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river-of-wine · 8 months

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I know I’ve mentioned this plenty of times before but I’m still kind of annoyed by how the fanbase just kind of completely declawed the four lords and placed the entirety of the responsibility for their wrongdoings on Mother Miranda.

The Baker family are great, I love them, they’re an incredible unit of antagonists who are intended to be very sympathetic, at least for the most part. Jack and Marguerite in particular have lost all control over their minds and their bodies, turning into extremely violent murderers and cannibals who threaten and attack their own family, kill anyone unfortunate enough to come across them and, especially in Marguerite’s case, lose complete autonomy over their own bodies. Marguerite turns into a walking bug hive who’s only purpose is to feed her family and birth her new children. Jack is an unstoppable murderous force of patriarchal violence who has so much fun chasing down and harming his victims, which in the Daughters DLC includes even his own daughter. The exception to this is obviously Lucas, who has been cured of his infection and his acting of his own free will. All of this is caused by Eveline, everything Jack and Marguerite do controlled by her, and yet Eveline is just as sympathetic as the rest of them. She’s a ten year old girl. Even Jack, who has watched his family and their victims suffer because of her infection, doesn’t seem to hold any of it against her. She just wants a family of her own, after all. It’s a complex and tragic situation.

The four lords, while I suppose being similar in structure, are not the Baker family. Not in dynamic, not in character, not in the kind of tragedy that they embody. I could talk for a while about just how completely different they are, but I don’t know if I really need to.

The Baker family are so tragic because they were just innocent bystanders trying to help a woman and a little girl they found in a shipwreck out in a storm. That’s the only reason they ended up in the situation that they were in. While the lords have similar origins, being victims of Mother Miranda’s experiments to bring her daughter Eva back, an important distinction between them is that in the case of the lords, all four of them are still acting of their own free will. Yes, Mother Miranda has undeniable power over them. She leads the cult they are part of, she has control over the village, she is their superior. However, I really dislike when every negative action by the lords is pushed onto her, as if the lords are not all grown adults who are for the most part acting independently of her.

With Alcina, she is the head of her own extremely brutal crimes. I think a lot of people have forgotten quite how horrifying the situations of the maidens are, possibly due to the prevalence shipping between Alcina and the maidens, and though we have minimal information what we do know is very frightening. Alcina uses her work force like livestock, draining them for their blood in a cellar full of horrific torture devices, and leaves their corpses to shamble around, armed and ready to attack any unwanted guests that have slipped out of the daughter’s clutches so that Alcina still doesn’t have to do her own dirty work, given how highly above everyone but Mother Miranda she appears to view herself as. While yes, Alcina does need human blood to survive, her methods are brutal, and none of this has been enforced upon her by Mother Miranda. Similarly to Jack on occasion, she takes a great deal of pleasure in hurting and attacking Ethan as he runs from her. Additionally, everything she does to Ethan is against Mother Miranda’s request. While yes, it is retaliation after he killed Bela, the part I often see people leave out is that Alcina is equally as upset that he entered her property and was attempting to steal from her, and she isn’t just after him to kill him.

Alcina has also been an active participant in aiding Mother Miranda with at least one experiment, considering that I’d how she got her daughters. While I’m sure her strong admiration for Mother Miranda and Mother Miranda’s power over her has absolutely had an affect in this, that’s not something I’ll deny, Alcina is still a grown woman and in her written entries about this shows no qualms about her participation in this. Her general attitude towards others, using young women as a good source and turning men into scarecrows, also leads me to believe that she does not exactly care who gets hurt or taken advantage of when it comes to her and Mother Miranda’s personal endeavours.

Donna and Moreau are the two more sympathetic people within the four lords, but they are not innocent. To start with Moreau, he’s desperate for Mother Miranda’s approval, as well as the other lords. He’s insecure and lonely, and he’s doing what he has been instructed by Mother Miranda when it comes to protecting the flask. However, he does also take quite a bit of joy in trapping Ethan in the reservoir and swimming after him with the intention to eat and kill him. Moreau though, given his conditions and circumstances, is the one I think is the least to blame for what he does.

Donna is hard to discuss because we know so little about her. Her parents are dead, as well as whoever Claudia was to her, she communicates through Angie and she can cause those who enter her house to hallucinate. According to Mother Miranda, Donna is severely mentally ill and that is what has made her an unfit vessel. I think a lot of people took this to mean that Donna is unaware of what she is doing, that the hallucinations she is showing Ethan are frightening, but after having been a fan of this game for years I just can’t agree with that anymore. Donna intentionally lures Ethan into her house with visions of his supposedly dead wife. Donna is going after fears she likely knows Ethan has, making him relive Mia’s death, take apart a mannequin of her, listen to her voice panic over something being horribly wrong with Rose, all building towards the horrifying baby that chases him through the house. There is no way Donna doesn’t understand how what she is showing Ethan is distressing, especially when you consider that, given how she can make herself appear and disappear at will within Ethan’s vision and that Angie is sitting in the hallways stationary and unspeaking, Donna was likely close by Ethan at all times and could see and hear his frightened reactions to what she was intentionally showing him.

Donna’s death is upsetting, but Ethan was not just chasing her down and killing her. Donna was attacking him, or at least she was controlling her dolls to do so. It’s still a hallucination, but Ethan doesn’t know that. When faced with a threat that is keeping you trapped and trying to end your life, you will likely try to get away or try to fight back, as Donna is doing to Ethan after he starts to attack her and Ethan is doing to Donna when he thinks his life is still in danger. I would also like to remind everybody that Donna communicates through Angie. What Angie is saying, that’s Donna. Angie doesn’t talk or move once she’s dead, it is Donna who controls her.

Lastly, Heisenberg. I think Heisenberg is the one of the four most entrenched in headcanons. Headcanons are fine, I am never in this post trying to suggest they aren’t, but my issue comes in when people use them to try and change the canon of the game. For example, it’s fine to believe that Heisenberg was experimented on by Mother Miranda as a child, but that isn’t canon. It’s fine to believe that Heisenberg mourned the deaths of his siblings, but that isn’t canon. The opposite is, with Heisenberg not viewing the cult as an actual family and being very openly mean to all three other lords, even Donna and Moreau who seemingly haven’t done anything to slight him. While his goal of killing another Miranda is a very understandable and sympathetic one given what she has done to him, using a six month old baby as a weapon and trying to bring her father into the mix only to try to get him killed when he denies him is not. I cannot overstate quite how little Heisenberg actually cared for Ethan and Rose’s safety when it came to his goal, and given that we are playing as Ethan, Rose is the priority.

Heisenberg has built an army of corpses he has presumably stolen and desecrated. This is kind of fucked up actually, and done completely independently of Mother Miranda. He also puts Ethan through a very dangerous lycan gauntlet before he even reaches the factory, which makes it even stranger to me that people seem to interpret Heisenberg’s deal as something that would have benefitted both him and Ethan and as if he ever had Ethan’s safety in mind.

All four of the lords have tragic aspects to them and there are definitely reasons to sympathise with all four. They’re victims of Mother Miranda, who knows they will all be killed. She wants them to be, giving her less to deal with by the time she has Eva back. They never meant anything to her. Not Alcina or Moreau, who were desperate for her attention. Not Donna, suffering from her unspecified but apparently severe mental illness. Not Heisenberg, who was seemingly her favourite creation. However, all of them are grown adults who do their own bad things independently of her.

And it’s fine to still like them. It’s fine for them to be your favourite character. It’s fine to have happy or nice headcanons about them or want to kiss them or be their friend or to want them to have survived. It’s fine to like characters who do shitty things. It’s to be expected in a game series like Resident Evil. It’s a horror game series. People are going to do bad things.

I just find it so boring when people take away all their bite. What makes a character like Lady Dimitrescu so fun it’s that she’s completely over the top. She’s campy and ridiculous, her castle layout makes no sense, she’s got three kids made of swarms of flies dressed like a set of goth triplets, she’s a lesbian who’s castle is full of naked statues of women, she turns into a big dragon and laughs maniacally while flying around and trying to eat you. She’s evil and it’s fun. It’s the same with Heisenberg. He’s a campy show off with a fun voice and a massive hammer he never actually uses. He can control metal. He looks like a cowboy. He pronounced Miranda in a funny way. He talks to you over an intercom while trying to get you killed. They’re fun and evil and they fight over who gets to kill Ethan like they’re two little kids. It’s absurd.

What makes a character like Donna so scary is that she’s silently working in the shadows, unassuming at a first glance and unseen for most of the time in her house. She is the least threatening of the four upon first glance, and yet she has undeniably the most frightening part of the game. Pretending as if Donna is completely unaware of what she is doing and babying her like she is an incapable child waters her down completely and takes away from the effectiveness of her character.

Villain characters are great! They’re very often the highlight of the story they are in, and they aren’t real! The four lords especially are often so completely exaggerated in what they do as well. It’s fine to like villains! It doesn’t make you bad! Characters can be bad people and you can still like them!

It’s just frustrating seeing a group of very fun and exciting villains, all designed with different aspects of horror, all over the top and campy and stupid and fun, all doing their own set of fucked up things, watered down to a set of poor innocent victims who have never done any wrong ever. If you want Jack and Marguerite, take Jack and Marguerite. Lady Dimitrescu loves killing and eating women and Karl Heisenberg turns corpses into soldiers. They’re bad people and they do comically exaggerated bad things. If you can’t stomach liking a character like that, horror is probably not the genre for you. Unless it’s Resident Evil 7, I suppose, but apparently tall women aren’t hot when it’s Marguerite Baker crawling on the walls.

#I just wanted to ramble abouts the four lords they’re fun as villains and I’m really bored of how their edges keep getting rounded off #resident evil 8 #re8 #lady dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #karl heisenberg #resident evil 7 #re7 #jack baker #marguerite baker #eveline baker

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yanderenightmare · 4 months

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Mahito

TW: idk, threatening atmosphere ig

fem reader

Thinking about being a psychologist assigned a certain crazed serial killing cannibal…

The walls seemed too white. Loud. So impersonal, it became personal. Cold and eerie, as if it wanted to make everyone inside feel unwelcome.

Your palms were embarrassingly sweaty, causing you to wipe them down your skirt, also in an attempt to straighten it out, where the approaching footsteps on the other side of the door only helped make your heart beat faster.

You swallowed your anxiety when you heard the latch open and tried to wipe your face free of fear, knowing how such fragility would not survive here. You almost felt nauseous, but then the patient came in, and, unlike you, he looked completely normal – happy even.

"Good morning." You reported routinely, and just as routinely, he chose not to answer and instead stared at you where you sat on the other side of the table, as ready as ever.

It had become a ritual shared between the two of you. Intimate.

You, who made yourself comfortable before he was let in – folder and notepad and two ballpoint pens in two different colors, one red and one blue, placed in front of you on the table – just far enough away that he couldn't reach them.

And he, who’s comfortable either way – dressed in his given uniform and slippers as he stepped across the cold floor slowly before dropping into the chair in front of you.

You wear jewelry, and suppose he does so as well.

He looked your body up then down – analyzing what he saw with an unimpressed face – taking in your straight posture where you sat like a doll placed in a glass display with your knees together and your hands folded neatly atop your lap.

He seemed disappointed when roaming your outfit – a childish pout on his lips. A secular pencil skirt, tight but modest nonetheless, reaching below the knees – only showing calves and ankles. A demure blouse – no sheer fabric, no bright color, no cleavage – just dull pink-beige that reached up below a set of pretty collarbones and a neckline donned a simple pearl necklace.

If you wore makeup, it couldn't have been much – but your lips had a certain shine to them, not much color other than natural, but glossy in a way that made them look… tasty.

You were pretty, but pretty in a very ordinary way – pretty in such a way that wasn't enough to answer the question of whether you were trying or not. And he thought that was fun.

You looked boring, but you weren’t boring because you were anything but obvious.

You smiled nicely, pretending that he didn't make you nervous – and that, in turn, made him smile, but not for the reasons you would have liked. He thought you were a little weird for wanting him to get comfortable with you when you were so clearly nowhere near comfortable yourself.

"How are you today?" You asked as if in a normal conversation when your previous ask didn’t earn any response.

He considers playing along for a few seconds but eventually feels he has done so too many times before – that now it would only achieve something boring.

He nudges the inside of his cheek with his tongue and scrapes it against his teeth before finally answering. "Have you ever seen someone go through withdrawal?"

If this had been your first time with him, you would have reacted differently, but you have since learned that he’s happy to force what he feels like telling, regardless of your attempts to turn the conversation onto other topics. So, instead of asking why he's asking what he's asking, you answer honestly and let him continue.

"No. I can't say that I have."

"Then you're in for a treat.” He says and begins the game, quickly noting with a keen twinkle in his eye the way your smile tightens before he continues. "You might think I look like shit now, but you should’a seen my skin then – all ash and gray like a rotten fish. Should have some pictures of that in your binder – I looked as good as dead.” He joked with a smile. "And yet, I was still alive… ‘cause I kept kicking and flopping around. And it was cold – freezing – so cold that my teeth gnashed without having anything to bite into. And even though I’ve never been one to cry, I cried then, like a newborn fresh outta the womb." He confessed with even more of a chuckle in his voice.

The smile only grew sharper when he saw you open the notebook – his eyes twitching a little at the sound of the ballpoint clicking under your thumb as he watched you approach the sheet with red ink.

"Oh- and sweat," He continued, "My God, how you sweat." Grinning as the adrenaline of excitement sharpened the red in his corneas – crazed two-toned eyes bulging as he watched you scribble. “You may think you know sweat, but you don't – you don't know the stench of it.”

He shook his head along with the words, happy to have engaged you in his little game. You were so cute, sitting there opposite him as if the two of you were on a date and he was telling you some fun story from his past.

"And I shook! Like I was crazy – like I had demons on the inside that wanted out!"

You gasped as he brought his large fist down hard on the table with a blow that shook the remaining blue pen as if it jumped in fear and cowered to comfort itself the same as you.

“And then they came out. ‘Cause I puked ‘em out!”

His eyes were impossibly dark, though they remained the same as always. Full of something… something you just couldn't understand. Along with a crack of a smile that was anything but healthy.

"For several hours, I vomited until my soul was left in the toilet bowl… That is… the times I was lucky to even make it to the bathroom in time..."

His words earned a grimace from you, sitting with a lump in your throat, clutching the pen that had now gone silent in your still grip.

"And that smell doesn't go away…" He continued, calmer now. “It sits and sinks into the floors... Remains to remind you of what you are – mocks you, pokes fun, laughs as it predicts the future…”

His eyes gave yours the same feeling as being threatened with a knife, the way he looked down at you while you stared up at him – your eyes wide in prayer before you couldn't hold back any longer and had to look away.

"Because you know..." The voice was even quieter now but still with a reprehensible darkness that required goosebumps. "No matter what promises you make to yourself, you will always break them the moment the hunger strikes again... That's just human nature." He concluded, letting the silence work for himself.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and met his gaze again, trying your best to appear unflappable even though you’d already let the mask slip a couple of thousand times already.

"What made you think of that?" You asked then, clicking your pen – that way you do when the silence creeps worse than his words.

“This room.” He answered. “It's like withdrawal.”

"It doesn't say anywhere in your file that you’re a drug addict?"

"The whole reason I'm sitting in here is 'cause I’m an addict." He snarled, and you almost lost the pen with how you flinched.

There was another pause, and his face softened again into something else.

"But you're right. I've never done drugs." He smiled with his head cocked a little to the side as he looked at you with that fixed unpleasant look. "But I was convincing, wasn't I?"

You clicked your pen again and wrote another thing down in the notepad.

"Psh-" He scoffed. Something in his voice had changed, twisted into something similarly accusatory to yours. "You're just like me."

You stopped writing. Your whole body had been taken by instinct at his disturbing statement – brows furrowed as you fought the urge to gnaw at your bottom lip.

"How so?"

Your heart was pounding to the point where you could hardly feel anything but the bleeding pulsing in your ears – pumping in your fingertips – rocking the ribs in your chest.

A silent toothless smile crept up his face anew from where it had been playing at the corner of his mouth as he watched you cling to the red pen as some sort of weapon you could use if he chose to throw himself across the table.

He laughed at the thought but stopped short upon his next utterance. "You’re also an addict."

You had such a very pitifully confused expression. He took a second to admire it with a smile that only grew sharper, to a sick point where you almost couldn't recognize him as human at all anymore.

"You use – you eat and chew and swallow everything but the bones, everything you can stuff your bottomless belly with in hopes it'll soothe the hunger."

You had to gulp.

"Most people, you see, eat themselves. But we…" His gaze was like a spark – powder and fuse teased by friction, just waiting to explode. "We eat people."

Another silence fell upon you, but this one heavier than the previous ones – as if everything took a moment to catch its breath before you let it go, and with it came a deeply unsettling shiver down your spine.

But before you could question the statement, a beep came and took the patient away.

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nsharks · 6 months

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"Twix."

Blue says your name in a single exhale of relief. You didn't expect her to be awake. She sits with her legs outstretched by a barely-there fire as you enter the cabin, the busted door groaning shut behind you. Fatigue sinks you to the floor beside her. You're about to curl your numb hands within the long sleeves of your new jacket, but the burn on your fingers makes you wince from the friction.

“You're filthy." She reaches for your hand, gently inspecting the burn. "And someone hurt you."

"Well, technically, I hurt them."

Blue shakes her head, the tone of her voice hardening the moment she drops your hand. "You shouldn't have gone."

"It was important—"

"It was stupid. You saw how those guys tried to kill us!" She huffs out a breath before snapping her gaze back to the flames. "You... you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't even say goodbye. I just woke up and you were gone.”

"I didn't want to wake you this morning because you needed rest,” you reason.

"That's a shitty excuse," she grumbles back, gesturing to the pink bracelet on her wrist. "I may not have a lot of friends, but I do know they're supposed to tell each other things like this."

Your eyes trail down from the burnt skin on your fingers, red and bubbly, to the cheap, plastic beads encompassing your wrist.

"You're right," you speak softly. "I should have told you."

A few minutes lapse in thick silence. In the midst of it, you swallow a few chalky pills to help with all the pain. You've been conservative in using them so far, but with your additional score of medicine, you figure you can afford some relief. There's no way you'll be able to sleep with your bitten wrist throbbing incessantly.

You're about to lean against the wall and let your eyes flutter shut when Blue speaks again, this time her voice so quiet you wonder if you're imagining it.

"You know, I was excited to go on this trip," she whispers, still looking at the fire. "I even secretly hoped we'd run into other people, just because—" she pauses to swallow, "—because I never get to meet any. And the ones we have met, my dad always kills. Except for you."

She drags her sleeve over her face and it’s now you notice she is crying. A knot forms in your throat and, after the day you've had, you struggle to find the right words.

"He kills them for a reason," you settle on, voice equally hushed. "A lot of people are—"

"A threat, I know." Blue repeats the words like a bitter mantra, then looks at her bandaged leg. "What does it feel like?" she asks after a moment, sliding her glossy eyes to yours. “Killing a person. Ghost told me it feels just like killing an animal or a Grey."

You inhale, then fix your stare to the dark ceiling. "No— I don't think it feels the same. It's much worse. I still get sick from it,” you admit.

"How many have you killed?"

"I don't remember anymore, but not that many." Certainly not as many as Ghost has. "It was always in self-defense. Always because I had to."

"I wish nobody ever had to," she says.

"I know. Me, too.”

With a sigh, she carefully scoots closer to you. "I'm sorry for getting mad. I just want to go home.”

"Don't be sorry. I’m the one who is sorry." You shake your head and offer her a shoulder until both of you have your backs against the wall. Her hair tickles your cheek. A small hand slips around your waist in a tender embrace, her fingers latching onto the fabric of the jacket. The sore muscles of your core flex instinctively from the touch before you finally force yourself to relax. It’s just Blue.

"Your dad says we're going back tomorrow,” you whisper, jaw grazing the crown of her head. “Sleep. It'll be a long day again."

"A long day for you maybe," she murmurs against your shoulder. "I get to ride on his back."

"Lucky you." You drape the heavy blanket over your bodies. Together you are warmer, if only by a little.

Deft wind whooshes through the trees, kissing your wet skin. Splotches of wriggling orange and red follow the water's current, along with a trail of brown muck as you scrub your breasts, hair, and cheeks. The sight of fish makes your stomach grumble. It's been far too long since you've had anything but squirrel and deer and berries, but this is not the time or place to ponder a way to catch one. The blue wash of early morning lightens with each second that passes. You wring out your hair, rewrap your wrist, and put your clothes back on before carefully climbing up the slope, satisfied enough with your icy bath.

"Ready," you announce, blowing a white breath into your hands and rubbing them together. Ghost crouches down so Blue can teeter onto his back. The backpack full of ammo hugs his front. He appears exceptionally bulky with all the baggage, and yet, he makes it look effortless.

Together, you head towards the infamous bridge, if one could call it that. Silvery fog makes it hard to see more than ten meters ahead of you, but Ghost seems to have the area memorized. Your hands ball up in your pockets, feeling empty and useless. With no bow, you have to rely on Ghost to get you back. It's a weird thing. Though, you suppose if there's anyone you'd want to be stuck out here with, it would be him. His presence alone offers more safety than the measly knife around your ankle.

"Ghost, we should go behind her," Blue says when you reach the beam.

He steps aside to allow you on first. "Try not to go for a swim this time."

A flush of pink bites your cheeks, though you blame it on the cold. It's hard to believe just four days ago you slipped off this thing. With his hands preoccupied, Ghost can't hold onto your shoulders like before, but he lingers close behind and repeatedly orders you to keep your eyes on the bank.

Once you're all across, a calm quiet settles, a vast contrast to how talkative Blue was the first time around. It makes you absentmindedly pick the skin around your nails. By the time you reach the road, you've looked behind your shoulder at least ten times, half-expecting to spot a burnt face hiding among the trees. Squirrels prattle by. A starling calls above your head. But no people. You force your eyes onward and take a deep breath.

"So, uh, would you rather get mauled by a bear," you break the silence, stepping over a stray tire, "—or be struck by lightning?"

It takes a second for Blue to respond. "Oh. That's a good one. Do I have a gun while the bear attacks me?"

"No. No weapons. Just you and the bear."

"Then lightning." She pats Ghost's shoulder. "Could you take a bear?"

"On a good day, maybe," he answers.

"What about you, Twix?"

"No," you instantly scoff, kicking at a rock. "A bear would rip me apart. I would choose lightning because it'd be quick."

"Okay, I have one," Blue quips. "Would you rather be ripped in half, or fall off a tall building?"

"Ripped in half by what?" Ghost asks, tilting his head back.

"It doesn't matter." You can hear the roll of her eyes.

"It does matter. Might change my answer."

"Fall off a building," you interject. "The way down would suck, but I bet you don't feel a thing once you hit the ground."

"But you'd look like a dead bug," says Blue.

"I don't care what I look like. I'll be dead."

Ghost clears his throat. "My turn, then."

"No! You have to pick one," she exclaims.

"Building," he drawls. A shadow of movement passes to the right of you. You naturally flinch closer to them, but it's just a doe hunkering down tall weeds that reach out of the concrete. A chuff of breath leaves your lips as you look away, only to find Ghost staring at you. For a few seconds, his eyes flicker between you and the deer before he goes back to focusing straight ahead.

"Would you rather," he begins, "—chop off all your fingers, or take out your own eyes?"

"What do I use to take out my eyes?" Blue asks.

"Knife."

"I guess my eyes," she winces. "I mean, I'd rather get rid of two things than ten."

They both glance at you expectantly. A frigid gust of northern air takes hold of your hair, so you tuck the unruly strands behind your ears. "Uh, fingers," you decide after a moment. "I could probably live without them."

In the village, the air stinks enough for Ghost to come to a halt. Before, he was able to pass right through. This time, a group of fourteen or fifteen Greys seems to be trapped on the main street between a crumbled wall and a fallen telephone pole. He has to decide between expending ammo or time. It's not long before he nods to a small building and the three of you scale the rusted fire escape. From the safe distance of the roof, he takes out the Greys one by one with an accuracy that barely leaves a dent in the ample stockpile of cartridges. With the route cleared, he's saved at least an hour or two of precious daylight.

The fog lifts. The ambery sun tries to peek through the clouds, but the sky is bent on staying grey. By the time you are back, your blisters have blisters. Blue has fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the back of Ghost's neck. Relief, thick and palpable, tastes sweet on your tongue. The fence, the rabbit hutch, the much-cozier cabin; none of it is home to you, but still, it calls your name in a welcoming coo.

You have to aim Ghost's flashlight so he can unlock the gate. Blue stirs, but her eyes remain closed even when he pushes inside the cabin. It's shrouded in darkness. You prop the flashlight on the table as his boots scuffle against the floor.

He puts her to bed. As he does, you feel around for the sofa and nearly choke when your worn fingertips graze shabby fabric. Not icy water or solid wood or muddy ground, but something soft. You're about to sink into it, your bones desperate for the springy cushions, when he returns to the threshold of the hallway with an ugly, flannel sheet in his hands.

"Here."

It's hard to be certain if you thank him or not; your brain conjures up the words, but your voice doesn't seem to function quite right. One thing is certain: you accept the sheet, tuck it on with urgency, and then lay down, burying your face in the crook of the pillow and arm. You kick off your boots and let the darkness take you, swift and heavy. It could be a coma or death disguised as sleep, and you figure you'd still slip into it without fuss.

Those first days back are quiet. Blissfully uneventful. You sleep and sleep. In fact, you don't move from the couch except to relieve yourself and eat a little. Ghost and Blue don't seem to do much, either. Or maybe you just don't notice.

At one point, you wake up to a small stack of shirts beside the couch. All black. One long sleeve, the rest short. You change into one and continue sleeping.

At another point, Blue hovers above you with a whisper that draws out a groan from you. "Hey. Ghost is making me skin some rabbits. Apparently, it's the only chore I can't get out of. Do you want to help me?"

"I think I'm good." You stuff the pillow over your face to make your point.

"You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

"I could go for another three."

She takes the hint and staggers away. Walking now. You hear her right leg drag a little.

The sleep is good until it's not.

On the fifth night, you're no longer fatigued enough to keep the dreams squandered. They start as whispers. Hoarse and gritty. Then they get louder and louder, shouting your name until they are so loud it feels like someone is screaming in your ear. Different voices blend into an indecipherable cacophony. One screams in pain; another in anger. You feel someone's cold fingers take hold of your neck and are finally pried awake, flying up against the couch with fiery pants burning through your lungs. But all that's there is a dark room.

Sweat clings to every inch of you. It feels like everything is on fire, and all you want to do is cool down. You haven't bathed since the river. Catching your breath, you swing your legs down and quietly pad to the bathroom where you hope a little water is left. Luckily, in the glint of moonlight, you find a bucket used for washing hands and scoop some to your face. Then, you comb it through your sweat-laced hair.

You unwrap your wrist and brush your fingers over the bite. You dab some water on it. You can't see well, but you feel the constellation of congealed scabs beneath your fingertips. Scars. Wounds. Your nostrils flare as a you wonder if one day you'll be so covered in them you won't even look like yourself. It's a good thing there is not enough light to spot the reflection of your face in the mirror, because you're not thrilled to greet the one now on your brow.

On your way out of the bathroom, something solid and immobile blocks your path. You startle backward, sucking in air as you peer up at a masked face. Ghost. It's Ghost. You haven't spoken to him since getting back, and in this moment, you long for the ability to push past him, but his wide shoulders consume the narrow hall.

It's silly to think you can avoid him when you sleep in the same space now. The thing is— you have no idea what to think of him. Before, it was easy to settle on fear of how easily he could snap your neck, and annoyance for how he treated you. And then, when forced to, you could engage in a pragmatic conversation about how to keep yourselves alive.

But now, you don't know what you are supposed to feel around him, and you have spent zero time reflecting on it so far.

"Sorry. I was just, uh, washing my face."

"In the middle of the night?" he rasps, tilting his gaze down.

You teeter back a step, keeping a healthy bubble of space between your bodies. You're not sure why he hasn't just moved out of the way, or what he would be up and about for at this hour, but briefly, you wonder if he is suspicious of you. If after everything you went through, he still thinks you're trying to do something and might send you back to the shed. The three of you relieve yourself outside the cabin since the plumbing doesn't work, so it certainly does seem odd that you'd be in the bathroom during the night.

"I was sweating a lot." Inwardly, you curse at yourself. "I mean, I haven't bathed since we got back, and I..." You trail off in a whisper.

"And you what?"

"I don't know." You fiddle with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you. "I'm not trying to kill you or your daughter in your sleep, though, if that's what you're thinking."

He simply stares at you. It feels like he can see right through you, and your eyes drop to your wool socks. Then, he murmurs, “I wasn't thinking that."

"Okay," you reply carefully. "Could you... please move, then?"

Finally, he steps out of the way, but you feel the burn of his eyes on your skin as you brush past him.

"Twix."

You pause, looking back. "Yes?"

A shake of his head. And then: "Take a proper bath tomorrow. You could use it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Will do."

With that, you crawl back onto the couch.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #zombie apocolypse au

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mllemaenad · 9 months

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Listening to Wyll's backstory in context of all the details we're acquiring on devil's contracts and soul selling is fascinating.

See - I listened to Lann Tarv's three tales to get my soul coins. I felt bad for making Karlach listen to that, obviously, but to be honest I didn't even want the coins that much. I actually wanted the stories. I wanted a better understanding of how this works.

And what I'm learning is - for the gods (and godlike beings) of this world, cruelty seems to be the point. I mean - it's possible there's a god in this world I wouldn't want to stab to death with a rusty fork, but if so I have not met them yet.

These beings have the power to save people and places, to change lives, to do anything. And when someone asks them to - they demand a terrible price. But they don't just demand a price. They subvert the original request in such a way that they utterly fail to deliver on the original promise.

An abused woman wishes to be loved - and her true love appears, but dies instantly. A man wishes to save his children from starvation, and ends up personally growing masses of meat on his own body - not only painful for him, but forcing his children into survival cannibalism, which they were trying to avoid.

Auntie Ethel works the same way. Every one of her customers is left in a tortured state, while Ethel still takes her payment.

The idea is that the person must come to regret their wish long before the payment comes due. Every cry for help must be met with a boot to the face. Or else the mortals will get uppity? Or something.

What is interesting is how consciously Wyll defies that. And how much Mizora is dancing around, trying to force him into that state of miserable regret.

Wyll was manipulated into selling his soul. He was a kid, and he was summoned into a terrible situation - and in that moment, he could see no other way to save the city. Mizora did need to save Baldur's Gate to serve her boss's purposes, so she couldn't take that victory from him - but she did everything she could to take the joy of it.

He didn't get respect, or admiration, or his father's pride for saving the city. He lost his home and his family. He was assumed to have done something monstrous because he was denied an opportunity to defend himself.

That was supposed to fill him with bitterness and regret - but he got to work building his own life instead. By the time you run into him, the Blade of Frontiers is a hero of some renown. He's remade himself, and found a way to enjoy what his powers can do, however he came by them.

So that didn't work.

Then Mizora sent him after Karlach, and that was a mission tailored to break him. Karlach is kind and heroic herself, and that the start she has been sold into slavery, mutilated and forced to fight in a war against her will. If Wyll killed her, and then found out who she really was, then he betrayed everything the Blade of Frontiers is supposed to stand for - and he would lose the life he made for himself.

But he didn't, and that didn't work either. He's got a friend, now, who at least knows part of what he's dealing with.

So Mizora gave him demonic features. That would destroy the life he's made for himself, because no one would trust him to help them.

Except now Wyll basically goes nowhere on his own, and a small army of people can attest that he got those horns and eyes as punishment for being a good man. Mizora might be able to shut his mouth, but she can't silence his friends - and the group absolutely have shouting sessions about everything. Wyll's horns become a battle scar, like his missing eye, and nothing more.

And beyond that, if you are playing as a heroic character, a significant throughline in the game's story is the journey of the tiefling refugees. The story makes it clear that these people experience a constant barrage of racism, due to their appearance and "demonic" heritage. It also makes it abundantly clear that this prejudice is entirely undeserved - they're just people, with virtues and flaws like everyone else, and what is happening to them is terrible. So Wyll turns up to assist a bunch of people whom he now at least somewhat resembles - and with Karlach along, you have two people in the group who technically count as "infernal", but haven't got an evil bone in either of their bodies.

Mizora created solidarity. Oops.

Wyll is deeply suspicious of gods and higher powers. He doesn't want to make more deals with devils. When Elminster arrives to tell Gale what Mystra demands of him, he explicitly says he does not do religion. When you get Mizora to agree to let his contract expire in six months, he starts by casually invoking the gods - but switches to thanking the player character instead, because he knows who helped, and who did not.

But he utterly refuses to regret the pact he made. That can be a struggle. He clearly misses his dad, and would like that relationship repaired. The fact that he was transformed very much against his will is clearly a source of distress from him.

But if he regrets, then Mizora wins. That's it. Game over. She gets what she wanted all along. So he doesn't.

The main companion characters all have this kind of problem, and naturally have different ways of dealing with it. You have characters like Shadowheart and Lae'zel, who were indoctrinated as children, or Gale, who was literally seduced by one of these nightmare deities - and with them you have to start out by convincing them they they were the wronged party in the first place.

But Wyll knows exactly what game he's playing, and he's been screaming defiance the whole time. It's just that, in his case, the "defiance" is grinning and carrying on every time Mizora inflicts some more bullshit on him.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

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piece-of-the-pie-if · 9 months

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Demo! 🍑 Directory! 🍑 Trigger Warnings! 🍑

It's the first day of senior year and the people are itching for some drama... apparently.

When you get caught slacking by your best friend and staring off into the abyss turns out to be resident cool kid Dylan Quinn you're dragged under in to the cess pool of love-based-drama that surrounds NYC's McKinley High.

Just as you're forced into a love triangle by the school's resident queen of mean, Kinsley Grace–Cameron, for the mere rumour of your supposed crush on Dylan, your least favourite teacher assigns you babysitting duties with the new guy, Shay Walker and the rebel-without-a-cause J Montgomery for your year long finals project──landing you with the starring role in the latest gossip mill.

How are you ever going to survive the graduating class of '25?

There's no murder, there's no magic, there's no monsters or ancient societies, no sci-fi future apocalypse, no treasure to find or deadly goons... just high school seniors navigating romance and maybe an asshole teacher and potential conspiracy theories.

Features! 🍑 FAQ! 🍑

romance one (or more*...) of five love interests! are you in touch with your feelings? could you be non-committal? do you fall hard and fast and with everyone?

customise your mc! from your appearance to your gender to your personality and your family relations!

overcome your senior year of school at Jackson McKinley High! are you studious or a slacker? do you care for popularity or are you content as a relative nobody?

get a job! in your family's bakery or your local café or something more unorthodox!

be the object of the rumour mill! does it feel like unwanted drama is following you? or do you live for it and actively feed into it?

+with five solo routes, two poly routes and two love triangles you have a plethora of choice! love triangles include──dylan and kinsley as well as dylan and theo while poly routes are as such──the cool crush and the mean girl, #kinslan──the new guy and the rebel, #jayne!

──*please note that this is a romance focused i.f and as such no set aro/ace/aroace route is present.

engage in the conspiracy theory surrounding your school! is your least favourite teacher dating your favourite teacher? is there actually a cannibal on the faculty? is there a reason for the sudden spike of suspensions?

Key Pieces! 🍑 [ LI Introductions! ]🍑

[RO] The ‘Crush’!──Dylan Quinn [gender locked─they/them─12/01/2006]

━@.dylquill

comforting smiles, playful eyes, paint stained clothes, chipped nail polish, chest binders, chalk covered fingers, messy hair, cluttered rooms, sculptural clay, dark hair, friendly words, genuine popularity, intense loyalty, unspoken understanding but silent judgement too.

[RO] The New Guy!──Shayne Walker [gender locked─he/him─04/04/2007]

━@.onlyshay

cheeky smirks and cheeky winks, ruffled hair, english accents, comedic timing, wide smiles, loudly laughing, wilting in silence, heartache for home, missing friends, curly brown hair, warm brown eyes, younger brother, older brother, everyday adventures, discovering new people, new places.

[RO] The Mean Girl!──Kinsley Grace–Cameron [gender locked─she/her─11/21/2006]

━@.kgracecameron/@.kinsleys_

shades of green and white, sun bleached blonde hair, cold blue eyes, sunblock tanned patterns, sickly sweet smiles, eye rolls, longing glances, hesitation in silence, secrets behind closed doors, heavy shoulders with a head held high, craving difference, stubborn to a fault.

[RO] The Rebel!──Jaxon/Jasmin Montgomery [gender selectable─he/him or she/her─06/17/2007]

━@.m0ntjax/@.m0ntjas

stick and poke tattoos, cigarette smoke, uncaring attitude, strong and silent type, doesn't know what a shirt is, bloody knuckles, sunglasses collections, secret book worm, borrowed vape pens, complicated family relations, exploding anger, protective older sibling, almost alcoholic, androgyny, short hair, italian heritage, intellectual depth, no regard for authority.

[RO] The Best Friend!──Theo Wesley [gender selectable─he/him, she/her or they them─09/30/2007]

━@.yelsewoeht

hair care as self care, cat parent, not-so-subtle pinning, rooftop picnics, friend dates, jazz cafés, plant parent, eco nerd, photos as memories, dark skin, coiled hair, far sighted glasses, people watching, balcony lover, bookshop worker, essays about love, hugs as a love language, suffer in silence type, made of money but would rather they weren't, smoking weed but only on the weekends, indescribable feeling of loneliness in a crowded room.

The Bestest Friend!──Chris/Chloe/Charlie West [gender locked─he/him, she/her or they/them─02/14/2007]

━@.east_coast_cw

The ‘Rival’!──Valory/Vinny Williamson [gender selectable─she/her or they/them─10/03/2007]

━@.victorywills

The Cool Teacher!──Easton/Estelle Bharti [gender selectable─he/him or she/her─05/19/1992]

The Asshole Teacher!──Nolan Thorp [gender locked─he/him─11/26/1978]

©️ bonnie berry 2023──@moretinyideas 🍑

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #choose your own adventure #cyoa #piece of the pie #piece of the pie if #potp if

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skrunksthatwunk · 1 month

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sorry just watched all of lacey's games (thru rabbit hole at time of writing) and i wanna talk about laceys diner can we talk about lacey's diner? we're talking about it now

tl;dr lacey's games is about the presentation and consumption of girls.

cw suicide, csa, incest, cannibalism. if you've seen the series, you know. i only speak of them vaguely here though

in lacey's diner her livelihood depends on how well people like her food, how it looks, how it tastes, how quickly she gets it to them on time. if any of these things falter, they reject her and reinforce her desperation (trauma around failure and acceptance + threat of extreme poverty via the restaurant closing).

eating her food is accepting her, choosing to be with her in some way. lacey gets eaten in the prior episode so her stalker can be with her forever, out of an obsession with her (/her body) that leads him to destroy her to better possess and consume her (like her uncle). she can't be late serving them herself, because that's not good presentation—her inability to get food out on time is a reflection of her flaws, and a cause to reject her. she must be available for others, punctual. she can't put the wrong ingredients in—elements of herself, her life—she must exclude them entirely from the part they eat, the part she gives away. she keeps the part that is filled with the disgusting, ugly, painful things in her life, about her.

and when she gets fed up and feeds those raw, authentic parts of herself to them (out of spite, tired of trying her best to no avail, to give them a taste of their own medicine), she is punished, not allowed to serve anyone again bc it's too gross and dangerous. she is punished for lashing out, for not keeping it all bottled up, and in her helplessness, resigns herself to death.

as seen in rabbit hole, jay was too boyish to be consumed happily by the audience (the mothers in the emails), so she was killed off and effectively haunts lacey. if she is not presentable enough, she too will be destroyed and discarded. if she is too presentable, she will be consumed too completely. she has no control, no say (as we know from lacey's wardrobe), no agency outside of pretending she's in a sparkly dreamy world. and jay—who said she would rather die than wear makeup—is forced by lacey to wear makeup in death. she's fixing her by making her conform to the same gender standards she's strangled by, saying that if she was less boyish she wouldn't have died. again, femininity and conformity (and thus being pleasant to others, presenting oneself to be admired and consumed) is safe to lacey, something she must perform to survive. yet, of course, lacey is hurt immensely for her being a girl, for her being a woman, and for her trauma resulting from those events.

all her talk of being ugly when she's grieving, of almost crying in front of him (her uncle iirc), of needing to be pretty even for the people who abuse and hurt her... and how she wished the world was ugly and grotesque when jay died because that was how it felt, but it was just sunny and oblivious. she was the one standing out for being upset, and the world was pretending and consumable and she couldn't anymore. she had to scrape herself together though because what else is there? when her job and stability and life is at stake, how can she afford to be traumatized? to not pretend, even when she's alone? augh. ough. look i just like lacey. i want her to be ok

i don't know that lacey herself is supposed to have a linear, consistent story. i kind of think she's an avatar for like,, girlhood suffering and trauma, and the traumatized people who come from that (hence her dying in multiple ways and coming back). perhaps as rocio's way of warning or comforting girls who went through similar things to her, or to vent her own issues because the thought of making something that's such a farce, such a forced, gussied up version of what it's like to be a girl, bothers her. the audience comes to the website to consume lacey at her best, at her most presentable, and are instead met with the harsh reality of cockroaches and used condoms. and yet, the audience of lacey games the video series consumes her too, only they are seeking out her trauma, trying to invade her mind and pick it apart. we're all consuming what we want, whatever we find appetizing, of lacey. and for rocio, you get the sense that she is also a tool, a way for rocio to express her inner distress. in that, lacey is put through all this unfortunate shit by rocio to make her more presentable and consumable to her. we are all using lacey, we all see her and eat her and destroy her. and she comes back to us and her cage because the pain's comforting in its familiarity.

in short, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. 👍

#this is not conclusive and it's not edited so it's just me like. shitting out my thoughts full speed #but i hope you guys get it bc like. my mind is scrambled over this rn #lacey games #laceys games #anyway as someone whose mental whatevers lead me to not be able to do stuff i need to do like. constantly #laceys diner hits different. in a small way #and the whole series also hits in like. a gender way (<- im a girl but also im not a girl. + lesbian so. 👍)#like lacey feels transgendah to me in a way. might just be ny particular brain poison though

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year

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Idk if this is going to make any sense, but I always feel like there's something missing when I read thoughts about sskk and it really is the impact Kyouka has on them.

Like, a lot of it is "look at the impact Atsushi and Akutagawa have on each other" and "they are so similar at their cores" which is true! And essential for any bsd partner dynamic! But Kyouka also has commonalities - she has Atsushi's general wonder, simple wants and joys, and desire to be helpful and kind, but also Akutagawa's laser focused objectivity, initial lack of questioning orders, and straightforward ruthlessness when required.

But a lot of the external influence on sskk I see mentioned is Dazai and Chuuya's... which I get, because they're the previous double black, but also Chuuya is very minorly involved by proxy only, and while Dazai undeniably is at the heart of sskk conflict (and it's good to analyze in depth!!!), I feel it's understated how much it was actually Kyouka who kickstarted the development between them - Atsushi was brand-new to the Agency, but saving Kyouka cemented his mindset of proving his worth and also gave him someone to look out for - his position became less fragile from that point on and more permanent. Her mix of kindness and darkness also forces Atsushi in the Guild arc to reassess the idea that people are either "good" or "bad". (He's working on this still, but his judgements are becoming much more nuanced than at the beginning.) And as for Akutagawa... I have a lot of thoughts on their dynamic and how I really don't think there's a whole lot of bad blood there anymore after my all-time favourite scene where they fight in Cannibalism arc - but all I will say is that he legitimately thought what he was doing would make her strong enough to survive, and both Kyouka and Atsushi telling him this is wrong, that people can't live being beaten down like that forces him to reassess his own situation in the Hawthorne and Mitchell fight. (He still has a ways to go, but I seriously hope he eventually realizes that his treatment by Dazai was horribly unnecessary and cruel.)

But what's great is that Atsushi and Akutagawa influence her development too! I don't even need to get into Atsushi's: he believes in her potential and sees her as the young girl she is - not a weapon but a person. She starts off pretty much attached to him and only him, but as time goes on, she starts to adopt a more positive mindset and becomes more confident making decisions as a result of his faith in her. With Akutagawa, she is, like Atsushi, forced to reassess others, especially after he tells her he's glad for her having found that will to live. Kyouka is unable to continue fighting him after that, and I get the sense she saw him as a person there, instead of only the man who harmed her. I also find it really interesting that she has no shame or concern about her mindset aligning much more closely with his, to the point where she'll work with him if necessary.

This is a bit of a mess but really it's one long-winded ramble on how I loved these three working together in Dead Apple and would love to see them working and fighting alongside each other again. I know, I know, this is probably not going to happen because it's supposed to be about sskk as a duo but consider:

They are a trio in my heart.

#the fighting style approach could also be really interesting. sskk relies on atsushi as offense and akutagawa as defense #but this often leaves akutagawa more vulnerable #kyouka is perfectly equipped to be the 'midfielder' in a sense #also if anyone has any good fic recs with these three working together i would love to see it #also also kyouka and akutagawa foil characters real #this whole thing might be one reason why i was a bit disappointed about kyouka's role in beast tbh... like it made sense but also #i think more could've been done with her #but that's a whole different thing that i don't really want to get into #anyways let's analyze all these characters together because foiling abounds:#atsushi lucy sigma tachihara kyouka akutagawa #also they should all hang out i think.#bsd #bsd atsushi #bsd akutagawa #bsd kyouka #shin soukoku #sskk #potentially it could be kyouka who comes across vampire akutagawa and that would be a very interesting confrontation.#fingers crossed because i am fascinated by their dynamic

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becauseplot · 7 months

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Hi hello yes more thoughts about this hgduo pre-canon, hunger games/wars au(??) because my brain is rotating them at incredible speeds. (Obligatory cannibalism tw because yeah the lore do be like that.)

Bad originally finds Cellbit while the kid is trying to use a dagger to carve up a body to eat---key word trying. Bad stands back and watches him struggle for about thirty seconds before speaking up: "You're holding that wrong." (The kid jumps about two feet in the air. "WhhUH---") "Also you're not supposed to carve with a dagger, silly. You should really be using a knife. Here." And Bad passes him one of his hunting knives.

Bad mentally dubs Cellbit "Dagger-Kid" because he doesn't know Cellbit's name. When Cellbit later admits he doesn't know his name either, Bad officially dubs him "Dagger-Kid" or "Dagger" for short. ((For the rest of this I'll be calling Cellbit "Dagger")) ((Also I'm not 100% on this name yet but we'll see.))

I should note that I also think it would be funny that every time Dagger does something notable or reveals a new quality about himself, Bad tries to give him a new name. Like, they scavenge a piece of chocolate off one of their victims and Dagger loves it, so Bad tries to suggest, "Oh oh! What if we called you 'Sweets'! Or 'Chocolate'? 'Coco,' maybe?" all of which Dagger (playfully) rolls his eyes at. Bad rotates through nicknames regularly, but Dagger personally sticks with the first name Bad gave him.

Dagger was on his own for two months before he met Bad. He is injured and half-starved and utterly exhausted. The first time they make camp together, Dagger promises he'll take the first watch, but he nods off before even Bad can fall asleep. It's the first time Dagger has felt safe enough to truly relax, so his body just crashes. He sleeps for twelve hours.

This one's honestly more of a general qsmp headcanon I have but it goes here too: Bad teaches Dagger how to throw knives (for combat) and how to do knife tricks (for fun). Current-day Cellbit still remembers how to do the tricks, and he'll often use them as a way of fidgeting when he's thinking---with a pen or pencil instead, though.

One of Dagger's natural talents is stealth. He's not as quiet as Bad, but he's definitely good at it; his cat-hybrid traits definitely lend him a hand here, too. It's the main way Dagger survived before meeting Bad, stealing supplies out of camps while people were sleeping.

Bad, being a demon, doesn't need to eat, drink, or sleep as much as mortals do, and certainly not as much as a teenage boy. To him, it only seems practical that he gives himself smaller portions of their rations, or takes longer nightwatch shifts. But Dagger (who can scarcely imagine ever being not hungry or not tired, much less at the same time) is still grateful and feels somewhat indebted to Bad, even after Bad explains.

Dagger (a cat hybrid and a little more than a bit messed up) bites to show affection. Usually Bad's arm. Any normal guy would be injured by the force of Dagger's bite---Dagger doesn't really seem to understand that not-biting-hard is an option---but Bad doesn't really mind it.

(The truth is that deep down Dagger really wants to hug Bad, but he knows Bad isn't a very cuddly person, and yeah Bad might give him a hug if he asked but he's too afraid to ask so all that affection stays bottled up until it rises rises rises and he just doesn't know what to do with it anymore and it needs OUT---)

Bad thwacks Dagger upside the head with his tail whenever Dagger is being a "little rapscallion" and eventually Dagger starts retaliating. His tail isn't as long or flexible as Bad's but he definitely does try.

Bad has a lot of stories to tell. Some true, some made up on the fly. He's always liked telling stories, and Dagger is a captive audience. He learns Dagger loves mysteries, and suddenly, all of his campfire stories are about spies, and detectives, and red-string cork boards and espionage.

The thing Dagger fears the most is that one morning he'll wake up and Bad won't be there because Bad decided Dagger slowed him down and thus abandoned him. He thinks about this near-constantly. (The thing Bad fears the most is that one morning he'll wake up and look at Dagger and start caring like he used to a long, long time ago. He does not think about this at all.)

#qsmp cellbit #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp au #dont mind me im just rambling #should i write a fic? yeah probably. do i have time? absolutely not.#my writing #might add more later not sure yet. if i do it'll be in a reblog probably maybe.#hgduo #hg duo #anyway i go sleepies now. gn yall.#Little Dagger AU

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downtofragglerock · 1 month

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Alright now that I've revealed that I made a bunch of Makuta ocs, I guess I gotta start talking about them, here's the post from last august that got this train started.

A Makuta who pioneered in the creation and development of Rahkshi as the brotherhood's fighting force, to the point of modifying his body into a Kraata incubation station. His ultimate fate was an ironic one, once Teridax took over the GSR this Makuta, like the other surviving brotherhood members, had his antidermis cannibalized to make legions of Rahkshi, the very forces he helped to develop in the first place.

A Makuta who specialized in creating carnivorous saurian rahi, the rock raptor was one of her creations but hardly her most notable, that would be a similar species of intelligent pack hunters she greatly favored to the point of using the most adept of them as a personal guard over Rahkshi and even gradually modifying her own body to more and more resemble them. After Miserix's ousting and supposed death, she tried to sort of take over his position of making mighty saurian rahi like he did, but could never make any species big enough to fill that creative niche. She had a kinship with Vamprah for a time, as both were skilled hunters, but this fell off after the silent Makuta became even more isolationist. Slain during the brotherhood-dark hunter war.

A Makuta who specialized in making rahi that scavenged stray parts from other rahi, alive and deceased, for their own purposes. They themselves also took up this practice, altering and adding to their own body with extraneous bits and pieces from defeated and slain enemies. Killed by the Order of Mata Nui.

#bionicle #I'm gonna try and do these in three at a time bursts #edit: gave these a tag #Makuta ocs

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princess-of-the-corner · 7 months

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I find it.... interesting that fandom interpretation of the chapter is thinking that the AfO backstory somehow proves he was born evil?

Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of someone who had nothing wrong with them and chooses to be evil.

But like.

You have a homeless orphan living on the streets literally since birth, surviving on trash, rats, and mild cannibalism. Taking care of his brother. With grown adults deciding that instead of helping the children, they go straight to assaulting/attempting to kill him and being forced to kill or be killed.

Like. Clearly there was a lot of him choosing to be evil later on and by the present day he certainly knows better, but like. As a child? I don't call that evil and I can see why a child like that would think he's supposed to play the role of the 'Villain'.

#bnha spoilers

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thestraggletag · 6 months

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I'm supposed to ask for The Thing?

You guys keep bringing them like sheep to the slaughter... I mean, yes, The Thing, coming up!

WELCOME TO RUMBELLE, YOU SWEET SUMMER CHILD. I SEE YOU THERE, SO YOUNG, SO FRESH, SO WOOBIE. LET ME SLOWLY CLASP YOU TO MY BOSOM IN A MOTHERLY WAY.

NOW YOU STUMBLE AROUND, A LITTLE LOST RUMBELLE CHICK NEEDING LOVE AND GUIDANCE, TREMBLING WITH THE FORCE OF A THOUSAND BOTTLED-UP FEELS. NEVER FEAR, FOR WE’LL TAKE YOU IN, SINCE YOU HAVE BECOME

ONE OF US.

WE HAVE TEA, FOR YOUR SHATTERED FEELS. WE KNOW IT HURTS, WE’VE ALL BEEN THERE. MOST OF USE JUST DUMP A LOT OF VODKA INTO THAT TEA. IT’D BE EASIER TO JUST DUMP A TEA BAG INTO A BOTTLE OF SMIRNOFF, TO BE HONEST.

HERE, DEARIE, ARE SOME GIFS I BRING FORTH TO YOU SO YOU CAN BLOG ABOUT YOUR FEELS, AND HOW RUMBELLE RUINED YOUR LIFE AND YOU LOVE IT. TAKE THEM, DON’T BE SHY. YOU WILL NEED THEM, YOUNG PADAWAN. THEY WILL BECOME YOUR NEW LANGUAGE. BE WARNED, LITTLE ONE, FOR THEY ARE OF A SPOILERY NATURE THAT MIGHT HURT YOUR WEE EYES. THEY’RE ALSO AWESOME, SO YOU SHOULDN’T STARE AT THEM DIRECTLY.

LIKE AN ECLIPSE.

OR RUMPLE’S LEATHER PANTS.

AND SINCE THIS IS A PRETTY COMPLEX FANDOM I DIRECT YOU TO A WELCOME PAGE SO YOU CAN GATHER YOUR BEARINGS AND EXPLORE MORE OF THIS MAGICAL LAND OF CHIPPED CUPS AND SEXY SCALY MEN. IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS THERE YOU’LL FIND ANSWERS. IF NOT YOU CAN ALWAYS SEEK THE RUMBELLE TAG, AND POST QUESTIONS THERE. RUMBELLERS ARE ALWAYS THERE TO ANSWER.

ALWAYS. RUMBELLERS DON’T SLEEP.

IF YOU FEEL THE NEED FOR SOME LOVELY VISUAL REPRESENTATIONS OF THE UTTER PERFECTION THAT IS THIS SHIP I DIRECT YOU TO THE RUMBELLE ARTTAG, WHERE MANY TALENTED PEOPLE POST TALENTED THINGS THAT PRODUCE BOTH AWE AND ENVY.

AND LAST, AND THIS IS WHAT I’M KNOWN FOR…

WE.

HAVE.

PORN.

NO, NOT LIKE OTHER FANDOMS. NOT SOME PORN. NOT ANY PORN. WE HAVE ALL THE PORN.

ALL OF IT.

EVERY KINK.

EVERY FANTASY.

EVERY POSITION.

FOOD SEX, PEGGING, BONDAGE, S&M (BUT THE REAL TYPE, NO INNER GODDESSES, ALL KINKY FUCKERY), CANE PORN, PRIEST PORN, CANNIBAL PORN, SHADOW!SEX, DADDY!DOM, DOM/SUB, BLOODPLAY, MIRROR-SEX, PREGNANCY KINKS, POWER-SEX, INTERSPECIES SEX, LACTATION PORN, DAGGER!PORN, RAPTOR!PORN, MAGICAL SEX AND MANY MORE.

WE'VE GOT THE SORT OF PORN THAT MAKES YOU WONDER "AM I SEEING THE BEST OR HUMANITY OF THE WORST?"

I DIRECT YOU NOW TO MY FANFIC REC LIST, WHERE YOU SHALL FIND MANY TREASURES. YOU CAN ALWAYS GO TO THE RUMBELLE FIC TAG IF YOU FEEL YOU NEED MORE RUMBELLE PORN FICS IN YOUR LIFE. AND YOU WILL. AND IF YOU WANNA HIT THE MOTHERLOAD OF RUMBELLE FANFICTION CHECK OUT THE RUMBELLE LIBRARY, RIPE WITH DECADENT FICS FOR YOUR PERUSAL.

IN THIS FANDOM WE LIKE TO CELEBRATE WITH FIC, COPE WITH FIC AND START MASSIVE FIC WARS SO THERE ARE SEVERAL YEAR-ROUND EVENTS DESTINED TO BRING FORTH MORE RUMBELLE SEXYTIMES MOMENTS, INCLUDING THE RUMBELLE SECRET SANTA, WHERE YOU GIVE THE GIFT OF PORN AS IT’S TRADITIONAL IN THIS MERRY SEASON.

MIND THE SPOILERS, DEARIE.

BUT IF YOU’RE ALL CAUGHT UP YOU SHOULD TOTALLY CHECK THIS TUMBLR WHICH WILL HOLD PRECIOUS TREASURES SO YOU CAN SURVIVE THE SUMMER HIATUS WITH MOST OF YOUR SANITY INTACT.

WE AIM FOR REALISTIC GOALS HERE.

IF YOU HAVEN’T YET DELETED YOUR TUMBLR ACCOUNT AND MOVED TO A COUNTRY WITHOUT INTERNET CONNECTION THEN CONGRATULATIONS, YOU INDEED HAVE THE MAKINGS OF A GREAT RUMBELLER. AND YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT HERE.

Welcome to the fandom, dearie.

#rumbelle #welcome to the fandom #depressedstressedlemonzest

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kassandra-the-witch · 6 months

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Me, in home office, trying to sanitize data points in the database I am supposed to be working on:

A thought who has just been born in my brain: The scene in the tea party where Rosa is forcefully subjected to cannibalism is a metaphor for living under white supremacist patriarchal capitalism.

Me, spraying it with water, as if it were a cat misbehaving: Hush, little culver. Your mother needs to work now because that's how we get the money that can be exchanged for the goods and services we need to survive.

The thought, untouched by my attempts to supress it: Beatrice's violence is just a way more overt realization of the actual, but obscured violence of the Ushiromiya family, right? In capitalism, you can barely and only with great difficulty opt out of consuming goods that were created from the repeated violent exploitation of others. Beatrice simply shows that on a much more graphic, interpersonal setting where it matters. The disgust, rage, fear, terror that Rosa feels in that moment is that of any consumer under capitalism that realizes the scope of the violence necessary that this food ends up on the table, ready to be eaten.

Me, pushing the thought out of the mental door: Darling, there are ten thousand similar thoughts to you around here saying that Umineko is about capitalism. We know. That is an open and shut secret. What I need is to compensate for the area I have so far neglected: The inner workings of the characters. Why is Beatrice doing this? What crimes did Kinzo do, what kind of fate did she suffer? Is she repeating cycles of violence and suffering because that exonerates her own abuser, because it is easier for her to be violent than to accept a person she trusted had voluntarily decided in favor of hurting her? At the end of the day, must she accept that Kinzo has been violent by choice rather by the overwhelming inescapability of violence, before she can move on? And who will be the one to demonstrate to her that violence is, despite everything, a choice?

The thought, screaming louder: You see, this is about the homecoming of capitalism! Behind the polished and seemingly safe walls of Rokkenjima, secluded from the outside world exploited to maintain their lavish luxuries, a magical, inevitable force arrives, unperturbed by the social walls erected around them, to expose them to the very violence they propagate! Beatrice is the Mask Of The Red Death! Kinzo is not only a parody of Shakespeare's Prospero but a rather faithful nod to Poe's Prospero!

Me, locking the door behind me: Once again, you are missing the trees for the forest. Let us return to work post haste.

#kassandra plays umineko #kassandra plays umineko ep2 for the first time #umineko spoilers #umineko shitpost #Ozaawa shared a meme in the Umineko thread on Discord the other day #something about how Umineko renders you 'chronically Umibrained' or something?#yeah. it has happened to me #umineko

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hot-illithids-near-you · 6 months

Text

Character Bio - Benedict

Race: Ulitharid-Neothelid (Ulithelid? Neotharid??)

Gender: Baby

Age: Baby

Alignment: Very nice and polite

There comes a time (sometimes two, rarely three) in every illithid's life when they lay their eggs. For most, this is not a time of excitement, or joy, but a matter of duty that must be taken care of to propagate the species. The mind flayer will lay their eggs, and the tadpoles will be raised in brine along with the Elder Brain, where the lucky few will mature and undergo ceremorphosis inside a host.

For Lawrence, this time came a couple years after he met Carylin and fell in love. Like for most illithids, it wasn't a time of happiness. But it was a terrifying moment for Lawrence in particular, as he knew he couldn't possibly force any of his offspring on an unwilling host. He couldn't simply let them loose either, as that would result in a horde of illithocytes or a neothelid, both outcomes just as deadly for the city.

He would have to kill someone, or something, for the first time since his own ceremorphosis. Either a humanoid, with the thoughts and complex emotions he had come to appreciate from his own girlfriend, or a clutch of mindless aberrations who felt nothing but hunger. The answer was obvious.

And yet, he still couldn't bring himself to end a life, not even the life of a tadpole. He failed to even crush the eggs, a simple task that would've dealt with the problem quickly and efficiently. Instead he waited, supposing that by the time they hatched, he would finally have the courage to do what needed to be done. He told Carylin about his plan and left the eggs to sit in a bathtub full of brine. Perhaps, he hoped, the hatchlings would cannibalize each other as soon as they emerged, and the weight of his duty would be made a little lighter.

Months passed, and the eggs hatched, even beginning to devour one another after mere days without food. They started as nearly a hundred, then dozens, then just more than ten. And as they consumed the flesh of their siblings, it was as if all the latent malevolence of the illithid race had condensed along with them. Only the strong survived - the strong and the cruel. Sensing this evil within each tadpole, Lawrence finally had the strength to do what was needed. He mixed in a pair of potions to the bathwater brine, the first to sedate, and the second to kill. When the feeble mind of the last tadpole ceased activity, he knew he had done the right thing. But he was not without some sense of sorrow, and sought out Carylin for comfort.

What she gave him was the exact opposite, however. She told him, with a nervous laugh and averted eyes, that he hadn't quite killed them all.

Immediately, his thoughts ran wild, and he began to interrogate her. Did a tadpole escape? Gods forbid, did one get inside her skull? But she quickly shook her head, and guided him outside, to a shady spot by the temple where the weeds grew thick. In the middle of the greenery, there was a bucket.

And inside the bucket, there was a tadpole. A remarkably fat tadpole. She explained to him that she had taken one of the 'babies' - a term she used with far too much of a smile - when it was just hatched, and hid it outside. Nearly every other day since then, she went to a butcher, searching for animal brains that she could feed to the thing. She apologized, and told Lawrence that he could do whatever he felt was right. It wasn't her child, after all. But the look on her face was far from indifference.

Lawrence looked at the thing - it, he reminded himself, not him, as Carylin kept calling the tadpole - and reached into its mind. Unsurprisingly, he felt nothing. No malevolence, like the others, but little of anything else either. Given that the thing was stuffed with animal brains, it wasn't likely to develop much of an intellect at all. But that same diet had also made it unlikely to ever fit into any cranial orifices.

He told her that he wouldn't kill it right away, and the way her eyes lit up made him quickly regret that decision. She bombarded him with question after question, of where they would keep him, and what they should feed him, and other little worries. Most of these she answered after a second or two of talking excitedly to herself. But one was left: what should his name be?

Lawrence pushed aside his growing fears to bring forth the first name that came to mind - and thus the tadpole became Benedict.

Benedict was dumped back into the bathtub, bucket and all (after his deceased siblings were removed, of course). Lawrence resolved to start feeding him a proper diet as soon as the next burial was needed, though giving a tadpole humanoid brain matter this late into development was unlikely to suddenly put his intellect back on track. Benedict's mind would forever be stunted, even for a lowly tadpole. Though that mattered little to Lawrence, as he would surely meet his end soon enough. Giving him a human brain to eat was more a matter of courtesy.

Carylin didn't seem to recognize the inevitable fate of the tadpole, however, instead treating the thing as if he were a human child. As if he were her child. She would sit by the bathtub day in and day out, neglecting her meager duties in favor of talking to a mindless aberration. She'd read books to him, and sing songs to him, and for Lawrence, seeing her sit next to Benedict made his heart ache, as he knew she'd have to say goodbye someday soon.

He would bring that day sooner, if he could. He tried to talk sense into her, but she'd always insist that he was just a baby, that he was still growing.

And one day, when Lawrence was about to begin yet another futile argument by the bath, his girlfriend turned to him with a smile and pointed at him.

"Look! Who's that?" she asked, in an excited tone.

And to Lawrence's astonishment, he heard an answer.

"Papa!"

It was impossible. No tadpole, and certainly not a stunted thing like this one, was capable of telepathy. And yet, the little voice that he heard in his head was just that. Benedict, the little tadpole saved from the maws of his clutch, the runt of them that had been stuffed with animal brains, was speaking to him.

It had called him Papa.

There was no question after that; Benedict couldn't be killed. Lawrence came up with any justification he could find to prove that he wasn't a legitimate danger, not really. Even if he became a neothelid, surely the guards would deal with him before he hurt anyone. If not them, some band of adventurers. The land was crawling with them.

Benedict grew over time, both in size and in intellect. From a chubby tadpole to a slightly longer chubby tadpole, and from saying 'Papa' to 'Mama' and 'hello' and nearly a dozen other little words. He was growing well, and behaving well, and Lawrence let his worries quiet down for the first time in months.

Until another cause for worry struck him. Benedict had learned, as his mother explained it, to 'stick out his tongue'. Being a tadpole, this was not his tongue, of course. It was a bundle of tentacles, long and pale, sticking out of his mouth. And to Lawrence's continued shock, there were six of them.

Tadpoles only have four tentacles. Illithids only have four tentacles. The only sort of mind flayer with six of these appendages was the ulitharid, a variant of illithid that was as far beyond a regular mind flayer as a human was beyond a beast. A creature so powerful that even the great illithids viewed them as godlike.

Normally, identifying a tadpole that would become an ulitharid was impossible. But what if it was allowed to grow outside of the usual illithid methods? What if it was near to becoming something other than a tadpole?

It could shatter everything Lawrence knew about the biology of his kind, making the impossible possible - a tadpole with six tentacles, that could also use telepathy. It answered questions, certainly, but what occupied Lawrence more was the question it raised.

How dangerous could this new creature be? He imagined the future of this ulitharid-neothelid, a massive leviathan with all the psionic power of an Elder Brain. It could destroy the city with ease - no, not just his city, but anything remotely near. This thing was a potential threat to the entire world.

And, at the same time, he was a chubby little tadpole in a bathtub. A child who called Lawrence 'Papa', and said hello to him every time he entered the room.

Lawrence would try to keep his worries quiet, and his fears pushed down. He knew what the safest thing to do would be, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. Just like his namesake, Benedict's life wouldn't be ended prematurely. They would simply have to hope for a miracle.

Random Facts:

Benedict keeps the bucket he was kept in as a baby for his entire life. When he's small, he gets carried around in it. When he's too big for that, he sticks his head in it. And even when he's eventually over 100 feet long, he still wears it as a hat.

Benedict does grow significantly in size, but his vocabulary plateaus at about a two-year-old level. His personality also remains fairly childlike, but he's always very kind and polite.

He knows exactly one song, and that's the alphabet song (or whatever the Common equivalent would be). He will start singing at random and plead for his parents to sing along with him.

He's not seen as a human by citizens in the same way his father is; instead Lawrence just tries to mind control people around him into thinking a baby neothelid is totally normal. Eventually Benedict develops his own psionic power enough to do the same, and the town adopts the resident hundred foot long worm as a sort of mascot.

Benedict later gets a job delivering mail in the city. He's actually pretty good at it, since he can just scan the minds within his telepathic range to find the recipient of each delivery. His range becomes much greater than his father's by the time he's fully grown, encompassing the entire city.

#neothelid #oc #illithid

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cadabria · 1 year

Text

Hunter Be Hunted (M!Wendigo x Gn!Reader)

Warnings: Gore, violence, cannibalism, possessive behavior, probably yandere I think, not very fluffy nice stuff because my brain craves dark themes apparently!

It had been weeks.

Weeks of running. Weeks of hiding. Weeks of surviving in this goddamned place. This was never supposed to happen! This was supposed to be a vacation away from the stresses of your modern life, but now it was nothing but a living nightmare that never ends. How you eluded the bloodthirsty beast was a miracle to you, but the longer this went on, the more your sanity seemed to slip away into the crevices of this living hell, into the very soil of this cursed forest.

You were travelling with a couple of acquaintances you had met awhile back, enthused to test out your well-honed skills in the wild with them, as you have done countless times before. You loved a challenge, and were a survivalist of sorts, taught at a young age how to start a fire, catch and grow your own food, what plants are safe and which ones would make you throw up your insides, shit yourself and die in an unmarked grave. You became a very skilled hunter and loved being out in nature, and one thing your father always taught you was to never waste the animal. Each part had its own use, and that was something you always stuck with even to this day.

You never experienced what it was like to be prey, and now you had a whole new respect for the animals you hunted. It was bloody terrifying.

It started with members of your group being plucked off one by one, nobody seeing the creature itself, it was as if they had just disappeared. Vanished without a trace. It was only when you discovered the bloodied remains of one of your missing travelling companions, that things had really gone to shit. Voices mimicked the cries of their loved ones, and although you were not foolish enough to pursue them, others in your group were not so wise. And those who had half a brain were taken out in other ways, one of them eventually going utterly mad and killing off the rest of the members themselves, and much to your horror- tearing into their flesh like a rabid animal. It was as if they had became possessed by an unknown force, there were no warning signs. Their behavior changed just like a switch, and one of the machetes that was brought along made quick work of the rest of you. The mere thought of it made you want to wretch at the memory, but there was nothing you could do... So you had ran off before you'd became the next victim of that blade.

In just a week, you were alone, forced to try and escape this place by yourself.

As terrible of a mess this was, you were truly glad to have the set of skills you learned throughout the years. You were determined not to make yourself an easy target, but this thing had a way with messing with your head. Sometimes you swear you'd seen it... Antlers towering overhead, a looming black figure that almost blended into the trees, and a deer skull propped onto its shoulders. Cold silver eyes peering back at you, watching you, stalking you. You'd never seen anything like it before, but you recalled what someone had told you, just before they too were torn apart like the rest.

They mentioned a creature called the wendigo, a monster of insatiable hunger that couldn't resist the taste of human flesh. Apparently, it had once been human itself, but you find that hard to believe. Their description of the thing however, remarkably fit what you had seen. You were not one to listen to tales and legends, but when you were living in a literal horror story... It'd be rather foolish to deny what you've seen with your very own eyes.

The scent of decay wafted through the air, hitting your nostrils with its stench. Currently, you were trying to keep yourself sheltered from the pouring rain, which froze your skin to the very core. You shuddered, squeezing your arms closer to your body while you kept your fire ablaze. It was fortunate you started it before the weather had turned, or it would be utterly impossible to keep yourself warm. However, you were now becoming hyper aware of every noise you heard due to a certain issue with this small comfort: You knew the smoke would give away your location, and the light did not keep you exactly hidden from the beast that lurked these woods. There was no way you could rest this night, as you had to be ever wary of your surroundings. Luckily for you, you naturally had shifted your waking hours to the night, as that was the wendigo's primary hunting time.

That didn't necessarily mean it did not follow you during the day. In fact that was when you would sight it the most, though it seemed to prefer actively attacking you during dusk until dawn.

Taking a deep breath, you pull your bow closer to you, giving yourself reassurance. For all you knew, this creature might not be affected by anything you could fight it with... But that didn't mean the small bit of protection didn't keep your nerves at ease. "It'll be okay, Y/N... You survived this long, you can survive even longer. No buck headed bastard is going to get the better of you." You muttered to yourself quietly, glaring into the darkness. The surroundings around you were pitch black, making it impossible to see out.

But then you heard something that made your spine nearly crawl out of your body. A chilling voice you'd never heard before.

"This 'buck-headed bastard' can smell your sweet blood, little prey..." The darkness rumbled, and suddenly, a heavy gust of wind blew your entire fire out.

'It's already here!?' You thought in panic, eyes as wide as saucers as you glanced around, desperate to see your surroundings. The moon's light was blanketed by the clouds, plunging the world beneath it into obscurity.

"You have alluded me thus far, but our little game is coming to an end... Did you really think you could escape forever?"

Scrambling to your feet, and gripping your bow as tightly as possible, pulse quickening as you held your breath. You desperately tried to listen, to hear its movements, anything to indicate where it was, but the downpour drowned it out.

"And yet even now, you still wish to fight... How adorable."

You let out a strangled gasp, as one massive, clawed hand gripped onto your neck and the other grabs your wrist in a nearly bone-crushing grip. You were almost choking, but the beast released the pressure on your neck... Only slightly, though you were at the very least capable of breathing. Obviously, your first instinct was to fight back, and you twisted and pulled in its grasp violently. "Fucking... Let me go!" You shouted desperately, using your free hand to try and pry it off of you. It didn't seem to do anything, really. In fact the only result was a searing pain in your wrist as its claws dug deeply into your soft skin with ease.

The wendigo pulled you harshly back against it, a horrifying growl emanating from its chest as a response to your ceaseless struggling. It was nothing you ever heard before, no animal could be capable of creating such a horrific noise. Whatever this thing was, it was unnatural.

"I would so enjoy the taste of your flesh... However..." It whispered harshly, its cold breath brushing against your ear. It had a metallic scent to it, one that you knew was due to freshly spilled blood. "You've impressed me, prey. So I will allow you one chance. One chance to escape. Fail, and you will become mine."

Promptly dropping you to your feet, you nearly fell to your knees as you landed back on the solid surface. You managed to regain your balance, and twirled around to see the silhouette of the wendigo behind you. It hovered over you, at least eight feet tall and its silver eyes had a ghastly glow, piercing into your very soul. It leaned terrifyingly close, and you could see its gaping maw which was filled with hundreds of jagged, sharp teeth. How easy it would be for it to tear you asunder, to leave you nothing but a heap of blood and bone.

"Run."

And run you did.

You did not need to be told twice, and despite how hard it was to maneuver through the dark forests without a source of light, you weren't one to waste the opportunity. You didn't care if this was the creature's stupid little game, it was a chance to escape. A chance to get home. A chance to get out of here and finally, live a normal life again. The constant paranoia, the fear, it would all be a distant memory. This was what you wanted, more than anything.

Besides, you weren't exactly one for getting eaten alive.

Dashing through the trees as fast as your feet could carry you, you splashed through muddied puddles and tripped over a log or two. You couldn't really be at fault for that, but to your surprise after what felt like an hour of running... You came across a trail. A trail! You recognized it, as you had walked along this trail more than once in your life. Dozens of times in fact, but, you also knew it was stretched across miles of terrain. It went through the entire forest, after all.

'Could I really make it?' You thought, doubting yourself. You'd imagine the wendigo was much swifter than you, being experienced in hunting your kind... 'No, no more doubts, if I do nothing i'll just end up like the rest...'

Taking a deep breath, you shove yourself forward despite your aching legs, which cry for much needed rest. 'Endure the pain, just endure the pain... Think about the comforts of sitting on a couch again. Or sleeping on a goddamn bed for that matter.' You remind yourself, continuing onward.

You were walking for hours, and to your shock... You saw absolutely nothing. No wendigo breathing down your neck, no branches being broken behind you as an attempt to put you on edge, no voices trying to tempt you into investigating a secluded area... Only the splattering of rain against the murky soil could be heard, as well as the shuffling of your footsteps against rocks and the squishing of mud. Your initial pain had faded away, or perhaps you had gotten used to it at this point, and all there was was a dull, lightly throbbing and burning ache. You'd definitely be feeling this tomorrow, that is if you survive. As much as you'd like to be happy about not seeing that dreaded creature, this only put you on more edge.

This was too easy.

You saw how swiftly it had torn apart your fellow survivalists, how it made quick work of them with little effort... By all means, you should be dead by now. Something was wrong, and you could feel a chill creep deeply in your bones. Perhaps you had been out here too long, with no socialization and the stresses of sleep deprivation gnawing at your ever-deteriorating psyche. This all felt wrong... Wrong! Was it all a part of your imagination? Was everyone actually safe, and you had unknowingly wandered off on your own? But then the stinging of your wrist made you remember the cruel claws that sunk into it, like the blade of a knife carving into your flesh.

It was only after a few more grueling moments that you noticed... Hadn't you walked passed this spot before? No... No! You couldn't believe this. After all this time, all this walking, you were back at square one. Back at the same spot of the trail where you had started. Was this all a trick too? Had you gone truly mad!? Frustrated, you let out an anguished and desperate cry. You collapse onto your knees which sink into the slick earth, digging your nails into your scalp as you lose all your bearings, all your fight, all your will... You could feel the warmth of tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks, as a broken sob escaped your lips.

Finally, you came to the ultimate realization: You were never getting out of here. You were never, ever going to leave this place. And this had made your entire being shatter.

As if it had sensed that you finally have given up your run... You feel something breath down your back as something behind you blocked out the rain. You didn't care anymore, however, and accepted the fact that you were going to die at the hands of this monster. 'This is the end... But I don't give a fuck anymore. Death is better than keeping this up for the rest of my life.' You thought grimly, closing your eyes as tightly as possible. You didn't want to see your killer, and merely hoped that it would give you a quick death.

... But much to your confusion, it never came.

Once again, you feel yourself being lifted off of your feet, a familiar large hand wrapping around your waist and heaving you up with ease. But unlike before, this was much less aggressive, much less violent. It was deceptively gentle, terrifyingly so even. 'Just what is this thing up to?' you suspiciously thought. Was it going to toy with you first? Get your hopes up once again just so it could see your resolve shatter before it's eyes? You kept your own closed, you couldn't bear to face it, to let fear give way.

"Just... Just end me already..." You plea, weaker than you wanted to. You didn't like sounding so pathetic and vulnerable, but what else could you do? You were clearly at a disadvantage here.

You get no answer right away, instead feeling a clawed thumb swipe the fresh tears from your eyes. A strangely caring gesture, you thought. You didn't like it, didn't trust it. But when you feel something hard and solid press against your head, you finally mustered the courage to open your dampened, tear-swelled eyes. A yelp got caught in your throat as pure shock and fear struck through you, and you stared directly into those sharp, silver orbs. Its forehead was pressed firmly against yours, its stare intense and filled with a mixture of something primal and fierce. You heart nearly stopped when its low, powerful voice spoke through the eerie silence.

"I have caught you, my lovely prey. And now I'll never let you go."

#monster #wendigo #wendigo x reader #gender nuetral reader #monster x reader #monster lover #yandere #dark themes #my first monster story sorry if it sucks

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disregardcanon · 11 months

Text

While I think that analyzing yellowjackets in relation to Lord of the Flies and other plane crash MEDIA is reasonable, I think that it’s doing it a disservice not to analyze it with the Uruguayan rugby crash of 1972 in mind.

This video by ask a mortician is a great intro for us younger folks who didn’t grow up with the info

youtube

Part of the way that those survivors conceptualized the cannibalism was by comparing it to the Last Supper and Jesus Christ, because they were Catholic. They never killed anyone, of course, and they never lied about any of it. But the media still hounded them, and we’re still obsessing over the survivors 50 years later. The culture pretty collectively decided that they made the right decision, but that sort of attention… I’m sure it’s still suffocating to have the entire world know about your taboo actions, even if you’ve made peace with them and the world has mainly come up in support of them.

And it’s also important to remember that they stayed… “civilized”. They DIDN’T hurt each other in a lord of the flies manner. They never killed people to eat them. They also DIDN’T create intricate rituals around the cannibalism aside from drawing them into their own religious and cultural framework. (The soul has left the body, comparing it to the last supper and the Eucharist)

Even though the yellowjackets are fictional, if they were real, would they have been reviled? Well. They wouldn’t be celebrated, not the least because they hate themselves for it. The would think they deserve any and every bit of vitriol if they were honest, and keeping it under wraps is only making the scrutiny of the fictional crowd worse.

As an extension, are we, as viewers, still eating the trauma of the Andes survivors just by participating in a show that’s clearly inspired by that? Where does spectating become voyeurism? Do the people deserve to know “the truth” about everything? Even the Andes survivors didn’t offer up the “confession” of the cannibalism until pressed by doctors to explain how they weren’t walking skeletons.

That information, that highly personal trauma and violation of one of society’s biggest taboos was pried out of them. They weren’t ashamed, but the media and society still COULD have been nasty if they didn’t decide on the “inspiring story” angle.

Is the way that the media turned the Andes team into saints really a good thing? Sure, it’s better than the demonization that might have come their way otherwise, but that is a LOT of pressure to wear on your shoulders for a very long time, just to ensure that the tide of public opinion doesn’t turn on you.

These fictional girls went through something terrible too, both during the crash and after. They survived, which is so often hailed as a virtue in and of itself, but the actions that led to that would have to be sanitized and sanded off to make them fit for public consumption. The girls themselves haven’t processed the trauma of their cannibalism, so they certainly can’t stand their ground the way that was expected of the Andes survivors. If the Andes survivors were deeply ashamed of their actions would the world have met them with the same kindness? (I don’t know) especially if they hadn’t done so in a way that was so easy to market as just.

Which leads us back to the press and society in yellowjackets. “How did you survive? What DID you do to make it out there? What secrets are you hiding and how can we force them out of you?” How are they supposed to live with this while they’re burying every bit of it and letting the shame eat them alive so that society doesn’t?

No matter how much we as a society and collective devour or create or valorize or ridicule people, real or fictional, I don’t think we’ll ever get their experiences, or how to maintain that thin line between compassion and accountability.

#yellowjackets meta #yellowjackets #tw cannibalism #Youtube

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