#and the corruption is just fun to talk about

[hoondrop]

JUNGWON IS THE PERFECT CANDIDATE FOR LOOKS SWEET AND PLAYFUL AND SOFT BUT BEING ACTUALLY MEAN

unable to stop picturing him with an older gf inexperienced and shy and him being the one in control 🥴 pls pls post anything about mean younger bf jungwon ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

i love how most of my asks are for wonie

MEAN YOUNGER BF! JUNGWON HEADCANONS

warnings: female reader, mean jungwon, jungwon constantly reminds reader he's younger, noona kink, baby trapping, dubcon?

1. He lives for the contrast. You're older, more reserved, still blushing over things he says and he adores it. The way you shy away when he whispers something filthy in your ear? He’ll say it again, slower, with a smirk, just to see you fidget.

“Why’re you acting so shy, noona? You’re the older one. Shouldn’t you be teaching me?”

2. Has a massive noona kink. He gets hard just hearing you call yourself that. "I’m older than you, I should know better…” and he’s like, "yeah, but you don’t. That’s what makes it so fun.”

3. Teasing touches all the time. His hand on your thigh under the table, thumb rubbing tiny circles. Leans in too close when speaking, brushing lips against your ear like it's nothing. Whispers, “Are you getting nervous again? You’re so easy to read, noona.”

4. Calls you “noona” in the filthiest tone. When you’re whimpering, trembling, begging. he murmurs it like a reward and a taunt. “You sound so pretty, noona. This is what you needed, huh?”

5. He's a pervert, full stop. The kind who steals your panties, keeps voice recordings of you moaning, takes photos of your expressions when you're lost in pleasure, especially your flushed, tear-streaked face.

“Don’t hide your face. Let me see you. You’re so cute when you fall apart for me, noona.”

6. Degrading praise. “So dumb on my cock, huh? Is that what you like? Being ruined by someone younger than you?” But he kisses your tears away after, always holds you close afterward. It’s twisted and tender all at once.

7. Loves corrupting you. You're innocent, not clueless, but you've never done much. And that just turns him on more. He loves being your first for everything; first orgasm from someone else's fingers, first time on your knees, first time tied up.

8. Brings toys. Vibrators, silk ties, plugs. and he teaches you how to use them, patient but smug. “We’ll go slow, don’t worry. But by the end of the night, you’ll be begging me to fuck you stupid with this.”

9. Power play is constant. You’re older, but he’s always in control. Pushes you on the bed, makes you repeat what you want. "Say it. Say ‘please make me cum, wonie...’ and when you do,

"Good girl.”

10. Dirty talking kink. Whispering to you during phone calls, voice notes, or while you’re out in public. “I want you to think about my fingers while you sit there acting all professional, noona. Are you wet just from my voice?”

11. Aftercare prince. He knows he goes too far sometimes, so afterwards.. he cuddles you like you’re fragile glass. Runs his fingers through your hair, tells you how pretty and good you were for him, makes you drink water, kisses your wrists and cheeks like a sweet boyfriend.

12. “You’re older, but I’m the one teaching you?” He’ll say this while you're squirming under him, moaning helplessly as he thrusts into you like he owns you. "How embarrassing for you, noona." He says it with a smile that makes your stomach twist.

13. He taunts you with your age while fucking you, always in that mock-innocent tone. “Shouldn’t a noona like you be better at this? Look at you... shaking like a virgin.”

“How does it feel to be this ruined by someone younger?” He says that right after pulling his fingers from you and sucking them clean in front of your face. “Bet no one ever made you cum like this, huh?”

14. Loves to humiliate you in private. Asks you filthy questions with a sweet voice: “Noona, how many guys have done this to you? …No one? Just me? You’re my dirty little angel then, aren’t you?”

15. Gets hard at the thought of being your first real lover. The fact that you’re inexperienced eats at his control. He’ll bend you over and whisper, “You waited this long just to be mine, didn’t you?” while grinding against you.

16. Makes you say it. Repeats filthy lines till you whimper them on your own. “Say it. Say ‘wonie, you fuck me better than anyone ever has.’ Say ‘You’re the only one who knows how to touch me.’ Come on, noona, don’t be shy now.”

17. Public whispers. In elevators, crowded places, dinners. he leans in and softly murmurs, “Remember how you begged for my cock last night? Noona, I can still feel your nails scratching down my back.” Then just smirks while you choke on your drink.

18. Wants to break you into only craving him. “You’ll never be able to cum without thinking of me again, noona. I’m gonna ruin every toy, every memory you had before me. Your body? it's mine now.”

19. Possessive as hell. Gets jealous you had a life before him, even if it was boring or sexless. He gets off on replacing it. “Don’t even think about them. I’m the only one in your head now, aren’t I?”

you nod.

"that's right.. in your head, your eyes, your heart.. and your pussy"

20. He always pulls out. Or at least he used to. But lately… he’s been stopping. Slipping up. Telling you mid-thrust that he can’t help it.

“I know I said I’d pull out, noona. But your pussy’s just begging to be filled. Look at how it squeezes me.”

21. He keeps a quiet, private calendar of your cycle. Acts chill. Until one day, you mention cramps and he lights up with dark, excited eyes.

“You’re late, right?” he asks, voice flat but hopeful in that sick way.

You stare at him. He just shrugs and kisses your neck.

“Good. I’ve been cumming in you like it’s my job.”

taglist: @jaylaxies @yourislandgirl

[1x1x1x1x1x1x1x1]

i like the idea of a killer!reader being like a big sleepy bear the moment they are out of a round, just immediately curling up onto the couch and sleeping, but then becoming the complete opposite in matches

and then immediately plopping down on the ground to sleep the moment they win the match lmao

i would like headcanons of them please,,, 👉👈

— 🌾

HELLOOOOOO

this is such a lovely request omg

i have a LOT of requests in the inbox so i gotta speedrun some

ooc and spelling mistakes are prolly here, too lazy to reread

enjoy!!

((fucked up the banner but whatever 💔💔

Forsaken Killers x Sleepless!Killer!Reader

1×1×1×1｡𖦹°‧

He has mixed feelings.

Well, all of her feelings are mixed with hatred so i guess you could put it that way,

The first time you won a match, and IMMEDIATELY stumbled onto the couch and passed out she was definitely taken aback. Were you feeling sick or something??

But after a while, he got used to it.

Every time you won a match, killing all the survivors extremely quickly, you always went into slumber right away.

They are expecting it at this point, and must admit youre one of the more tolerable killers here.

Not disturbing his,,,, thinking.

Hey if you were stuck in a cabin with a bunch of other freaks and psychopaths you wouldnt have anything better to do too, alright??

There were a few times when you accidently passed out really close to her on the couch, your head resting on one of his knees,

His immediate thought was to wake you up, but hes never seen,,,, anyone try that.

She didnt wake you up because she didnt wanna anger you! Absolutely NO other reason, and they WILL mass infection anyone who says even one word about this.

John Doeִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

He doesnt really have any specific feelings towards you,

Probably because he cant.

His corruption is basically eating him alive, what did you expect?

From what he can recall, hes never talked to you?? Atleast from what he remembers.

And that would add up, since youre basically never awake in the cabin

Theres been maybe one time when he saw you awake, and that was when you first spawned in.

And well aside from that, he does see you quite often, even though you guys havent exchanged any words.

There was one time where you basically passed out next to him, on the floor.

He didnt really know what to do, or how to approach this, so he picked you up (as gently as he could) and set you on the couch.

You didnt really notice, and he doesnt really remember, so it never happend. Right?

Noli-.ᐟ.ᐟ

You arent really his cup of tea.

He sees you as,, boring. What!! He likes to have fun yk!

Hes a bit pissed about it too, you seem so fun in rounds but in the cabin youre just,,,, out. Passed out on the couch, drooling onto the pillows, one arm hanging down to the floor.

Honestly, its even a bit impressive, HOW does one manage to fall asleep within SECONDS after a round that was full od adrenaline.

He tried pranking you. Multiple times.

That being of course, playing extremely loud sound effects, (which 9 out of 10 times dont even work on you)

And toying around with you when youre passed out. By that i mean writing random stuff on you with a marker, posing you into weird poses and etc.

But after a while, you DID wake up once. And you were NOT happy with him,,,,

After that time, he (almost) never messed with you,

And he must admit, it was kinda hot

Mafioso🂱⚔

Pretty mixed feelings here.

On one side, youre extremely good at what you do, killing all the survivors with ease, sparing no one.

But on the other,, he just sees you as,, lazy.

The moment you go to sleep, hes unable to exchange any words with you.

Youre basically a stranger even though he sees you every day!

The only time he gets to know even an ounce of your personality, is when youre the killer and hes spectating.

This slowly turns into him full on getting obsessed with you.

Well, not exactly with you, but more so of getting to KNOW you.

His men did catch on, quite concerned with what hes doing

So they tried to talk to you one time, which involved waking you up.

You werent as aggressive with them as you were for example with Noli, since they woke you up, apolagizing for bothering you etc.

They only got a two words from you before you passed out again.

"Not now,," In a tired, worn out voice.

They told the boss, and he realized he can just,, do that. Wake you up.

And after doing that a few times, you werent really happy with him, even though he enjoys the few words you share with him.

Wait,,,,

zoo wee i wrote this in like an hour wth that was quick

i geniuenly need to drink more while writing because holy hell did i do a lot of words 💔

also i kinda stopped adding jason and coolkidd (ck being plantonic ofc) because they take the most time and i dont like writing for them💔 uhh quick pole

[velvetvexations]

you know as much as i prefer explaining to people that no im not an insidious transandrophobia boogeyman or some such nefarious villain trying to corrupt their innocent activists and allies with my ideology or whatever im just talking about my experience as a transmasc... i secretly LOVE being a nefarious villain. like nyehehehe im turning people to the DARK SIDE im TRICKING them into listening to trans men/mascs about their experiences oh im SO EVIL. im POISONING their minds with the idea that me and my ilk (checks notes) are people too. I'm a cackling mustache twirling campy cartoon villain. and once I realized that about me I kinda understood your whole vibe about getting off on being transphobes' worst fears but i don't get off on this I just do this because it's fun. I can only guess this is because I never got to be a theatre kid growing up.

x

[phonefaceenthusiast]

Something i feel like doesn't get touched upon: Henry is aware he's a fictional character. This was confirmed by Dogman himself on several occasions.

But there's a catch: Unlike other self-aware characters, Henry actively hides this from the player, as he knows we would try to stop him.

He makes it sound like his 'ultimate goal' is removing the shackles of mortality from humankind to foul the player, who doesn't know he's self-aware and could fully buy it. But that's not his end goal.

Major hints towards this:

"Once enough souls are collected, i will have a substantial number of souls to produce the machine that i have hoped to build from day one. A machine that can sucessfully take an adult male from our realm to another, and back again. Soon, i aim to no longer be in this realm at all." - Tape 5 (JOY4)

Henry talks about gathering souls to build a machine to escape Dayshift at Freddy's, however he words his goals in such a way that you could interpret "ascending to another realm" as him surpassing his own mortality, but that's actually just a small step on his plan: First, he finds a way to become immortal so that he has unlimited time living, THEN he starts researching ways to enter the real world (in this case, through a machine).

DSAF 3 Legacy ending - through the entire route, Henry slowly strips away the player's control over Jack. The explanation for this is that Miller has a passive aura (his influence, HIS LEGACY) that can corrupt people all while he's still in the void, which you can with see with Legacy Jack:

In dsaf 1, Dave convinces him to join him. At this point Jack just wants to mess around with him while having some fun to boot. He's like "Yeah we can do that, why not". He's not evil (yet), he just wants to goof around.

In dsaf 2, Henry's influence starts seeping in: Legacy gets more and more malicious as the route goes on BUT there's still a small fragment of his humanity in him: Dave mentions that Jack looks genuinely sad after Peter's speech, showing that it affected him and maybe even led him to reflect on his actions, showing that Legacy isn't an near emotionless monster (...yet...).

By the end of Dsaf 3, Miller's influence has degraded Jack to merely a vessel, with no free-will nor conscience (we, the player, are Jack's conscience since he doesn't have a soul. Gonna elaborate more on that in a minute); He straight up BLOCKS US from choosing a dialogue option that could ruin his plans; At this point, Henry has more control over the player character than we do, and that leads up to the most symbolical moment of Henry's self awareness:

At the end of the route, once Henry has full control of Jacktrap, the first thing he does is cut ALL contact with the player and make himself untraceable. He does this by crashing the game and deleting the save file, but he's still somewhere in your device, secretly researching a way out through his vessel while you are literally unable to find him. We can't find or control Jack, they're both just... Gone.

Worth mentioning that hes also immortal so he has all the time in the world to accomplish his goal and no oposition. HE WON.

Some other minor hints:

This poster that can appear on the Flipside.

"This universe is critically misunderstood" - tape 1 (JOY1)

Aware that the universe doesn't restrict itself solely to the game.

"My influence... the culmination of my being... I leaked into your world. Go ahead, let me DIE. I'll be back. I always COME BACK!" - DSAF 3 Good Ending

"your world" refers to irl, he's saying that the evil that exists and can harm real people is part of him.

After someone asked on reddit about what happens after the Dsaf 3 Evil ending, Dogman himself replied "Henry probably does some DDLC type-shit and tries to become real" (i couldn't find the comment itself but i swear it was real i'm not going insane)

[samhadjblog2]

I'm not going to defend Orchard of any of her accusations however to act like "Her media takes reflects her dark side" is a far from the case. it seemed more like a response to "Trends" she claims were real.

A lot of the problems with media stemmed around 2017-2018. Because looking back in 2015-16 her takes on media were pretty moderate, now that doesn't mean "Good" or "Bad". Rather that her approach to videos were more tolerable, and that she seemed to enjoy the show she was talking about (Not to say there wasn't anything questionable, the creepy fire rose ship is something to take into account.). However around late 2016 early 2017 she started to become more sour in tone. Mainly to her "MLP Friendship is magic". Was moving towards a direction she felt pandered to the fan's. At the expense of making meaningful story's. FYI her criticism's towards the show weren't original and many people shared the same critiques.

And as someone who hasn't really watched the show it has merit in that the series treated Friendship as this heal all band-aid when the show treated friendship in a more ground interpersonal way.

And its right around 2018 where her thoughts on media really starts to take a more sour outlook,(And where I kind of felt like her really started to loose interest in her content ,before knowing about the accusations)

Most specifically when two show's she like "SVTFOE" and "Tangle the series" both followed a "Pattern" that she saw with not only in MLP but also SU. And this is where she started to state that "Cartoons are now following this edgy trend". Specifically this video

And this is where I believe Orchard really started to build this idea of a "Trend" in western media in where happy and upbeat shows become more "dark" and "edgy". And how this is something endorsed by "Man children". BTW (There are a lot more right wing/Libertarians who make the same sentiment as Lily towards show's doing this). And this is where a lot of her issues in media analysis really start to become the more infamous thoughts on media really start to become more prominent.

And let me remind you that this sentiment only started after she watched only "three shows". SU, SVTFOE, and Tangled the series. The first being show of highs and lows if all things considered. The next was series that a lot of people couldn't defend. However its her outlook of "Tangled" where I called BS. Not only are its "edgier" moments could be called tame. The antagonist that she was fed up with "Varian" was punished for his actions. And most importantly Tangled was trying to just be a simple fun adventure.

And so because of this I can say that her takes in media has nothing to do with her moral character and more to do with being fed up with one's fandom's BS "infecting a show she likes" and "thinking the same is happening in all animated series".

When Lily criticizes the fantasy genre its because she personally prefers simplistic slice of life shows that don't challenge her or make her think.

Lily criticized the fantasy genre due to the aforementioned reasons I stated before. And even then a person who enjoy simplistic slice of life isn't a big red-flag compared to a lot of the actual awful things she's done.

When Lily says Canadian cartoons did gay rep first and better it's because she hates Rebecca Sugar, ND Stevenson and Dana Terrace being praised by online news articles.

Lily has praised Dana Terrace for Owl House and love Lumity. A lot of her gay rep takes with both Rebecca Sugar and ND Stevenson are that a lot of critiques to the SU rep I will have to say is reductive is just focused on moving a goal post. Meanwhile her take on ND Stevenson's show is that its rep included one Gay couple that didn't really do much and Catradora which she deemed abusive (BTW I don't find it abusive).

When Lily says Dark Souls is actually based on Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts bosses are way harder it's because she's still that egotistical pain in the ass kid on the playground at recess saying NOT UH, THE LAME THING I LIKE IS SUPER HARD AND BETTER!

Her takes on Dark soul being based on Kingdom Hearts and more of this another example of wanting to paint people who "Claim dark media is great" are immature. Its pathetic won't deny that however. Its less of painting herself better more like making everyone out the be bad.

And when Lily says she's doing a video about how people writing siblings bickering is bad what she really means is she hates her parents, she hates the psychiatrists she was sent to as a kid and she really wants to slip incest into everything.

Now here's the thing while I believe a lot of accusations made by her sister. However with the sentiment towards "Sibling bickering" reflects more on wanting to see more positive interactions all together. Even with these accusations in mind I find this take as valid. Because its nice to see siblings getting along.

And so say whatever you want about her takes. Because as I demonstrated her takes are more of her just wanting to indulge in "Positive media" then anything. And I find that these are least worse things she's done.

wouldn't it be better to focus on lily's actual crimes more instead on her media takes?

Lily's media takes aren't even media takes. Every single thing she says comes back to her own weird hangups, insecurities and fetish bullshit. She tells on herself constantly.

Besides, I do bring up her allegations on my streams. I just don't do an entire stream/video on them cause that's not what my channel is about and there already exists an expose on her with over 1 million views.

People would know this if they actually watched my streams before bitching about what they imagine they're like.

[shadowtraveled]

what TMA entities would you assign the dungeon lords, esp mithrun? was discussing this (bc marcille is sooo End) and consulting your Seminal Mithrun Meta when i remembered you also went here!

anon i want you to know i was thinking about this nonstop like two weeks ago oh my god. i’d love to hear your thoughts on this if you’re so inclined 👁‍🗨 (and wheeze thank you i don’t know about seminal but i’m glad it passed peer review)

putting a readmore here for spoilers

to preface this, i understand the fears aren’t really separate and it’s all just fear etc but they function as distinct in the way the demons do and in the sense that they each had to mark jon to come into the world. so. distinctive facets of a unified whole. anyway i have two criteria for assigning someone a tma entity: it has to be something they deeply fear, and it has to be something they choose anyway.

and with that being said, marcille is SO end-aligned in a very gentle and chill way i think fits the end so nicely… her intense fear of death is sort of a fear of loss, which would typically be considered the desolation’s domain, especially when coupled with her aptitude for explosion/fire magic and the part of her arc where she tries to expand the dungeon, but she wasn't choosing destruction or hopelessness in either of those cases—there’s something to be said for the carnage she was willing to leave in her wake, but at the end of the day she was trying to eliminate loss. she's fundamentally incompatible with the desolation because she continually rejects it, and the loss itself doesn't form the core of her fear. the inevitability of death, though, does, and she accepts it when she gives up the dungeon and lets falin go. absolutely the end.

i think thistle is another easy designation. he clings to control to the point it corrupts him, and he creates an environment that forbids death, but his desire is not for control and his fear is not of death or loss—those are delgal's. instead, his fear that he won't be able to measure up to the too-large too-heavy responsibility placed on his shoulders is what drives him, and because we know it drives him, we know that he takes it on anyway. he even brings melini underground. extremely the buried.

laios, meanwhile. is difficult for me to assign. his fears (rejection, ostracism, that he isn't able to connect with people, that he hates people) feel very lonely, and he does withdraw from people a fair amount, but he has connections he does not and would not choose to sever. you could make an argument for the hunt (he's drawn to not only monsters but the concept of the food chain itself and his place on it as a part of the natural world, and he ends the series with the object of his fascination out of his reach), but i don't think there's enough fear there. in laios' case, the lack of strict definition between fears and the idea that they're all just muddled subcategories of a singular thing is actually really helpful, because i think i'm assigning him to the vast. it was said at some point that the vast and the lonely aren't too dissimilar—you won't realize how alone you are without distance, and that sort of mental/emotional distance and disconnect is what has haunted laios his entire life. and i think that's, in part, what makes the cosmic insignificance of seeing yourself as just another part of your environment so comforting to him. his choices... definitely make him cosmically significant lmfao but even though he chooses to be the one to go up against Infinity Itself and its endless hunger and even though he chooses to be king, he fits himself right back into the position of being a single piece of a much larger puzzle. he became lord of the dungeon to become a part of the food chain that would stand a chance to preserve it (via eating the demon's hunger). he's king because there was a gap that needed to be filled. even then, he wants his body to be scattered after death, so that he can be devoured like any other living thing would be. god i love this manga. anyway, tentative but i think the vast is the only thing i can justify at this time. actually, accepting the hunger of the infinite could itself be seen as accepting the vast into himself…….

and finally, mithrun! surprising absolutely nobody given my take on his backstory, i'd give him to the lonely, with the caveat that he does eventually sever his connection to it. prior to becoming lord of a dungeon, we know he thought the worst of people (and again i think this was intentional of him), but we also know he put up a front that was undeniably kind. milsiril says that everyone loved him for the front, but its very existence acted as a barrier between himself and others: milsiril had no idea how miserable he was, and neither did anyone else. he'd already begun choosing isolation, and he chose it ultimately when he became lord of a dungeon, literally cutting himself off from everyone in a pocket dimension where he surrounded himself with facsimiles of people he loved until... they dwindled. and they did, until he was alone again, with only the demon and the unresponsive chimera construction of the person he considered to be the one he loved. after he was eaten, we see themes of emptiness typical of the lonely coupled with his disconnection from his team—in one of the extras it says they don't really know how to approach him, and i think it shows. so in a way, he ends up back where he started: surrounded by people who care about him and who he ostensibly cares about in return, but emotionally alone. as for fear, i think a lot of his are tied up in the concept of insignificance, but that insignificance isn't cosmic—it's personal. that's why watching himself be replaced was so unbearable for him and why the thought of being left unfinished was so horrific.

as an aside, i did also consider the corruption. the idea of leftovers abandoned carries the connotation of rot and i love the concept of 'the rot within you' etc. it gets me every time, and i think there's something to be said about that with regard to the way mithrun views the person he once was. furthermore, the... eating... scene... is framed as sexual and extremely invasive (and, as a result of the combination, is very evocative of disgust) in a way we see most often with the corruption (though imo tma would never see something like this as it toes the line of jonny's "no sexual trauma horror" rule too closely), and we have to remember that for all that it terrified mithrun, he was trying to get it to happen again. but i don't think disgust is enough of a factor for him. most of his disgust is aimed at himself, and while he doesn't shy away from it, he isn't really drawn to it either. rather, i think his dialogue in the extra comic in the complete edition of the adventurer's bible ("there's nothing so kind as a demon. suddenly losing that kind of love opens a hole in your heart[...]") goes a long way in terms of defining what being eaten meant to him. the corruption focuses on a feeling of belonging and community. mithrun wanted to disappear forever knowing that in the last moment he lived he was loved. ultimately, the fear of being abandoned coupled with his attraction to being unknown and eventually entirely gone read as lonely-aligned to me.

anyway i'd LOVE to hear where you're at with this please come chat literally whenever this is the most excited i’ve ever been about anything

[messiahzzz]

it’s been almost a year now… is the bg3 fandom finally ready to talk about how gale’s “hubris” is the sole product of actively feeding his insecurities further and straight up denying him help & guidance when he was at his lowest and needed it most. it’s not one of his core traits and never was. he isn’t some closeted power hungry monster that is just waiting to be enabled. what he wants is admiration, recognition and acceptance. which is also what he sought from mystra before the orb disaster happened. he had no desire whatsoever to become a god himself or challenge her rule, he simply wanted to be seen as sufficient in her eyes (“to serve her better”). to be as equal as he could possibly be in a relationship with a literal deity. he has a deep passion for magic and knowledge that affects almost all areas of his life and enjoys the display thereof. he wants to be the smartest person in the room and enjoys when his work is recognized. he may be perceived as arrogant when it comes to his skill, but he IS NOT hubristic. it truly takes so little for him to be wholly content.

[lanternlightss]

dewdrop leaves

> this was written for day 3: immortality/corruption! and of course i could not pass up the opportunity to write a corrupted venti, and bard’s reaction to it <3

Though Venti does not necessarily feel the sensations such as “warmth” or “cold,” the sheer thickness of Dragonspine’s chill tries its hardest to threaten that motion. It clings to him, weaving around and through the fabrics of his clothing, wrapping his limbs. Frost dapples at the tip of his nose, extending to his cheeks. It coats his clothing, too, the material starting to crinkle, turn firmer, and rigid.

(During his flight to here, his hat had been tossed off, and his cape’s bow had been torn unevenly….. how he quite liked those….)

When he lands, sprawled out onto all fours, sinking into the snow and feeling how it gives in, the beginnings of ice fall from him in clumps, sloughing. He extends his wings, fluttering them, and watches as even more are flicked off from the action.

Going to stand, a sharp pain pulls at his chest, seeming to bounce off of the space where a rib-cage would be, before it spreads throughout the rest of him, pinpricks of blazing flares. He doubles over from it, his forehead and bangs pressing into sparkly white (his braids choosing to sprawl across them instead.)

Making the decision to fully lay his upper half onto the snow, and partly burrow there, wings folding to slide more onto his form, it—for a moment, upon the first touch—feels almost soothing. Rubs at the itchiness lying beneath this imitation flesh, one that strikes and tears and shrieks at him every passing minute that goes by. Each louder, more vicious, than the last.

Venti grimaces.

With a tremble, he pushes himself up, crawling forward to fresher snow—areas where he did not mess with. Raises his hand, watching as the deep blue (nearly a shade close to the night sky, dotted with small magentas) covering his fingers and palm reaches up, up, up, a little past his wrist, in splotches. Racing alongside the blue, is deep, fracturing golden lines and cracks, painted across in random strokes. He flexes his hand, wincing, and noting he has his talons, as well.

(There is a prickle on his back, too, where feathers begin to sprout, beneath the pair of wings he already has out.)

He huffs a breath and continues to stand, shaking off the snow when completely upright. Crouches slightly, one foot forward, stancing for a flight into the sky once more—for as much as he would like to, Venti cannot stay here, it is too close to Mondstadt still, and there is a concerning pressure building within him, one that he fears may blast away everything here.

Wings flap, he leans. Snow then scatters and sprays in various directions, from his take-off.

The corruption worsens as his journey continues—that accursed statue, but its situation was becoming harrowing—sending shocks so severe that it has his wings beating harshly to keep himself righted. Even more terribly is when the ruins of Old Mondstadt come into view, and the extra wings find this the perfect time to sprout in full, snapping out, and colliding against the ones above them.

That has him stumbling into one of the many strong currents dotted around; where he allows them to spin him in a lift, and he dips towards the ground when they let go, upon where he forces his wings to untangle, opening and catching wind. He twists, pivoting, aiming towards the ground, his surroundings a blur—and lands onto a patch in a cloud of dust. Once it has cleared, he remains in his position, sitting on his knees, hands pressed to the sides of them as he leans slightly forward.

(Belatedly, he realizes he has lost his cape, and shoes.)

Venti heaves. The pressure from before is unbearable now. The blue-gold has creeped up his arm, the splotches trailing off in fading dots when it reaches where his archon form’s gloves would end, and he presumes it is the same for his legs—though, he can feel a weight at the back of his head, half-formed, in what could only be a halo. Go and break him down to his more divine forms, why don’t they!!

Bubbling. Too much of it, his grasp on everything fraying, thinning, even as he scrambles in an attempt to keep it locked shut, fingers twisting and flailing—the threads of wind, patches of time, the weather, it slips, becoming fuzzy. A gratitude undercuts it, a vague thankfulness that the ruins have sunken enough to fit the wrath of a thrashing God, a vague thankfulness that Dvalin had been sent away beforehand, before it is overrun by the thoughts—what if this is not enough? Will they fall, to his hands, just as the tyrant had done to them? Will he lose what he has fought to protect, what he has set everything to prevail for?

He cannot lose anyone again—

His imitation heart splinters and spills, the corruption truly sinking in. His vision blurs around the edges, flashes of gold tracing them, his breaths coming out labored..

(He knew, when Dvalin had been corrupted by the Abyss, that he was hurting—if it was to this extent, he wishes he could have soothed away everything.)

Around him, the wind races, becoming erratic, kicking at any surface it can find, zipping across in uneven lines. He leans further, wings curling, and the distant sounds of this place are doused, muffled, becoming white noise—a consistent ringing, overlapping

Underneath his hands and legs, the ground shrivels. The wind grows harsher, rocks being scraped across, propelling into the air and torn asunder, the glowing crystals diminishing to mere crumbles of rock. Both the dirt and grass are dragged from the ground, plucked and ripped. The intensity continues to ramp, the noises becoming overwhelming, ringing in his ears pitching, finding that his hands have raised to grip at hair, that his wings seem to wrap around him completely as he—

As rapidly as it had seemed to start, it feels as though something grabs hold of him and yanks to a halt. Venti gasps, cut hair strands falling around him.

The winds stutter, and the ringing fades. He jerks up, hands still embedded into his hair, and finds that… the place he landed in was not so deserted. Their tree stands, swaying, waving hello.

And, that everything had truly come to a messy standstill; threads of teals dipped in a bleeding mixture of a blue-gold suspended in a whirling vortex, a few parts of the wreckage they had caused gently floating besides in its grasps. The threads are not all the same, some of them cutting in dotted lines as they zoom, some of them having their lines wavering to point it threatens dispersing, some of them are thoroughly solid, some of them are splitting into branches, teal twisting and curling, and—

And—

And…

Blue eyes blink, fluttering as if just awoken.

He rubs a hand at the right one, brows furrowing at his surroundings the more aware he becomes of them. Pure raven-black braids sway, as he swivels his head, and Venti notes with a whirlwind in his mind, that the locks have stray strands flicking out from not only the braids, but the bangs, and hair that frames the face. Windswept. The clothes, as well, are missing the tear in the bottoms of the shorts, the tops of his boots, and his right sleeve. If he were to turn, there would certainly be holes in his cloak, too.

But—if he does not have those, then how is he…?

A gale is thrown into the cliff, repeatedly, tearing apart the ground, as they respond to Venti’s dread.

His eyes widen, then narrow.

No, no, no, no, no. Stop looking at him like that.

Venti hunches into himself, talons clenching and shredding more strands of hair. The gale intensifies, lashing behind him, carving out chunks and causing the ground to rumble in its fury. He bares his teeth—wanting to shriek, to grab at his head and!!!!

Stop looking at him like that!

(Why wouldn't he?

A wind out of control? A wind that slices, destruction in every path? Why would he not back away from it?)

He tilts his head, starting to stand, and his expression shifts at Venti flinching away from his approach, the wind whipping to a higher degree with the flinch. He goes to take a step forward, the grass he steps upon having a simmering, bubbling line of a thread hovering there—and there is a quiet screeching as the threads are forced away, unraveling in spools and flinging out towards the cliffs; it has him jolting away from it, one step taken back, boots hitting the ground and kicking up dust.

His gaze snaps up to Venti’s.

(He has a fleeting thought, a moment where the minuscule inch of himself that the corruption has not touched speaks; that he should fix everything, that this mess has gotten severely out of hand, to fly off deeper into the ruins before he does something truly regretful.

But it is just that—fleeting.

Because at the attempt to follow through with the ideas laid out, the corruption rushes to overtake that last final inch, smothering and snuffing it out without regard. It halts Venti’s hands when he tries to wave them, refusing to let them budge the Bard in front of him, dark blue and gold chaining them to remain where they currently are. You do not truly want that, do you? It whispers, false care and comfort in its voice. You wish for him to stay, so here he will stay.)

That gaze of his shifts once more, briefly scrutinizing, then the ever so slightest of widened eyes, before reaching a blankness. It seems that something has clicked. He tries again, purposefully angling his path to the swirling threads, and Venti grits his teeth as he moves them away, hooking a finger round them and pulling, so that no interactions happen between them and him.

(And, how during this, he sees—for a moment—a glimmer of something magenta across his form.)

And blast it all—

Venti raises himself and situates his legs into a crouch, his wings flaring unraveling from around his form. And bounds.

He crosses the distance between the two of them in seconds. Nose mere centimeters away from his, Venti grits his teeth, watches as the other blinks owlishly at him, as if not expecting to be approached so suddenly, especially not like this, Venti poised in a manner similar to that of a cat pouncing still.

“Keep off from those,” he nearly growls, “Can you not see that they—”

Hands shoot out, to place themselves on his cheeks. Venti falters, words dying in his throat.

“What has happened to you?” He murmurs, gently tipping Venti’s head up, to the side, checking the dark-blue that has climbed up to his face, “Your teal… where has it gone? Have you always had gold?”

He swallows. A twitch goes throughout him, one that does not go unnoticed by him.

And, oh. That was what had clicked.

The words build, his tongue bubbling, bitterness and sweetness coating it. A name he has not said for centuries, a name he has kept clutched close to him, hidden in the palms of his hands, in the place where a heart would be beat.

Venti’s mouth opens, and croaks: “Cecil….?”

He pauses, meeting Venti’s eyes.

“Hello, little bird,” Cecil replies, softness in every feature of his. “Ah—I suppose you would be an angel now, hm? How much you have grown…”

The softness does not last long, his brows knitting as he thinks, a frown replacing that wondrous smile of his. His fingers trace the edges of the colors, outlining them, almost, a silent fury and puzzlement to the actions. “But, my friend—why are these… like veins? Why do you hurt? Did someone else do this to you?”

(I will hurt you, I will hurt you, you need to get away from me—)

“No one. This is my own doing, you see,” he says, offering a reassuring look, “I am not hurting at all.”

And—that is true, if partly. There is no stabbing prodding at him any more, attempting to wrench him towards the ground so he stays there. It aches most certainly, however, the wind underneath his skin thrumming as it races incessantly.

Cecil’s brows scrunch.

He steps forward to pull Venti closer, his right hand falling down to his waist, tracing a tear in his clothing, and… ah. Ah. He revokes everything he had said about snow and their so-called “soothing effects” beforehand, this is so much better than it, he curses them and nearly purrs at the feeling of his friend being a breath away from him, his touch curling into his bare skin so softly, lovingly.

Venti chases it.

All but lunging into him, Venti dives his head into Cecil’s chest, careful of the halo behind his hair—do not want to slam it against him. The rest of his body follows suit, his arms encircling around Cecil’s torso (with his hands carefully closed, knuckles pressing into the fabric of the green vest), knocking their legs together so that he can hook it around one of his dear’s, and his wings complete it all by flaring out to then snake around and envelop them both. Feathers brushing against skin and cloth with every other breath.

(The wind has gone still.)

“Oh,” Cecil gasps, startling at something, “you have six wings? I only saw four… have your limbs been multiplied, too??”

Does he? Venti thinks dazedly. It must have happened when the pain was ramping up, he could not distinguish it under all the other sensations attacking him. He had wondered how far the transformation would go—his most divine form has much more than four wings and a halo.

He does not give Cecil a response. Choosing to nuzzle into his clavicle instead, head going even fuzzier, thoughts narrowing to Safe safe safe, stay stay stay, love love love, here here here.

And—what an idea.

Cecil’s chest expands, as he inhales, exhales. It takes a moment, but he begins to reciprocate, an arm going around Venti’s back, between the middle wings and bottom ones. The other arm lifts to the space above Venti’s shoulders, near his nape, pulling him further into himself. He rubs at those places, in small, circle-like motions, and it has the God wholly melting in his arms.

“Is this alright?” He asks, “Is this helping?”

“Mmmmmhmmmm…..”

Gradually, the threads dissipate, dropping closer to the ground, and having the wreckages they carry collapse against the water around the tree, the dirt and rocks. Twist higher into the air at the end, then wobbling, and falling apart. He watches it all, a steady thrumming sounding in the air the longer he holds onto Venti. For one of them, he tests, to see; what would happen if he nuzzled into Venti’s cheek, patting at his back? The answer: it causes the threads to speed up, swooshing so swiftly, that he hardly has time to blink before the teal is fading.

Eyes wandering, they slide to—

Ah! Cannot have that, can we? Venti blocks his view with his right most top wing, fluttering the appendage to truly catch his attention, making his dear jolt in surprise. See, if Cecil is to stay by Venti’s side, then it should be away from here—the safest spot is the Tower, but he would not like that very much. Perhaps they should cross to the Dandelion Sea?

“Venti?”

“Hmm..?”

Cecil raises his hand up, to tap to the back of his head, his knuckles briefly brushing against the halo. He lets it stay there, for long enough that he can weave strands of hair around his fingers, to light tug at them—a non-serious scolding, for the blocking he did. They drop to rubbing circles on his nape after. “How are you feeling?”

Right, right—conversation happening.

He shuffles backwards, only a few inches, so that his dear is not forced to let go of his grasps—skin still tingling and fizzing with that loveliness. Tilts his head, then, to where Cecil gazes at him, a quiet concern and pure curiosity to his eyes, now.

Another wave of winds zip by them, these ones far lighter, livelier, and peppy than the others from earlier were—however, still the same mix of colors, if slightly more solid, slightly lukewarm in temperature. They swirl around them, teasing at hair and cloth, dancing in chiming sweeps and dives; that of which distracts Cecil for a moment, his hair blowing into his face, a muffled sound of a “wuh” escaping from him when it has strays loosing from the braids he wears. He shakes his head to rid of them, glaring halfheartedly.

A beaming grin tugs at him, at the sight. One that lifts the bottoms of his into soft crescents, slowly revealing how his teeth have grown sharper canines. His pupil—still a lovely teal, though, now captured around blue-gold—shines, constricting to a thin slit, as a glittering gleam dances across his gaze. He hums, unclenching his hands from fists to press the palms of them more firmly into Cecil, scraping the talons across his vest.

“Much better,” he says, a lilting, distorted pitch to it. Extends his right’s hand index finger, while he talks, to prod at his back—tracing a symbol there, one that causes Cecil to minutely shiver from it, unexpecting the action. “Thank you.”

And perhaps it is that, that has Cecil truly understand what has happened; that Venti is really not so much hurt as he is a far, far worse thing, that there is something gripping at him. Or perhaps it is the way he looks upon him, as though he were the sun, a gleeful, thrilled and eager gleam to his gaze. Or perhaps it is the way his wings gradually tighten around his form, not constricting him, yet he suddenly feels the reason they continue to be folded (and twitching, fluttering, so often) is not that Venti just wishes to hold him with everything he has.

Whichever it is, whether it be a combination of all of them, it has him widening his eyes, a near whisper of “Oh,” trailing into the winds. Winds that take the words greedily into their hands, rolling them over—winds that tell him murmurs, almost frantically, a gentle urging in the way the threads crowd further around them both, hushed jingling of bells accompanying it: stay, stay, stay, stay?

Oh.

[unabletomakedecisions]

Fun Facts about Parasitic Worms

Did you know that there are parasitic worms that get into your blood or lymph vessels and stay there? Imagine looking down at the veins in your hand and noticing that one of them is moving. It's shifting and squirming. Oh god, there's something inside there. Get it out, get it out! But you can't. There's no way to do it without cutting open your vessels, and you really don't want to do that. So you need to wait. Wait until the antiparasitic works, and pray that it does.

There are also worms that pierce through your skin and make their way to your lungs and when you cough them up, see the writing mass of worms crawling all over your hands, they use it as a way to go back down the other way & get into your digestive system to breed. You may very well have had these worms at some point too, they're apparently pretty common.

-- Fun facts from a vet student

[tavina-writes]

I saw someone say that Jiang Cheng is written like a classic Jin Yong wuxia villain, thoughts?

Hi Nonny!

I guess, if they meant that Jin Yong always writes his villains as also complex people who are gripped and shaped by their lives and the tragedies that caused them to end up more "villainous" then... that's accurate? Most of Jin Yong's villains are highly sympathetic and tragic people in their own right (most, not all, given that the other flipside of Jin Yong's villains are those who stand in a position of terrifying power and then proceed to punch down socially in brutal and horrific ways.)

Jin Yong's tragic villain characters are often defined by their relationship with the power axis in his works -- you see this especially starkly with Lin Pingzhi in Xiao Ao Jiang Hu, who through no fault of his own (though he thinks its his fault) falls from a gentry young master to someone whose family is massacred, hunted across the landscape, and then sees his parents brutally tortured and is tortured himself before realizing that the shifu who adopted him is a hypocrite who would sacrifice all his students for ultimate power and has in fact, purposefully picked up Pingzhi himself to steal a very important part of Pingzhi's inheritance. After that he goes insane! But the guy genuinely went through the world's worst trauma conga line before he decided fuck it he wants revenge.

The other side of the Jin Yong villain spectrum is a guy like Feng Tiannan from Young Flying Fox who uses his money and relative power to force a peasant woman into gutting her own five year old son in front of witnesses to prove he didn't steal and eat a goose of Feng Tiannan's because he wanted...their family's property. Which was a tiny drop in the bucket of what Feng Tiannan already owned. He just felt like it should be his so fuck it who gives a shit about five year olds! (Feng Tiannan also brutally rapes one of his servant maids and later his friend tries to sell the daughter born of that rape into sex slavery, but y'know.) Does he sound like anyone in MDZS? Jin Guangshan perhaps?

The central thesis of any Jin Yong work (and what I admire the most about his writing) is how he frames societal corruption and writes about power structures, and how concisely and brutally he outlines and defines those reasons people in power do horrific things.

As for the tragic villain situation, I mean, I guess in one of Jin Yong's worlds Jiang Cheng could be a tragic villain. So could Wei Wuxian. Or Lan Wangji. Or Jin Ling. Or Lan Sizhui. Or any of the characters. They've all experienced trauma that's shaped them, it just kind of depends on what kind of story Jin Yong wanted to be telling with that one tbh.

If we're talking about the "socially corrupt bully who punches down and ruins the lives of regular people" and the person you're quoting is using that to refer to Jiang Cheng they might just be a Jiang Cheng hater lmao.

I'd be really curious to see the original context of this claim tbh, because it strikes me as kind of... "I'll say this to cause outrage among Jiang Cheng stans and make them like Jin Yong less and not because I actually like Jin Yong books or Jiang Cheng." when it's being dropped into my inbox with zero context like this.

[ki1ldeer]

I think this will be my second to last redraw because I’m running low on energy juice lol so officially #3 of 4

And here’s the original not too cronchy but still cronchy

I made Emmeline in 2020 can you guys believe it it’s been nearly 5 years!! I was really into crosshatching in 2020 which is crazy because I’d never have the patience to do that now. And I was drawing on DRAWCAST which, despite being sold as an app for artists, had perhaps one of the worst drawing UI ever created. But there’s something nostalgic about it and how pixelated every piece would turn out. I mean I spent my entire teenage years on it, it shaped me as a person and I met some really cool art friends. Too bad Daniel Cota SUCKS and planned to revive it only as an NFT maker. Boooo. I’ll never return!

[disqualifiedashuman]

.

[theskymother]

animal jam is a lot more fun when you're rich

[jemichiart]

A little gift doodle for NPCMaxwell on the Klei forums, based on his idea of a cartoony evil Maxwell stomping on flowers - which is based on Maxwell's own quote of course. 😁

"I am filled with the irrational urge to stomp upon it."

[4lph4kidz]

drawing my favorite fictional characters as squinkly little chibis instead of doing a deep dive into their character flaws and shortcomings is a moral failing on my part and so is thinking it would be nice if they had some closure. wanting anything other than the outcome ordained by the author is actually a fundamental failure to understand the text which is extremely purposeful in its rejection of conventional narratives and challenging ideas about storytelling. in fact i was wrong to actually like the characters or the story at all

[zeb-z]

wtf is it with political roleplay that gets all the weirdos coming out of the woodwork and putting a damper on things. specifically on twt like can people let the cc’s play characters and have conflict and have fun like goddamn man