#cw mentions of abuse

[kitocrystal]

just posting it like this bc Im way too lazy to copy it all down on here

#alnst #alien stage #alnst till #alnst ivan #ivantill #alnst mizi #im so messed up after that round #Im not going to recover im going to hrhehghhj #the violence was all ivan knew to get till’s attention im not okay #im suffering haggagg #dw guys Ill going back to posting the sillies after I rrcover #cw mentions of abuse

[lilybug-02]

Sorry to bring this up, but you used to draw with a guy under the name GameTheSoldier right? Have you seen what he recently posted?

Yes. For starters, I want to reiterate that anyone reading this post NEEDS TO BLOCK HIM. He is an online predator and emotional manipulator.

Trigger Warning Below: (Mentions of manipulation, predatory behavior, grooming, and pornography)

Me and 2 of my close tumblr friends would draw with him constantly on magma.io (all of 2022). He had strange tendencies of guilting us into drawing late into the night and emotionally breaking our characters. February of last year both of my friends came out and told me that he had been talking and drawing with them more privately. He had asked and guilted them into drawing pornography and extremely violent artworks of his and their characters. Both were underage.

I can tell you that what he has "admitted" in his most recent post is not even close to what he actually did.

Gamethesoldier, as a 22+ year old man, targeted MULTIPLE minors online, heavily MANIPULATED them, started long and serious relationships with them, and MANY more disgusting acts with pornography and gore. I went to the police last year, but was unable to get him arrested as he and his victims were in different countries and I myself was not one of his victims.

What he has done is unacceptable, despicable, and criminally illegal. One of my friends was heavily impacted by his actions and is still clearly shaken by what happened. They are at no fault for any of what he did.

For respect to my friends, I kept this quiet, deleting all of my art with him. But recently I saw he was with another magma.io group and... I could NOT let that stand. He does not deserve pity or empathy. He is a criminal and one who has manipulated minors to a horrifying degree.

I apologize for the extreme degree of this post. But I wanted to make it clear, he is not a good person.

#Please let me know in the comments if I need to add more tw or cw tags to this. #serious post #god.... #the shit he's done #he killed multiple of my own comic characters at one point. For a sick “comic plot” of his. Despicable. #If i ever see his face I will bury him six feet under. That is a promise. #tw pornography mention #tw mentions of abuse #tw predator #cw mentions of abuse #cw mentions of gore #predatory behavior #tw #tw manipulation #cw manipulation #cw grooming #tw grooming #cw unsettling #tw unsettling

[moonrosegirl]

I feel like Revolutionary Girl Utena does a good job acknowledging how men are hurt by the patriarchy and are often victims of abuse without using that to excuse how the men in the series hurt the women.

Saionji is probably the most interesting example of this but it extends all the way to Akio, where the series acknowledges that he too is in a coffin but never uses that to excuse his abuse and grooming. At the end of the day, Akio is a bastard abuser, regardless of what might have made him that way.

#everyone dropping their saionji metas has me thinking about him #maybe ​I’ll drop a saionji meta sometime too idk #revolutionary girl utena #cw mentions of abuse

[g0blinwitch]

Not to get controversial on main or whatever but while yes, I do generally believe that people should be able to ship whatever the hell they want and not get harassed, I will still never call my self a proshipper. Like sorry man I'm not associating myself with a bunch of people who chant "Kill the cop inside your head!" with zero irony, take over POCD spaces with their fucking discourse, refuse to listen to victims of sexual assault/incest, and turn their heads at every shred of evidence that no actually, fiction can in fact affect reality. Like yeah don't get me wrong I've heard my fair share of stories of antishippers doing kind of shitty things, but I'd rather align myself with supposed "puriteens" than a group of immature people who chant that "they get off from the haterz bc degration kink!!1!!!111!!" over actually responding to criticism.

#im so done with this discourse ok #can we all just move on? #please? #maybe use that energy for something else? #this is the only time you're going to catch me talking about this shit dw #the only anti I am is anti lore olympus lmaoooooo #i fucking hate that comic #anyway #cw mentions of sa #mentions of sa #cw mentions of abuse #mentions of abuse #proshippers dni #ok im done #gn #its like 3am #im going to bed #also before anyone starts anything yes #you can still tackle “dark” themes in fiction #but there is a difference between writing it as an exploration/part of a character and writing it to get off #ok actually gn #i may wake up doxxed

[doctorhouse5343]

Without Question (I Love You) Chapter 1

"It's time to get up, my love" The sweet voice of his lover whispering into his ear brought a sleepy smile to Dream's lips, but even that wasn't enough to pull him away from the warmth that the fluffy cow hybrid's embrace provided him. He was safe, secure and determined to remain that way as much as possible though the soft kisses pressed against his neck tested his resolve yet he held on. This was a battle that the former show cow would emerge out of victorious, though Hob had a few tricks of his own "I was hoping we could share some strawberries and blueberries together, I even thought of feeding them to you one by one but since you don't want to wake up..."

The brown haired cow grinned mischievously as he saw his pale lover's blue eyes open wide, chuckling at the outraged expression on the beautiful bovine hybrid's face "Do you truly believe I would let the opportunity of hand feeding you sweet berries, watching your brown eyes light up in joy at every mouthful as your lips let out exquisite sounds pass me by, Hob? One would think that after a whole month of you courting me, you would have learned that about me".

 While the pale cow's face kept that expression, the tone that he had used wasn't one void of affection : he truly loved the fluffy cow, even when he acted like a dork "I know my love, I just couldn't go get breakfast without you..It's not a good morning for me if you aren't there by my side". The words were accompanied by soft kisses pressed onto the rosy lips of the star-marked cow, who let out soft moos as he finally got up from where he had laid down "Very well, let us go and eat blueberries" The pair smiled at one another, hands held and fingers tenderly intertwined as they walked off into the field were their breakfast awaited. When they both arrived, Hob was beaming in happiness as his lover fed him sweet fruit as he had promised, letting out pleased moos that made the dark brooding bovine's heart melt. A smile appeared on his face as he fed his beloved fluffy companion a strawberry, reminiscing on how it was like before he was brought to this wonderful farm that he now called a safe haven.

Dream was practicing his posture for what felt like an eternity, he was getting quite tired but kept it for much longer : Roderick Burgess wouldn't be pleased if he caught his prized cow resting so soon. The cow hybrid sighed in relief when, at long last, he was allowed to stop and take a small break for a little while. He took the opportunity to drink some water while his owner was planning their trip to the next town over for yet another competition, it was the only thing that the old man cared about "We will be leaving very soon Dream, so no time for eating or snacking" The show cow was about to protest, he was running on no sleep and needed energy to keep going but the look that his owner gave him chilled his bones, making him lower his head in shame as the thin hand pulled his chin up in a painful manner "The only reason why I brought you in the first place is because of those black and white star-like markings on your body, nothing more. You are lucky I even keep you alive, so stop your whining and do as you are told."

The weak nod that the bovine hybrid gave made the cruel man grin "That's a good boy, now remember : keep your posture steady and don't smile. Instead, give them a haughty look, remind them that they should feel honored to be in your presence. Smiling will ruin your looks, and that's not what we want". The cow soon reluctantly followed Roderick into the vehicle, feeling miserable : even though his markings and good coat always won them first place, it never was good for the man. Where the judges only saw perfection, he always found something that could use some improvement and when that happened, the weeks that Dream could have spent relaxing were instead hours of nonstop practices were he had only short rests and wasn't allowed to sleep. If he even so much as try to close his eyes, he would get a bucket full of icy cold water thrown at him. He shuddered at the thought of it happening, shifting his attention to focus on the view through the car window. Eventually they arrived at the location were the competition was held, frowning as he tried to ignore the fatigue that he felt, doing his best to maintain a good posture in front of the jury. 

Everything was fine for a while until the cow struggled to keep himself awake, which worried a few judges who began to ask if he was alright, if he needed anything "He's fine, he's just being a little diva again" Roderick Burgess smiled at the jury before lifting Dream's head up, grabbing a handful of his black hair when he was sure that he wasn't being watched "Listen up, boy : you are going to be a good cow and stay awake, got it? It won't be today that I will loose just because you can't listen to a simple order" He hissed, not realizing that his prized cow had enough of his attitude : the beautiful cow soon start to snort, glaring at him before headbutting him hard enough for it to hurt. The man tried to fend him off while keeping his balance but instead fell on his rear in a pile of mud. Humiliated and furious, he pointed a finger that was shaking due to how mad he was "I gave you many chances to fix that attitude of yours, yet you prove yourself difficult." His words made the bovine hybrid snort, followed by a disdainful look as he spoke "The only one who needs 'fixing' is you, Mr. Burgess. I have done nothing but try time and time again to exceed your high expectations of me, no matter how impossible of a goal they were yet you persisted to torment me." Dream soon lifted his head, glaring at his owner as he went on "I would much rather be free from you and these tacky events".

The cow was about to go on further when the older man's hand suddenly came in contact with his cheek, the loud smack echoing in the still air "You little ungrateful brat, I'll show you how to be disrespectful to your owner" He raised his hand, determined to hurt the poor hybrid until he'd finally learn his lesson until a kind, gentle voice piped up "Excuse me, sir, may I ask what it is that you are trying to accomplish here?" Everyone's head turned to face the one who spoke, Roderick's eyes narrowing as he scoffed "I am simply reminding my cow who is in charge here, it's a private matter" He punctuated his words with hits of his cane unto Dream's face, hard enough to draw blood but just as he was about to give one last blow, the kind gentleman placed himself in front of the hurt male "That is quite enough, sir. Now I will politely ask you to leave the premises at once before I call the authorities and report you for assault and neglect" The cow stared on in shock as the shorter man held his ground, berating Burgess for his horrible treatment of something that was meant to be cared for and protected at all cost, joined in by the jury.

The horrible man scowled as he quickly realized that there was no way that he could get out without damaging his already tarnished reputation further so it was with a scalding glare and a few choice words that he quickly left the area, leaving the cow hybrid alone with the man that had saved him "Come now, let's get you up, that's it...Carefully now, we are going to patch you up and get you something to eat" The man named Gilbert Green said as he helped him sit down, in no time at all the cow was fed and water to drink, he started to feel a lot better. When he was sure that Dream was alright, Gilbert soon began to talk about the farm that he took care of : a place where many animals that went through horrible situations called their forever home, a haven were they could run in the fields and relax in the sun without a care in the world. The cow listened intently, intrigued by what the kind man was offering him so when Mr. Green asked him if he would like to live with him at his rescue farm, he agreed with no second thought. In no time at all, the pair drove out of the field they were in and made their way down into the countryside before arriving at the lovely ranch were the cozy farm stood, the old farmer soon showed him around the place that he would soon call home while talking about a resident that he had taken in years ago when he started the farm.

"Hob is quite friendly and very affectionate but I am sure you will both get along fine" The idea of seeing another hybrid wasn't appealing to the former show cow at the moment, his focus was solely on recovering and resting : companionship was not something that he was seeking out currently but alas, the minute that he was brought to the one named 'Hob', he was immediately pulled into a very warm hug that soon ended quickly due to Dream headbutting the brown haired cow several times. The prized cow was sure that it was the end of it but the brown eyed cutie proved himself to be just as stubborn as he was, insisting on joining in all activities that he partook in until the ravenette gave in and accepted the fluffy hybrid's friendship and after a lot of wooing on Hob's end, the two cows soon became lovers, spending their nights in the arms of one another. Dream hummed as he was brought back to the present by his lover's tender kisses, the memory of the horrible treatment that he got at the cruel hands of Burgess lingered in his mind a bit but he no longer feared him : he was finally free and would remain that way for the rest of his life. He let out a content sigh as he finished eating, resting his head against the brown haired cow's soft chest as they both looked up at the bright blue sky, enjoying the sight above them, not aware that their tranquility would soon be disrupted by an unexpected guest.

"Shit, shit, shit" Johanna repeated to herself as she drove, trying to get by fast while doing her best to not run a red light, she was in a hurry. She sighed as she listened to the coordinates that the GPS was giving her, already having rejected the idea of using a map to find the quickest route that lead to the Dreaming farm : she was in desperate need of help, one that she was certain that the old farmer could provide her with. She kept glancing at her cellphone, trying to resist the urge to call her girlfriend for the eight time to make sure that she was safe and wasn't gutted by the odd looking hybrid they were currently looking after. She then took a deep breath as she pulled into the driveway of the farm, locking her car as soon as she got out of it. Johanna then climbed up the steps leading to the door of Mr. Green's cozy home, who greeted her warmly and poured her a nice cup of coffee that she eagerly accepted. "You mentioned over the phone that you were in dire need of help, something about a rescue that you are worried about?" The farmer asked gently, giving the young woman some time to calm herself down as she began to explain her problem : she and her girlfriend had taken in a white haired cow that had odd markings that looked like a full body skeleton on his blackish gray coat (starting as a half skull on his face), the latter had been raised for illegal cow fights for most of his life until his owner was arrested for it.

While the other cows that were found at the now abandoned barn all found a place to stay at the time, the skeletal-marked cow known as Hobo Heart was unwanted by all the rescue farmers due to the fact that he been deemed as dangerous due to how he always aimed for the heart when he fought others. When Johanna arrived there, she was shocked on how docile the bovine hybrid was and intrigued by his markings, she didn't even think twice before taking him along with her. It soon became clear however that the former fighting cow was unwell : he barely ate the food that he was given and was unable to sleep "That's why I have called you, I think that Hobo Heart will be safer in your care than mine...I am worried that if he stays there longer, he will eventually get really sick". The farmer nodded a few times as she finished her tale, pondering for a moment "Bring him here in a hour, I will have everything needed for him to feel welcome, rest assured" They shook hands before parting ways, the woman now feeling relieved knowing that the hybrid was going to go in a good home.

When the white haired cow was soon brought in the farm, Johanna was sure that she had to keep reassuring him that he would be safe but it was clear that it wasn't needed, he was quite calm already. His blue eyes scanned his surroundings, his ears flicking as the farmer talked about his two residents : a black haired cow that was pale as snow with black and white star markings on his body who was named Dream and a brown eyed fluffy-brown haired cow named Hob "I don't know if he will be alright with Hobo Heart's presence, Dream has always been the only here besides Hob.." Gilbert admitted as they both watched how the new resident reacted to his new environment "But I am sure that it will be all fine in the end" He said with a reassuring smile, though the worry was still there as the three soon head over to the barn where the two mates spent their afternoons together. When Mr.Green called out to the pair of them, Hob ran out with a smile while Dream walked out elegantly, a raised eyebrow in questioning as he stared at the odd cow standing before him "Boys, this Hobo Heart, he will be staying with us from now on so please try to make him feel welcome" The former show cow's eyes narrowed as he took in the newcomer's appearance, wondering why the bovine hybrid couldn't stay elsewhere but he held his tongue, not in the mood to cause a scene. 

Dream's attitude didn't bother the ex-fighting cow much, in fact it was his companion's reaction that made him tilt his head in bewilderment : he could have sworn that Hob's already shiny brown eyes lit up the minute that he looked at him, he even could see the brown haired cow's tail swishing really fast in excitement "Are you alright?" Hob's tail swishing only increased when the beautiful skeletal-marked hybrid spoke, his voice a melody to his ears as he suddenly ran to the newcomer to pull him into a big hug, making the farmer chuckle while Johanna stared on in worry before relaxing when she saw Hobo Heart let out a small moo as he sank his head in the warm chest of the other cow. The fluffier cow beamed in joy when the cute skull-faced cow swished his tail in contentment, murmuring something that sounded like 'So warm' when Hob pressed soft kisses to his head, making his ears flick as he smiled up at him (Dream was seething and pouting at the sight).

Eventually the rescuer bid her goodbyes, promising that she'd come again to visit before driving off, leaving the bovine in the care of the very loving Hob, who then proceeded to drag him to the barn for a well needed nap, followed by a very annoyed Dream. The brown haired cow fell asleep the moment that he closed his eyes, letting out soft snores that brought a smile to the new cow's lips as he rested his head on the brown haired cutie's fluffy chest "Do you want to join?" Hobo Heart asked the raven haired bovine hybrid, who was scowling from a safe distance. A huff left the beautiful star-marked cow's rosy lips, a haughty look on his face as he answered "And risk getting impaled in my sleep by your sharp horns ramming into my body? I'd rather decline the offer" The tone that the former champion used didn't bother the dark cow, instead he simply fell asleep in the comforting arms of his first ever friend, unbothered by the deadly glares thrown in his direction. It was going to take a miracle to make the beauty of the Dreaming farm warm up to the new cow that dared take his mate's attention away, until then it was war.

#without question au #spooky throuple #dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman fanfiction #dream x hob x hobo heart #cow!dream x cow!hob x cow!hobo heart #have some cute cow hybrids to brighten your day #cow!hob #cow hob gadling #cow!dream #cow!hobo heart #cw hybrids #hobo heart #cw mentions of abuse

[justguy13]

Yeah, my boy! My son!

#pretty blood oc #cw mentions of abuse

[cyphyree]

In the darkness, Giorno clutched his heart. It was lit with a cold fire, the pain strangling him from the inside like thistles. His hands trembled. He dropped to his knees and coughed as if to vomit out the thorns inside him.

Footsteps.

He could see the figure of a boy standing over and studying him expressionlessly. Sharp eyes, black hair chopped short. A ragged collar shirt evidently torn and sewn back carelessly together.

Giorno gritted his teeth. "I thought you were dead."

The boy cocked his head. "Why should I be?"

Giorno doubled over as the invisible ailment grew stronger, choking him. "I killed you," he hissed. "You were weak and scared and I wasn't going to let you get in my way."

"You're a fool." The boy's-- Giorno’s-- voice was cold and unyielding. "Did I take beatings and neglect to be thanked like this? Did I endure all those years and survived just so you can brush me off like I'm nothing? Your empire is built on both of our shoulders."

Giorno looked up. Their eyes met and even through hazy vision Giorno could feel the intensity of Haruno's gaze. The boy whom he tried to drown, out of spite, out of shame. Out of necessity, he thought.

"Remember, Giorno Giovanna," said Haruno. His voice was clear and resolute. "You exist as you are not because of powerful people, but because of the compassion of a quiet child."

"You... you deserved to rest," muttered Giorno after a while. "There’s no use lingering in the past."

The past.

For some reason it felt like the memories of someone else, and Giorno was only here presently to carry them on. The memories of someone familiar, but distant and gone.

"Lingering in the past isn't your problem," said Haruno softly. "But having not the time to grieve, is."

And when Giorno woke up later that night, he watched in the darkness as double vision of his shaking hand became one.

#this has been sitting in my phone for a while i guess i have a lot of thoughts that i dunno how to talk about kinda #nothing resolved or concrete just snippets #jjba #golden wind #giorno giovanna #not art #vento aureo #haruno shiobana #jojo's bizzare adventure #cw mentions of abuse #c6 ramble #jojo thoughts

[liltumgrum]

Modern aMerican Football au Stormlight

Kholin: a family notorious for their skill, domination and violence in professional football

Dalinar: a retired player turned coach. Has had many scandals including drugs/alcohol, a wild divorce case, suspected murder, and constant brawls. In his older age he has been attempting to change his public face and prioritizing the health of his players. He has high expectations for his two sons... all that Dadlinar stuff.

Adolin: a college football player who is widely liked. He plays the part of perfect son, but dreams of transferring to fashion school. All of his attempts to be apply have been denied because of his family reputation and how everyone kind of assumes its a practical joke. They don't take his genuine interest and intelligence into consideration. They think he would be wasting his athletic potential by pursuing anything else. Dalinar also probably shuts down or intimidates anyone that might consider letting his son change career paths.

Renarin: basically a bench warmer on the team. or a water boy. They only let him on because of his family name. He deserves better and is majoring in philosophy/literature.

Kaladin: His family are war refugees. He suffers from ptsd and depression from the violence he experienced and the death of his younger brother. He was raised with the expectation of being a doctor, but fell in love with sports and the teamwork after moving to America. It served as a coping mechanism. His high school coach, Amaram, sacrificed his teams safety to win a bet during state competition. Kaladin won the game for them, but was injured and cast out of the team. His record is permanently tarnished because of a fight he had with said coach. Now he is a field paramedic for his college's team and fighting to make more safety regulations for young players.

Shallan: A transfer journalism student from Europe. She thinks American football is stupid. But she also thinks some of the players are hot and makes fan art of them. Shes interning under Jasnah, a football commentator, and general critic. Who she also totally doesn't have a crush on.

Syl: I like the idea people have for her in a modern au being Kaladin's long distance internet friend.

Pattern: I think Pattern could basically be the same but rather than a magic spren thing, he is another part of Shallan's psychosis.

Moash: Came from a similar situation as Kaladin and they bonded heavily. He became extremely jaded upon seeing the privilege shown to certain players, Elhokar, and general racism in society. Infuriated with what they could get away with, he decided to take justice into his own hands. This led to a falling out with Kaladin, an attempted murder, a warrant for his arrest, and getting in with the wrong crowd. He now suffers from drug addiction, and is unable to seek help. He regularly harasses and stalks Kaladin.

Teft: a physical therapist/chiropractor hired by the college team. Has taken Kaladin under his wing.

Wit:... I cant decide what for him. I think it would be funny if he was like a frat boy, but isn't actually enrolled in the school. He's just strangely there. Everywhere. Also somehow was in Europe and knows Shallan. Is Jasnah's boyfriend bc that's too cursed not to include. He could also be a commentator.

Maya: lol what if she was Adolin's lucky football? Poor maya

That's all i got for now. Would appreciate any ideas on Szeth. Maybe he's an unprofessional football (soccer) player? They scrimmage against him and he kicks their butts solo. Russian assassin? Both? I have no idea ya'll

#i know nothing about american football #is my favoritism showing? sorry #probably not gonna actually write this but its fun to think about #thoughts over cereal #while i was talking about this with my sister #i missed the fedex guy #and he went to the wrong door and scared my land lady #oopsie #look just bc i said its in america doesnt mean that szeth wouldn't still be the only white guy #i will cut off a limb before i except a whitewashed stormlight #the stormlight archive #rythm of war spoilers #kinda #words of radiance spoilers #cremposting #cw mentions of abuse #cw mention of drugs

[fifiophobia]

I saw this panel and it made me feel terrible for Nightwing, and upset at Batman. So, I decided to draw Starfire getting revenge on Batman

Also, if anyone thinks that Starfire is too nice to do this, here are some panels that show Starfire's feisty side

#art #fanart #batman #starfire #koriand'r #kory anders #nightwing #dick grayson #bruce wayne #dc comics #doodle #panel redraw #digital art #new teen titans #batman's c+ parenting #cw mentions of abuse #I hope one day we get to see these two fight #I know Batman was grieving Jason but that does not give him the right to hurt his other son #From what I've heard Kori doesn't really like Batman too much #I can see why #As I mentioned in another post of mine #I wonder how/if Batman would hurt any of Dicks children #he's already prone to hurting anyone who gets too close to him #I hope Bruce stops treating Dick like an emotional punching bag #And I hope that if Dick has any kids (I.E. Mar'i) #that Bruce learns to get his emotions under control #Because if he hurt Mar'i then at best he'd lose his family and at worse he'd most likely get his face blasted by Kori #I'm just intrigued by the effects of Bruce's parenting style on Dick #and how that would affect Starfire or anyone else in the Grayson fam

[wisteriasymphony]

not to toot my own horn but i've been re-reading Chapter 37 of TWEOS, and good GOD i'm sometimes in awe of how blunt yet disgusting I wrote Gabriel to be in this section.

just reading all of the times Gabriel calls his only son a "dog fucker". EW. and like, not only is that incredibly crass language for Gabriel, he only uses it in this context, but like—

that dog is an actual human person that we've spent the last 37 or so chapters learning to care about. she's not even referred to as Lydia or even as "that girl"— It's either "the whore". or dog.

and like, no wonder Gabriel would murder Claudia in a heartbeat, not only is she inhuman to him, he considers her incapable of rational thought. he frames Adrien's consensual relationship with her as coercion, as rape— because he doesn't regard the lower classes with enough dignity to see it as anything else. he even considers it infectious:

"Yes, boy, put down. Euthanized. Disposed of. Has fucking dogs made you dumber too?"

just-- eeuaaaghh it's revolting. but it's so visceral. yay me ig

#tweos meta posting #cw disturbing imagery #miraculous lb #miraculous fandom #thewarmembraceofshadow #cw abuse #cw mentions of abuse

[dunmertwink]

Songbird

Word Count: 4,446 (17-20min read)

Baldur's Gate 3

Summary: (Part I of II) --ACT I SPOILERS-- Basically how I imagined Mizora's arrival at camp after sparing Karlach to have gone. After she leaves, it becomes a re-write of the conversation you can have with Wyll. I wanted to characterize my Tav more as well as show his and Wyll's close relationship (and history).

I don't think I've ever posted my writing here - so y'all are in for a real treat (sarcasm). I'm not the best writer so, if you make it thru this, you are a saint. And thank you!

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, physical, and sexual abuse

The camp was thrust into utter chaos at Mizora's sudden arrival; Gale may have lost his knickers for how high he jumped. There was much shouting and bumping into one another as weapons were drawn (weapons a la pots and pans), and the dog, for the moment, had gone barking mad.

The devil's business was simple: she'd come to collect. Her cheeky, nonchalant grin soured when she looked upon her charge and his living, breathing target, whose head was still attached. Interesting.

"Tsk. Naughty, naughty," Mizora hummed.

Wyll's bronze complexion paled, and his stomach launched into his chest. His uneasy gaze drifted between Mizora and Karlach, the tiefling woman he was contracted to kill. He pursued her into Avernus, the first layer of the Hells, then onto the Mind Flayer vessel that planted this lovely little parasite into his one good eye. This, of course, was under the pretense that she was a devil; Archdevil Zariel's attack dog, not the mortal she turned out to be.

Amidst all the chaos, the entire camp watched in horror as Wyll appeared to exit his body at Mizora's command. He was anguished, grunting and gasping for air. Searing flames and a thick, blackest black abyss engulfed him, and the camp lost sight of him for a moment. The group's clamoring to pull Wyll from this abyss was futile. He returned a moment later, but he was… different.

"There," Mizora said, pleased with herself.

Wyll's head ached as heavy horns sprouted from his forehead. His body changed—angles sharper, and his once deep brown eye glowed a demonic red. There was a soreness about his whole body, and the last remnants of sweltering heat could be felt in his extremities.

The devil was saying something to him, but he couldn't make out her words. His head was buzzing with a mighty headache, new from the weight of his infernal horns. A loud ringing blocked out any hope of a thought. He could make out the shapes of Kestrel, the tiefling bard, Karlach, Shadowheart, the Sharran cleric, and Gale, the awkward, bumbling wizard, all fussing over him, but their words, too, were muffled by this awful din.

Mizora took in the scene. Satisfied, she opened up a portal to her domain. She would not leave, though, without uttering the final remark.

"I do hope you enjoy your new body, Wyll. There is magic that even I can't change," with a chuckle and a snap of her fingers, her demonic wings curled around her, and the blackest black abyss of her portal enveloped her, "Hmph, Ta-ta."

There and gone in an instant, Mizora's departure allowed the camp to finally settle into the quiet rhythm of before.

All had retired to their tents a bit more relaxed; the danger had passed, at least for the moment. Even the dog, Scratch, settled down and, as usual, selected his sleeping arrangements for the night. He chose Lae'zel, the stern, fearsome Githyanki warrior, and followed her to her tent, much to her chagrin.

"Well. That was… something," Gale scratched his head and sighed, visibly dispelling the anxiety of the moment, "Best to get some rest, if such a thing can be achieved. I do hope Wyll is all right. That can't be easy.

"But, I also wish he had mentioned being a warlock—pacted to a devil. Might have been a pertinent detail…"

The group still, of course, had these grotesque little brain worms to contend with: a "gift" from a fanatical, power-obsessed god with ambitions to usurp the known realms.

"If I find this creature's slobber on my greaves, I will skin it," she grumbled.

Everyone knew she loved the dog but stubbornly refused to admit it. This world was new to her after all, and she may have taken a liking to it, much to her dismay.

Unnerved, Kestrel remained by the campfire, his gaze drifted between the flames' graceful ballet and the dirt once blackened by the devil's portal. The ebbing heat warmed his skin, engulfing him like a cozy blanket.

He leaned back, his gaze following the swirling smoke rising into the dark expanse, illuminated by the silver moon. The night sky was awash with stars—thousands of tiny, sparkling, white jewels embroidered into the black velvet firmament. He could hear the soft lapping of the river Chionthar's waves against the rocky shore and its bubbling current surrounding the camp.

Fireflies bumbled about, little candles floating through the air, blissfully unaware of the world around them. Peepers and crickets composed a peaceful symphony in time with the crashing waves of the river.

Wyll—where was he? Kestrel didn't see him return to his tent like the others. Understandable after what had just happened.

He imagined it was agony; having every piece of one's soul violently ripped through each layer of the Hells. And coming back… transformed. He also knew from experience how much horns hurt. At least he'd had the benefit of time. Wyll's just… popped out, fully formed. In an instant. Kestrel found himself idly rubbing the base of his horns, remembering their dull pain as they slowly broke through his skin, growing up. And—gods—the headaches.

Aside from that gruesome transformation - how was he feeling? Lost, maybe. The once proud "Blade of Frontiers," hero of the people, now a devil. A prolific monster-hunter, now a monster himself. Hmph, Astarion was probably giddy from the irony of that. Maybe Wyll saw it, too, and had a chuckle to himself. But still, Kestrel knew it had to, on some level, sting.

There, Kestrel convinced everyone that his wild coughing fit was simply from the choking smoke of the inn's fire—not a panic attack sending saliva down the wrong pipe.

His gaze drifted upwards toward the soft, ghostly glow of the moon. A painful memory pricked the back of his skull—the same memory that had plagued him in Waukeen's Rest earlier that day.

The elven woman they'd rescued from the inferno, Counsellor Florrick of Baldur's Gate, had dusted off her purple gown. The gesture wasn't much use - she was covered head to toe in ash. Nevertheless, she stood tall and informed her saviors that Goblins and Drow had attacked the inn—set fire to everything… and taken the duke, Grand Duke Uldar Ravenguard, Wyll's father.

Kestrel suddenly realized why Wyll seemed so familiar. His heart seized then. With lungs burning, panic overtook him as he began to vividly picture a baby-faced knight in shining armor, storming through golden gates, his wooden practice sword in a sheath meant for an iron one.

No matter how hard he tried to shake it then—in front of this stately official from Baldur's Gate and her contingent of Flaming Fists, the memory persisted. He doubled over, coughing wildly between desperate gasps for air.

He chuckled about it; what a fool he must have looked like. After that display, he had doubts that the counselor had put much faith in him. But even now, as he sat idly by the fire's warmth, in the night's stillness, his breath hitched.

~

"Ah, young master Ravenguard, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

That voice. It tore at the recesses of Kestrel's mind like a gnoll from its host. Ripping. Visceral. Gnawing.

A fourteen-year-old boy stood tall in the grand foyer of the manor, stoic and determined, his warm brown face still plump from baby fat.

The symbol of the Flaming Fists was emblazoned on his leather jerkin. His small, iron pauldrons glistened in the fire-light of the manor hall. He clutched at the hilt of a sword concealed by its sheath. The sword was wooden—but maybe the boy hoped no one would call his bluff.

"I wish to speak to the Lady Zamura," his voice cracked, still in the throes of puberty.

"Would you? Well, far be it from me to refuse the son of the Grand Duke," the voice slithered and snaked its way through Kestrel's memory.

At the top of the angled stairs stood a shaking, tiefling girl of seventeen years. She wore a royal-blue brocade gown with intricate gold embroidery dotted with pearls. A large sapphire of the deepest blue was the centerpiece of a golden circlet upon her forehead. Her curly, raven-black hair was neatly tied by golden cuffs into two long braids over either shoulder, reaching her waist. There was a faint, purple handprint across her blue-gray cheek.

The man turned from young Wyll Ravenguard and beckoned the girl to his side. Like a herded sheep, she obeyed. He towered over the girl—a hulking mass of fine silk and furs. His thick, pale pink hand adorned with a sharp onyx ring clutched her shoulder like a monster's claw around its prey. She did not make eye contact with either of the two humans.

"My sweet, the son of the Duke is here to see you," the man's grip on her shoulder tightened.

Her gaze slowly rose to meet the boy's. A shaky, feigned smile began to cross her meek countenance.

"Hello," she uttered, her voice barely audible.

The boy bowed curtly to the girl and spoke in a dignified manner, "Hello, Lady Zamura." He cleared his throat and continued,

Every fiber of the girl's being urged her to run to the boy, jump into his arms, and escape from this gilded, marble-encrusted hell. Every ounce of her body wanted nothing more than to scream, "Help me!"

"A few townsfolk came to my father on your behalf—earlier this evening, you were seen in the lower city.

"They said that you must have run away… trying to escape this place.

"That my father's Flaming Fists were contracted to bring you back here.

"I need to know that you are here of your own volition."

The man's grip on her shoulder tightened immensely. Fear smothered her heart and silenced her inner screams.

"Well, my love, tell him how happy you are here," there was so much venom in his tone that Kestrel was sure Wyll heard it then.

But this fourteen-year-old boy with a wooden sword could do nothing to save this girl. He knew it; his defeated posture said as much. The vile, festering pustule of a man holding her hostage knew it. Even she knew it.

A lump grew in her throat, threatening to break her demure facade. She swallowed it as best she could, feeling the man's grip constrict evermore. It hurt.

"I'm very happy here. I'm to be married soon."

~

Those words felt like a cold blade in Kestrel's heart, even ten years later. The one thing that horrid nightmare revealed to him now—is that Wyll was good. He was always good; with him, he carried a heart of gold. He didn't deserve to feel like a monster—he could never be one.

He chose to spare Karlach's life at great cost to his own, a woman he never met and was under contract to kill. Likewise, all those years ago, he decided to march into that manor and confront a great beast for a girl he'd likely only heard stories of.

Kestrel's guilt panged in his chest. After Wyll's transformation, he accosted him, hollering about how he hypocritically waxed poetic about steering clear of the devil Raphael, yet there he was, pacted to Mizora. The brave, baby-faced fourteen-year-old Wyll rushed back into Kestrel's memory. He had to find Wyll, if anything, to apologize.

Wyll sat in the rocky sand; his knees pulled up to his chest. He sullenly watched the small waves lap at the shore beneath his bare feet. The water was icy-cold against his skin—a relief from the searing, skin-melting heat he'd felt during his harrowing experience not moments ago.

His mind wandered to dark places. What's the use in doing the right thing, if it means being punished? Who was he kidding, he would never change his ways. Couldn't. Somehow, though, he knew those ways would be his end.

"There you are," a chocolatey voice pulled Wyll back from his sea of bleak thoughts.

The bard definitely put on airs. Hells, he even gave Astarion a run for his money. Beneath all the layers of bullshit, though, his heart was kind. Wyll hadn't known him long, but that much was plain to see—no matter how hard the bastard tried to hide it.

He looked out for this rag-tag group of misfits. Helped the grieving bard Alfira finish her song. His camaraderie with the tiefling children was impressive. Saved one of them from harpies and another from a venomous snake.

He even gave of himself to keep the vampire fed. Sure, there may have been a less noble motive behind this one (surely, those two didn't believe that the camp was unaware of their late-night trysts in the woods). Nonetheless, Kestrel Everdusk was a good friend to have.

They'd gotten into a spat when Mizora arrived—Wyll could remember that much over the ringing. It was faint now, and he could finally think. Wyll couldn't blame the bard; he'd put everyone in danger by keeping such a secret as Mizora. He wondered what the others thought of his devilish appearance now—wondered what Kestrel thought of him.

"Wyll, I'm sorry I was short with you earlier. I—"

"No. You were right."

"Hm?"

"Wyll, ugh. Look, we all have our secrets. I can understand why the Blade of Frontiers would want to keep the true font of his power under lock and key."

"I should have told you about it—it was reckless of me not to. There's too much on the line."

He sighed, "Mizora is a fickle creature, even as devils go. I put you all in danger."

There was a brief pause between them—both mesmerized by the soft waves cast by the river's current.

"Pah. The Blade of Frontiers. Look at him now. Hideous. A horned devil—a gods-damned monster," Wyll stared down into his rippling reflection below.

His demonic red eye glowed faintly on the water's surface, his prominent horns protruding from his forehead, then curling up and back over his neatly-rowed locs.

Kestrel smiled cheekily, "Am I a monster?"

Wyll recoiled, stammering, "Shit, n—no! I uh…"

That made Wyll smile. Maybe even like a fool. There was a quiet warmth around them now despite the cold water.

A gentle giggle escaped Kestrel's plump lips, "Easy, Tiger, I'm teasing. I'd say you're quite the handsome devil.

"People will see what they want to.

"You can save all the cats from trees and help all the old ladies cross the street that you want, and they'll still see a devil.

"You are the only one who truly knows your heart. You know that you are no monster. I know. We all do. Those that love you will see you.

"You're still the Blade of Frontiers. And whatever else you want to be."

Wyll looked down at their reflections. Kestrel's red-tipped horns gracefully curved back from his forehead in an elegant twisting pattern. His eyes glowed white as the moon with a bright, red ring around his sharp, feline-esque pupils. He was downright pretty if Wyll was honest. He felt his cheeks grow hot, flushing red. He thanked the gods for the darkness. Now, Kestrel seemed so very familiar—yet he couldn't place why.

"Was your pact what drove a wedge between you and your father?" Kestrel asked, recalling the conversation at Waukeen's Rest regarding Wyll and his father's estrangement.

"Ah, it certainly didn't help, but a rift had been growing there for a while."

"Oh?"

Wyll chuckled, his gaze falling from the water into his lap, "Aye, I'd say the first time I saw him differently was when I was fourteen."

Kestrel's expression sank. A pang of fear struck him, and he tried to fight the rising tide of panic. Fourteen? I knew you then, if you remember.

Wyll continued, "You see, there was this girl—"

Gods.

"A bard, like you. Tiefling, too. I never heard her play, but I'm told she was a legend. One of those—ah, what's the word—prodigies. They called her The Siren of the Wide."

Shit.

"Some noble took a liking to her and snatched her off the streets one day. Folks from the lower city came to petition my father for her rescue."

Kestrel tried to steady his breathing, but the memory trickled back as Wyll spoke.

"My father refused—that noble's family, the Vels, was in too many pockets. Highly influential in the upper city. Political suicide if he crossed them.

"So, I took it upon myself."

He laughed, "I brought my wooden practice sword. Hid it in an iron sheath. Can you imagine?"

Kestrel let out a nervous chuckle. Wyll continued with his tale.

Kestrel froze—a flash of an intricate illusion he set in his favorite hiding spot played in his mind. A disturbing scene of himself hanging with a blank, deathly stare and his head cocked to one side. The illusion was deep - it even had a touch component that would rely on the finder's memory of how his body felt. It took quite a bit of concentration. A shudder ran through his body, and nausea churned in his stomach.

"The bastard had a troll's grip on her shoulder. Made her say that she was fine. I knew she wasn't.

"A ten-day or so later, all of Baldur's Gate found out that she'd died. Suicide. The night before that sham of a wedding.

"I was so angry with my father—we could have saved her—"

Wyll must have noticed, "Ah, are you alright?"

"Oh, the water's cold, is all," Kestrel deflected again as he had at Waukeen's Rest. No. Nore more. Wyll deserves the truth.

He shifted nervously, pulling his feet from the water and his knees up to his chest.

"There's something I should tell you," he spoke slowly, each word becoming shakier than the last, "I… struggle to talk about it but—"

"You don't have to—"

"No, I need to. But, erm, I can't—"

Wyll didn't think he'd ever see the bard fumble over his words. But here he was, struggling to string together a sentence. Unsure. He watched as the tiefling squinted his eyes shut and exhaled deeply, grounding himself.

"I'm not good at talking about this, so, erm, if you don't mind, I'd—" the tiefling fidgeted, "I'd like to tell you a story."

To Wyll, that last bit sounded more like a question than a statement. He laughed, jokingly scandalized: a bard who's lost his eloquence? Absurd.

"I'd love a story," he smiled cooly.

Kestrel let out another shaky breath before he spoke. His shoulders sank as he collected his legs in an embrace, resting his chin over his knees. He turned to face Wyll, letting an arm dangle to draw shapes in the sand beside him.

"Bear with me here—it may be a bit… juvenile. I'm, erm, not in my right mind."

"Of course."

He cleared his throat and began slowly:

There once was a bird who sat in her mother's nest, Feathers plain and dull like rags on her breast. She longed for plumes of beautiful color— "Those you shall never have," said her tawny mother.

A sorrowful song she sang, and a crowd did gather. "But, little bird, you're so lovely; what's the matter? Your bosom is full, and your song is true, Nay, there isn't a man who does not covet you."

T'was not love that the bird lamented in her art; But a plumage to mirror that within her heart. Handsome, billowing feathers of all hues, Maybe the deep reds of roses, or perhaps ocean blues.

The crowd did not understand but loved her song, did they, For the crowd grew like wildflowers on that day. So big was the gathering around the little bird That her father flew in, astonished at what he'd heard.

"We are not songbirds!" He snarled, all fire and rage, "For songbirds are scandalous, impure, and depraved! You would be proper, and I'll see it true!" Off her father did fly, all feathers of brightest blue.

Wyll heard Kestrel's voice waver, and his words came slower. It was clear to Wyll that he was stringing this story together on the fly, impressive for not being in his right mind.

The tiefling paused for a moment before steeling himself to continue. Though shaky, he found his momentum and a certainty ran through his words:

Lament did the sorrowful little bird once more. Larger a crowd, she beckoned than ever before. "A siren song," said they, all cheers and fanfare— But wretched was her heart, so full of despair.

Her father returned, on a man's shoulder he perched. "No longer will I see our hard-won esteem besmirched. A lady you will be—proper and demure. This man will see to that—of this, I am sure."

The man smiled with the teeth of a lion Dressed in fine silks, gold jewelry, and diamonds. From under his velvet cape, he did lift A shining, gilded cage—"A Gift!"

The man clipped the little bird's tawny brown wings. He placed her head in a bridle so she could not sing. He tried to break her bones and her spirit, too. Nay, there wasn't a thing the wildflower crowd could do.

With broken bones but an iron-clad spirit, she cried "No more will I be forced to live in this lie!" From the gilded cage, she set herself free. But her wings were broken, and she could not flee.

Again and again, she escaped her cage, But the lion-man grabbed the little bird in a rage. "Retreat from me, you will not, foolish bird. For I am your master, and you will heed my word."

Kestrel paused, memories of the man's grotesque rage resurfacing. "You are to be my wife—and you will do as I say!" the man shouted and spat, hot with a fiery rage over Kestrel's refusal to pleasure him. Those vile words echoed in his mind. The man struck him that night. So deep was the gash across his lip from the man's onyx ring that it left an indented scar.

The man had Kestrel's arm in a vice grip, one that left a nasty bruise behind. He took what he wanted that night, anyway. The tiefling tried to push back the memory of the pain and fear resurfacing.

Shutting his eyes tight, his breath quickened - the panic ever rising in his chest. He felt a warm hand gently brush his shoulder and flinched —it was only Wyll, who drew back his hand apologetically.

"Gah. I'm sorry—" Kestrel gasped. He dug his hand deeper into the sand, feeling each rocky granule rake against his skin.

"Breathe. Take your time. I quite like your story," Wyll beamed a comforting smile.

Kestrel nodded and took a moment to regain himself. He wanted to tell this story more than anything. He exhaled deeply and continued,

Her spirit now broken, the little bird despaired No more pain could she suffer; no more evil could she bear. The flame of the hearth by her cage serenely burned. For the sun-yellow fire to engulf her, she yearned.

Snapped were her bones, and clipped were her wings, An end to her strife, true peace this blaze could bring. Out from her cage, one last time, steadfast did she leap. "No more can the lion-man hurt me," with joy she did weep.

The blaze overtook her, her tawny wings brightest red Sun-yellow was her belly; fiery crimson was her head. The fire consumed her and thus was the little bird's end. But joyously, her last moments in color she did spend.

No more did she suffer, no more did she cry. So serene in silent death did she lie. She wished only to live a life in vivid color, To live as her true self and not as a caged other.

From the little bird's ashes, the fire yet burned, From these flames, a vivid new life was earned. A songbird of steel-blue, copper, and white, Strong of spirit and unbroken wings took flight.

Over fields of wildflowers, the songbird did fly, He flew over deep seas and hills that kissed the sky. His song was beautiful—his call, proud and sincere. His powerful song was sung loud for all to hear.

He sang of a little tawny bird who suffered much; Her father's betrayal and the lion-man's clutch. "I sing for the little bird, for a songbird was she. I sing for the little bird, for the little bird is me."

The only sounds that remained as Kestrel finished his tale were the soft, lapping waves of the Chionthar and the peepers among the cattails. He felt that a weight had been lifted off of him. That somehow, his tormentor's grip on his mind loosened ever so slightly. His idle gaze returned to Wyll, who seemed far away. Oh no.

Wyll's mind wandered. The river's gentle waters still lapped at his feet, which now felt bitterly cold. He stared blankly into the rippling tide. Kestrel is the Siren of the Wide—the damsel he wished so badly he could have saved ten years ago! The damsel that he, and all of Baldur's Gate, had thought dead. The reason, at least in part, for the sowing of his and his father's difficulties.

But how could this be? There was a body—a massive, city-wide funeral. The Vel family was disgraced; they lost everything and were run out of the city as pariahs—the Siren's murderers. Good riddance. But... how? It's impossible!

"You're… her," Wyll breathed in astonishment, "But—how? They found your body—there was a funeral—all of Baldur's Gate mourned!"

Kestrel shifted where he sat, taken aback, "Really?"

A funeral? People... mourned him? He figured the Vel family would simply toss the duplicity into the Chionthar. Then... who found him, if not the Fists?

A snapping sound cut through Kestrel's thoughts. He followed the sound to Wyll, snapping his fingers, trying to get his attention.

"Kestrel! How did you do it?"

"An illusion," Kestrel hummed, eyes distant, "I altered the 'Invoke Duplicity' spell."

He spoke plainly; it was clear his mind was elsewhere—lost in the night of his brilliant escape from Baldur's Gate.

END PART I

#bg3 #im not a great writer so uhhh if you made it through this ill give you a sticker or smth idk #my ocs #oc: kestrel everdusk #my writing #baldurs gate 3 #wyll ravengard #bg3 tav #bg3 wyll #long post #cw mentions of abuse #all the other companions are mentioned too but this is mostly between my tav and his bestie wyll #me and gale: i have been known to try my hand at poetry #nah but seriously if you read it thank you! and you can totally send me an ask saying so and ill literally find you an online sticker lmao

[trainerbymoonlight]

🦕- The muse talks about their very first pokemon

man, apollo. my sweet lil guy. where do i even start with him? i can already tell this is gonna be a long post, i tend to get sappy when i talk about him- and how could i not? he’s been my partner pokémon for nine years of my life.

(i guess, uh.. cw for vague references to past injury to a child?)

[photo of what looks to be a very young Floris in a lab, smiling at the camera as they hold a small Torchic in their arms, which is gripping onto their t-shirt with its tiny claws and glaring in displeasure at whoever’s behind the camera.]

this was taken right after i got him! the story behind him being my pick was.. untraditional, really. accidental. he wasn’t the starter torchic that was supposed to be one of my options, actually, since our local professor thought his nature being too opinionated and high-maintenance wouldn’t be optimal for a beginner Trainer- especially not me, who hadn’t even turned ten yet.

he tried to convince me to choose another, much more suitable torchic for my age back at the lab, but when he tried to pry apollo off of me, he bit the shit out of the professor’s hand and screeched his little head off! totally refused to let me go, and i really didn’t mind, so i decided on keeping him.

you’d probably assume he’s all serious and battle-focused, but he’s still just as much if not more of a cuddlebug as he was when he was a baby, just bigger, stronger, and able to hold me hostage (/j) now lol

[more recent selfie of the Champion, face halfway in frame, wrapped in a tight hold by a big, battle-scarred Blaziken, eyes closed and sharp beak nestled into the crook of their neck comfortably.]

he’s.. done a lot for me, especially during my first journey. he basically taught me how to train pokémon in the first place, since he’s always had very particular ways of doing things. i think i’ve mentioned he’s force evolved a couple of times, but i haven’t really elaborated on that yet

i’m gonna keep it vague, but after one of my Gym battles as a kid, i got super injured. at some point during the whole thing, apollo broke out of his ball. he was a combusken at the time, and he ended up force-evolving himself into blaziken early (thankfully not significantly earlier) in order to keep me alive the best way he knew how and put himself between the threat and i. the threat gave up, which is probably the smart move to make when you’re faced with a six-foot-tall fire-breathing bird pokémon who wants you dead.

all in all- apollo is the best boy, (at least to me) and he deserves the world. i try my best to give it to him every single day, but.. well, seeing that i’m human, i can’t necessarily ask him if i’m doing a good job. i can only pray to Arc that i’m giving him the best life i can give him as his trainer until somebody somewhere invents some kind of pokémon translation device :) he seems happy, though, and that’s what matters most to me. i owe him a hell of a lot.

sorry for the long post! :3

#champion floris.txt #cw mentions of abuse #cw child abuse reference #but only vaguely #pokeblogging #rotomblr #unreality #pkmn irl #pokeblr #pokemon irl #irl pokemon #pokemon #irl pkmn #ask answered

[texas-bbq-pringles]

how overdramatic would it be of me to move out and block my housemate on literally everything?

#cw vent #cw mentions of abuse #4 mouldy plates and 2 mouldy cups arrived in the kitchen and i nearly threw up #idk i just feel like walking into the kitchen shouldn't be enough to make me cry but okay #i shouldn't be sobbing at the end of reading week bc i don't wanna have to see her face #i shouldn't be on the drive back to uni googling signs that i'm being emotionally abused #i shouldn't be scared to talk on the phone to my mum about things i'm struggling with in case she hears it and uses it to manipulate me #but okay

[partheniasimblr]

Previous | Beginning | Next

(En français sur mon blog)

Thanks to all builders, cc creators and pose makers @cmescapade @lady-moriel @llongyfarchiadau @maxiematch @natalia-auditore @origine1975 @plazasims @pyxiidis

Bloody Ax: Ere you’ze ‘n ‘da same position as mine a few weeks ago, Kaptain!

Néfaria: I know how much your evil race loves the taste of blood but I'm not gonna beg for my life…

Bloody Ax: So you’ze not afraid I’ll use dat pretty ‘ead ta play arr faverite sport, Blood Ball? Da rules are simple: we play wiv wun ’ead freshly separated from ‘iz body ta score a goal fer 'da oppos'n team…

Bloody Ax: Afta all, we’ze jus’ bloodvvirsty bulliez…

Bloody Ax: …and dirsty fer sex! Néfaria: What are you doing? Get your filthy paws off me!

Bloody Ax: Do ya know ork WAAAGH song? ♫ Rape, pillage, sakkin’ ‘n burnin‘ – We’ze gonna rape, wrekk, pillage, burn … ‘n eat de babiez! ♪

Néfaria: Is that what you’re gonna do to me? You’re gonna… You’re gonna r…?

Bloody Ax: Nope. I'ze not gonna rape ye. Nor kill ye.

Bloody Ax: I’ze gonna take ye ta da Torments Rokk were ya kan fink about da awful plight uv hundredz uv orky children ya sentence ta deff by deny'n us kome into yer land…

#sims 4 #ts4 #chroniques oubliées #néfaria #arlod hache sanglante #le péril orc #orcish peril #tw violence #tw blood #cw mentions of abuse

[smubiess]

Can you tell us about the people who posses the fnaf 1 gang? If its not to much trouble

ACCKKK SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG

i was working on a PMV and this completely slipped my mind

Lindsey Carter, 34, possesses the Freddy Fazbear animatronic

she's a single mother, her husband died shortly after she gave birth to their child

often wanders around town during late hours with Susie (her dog)

since her husband was the main money maker, she barely makes enough to feed herself. Her long walks are to keep her mind off her financial situation

very trusting. especially with people who show her a hint of kindness

William was one of her friends

she's the only one who had missing posters, her kid never stopped looking for her

Isabella Cruz, 12, possesses the Foxy animatronic

The only kid William killed

just like Lindsey, she wanders around late at night trying to find ways to entertain herself

hates going to school, often ditches it to go elsewhere

her father is neglectful. he doesn't care if the poor girl never returns home

she misses her mom, even after death she still longs for her embrace

has a bad habit of sneaking into areas

after her disappearance, her dad moved away, not wanting to take any of the blame. people assumed that he took her with him and thought nothing else

Tyler Robinson, 17, possesses the Bonnie animatronic

has serious anger issues, which did not magically come out of the blue mind you

comes from a shitty family

really just wanted to have a normal life more than anything

he left a note that he was running away from home, which is why no one ever tried looking for him

Eric Reyes, 19, possesses the Chica animatronic

very new member to the town, no one even knows his exact age

just like Tyler, he wanted to have a better life. he was just able to get further in his plan

didn't have a lot of money, in fact, his financial situation was becoming dire

a few weeks before his disappearance all he did was work, work, work. and yet it never seemed like enough

when William offered him a job at Freddy Fazbear's pizza place he was ecstatic, let's just say he got a lot more than he bargained for

if you noticed a pattern with them, that's on purpose. William targeted poor people that he knew wouldn't be looked for, he just got a bit unlucky with Lindsey

later their stories would be twisted into "5 missing kids at the Freddy's!" or "every Freddy's location is cursed" rumors due to the animatronics erratic behavior. they never got their stories told, but they are able to beat the shit out of their murderer in hell so a win's a win

#fnaf #fnaf au #cw mentions of abuse #cw mentions of death

[amorficzna]

I wanted to ask a bit about Bile in Her Throat!

"I can't do this anymore," he admits, "I... I don't care if our chances of survival are better together. I can't be bothered anymore," and he sounds it. Sounds tired. Defeated.

She is too. She probably looks worse than him. Probably tied on feelings, though.

“We’re going to die,” she says, not sure if it’s if they stay or if they go.

“I know,” he rubs his chest, at the orb in there that could explode at any moment, “But I’m willing to take that chance. I can’t do this anymore. Figured we could at least stick together, if you’re willing to take that chance too.”

He’s earnest, she can tell. Wishes she could stab Tav through the eye on her way out. But it’s too risky, she knows. So she starts packing lightly, Gale already packing food and provisions.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

ask me about my commentary for stuff

read bile in her throat on ao3

thank u for asking about this one! one of my favorite fics I've written, I think.

I've always found the route of siding with the goblins so fascinating from the companion perspective. you have of course karlach and wyll who will leave/you fight if you do, you have lae'zel/astarion who approve of the decision, and then you have gale and shadowheart who are both obviously very negatively affected by the decision but who don't necessarily leave right away.

so i wanted to play around with that. what if they saw the way that the party was moving - not with a viciously pragmatic Tav, but one that will possibly do more future harm? one they have seen kill their companions without a second thought?

there is shadowheart's reaction, which I think would lead heavily into alcoholism as she does at the goblin party to escape herself. and what about Gale? he was, ostensibly, either looking for a cure or a way to... permanently remove the weave from inside himself before the tadpole. but now he is accessory to the murder of refugees and who knows what else come tomorrow? he sees the way Tav has treated everyone so far, and with his worsening condition, maybe he doesn't necessarily want to be used as a weapon for Tav, which could very well be a close reality. Maybe the inevitability of his situation has finally reared its ugly head. and he feels the tiredness seeping into him, from the pain in his orb and his actions. the inevitable entropy of it all, the hubris of his actions.

he sees the way it affects Shadowheart too, and so maybe in this he can do one final good act, be of some use to someone, if she will join him. i think it's a little selfish in his own way, which plays later on when he conjures the Weave for Shadowheart to dissociate into. maybe, he thinks, if I can take her away she can survive a bit longer, she can get out of this unscathed.

then we have shadowheart. i think, especially after seeing her party scene with the goblins, led me to feel like maybe she was starting to move towards unhealthy coping of course with the alcohol, and a sort of apathy about her situation. she just needs to get to baldur's gate, and so everything between here and there can be nursed with some alcohol and dissociation, with a bit of removing herself and staying in her head so Tav will leave her alone. but she knows the risks with travelling with Tav, have seen it already, but as with everything else she feels powerless. like she is just there to follow, to be told what to do - whether that be keep the artefact safe, return to BG, kill the tieflings... it all melds together.

and I've always found her lines around her beauty so interesting! i always wonder if there is a part of her that remembers that she is beautiful, knows she is beautiful (which she should, she's so gorgeous and she should know it) but if that has been a part of her tools for so long. and so in her thoughts she is always thinking of how she looks. even in this moment she notes how much of a mess she must look like.

and so, the fact that she will die if she stays or she goes leans into her apathy of where she is currently, her emotions and her wishes aside from it. but it's Gale's earnestness, the fact that maybe this person will be one that will not lead her into further ruin, that gets her to leave. in this moment she allows herself to visualize attacking one of her many abusers. maybe the beginning of a moment to heal, but unfortunately not one that I got to explore further in this fic (on purpose) because of the continued trauma they both have to face together later on.

#writings #cw mentions of abuse