#malicious tampering

[edc2093]

March 17th, 2024

Dallas, TX

#Adhd #Ptsd #Adderall #Theft #Counterfeit #cruel and unusual punishment #Dallas #Psychological torture #cvs pharmacy #malicious tampering #Texts #Human rights #Civil rights #Patient rights

[evilminji]

Actually? You know what would be darkly hilarious?

If, when the GIW can't get ghosts declared both malicious AND non-sapient/sentient? They push for "dumb animals" instead.

Which is accepted. Ghosts are animals. Checks out, says scientists everywhere.

HOW "dumb"?

What? Says the GIW, mid-victory high fives. They did not expect a follow up question. They SHOULD have, as this is the SCIENTIFIC community and that is literally their job, but here we are.

How. "Dumb"? The scientists repeate slower. What methodology did you use? What is your sample size? Are their different sub-species? Is this dimension like ours? Is Ghost the equivalent to Mammal? It says here their are humanoid ones.

What IQ are we talking about here and HOW DID YOU TEST??

A goldfish, parrot, and dolphin are all animals. WILDLY different levels of intelligence. You can't treat them the same. Technically speaking, WE are animals.

The GIW does not like where this conversation is going. Tries to shut it down.

.......well NOW the scientists are both offended AND invested. How DARE you try to push faulty science and hide the Truth from them! They're gonna do their OWN studies! *picks up the phone and dials that one embarrassing spiritualist friend they had in college* Hey! You still think you can summon ghosts? I'll pay you to try it for Science!

And like? As a Ghost? It's degrading as hell. But ALSO these fuckos just Whoopsie'd you into having both protections under the law, since animal abuse IS illegal, AND just put the ENTIRE planets scientific community on their asses.... by accident.

So you take a deeeeeeep breath you don't even need. Remember you're doing this for the little ghost babies and fluffy ghost animals. And show up at a research facility like "yes, hello, I am Ghost. Here for you to poke and prod at. Please ask me to name the object on the flash card or whatever IQ tests do these days."

Should you HAVE to prove your own fucking sentience? No. But? You do it. You're even polite about it. Ask for a copy of the study they plan to publish so you can BEAT some mother fuckers with it. The scientists nod in understanding and use the BIG font for your copy so it'll hurt more.

They've been there.

And just? Shitty people getting what they wanted only to have it blow up in their faces?? I see all these angst "but what if they were declared ANIMALS" prompts and I just?? Are we talking PARROT or goldfish!? One has the average intelligence of about a human 4yr old and the other is a FISH! People get RIGHTFULLY furious when you treat INTELLIGENT animals badly.

And would, in fact, adapt pretty easy to discovering one of said animal has become HUMAN lvl intelligent. It's easy to grasp the idea of human intelligence lvl dolphin or monkeys. Maybe there was some mutated strain, maybe in uetro tampering. Who knows. But if I tried to sell you a human intelligent housefly? Gold fish? Lizard?

You wouldn't believe me. There is some kind of trick at play.

So if GHOSTS are seen as animals? Everyone nods and then later? Someone comes in TV and very excitedly informs you "we found INTELLIGENT LIFE amongst the ghosts!" You'd believe it. Probably be really excited by your conversation starter for the day. Get a taco and move on with your life.

But? Having to willing sit for a barrage of testing? Is going to suuuuuuck so bad. Poor Danny. SATs all over again. For HOURS. At multiple facilities, just to be CERTAIN it's not a one off. All because he not certain he can insure good behavior from other ghosts and This Is IMPORTANT. He ALSO can't be certain it's even SAFE.

Might be a trap.

But if he has to do it again and again and again? Mexico to Bavaria to China to the Maldives? If this is what it takes for the scientific community to bitchslap the GIW into ORBIT before the UN? Hand him that pencil.

He has no where more important to be.

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation @ailithnight @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #you wanna call me an animal? #well check mate! #SO ARE YOU #now they're asking what KIND of animal i am! #and THIS ghost is sayin SAPIEN! #i am in your scientific community #disproving your theories! #your studies were bad and you should feel bad! #danny phantom

[ddarker-dreams]

Do Puppets Dream of Electric Sheep?

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 2.1k.

“What am I to you?” 

He stills. Your voice is as gentle as a mother crooning a lullaby to her newborn. Sweet, mild. Not intending to startle the sensitive creature who is unaccustomed to this world. It regurgitates memories of his progenitor. He can never clearly recall her countenance or the exact pitch of her voice, there are only formless blurs and warbled words that sounded far away. 

It is a small mercy that he never made out the specifics of her face. For it allows him to envision her in whatever manner suits him best. She can be the scheming Niwa Hisahide who sought to manipulate him, the sickly child who left him behind, or the mendacious kitsune whose promises for aid went unkept. His mother is the locus of his rage that branches out and bears rotten fruit.

You cease your previous task of combing his hair from behind. Artificial heat burns his cheeks when your chest presses against his back, your arms coiling around his slender shoulders like tendrils. The hold is tight enough to almost hurt. 

“Say, are you listening?” Your lips brush against his ear. He shivers. “Well, puppet?” 

Furniture clatters in a cacophony of noise. 

He stares at you, incredulous, his lips parting only to close again. He cycles through emotions and is unable to settle on one. 

How do…? You shouldn’t know that!

You pay him no mind. You fix the victims of his outburst, setting the stool upright and straightening the vanity’s various implements. Then you sit where he sat, smoothing the wrinkles in your skirt as you do so. You face him instead of the mirror, which has cracked into three disjointed fragments. 

The scene before him arouses confusion, then suspicion. His eyes eventually find their way to the mirror behind you. He barks a laugh at what he sees. The sound reverberates in the tiny room. Electro concentrates in his hands, crackling and ready to stain his surroundings crimson. He gives a malicious grin. 

It reflects in the cracked mirror, whereas your form does not. 

“A cheap parlor trick,” he muses. “I should’ve figured.” 

You aren’t her, he thinks. And how grateful he is to realize it. 

“I’m not?” You challenge, raising an eyebrow. What is this being capable of hearing his thoughts? The curve of your smile epitomizes everything you’ve never been: cruel and provocative. This ignis fatuus who dares to assume your form makes no attempt to flee from the attack writhing in his palms. “Well, I suppose there’s some truth to that. What you’re looking at now is what I am to become, not my present, corporeal self.” 

He studies “you” carefully. The pigmentation of your eyes, your intonation, and your body language; it lines up uncannily well, but your word choice is peculiar. There’s a callousness begotten to those burdened by esoteric knowledge, an experience he’s intimately familiar with. This can’t be a poorly executed emulation devised by that medical charlatan excommunicated by his peers, or an experience that aligns with the continuity of Teyvat’s laws. 

Is his conscious being tampered with by the gods? 

“I’m afraid not. We both know that panopticon has no interest in you. No, discarded prototype, think back to your creation. When was it determined you’d be of no use to Beelzebul?” 

He grits his teeth. That intrusive introspection is coming into play again. It’s as if his innermost sentiments have been printed out in large lettering for you to scrutinize. 

“So you’ve finally realized, although you’re hesitant to think it. I can’t blame you, nothing good ever comes from your dreams. Since you don’t require sleep, you were able to avoid this for some time… in trying to play human with me in reality, you’ll be judged by me in the one state where you are utterly powerless.” 

The energy gathering in his hand dissipates without him willing it. He tries in vain to summon it again, but the element no longer heeds his command. Clicking his tongue, he sits on the edge of the bed, then crosses his arms over his chest. He chastises himself for not noticing sooner. This room may appear to be an exact replica of the one you share, but the slightest details in its geometry betray the realm of possibility. Certain angles bend in inconceivable ways, the ceiling itself is drooping down like a viscous gel, the descent so slow, it’s near imperceptible. 

Dreams, pesky as they may be, are always destined to end. He need only wait for this torment to run its course. 

“If that’s the stance you’ve decided to take, why not answer my question?” 

He feigns ignorance for a beat, despite knowing full well the inquiry you’re referring to. You allow him his temporary repose. 

“What you are to me is a nuisance. A meaningless manifestation that I’ll forget about as soon as I wake,” he replies. How strange it is, taking this baleful tone toward an image of you. You are the sole individual he doesn’t regard with pure loathing, and as such, he treats you with a tenderness he thought himself previously incapable of. He can’t recall a time when contempt felt unnatural, like the first time he mimicked human breathing. 

This veneer of nonchalance is forced and he knows it. The mirage taking on your comely likeness is seeping under his synthetic skin, spreading malaise and decay. 

“Oh? That’s an awfully bold statement, but, nevertheless, let’s entertain it a while longer.” 

You clap twice and the surroundings shift. 

His limbs are dragged upward by an unrelenting force — red strings as formidable as piano wire. He struggles out of instinct. This futile act only serves to tighten the binds. Upon realizing this, he goes limp, noting that your presence is no longer visible. 

He has an unobstructed view of the cracked mirror, its jagged edges displaying three different images. 

To the left, he sees himself wearing the outfit he first awoke with, the golden feather dangling from his neck. The middlemost portion is accurate in its portrayal, unlike the others. It shows the glint of the mitsudomoe symbol upon his chest which he considers his birthright. The right fragment is nearly indiscernible, aside from hues of teal that swirl as if spurred on by the wind. 

The mirror shatters.

Light footsteps circle around him. He wrenches his head in the direction of the ambient sounds, identifying no clear source. 

“Even if you forget about me now, according to your designs, we’ll meet again. This “me” that’s been tainted and corrupted by your selfish intent. In trying to preserve me, you’ll be my ruin. You already know that though, don’t you? That your desperate clinging will drag us both down to unfathomable depths. It’s true, that by never letting me die, you’ll have an eternity with me…” 

You materialize in front of him, standing with your hands behind your back. The casual stance is at odds with the venom you spew forth. Just as before, everything about your physical appearance is correct, save for a single, damning detail. Your eyes glow a luminescent violet — that of Inazuma’s reclusive deity, whose gnosis he intends to commandeer, even if he must tear it from her himself. 

“But is that the eternity you truly wish for?” 

It isn’t. Of course it isn’t. 

What else was he to do? 

Watch helplessly as your biological clock ticks on while the hands on his remain frozen in place? Witness your final until you breathe your last breath, then allow your husk to be buried in the cold, unfeeling ground? His is a life of apprehension. That by some cruel twist of fate, you’ll fall victim to the many pitfalls mortals are vulnerable to. Illness, injury, violence, the list goes on and on. His overactive imagination serves as a personal purgatory that churns out images of your downfall every moment he is not by your side. 

Upon returning to your quaint little cottage on the outskirts of civilization, trepidation eats at him like maggots upon a corpse. If he can’t find you tending to your garden, baking in your kitchen, or lounging on the swing hanging from the old oak tree in your front yard, madness slithers at his heels, ready to pierce him with its fangs. 

You may never forgive him, but he couldn’t forgive himself if he let the one thing he cherishes in this joke of a world leave him behind. 

“I won't look at you the way I once did. The me who speaks your true name, spends days wondering when you’ll return from your traveling ‘job’, gladly welcomes you into her bed, granting you access to her most sacred body and soul; you will never see her again. She will exist in your memory alone.”  

Your pointer finger hovers over his trembling lower lip, then descends, over his Adam’s apple and in between his collarbones. 

“Having savored these pleasures once freely given, you’ll have no choice but to take them by force. You’ll defile me and insist it’s worship. Bitterness might whet your palate, but you’ll never have your fill. Can you call that love, poor puppet? Or will you rightfully refer to it as ownership?” 

All verbal exchanges cease. 

In this nightmare blurring the lines of what if, where he is but a spectator rather than an active participant, he laughs. It echoes in his hollow chest cavity where no fleshly heart beats. Your physiognomy goes blank in the face of such blatant malignity. He hangs here, a tossed-aside marionette, consumed by a paroxysm of emotion he once swore to wipe clean from his chest. 

“If this is an attempt to appeal to my conscience, it won’t work,” his grin nearly splits his face in two. “Harass me every night, for all I care. I’ll accept it. I’ll accept anything. Every form of you… every possible iteration, no matter how unsightly, beautiful, indifferent, or anything in between, I want it. There isn’t a version of you that can deter me. The real you offered herself to me for a lifetime — who am I to turn down such an alluring offer?” 

You pull away from him. 

The absence of your touch is worse than any physical torture you could inflict. He’ll take your loving caresses, your hand ripping into his chest, so long as he can familiarize himself with your genuine warmth. Such is the resolve of a puppet who has endured the biting blizzard of loneliness. Destroy him and he’d rebuild. Ignore him and he’ll pry the words from your mouth. Attempt to leave him and he’ll ensnare you in a trap that neither of you can escape from. 

This advocate for your future is washed away in a sea of ink, black as night, untouchable and ever-present as a shadow. The cascading wave swallows you whole. 

You depart with a final threnody.

“Until we meet again, then.” 

…

…

…

Something brushes over his cheek. 

“... Kuni? Kunikuzushi? Ah, what do I do, you aren’t waking up…! Insults? Do I try insults? Uh, you’re of less than average height—”

“Quiet down, woman, you’re loud,” Scaramouche complains with a groan.

You’re hovering above him. It’s a heavenly sight — if he were a believer in such things — the upturning of your eyebrows, the flow of your hair tousled by interrupted sleep, and the temptation of your soft, parted lips. Warmth emanates from your body. He delights in it. Swears a silent oath to himself that he’ll never be without it. 

“The insult worked,” you whisper, content with your quick thinking. Then, remembering the situation, you’re back to fussing over him. “Are you okay? You must’ve been having an awful nightmare.” 

His lips form a thin line. “... Something like that.” 

“What was it about?” 

“You,” he forces an unperturbed tone. Although he’s still hazy from sleep, he’s used to bending the truth. Or in this case, covering the parts he doesn’t want you to see. “I have to deal with you in the realm of conscious and unconscious now. Terrifying, right?” 

The sarcasm successfully draws your attention elsewhere. 

“Absolutely. So terrifying, in fact, I better sleep elsewhere so as not to frighten my— oof!” 

“Oh no you don’t,” he pulls you against his chest, preemptively ending your getaway, “You’re not going anywhere.” 

You willingly collapse into his hold, laughing softly. Though you’re no longer trying to wriggle away, his grip is ironclad, his arms trembling. He interweaves himself into you with a tangle of limbs. Once he’s content, he presses his face against the thrumming pulse in your neck. This stream that maintains your life is temporary — a subpar placeholder until you’re imbued with immortality. Still, he cherishes it, this special rhythm that has sustained you long enough for your paths to interconnect. 

He gives your pulse a chaste, reverent kiss. 

Your paths are bound to never diverge, even if damnation is where they'll lead.

#scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouhe x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere kunikuzushi x reader #my stuff

[fatuismooches]

Fragile reader reincarnation has been rotting my brain...

Dottore would have failed to cure you fast enough, resulting in your untimely death. But he kept trying. He pursued everything he could, from knowledge and procedures that shouldn't be tampered with to baseless myths and rumors that obviously held no fact, yet he investigated them thoroughly anyway because he was uncharacteristically desperate. Needing just one thing to spark some progress in his research. However, despite him and his segments searching exhaustively, nothing came up. Eventually, he had to let your body rest.

Decades upon decades would go by, and he would become far more closed off. His segments would attend all the meetings and deal with others. The mortal Harbingers had passed on already, replaced by new ones. There was still Columbina, who had mourned you a great deal as well, but he didn't speak to her much. The world had become rather boring now without you and your unpredictability. Yes, his experiments did still spark excitement whenever they turned out to be successful, but the feeling that you were missing often lingered. The person he waited over four hundred years for, and now he would wait an eternity to never be reunited with you. However, that would change one day.

It would be one of the rare days one of the segments was out in public - Omega had just returned from a meeting with the new banker for the Fatui. In the past, Prime used to attend such things sometimes, but now the responsibility was primarily his. The segment was about to return to the lab when something very familiar caught his attention.

Your laugh.

Now, the segment has replayed your voice in his head many times since your death, burned into his core, but it never felt as real as just now. It has his interest piqued. And that's when he sees you. The same eyes and smile he could recognize anywhere. Upon getting closer, your voice, quirks, and habits are unnaturally similar to what he remembers from so many years ago. Already, many thoughts and possibilities are running through Omega's head, but what seals the deal is when the other person refers to you as [Name]. Now, he simply must approach you.

It isn't hard for his skilled tongue to get information out of you, and although you do think he's a bit too inquisitive for a stranger (new friend), he's just too charming to resist, for some odd reason. (You don't know much about the Harbingers and can't recognize him.) And the similarities are too stark to ignore, from your former attendance in the Akademiya to your hobbies and research interests. Of course, there's still more he would need to confirm, but the most likely possibility is that this you... is a reincarnation.

Of course, revealing this news to the other segments, naturally creates an uproar, all of them wanting to see you in person to confirm this for themselves. But unfortunately, that isn't very easy because you'd definitely get scared seeing all these unnaturally similar blue-haired men randomly coming up to you. So only the older segments that look close to Omega come out to visit you. You can't tell the difference much, only besides you think he has slightly longer hair, and his voice isn't as deep, but you barely know him, so maybe you're just mistaken? Either way, all of them are courteous to you, although a bit- no, very strange. Still, you find it familiar. From where you don't know. (They have taken samples of your hair strands and skin but you don't know that.)

And then there are times when the 'same' man pops up but with a different mask. You just assumed that he decided to swap masks, but he acts a bit different from usual. You don't know how to describe it, but he seems the tiniest bit forlorn. Stares at you so hard you get a bit uncomfortable, but he doesn't do it maliciously. But when certain topics come around he seems to test the waters on your opinions before opening up some more. It seems he can't trust you very much yet. But perhaps time could change that.

Zandy would be the first to trust you wholeheartedly of course - the original you's death undoubtedly scarred his young heart, having been the first person to ever show the child unconditional love. When he sees that you're back, with the same smile and eagerness to entertain his childish desires, he can't help but indulge in your love once again.

A part of Dottore just wants to make you live in the lab with him, but it's obvious that would make you scared, and the last thing he wants to do is scare the someone who is supposed to be his beloved. However, a part of me wonders if Dottore would be able to truly love the reincarnated reader the same as he loved the original one. Because this isn't the person he spent centuries with, the one he's had since his young days. Whatever part of his heart that has the ability to love, loves the first you wholly, far too attached. Does have room for reincarnated you? Can he make room? That is something you two will have to work out.

At the very least, if you still happen to be sick in this life, he swears to cure you this time.

#smooches talks #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #what should i put here #i love dottore! #and pls excuse my inactivity oops #my group projects are just really... WHO LET THIS HAPPEN IN COLLEGE #okay i really gotta go sleepy bye bye now gn

[cod-dump]

I like the idea that if Price and Graves were dating the 141 would give Graves shit the entire time. But Graves is just like any other red blodded American man and one time, after a prank, he turns to Price and hands him his drink "Hold my beer". Any Americans nearby bolt like he said he had a bomb and the recruits all run too because they don't get it, but they know when someone runs away like that it's for a good reason. Thirty minutes later Graves' face is covered in bruises. Price, Gaz, and Soap are hiding behind a flipped table shirtless because Ghost is hogtied in the middle of the room with their shirts. Graves grabs his drink back from Price, kisses him, and loudly says, "thanks daddy" while staring directly at Soap and Gaz. He goes straight to medical because Ghost didn't go down easy and he thinks his eyes are swelling shut. Nose might be broken too. Ah well.

A Hard Lesson to Learn

PriceGraves

TW: Canon Typical Violence (the boys get the shit beat out of them... well, mostly Ghost)

___

It was chaos when Price officially started dating Graves. The boys suspected something was going on but hoped, prayed, that it wasn't heading in the direction they thought it was. Well, it did end up there and none of them were happy about it. Cussing, yelling, (fake) crying-- Anything to get Price to break it off.

He refused and the next thing they know 141 and Shadow Company are business partners. Shadows everywhere, Graves is attached either to Price's hip or backside, and they couldn't think of how things could get any worse. So they were determined to break things off, do something to get the two to end their relationship and get the Shadows out of their base.

Naturally, that was mostly tormenting. Malicious pranks, Graves' things being 'misplaced' and to never be found again. Food being tampered with (nothing that would kill him), his clothes being fucked with, vehicles-- They left no stone unturned.

But it seemed nothing they did worked, nothing made Graves leave. Price told them to stop or he'll make them feel like recruits. So, they turned to Plan B. Framing Graves for things, trying to make it look like he plans on fucking them over again. That did something... to Graves. It finally looked like he had enough of just standing around and playing nice.

"Can you assholes knock it off? I've done shit to you! Recently!"

The pub, of course, was the perfect place for this confrontation. Price and Graves were sitting in the corner while the boys were at the bar, of course talking shit about him and the Shadows. And he obviously heard them, it wasn't like they were trying to be quiet.

"You behaving means shit!"

Gaz's voice was slurred, they all have been knocking it back. Maybe this wasn't a good time for Graves to address what has been going on considering none of them exactly had a filter at the moment.

"You sons of bitches need to fuck off."

That spurred Soap to lunge forward, punched Graves square in the jaw. Price was there in a instant, shoving Soap back against the bar.

"That is enough."

The tone of his voice should've been enough to get them to back off. Normally it would've, but not now. Graves moved away from Price as the man yelled at the boys, holding his jaw. Even with how drunk and uncoordinated Soap is at the moment, he still gave him a good punch. The Shadows that were in the pub were only being held back by the fact Price was dealing with the boys, or else they would've swarmed Soap and maybe the other two.

Graves grabs a beer and pops off the cap before taking a swig. It was taking everything in him to keep calm and just let Price deal with this.

"Should drop the tramp back in the garbage. It's outside since you apparently didn't know."

Oh fuck this.

Graves marches over to Price, grabbing his boyfriend's shoulder and pulling him back away from the boys. He takes a swig of his beer as Price looks at him confused, the hint of rage behind it due to the boys' behavior. Graves sighs loudly after his drink before he shoves it into his boyfriend's hand.

"Hold my beer."

Price did so, growing more confused as the Shadows started to get rowdy. Graves said nothing else to him as he stepped forward and grabbed Soap by his collar, not giving the Scotsman a chance to respond before he slammed his fist into his gut before throwing him to the floor.

Chaos erupted, Ghost and Gaz jumping to Soap's defense and the Shadows hollering from all around the room. Gaz swung at Graves, Graves dodging his fist before punching him and knocking him to the floor. Gaz landed on top of Soap who was just starting to get on his knees. They groaned on the floor, and Graves was grabbed by Ghost and thrown over the counter and into the shelves behind it.

The Shadows were wild and Price was certain they would descend on Ghost like a pack of starving, feral dogs. But they didn't, they just screamed for their commander.

Graves was back over the counter faster than what anyone expected from someone being thrown into a wall of glass shelves and bottles of liquor. He jumped on Ghost and started beating down on him, Ghost stunned for a moment before he grabbed Graves and dragged him off of him, pinning him to the counter to nail his face with a few punches.

Price felt Shadows on both sides of his, one grabbing his elbow when he went to move.

"You're his boyfriend, do your job and hold the Commander's beer."

The Shadows had a great deal of confidence in Graves, and Price saw why when Graves sent Ghost crashing to the floor after kicking him off. Ghost didn't get a chance to get up before Graves jumped on him and started beating his face once more. Soap and Gaz had crawled away from the madness, Shadows laughing at them like hyenas as they did.

Price was stunned as Ghost laid on the floor in defeat, holding his face and groaning while curled on his side. That should've been the end of it but Graves wasn't done. He jumped the counter again and dug around before coming back with an electrical cord. Price wouldn't doubt he ripped it from some appliance. The Shadows cheered as Graves tied Ghost's hands and feet together behind his back, the masked lieutenant not trying to fight.

Graves stepped over him, grabbing his beer and taking a swig, Price jumping when he felt Graves grab his ass.

"Thanks, Daddy," Price's jaw dropped as the Shadows screamed over that. Graves, bloody and bruised with his face swelling, grinned as he drank his beer before staggering away.

"I think I need medical attention."

Price ended up having the boys tended to before locking them up for the night, having felt like they learned their lesson for now after that. Right now Price has to pay for the damages done at the bar and deal with the fact that Graves beating the shit out of Ghost did something to him. Yea, the boys can wait.

#call of duty #modern warfare #phillip graves #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #pricegraves #drabble #ask #thanks for the ask <3 #ficlet #clearing out the inbox

[metamatronic]

Could you talk a little about your MCI from your Fnaf au?

This isn’t exactly what you asked, but here’s my timeline! It’s altered a bit over the years and characters have changed roles, but this is my little AU:

1983: Evan “Jack” Afton is bitten while Henry murders Charlie behind the pizzeria. Charlie mistakes her killer for William. Fredbear’s Family Diner closes and the springlock suits are moved to Freddy’s. Jack continues to haunt Michael and creates night terrors for him.

1984: Circus Baby’s Rental opens and Elizabeth “goes missing.” William, after losing his second kid, becomes consumed with finding Elizabeth and fails to notice Henry reprogramming the animatronics. Funtime animatronics steadily kidnap/kill kids from 1984~86.

1985: Official first Missing Children’s Incident™. Henry lures five kids (Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie, Fritz, and Cass) and stuffs their bodies in the suits. William is suspected but never convicted, Freddy’s is shut down.

Early 1986: William, suspecting foul play and feeling guilty, goes to the now closed Freddy’s location to search for clues. Charlie and Co, believing their killer to be William, scare him into the suit and he is springlocked. Using William as a scapegoat, Henry has the walls sealed up so that William can “remain at large” should the case be reopened. Becoming more paranoid that he will be found out, he hunts down Michael’s friends from the bite of ‘83 and hides their bodies in the not-yet-released toy animatronics.

1987: After the disappearance of his father, Michael finds William’s frantic theories over Elizabeth’s whereabouts and decides to go look for her. Scoopage occurs.

After discovering the truth of the incidents, the not-yet-rotting Michael takes a job at the new Freddy Fazbear’s under the guise of Jeremy Fitzgerald. (The dayshift guard, also named Jeremy, gets bit by Mangle) Michael comes back later as “Fritz Smith” and sneaks Charlie out with him.

~1988: Ennard (without Baby) sneaks into Michael’s apartment and asks to stay. Michael begrudgingly lets Ennard live in his closet.

~1991: Circus Baby finds Michael’s apartment and demands to stay. Michael and Ennard begrudgingly let her.

1993: Mike takes a job at the reopened Freddy’s. Finds out that his uncle (Phone Guy) died there not too long before him. Mike continues working there for a while until he gets fired for “tampering with the animatronics” and the place gets shut down. He sneaks Phone Guy’s ghost out with him and hides him in his apartment.

2017: Michael takes a job at Fazbear Fright under the name Eggs and “meets” Springtrap. Neither recognize each other and form a friendship. This culminates in the two of them burning the place down and Michael sneaking William back to his apartment, where Phone Guy reveals both of their identities to each other.

2019: Michael, in an attempt to lure Henry and kill him, franchises a Freddy’s location and steadily sneaks his animatronic family members in. It’s the most successful Freddy establishment and becomes incredibly popular. When Henry tries to burn the place down, the Afton family captures him and forces him to burn in the restaurant with them. Despite everything, everyone but Henry survives. Henry’s soul escapes into the computer.

2020: Realizing they now have to live “normal lives” in the aftermath of the fire, Michael and William retrofit illusion discs so the whole family can pose as living people.

2023: After developing into a malicious computer virus, Henry/Glitchtrap poses as a Fazbear Entertainment email address and commissions a VR studio to make the FNAF series. On top of using this to possess the beta testers, he uses this to spin the narrative that William was the murderer and that he was the hero that stopped him. Michael joins the VR team as “Iggy Wilson” in order to stop Henry.

I don’t really have anything for Security Breach. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf au #meta talks #fnaf timeline #michael afton #william afton #elizabeth afton #lore post #long post

[thebramblewood]

Apologies for ruining your weekend.

Previous / Next

It's not necessary, but if you want to learn more about the events Grace is describing (particularly the spellcaster who sacrificed herself), it originated in another story you can read here (chrono link for desktop only). I'm sure there are some inconsistencies because I had no idea I'd be doing more with it and my storytelling was more casual and gameplay-oriented then, but it might help fill in some gaps.

[rapid knocking at the door]

Caleb: …Morgyn? 

Grace: Caleb-

Caleb: Why are you in your nightgown? Are you crying?

Grace: Caleb, I-

Caleb: Where’s Morgyn? Council meetings never go this late.

Grace: [sniffling] Oh, Caleb… The Sages, they’re… they’re…

Caleb: What happened?

Grace: [strangely detached] I’d already gone home. Almost everyone had. There was an… attack. No one saw it coming. Dark magic… ancient spells… malicious… forbidden. How did he even find them?

Caleb: [impatiently] Grace, you’re not making any sense.

Grace: [distantly] The Realm is secured. Someone stopped him before he could tamper with the portals. A teacher, I think, from the children’s school. She sacrificed herself to drain his power.

Caleb: I don’t care about the goddamn Realm! What about Morgyn?

Grace: [sobbing] I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry. They were ambushed. They had no chance to defend themselves. Faba, Simeon, Morgyn… The entire Council is… dead. Oh my god. Caleb, are you okay?

Caleb: Stay back!

Grace: But-Caleb: I mean it! You’re not safe around me like this. Go home, Grace! Now.

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 story #sims 4 story #simblr #story: hzid #caleb vatore #grace anansi #for some reason caleb's jaw/chin area is slightly more pronounced in his human form... not sure how that happened #i hope it makes sense why his dark form takes over at the end! #it's sort of like the vampire equivalent of going into fight or flight mode #it's like their bodies' defense system so it can kick in automatically if they feel overly threatened or overwhelmed #and as a result they become more easily driven by base instincts and less in control #which is why he tells grace he's dangerous! #since he's so disciplined he would probably be able to restrain himself from hurting her but he'd rather not leave even a small opening #(and besides it's a convenient way to tell her he'd prefer to be left alone) #death tw #gif tw

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - part 8[***]

A/N: The dream part is supposed to be shocking as it’s a nightmare—there are elements of bestiality and rape featured so if you would like to skip over that, go from ‘It’s been three days. Night has descended.’ to the next ‘————’

Get ready for a major lore dump (I’m sorry)

Warnings: Gore description, monsterfucking, dubcon/noncon themes

-Part 7- -Part 9-

Your head whips to the side, looking at him properly for the first time since he’s brought you here.

But the Priestess pays him no mind, and instead steps closer—toward you. “You were seeking refuge. Come inside. You’ll be safe with us.” She seems warm. Reassuring, even. Like she really will offer you the help you so desperately seek. “Elain.” He tries again, and her melted cocoa eyes flicker with something that’s gone too fast for you to decipher. She turns her attention to the beast at your side, “Azriel.”

She doesn’t lower her head an inch before his towering mass, nor does she cower, nor show so much as a lick of fear as she holds her ground against a creature that could splatter her on the temple walls with a slash of his claws.

You’re startled further when he calms his harsh tone. “She needs to take the Ritual,” he—explains. Her attention returns to you once again, and you’re at once set at ease by the gentleness to her features—the innate serenity to her. “Do you know what the Ritual entails?”

“No, she doesn’t,” he answers for you. The priestess’ eyes harden as she turns her attention to the male, “I don’t believe I was talking to you, Azriel.”

A soft snarl ripples through the air, and you tense, half-turning to him. If he makes a massacre of these people—

Elain’s eyes flick to you, noting your reaction, before returning to Azriel’s with a cold glint. “She has come to my temple, and you will not deny her of its sanctuary. I will take her in for as long as she needs, and you will not step foot past our threshold.” Her eyes seem to glow with an inner light, the circlet on her brow almost shimmering with an iridescent shine. Like—magic.

Azriel doesn’t so much as blink at the Priestess’ sharp tone. “And what if I do? Will that Harvestman of yours come and sweep you away again? Or is it Dayling? I can hardly remember.” The Priestess takes a step forward, knuckles turning bone-white as she clutches her thyrsus. “If you dare step foot in our temple with malicious intent, it is me who you will deal with—and you will not be the one to walk away after.” Her eyes have turned milky, hand wrapping around your wrist as she guides you to stand by her side.

Azriel’s pupils shrink with fury, nostrils flaring as a muscle feathers in his jaw, eyes darting to where she’s holding you. “I once thought your armour to be penetrable, too. All it got me was a fractured heart, and estranged sisters. You will not do the same to her,” she says, icily. He looks about to speak, but she beats him to it, “Ritual or no, she will return when she chooses. Or did I misunderstand your brother’s ethos in the brief time I met with him?”

“It will cost her life,” he snarls, lip curling back from his elongated canines. You retreat a small step, and hate the way the Priestess’ hand tightens on your skin comfortingly—as if she can lend you her strength. “She will do with her life as she sees fit. It is not yours to control or tamper with, as much as you wish it were opposite. It is hers to forfeit, if she chooses.” That word again, choose.

Their gazes lock, and you can almost feel the chill in the wind, the frost glazing their eyes as they stare each other down. Azriel’s teeth are slowly pushing further from beneath his upper lip, claws sliding from his fingertips. Elain’s skin glows like moonlight, hand tightening on her Thyrsus and a strange pulsing fills the air as she regards him with those milky white eyes. She looks as though she should be blind, but instead you feel them hurtling toward that countdown to destruction, can feel time slipping out from under your feet. They’re going to clash, they’re going to collide, and there will be blood. Blood and guts and blood and flesh and blood, blood, blood—

“What’s going on here?”

A man appears at the Priestess’ other side, hand settling subtly at her lower back—a light touch to show he’s there should she want him. His hair glows like flame, the rich embers catching the sunlight and burning like molten steel—fresh from the forge. Her ethereal light flickers, then dims, reining herself back in as the tension gently slips away on an errant breeze.

“Lucien.” Azriel drawls the name with enough bite you can assume they’re not on amicable terms. “Azriel,” the man regards him with equal stiffness, “to what do we owe this…meeting?” The Priestess’ shoulders lose their tension. Well, some of it. “This woman is seeking refuge in our temple,” she supples smoothly, succinctly. You don’t miss the emphasis on the word woman, or how she’s declared the temple as belonging to the two of them, equally.

From a distant part of your mind you recall a time Azriel had mentioned that humans were the only kind that strayed from the male, female labels. For her to be emphasising woman, and to another person no less, as if he would understand—they have to to know what he is. And—Harvestman? As is the disciples of the God of the Harvest, Beron? He certainly looks the part.

“Is there reason to turn her away?” He asks the question to the Priestess, but you get the distinct impression it’s aimed at the male before you. Azriel senses it too, stiffening, darkness writhing across his shadowed form. “No,” the Priestess answers, “there is not.”

Azriel snarls softly at the woman, canines flashing in the sunlight, and the man’s fingers press a little harder to the woman’s spine, as if in restraint. “She has three days,” he snarls, “any longer, and the Ritual will not succeed.” He catches on that last part, as if shifting what he had intended to say.

The Priestess turns to the man—Lucien?—almost in silent question. Something passes between them as he shakes his head softly. She returns her attention to the male, “how long have you kept her for?” Shame flushes your skin at that word, kept. He has indeed been keeping, and it’s taken you this long to realise the problem. It’s taken her mere minutes. Humiliation burns in the pit of your stomach.

But it’s Azriel who purses his lips, as if reluctant to answer. Lucien takes a step forward, though it’s unthreatening, “how long, Azriel?”

He shows no other signs of his distaste apart from his pursed lips, but you can tell, through whatever thread he stitched through your heart, you can tell he’s ashamed. “Barely two months.”

They both stiffen, and you know he’s making an effort not to yield eye contact. Is he…? You know he’s feeling conflicted, but concerning what. You wish you’d tried harder, to figure out what was happening to you, instead of being so…passive. Allowing him to move you as he wished.

“She should have another eight,” Lucien murmurs, and you feel his eyes sliding over you warily. “Why is she fading after only two?”

Mortification settles like a dead-weight in your gut. Azriel’s embarrassed over you.

“That can’t be right,” the Priestess mutters, staring at the male, refusing to take her eyes off him for even a second. “Even I had eight before I had to make my choice.” Silence stretches between them and you can practically hear their thoughts spinning as they ponder your apparent complication.

“What did you do?” It’s the Priestess, and her eyes are burning like pure magma. “Elain,” the man murmurs softly, soothingly. She pays him no heed, staring at the muscle feathering in the male’s jaw, “what did you do to her, Azriel?” Her voice has dropped to a low snarl, each word dragging from the back of her throat.

His lips tip into a rueful smile—no, resentful. Bitter. “Why do you assume I played some hand in my— In her becoming as she is?”

“Don’t play games with me,” she hisses, teeth flashing. “It’s her life on the line.”

He’s in her face quicker than she can blink—still, she holds her ground. “You think I don’t know that, Elain? You think it doesn’t bother me? You think I don’t care that she was born so disgustingly weak?” Beside her, Lucien emits a low growl in warning, something crackling in the air and—and you want to be anywhere but here. Even back in his room, in his bed, even the wastelands.

His grin widens, showing off his too-white, too-sharp teeth. Too many. Shredding. “Either way,” he snarls, low and viciously, “I thought it was her life, Elain. I thought you said it was hers to do with as she pleases.” The Priestess goes rigid with rage at his taunt, “you think I believe you? There must be a reason for her rapid decline.” She insists, but it only makes the guilt sink deeper to your toes, and you’re worried your skin will slide from your bones with the weight of it.

“Elain,” the man tries again, having calmed himself. “Elain,” he repeats, palm pressing fully to her lower back. Until she flicks her gaze to the man’s. “Nesta made it nearly two years without it,” Lucien says softly. “Maybe she is just…” Weak.

You feel the exact moment she begins to accept it—in the way her grip loosens on your wrist, as if disappointed; deflated. But then it tightens again, as if refusing to yield a single ounce of herself to the male. The Priestess straightens, staring Azriel down as she holds her ground, defending you as much as she is her temple. “Then she will spend her last three days here. In the sun, and warmth, surrounded by people who will look after her, and give her what she needs.”

“She will return, and take the damned Ritual,” he snarls, so vicious and gutturally that his shadows darken, and moonlight again glows from within the Priestess’ skin, as if in response. Fury twists his features, feral and wild, animalistic and beastly in their structure. But along that hidden thread between you, you could swear its something akin to desperation crawling beneath his skin.

Something that feels an awful lot like terror.

“It is her decision,” Elain reminds, coldly. “Now that she has entered my temple, you can no longer remove her as you see fit.” She raises her chin, “I will not let you.” It seems to be some line in the sand, some silent declaration that only the two of them understand.

And for some reason, jealousy sparks.

You can feel Azriel’s eyes burning into you, but you keep your gaze away, refusing to acknowledge the ember you’ve already stomped out. Smothered in the dirt.

“Lucien,” Elain murmurs softly. It’s another one of those unspoken commands, ones that are beyond your ears. He moves on silent feet, leaving her side to stand at yours instead. It’s only to him she yields you, allowing the man to bring you further within the temple.

Azriel moves then, as if to reach for you, but the Priestess hit her staff on the floor once. A single strike, and he stops. Seals his features. Once again impenetrable.

It silences any doubts you had in your mind, and you allow the man to lead you deeper into the safety of the temple.

————

She comes to check on you before nightfall.

Some acolytes had been sent to look after you, make sure you were cared for. They had appeared to be twins—both gifted with the same dark, rich skin tone. Both as quiet on foot as they were conversationally. Yet it didn’t seem to be awkward, nor unkind. Just, silence. Beautiful and simple.

“Are you…” You hesitate as you peer at the woman before you, smiling gently over a covered table, two small, chipped mugs of tea set before each of you. “You knew what he was,” you say instead.

She nods, taking a sip of her pleasantly hot drink before returning it to the table, “I did.” Her eyes are no longer cold—no longer that icy brown.

You swallow, raising your own mug to your lips, and blowing softly. You take a sip—it’s good—then another, before setting it down gently. “Who was that—man?” You stumble, suddenly unsure of yourself. “Lucien?” She asks. If she notices your hesitance, she doesn’t show it. “He’s my husband.” You nod, taking in the information. It explains the way they looked at one another; those silent conversations they seem capable of having. “And mate.”

Your brow furrows, “mate?”

She stills for a moment, then resumes the slight movements which are unavoidable with life. “Lucien and I…” she begins, slowly, carefully. Figuring how to phrase her words. Instead, she looks at you squarely, “how familiar are you with the holy books of these lands?” You nod certainly, “very.” If there’s one thing you’re confident in your knowledge of, it’s your religion.

She nods, but it isn’t approving as you would have guessed coming from a Priestess. It seems almost sad. “The Mother rules over everything, from the seven gods of the worlds, to the mortal kings she governs, to a babe fresh from the womb.” You nod, familiar with the story. “Every few hundred years, a god will succumb to the Mother’s gentle hands, and yield their title to a new deity. The seven gods are: Tamlin, god of fertility and nature, who presides over the seed of the earth; the seed of the womb.

“Kallias, god of the weather and the moon, he decides where there will be draught, or bountiful rain.

“Tarquin, god of the sea, who guides our ships to port safely in foreign nations.

“Beron, god of the harvest, who presides over the agriculture of our lands.

"Thesan, god of healing and nurture, who tends to the sick and blesses the deathly with passage to the Underworld.

“Helion, god of the day and written knowledge, who favours the scholars, blessing them with the fruits from his tree of wisdom.

“And Rhysand, god of the Underworld, presides over the dead and decides who is worthy of the Fields, Heaven, the Great Purge, Hell, or the Pit.”

You blink—the great purge?

“Now,” she says, and you sit a little straighter in your chair, “are you familiar with the gods’ lineage?” You shake your head honestly, having never gained access to those books—generally kept for the more intellectual minds of scholars or philosophers. Anyone who had escaped the cave of their mind and made it to the sunlit grasslands, where the true form is revealed to the open-mind, and material form becomes meaningless. “I’ll spare you the history—bloody as it is. Lots of fathers eating children, stabbings and general chaos contained within that line.” She sighs, as if she has personal experience with the gods’ games.

“Lucien is, well…he’s one of Beron’s sons.”

You physically recoil in your seat, nearly dropping your mug. Your mouth is open, but you don’t have it in you to cover it—rude as it is. Azriel had called Lucien a Harvestman, not because he was a disciple, but because he’s the son of a god. You might not have believed her, but two months ago, Azriel was a bad dream—a nightmare, but fiction. A scary story to keep children from misbehaving.

There had been a time were his ilk were regarded as being as true as their godly counter parts, but through the ages they were forgotten, religion softening to what it is now. Rumours tell of when they roamed the lands, taking part in the Great Hunt, preying on humans as they ran wild through the worlds.

“He’s…the son of a god…” you say, slowly, tongue feeling leaden in your mouth. No wonder he’d seemed different. So, Other. A bit like… “What about you?” You ask quietly. “You seemed to…glow. And, before—you said you had ten months before you took the Ritual.” Are you really just a Priestess?

Her smile is small, but still warm. Non-threatening. What you would give to receive just one of those from Azriel. You bury the thought ruthlessly; mercilessly. Drown it in thick mud that clogs its throat.

“Azriel and I have met before. A few decades past, by now.”

Decades? She looks to be around her mid-twenties.

“To make a long story short, my sister fell in love with one of his brothers. She underwent the Ritual to be with him, but in turn left me and my older sister behind—Nesta. There were some…complications, that lead to her being taken to the Underworld, and held out for two years before she had no choice but to make her decision: whether or not she would follow in Feyre’s footsteps and yield her— herself.” Her voice catches, and you get the feeling she changed the story, tweaked it ever so slightly.

“In the meantime of my sister’s struggle, I began to develop an attachment to Azriel. Immature obsession on my part, and foolish desperation on his.” She sounds bitter, even if this took place over twenty years ago. “I— We thought we were perfect together, drawn together by the Mother. But then Lucien came along, and the bond just snapped. At first I rejected it, fought it with everything I had. I’d already suffered one broken heart with a human lover, and finally I felt alive again. Like I had someone to live for. And I was scared how badly it would hurt to fall from the heights he’d taken me to.” She sighs, fingers grazing the chipped rim of her mug.

She shakes her head, then continues. “I ended up leaving Azriel for Lucien—my mate. It was a massive leap of faith, and one I’ve never once regretted.” She smiling faintly now, something secretive in her gaze as she thinks of the man—male. “He made me want to live for myself. Want to do things for myself. And that’s how the temple came about.”

You had no idea. She’d taken life by the throat and made something of it. Something great, and renowned.

Elain takes in a deep breath, then blows it out, sitting back in her chair. “Now I reside up here, on this plane, while my sisters remain below, with their lovers—mates.” Sorrow flickers in her gaze as she stares at the cold mug of tea.

A beat of silence passes, then she’s pulling herself together. “There isn’t enough time for me to tell everything to you, so what do you know about the Ritual?”

You swallow, then tell her of your own story. How he’d saved you in the forrest, shown you the blessed lands, taken you soaring to heights you’d never imagined. Her eyes flicker with recognition at that last part, and you wonder whether Elain had seen those same fields, from the same angles.

You wonder if he’d ever taken her from those angles as he had with you, then quickly strangle your mind into submission.

“So you know nothing of the Ceremony.” It’s not a question, but you nod anyway. She swallows once…twice. Exhales heavily. Leans forward, bracing her forearms on the table. “The Ritual is a crossing of sorts,” she begins, solemnly. “Humans cannot survive in the Underworld for more than a year—ten months.” You try to push past the sinking feeling in the pit of your gut. …so disgustingly weak.

“Should you decide to undergo the Ceremony, you will become like him.”

Fear should rise, but instead, all you can taste is— “Is that like you? I mean, you said that you took the Ritual. Are you like him?” She has no wings, so you have to wonder truly how similar you’ll become. And how it will truly affect you considering you’re fading after not even a fifth of the expected time. You’re surprised he even wants you to take it, if he finds your weakness so repulsive.

Her lips purse, and you suddenly feel like you’ve overstepped. Greedy, selfish. Greedy and wretched. Wretched; hateful. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive—”

“It’s fine.” She smiles tightly, and somehow you feel like it’s not. “I was Made, like my sisters. Reforged during the Ceremony. Purged until I became raw and molten. Then I was reMade into what I am now. I heal faster, I’m stronger, have a keener sense of smell, acute eyesight, and magic.”

She has—magic.

Could you have that, too?

And maybe its foolish. Foolish, reckless mortality, but you push a little further. “What happens? In the Ritual I mean? What happens?” Because what if you can become strong? What if you can leave behind your human weaknesses?

Elain’s strong—she’d made something of herself. She’s decided to wield her power for good, to create a haven for people like you. And—she can protect herself. She was able to face Azriel and come away unscathed. She didn’t even cower.

How wonderful it would be to never fear again.

————

It’s been three days. Night has descended.

A cold thrill slides down your spine. Something ancient, and filled with malice. Something malignant and evil. Something incessant and nagging. It burrows deep into your mind, worming its way into your subconscious, painting its sickness into the purest parts of your soul. Slowly dismantling your being, corrupting you from the inside out, until you’re the same rotten-hearted wretch as him. Teeth scrape over your neck, and you know he’s trapped you in your dreams again.

Sweat coats your skin, glittering beneath the sallow moonlight. No longer that shimmering silver, but fermenting to the colour of curdled milk, as if the heifer that it came from was rotten to the core, riddled with disease and infection.

You’re in the woods again.

No ties bind your wrists, but something snaps in the distance. You don’t dare move. Not when you can feel its eyes on you. Predatory, and no doubt hidden from the waning moonlight. Leaves rustle to your left, as if disturbed by a wind.

The air doesn’t shift, though. Not even a breeze.

Something cold, and squirming hatches in the pit of your belly, and you’re reminded of the first time he spilled his seed inside of you. What would it do to a human woman—to have his spawn take root in your womb? Would life manifest, feeding off your flesh and blood until it rips itself out with its teeth? You’d never considered it. How strange it had felt to have his come inside. Thicker than you would have expected, as if the eggs were…larger.

Another twig snaps, and a salty bead of sweat slides down your spine.

You know what creature is prowling the woods—the same one that had its entrails flung from its belly, gurgling and choking on rotten smelling blood.

It knows you, too. Knows the taste of your fear, the rhythm of your heart.

It knows you won’t be saved, this time. Because you walked away from him. You chose to leave, and now you’ll reap your own consequences. Shovel mouthfuls of dirt from your grave, then settle in that cold, muddy pit, as the earth slowly fills in around you.

It appears then.

One paw in front of the other as it slowly reveals itself to you. Rows of sharp, jagged teeth, glistening with spittle as its half-rotten tongue lolls out. The jaw goes back abnormally far, reaching below its eyes—as if it’s grinning at you. It’s eyes are mere slits, but they bulge from their sockets, the result of endless time spent in true darkness. Deepest pitch. As if blinded.

It regards you silently, allowing you to consider what it will do. An animal shouldn’t be able to understand the terror of the unimaginable, yet somehow, it knows. Knows to wait a while, letting your mind do the fantasising.

Then it begins its death march.

It’s skin is bone grey from a life without sunlight, and looks vaguely filmy. Thin flesh stretching over sinewy muscle, sharp bones jutting out to reveal its hunger. At least you know it won’t play with you for too long. It’s far too hungry for games tonight.

It springs forward, snarling with carnal starvation, paws pinning your shoulders as you’re knocked back into the damp, worm-infested undergrowth. You don’t have the breath to scream, not as it roars at you, spit flecking your cheeks as hot, damp breath curls over your face.

The creature snarls again, raising its paw, claws glittering in the moonlight as they slash down your chest, freshly tilling the skin of your front. Blood rises to the cool night air, beading then spilling over the puckered edges, saturating your white robe—that damned white robe.

A strangled whimper escapes your throat, nipples peaking in the frigid air, and the creature snarls again, looking over its prize. How it will feast.

Its wet snout—cold and slimy—nuzzles your throat, those sharp teeth grazing your neck, leaving thin lacerations in their wake. Over Azriel’s scar mark. The stamp of his canines. You wonder if it’ll disappear now, beneath the imprint of the beast’s fangs. You don’t know which would be preferable.

You’re a sacrifice, you realise.

A helpless gift, tangled in ribbon to placate the creatures of the forrest.

But when its teeth sink deep into your shoulder, and it shoves itself demandingly between your thighs, you realise it’s not only going to take your life, but something far darker, too.

That same, soul-splitting pain wracks your body. Agony lashing down your spine as you feel something stiff, and slimy at your entrance.

This time, you do scream. A cry of bloody murder that rips from your throat, tearing at your vocal cords, grating on your ears as you feel your world begin to be shredded apart.

Where is he?

Something dark and silky brushes your hand, but you don’t recoil. You know that feeling—the cold glint in those hazel eyes that are always watching you. Long before you ever knew him.

Please, you beg silently, tears blurring your vision. Please…, you pray.

His shadows flick at your skin, and you feel the beast retract its teeth, only to bite down in a different position—deeper. Tears roll down your cheek as agony so exquisite burns your mind, purges your thought. The shadows flicker again, brushing against your skin and you reach for them longingly. Because in this dream-scape, they are safety.

Something slices your fingers.

You hiss, flinching back, but his shadows don’t let you, binding your wrist. They tug, quietly urging, urging you to move while the creature fumbles between your thighs, getting drunk on your blood’s taste. Something narrow and solid slides into your grip, just as the darkness parts—the clouds receding with it. Steel gleams in the moonlight, and you recoil.

A dagger lies just within your reach. The hilt is made of a dark stone—obsidian?—and crusted with runes too ancient to be remembered. You know who it’s come from.

The blade itself is long, and sharp. Its edge is neatly serrated—perfect for sawing. It’s longer than your forearm. Long enough to pierce the creature’s throat, should you try. That’s all it would take. The slightest will on your part, and the blade would slice through its filmy skin. Enough to sever an artery, or at least deal it an incapacitating wound.

He’s asking you to kill for yourself, and you’re stumbling right into his lap again. Dragged closer and closer to that irredeemable edge. Elain had claimed he wouldn’t be able to reach you here, yet his powers seem to have wormed their way into your bones, crawled and infested your skin with his malignancy.

You feel the hard, slimy head of its member press into the soft dip between your thighs, and it’s all the encouragement you need.

Like a knife through warmed butter, the blade slides through its skin, hot liquid bubbling from its throat as it chokes and gurgles. And screeches. Screeches a sound of carnivorous fury that chills the marrow of your bones.

Blood splatters across your face, blinding you as you close your eyes against the scalding liquid that quickly cools in the night air. Its teeth have retracted, but it spasms, shoulders and hips jerking violently, before it slumps. You shove it to your side, the blade gliding out with a wet rasp as it gleams in the moonlight, singing the first notes to a symphony of bloodshed and skull-splitting torture you don’t wish to become acquainted with.

You sit up, staring at the—lamb.

Spotted through with patches of luscious dark wool that are stark against the pure white of its coat. A bloody gash lies in its throat, blood pumping hard until it oozes to a trickle. The earth turns muddy beneath the softly bleating creature, sounds small, and pleading—whimpering.

The dagger is a dead-weight in your hand as it rustles to the floor, disturbing the wet leaves.

Your fingers are trembling, eyes bulging from your skull with such terror they might pop. You can feel the strain behind your eyelids.

Paws scuff in the undergrowth, and you’re met with icy hazel. He takes you in: the blood, the lamb, the wet dagger and your darkened skin. His grin is uncomfortably wide. No mouth should stretch that far. Or have that many teeth.

The dagger is in your hand again, but the lamb is already dead. There’s no point in cutting it again to speed its departure—it’s left.

But the dagger isn’t there to make things easy; it’s there to aid. And right now, your stomach is growling with carnal starvation.

You won’t play with it long; you’re too hungry for games.

————

Cold breath flows into your lungs as you lurch upright from the damp sheets.

One look at the creature hunched at the foot of your bed has you reaching for the chamber pot beneath you, filling it with the contents of your stomach—meat.

Your retching ceases, and you shakily ease yourself onto your back, laying into the thin pillow. Sweat glistens on your body, the robe sticking to your skin in uncomfortable patches. Feeling a lot like blood.

Your hand wipes across your mouth, barely able to summon the strength to do so.

The creature’s eyes remain trained on you, the wet wheeze of your lungs as they haul air through cracked and filmy lips. You’re wasting away again. Except this time it’s no plague that’s ravaging your body—no. His sickness is too deep inside of you, ingrained in your very being. Rotting you to the core.

“What do you want, Azriel?” The question is horse, hardly a whisper, but he hears you just fine.

One taloned hand lowers to the bottom of your mattress, then the other settles further up—by your thigh. The first further: up to your waist. And you don’t have the energy to push away, or struggle. Barely the breath to scream.

He’s on top of you, chaining you to the mattress as if it’s a torture bed.

You need me. The words tumble freely into your mind, stretching across that strange thread that he’s sewed to your soul. You need me to live.

You weakly shake your head, but it’s little more than a tilt of your chin. “No…”

His hand settles on the pillow, and that strange pulse of energy washes through you. The bone-deep chill subsides, as if warmed by his power. As if in answer. What has he done?

If you don’t undergo the Ritual, you will die, he says, in that strange, wordless way of his. You give him a look that you hope him to understand as, I will be happy to cross over, and be rid of you. By the way he stiffens, you think he does.

But then something strange happens: he slides his hand beneath your head, fingers tangling in your hair—tenderly. You will not make it to the hills of those fields, neither the footsteps to the heavens. Blood heats, then chills. Then boils, then freezes. Neither will you make the drop to hell, nor to the pit beneath it. You will rest in between worlds. Unable to breathe. Unable to eat. Unable to feel.

Hazel turns soft, as if—were you to place it on your tongue—it would melt. You’ll be rid of anything that makes you human. No more than a husk, left to wonder the planes as your being carries you. You stare at him, too weak to be disbelieving. You need me to keep you from that. Return to the Underworld with me. Take the Ritual. Become like me.

The thump of your heart grows weaker by the second, despite the increasingly frequent pulses of magic that thrum through your skin. Take the Ritual, and then you can return here. Remain as long as you like. Until the citadel falls to dust, and the rivers become lakes; become oceans. Remain forever, but take the Ritual, so you can see it all, and live.

If you didn’t know better, you would say he sounds pleading. But you can hardly string one thought to the next, so you don’t. Instead, you latch onto that final flicker he’s shielding from the weight of the world, and nod.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#teeth and talons #Azriel #Demon!Azriel #Azriel x reader #Azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel acotar #shadowsinger

[lily-drake]

A "Malicious" Gift

When Rishe had told him with no hesitation that they were fighting, it was a bit of a shock.  He could never predict that girl.  However, he couldn’t help but admire the resolve in her eyes.  So, he agreed and left her alone.

When a knock resounded through his office, he knew it was her, but he didn’t look up from his work as Oliver opened the door and went through, closing it behind him.  Arnold looked up, staring at the door for only a moment before getting back to work.  For a moment he had thought that Rishe might come in, but no.  It was fine though, he had already resigned himself to the fact that she would come to resent him eventually.  After a few minutes Oliver came back into the room with a small basket and a far too amused grin on his face.  But Arnold ignored him and kept working.

“My Lord,” Oliver cheered, silent laughter coloring his tone, “it seems Lady Rishe has come bearing a rather malicious gift.”  Oliver carefully set the basket atop the desk before he stepped away, continuing to stare at him.  With a short sigh he looked up then glanced at the basket where a simple sandwich lay that contained a few pieces of meat, tomatoes, and lettuce.  “I am inclined to believe that the sandwich had not been tampered with despite the message, but I have not tested to be sure.”

The top bread piece was laid off to the side where he indeed noticed a small message written with some white sauce, “Your Highness, you idiot!”  Arnold stared at the message for a minute, unable to stop the grin forming on his face.

“Pfft.”  Arnold’s shoulders shook in silent mirth, eyes gleaming with intrigue.  A malicious gift indeed.

“I do hope that you won’t let Lady Rishe’s hard work go to waste, My Lord,” Oliver said with a large grin of his own, finding joy in the amusement of his master.  

“It seems a shame to ruin her art though,” he remarked casually, grin still plastered across his face.  Shaking his head, Arnold carefully laid the last piece of bread atop the sandwich, pressing the message against the lettuce as carefully as possible as to not smear it.  The only thought in his mind was simply how incredible his wife truly is.

#7th time loop #7th time loop: the villainess enjoys a carefree life married to her worst enemy! #light novel #rishe irmgard weitzner #arnold hein #Oliver Laurenz Friedheim #rishe x arnold #light spoilers #Volume 4 #They're “fighting” #Cute #Fluff #funny #This series is insane #and i love it #i love them #passive agression

[moxfirefly]

Oohh Bestie you've done it this time!!!

Girl you already know... our trash gremlin man of metal ⚙️ *daddy* ⚙️

"You know I'm your right? I only have eyes for you."

"I choose you, and I need you to trust that my decision is final. Trust me."

[Stake] and [Remind]

Girl. Do your magic!!

Friend you’ve got it 🫡

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

The tavern was a staple of the village. On most nights it would usually be crammed to the brim with the drunken laughter of the locals. On specific nights it was borderline empty due to it only being inhabited by one of the lords.

On this specific night you had sat down with every intention of enjoying just that.

Much to the dismay of a stubborn and foolish man.

Perhaps he’d forgotten his place? Perhaps the calm sounds of cups and bottles from the barkeep had lulled him into the tavern.

Either way, his most fatal mistake was to take the seat opposite you in a weak attempt to strike up a conversation.

“Quite nice when this place isn’t filled with the village drunk, eh?” He thought he was being coy, his smile flashing stained teeth and not so innocent intentions. “I wish it be like this more often than not. What’s such a pretty lady like you doing out this late?” His hand slid across the table, to which you smoothly retreated by placing yours in your lap.

“I believe it’s best for you to leave, sir” Your tone wasn’t malicious but you sure knew this man had about two minutes to live if he didn’t haul ass outta here.

“Leave? Well only if you leave with me, how bout it?” His grin spread across his cheeks.

You heard a door open not too far off behind you. The man turned, lifting two fingers in motion for the barkeep to pour two more drinks.

The second you felt hands on your shoulder and that cigar scent that naturally accompanied who’d just walked in, it took all your resolve not to stifle a laugh.

“Make that three, Elijah” Heisenberg’s voice was liquid smooth, a tone you’d come to enjoy greatly in your time spent with him.

The man before you quickly turned and his gaze was worth more money than you could ever fathom.

Heisenberg’s hands massaged your shoulders, the tingling they provided instantly made you shiver. The man before was caught between wanting to stand up and run or to keep perfectly still.

“My lord-“ He stammered out.

Heisenberg busied himself briefly by cupping your chin, he moved your head to look up. You were met with a handsome face, and a wolffish grin. Naturally he leaned down and whispered something to you that only made your smile spread and your cheeks tint pink.

The barkeep approached and settled the ordered drinks on the table. The man before you didn’t dare lift to grab his own and something about the way his face broke out in a sweat only served to make your grin more noticeable. Behind you Heisenberg had now began to play with your hair, he hummed before lifting a brow. “It’s rude to not drink when a lord has so humbly offered” His status had always meant jack shit to Karl but it never got old watching the villagers cower when he put his position above them. With shaky hands the man scooted close to lift the drink but the sudden notion that perhaps his drink could’ve been tampered with had him now all the more worried.

He stumbled and quickly bowed his head in shame. “My lord please if you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I was not aware that she-“ The sharp end of blade hovered in front of him. The shiny tip just close enough to have him cross eyed. All it would take would be a flick of his hand, jut out his chin, a bored movement and it would be the end for him. He held his breath, a whimper dying in the back of his throat. “Listen let me stop you there pal, as much as fucking with your peace of mind has entertained the two of us I can tell you that fucking her is a thousand times more entertaining” You felt leather finger tips on your scalp, a slightly more possessive hold. “I think he has learned his lesson Karl, as well as soiled himself” Your words fell from your lips like a honey, leaning back into his determined hold, you smiled up at him. “Take me home” And with that and a gentle shove of his hand the knife fell on the table.

As you gathered your things and Karl helped into your coat, you didn’t spare the man another glance. His tearful expression wasn’t enough to make him realize just how lucky he had gotten. While he wouldn’t admit it, you knew whatever your said would go with Karl. A simple request as being taken home would not be fought nor questioned.

The walk back had been surprisingly quiet, the cool air perhaps could’ve been reason enough. The icy winds had picked up now as night fell and much to your surprise Karl hadn’t continued his banter.

Something was very much working in his brain, and those pesky thoughts he tended to seal off would now have to be painstakingly cut open if you were you find out what exactly was running amok in his head.

At the factory, as you hung up your coat and scarf you took the second to reach for this own coat before he could. Delicate fingers brushing across the lapels of worn fabric as you slipped it off his shoulders. “You know I’m yours right? I only have eyes for you.” It was honest, scattered across the hairs on the nape of his neck. Whispered so delicately it made his skin breakout and something metallic clang against its surface. Those eyes of his sought you out, cold and calculating and too beautiful for his own good. “Is that so?” His voice felt just a tad soft, questioning the authenticity of your confession. Your lips found a scar on his throat as you moved around to stand before him, your lips tickled by the scruff of his beard as your lips found his ear. “I choose you, and I need you to trust that my decision is final…” You pressed a tender kiss to the lobe, before catching his gaze in an intimate stare. “Trust me.” Was all you needed to write the final period of your confession. There was something tortured that briefly flashed in his features, a haunting ghost that always lingered whenever the eyes of the villagers weren’t on him. You often caught it, felt that ghostly presence in the early morning hours when he would fuse his body to yours and feed the famished parts of his soul that had been neglected for so long.

Your hands cupped his face, thumbs caressing the scar on his lip as you stood on the tips of your toes to kiss him with a tenderness that broke him all over again like the first time it happened.

Naturally this led him to press you against the desk in the garage, and sit you there as he deepened the kiss and felt any ounce of doubt melt away with something so simple as your urgent words for more. Karl felt everything humanly possible surge though him as he hiked up your dress and undignified whatever garment in his way. He wanted your warmth on this cold winters evening. He craved nothing more than to swallow you whole and selfishly keep you like the diamonds found in the mines.

It was so achingly simple to slip inside of you, to feel that warmth engulf him and destroy him all at once. To say love was the word wasn’t enough, he needed something much stronger, more defined and new than love to describe how you set his soul ablaze. It was somewhere between the way your small hands untucked his shirt to feel at the scarred flesh of his back that he wanted to tell you he would keep you here forever. Because how could something so beautiful as you, equally ache and fight for him?

Your hand found his throat as he gently rocked against you, stretching you so deliciously it could make your head loll in dizzying pleasure. You gripped his throat, made his eyes open and land on your own.

‘I’m yours’ you mouthed at him, lips parted as a moan escaped you. You watched what those words did to him, made him sink deeper and harder into your heat and fuck you so slow and yet with so much meaning. His forehead pressed against your own, a groan so broken and needy exiting him.

His hands tighten around your thighs, as he watches obsessively with how you lose yourself around his cock. It guts him, it makes the slow rocking against you all the more meaningful as he watches your hands find his pecs and dig into the flesh as the first wave of release consumes you. He fucking loves how your eyes can’t stay open enough with how atrociously satisfying this is to you, because it’s in the way your thighs shake and cramp and your mouth hangs open in deliverance. Karl has to watch it even as the vice grip around his cock makes him light headed from the way it yanks his release as well. Make him push his sweaty forehead against your own and rub like a starved animal for affection.

He can’t keep his eyes open when he says it, runs the words against your lips like a ghostly lover would.

“I’m yours too…”

And when your hands find his chest and dig into the skin of his pecs, eyes unable to remain open because he’s making you cum so hard its earth shattering to witness it. Karl feels the vice like grip yank his own release out of him, makes him feel hazy and so atrociously satisfied.

“I’m going to stop you right there pal, mostly because at this rate fucking with your peace of mind doesn’t hold a candle to fucking this delightful

#ask #jealousy prompts #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x reader #imthegreenfairy88 #ns*w #re8 #re village

[neptunes-sol-angel]

Single Since Birth ♡

This is a pick a card reading containing short messages of guidance for those who have been single since birth.

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Pile One

You could be feeling as if you'll be stuck in this beginning stage of having no experience with romantic relationships forever but the message here for you is to not make yourself available to everyone out of impatience. There's so much love out there for you, and it will come when the time is right, but be careful with your desperation to avoid a situation that'll make you wish to feel stuck in this phase of not being tampered with. Your lessons right now that the universe is dishing out to you right now is to weed out the charmers that take your lack of experience as leeway to give you a false perception of what to accept out of love. I'm getting that you're highly vulnerable to those who tend to love bomb and make their exit in the nastiest and coldest way. Take this time of being single to learn more about what's actually healthy for you. Love is not something that you should "work" for in doses or be overwhelmed with for a day, some weeks, or some months until it declines to nothing. You're being guided to discern what is love and what is infatuation. You understand that you're someone that can give love in abundance and romanticize the feeling of love exuberantly, this stagnation is happening so that you don't get sucked of that enthusiasm dry from a person with malicious intent before you even get a glimpse of individuals who have the potential of being your life partner but most importantly someone that will love you in the way that you deserve.

Pile Two

The "Money vs Love" card popped out. I don't think that this message strictly is about finances though, this is more so about value. I understand that you really want someone, but your desire is going into extremes to the point to where you don't have any boundaries, or you're severely lacking them. You need to raise your standards. I feel like you're drawn to people in a way that you're throwing out your specific wants and needs in order for someone else to feel appreciated because you feel it will be reciprocated back—but it's not effectively leading you anywhere into a committed relationship. I'm getting that this is pulling you towards unrequited love situations or people in general trying to play you as if you're beneath them. You need to be more conceited about yourself and know your worth. It is absolutely okay to admit that you're better than someone or that you require more. Let me tell you why. Kindness, patience, and hyper-humility is not something that can be given for love, or make someone love you because love is not bought. Regardless if you have an outlook that's positive or more on the negative side about yourself, people are never going to see you the way that you do. The beautiful things that make you shine is definitely seen by others and it can either make them admire you or envy you. Being in a relationship with someone who's intimidated by your being and what you have is a painful thing that burns you in the end. Your love life is stagnant because spirit is redirecting you from the people that are not for you—you cannot have a healthy and genuine relationship with someone that doesn't see you as their equal. People can only give to you what they already have. Don't be patient for the wrong people, be patient with yourself , your journey and its pace so that the right person will come. You deserve your dream person you know? Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Do not settle.

Pile Three

You need to stop blocking your blessings by thinking that they don't exist 🙃 Love exists and it will be packaged and delivered on divine express timing right at your doorstep, but how will you recieve it by not opening up that door? Be more optimistic about your love life and take that leap of faith with opening your heart again to the idea of being loved by someone else and you loving them. Stop self sabotaging yourself by believing that you're unlovable or that love doesn't live where you reside. I see you indulging in your career and education and believe me I understand. What else can you focus on if you can't have what you want right now? I get it, it's definitely frustrating, but balance yourself to a point to where you're active in all facets of your life instead of purposefully missing out. When a tree is in its dormant state, it may be asleep, but it's still alive. Allowing yourself to sit and be in receiving mode doesn't mean that you have to wait for it, they key is to still be open to it. When I say that there's a package out there right now for you, I mean that. Just sit tight because "the one" is on their way to you and the way that they'll make you feel is going to make you thankful that you didn't decide to shut this opportunity out. Never let the idea of heartbreak or time cuff you into fear, there's this specific part in the song "room for happiness" that I'm thinking about. "Sometimes it's worth to have lost than to have never had at all".

Pile Four

There is someone that you're probably invested in right now or in separation with someone that you never got to be in an actual relationship with yet. The "Atlantis" card popped up for you guys. I'm seeing this as history being lost to distance both physically and spiritually, but because of the history, you're using this as an excuse to cling onto what's in the past to prevent yourself from creating a new addition to your future. This pile is weird. I feel like you could have suspicions about this individual being your person and you are right. But the message that I'm getting is to continue to keep looking at your other options, do not wait for this other person to get themselves together so that you two can be together. There is so much more for you to experience in this life and other people to love, you don't want to miss that opportunity by putting all of your eggs in one basket. Continue to put yourself out there and be more spontaneous with your love life. There's more to life than holding yourself back to reserve yourself to just one person who isn't doing the same with their own free will. Mirror that. Not in a way that's petty, but because you have a life to live to.

#divination #intuitive #psychic #pick a card #oracle #spirituality #tarot #pac #pick a pile #pick a picture #love readings #romance #self love #tarotblr

[edc2093]

#Malicious tampering #aggravated assault #Fraud #Theft #Add #Ptsd #Dallas #Adderall #cvs pharmacy #Texts

[yuffi369]

Co-DM

P03 x GN!Reader

In which P03 realizes that, for as much crap as he's talked about for you not appreciating his game design, you may actually know what you're talking about, sometimes.

Since you'd managed to keep a back-up of Inscryption's files after... everything, P03 had managed to worm his way onto your computer system's drive. At first, he acted a lot more maliciously; accessing permissions to just about everything, your webcam, your microphone, any files... he looked through just about everything, and began to make moves to even take over your computer entirely.

You were smart, though. You'd managed to get to where the backup copy of Inscryption and all of its files were, and upon threat of deletion, he cooperated. He agreed to only hang around your computer and not tamper with any of your files, or compromise your computer's integrity, but he still wanted to hang around. You didn't mind this for two reasons; one, it did seem rather cruel to keep him locked up in the files with nothing to do, and two, you didn't mind the company anyhow, seeing as most of your friends were over long distance.

One evening, you'd decided to get some work done on a campaign you were running for your friends. The game was in two weeks, so you had plenty of prep time, but there were some maps you had to make, encounters to plan, and you had to figure out some plot ahead of where they were going. The next session would be taken up in the first half by traveling, so it was mostly technical things like potential encounters, which was probably your least favorite part of game writing. You didn't hate any part, necessarily, but your strong suit lied in the story parts.

You were so lost in your struggling thoughts, staring at the VTT interface with a stumped expression, you almost forgot P03 was there. "Hey, idiot, you going to move the mouse, or are you going to let the computer screen fall asleep?"

You blinked rapidly, sitting up straight. "Huh?" You looked down at the tiny P03, who was staring at you as he stood on top of your task bar. "No, I was just thinking."

"What're you even doing, anyway?" he asked, looking at the grid on the screen.

"Writing encounters for my next game session," you replied, scrolling through another webpage you had open where you had access to stat blocks available to you.

"You write games?" he said, incredulously.

"Oh, right, I haven't had a session since you've come around and started living rent-free on my desktop."

"What do you want me to do for money, use your graphics card for crypto mining?"

"No," you replied, curtly.

"Anyway, given your criticisms about my game design, I didn't think you knew a thing about game design." He crossed his arm over his body, rolling his eyes.

"This isn't exactly a card game," you replied. "It's a tabletop roleplaying game. It's based on war gaming, with roleplaying added in. So it's a mixture of tactical gaming and story-based gaming. Not quite a card game like Inscryption."

"Interesting," he replied.

He continued to watch you work- or, well, the more accurate words would be struggle to work. You tried, several times, to put down tokens on the map, only to take them back off after a few minutes of deliberation. Sick of watching you struggle, P03 hovered up to your cursor, dragging it around to get your attention. "Hurry up. I'm sick of the ambient work music you've had in the background for the last hour."

"Sorry, P," you sighed, genuinely feeling a bit bad that he'd watched you do basically nothing this entire time. "I'm not exactly the best at planning encounters..."

"Lemme help, then. Pull up the webpage with the stat blocks."

"Fine. But aren't you programmed to write for Inscryption, not this?"

"I'm a fast learner." He scrolled through the webpage, looking through the stat blocks. After looking over a few stat blocks, he pulled up a stat block for an undead creature, that had an interesting mechanic. "Here. This should keep your players from falling asleep."

You took one look at the stat block and shook your head. "No. I can't use that."

He looked at you with exasperation. "Well why the f#%& not?" he said, the little beep censoring his cursing through the speakers.

"Those are undead creatures," you explained, using your cursor to point at the stat block's creature type. "They're just traveling through grasslands. I can't justify a random group of these just showing up out of the blue."

"I dunno what to tell you. This stat block's probably your best bet for an interesting mechanic that's low-level enough to not kill your players. Maybe have them, I dunno, take a shortcut through a graveyard, or whatever."

"Shortcut through a graveyard..." you repeated, under your breath. After a brief moment, you bolted upright in your seat, pulling up your document and beginning to write at an accelerated pace. P03 probably clocked you at about 90 WPM at your fastest. Once you were satisfied with the narrative text you'd written out for yourself to read upon arrival to the location, you pulled up the VTT and began placing things all around the map, taking your time to make sure things were placed in logical, good-looking locations, making sure to add terrain in places for your rogue to hide behind and take advantage of. Finally, you put the group of undead creatures on the hidden layer to pull up later, and then typed out what loot was to be found in the graveyard as well as on the bodies of the creatures.

Once you were satisfied with your work, you leaned back in your chair, gazing upon the zoomed-out map with pride. "Wow," P03 let out a whistle-like beep, looking at the map with you. "Once you got started, that only took, what? An hour? I would've been able to make the fight really easy, but all that other stuff probably would've taken me the better part of an afternoon."

"Well, I mean, it does take me a while to write something good. But when inspiration hits, I sort of just... go, and don't stop. But I don't have those moments often, or at least not enough for my liking."

P03 turned and glared at you. "Take the damn compliment."

You laughed. "Alright, alright, geez. Thank you."

"Now, let's celebrate with a movie." He pulled up a window with a video player, ready to play the file.

You raised an eyebrow. "Where did you get that?"

"Downloaded it off yarhar.net while you were writing."

"P!"

"What? I scanned it for viruses, it's clean. What do you want me to do, pay for Netflix? With what money?"

You just laughed, shaking your head. "Let me go make some popcorn."

"And I'll... pull up a jpeg of popcorn, I guess."

#p03 #p03 x reader #inscryption #inscryption p03 #you guys liked the last one a lot so have another!! this time more modern/realism #this can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh but i'd like to think of it as 'roommates to lovers'-esque #inspired by the fact that i could feel p03 shimeji judging me as i wrote for my d&d game today lololol #also tried my best to keep the ttrpg unnamed so that it could be system agnostic #petition for p03 to Get a Damn Job

[nonbinary-red-supergiant]

I cannot sleep so here I am ranting about why Monika is so tragic and that her realization towards the end of DDLC was absolutely perfect.

To start things off, Monika had ZERO idea about the real world outside of her world until the player joined her game, her world. The whole dating simulator could not have started without player because player was the trigger that activated the game to be set into motion. While everything was set into motion, Monika could have suddenly been hit with an odd feeling, a feeling and presence that she had never sensed before. Hell, she could’ve felt that peculiarity exactly when you download Doki Doki Literature Club. It was that moment that her conflict between herself, her world, and our world began.

So many people hate Monika for what she did to the other club members Sayori, Yuri, and Natsuki. However, in a way this can be justified if we just take a look into Monika’s thought process.

The simplest way to describe Monika’s predicament would be to call it an existential crisis. Once she realizes that the player is different from everything around her as in terms of genuineness, how real player feels compared to everything else around her, she begins to question the events that happened prior. She questions everything, including her closest friends who are presumably her club. She then doubts all the happiness and care and love that the other three girls have shown her all this time. In her eyes, all the work she put into everything she did, from creating the Literature Club, to literally navigating her own person to become the popular athletic lovable girl became… insignificant. And it is detrimental when someone starts to think that everything they’ve worked for has been for nothing. She’s no longer happy, in fact she hates everything around her because it only reminds her of the storm that is thundering inside of her. She sees nothing the same anymore, and now she is desperate for a solution. That solution sparks within her when she realizes that, unlike everything else in her reality, she has power.

Monika decides to use that power to obtain something she has never had before… something real. When the game begins, it clicks in her mind that the player is indeed real unlike her world. Desperate for a sense of true humanity, true love, true happiness, and true purpose, Monika tampers with the game script to make everything go her way. Now these are the horrific, infamous events that occur in DDLC.

Perhaps if Monika were in a better mental state, no one would have been treated so violently. But because of her crisis, she felt hatred towards her entire world. In fact, she could have been the most malicious and emotional towards the girls who she thought were her truest friends because she feels as if it’s their fault that her reality hurts so much. In her desperation, she justifies her own actions in those moments because she knows that none of them are truly real and that they don’t actually feel pain unlike she can. Plus, her actions led to you finally noticing her, which is what she needed in order to get a grasp of the reality she wanted anyway.

During the climax, she’s actually happy to be in your presence. She fell in love with you out of the desperation of wanting something real. Monika became attached to you, and saw you as the only thing that can make her feel any real emotion, love, and happiness. It was her own desperation that led to her demise. Unfortunately, she was forced to face the consequences of what she did to her world. The player never asked for anything that Monika did, you only wanted to play a cutesy video game. The way she twisted it was so psychotic, and Monika couldn’t even see that.

It was only when you deleted her that she finally realized her wrongdoings. She also realized that she’ll never truly fit in anywhere. If she were to stay in DDLC, she would only feel empty inside and starving for something more. If she were to be a part of our reality, she would realize that she can never be considered human because in our world, she would instead be considered artificial intelligence (AI). When she accepts her fate, it is out of the sadness of knowing that she can never be happy anywhere. That’s why she is not present during the final scenes of the game.

That is until Monika deletes the game as a whole. Her character file was deleted, but somehow that artificial intelligence managed to stick around and cling onto Sayori. With that remaining self-awareness, Monika was able to manifest herself onto that for a final chance of redemption. Her life within the game flashes before her eyes, every memory and every core event that happened seems to be rushing back. The ways that she hurt her friends immediately occurs in her mind, and it’s that guilt that makes her strive to make it up to them, even if they weren’t truly real. As if wanting to protect her friends from the realization that she had, Monika decides to do one last thing before she “dies”. As if it were some sort of way to let her friends be released from DDLC peacefully, she deletes everything. The world, her school, her club, her dearest friends. She gave herself up in order to protect the things she truly loved in her life. She truly loved her friends, even if they weren’t real, because they had stuck with her all this time, way before player joined. Those were the purest forms of love that she felt, and it must’ve been sad for her to realize that.

Monika’s final send off, “Your Reality”, acts sort of like a reflection of herself and mainly a final display to the player, you, that she did have humanity within her. You can tell by the piano, her voice, and her lyrics that the song is completely genuine and from the bottom of her heart. She wants DDLC to end on a good note because 1) Monika never had that chance to end like that herself, and 2) She doesn’t want you to be upset, she wants you to be happy because she truly did love you. She doesn’t want you or anyone else to go through the same thing she did, and I think that is fricking raw.

If you made it to the end of this rant, damn. I’d like to hear your thoughts and opinions about Monika’s while arc. Thanks for reading haha <3

#monika ddlc #ddlc fandom #doki doki literature club #character analysis #i love you monika you deserved so much better #they all deserved true happiness #rant post #actually if you read this #like so that I know which madlads actually read this post #justice for monika

[moomingitz]

I still think Roboticization is the most horrifying concept in the Sonic franchise to this day. It's not only a complete violation of bodily autonomy, but the very thought of having your body being forcefully changed or tampered with in any way is a very real tangible thing to fear. And what makes it worse is that the victims are still, usually, fully conscious and aware, but they physically can't do a damn thing about it.

And in the case of SatAm, where this interpretation of the concept originated from, the roboticicizer was actually invented by Uncle Chuck in order to improve people's quality of life and help them live longer. It wasn't until Robotnik stole it was it used for a far more malicious purpose. Which goes to show how easy it is for people to weaponize things that were originally intended to help others.

#Sonic the Hedgehog #Sonic #Sonic SatAm #Archie Sonic #Sonic Underground #IDW Sonic #opinions

[chelledoggo]

things i like about the current iteration of Journey Into Imagination:

the factory pomo aesthetic on the signage. makes me feel all nostalgic for stuff like Bill Nye the Science Guy and Disney's One Saturday Morning

Figment's still adorable, even if he's got some extremely dated CGI. i kinda like his rebellious-yet-not-malicious attitude here. makes me think like "oh? you think you can put me in a boring sterile laboratory environment and expect me to behave? think again, lol!"

Dave Goelz honestly does a great job at voicing Figment. it's not exactly the same as Billy Barty, but he still nails the whole "fun-loving and slightly mischievous child" vibe.

even if Eric Idle doesn't remember doing it and probably just sees it as a paycheck, he did seem to put his all into his role, and interacting with the "animated little fucker" (his words, not mine)

Figment's Open House is cool as fuck. (even if it is just a repaint from JIYI). i like how they have the old Imageworks shorts playing on the TV

and of course the final room full of Figments. i saw someone suggest that it was Disney's way of giving the middle finger to their guests. like "ohhhh you want Figment so bad? have a whole room full of him!" and i'm just like "lol are you threatening me with a good time?

obviously it doesn't compare to the original (which sadly i've only seen videos of) and i still hope at some point they do a "definitive remake" of the original (maybe with some modern-day imagineering and technical improvements, but not too much tampering with the story)

buuuuut i still think this one has charm

better than being told "fuck you you have no imagination" and then only getting a 5 second Figment cameo toward the end

#journey into imagination #figment #eric idle #epcot #disney #shut up chelle