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loving-family-poll · 4 months

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Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 3

The Locked Tomb fanart provided by @lezbijski thank you!

Propaganda under the cut:

Coronabeth/Ianthe:

They are everything. Fucked up codependent flesh-bending murderous twincest sisters

When you have to cry yourself to sleep every night because your twin sister didn't eat your soul, something incesty is definitely happening

no one is doing it like them. what if I loved you so much I wanted you to eat me and you loved me so much you refused to do so. what if the only threat I had against you was my own death. what if we had only spent three nights apart in our lives. what if I spent my whole existence covering for your lack; what if everyone assumed I was the one who was lacking. what if we were sisters. also what if someone said it wasn't surprising that people thought I was your boyfriend. they r winning at twincest AND gender AND godhood AND codependency

This entire section [Corona - Crown; Ianthe - The Prince] where Ianthe is possessing their dead servant's body and controlling a corpse army: "Crown threw herself out of her chair and went down on her knees in front of the Prince—wrapped her arms around the Prince’s legs and put her cheek on the dead right thigh. The Prince reached out and tangled one hand in her bright, springy curls, and sighed a cold, dead, defeated sigh. When Crown spoke her voice was low and tender, the lowest and tenderest voice Nona had ever heard: “Baby, it sounds awful.” “Corona, it’s death.” “So stick it. Stick all this and come home with me … throw this all in and come to me.” [...] “But we’re closer to the goal than ever before.” “Of course we are, you perfect genius,” said Crown, lovingly, and she took the dead gloved fingers, and she kissed them. Every single dead soldier’s fingers twitched..."

Dave/Rose:

Daverose blondetwin sweep because they were codependent without ever meeting from growing up seeing each other in their dreams

What does it mean to be an abused teenage boy growing up alone and seeing a girl in your dreams every night who is also your best friend. and when you finally meet her you go on a suicide mission together even though nobody was asking you to die with her. and then you are the only two human beings left in the recognizable universe on a cold meteor surrounded by aliens but you’re glad it’s with her. and when you finally touch the girl from your childhood dreams she looks exactly like you. because she’s your sister

I don't have words for how good these snarky assholes are together. DaveRose is brain chemistry changing. They both put up so many fronts, and engage in so much snarky wordplay, and are constantly trying to get under each other's facade. They play off each other so well, witty and sharp, I need them to be together always

We all die & we all die alone are the two cold truths of the universe but dave and rose broke both simultaneously by ascending to godhood together

Their twincest wins because it is just so confusingly tragic? profound? dave leaving rose behind in a doomed world, dave following her to the bomb. they are both so closed & cut off & curt its hard to imagine the depth of these things. but that is their love language: giving up their lives for each other over and over, in a confusing and fumbling and heartfelt love song. i can’t say i love you but i know we’ll die together anyway. because we’re made of the exact same stuff. i’ll find you again at the last moment. that’s love.

THEY DIED TOGETHER, YOUR HONOR

Confirmed canon by the author, (something happened) between them. Parallels of dying by each other's sides in EVERY timeline. They are THE womb-to-tomb. There is nothing platonic about winking at your brother while talking about crushes, that shit is incestuous. Seer/Knight archetype. They will die protecting each other.

do you realize love someone if you don’t follow them on a suicide mission into the gaping maw of a literal fucking sun after they knock you out and psychoanalyze you in your dreams? the blueprint of the “ethereal androgynous blonde boygirl twins” trope. witch/knight dynamics. they find each other to die together in every timeline no matter what (but they’re still emotionally constipated teenagers who bicker and make fun of each other in pesterchum). kids with grown-up powers. perfect little freaks of nature. what if we looked exactly like each other’s eyes

#tournament polls #tumblr polls #incest poll #round 3 #the locked tomb #tridentariicest #daverose #homestuck #tw incest

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helloporcelain · 8 months

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Retrouvailles

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Tav (gender neutral) Rating: Teen Tags: Reincarnation (Tav dies/Astarion doesn't), au-ish, Astarion's POV, oneshot.

Summary: “Until the day you draw your last breath, they will always return,” the god warns you. “And you will always find them. But they will never be the same, and they will never remember you.” Note: I got a little brainworm after seeing this lovely fanart by @cheesy-cryptid.

Read on AO3 if you prefer

–

Long ago, when you were a slave, you used to pray.

Beneath the lashes that were etched onto your flesh, you would pray. When your master abandoned you to the cruel clutches of starvation, you would pray. And on the evenings where your exhaustion was so heavy you nearly died under the weight of it all, you would still pray. You would pray tirelessly, and in as many broken tongues as you knew, and to as many gods as you could remember. Yet none deigned to answer your pleas.

Many centuries later, you pray once more.

This time, Velsharoon, the archmage of necromancy, the patron of liches and god of the undead, embraces you.

–

You’re not sure if this is a dream.

“Little love,” you murmur. “You should be resting.”

They sit on a bench in your garden, a willowy figure tending to the belladonnas and foxgloves you planted for them when they became too frail to stand on their own. Water spills out from the pot as their fingers tremble under the weight, splashing at their bare feet and brushing the edges of their tattered cloak.

“Even the prettiest flowers die,” they hum in response.

You watch them for a while with fondness — then you realize that this isn’t real.

“Are you a memory?” you ask.

“I am always myself,” they answer.

They pluck a blossom from the damp earth by the stem and gesture for you to join at their side, and when you draw near, they face you; yet you cannot see them, only the wilted flower that they press into your hand.

“Tell me, Astarion. Will you scoop the pleasure of existence out from the soil with your fingers? Will you have your fill until you are so full, you overflow?”

–

They gift you many paintings, each one a magnificent attempt to capture you, but you are never satisfied. They’re all just replicas , you complain, beautiful, pale imitations!

But the years pass on by, and vanity doesn’t hold as much sway on you as it used to. There is an old saying: time leaves its mark not on the faces we see, but in the hands we hold.

You long for those changes, to prove that you have shared this messy life with your darling.

Your fingers stay smooth, and you feel just as strong as you were when you first met them all those years ago on that fateful day out in the wilderness. And though you can’t see your own reflection, you know it remains unchanged.

In contrast, they bear the unmistakable signs of age: silvery wisps of hair, wrinkles tracing the counters of their eyes, and bone thin fingers. You think they are exquisite this way— that they are more beautiful than they have ever been– and you make sure to whisper this into their ears every time you make love.

Oh, they don’t believe you for a while. You’ll find me frightful, just a withering old thing next to you, they joke once, trying to hide their insecurity.

But they grow to accept their aging body– it is, after all, a gift that very few are fortunate to receive.

Occasionally, in the presence of strangers who think of you as their protégé, or sometimes even their son, they playfully call you their ‘little prince’. The nickname grates on you, a reminder of your unchanging curse, but you never voice your displeasure. Seeing them smile is just enough for you.

–

One winter’s season, just shy of their 700th year, they fall ill.

Nothing unusual for a person of their age, and certainly nothing a carefully concocted potion can’t remedy.

You kneel at their bedside, tenderly propping them up against the velvet headboard, tilting their jaw back to sip on some darjeeling tea. You raise the back of their delicate hand up to your lips and press a gentle kiss against a vein.

“Little love, I’m going to visit the cleric. I won’t be long.”

“Little prince,” they cough, smiling weakly at you. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

You have no reason to believe that the gods will claim them before the sun even gets a chance to rise.

–

You pray that they understand.

“Until the day you draw your last breath, they will always return,” the god warns you. “And you will always find them. But they will never be the same, and they will never remember you.”

You’ll wait a thousand lifetimes for them – you’ll love them regardless of the form their soul inhabits.

“When your time eventually comes– and it will come, vampire– you will not join them. Your soul will be bound to me, tethered for eternity. You will never know rest.”

You’ll forsake the afterlife, if that’s what it takes to allow you a glimpse of your beloved.

“Are you absolutely certain?”

You’ve never been more certain of anything else in your life.

“Bring them back.”

You pray that they forgive you.

–

Twenty five years and sixteen days pass.

It’s not as though they would be born again as an adult and delivered onto your front door step immediately— you understand this, but at some point, you wonder if the notoriously capricious god has forgotten all about you.

But one day, you sense their presence, just as Velrashoon said you would. Something compels you to Neverwinter – and you follow that feeling without a second thought.

Not knowing when you’ll come back, you lock up your home and bring only what is necessary for the journey there. The voyage by boat takes roughly fifteen days to reach land and you can’t wait to get off the ship; the seas are unforgiving and on the nights you do come out of your cabin, you strain your eyes out over the waves, wondering who they will be in this life.

Neverwinter is true to its name – there is an otherworldly warmth in the air that reminds you of them, even during the nighttime, which you welcome. You missed the heat of the sun while they were alive, but you longed for it even more after they passed away.

When you reach the city, you should be in awe – and in any other lifetime, you would be eager to explore it. But today, you’re frantically racing to find them. Your feet lead you to the front door of an assuming little bookshop tucked away from the busy streets.

If your heart had a pulse, it would be racing – it would be threatening to burst out of your chest. You push through the front doors, the bell above sweetly announcing your arrival, and search around the crowded shelves and stacks of books. No one stands out – until you notice someone perched at the top of a ladder, rearranging a few volumes.

It’s them.

You know it’s them.

“Ah, hello! I’ll be down in a second. Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Yes.” A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I most certainly am.”

–

In this lifetime, they are human.

You visit their bookshop often – you purchase a humble manor in the city and you come in every week to search for a new book.

Every book is one that they once cherished, and every week that you return they greet you with unbridled excitement, curious to see which book catches your interest this time.

Truth be told, you’ve read these books a hundred times over, and they all go onto a shelf in your new home, patiently waiting for your sweet to finger through their pages again.

It really doesn’t take long for them to fall in love with you – humans have always fallen prey to vampires the easiest, something about being so fragile makes dangerous creatures like you so alluring. They tell you that they’ve never experienced a love like this, and you lie and tell them that you never have, either. Your second life with them is more or less like a fairy tale, picturesque, sometimes even boring in its loveliness. Still, you adore it all the same.

But they’re human, and humans only live so long.

–

I’ve missed you so much, darling, you confess in your third life together.

They are a nomadic bard in this life; just a wild, untameable bird when you first find them with a traveling troupe in Waterdeep. You will never wish to lock them in a gilded cage so they go where their heart pleases, and most of the time, you follow. Your sweetheart is a wanderer – and you fly along with the winds of their dreams.

They laugh, having come to expect your flair for the dramatic.

I’ve only been gone a few days, Astarion.

A few days too long, little love.

–

In their fourth reincarnation, they are born a bastard to a vicious pirate king.

You feel them around fifty years in, but don’t actually manage to track them down in the Moonshae Isles until their eightieth year – it never occurred to you that they would be thrashing around in the seas. It's not exactly your preferred territory to be adventuring in, but it certainly offers a change of pace.

The way they first greet you with a sword to your neck reminds you of the time you once held a dagger to theirs. Ah, such fond memories. This variation of your darling is one that you secretly cherish the most – the one that just cannot seem to stay away from trouble.

It’s easily one of your most exciting lifetimes, despite the fact that living amongst the ocean is one of your worst nightmares. It’s a true weakness of yours, one that you are willing to brave only for them.

“Such a strong and fearsome vampire,” your love teases, on a night where the waves are particularly strong and you can’t stand up straight. “Yet the water terrifies you so.”

Their life begins with the ocean – how fitting it is that it ends with the ocean too, screaming and struggling amidst the violent tempest, their existence reduced to bubbles as they plummet like an anchor to the sea’s depths.

You barely make it back onto dry land with your life intact.

Even if you knew how to swim, you wouldn’t have been able to save them anyway.

–

It takes a hundred years for you to find them in their fifth life.

It’s never taken this long, and you go slightly mad trying to keep yourself busy while you wait for that phantom tug in your chest.

When you do find them, they’re a paladin, hardened by loss. They don’t tell you about it, and you never ask.

Every reincarnation of them after their first form has been unfamiliar with the version of you that lies – up until the night you decide that you just need to share the burden of your profound secret.

There is an excruciating loneliness in keeping it all yourself, and though you are well aware they won’t — can’t — remember, you long for them to grasp the depths of your love. You want them to understand that your devotion spans the abyss of time, that it transcends the limitations of flesh and bone, that your eternity means absolutely nothing without them.

However, you’re just not brave enough to admit to your beloved that you have lived four lifetimes with them now, but you are able to tell them a half truth: that you were lovers, that they were reborn, and that you brought them back.

They are furious, which you expected, but they are also completely inconsolable; that, you are not prepared for.

“How dare you?” they sob, their words fraught with anguish. “How entitled you are, Astarion, to think you can play as a god.”

"Little love. Please— I’m so sorry.”

You don’t know how to apologize for this, you just do, over and over. And it doesn’t matter, don't you realize that good intentions never matter? Their cries carry the agony of a soul caught in a never-ending cycle – a suffering of which you had a hand in weaving. Nothing in the world brings you more pain than having to witness them crumbling, wishing that you could take back something you simply don’t have the power to.

Once they’ve finally calmed down, they make a request: “I want to see it. Take me to my grave.”

You bring them to their first resting place, thinking that it will help them.

They don’t leave you, but their despondency settles like a boulder on their back. They don’t have the heart to muster a smile at you during your inadequate attempts to console them, and you often find them staring out of the window, fixating on the garden beyond.

“You water the plants too much,” they say one morning. “You’ll kill them faster that way.”

And sometimes, when you kiss them, they respond, but their gaze is glassy and distant, as if lost in another plane entirely. It’s a familiar expression, one you stopped wearing a long time ago.

Your chest feels like it’s being ripped open. You’ll sooner die than let them go through this again – you promise that this is their last life, that their soul will know peace. It’s not a lie, you tell yourself, if you believe it.

–

You call on Velsharoon countless times in the years that pass. You get on your knees to pray and pray, as you did centuries ago. You offer your soul every time, imploring to him that you have no use for it now, that he may grab it if he is content to – and you beg him to please, please allow for your love to finally rest.

He does not answer.

But, you also don’t feel them anymore.

Nothing pulls at you. There are no whispers in your consciousness, no echoes of their presence reverberating through your chest. There is only silence. You wonder if Velsharoon simply became bored, after all this time, and has decided to cut you from the strings that tie you to them.

Relief mixes with your sorrow, like a strange potion you have to choke down.

Eventually, you decide that you want to open a gallery – you don’t plan on staying in one place anymore, but you also don’t want to let go of all the things you cherish. And even if you did have a permanent residence, there would be no one left to appreciate the things that make a house a home.

So you get to work and fill it to the brim.

Everything they ever loved graces the halls of your exhibition. The jewelry that once adorned them sit on silver trays, protected behind glass. The luxurious robes you draped upon them are now pinned on mannequins; ancient books from centuries past lie open, their yellowing pages forever open on their favorite passages, never to be turned again. This gallery becomes your shrine, the only way to show the world that you loved something once.

Then, it is all too painful to bear.

You leave it in the hands of a trusted curator, corresponding with her through letters and sending her any new treasures you find during your travels that might suit the gallery. You leave Baldur’s Gate.

Time stretches on, each day merging into the next. The days turn into weeks, and then into months, as hundreds and hundreds of years flow by faster than ever. You dedicate your life to seeing everything the world has to offer, crossing into different lands and learning new languages and occupying yourself with pretty new lovers. You don’t keep track of what year it is anymore, but soon it’s the age of lightbulbs and airships and the world is alive in a way you’ve never seen before – it’s spectacular.

You are so empty, and you wish more than anything that you were dead already.

Velsharoon told you that your time would come, and the morbid curiosity of how you will go is the only thing keeping you from sitting in the sun on your own.

–

One year, you find yourself returning to Baldur's Gate on a whim.

You haven’t seen your gallery in what seems like forever, but you have kept a close hand on it all this time – you’ve passed it down through the family, so to speak. Upon your arrival, the newest curator is practically tripping over themselves to greet you. They marvel at your uncanny resemblance to your great, great-grandfather – strong genetics, you tell them.

The hallowed halls of your life's memories stretch out before you, pristine and frozen in time. As you absorb every detail of every item, the reality of your age weighs heavily on you, and you find yourself feeling more ancient than you ever have. You get a sense that this lifetime might be your last – that perhaps Velsharoon is warning you.

That’s when you hear it - the voice that has haunted you through so many lifetimes.

You tell yourself that you merely wish to see what they look like.

Just a glimpse.

It’s curiosity, that’s all it is.

Then you’ll sell the gallery and never step foot into Baldur’s Gate again.

Their attention is fixed on the very first painting they had ever gifted you— their favorite one, the one that captured the sadness in your eyes so well. You’re nearby, concealed behind a column, pretending to admire a statue before you. Their hair veils their face as they study the portrait, and the longest of minutes pass before they finally move on.

You attempt to turn away just before they reach you, but your nerves betray your reflexes and your shoulders collide. When you finally lay eyes on them, it feels as though a musket has pierced your chest.

This time, they look as if they've been plucked straight from their first life with you, not a single strand of hair out of place.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

A breathless moment lingers between the two of you, and then, a smile ghosts their lips. It’s an echo of a smile – a déjà vu so uncanny that it would unsettle you if you didn’t know any better.

“I’m sorry... Have we met before?”

“I’m afraid not.”

"I can't quite put my finger on it," they muse, their brows furrowing in thought. “But there's something remarkably familiar about you."

“Hmm… that portrait of my handsome ancestor might provide a clue," you suggest, pointing to the painting. "Though – I am also the owner of this gallery."

“Oh!” They look at the painting with alarm, then back at you, chuckling. “Yes, perhaps that’s it. My husband brought me here many moons ago, and I’ve continued to visit whenever I return to the city. It is such an enchanting collection. You’re wise to keep it in the family.”

Husband. This is the first incarnation where you've seen them with a spouse. Ah, it appears that Velsharoon has, at long last, granted them respite from you, and is revealing it in the cruelest way… you always knew he had a depraved sense of humor.

"Your husband has an impeccable eye for beauty," you complement, making no effort to hide the way your gaze lingers over their body.

“Yes…”

They turn away from you with a faint blush creeping up their neck, eyes drawn back to the painting.

“He did have a deep appreciation for the arts.”

You hold your tongue, understanding that fate is tempting you once more.

“It’s really not the painting,” they say, this time with conviction. “I know you. I don’t know how I know you. But I do.”

It’s time to make your exit , you chastise yourself, trying to recall the promise you made to them centuries ago.

Ending a conversation with a complete stranger and walking away would be the most sensible thing to do – you’re an aristocrat, and who are they to you? You have many lovers waiting for you, scattered in different homes across Faerûn – you’re a vampire, you should have a restless appetite for both adventure and wanton delights; you should be reveling in your eternal existence, savoring it with the kind of ravenous abandon that mortals can only dream of.

And yet, you are also simply just a man.

Perhaps your love was correct when they thought you fancied yourself a small god. In the grand tapestry of your existence, you ask yourself – what difference does one more thread make for a soul already condemned to damnation?

Well, there’s one thing you know for sure – you've always possessed a remarkable talent for deceit. All it takes is one look at the face that you once loved so much, and it seems that you truly cannot remember the vow. Yes, now that you think of it – perhaps it was all just a melancholy dream…

“I don’t know you, my dear. But I would love to.”

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kayetra-spade-queen · 1 month

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Because @drawnfamiliarfaces got me into their AU rabbit hole of a variant version of the Teen Heroes™, I hope they don't mind of me making my own variant (I'm self-conscious, please excuse me-).

First and foremost, I can't draw, at least not to the extent of completely fleshing out a sketch out of my ass (ok- I can, but only a single eye, and even then it looks like shit to me-). I can draw clothing better than making a full body to make a fake scene.

Second, it'll probably be more on writing than making fanarts.

Third, I didn't watch the majority of the other characters' respective shows. I watched Danny Phantom a bit because of Nicktoons, and Ben 10 because of the same person who got me into starting this whole thing. I'll probably get my own snips and bits of necessary info from the wiki, but don't expect any accuracy, and I'd appreciate if anyone could dump some info that could prove to be very necessary for me.

Fourth, this is an entire AU itself, so I'm mostly not gonna follow canon at most. There will be stories I will try to twist to my liking.

Fifth, ships. Yes, but bear with me here; thanks to my overconsumption of media, I will be putting just a few ships that I think are neat, but if anyone disagrees with me or didn't like how I didn't mention a ship they like (cuz I barely knew shit about the characters), then please just either move away from my blog, or block me entirely to avoid unwanted conflict. We all have our interests that make us happy, the least you could do is to respect and/or completely don't interact.

Sixth, the clothing are gonna filled with my own personal headcanons, mostly their clothing when they battle (the characters themselves too, but I'm gonna focus more on the clothes because I'm a fashion illustrator). Danny, Ben, and Randy are gonna wear heels because yes.

The ships involved;

Tigerghost (Manny Rivera from El Tigre x Danny Fenton from Danny Phantom) (I completely blame izbubbles for this one)

Benrex (Rex Salazar from Generator Rex x Ben Tennyson from Ben 10) (surprised? Probably not lmfao-)

Jimmytimmy (Timmy Turner x Jimmy Neutron) (first and foremost; no, none of the Nicktoons (Jimmy, Timmy, SpongeBob, and Manny) except Danny and Jenny are part of this team. Danny and Jenny still go on missions with the NU team because duh. And second; they're only here as some sort of filler and cuz I really love Nicktoons since most of them I have watched)

Headcanons involved (will get expanded in due time I swear-);

Trans Danny

Anodite Ben (still wields the Omnitrix. His anodite powers are pink too)

Dani and Dan are Danny's kids (under a different name because they have to go through a re-birth process that I'll touch upon later)

Ben's necrofriggian children now comes to earth to live with their mom (like I said, I'm not following canon)

Randy is still ninja, but because this AU involves a 3rd power/skill, I'll have to twist a bit of the canon my way, especially when it comes to the Ultimate Lesson and memory wipe

There will be some Genshin Impact references here and there, because I do play them, and I love it-

Ghost King Danny (by extent, Ghost Princess Dani and Ghost Prince Dan)

Fashion designer Ben (his sassy and confident nature could be more of a use tbh)

Primal Iudex Randy (he and Furina would get along nicely-)

Pearl Keeper Jake

Side gig magician Rex (leave me be, I think it's neat-)

Engaged Rex and Ben (all of the members are adults over 20, so don't be surprised)

Sandra Tennyson is French, so that makes Ben half-French by heritage

Ben and Randy are pen pals turned close friends by the time Ben moved to France (yes, I made Randy somewhat French here for this reason, but I'll have to put in more details later)

Rex won't lose his memories, but he'll get short-term amnesia often, which just need something to trigger the old memories back

Everyone is under the same universe

Danny's ghost team are Sam-Tucker-Valerie-Jazz and his parents (Valerie deserves better than what was given to her by canon)

Yes, Maddie and Jack knew Danny became a ghost from the very start, but they didn't treat him any differently than he was before; if anything, they felt guilty that their son had paid the price for their ignorance and neglect

Phantom Planet do not exist, and it shouldn't have been to begin with, but whatever

Valerie had always been part of Danny's gang. In terms of Shades of Gray, I'll have to change a lot of things, that includes her father's job (he didn't get fired), so I have other things in mind regarding Cujo

Cujo became Danny's pet dog later on, cuz you can't tell me these two aren't made for each other

Members from oldest to youngest, I do hope @drawnfamiliarfaces wouldn't mind me using their headcanon as well (eldest Kim, youngest Randy). I think they're really neat.

Please keep in mind that none of this follow canon whatsoever, they follow my headcanons and versions. Character backstories are written purely by my own personal headcanons too. I'll probably add actual canon when I didn't have anything good to offer, but this is what I could put for now.

#kim possible #my life as a teenage robot #danny phantom #american dragon jake long #the life and times of juniper lee #generator rex #secret saturdays #ben 10 #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #kayetraspadequeen #Shades of Prisms

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