it?”

“‘I’ve grown more hopeless with each passing day; all of my experiments have failed me, and my hypotheses never bring forth any promising results. I’m afraid that there truly is no way out of this disgusting penitentiary. This shall be my last entry, for if I cannot escape the city, then I will have to end my miserable life here. It hurts me that all of my efforts have been in vain, but my story- and research- ends now. I hear them clawing at my door and windows. My revolver is loaded, I have locked the entrance to the attic that I am tucked away in, and once I am done writing I shall drop this book down onto my desk. So, this is goodbye; to whomever is reading this, I pray that you’ll be able to leave, something which I could never do. Good luck. May God save us all,’” whispered the bronze-haired teen.

“There’s a damn body in the attic, Brendan…” The silver-eyed boy suddenly stood up, walked closer to Cadell, and grabbed the book from his hand. “Don’t listen to a thing that old fool wrote. You and I can and will get out of here. Together, we’re going to leave this terrible place- so let’s continue looking through these papers and figure out how to leave this damned city.”

#horror #body horror warning #disturbing #angst #scary stories #writing #lgbtqia #creepy aesthetic

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lindsaywesker · 7 months

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Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday.

‘Sushi’ means sour rice.

The ‘prat’ in ‘pratfall’ means ‘buttocks’.

Confidence is silent. Insecurities are loud.

69 has been sexual slang since at least 1790.

Optimists are, on average, cleverer than cynics.

Farmers get the most sex out of any profession.

The Roman Catholic Church is richer than Croatia.

People with bigger brains take more daytime naps.

Earth has lost 50% of its wildlife in the past 40 years.

In the 1870s, New York had a school for aspiring criminals.

Houses in Britain numbered 13 cost £9000 less than average.

Your immune system has the ability to kill you in 15 minutes.

Entomologist John Midgely has just discovered a fly that can’t fly.

A gender-neutral equivalent of ‘sugar daddy’ is ‘glucose guardian’.

Athletes appear larger if they wear a bigger number on their jersey.

'Playing chess with the pope' is an Icelandic euphemism for having a poo.

One in four currently charting pop songs in the UK samples an older song.

In 1805, British manufacturers made a chamber pot containing Napoleon’s head.

45% of men in the UK would be uncomfortable saying “I love you!” to a male relative.

If everyone in the world washed their hands properly, we could save one million lives a year.

Students who complete a ‘Science Of Happiness’ course are happier than those who don’t.

In 2014, a pine tree planted in memory of George Harrison died after an infestation of beetles.

When a group of people are laughing, people tend to look at the person they trust/like the most.

In 1907, French waiters went on strike for better pay, more time off and the right to have moustaches.

According to new research, Vlad The Impaler, the inspiration for Dracula, may have been vegetarian.

In 2010, McDonalds mistakenly packed and distributed 5000 Happy Meals with a condom instead of a toy.

When a drone bee mates with the queen, he releases his sperm with such force that it can cause an audible pop.

Due to their many customisation options, there are 383 billion different ways to order a latte at Starbucks.

The average woman absorbs up to five pounds of damaging chemicals a year thanks to beauty products.

Caffeine is made of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen, the same as cocaine, thalidomide, nylon, TNT and heroin.

When a woman no longer gets frustrated and upset with you, you can almost guarantee that she doesn't care anymore.

When German economist Edgar Jaffé died, D.H. Lawrence sent a letter to his widow saying he was glad Edgar was dead.

Fish from the Phallicthys genus (literally ‘penis fish’) can have phalluses as big as half their total body length. (Crikey!)

John Cena, WWE superstar, has granted more than 400 Make-A-Wish requests, more than anyone in the charity's history.

Scientists say the brain purposely forgets certain memories in order to avoid information overload and emotional hangovers.

Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, has towns called Intercourse and Paradise. It takes six minutes to get from one to the other.

Stephen Hawking once held a party for time travellers. However, nobody came because he sent out the invitation after the party.

50,000 fake PhDs are estimated to be purchased every year in the United States, while only 40,000 PhDs are earned legitimately.

Studies show that by eating a big breakfast, you won’t feel as hungry the rest of the day, which can lead to more nutritional food choices.

According to a new paper in Nature Human Behavior, opposites do not attract. Over 80% of traits in couples were rated as similar and only 3% of their traits were substantially different.

Male palm cockatoos make drumsticks out of tree branches and rhythmically tap them to attract females. When they are done drumming, they tend to throw away their drumsticks.

In 2018, robbers in Belgium were told by a shop owner that he might have more cash for them to steal if they came back at 6:30. When they returned three hours later, they were promptly arrested by police who’d been tipped off.

Some football matches are now filmed with AI-powered cameras designed to track the ball during play. Much to the annoyance of viewers, during a 2020 Inverness Caledonian Thistle vs. Ayr United match, one camera kept confusing the ball with a bald-headed linesman.

Actor Jack Nicholson grew up believing his biological mother was his sister. When his mother got pregnant at a young age, his grandmother (who he thought was his biological mother) raised him as her son. Nicholson didn't find out this information until 1974, when he was already in his thirties.

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #new blog #lockdown #coronavirus #books #democracy #brexit #cronyism #election #radio #tuesdaymotivation

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xtruss · 11 months

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Photographs by Clark Hodgin for The New Yorker

Trying to Breathe in a City of Smoke

As the world warms and Canada burns, what once seemed unprecedented is becoming familiar.

— By Carolyn Kormann | June 7, 2023

When the smoke comes, you notice it in your body before you see it in the air. On Monday evening, I went for a run and then felt queasy and lethargic. Only on Tuesday did I notice the haze in Manhattan. By Tuesday night, the air smelled like barbecue. On the half-mile walk to my yoga studio, I saw a few people in N95 masks, and I wished I had worn mine. I started to get nauseated; my eyes felt itchy. A young man on the street cried out, “Those Canadian wildfires are sick, bro!” Online, someone tweeted about the “Blade Runner-ass weather.” I half expected the neighborly camaraderie that arises during intense storms and lunar eclipses, but mostly people just squinted and carried on. I worried about Frannie, my ninety-six-year-old landlady, who had walked four blocks to a neighborhood restaurant and back. She told me that she didn’t notice the smoke.

By Wednesday morning, ash was falling in northern New York. School trips and soccer games were cancelled. A friend texted, “Are you going to go outside and take a few drags off the sky?” I heard of a woman sitting on her front steps, struggling to breathe even with the help of oxygen. Friends of friends were reminded of places like Delhi, where daily exposure to severe air pollution can be deadly. New York City recorded the worst air pollution of any major city in the world, according to the company IQAir, and it was still getting worse. Just after noon, the magnolia and tulip trees outside my window shook violently in the wind. As weather forecasters had promised, a wall of smoke blew into Manhattan. At a Broadway matinée, the actress Jodie Comer said that she couldn’t breathe and left the stage.

The smoke was coming from Canada, where more than four hundred wildfires are currently burning. We do not know what caused many of them—a dropped cigarette, lightning, a downed electrical wire—but they are raging through the boreal forests of British Columbia, Alberta, and now Quebec. Wildfires are nothing new in these woodlands, but these are much earlier and larger than usual. And, like so many recent fires, they are directly linked to weeks of anomalous extreme heat. Climate change has created longer, hotter summers; worsened droughts; and fuelled vast bark-beetle infestations that have killed billions of trees.

We keep experiencing things that are unprecedented, worse than anything anyone can remember, even as we’re told that they will become common. “You’re likely to see events like this more often, where you have prolonged heat that dries out forests and makes these fires more likely,” Marshall Burke, a professor at Stanford University, and a leading expert on wildfire-smoke exposure and impacts, told me. Burke has plotted the levels of fine particles, which scientists call PM2.5 because they are 2.5 microns or smaller, in the past seventeen years of New York City air. The past two days, he said, have been off the charts. But even these levels didn’t reach what West Coast cities, including San Francisco and Seattle, have experienced in the past few years.

“There is no safe exposure to PM2.5,” Burke told me. In the past decade, research has shown that these particles can penetrate deep into the lungs, enter the bloodstream, and even reach the brain. They are associated with heart attacks and dementia. Even among healthy people, Burke and his team have found that, with higher levels of air pollution, cognitive performance decreases, and workers are less productive. There is a very strong relationship between even just short-term smoke exposure and poor pregnancy outcomes—in particular, preterm birth. Research by Burke and his collaborators has concluded that, when there are fifty micrograms per cubic metre of PM2.5 in the air, emergency-department visits for asthma tend to double. Burke checked New York’s numbers at that moment, around 1 p.m., and saw that they had reached about a hundred and fifty micrograms. “That’s just crazy,” Burke told me.

I told Burke that smoke had begun to seep into my office, like a deskside bonfire. “This is a really important point,” Burke said. “I mean, we can stay inside, but being inside is imperfect.” He pulled up a map of indoor air quality, which draws on data from citizen scientists who are publicly sharing measurements from their air monitors. “I’m just looking at Manhattan right now,” he told me. “I can see inside people’s homes, and they’re at sixty, or even above a hundred micrograms inside.” This is far above the threshold, outdoors, that would double emergency-room visits for asthma. In poorer communities, highways, power plants, and leaky buildings often make this problem persistent.

By one-thirty, the world through my window looked sepia. The sky turns orange because only longer wavelengths of light penetrate the smoke. Frannie, my elderly landlady, was now concerned. She has spent her life in New York and has never seen anything like this. She put on a mask inside; so did I. I worried about my sister, a teacher in Yonkers, who has bad asthma and felt light-headed and dizzy. “I’m feeling a little nervous and scared,” she told me in a voice mail. “I have students who are asthmatics, too. It’s really eerie to see how it’s bright yellow outside, and you can see the smoke sitting. Nothing that we’ve ever experienced here. Makes me feel more for those that experience this out West. Also, a good teaching opportunity.” She meant, quite literally, a science lesson about air-quality levels and their resulting health impacts. But what is it supposed to teach us? We know the story of the climate crisis, of how wealthy nations have burned fossil fuels at an astonishing rate, pushing our planet to the brink. Yet we live as though we do not, and we breathe the consequences. ♦

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