#at first he communicates kindly with a human

[fauxnotice]

ALIEN SKINCARE. v! blue lock/male! reader. originally posted on quotev. masterlist.

CHAPTER I. YOU JUST LOVE BEING NOTHING, RIGHT?

Your daily routine is a terribly ordinary, if not a rather dull one. 

That’s fine, however. Its normalcy comes from predictability, and with predictability comes a sense of control. Every and each new possible variant is easily molded to fit into what is already established. 

Days come and go, much like clouds in the sky, and you’re content. You love your painfully droll, boring routine.

Which would be a lie by definition, so to deny your restlessness would be the same as trying to deny that humans need air to survive. Or to deny that the Japanese football team will never win the World Cup. 

But alas, you live. 

One of your classmates, Hamada, you think pensively, since you make a passable effort at remembering names of the people you have to spend considerable hours of the day with, is acting rather friendly today.

You think he wants something from you. That’s probably why he’s asking you to go somewhere with him after school. Sadly, it seems he’s unaware of the few universal truths of life.

That is that you’re never free after classes. 

Everyone in your immediate vicinity is aware of this, so you’re led to believe that Hamada is extraordinarily out of the loop. Or maybe he’s being a contrarian just to appear unique in your eyes. 

Which is not working, by the way.

“Sorry, but I’m busy today.” You say, an apologetical smile creasing your face in a familiar way. 

“Oh.” He recoils, losing confidence at your rejection. “Maybe some other day, then?”

Whatever. He should just steal all of your money and fill your shoes with nails at this point. He should spit at you and kick you until you’re a stain on the floor. Unfortunately, you’re [L/n] [Y/n], so you nod. Kindly. With all the positive hidden implications in the world.

Hamada regains some of his previous enthusiasm. Thankfully, the teacher enters the room before he could take your politeness as an invitation to further communication.

Like a good student, you listen and take notes carefully. This teacher in particular talks very slowly and often loses track of his thoughts, which greatly gets on your nerves. 

That’s okay. You’ll live.

School time passes by comfortably. You demonstrate your gracefulness and virtue at every chance. Some students swoon. Plenty of girls, and curiously, a good chunk of boys as well. Some scoff at your supposed imitation of perfection. Talk about how you’re probably a faker, eager for attention and praise and whatnot. Not that you mind. They must think about you a lot, enough to start making theories on the topic of you and the nuances of your character. 

Not that they'll ever get any confirmation. You let the invested have fun. Do the divine throw bricks at the religious? No. 

Your school’s football team is having a game tomorrow. Obviously, you make your way to practice. Though, ultimately, you believe you’d be making a better use of your time by trying to fold a thousand origami cranes with just your feet and then wishing for a better team. Yet, here you are.

You move across the field like a corpse. Metaphorically, of course. To the other’s untrained eye, it looks like you’re giving it your all. However, in your head, you’re trying to to remember at least the first ten digits of pi (you’re failing), so you switch to creating a satirical retelling of some subpar movie you and Bachira watched at the premiere some time ago (you got reasonably angry at the mediocrity of the so-called social commentary that was flaunted around as “never seen before” and “a heart clenching story that dives into the complexities of our society”, and Bachira got bored, so you both ditched it, wasted money be damned). 

All that, and yet nothing of worth is happening before you. For shame, since you do think your teammates are decent people, in the same way drivers who stop their cars before they hit you are decent people. Except the probably forty something father of two who let you safely cross the street this morning probably had more ball expertise than these frankly appalling clowns throwing themselves around do. 

Of course, you pride yourself on your ever persisting decorum, so you keep your mouth shut as you pass the ball to the guy a bit to your left, since you’re a good teammate and teamwork makes the dreamwork and yadda yadda. Even with your absent minded play, he just needs to push the ball with some semblance of force and boom, it’s a simple and clean goal. 

But as if by some otherworldly intervention, the boy trips. Genuinely gets sent sprawling over the central object of the game. 

It takes you every drop of self control to not lunge at him with the intent of questioning just how does this happen a day! A day! Before the match. Now, keep in mind, this strange specimen is known for his blunders. At least to you, but the rest of the team and the coach seem to hold this guy in some type of high regard. Which is crazy, since you don’t think he’d be able to score a goal without you specifically holding his hand, making the whole predicament even more baffling since you’re the actual ace of the team. 

Now, you think this team could go places, if you had the time to score more, but you have to spend it making sure your companions don’t sabotage the game by playing like it’s their first time seeing a football. You surely have grinded quite a bit of your teeth mass down by pretending to be content with this charade, just so the court jester of a coach wouldn’t call you uncooperative or something similarly humiliating again. God forbid he sends you to meet the bench. 

The comically incapable guy turns to you, after all the shock and laughter has faded from the group. “Ah, I’m sorry for ruining your pass, [L/n]-kun. I guess my nerves have been getting to me, haha.” 

You wish it was “the nerves”. 

“Don’t worry about it.” You respond, channeling every bit of kindness you could find remaining within yourself. “I’m sure you’ll do fine tomorrow.”

Well, he doesn’t do fine, that’s for sure.

The morning of the next day came quickly. As usual, you woke up early, got out of bed, and went through your usual routine with the goal of looking the best you possibly could, which did turn out to be a rather lengthy process, although that was nothing new. You still thought it was an insanely long and dumb.

What meets you next is the sight of your legal guardian, sprawled across the couch, still clad in her work clothes. You conclude that last night was a busy one, so you sneak past her quietly. Making things worse for her is the last thing you want, after all. 

Next is making a nutritious breakfast. As a product of meticulous repetition, you’re quickly done with it, making sure to leave a portion for Sayaka as well, along with a note about your plans for today.

It’s a nice, sunny Saturday. So, like you always do, you set out on a morning jog. Chiba has quite a few pleasing sights, especially when there are no hideous eyesores scrambling around in the form of people. You specifically pick a time when the crowd’s minimal, right after the early workers leave for their job. Beautiful. The fresh air stirs up every fiber of your lungs. 

All this joy and wonder, you almost forgot about the match that’s supposed to be held in the afternoon. In fact, the memory of that shitshow of a football practice from yesterday almost entirely left your mind. From your increasing frustration, you don’t notice how your pleasant jog turned into a full blown sprint. After a good hour or so of this, you notice just how sweaty you were. 

Gross. You’d have to shower again.

Right as you’re about to open the gate of your residence, a weight slams against your back at full force. You remain entirely unbothered, however, as you’re already very well versed in such occurrences. 

Bachira Meguru has his arms wrapped around your back, clinging onto you much like an eccentrically colored koala. It seems like the fabric soggy with your sweat doesn’t bother him at all. He’s always been a bit strange like that. 

“Bachira-kun.” You smile. It comes easier to you. “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” He grins, lips pulling back to reveal the full expanse of teeth. “You didn’t invite me to go jogging! Again!”

Having a conversation in this position, with your posture being as straight as a tree and Bachira acting as some type of a humanoid backpack or a large parasite, would be inconvenient to most, but the two of you have long made this a part of your “normalcy”. 

“That’s because you’re never awake that early.” You retort easily, with a light teasing tone. “I’m surprised you’re even up right now.” 

“My monster got restless, so I wanted to play football.” He says, like that’s a totally normal thing to say. Like pointing out how the weather is nice or such. 

Listen, you genuinely do like Bachira (as far as someone like you is capable of liking), and you suppose he shares the same sentiment to some degree, because his whole “Monster” thing isn’t something that you talk about with just anyone, unless you want to be wheeled off to the nearest institution and shunned forever. You pride yourself on your patience and understanding, so you tend to brush this topic off whenever it comes up in a conversation. Mostly because you have no idea what to say that wouldn’t be extremely harsh. You want to honor Bachira’s companionship and trust in you, which means that him getting upset over something you stupidly spat out without thinking is not on your to-do list.

You do think that seeing a professional sometime in the future would do him some good, though.

Putting that aside, you nod in understanding. “I see. But-” You poke at his leg. “-Can you get off, please? I want to take a shower.”

Bachira hums a long tune, but he makes no move to do what you’ve requested of him. After a passage of silence, he asks a question, even if he knows the answer already. 

“Hey, can we play together? Just for a bit?” 

He can’t see your face, but he can clearly visualize the apologetic expression that graces it. It looks the same, every time he asks. “Sorry, but I need to save energy for later. Maybe next time?” 

There it is again. Despite it being a few years since you two met, both lovers of football and everything football related, you’ve rejected his proposal again and again. You always have an excuse, something about being busy, or not feeling well, or this and that. 

Bachira has been resigned to it. Yet, he still repeats the inquiry, like you’ll change your mind someday. Maybe next time? As if that will ever come.

He lets it go, as he always does.

Finally stepping down, he leans onto your side. He’s rather sweaty too, you notice. “Right! You have a match today! Make sure to score lots of goals, ‘kay? I’ll be there to cheer for you!” 

Bachira thinks you’re not aware of the fondness you let slip into your gaze. It’s for the best, though, since if you knew you’d probably try to mask it with some form of artificial politeness. He likes you the most when you’re honest, in these small tidbits of time, after all.

“Sure.” You say, simply, as some things are.

The tensions are high before the match. For what reason, you don’t know. The match is purely for practice, although you’re curious on how a low tier school such as Kagayaku High managed to schedule a match against some bigshot from Kanagawa. You’d think they’d consider it a waste of time, but you guess not. 

A notification lights up the screen of your phone just as you’re finishing putting your jersey on. 

Sayaka

I’m so sorry that I won’t be able to make it to your game!!!! Work is hell today 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹

But I hope your team does well! Do your best ৻(  •̀ ᗜ •́  ৻)

You snort at the woman’s usage of kaomojis. It was hard to imagine that she was nearly forty years old. Keeping your eye on the clock, you quickly type a response.

You

Please don’t worry about it! 

Take care of yourself!

Sayaka

You’re too nice to me, haha

The breakfast was delicious, by the way! It really made my day Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ

I’m gonna make us something to eat later, as a celebration and payback! ᕙ(  •̀ ᗜ •́  )ᕗ

You gnawed at your lip worrieldy. While you truly did appreciate the sentiment, Sayaka’s cooking skills … weren’t something you’d write home about. Her message truly left you worried for the safety of the stove. Before you could try to change her mind (and save the neighborhood from a possible fire), one of your teammates gestures for you to move.

Ah. It’s time.

You

The game is starting, ttyl

The match goes just as well as you thought it would. 

The opponent’s defense tears through the clumsy guy like a knife through butter within the first few minutes of the game. They’re not too shabby, you have to admit. But the more you watch them, the more holes ripe for exploatation you notice.

The rush of excitement still evades you, as you circle an opposing player who is attempting to take the ball from you. Your mind is still in its autopilot mode, where you make boring, yet entirely rational plays that have carried your team to where it is now. Move your leg and lean to the right, and when the guy is still thinking of his next move, kick the ball between his legs. A safe and classic nutmeg. After that-

A movement leaves you startled; someone dashes past you with unforseen speed and snatches the football right from your possession. You’re forced to be wide awake, left feeling like a bucket of icy water was thrown over your head.

Huh?

For what seems to be the first time in years, your heartbeat echoes loudly in your ears and shakes your very core.

You gape at the distancing back of the player who had just turned your world around. In bold letters, the name Itoshi acts as a mockery of you. Helpless in your shock, you can do nothing but watch as your newest adversary scores a clean goal into the net, while Kagayaku High’s goalkeeper does nothing.

For once, you don’t blame him.

The clowns of your circus are talking amongst themselves. You think they’re trying to include you as well, but you’re too busy rebooting your brain to care.

You wanted Itoshi gone. An irritation so strong its frightening festers under your skin as you stare, long and hard, at the intruder who had come to ruin everything for you.

But was he truly ruining anything? 

When a teammate of yours moves with the ball, you abandon all uniform strategy. This stupid team could go to hell. Both yours and the enemy’s. This game should be just between you and him. 

Much to the shock of your team, who had probably gotten too comfortable with your usually passive way of playing, you pick up the pace, with the speed and technique built up through many regular torturous sessions of trying to polish yourself to your extremes.

It’s something you had to do, lest you want to be left in the dust when the real threat appears.

Is Itoshi a real threat?

A wispy smile still hangs from your lips. It looks … out of place, possibly, as it’s no longer a carefully planned tool of deceit.

Astonished shouts of your team as you steal the ball from your own comrade is nothing but background noise.

There he comes. His gaze is glacier cold as he weaves between the humanoid obstacles in his path. Surely, he’s wholy confident in his domination of this match. You wait.

Itoshi moves with clear intent of making you crumble under his might. That won’t do. Who does he think he is? Who does he think you are? Does he think you’re a mere bug, a speck of dust on his road to victory? That doesn’t make sense at all.

“Pass to me!” Someone yells at you, as if you weren’t the damned ace, as if you weren’t the one who gave this shitty team the ability to get off the ground in the first place. 

You’re nowhere near the penalty area. The other team’s defense is scattered around, trying to cut off all your routes. Now aware of the possible danger you represent, Itoshi is right by your side, with his eyelash rimmed eyes watching you like he might tear you apart. At least he’s fast on the uptake, you muse, as you almost carelessly roll the ball across the grass.

The angle is terribly narrow, but it’ll do. 

Avoiding Itoshi’s attempt at ridding you of the ball, you raise your leg and deliver a swift kick to it, sending it flying in a rather flimsy arc (your brows furrow slightly at that), which manages to slam into the net at a spot left open.

1-1.

You stop and take a long look at the goal. That was a five out of ten. Hell, maybe even four. But it seemed like it was enough to make your current “rival” appear like he wants to explode you with his mind.

That makes you … giddy? Edges of your lips wobble as you attempt to keep your expression under control. Even if you just single handedly destroyed the foundation of your team as well as the way its members saw you, you still had appearances to keep. From the corner of your eye, you spot Bachira watching, with a grin so manic it bordered on deranged.

In the end, you lose the game. And yet, to you, it feels like a victory, sweeter than any other. You managed to keep Itoshi from scoring another goal (well, you didn’t score another one either, but that was fine), and you got the front seat to the slow unraveling of his stoic disposition.

His team manages to secure a victory with their goal. But their ace, visibly pissed, makes his way to you. His tone is biting, befitting of an untouchable beauty such as himself.

“Next time, I’ll crush you.”

And then he leaves. One for dramatics, that’s for sure. Mommy’s little edgelord. Deciding to play along, you wave at his retreating back, signature smile set in place. “If you say so, Itoshi.”

Pointedly ignoring the troupe of mongrels, you collect your belongings and make a swift departure. Of course, nothing is that simple for you, because Bachira is waiting for you outside. Predictably, he lunges at you, but is considerate enough to take note of your possible exhaustion and not jump on your back like he usually does, instead opting to sling an arm around your shoulders. 

“That was pretty insane, you know.” He begins, although you note the sharpness of his grin that was unknown to you, up until now. “I never knew you could play like that.”

Then, he goes on to speak more, but you’re already ensnared within your own mind. A familiar thing; anger, ire, all-consuming, starts to ignite your entire being. A combination of many factors give way to its rise, both from Bachira’s subtle and probably unintentional downplaying of your perceived capability, and from … well, everything about the game. Especially Itoshi. What, did they all think you were some insignificant ant? A poser, perhaps? Maybe a-

You pause all thought. Suddenly, your legs feel weak. Not from tiredness, of course not. Embarrassingly, the weight of emotions was always a bigger burden than anything of physical kind. 

That was your weakness. A flaw that you needed to demolish. 

“Bachira,” you gasp out, voice small and uneven. “Bachira-”

The boy in question tilts his head. “Huh? What is it?” 

“Hold me.” You say, just before you collapse.

[kittenchrissy]

I can smell your blood from a kilometer away

I can hear your heartbeat even in the noisiest room

I'm a hunter

You're a victim

You know what I mean?

...

RUN

[brokenmenswhore]

Hi! Are you planning on writing a part 2 to Lessons? It was too good 🥵

lessons | aegon ii targaryen

part 2

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!reader

summary: in search on the streets of silk for your husband, you find his brother in a compromising position

warnings: this is almost pure smut (MDNI 18+)

a/n: just wanted to say i’ve been treated to kindly and accepted into this community so wonderfully and so fast. you’ve all restored my faith in humanity. happy to have a place to be horny and angsty and feral without judgement :)

part 1

────── ☾ ──────

Aemond was not in attendance for breakfast. You apologized to Alicent, lying that you had forgotten he had told you he was traveling to Harrenhall first thing.

The truth was, you and Aegon returned to the Red Keep immediately after your rendezvous in the Street of Silk, and you had completely forgotten about Aemond until you arrived to breakfast and were asked about his absence.

“Not to worry,” Alicent smiled, “that boy is impossible, is he not?”

You laughed in response, “that he is.”

Breakfast was pleasant, apart from the constant staring from Aegon. You could tell he was still worked up, and coming back to the Red Keep meant he had to attend to his duties as King, which meant he had to wait.

And Aegon did not like waiting.

About mid-day, you were in the library with your handmaiden, when a member of the King’s Guard came to fetch you.

“His Grace has requested an audience with you in his chambers, My Lady,” he spoke.

You looked at him, confused. “It is but midday.”

The man in armor sighed. “Yes, My Lady.”

“Should he not be working?” you pressed.

“He says this is work related, My Lady.”

You knew better, but you also knew better than to deny your king.

You were escorted to Aegon’s apartment, not bothering to knock before you pushed the double doors open.

“Aegon, it is the middle of the day,” you said, watching as he turned around at the sound of your voice.

“God, finally, you take fucking forever,” he said, marching up to you and grabbing your waist, pulling your body against his as he enveloped you in a heated kiss.

You giggled, “could this not wait until late?”

Aegon continued to pepper kisses around your face and down your neck. “No,” he whined, “need you now. Waited long enough already.”

“Then why didn’t we just- shit, Aegon did you just bite me?” He just laughed in response and continued bruising your neck. “Why didn’t we just stay out then?”

“And face,” kiss, “the wrath,” kiss, “of my mother? Absolutely not,” kiss, “too risky.”

“‘Tis more risky to be caught by your mother away from the castle than to fornicate with your brother’s wife inside of it?”

Aegon paused for a moment and looked up at you. Suddenly, a hand was around your throat, as Aegon roughly pushed you into a wall.

“You’re mine, you know that? You aren’t his. I don’t care if you’re wed,” he pulled one of your legs up to his waist, granting him access to violently shove a finger inside of you, “I’m the one making you feel like this. In private, you’re mine.”

You cried out at the intrusion of his finger, hips bucking forward as you squirmed.

His hand moved from your throat, only for a brief moment, to slap your cheek.

“Do you understand?”

“Y- yes, My King.”

“Good girl.”

Aegon used both hands to grip under your thighs, lifting you up until your legs were wrapped around him, and carrying you over to the bed, slamming your back down on the side of it.

“Easy, Aeg.”

Aegon let out a growl at the nickname, “you want me to go easy on you? Is that it? You want me to be nice?” he questioned, “or do you want me to fuck you like you so desperately need to be fucked?”

This filthy words took you by surprise, despite your intimate position.

“I, I don’t-“

Aegon’s eyes searched yours for any sense of doubt at your current predicament. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No! I want to, I do, I just- I’ve only actually done this once, and it wasn’t anything like what I saw today.”

Aegon’s cock hardened at your innocence. Even though you were wed to his brother, your body was his, and your pleasure would now be his and his only.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” was all Aegon said before he ripped your clothes off, doing the same for himself, and crawling on top of you.

“Is this what he did, hm? Is this all he taught you?” he asked, jealousy present as he slowly inserted himself into you, bottoming out and watching your face as you adjusted to his size, “did he get to see you like this? All pretty and teary-eyed? Did he make you feel like this?”

“No,” you whimpered.

Aegon began to move slowly, treating you as if you still had your maidenhood, wanting to warm you up before potentially hurting you.

You sighed and moaned lightly, throwing your head back and allowing Aegon to bite at your neck and shoulder again. “Mine.”

You clawed at his back, the feeling becoming too sweet, wanting more but not too sure how to ask for it.

“What is it, angel?” he noticed your frustrations.

“More,” you pleaded.

He smiled, capturing your lips in a kiss and he began to thrust faster and faster into you.

“Tell me how it feels,” he commanded.

“G- good,” you responded, inarticulate as you’d ever been.

“Is this how Aemond makes you feel?” he spat.

“N- no,” you responded, “on-on- shit, only you.”

“Good girl,” he cooed, fucking you hard and fast, splitting you open on his cock.

“Aegon?” you caught his attention.

“Mhm?”

“I still feel like I want more,” you sighed out.

Aegon smiled, pulling out of you completely.

“That’s the opposite of m-“

Without warning, Aegon flipped your body, pulling your waist so your ass was against his hardness. His dominate hand reached over your back to press your head into the mattress as he inserted himself back into you, the new sensation from the position making you grow even wetter.

Aegon snapped his hips harshly, watching your entire body fold in half as you lost any strength that was keeping your upper body from going completely slack against the sheets. You cried out at the pleasure, Aegon’s hand finding its way to your hair, balling your hair into his fist as he tugged.

Your neck swung back, not getting the memo.

“Up,” he demanded, pulling even harder at your hair as you helped push yourself up so your back was flush against Aegon’s chest, his cock hitting another new angle.

One of his hands remained on your waist, holding you close, as the other wrapped around your throat, his lips kissing your shoulder.

“Shit, angel, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Would you p- shit, would you please s-stop mentioning Aemond?” you asked, “don’t wanna t-hink about him. Only wanna t-hink ab-about you.”

Your words drove Aegon mad, his thrusts becoming even more erratic and harsh. “Is that what you think of when you feel like this, huh? You think about me?”

“Hm,” you hummed in response, having used all your energy to form your last sentence.

“No one else will ever make you feel like this,” he told you, not leaving any room for any question about it.

“Don’- don’t want anyone else,” you whined.

The hand around your throat found its way in between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit as you moaned out in pleasure.

“Filthy whore,” he spat, likening you the girls you had seen earlier that day, “you fucking love this, huh?”

Tears began to spill from your eyes from his words, as well as the feeling of his cock splitting you open and his hand working your clit. It was almost too much, but felt so, so good.

“Yes, M-My King.”

“You like being treated like those girls you saw today? Is that it? Poor baby just wants her king to split her open?”

His words made you moan, adding more to your pleasure.

He continued on, hitting a soft, spongy spot within you that felt like heaven.

A coil began to form inside of you, and Aegon could feel your walls tightening around him.

You pawed at him, unsure of what the feeling was, and nervous it meant something was wrong.

“Sh,” he purred, “it’s supposed to feel like that.”

You trusted him, allowing him to continue as the squeezing around his cock led him to his own high. His thrusts became particularly violent, causing the coil of tension to break within you as his seed spilled into you.

You threw your head back into his shoulder, attempting to catch your breath as Aegon stayed inside of you until his cock began to soften.

When he finally pulled out, you both crashed onto the mattress, his body staying close to yours as you finally calmed your breathing down.

“Did you, did you-“ you started, not sure how to phrase it.

“Don’t worry,” he caught your train of thought, “we’ll just get you some moon tea. You won’t end up with a bastard child.”

He completely forgot that you knew nothing about this stuff that he hadn’t already taught you. “What the hell is moon tea?”

[gigabyte-flare]

The Devil is Real (Part 1)

Summary: Your troubled older brother disappeared two years ago, vanishing without a trace; that is until one day you receive a letter from him. He’s living in Spain after having joined a religious group called Los Iluminados, his life seemingly changed for the better. He would love it if you came to visit him. Who are you to refuse an invitation from your beloved big brother, right?

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairing: plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: drug abuse mention, abusive household mention, religious cult, religious trauma, body horror, noncon, dubcon, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m and f receiving), kidnapping, yandere tendencies, somno, extreme violence and gore, human sacrifice, murder, blood play/kink, breeding kink, pregnancy, pet names, stockholm syndrome, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future parts]

A/N: I want to give a shoutout to @d10nyx, who's bot heavily inspired this new series. I had been wanting to write plagas!Leon again for so long, but I wanted to do something I hadn't seen done before and my interaction with her bot planted the seed (breeding kink go brrrrrrrrrrrr). This will likely be my darkest series yet so if that's not your jam, I kindly ask that you keep scrolling. It should be noted that any of the Spanish seen in this series is either from my extremely vague recollection of the language from my youth or from Google translate, so I apologize if there's any weird grammar in any of the Spanish, it is not my intention to butcher the language.

I hope you guys like thrill rides :3

The title is inspired by Bad Things performed by I Prevail

April 22, 2008

Sis,

I apologize for this being the first time I’ve contacted you in two years, but I promise you, it was for good reason. I finally got help. I moved out to Spain to this lovely rural area called Valdelobos to live with this wonderful community called Los Iluminados. I’ve been sober for just over two years because of them. I would really love it if you came to visit, you would absolutely love it here, sis! I would love more than anything to share with you the community that has made such a huge difference in my life. I don’t have access to a computer, so you’ll have to send me a letter to reply. You can find the return address on the envelope. I eagerly await your letter!

With all my love,

Vince

You sit on your old saggy couch, gently holding the handwritten letter in your hands like it’s going to disintegrate. Your mind is in turmoil; your older brother Vincent, or Vince as most people call him, had disappeared about two years ago. He struggled with drug addiction when he reached adulthood, always chasing his next high. When you had reported him missing, police searched everywhere for him for weeks until you finally had to come to terms with the fact that he was most likely dead.

This letter, however, says otherwise.

“Who’s it from?” your boyfriend asks before sitting beside you, seeing the strained look on your face and growing concerned. 

You don’t answer him at first, your eyes locked on the weathered piece of paper. Realizing your boyfriend, Mark, had asked you a question, you blink a few times and shake your head, snapping yourself out of the shocked daze.

“It’s from Vince,” you reply, looking over at Mark.

Mark looks at the paper you’re holding, then back to you, “are you sure it’s from Vince?”

“Of course I’m sure! That is definitely his handwriting. He’s alive!” 

You hand the letter to Mark, who takes a moment to read the letter himself, adjusting his glasses as he does so, “he wants you to go visit. What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea…” you say softly, burying your face in your hands as you continue to struggle with your emotions.

Growing up, all you had was your brother, having lost your parents at a young age. Growing up, the both of you lived with your grandparents, but they were very abusive. As soon as Vince had turned 18, he fought to become your legal guardian and the two of you moved out. Unfortunately, Vince had turned to drugs to deal with his trauma, but could you blame him? Your grandfather was especially hard on Vince; there were many nights you could remember falling asleep to the sounds of the two of them shouting and throwing things at each other. 

There’s a ten year gap between you and your brother, so naturally Vince had become something of a father figure to you, especially considering you were only two when your parents had died. A car accident you had been told; hit by a drunk driver on the way home from a New Year’s party. You felt like life always dealt you a shitty hand. First your parents, then your brother. But now, your brother seems to be back and he’s ok; he’s sober. You should be happy, so why are you so conflicted?

“I’m going to do some research on this ‘Los Iluminados’ group,” you finally say before standing up from the couch to walk into your bedroom, “make sure it isn’t some Jim Jones bullshit…”

“I’ll get dinner started then,” Mark says, also standing up, making his way over to the kitchen, “I’ll holler when dinner’s ready.”

You nod at Mark before walking into the bedroom, sitting down at your desk in the corner of the room, opening your laptop and powering it on. You open up Internet Explorer and open a new Google search window, typing in Los Iluminados which unsurprisingly yielded zero results; with them not having computer access, it makes sense that there’s no trace of this group on the internet by searching their name. You then search cults in Spain and skim through the results. Again, there’s no mention of Los Iluminados anywhere. Drumming your fingers on your desk, you begin to question the letter’s legitimacy. Whoever sent it knew where you lived and that your brother had been missing for two years. No one would go through that much trouble just to prank someone. 

“Babe, dinner’s ready!” you hear Mark call from the kitchen. 

Letting out a sigh, you reluctantly stand up from your desk, walking out of the bedroom to join your boyfriend in the living room, who just finished putting both your plates down onto the coffee table. Laying in the middle of the living room, your 8 year old brindle English Mastiff, André, lifts his head lazily, sniffing the air upon smelling food. You can’t help but let out a chuckle as you sit down on the couch, grabbing your plate to start eating.

“Even in his old age, André has a one track mind,” Mark says, watching as the large dog gets up from the floor. Mark gently pats him on the head, “don’t you buddy?”

“He sure does,” you reply, reaching over to pat the gentle giant before returning to your meal.

“Were you able to find anything on that group in the letter?” Mark asks, looking over at you before taking a bite of food. 

“Not a damn thing. Which I guess makes sense but still…” you say, your voice trailing off as you let out a heavy sigh, “something about it just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Then we go to Spain, find out if this group is real or not and bounce if it’s just a wild goose chase,” Mark says, weaving his left hand through the air as he speaks.

“And who’s going to watch André?” 

André’s big brown eyes look between the two of you, letting out a soft whimper. Mark mouths the word ‘fuck’ before taking another bite of dinner.

“Right,” Mark says quietly, giving André another pat on the head.

The two of you finish eating dinner in silence, afterwards helping each other clean up the dishes. You let Mark know that you’re going to write a response to Vince’s letter, heading back up to the bedroom to sit back at the desk, pulling out a notebook and a pencil.

May 15, 2008

Vince,

First, I just want to say I am relieved to see that you’re ok and that you’re doing better. You had dropped off the face of the earth and I couldn’t find you anywhere; I thought you were dead! I’m so incredibly glad I was wrong. And, of course, congratulations are in order for your two years of sobriety. I know that’s something you really struggled with and I’m glad this community was able to help you. Is it a religious group? I think Los Iluminados roughly translates to “The Enlightened Ones” if my vague recollection of Spanish serves me right. Regardless, I would love to come visit you and see where you’ve been living these past two years, just let me know where I need to go.

Sis

May 31, 2008

Sis,

I was so excited to see you had written back that I practically ripped the envelope open. Los Iluminados is a small religious community and, I know what you’re thinking, it’s not a cult, so you have nothing to worry about there. They’re really big on living a traditional, almost pagan-like lifestyle and for me, being able to unplug while I got better was exactly what I needed. I’m hoping after experiencing Los Iluminados yourself that you’ll feel the same. As far as getting you here goes, you’ll want to fly into Valencia Airport, we’ll come pick you up from there. Call the enclosed number once you have your flight booked and tell Maria what day you’re coming. I’m looking forward to seeing you!

Vince

You tuck the letter back in your carry on bag, leaning back in your seat on the airplane and closing your eyes. You land in Valencia Airport in less than an hour and you are doing everything in your power to keep your nerves in check and not get your hopes up. You did as Vince had asked, you called this woman named Maria and with really broken Spanish, you had told her you were flying in on June 17th. At some point you must have dozed off because you’re jolted awake when the plane lands on the tarmac.

The plane pulls into the dock and you along with the other passengers file out. You head down to baggage claim to grab your luggage; you had packed about a week’s worth of clothes since you didn’t know how long you were staying. You low key were hoping to talk your brother into coming back to the States with you, but that’s a bridge you’ll cross when you get there. That thought is far from your mind, however, when you get through airport security and immediately spot your brother holding a large sign with your name on it. Your mouth hangs agape as you stop in your tracks. The last time you had seen him, he was a 33 year old who looked almost 50 due to his years of drug abuse. Now? He has color in his face, he’s gained weight and actually looks healthy. His clothes are a little disheveled and covered in dirt, but he’s smiling, probably the first time you’ve seen him smile since you were children.

Dropping your luggage, you run over to your brother, throwing your arms around him and hugging him tight, tears freely flowing from your eyes as you cry out, “it’s you, you’re real! You’re alive!”

Vince tightly hugs you back, rocking you both back and forth before stepping back, smiling down at you as his hands remain on your shoulders, “look at you! All grown up; 25 has treated you nicely!”

You playfully scoff before walking back to grab your luggage, “hardly.”

You return to Vince, who then takes your luggage from you as the two of you begin to walk out of the airport, “how’s Mark? You two are still together, I take it?”

“We are! He’s doing good, he’s at home watching André.”

“André is still around? That’s nice to hear!” Vince says as the two of you walk up to a very beat up looking sedan, “here’s our luxury limousine!”

You playfully smack him with the back of your hand, “very funny, Vince.”

You watch as Vince opens the trunk of the sedan, putting your luggage inside, he looks up at you as he closes the trunk, “go ahead and get in the back seat, Sis.”

You nod in acknowledgement, climbing into the back seat, your brother joining you shortly after. An older couple sits in the driver’s and passenger’s sides of the sedan, promptly driving away from the airport once you and your brother put your seatbelts on. 

“We have about a three hour drive ahead of us, you must be exhausted from your flight,” Vince says, looking over at you and giving you a warm smile.

You nod, feeling your eyes grow heavy from jet lag, however you force your eyes to stay open; you desperately don’t want to miss a single moment with your brother.

“Hey,” Vince lays a hand on your shoulder, “it’s ok, get some rest, I’ll wake you up when we get close to the village.”

“If you say so…” you reply softly. 

You hesitantly let your eyes close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. It feels like only a moment has passed when Vince shakes you awake.

“Hey Sis, we’re here!”

After getting out of the car, there was still a considerable hike until you got to the village proper. Once getting there, however, you find yourself pleasantly surprised. You weren't sure what you were expecting of a small village at the center of a religious community but what you’re seeing wasn’t it. It is a bonafide village, with actual houses, a town center, a watchtower and a large brick structure towards the back. In the distance, you can see a windmill slowly spinning. You chalk it up to the large number of documentaries you had watched on cults leading up to this trip that painted a picture in your mind of what this village would look like; the small, white cottages of People’s Temple immediately coming to mind. A part of you is glad you were wrong.

“So, what do you think?” Vince asks me, gesturing one of his hands towards the village, “this is where I’ve been these last two years.”

“It’s nothing like what I expected, it’s… honestly really peaceful,” you reply, looking around the village in awe.

You watch as several of the other villagers stop what they’re doing to look at you and your brother, an older woman over by a well giving both of you a warm smile before pulling a bucket of water up from the well.

“My house is over here,” Vince continues, pointing to one of the houses on the left before leading you towards it. 

Vince’s house sits next to the watchtower, he opens the door and walks inside. Before you enter, you happen to turn around and look towards the large brick building in the back of the village. Standing at the door is someone wearing a black cloak with gold trim, underneath his clothes you can tell he’s wearing cargo pants and a tight fitting athletic shirt of some kind. But that’s not what grabs your attention; it’s his azure eyes locked on you, causing your blood to run cold.

“Vince,” you say, your voice trembling as you reach to grab his wrist, stopping him, “who is that over there?”

Vince turns to look where you’re looking, letting out a soft chuckle once he sees who you’re looking at, “him? That’s just Leon. He’s the right hand of our Lord Saddler. He’s probably here to check on things, don’t worry about him. Come inside.”

Vince practically pulls you, shutting and barring the door shut once you’re inside.

“Why are you blocking the door?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as your brother turns to face you.

“We tend to have an open door policy in the village. Where you and I haven’t seen each other for awhile, I figured it’d be best to have some privacy, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod as you take in your surroundings. There’s a staircase leading upstairs and around the corner, a dining table and a kitchen area. Several candles are burning; they definitely don’t have electricity and running water in this village. Behind your brother is a worn couch.

“Is that where I’m sleeping?” you ask, pointing at the couch.

“Nope, you get the bed upstairs. I can live with the couch for a while. Nothing but the best for my little sis.”

“Thanks Vince,” you reply, grabbing your luggage, “I’ll bring this upstairs, then maybe we can talk. You know… catch up.”

You grab your luggage, dragging it up the stairs. You spot the bed at the end of the bannister next to a window overlooking the village center. As you’re staring out the window, you spot the cloaked man, Leon, again. He’s standing in the center of town, looking right at you. It sends a chill down your spine. You turn around and scream a little when your brother taps you on the shoulder.

“You ok? You weren’t answering me,” Vince says, his face full of concern.

“Sorry… it’s that guy. He’s right down there staring at the window,” you reply, turning to point out the window, however, Leon is gone, “oh, nevermind. It must have been my imagination.”

“He’s like… a guard dog of sorts. He’s probably just making sure you’re chill,” Vince explains, gently grabbing you by your upper arm and leading you back downstairs, “he’s like that with anyone he doesn’t know.”

“Right, of course…” you’re still uneasy, but decide to trust your brother.

“I’ll get started on dinner, have a seat at the table,” says Vince before walking over to the large wood stove, which is already aflame.

“Can I help with anything?” you ask, still standing by the table.

“No, I got it. Been doing this for two years. I can handle it. You’re the guest of honor, you just sit back, relax and let your brother take care of you.”

While your brother prepares dinner for the two of you, you make small talk, getting him caught up on the two years worth of stuff he missed. You told him about Mark and André, told him that your horrendous grandfather finally passed away a year ago; you had caught a smirk on Vince’s face before he turned his attention back to making dinner. Once dinner is finished, he sets both plates down at the table and the two of you dig in.

“Earlier you had said Lord Saddler,” you begin, taking a bite of food before continuing, “Vince… are you sure this isn’t a cult?”

Your brother bursts out laughing, reaching over to put his hand on yours to comfort you, “Lord Osmund Saddler is the patriarch of Los Iluminados and the speaker for the Holy Body. I’m not held here against my will. I promise you with every fiber of my being, this isn’t a cult, Sis.”

“I’m sorry I just… I may have watched a bunch of documentaries before coming here on cults and I just want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

Vince smiles, “Don’t worry, no one is going to drink any Kool Aid here.”

“Vince, that’s terrible!” you playfully smack him, “also it wasn’t even Kool Aid!”

You can’t help but laugh, slowly letting your mind be at ease. It’s clear your brother is happy and healthy here in this village. Before you can continue your conversation with Vince, you hear the chime of a church bell in the distance and you watch as your brother immediately stands up.

“What’s that all about?” you ask, slowly standing up. 

“That is the sound of evening service. Come! I’d love for you to see one of Father Méndez’s services.”

Taking your hand, Vince unblocks the door and takes you outside. You see all the villages are filling into the large brick building you had seen Leon standing in front of earlier.

“That’s the meeting house, we have to pass through it to get to the church,” he explains to you as he leads you to follow the other villagers inside the building. 

Upon walking in there is a large room, shelves of food and supplies lining the walls. In the back of the room was a large painting of a robed man; not Leon, but someone else, Vince notices you staring at the painting.

“That is our Lord Saddler. Hopefully you’ll get to meet him during your visit; he’s a wonderful patriarch, I think you’ll like him.”

There is something about the painting that unsettles you, but you can’t put your finger on it; nor do you have time to because before you know it, Vince is leading you into the adjacent room. This room has a large table lined with chairs on both sides. You both proceed around the table exiting out of the door on the other side with the other villagers. The door takes you out to a winding path which opens up to a cemetery with the church sitting just at the top of the hill.

You and your brother make your way up the hill, following the rest of the villagers into the church where you and your brother sit in one of the pews in the middle. There is an extremely tall man standing at the altar, wearing a black leather trench coat and a large brim hat. His dark beard has subtle white hairs, indicating to you that he’s much older than you and your brother. In fact, now that you think about it, you realize you and your brother are probably the youngest ones in the church.

Behind the imposing man is a large stained glass window decorated with red, blue, green and white. The white glass makes a pattern. You’re not sure what to make of it; it’s almost like a crude insect-like cross with four appendage-like parts extended out with a tail pointing downwards. Once everyone is seated in the pews, the man at the altar addresses the villagers.

“My brothers and sisters,” the man begins, his Hispanic accent thick, “before we begin tonight’s sermon, I wanted to welcome the visitor that Vincent has brought to visit our village.” The man gestures one of his hands towards us, “if you would do the honors, Vincent.”

Your brother stands up, “Gracias, Father Méndez. This is my younger sister,” he says before telling everyone your name, “she’ll be staying with me for a while, we haven’t seen each other since I first came here. I hope you all can join me in showing her what makes Los Iluminados a special community.”

The other villagers clap softly as Vince sits back down. After that, Father Méndez begins the service, which is in Spanish, so you strained your brain to try to pick up bits and pieces of what he’s saying. This doesn’t last long, however as your eye catches movement in the darkness in the back of the church. You feel your heart skip; it’s Leon again, his azure gaze once again locked on you. His expression is cold and emotionless, but there is no doubt in your mind that he is staring at you. 

As if sensing your unease, your brother nudges you with his elbow and whispers, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s Leon again…” you reply, nodding your head in Leon’s direction.

Vince’s gaze follows yours, spotting Leon staring at you from the back of the church. Vince lets out a soft sigh.

“I’ll talk to Father Méndez after the service.”

For the rest of the service, you steal glances towards the back of the church, where Leon remains, still staring at you. At the end of the service, however, when you look back, Leon is finally gone, much to your relief. 

Father Méndez’s booming voice draws your attention back to him, “¡Gloria a Las Plagas!”

“¡Gloria a Las Plagas!” the villagers, including Vince, repeat back.

Gloria a Las… Plagas? you think to yourself, glory to the… plague? Plagues? Pests? What? That makes no sense…

Before you can think it over further, your brother stands up abruptly, pulling you up with him.

“Pablo,” Vince says as he approaches another villager, “¿Puedes llevar a mi hermana de regreso a mi casa? Tengo que hablar con el padre Méndez.”

The man nods, “sí, claro.”

Vince turns his attention back to you, “Pablo here is going to take you back to my house while I talk to Father Méndez about Leon, ok? I won’t be long.”

“Alright, thanks Vince,” you reply as Pablo gently takes you by your upper arm, leading you out of the church.

You turn back, watching your brother approach Father Méndez before the church doors close behind you.

“Vincent,” Méndez begins as Vince approaches him, “what can I do for you, my brother?”

“It’s about Leon,” Vince says, crossing his arms, “I want him to leave my sister alone.”

“What do you mean? You do remember what you agreed to, no?” Méndez presses straightening his posture.

“I do remember, but he is scaring her. All he’s done since she got here is stare at her.”

“And? Are you saying you’re defying the will of Lord Saddler?”

“No, of course not!” Vince exclaims before lowering his voice, “but if we want any chance of her staying in Los Iluminados, he needs to chill out with the staring, ok? Is that too much to ask, Father?”

Méndez brings a hand to his beard, stroking it as he contemplates Vince’s request. After a few moments, he gently nods, “fine. I will speak with Lord Saddler on this.”

“Thank you, Father.”

She is perfect.

Leon stands at the end of the bed that you’re sleeping in, completely oblivious to his presence. Bringing his hands up, he lowers the hood of his cloak. The exposed skin on his neck and face are completely covered in inky black veins and seem to pulse under his skin. He gently crawls onto the bed, being careful not to wake you as he cages you with his body.

Leaning down so that his nose is nearly pressed against the side of your neck, he breathes in your scent deeply, opening his mouth slightly to lick his sharpened incisors with his tongue. He moves away from your neck, staring down at you as he watches your chest rise and fall gently as you slumber. Unable to help himself, he leans back down, his lips hovering above yours when he hears the unmistakable sound of the front door opening downstairs.

His head snaps towards the stairs, crawling off your bed with the grace and stealth of a panther. He brings his hood back up over his head, walking silently over to the open window at the head of the stairs where he had let himself in, climbing out and shutting the window carefully behind him, not leaving a single trace that he was even there.

Part 2

[whitecreekvalley-if]

[ Demo TBA ] • Character descriptions • Pinterest •

Genres: Slice of life, drama, mystery, romance

WCV is rated 18+ for explicit language, violence, alcohol and drug use, and explicit sexual content.

Life's taken a nosedive—no apartment, no job, no friends. Desperation pushes you to cling to a chance from a kindly stranger offering a ticket to a town hidden beyond mountains and plains, a place people don't seek but always seem to need.

Welcome to Whitecreek Valley, where the Brass Pine Ranch needs your unique skills to mend a crumbling homestead, and a crumbling family. As you tackle the decay of the ranch and the town alongside the rancher's son, deeper troubles emerge—livestock falling ill sparks fears of a town on the brink of extinction. Can you navigate this community, help them rejuvenate, or will it become another link in the list of ghost towns of America's Wikipedia page?

FEATURES

Customization: Appearance, personality, gender & sexuality, what job they had before, their hobbies, etc. Choose how they feel about being a farmhand, how they're adjusting to the rural life, and - with your choices - how the town as a whole sees them. Are they part of the community or an perpetual outsider?

Skills: Depending on your previous job, you'll have a unique set of skills to help the community. Choose to learn new skills, like woodworking, bronc riding, or sheep shearing, to mention a few.

Animal husbandry: The distances around Whitecreek Valley are hefty, so it's necessary to have at least a horse to get around. Choose your favorite out of a cast of individual equines, each with their own personalities. Also, help a calf into this world and realize how fun it is to raise a baby cow! As long as you're in good standing with the rest of the herd, of course.

Rebuilding: Try your best to rebuild the Brass Pine ranch, and the town adjacent. The better job you manage, the more opportunities (and challenges) come your way.

Community outreach: A dying town is still home, and there are stories to be heard, problems to solve. Lend a helping hand to your new community and see how one kindness can pay itself back.

Romance: Not everyone in town is adverse to strangers, and if your heart yearns romance, there is a chance for a spark along the way. Just be careful as to who you're trying to woo in front of whom. Small town gossips, we've all seen it.

Mystery: There's something hanging over the valley, like a rot in the air. Why are people moving out? Why are exports not moving out? And who's behind the animals getting sick? Don you detective hat and lend a hand to the entire four local police officers working the bizarre case.

THE LOCALS (RO'S)

THE RANCHER'S SON

Mason "Mace" Gannon - 27 - he/him

He used to be so much fun. I miss hanging out with him, out by the bonfires. He'd always make everyone feel so included and happy, and oh, that homemade cider he'd bring? Warmed us up on those chilly late fall nights, when we had nothing else to do. Did I tell you about the time he got us all to go skinny dipping? He was such a charmer, I wonder --

Imagine Mace as your human golden retriever – the guy who's a blast to be around, a bit mischievous, and the first to rush to your aid whenever you need it. After being gone for five years to live his rodeo dreams, he's back, now the sole caretaker of the family ranch in his hometown. He goes to great lengths to keep his personal issues personal, and it's the butt of many jokes how he's always there to help others but has the worst time asking for help himself.

He's you boss, and probably one of the best you'll ever get. Just don't pay mind to the spats between him and his dad.

THE BARTENDER

Alice Marks - 25 - she/her

Alice, she's a feisty one! Like her poppa, rest his soul. How I love the drinks she comes up with at the bar, and that horse of hers! She could go into rodeo, but I don't think after what happened with her pa... Oh, but she's a wonder! Always there with a quip, how they drive her suitors mad. Good thing she stopped with the talk about moving away, the town would be so dull without her!

Alice is the town's most known inhabitant, running the show from the only bar in town, which she just happens to own. Her mind is like a machine for fun, and she's the brain behind all the pop-up events and happenings around town. Sure, she can be a bit like a hurricane of enthusiasm, but hey, that's Alice for you. If the town had a social heartbeat, it'd be Alice – the vibrant, smartass soul making everyday life feel like a blessing.

THE DEPUTY

Word of the wise: Never challenge Alice to a drinking game. You will lose, spectacularly, and it'll all be on film.

Judge Gannon - 34 - he/him

Judge is a bit strange, don't you think? He just vanished as soon as he turned eighteen and popped back out of nowhere! That must've been, let's see... Five years ago? He doesn't spend much time with us commoners though, but I think I've seen him at the bar once or twice. I don't actually think he knows how to make nice with people, he always has that glower on. Gets it from his dad, let me tell you --

Bold and straight to the point, Judge isn't out here trying to be intimidating – it just kinda happens. If his brother is a golden retriever, he's definitely the doberman of the family. He's got this brash, no-nonsense vibe that some folks mistake for arrogance, especially when they try laying on the charm and he's not having it. He steers clear of small talk unless it involves his job, and when duty calls, he's more than ready to throw down to protect his town and county.

There's this local urban legend that he cracked a smile once, but it's like spotting a unicorn – not everyone's buying it.

THE LAWYER

Mercedes "Sadie" Diáz - 32 - she/her

The new girl, yes! Oh, a beauty! And so curious. I do love sitting down with her though, oh the stories she brings from the big city, so intriguing! I hear she finds our town intriguing too, the mayor once - don't tell anyone I told you this - the mayor once said he caught her breaking into the city hall archives! I know, scandalous, but good on her, maybe now someone will argue that my neighbors fence post --

Sadie, the big-shot lawyer from the city, doing her solo act in town. When she's not in court, folks are lining up just to get a piece of the urban tales she's got. A trailblazer and truth-seeker, she's got this knack for poking her nose where it probably shouldn't be, and surprise, she knows more local secrets than the town gossip. Sure, she's all passionate and calculated, a bit out of sync with the town's warmth, but hey, that logical mind of hers might just shake things up and get the town back on track.

It's a well known fact that she could get access to places with the right documents, but she herself has said it's more fun to pick locks. Go figure.

LIST OF MAJOR NPCs

LIST OF MINOR NPCs

[thoughts-and-gayers]

no because the greater intergalactic community must have been SO confused when rick started carting morty around. like, the intergalactic terrorist known for having no morals and fucking everyone over is suddenly taking this random fucking human kid with him everywhere.

and at first, people are like, maybe the kid is a victim of some kind, like he was kidnapped or something, but nope! according to everyone who's interacted with the two of them together, he seems to be traveling with this known intergalactic terrorist (mostly) willingly!

and then, someone hears the kid call the rick sanchez "grandpa" and the intergalactic internet goes wild.

so people start trying to figure out how the hell rick fucking sanchez managed to get a grandson, and why the hell he's bringing said grandson along on his various errands and genocides. because this kid doesnt really come across as some crazy genius, or epic fighter, or anything like that! but one day, a story begins to spread starting from one of rick's former business partners.

see, this former business partner of rick's thought it would be a good idea to knowingly sell rick fake k-lax, and rick didnt react too kindly to it. but, as the story goes, just as rick goes to send a bullet right through the guy's skull, the kid stops him. he gets rick to stand down as long as the guy gives rick a refund. so this guy survives crossing rick sanchez because some human kid had some sort of sway over rick!

the kid's name gets leaked. it's morty.

so maybe some of rick's enemies decide kidnapping morty will be a good way to get sway over this intergalactic terrorist. and they lock morty up, sure, but theyre not that worried about using the most secure locks or hiding the guns or anything like that. after all, the kid's a pacifist, right?

then imagine their surprise when this human kid comes guns blazing out of the burning wreckage of their base, coated in the guards' blood, just in time to hop into rick's ship (which only just arrived) like its no big deal.

and people realize that this kid might be more of a threat than they thought.

and, eventually, morty smith's presence is almost as intimidating and panic-inducing as the presence of rick sanchez.

and people on space tumblr edit flower crowns onto pictures of morty that they stole from news websites.

[the-twst-cast-needs-therapy]

Oooh Twst OC time.

I had this RSA guy cooking in my mind for a week or two. So here's my take on a TWST Arielle.

Name: Anderson Riverbay

Age: 17

Height: 174cm (on land), 189cm (in the ocean)

Homeland: The coral sea (obviously)

Species: Merman (again: of course!)

Hobbies: Surfing, Rollerskating

Best subject: foreign Languages

Pet peeves: littering

Talent: Singing

Trivia:

-Anderson is a merman who had the desire to start a life above ground after seeing people do various activities by the beach (Volley ball, surfing etc.)

-Just like Azul, he is a dorm leader, since he embodies the sea princesses passion (and yearning)

-He is incredibly confident in himself and dives headfirst into learning something new without any hindrance.

-He is Azuls old classmate. He was well beloved and did not notice how Azul was excluded. He always viewed Azul as very timid and figured that's why he was so distant. Sometimes he would ask Azul questions regarding his species (since this was the first time Anderson ever came in contact with an octopus merman), which Azul did not take kindly to.

-He heard about how successful Azul has become and is very proud that he came out of his shell.

-After managing to get a hang of walking land, he started multiple hobbies mostly revolving around leg coordination. Surfing is his absolute favourite. (Other hobbies to list: Roller skating, Inliner skating, Skateboarding etc.)

-After mastering his footwork he started a boot camp for Mermen on land. This is where he met Azul again. IMPORTANT EDIT: so I finally proceeded with the main story and to make a long story short, this doesn't work, so I hereby present my new approach: He is NOT the founder of the Boot camp (since it literally operated for ages), instead it was founded by one of his late relatives and he is one of the many many volunteers.

-Azul keeps trying to screw him over by selling 'junk', but Anderson somehow always ends up turning it into a profit.

-He is very kind and well beloved, but he tends to be ignorant of conflicts. He acts mostly out of self interest and doesn't stay on a singular path. Instead he goes whichever way he currently desires. He is free spirited and curious.

-He collects junk and sea shells in the ocean and by the beach. He has a collection of his most interesting finds on his bookshelf. He also turns some of the stuff he finds into jewelry and sells them. The money he gets is used to fund his MANY hobbies or goes towards beach cleanups.

-RSA does not have the equivalent of a Mostro lounge, but they do have a 20s themed restaurant called 'T&N's diner'. It employs a lot of students and has a beach bar themed section ('the fish fin'), which is responsible for all sorts of fun (non alcoholic) drinks. Anderson is in charge of it together with his dorm mates and they serve beverages on roller skates. In the evenings he sings in the main restaurant to entertain the guests.

-since being human is not his natural form, he sometimes has trouble to speak (especially since he uses his voice a lot more than other mermen on land) and uses sign language to communicate. He also does this as a measure of protection; he will refrain from speaking throughout the day to be able to perform at night.

-Sometimes, Azul eats sushi Infront of him, which makes him a little uncomfortable. He does not realise that Azul does this out of spite.

Anyways, doodle page!!!

And here are my first concept sketches of the guy:

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

i'm grateful you're my daughter more than anything

Post 6x09, Runaan finds Rayla as she takes care of Callum. She's changed, and he couldn't be a prouder father.

Felt cute might put up on ao3 later :b

The first moment they had alone was in the dead of the night, moon high above the Nexus. It felt fitting, almost full-circle.

On his way down the hall to the library, to get parchment to send a letter to Ethari explaining what could never truly be explained, at least not fully, Runaan spotted Rayla slipping down the hall, footsteps light and quick as a true assassin's, despite how opposite of one she was, a steaming teacup on a little plate in her hands.

She looked up when she heard him, smiling a little as her low ponytail swung. "Runaan. ...Hey." She cleared her throat. "How- how are you feeling?"

He shrugged in the enormously oversized nightshirt the lumberjack human, Allen, had lent him. It was off-putting, being out of his form-fitting, safe garb, especially in this strange, unknown place he should very well have felt relaxed in- a full moon, at the Moon Nexus, but all Runaan could feel was... odd. "As good as one can, I suppose. How are you, though? How is your human? Clem- Camel? Stop me when I get it right-"

She laughed, and it wasn't a snarky one he'd grown so accustomed to. "Callum." A smile ticked her lips upwards at his name. "His name's Callum. And he's-" Rayla looked away to the wall, the little table she elected to set the tea down on, anywhere but him. "He's okay. I think. Mostly in shock. But he'll get through it." The unspoken words hung in the air, a truth both of them hated knowing: What other choice does he have?

"He's got you," Runaan offered, drawing closer. "That's pretty damn good."

She laughed again, a real, merry one, despite the bitter undertones. "Yeah. Some cuddles and tea are all I can do until morning. Bright and early, we go to Katolis." She made a face, and at least that was the same- her utter hatred of mornings.

Just like that, Runaan found himself relaxing just a little more into her presence. No longer a little girl he felt the need to protect- Well, she would always be that, his beloved daughter once he started acting like it, but someone he trusted to have his back. Even with how much she'd changed, not everything had.

"I will be up with the sun," he promised, and she looked away. That had just been one more thing setting her apart from the rest back at the Silvergrove, during training: her adamant refusal to awaken at the crack of dawn for early-morning runs and sparring.

Good. Please, let her never be like the Silvergrove, Runaan prayed now, just as he had so many moons ago with Ethari after Lain and Tiadrin left. Let her never have the hardened heart of an assassin, the only ones the community would spare the time of day. She had an out, and one look at her and Callum was enough for Runaan to know that she'd take it and never look back.

"Well, I should get this to Callum," Rayla said awkwardly, stilted, moving to take the cup, but Runaan stopped her with a gentle touch to her wrist. "Rayla, wait." Gentle, the way he'd be with Ethari. Because this was his daughter, not a member of his troupe or someone under his jurisdiction. His family.

She pursed her lips slightly and shook her loose bangs out of her eyes, and Runaan couldn't help but remember back to her parents. She was the perfect combination of them, with Lain's braids and horns, Tiadrin's nose and face shape, and her lavender eyes unique only to her. Setting her apart. "Yeah?"

He drew his hand back. "I've never seen you like this," he said, admittedly curiously.

Rayla tilted her head, questioning kindly rather than the abrasive, aggressive way she'd always done before. "Like what?"

"Giving," Runaan said, because that was the first word that came to him. Rayla had always been kind and generous and loving, no matter how she'd hated to show it. "Kind. Loving. Happy."

She took a hesitant step closer, reaching to rest her gentle, small hand on his upper arm, blinking furiously.

"It's a good look on you." He blinked his own tears away as she bit back a sob-ridden laugh. "The best one."

Rayla ducked her head, bangs swinging with the motion. "Thank you. That... It means a lot. So much."

Runaan clasped her hands, drinking the sight of his daughter in. So small physically, but larger than life. So, so loved and gorgeous, inside and out, and he was sure her human made sure she knew it, too.

"You have a beautiful heart, Rayla," he said eventually, softly. "The most gorgeous I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. My worst regret is trying to burn it away instead of nurturing it. And for that..." A hand found its way to lay over his heart, bringing a sniffling Rayla’s with it. "I am truly sorry."

"Runaan..." She shook her head, reaching up to wipe away his tears, and they were the softest fingertips Runaan could remember, his own and Ethari's so calloused and rough. And here was Rayla, giving and gentle. The daughter he'd always dreamed of but never deserved. "Don't," she said firmly. "It was my choice. My choices. I had to find my way here on my own. In the end..." She glanced back down the hall, to the closed door that the boy she loved more than life rested behind. "I like where it got me. I'm glad I'm here."

"Rayla..." Runaan tucked her hair behind her ears, pressing their foreheads together. "I don't know what it means to you, but I am so proud of you. I love you, Little Blade. You are my daughter. I only hope you'll let me be your father."

Rayla threw her arms around him, sending him stumbling back in shock, immediately holding her back. "Of course. I'd forgiven you a long time ago, Runaan. I'm so glad you're my father. You always will be. I love you."

And he'd already said it tonight, but Runaan had spent far too much time hating and killing, and not nearly enough loving. So he hugged her back, whispering, "I love you, too."

[mrsrookhunt]

♟ Monster Rook Hunt 🪦

Rooktober part three! Tempting @v-anrouge in again lmaooo

Three classic monsters, one extra-extra double pickles Rook.

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Vampire!Rook

Congratulations on winning your way into this man's heart and onto his dinner table.

You're so gorgeous to him.. you make him blush, you make him stutter and gasp, you make him feel his heart flutter and his mouth water.

Absolutely thinks you're more like a creature he can't hunt, a full meal he can only have a snack from, and it is vaguely annoying to him. It's like gardening, but with the extra requirement of cuddling the plant after picking the fruit from it.

But Rook is nothing if not a man dictated wholly by his not beating heart.

Depending on whether he was born a vampire or turned, how he treats you will be different.

If he was born as a vampire: You're a snack, that's all he's been taught. He may treat you kindly but he won't fully understand human needs and love. He'll probably attempt to love you the way other vampires show love. Enjoy those blood bags he set in front of you with wide eyes and a besotted smile, waiting for you to make the first move on your shared meal.

If he was turned a vampire:

"MY LOVE, MY LOVE, I HAVE BROUGHT YOU A GIFTTTTT" and it's a 4-course meal of all his favorite foods as a human he hopes you can enjoy the same.

So extremely and extraordinarily attentive. You may be his meal, but you're also his lover, and he treats you with every bit of love and affection he's been preparing for 350 years to give.

And he's also definitely turning you into a vampire. Don't worry, he'll keep an eternity filled with his antics.

Werewolf!Rook

Very in-touch with his wild side (what's new).

You may or may not have met him at a gas station in the woods when you threw an apple core into the wooded area next to the pump, and a shaggy golden wolf came bounding back to you with wide eyes, a wagging tail, and the apple core in his mouth. Your first game of fetch. Call it a date; that's what he did anways.

Your idea of cuddles is different to his. You may like to lay on his chest and watch a movie. He may like to completely tangle all of your limbs together and bury your face in the crook of his neck, because, Rook. Don't worry maybe you can hear the movie playing.

All of your meals are hand-hunted by your one and only. In human form, he's out hunting, a good thing, since otherwise he's harassing you with incessant French. In wolf form, he just wants to lie down on the bed and be docile. Is it a show so you're not afraid of him? Maybe. I guess it's an excuse for you to stay with him for a few years forever to find out.

He would love if you were into gardening. He takes pride in hunting food for you, and would be thrilled to use some home-grown herbs to make a meal you could both be proud of.

He's very rugged. It's a fight to make him wear nice clothes. If it's not practical ripped up and some hand me down from GOD KNOWS where, he doesn't want it.

Also, shaving. I hope you enjoy stubble because he will not be getting a clean shave. He can tell you he's 'just shaved', but you wonder how many nanometers of hair he even took off.

More like a golden retriever than a wolf. If it weren't for his superb hunting skills he'd be a disgrace to the werewolf community altogether.

And we could talk about how many kids he wants but let's keep this PG

Mummy!Rook

Snuggles? Snuggles.

Rook can't speak very well like this. But he can certainly show you the depths of his affection with body language alone.

You should be honored he came back from the dead just for you. You should probably be less honored that the museum has warrants out for your arrest now because, apparently, you can't take a mummy home, even with his consent.

Have you eaten? Have you?? He keeps trying to shovel food in your mouth with every passing moment that he's allowed in your fridge. Something about 'eating like royalty'. You don't know, honestly. The gauze makes it hard to hear him.

From what you've gathered, he was a highly-revered huntsman in his time. Not high enough to be buried in a pyramid, but high enough to be buried with great respect to his body.

You're not sure what brought him back, honestly, his love for you, your being unsure of whether he was a real mummy or a replica, some cheesy artifact bringing him to life ...we'll never know. His desire to prove you wrong may or may not have been at 100%

Did I mention he loves snuggles?

Do NOT try to remove the wrap. It's not for security reasons. It will not harm him to remove it. HOWEVER HE WOULD RATHER NOT UNDRESS UNTIL MARRIAGE THANK YOU.

Try suggesting he put on clothes over his wrap. It's not comfortable. It's like when you have long sleeves and you try to out a jacket over them. But if it's comfortable for him... just buy two sizes larger and try to ignore it.

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Part two coming soon!

Suggestions for monsters are more than welcome!

-Oct. 16th, 2023

-Kaori

[flowerandblood]

The Taste of Shame (2)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: doubts related to sex work, panic attack, remorse and depression, fluff, sexual tension ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn’t no longer matter when he meets his friend’s younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Walking to the lecture they talked about everything and nothing; for the most part, she was the one speaking, telling stories or asking questions, guiding her bike beside her by the handlebars, while he just added his thought or simply remained silent, listening to her.

They arrived at the Community Centre true to her word very quickly and indeed he immediately saw posters announcing that there would be free lectures by philosophers in the fields of contemporary ethics.

Robert's sister padlocked her bike in the designated area and they both went inside, following the signs. They entered a large, neo-classical hall with beautiful pillars and rich ornamentation on the ceiling, reminding him of a theatre or opera house.

They sat side by side on seats in one of the first rows − she explained to him that the presenter would be asking questions and, among others, her professor would be answering.

Indeed, the discussion was remarkably interesting and he caught himself drawn in; the men were talking among themselves about capital punishment, attitudes to the treatment of other humans and animals, warfare and human-wide conflicts.

However, he felt a cold sweat on his back and a tightness in his throat, his heart starting to pound like mad when the presenter asked the next question.

"As we know, a lot of young people start, as they say in modern times, sexworking − whether they show up on webcams or have sex for money. How do you, Professor, view this, do you think it's good for the psyche of such people? Is it morally right?"

The professor grunted and corrected his glasses with a slight hand gesture; he was a grey-haired, elderly man with a kindly, calm face.

"It depends on a number of factors. Firstly − what that young person's goal is. When we choose our job, we usually want more than just to earn money, most people's dream is to do things that fascinate them, that they are fulfilled in. Of course, people are also fulfilled in the sexual sphere with their partners, however, what happens when sexuality becomes a profession?

Well, in a way, two things are then combined that can be very destructive to the psyche − materliness and one's own body. At the same time, we make the decision ourselves, so it is not morally wrong if it involves two adults who agree to it, but there is an internal objectification, a selling of some part of our intimacy.

Of course, one can feel good about it. One may even like it. One should not tell such people that they are denying something, or say that they are selling themselves, that they are pricing their value. You see, it is not for us to judge. Everyone can do what they want with their body, it is their unquestionable right.

However, the danger arises when, underneath this materialistic approach, there is a desire for self-destruction, a desire to simultaneously dominate, to be in charge − I decide what happens to my body − and, at the same time, I desire to humiliate myself in my own eyes − I sell myself and I'm nothing, I don't want affection because I don't deserve it.

This issue is very complex and delicate, judging too quickly, especially by outsiders, will be even more hurtful to such people, a confirmation that they will never be loved and accepted, so they will be afraid to make sexuality emotional, which will lead to the opposite effect that we would all like."

The presenter nodded with understanding.

"If the professor were to state what it should look like in an ideal world, what would the professor say?"

The man laughed good-naturedly, stroking his white beard.

"I don't have an answer to that. I think that in an ideal world, the person who is made for us would be highlighted to us in green and those who hurt us in red. But we don't have that option. I think the fundamental mistake of every human being is to make judgements prematurely, instead of being willing to understand, to offer conversation, to support.

Calling someone a whore or a slut has never helped anyone, what's more, it only makes such people even more likely to have suicidal thoughts and be afraid to seek help when they feel they need it, because they are scared of revealing themselves to their parents or loved ones."

The presenter moved on to the next topic, but he heard nothing more, staring blankly at the floor, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees − he felt himself trembling all over, his eyes burning from the moisture that had gathered under his eyelids, his throat all clenched.

He felt her hand on his back and he shuddered, glancing over his shoulder at her with wide eyes − she was leaning over him worriedly, he could smell her pleasant scent again.

"Are you all right? Do you want to go out for some fresh air?" She asked frightened, clearly seeing how pale he was, and he nodded in embarrassment.

By the time they got outside it was completely dark; he reached with his shaking hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, taking out a cigarette and a lighter, firing it quickly and putting it into his mouth.

He felt her looking at him − they were standing in the square in front of the main entrance where there was no one but them, all around them was the loud hum of moving cars.

For some reason he felt desperate and miserable, weak, small; he clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head, trying to pull himself together. He sat down on the cold stone steps and she immediately sat down next to him, far too close.

He sighed when he felt her hand on his shoulder, stroking him gently, her warm breath on his cheek cool from the crisp evening air. He let out a loud puff of smoke with his lips, thinking only of how he had never let any woman touch him.

He placed his hand on hers, wanting to feel her for once, her skin soft as silk, exactly as he had imagined; he looked at her in pain, her eyebrows arched in worry, in incomprehension of what had actually happened.

"I'm selling myself." He said finally, desperate, and she blinked as if she didn't understand what she had just heard.

He took a drag again, not taking his eyes off her, and let the smoke out through his nose.

"I do all sorts of fucked up things to women for money and get satisfaction out of it, you know?" He asked in a low, trembling voice, feeling devastated how tears of shame one by one began to run down his face.

He felt himself shaking all over and thought he was an idiot, wondering how he could have said that to her. For some reason, he felt something inside him break.

He wanted her to know, to tell him she was disgusted with him, to look at him with that look full of reserve, to tell him it was nothing and just go away simply to let him finally stop thinking about her.

He saw her tighten her lips, her eyes turning red, her eyebrows arching in sorrow as if she was in pain as he was. He felt a pleasant shudder when her hand stroked gently through his hair as if he were a small child, and then she hugged her face to his cheek and simply remained silent.

She didn't say anything.

She stayed.

She wanted to comfort him.

Delighted at this revelation, he burst out into a quiet, mournful sob, leaned over and snuggled his face into her neck, wanting to hide from his own shame and remorse, from what she might think of him, from what he feared and could not forgive himself for.

Why did he have to be like this?

Why exactly did this give him fulfilment?

He sighed quietly as she put her arms around him and hugged him, her soft hand stroking his cheek with gentle, slow movements, her face nestled against his hair and placing a gentle kiss on it.

"You didn't do anything wrong." She whispered finally; he swallowed hard, rubbing the tip of his nose against her neck, brushing his lips gently against her bare skin, again, and then again.

He felt her tremble and tighten her hands on his leather jacket, his manhood in his trousers completely hard.

He had no idea what had just happened between them, but he didn't want to stop.

After a moment, as his emotions left him he realised what he had done.

That he had told a complete stranger about who he was, revealed to her his darkest secret.

This thought made him panic − he got up abruptly and mumbled through his tears that he would go home already, that he apologised to her for everything, not listening to her pleas to wait for her, running quickly down the stone stairs, walking ahead.

He looked over his shoulder as he turned into the corner of the next street and noticed with some kind of disappointment that she was not following him.

He burst out into uncontrollable sobs for the second time once he had locked himself in his car having complete chaos in his head, feeling that he was going through some kind of panic attack.

He thought that until he'd met her he hadn't felt this way, that the idea that he couldn't date her because of what he'd done made him start to regret it all.

What was he supposed to do now?

He reached for his phone hearing it vibrate and unlocked it quickly seeing as many as three new messages from her.

He clenched his eyelids, dropping his phone on the other seat, hiding his face in his hands.

He needed to calm down.

He sat like that for a few minutes in silence, not thinking about anything, just breathing, and then he drove home as if nothing had happened.

He entered his flat, took a shower, ate something and then turned on the TV, all mechanical, completely empty; he shuddered when he got a new message, reaching uncertainly for his phone and felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach when he saw it was one of his clients.

She wanted to meet the next day.

No, he thought.

I don't want to.

He wrote her back that he was taking a break from it all for a while.

He was infuriated when she started texting him to tell him not to do it, that she needed him, that meeting him made her want to go on living.

He slammed his phone furiously into the wall.

What about what he fucking needed?

When he picked it up after several minutes he found that it worked despite the cracked screen.

He accessed the last messages he'd received from Robert's sister and began typing quickly to her on his phone's keypad.

He pressed his lips together when he saw that she immediately displayed his message, a bubble popped up in his app window indicating that she had just written back to him.

He swallowed loudly, writing her back without thinking, without controlling himself, allowing himself to shamelessly write her exactly what was in his head.

He stared at the screen with a pounding heart, wondering whether to do it or not, walking restlessly around his living room with his phone in his hands − he typed out the answer slowly, feeling that he was hot.

She didn't reply for a long time even though he could see that she had displayed his message.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, laughing despairingly under his breath, not believing how desperate he was.

He'd known it from the moment he'd seen her, when she'd gotten off that fucking bike and looked at him with those big, innocent eyes of hers.

He stood looking at her message as if stupefied, reading it again and again, unable to believe it, feeling like he was about to die from the arousal and heat he felt in his chest, his fingers trembling as he tapped out his reply to her.

And so she did.

He didn't dare propose to meet her alone, knowing how that would have gone down on his part.

He didn't want to scare her off.

However, they wrote with each other for days, even during his classes; Criston and Robert laughed at him for having a girlfriend and not even wanting to introduce her to them.

He didn't care.

She was the first person he told about how it all started, what he felt when he did it, what aroused him and what repulsed him about it all.

She listened to him and answered him with sincere concern and worry, without judging him, without pretending it was a simple and obvious subject, giving him a sense of comfort and understanding.

He made it clear to her that he had refrained from any contact with strange women for the time being.

He licked his lower lip as he lay back in his bed, writing her off quickly.

He swallowed hard when she wrote him back after a moment.

He felt a squeeze in his heart at her words, some kind of pain that she thought of herself that way, that she saw herself as just another person he wanted to take out on.

He chuckled involuntarily, typing back a quick response to her question.

He blinked, looking at his screen with a pounding heart, not believing what he read.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[reareaotaku]

I Am Not A Clone [Series]

Where the Fuck am I

Summary: You accidentally get enrolled into Clone High, even though you are not a clone. Instead of kicking you out, Principal Scudworth decided to keep you to see how the clones react to a real human- Not a clone. Pairings: Various x Reader

You groaned, rubbing your head. You didn't remember what happened or where you were. This- Caused a panic to stir in you. You quickly sat up and looked around what looked like an office. Well- more like a science lab with all the flasks and mysterious liquids.

You frown, rubbing your head, before sitting up. You yawn, walking towards the door, but you are grabbed and pushed back into the chair. You looked around confused only to see a crazy-looking man in a lab coat. He had yellow rubber clothes, which were clasped together. A banner of his name 'Scudworth' was engraved into it. This was the moment you were going to die.

There's a moment of silence before he speaks. "You may be wondering why you're here."

'No shit,' You thought, trying hard to contain your eye roll.

"It seems the administration made a mistake when enrolling you."

"So, you can unenroll me, right?" You asked hopefully, your eyes nearly shining with glee and hope.

The man smirks, as if you had just told him a funny joke. "Unenroll you? Now why would I do that? This is fate."

"Fate?"

"Yes!" he stands up, his chair spinning as he walks over to your side, "The first Natural-born human amongst clones of historical figures of the world. This is what was meant to happen."

"What was?"

He turns away from you and looks over at his many degrees on the wall. You hear him chuckle, causing you to worry. "Why you coming here. You were meant to be here. To see how the clones would react with you. It is the perfect science experiment. It will determine how they will react to the..." He turns back to you, "Natural World."

"And I have to be an unwilling participant?"

"Well, it's not like you have a choice. Just imagine the possibilities."

You frowned, "Possibilities?"

"Yes," He turns back to you, and pats your shoulder. "A new year has begun and things will be... incredible."

'Oh my god, this man has lost his mind,' You thought, shaking your head. "You can't do this to me- I have rights-"

"Do you? Besides, this is a regular school, so there is no reason for you to go to another school. It will be in your best interest to stay in this school."

'Is he threatening me?'

A smile over takes his face and he claps his hands, "Alright. Go, go. You will definitely be popular."

---

You sat in a room full of strangers- Well, they weren't really strangers. You recognized a few of them as historical figures such as Joan of Arc, Abraham Lincoln, and Ghandi?

"The first day of school is always awkward. I just want you to know I can relate. You see, I'm not just your kindly history teacher. I'm also the first mostly-human clone."

You have to hold in a gag when seeing the creature. God, this had to be some type of crime against humanity.

"Spliced in a little sheep DNA." He pats his arm with his cane. Which is fine with me."

"You can't even tell, Mr. Sheepman."

'Ah, yes you can,' You thought to yourself, but you'd never say that aloud.

"Thank you! Before you leave, we have an announcement from Miss of Arc."

"Now, I know I don't have to tell you how committed I am to community service."

You frowned, before tilting your head. 'What the fuck is she talking about? She's nothing like THE Joan of Arc.'

"That's why I'm starting a teen crisis hotline and I'm looking for volunteers."

'Nevermind. Maybe she is.' You quickly raise your hand, but immediately put it down when seeing the look of disappointment cross her face. 'Bitch.' Though you were the only person left in the classroom, so she had to go with you.

"I've never seen you before, are you new?"

"Something like that." You pick up your bag, before putting out your hand, "Y/n L/n."

She looks at you confused, "That doesn't sound like any historical figure I know."

"Yeah, because I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not a clone."

You can see the look of confusion appear on her face as her eyebrows cross, "What? But this is Clone High? Why would you not be a clone in clone high?"

"That's a good question. So, when do you need my help?"

---

 You walk through the halls, gawking at the many historical figures, impressed by the many you could see. Though, you should have paid attention to where you were walking, because you ran into a taller man.

The man turns around, but makes no move to help you. Instead, he gestures at you as a whole, "Aye- You're new?"

You turn towards the voice. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull when you saw him, "Oh god, you're John F Kennedy!"

He laughs, shaking his head, "Yes, Yes I am. And who are you?"

"Y/n."

He hums, "I don't remember that name-"

"It's complicated."

He laughs, "Haha! Complicated. I like you. I'm having a party Friday, you should come."

"Party? Like highschool party?"

"Aye, you are so funny!" He clasp a hand on your shoulder before letting out a hardy laugh. He wipes a tear from his eye and takes off.

"Oh, wow, your first party. Maybe this year will be different."

[radioisntdead]

If I may, I kindly request a small crumb of some Rosie x Reader? Where reader is a living human talented with the arcane arts, accidentally summoning the cannibal and becoming enamoured with her? We send her genuine human meat as gifts, trinkets from the living world and all sorts of cute little letters and stuff.

Good evening my dear! I'M SO EXCITED SOMEONE REQUESTED SOMETHING WITH ROSIE, I ADORE HER [as seen by my pfp] I'm gonna go with headcanons here because I can see this going very very chaotically.

Warnings: cannibalism, demon summoning, which I should probably mention, PLEASE DON'T SUMMON ANYTHING?? Does this count as a long distance relationship??? This is shorter then my normal headcanons

No idea what you were trying to summon in the first place but you managed to summon Rosie who was in the middle of her tea break,

She went from drinking tea in her emporium to I assume your room, she's startled

It was love at first sight,

For you anyway, Rosie just wanted to finish her tea and fingers,

"Salutations?"

"YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL!"

And thus began you seducing courting Rosie,

You aquire human flesh, either by murder insuring you'll end up the same place as Rosie or I don't know the dark web? Grave robbing?

Please don't rob graves,

She quite likes the fresh meat, because human probably tastes somewhat better then Sinner? Like no added claws, flavors etc etc,

It gives her a nostalgic feeling of being alive and having her husband for supper, but better because he tasted disgusting.

With every delivery of meat you send what she can describe as a love letter, like I'm imagining you got a whole stationary kit to make the best letters ever, like if you have horrible handwriting [Like I do]

You invest in a typewriter, awesome stickers to put on the envelope, the letters are wax sealed.

You begin summoning her on a bi-weekly basis, at first you summoned her at VERY inconvenient times,

She's doing overlord stuff? Not anymore she's in your room with you on one knee holding a plate of fingers

She's giving advice? Well they better hold off on that advice because now Rosie is wherever you summoned her from with you reading her poetry or something,

She's having tea with Alastor? Poor Alastor is left alone and confused, with Susan approaching,

Alastor now knows of your existence, and Rosie gives you a schedule on when you can summon her.

Also she requests that you send her more meat because now she's sharing with Alastor.

With trinkets Rosie is more picky,

You give her cheap jewelry from Amazon? She's politely ghosting you, no offense but she's from the early 1900's according to the wiki, she has standards for courting.

Doesn't have to break the bank but at least something that's more expensive then twenty bucks.

However you give her stuff she can't get down below? She adores it, like GOOD tea? Aren't you a charmer? that good ol' expensive wine? Well if you insist! Give her fresh fruit, fresh flowers, you know how HARD THAT IS TO GET DOWN THERE???

The gift giving isn't one-sided, you want something like demon horns? Next time you summon her, she has a box of different types of horns, she'll give you little treats

You weren't a cannibal before? Well you are now.

She'll tell you about the ongoings in hell, Alastor, the townsfolk, the tea, SUSAN, you don't like Susan.

Now after you've perished and ended up below because you were fraternizing with a cannibal,

You immediately go find Rosie, you know she runs a place called Cannibal town you managed you find Rosie's Emporium,

You swing up open the doors, startling several cannibals

"ROSIE I DIED!!"

She's not the happiest that you died, or that you almost broke her doors but your there now so yay!

She shows you around cannibal town in a musical number, introducing you to the tight-knit community, you avoid Susan the best you can but she catches you and threatens you to be nice to Rosie or else.

You should fear the old lady.

Anyways you get moved into cannibal town, helping out at the Emporium, Vibing with Rosie.

You get married eventually but I hope she likes you enough not to eat you like her past spouses.

The wedding is very classy though, the whole of cannibal town was in attendance, along with a couple of overlords!

Good evening folks! Thank you for tuning in! We hope to see you again! Also ROSIE SUPREMACY

[svartikotturinn]

שומע יא אידיוט תפסיק לתקוף יהודים אמריקאים ולקרוא להם לא יהודים? מאיפה אתה חושב שאנחנו הגענו? לפני מאה שנה גם אנחנו היינו בגלות. תחשוב מה שאתה רוצה על יהדות רפורמית אבל מאיפה הטימטום לחשוב שלראות את האויבים שלנו כאשכרה אנשים זה לא יהודי, ומאיפה הטמטום שיהודים בגלות ברחבי העולם הם לא יהודים.

סתום ת'פה ותפסיק לפגוע בקהילה של עצמך כפרה.

I’m gonna take the opportunity and respond both to your stupid bullshit and the stuff I got from @spacelazarwolf and @the-catboy-minyan with this image:

This kind of bullshit is a perfect example of why so-called ‘American Jews’ get on my last nerve. They are not actually a part of the culture, they engage with it on an extremely shallow level, and then have the nerve to barge in and pretend they fucking own it. (Here is another example. Here is another one.) So no, I am not ‘threatened’ by them, I am deeply irritated. (Much the same way Irish and Scottish people in those countries are irritated by Plastic Paddies boastfully claiming to be descendants of Robert the Bruce, by the way.)

I don’t know who you are, anon, but I do NOT appreciate your bullshit strawmanning. I did not say this applies to all Americans, and certainly not to all Jews living abroad. I am talking about this type which does not do the absolute bare minimum, which is, first and foremost, speaking Hebrew. This is the one major thing that Jews have in common outside of religious practice: the lingua franca Jews have used for millennia (yes, even beyond religious practice—read some Shlomo Haramati), without which you might be in touch with your own community but your link to Jewishness as a whole will be hobbled.

Now, as for Pharaoh, here is what Jewish scripture and exegesis has to say about him. Notably, here is how the Talmud describes him physically. This is not a flattering description, it’s barely humanizing, it repeatedly refers to him as evil with the only thing resembling a redeeming characteristic being that he charged at the front of his advancing army as a form of showing respect to God by confronting him personally at that one particular time. The thing about ‘forgivenss’ is particularly galling, as it is specifically pointed out that he explicitly refused to repent, and he is outright stated to be an evil fool. Compare and contrast with Christian scripture. (EDIT: Also, you claim to be Jewish yet are entirely unfamiliar the lyrics to Dayenu. Curious.)

This is another thing you need to be meaningfully Jewish: you need to actually engage with Jewish tradition and texts (and to do that, you need to—once again, say it with me—speak Hebrew). Once again, that brand of ‘American Jews’ are not doing that, but rather watering down the real deal to something palatable to their own sensibilities, regardless of whatever actual traditions they might have to trample along the way.

And the worst part of it? Now Israeli teens who socialize primarily online and speak English instead, a language they are not native speakers of, are getting in on this bullshit and become indistinguishable from their ilk at a glance. Hell, a few years I even saw one claiming the Jewish Bible was originally in Yiddish on Reddit.

So quit your LARPing, quit your harping, and kindly fuck off.

[missmists]

First bookbinding project a success. I think that my cat approves because he would not stay out of my photos. Five months in the making, but I couldn't be more pleased with the results.

I started with @armoredsuperheavy's amazing fanbinding tutorial to create a typeset of each work in @erisenyo's Burning Bright AU published on Ao3. Then had to reread the works in the new format and edit as I went to make sure everything was formatted correctly, (combined word count somewhere around 1.3 million) that took over a month all by itself.

I picked up a copy of Introduction to Bookbinding & Custom Cases by Tom and Cindy Hollander from my local library, to look at some detailed how to images and get multiple perspectives on construction methods. Excellent book, I do recommend.

My hunt for materials included a trip to Detroit with a side stop at Blick to look at decorative papers in person. Blick and the fine people at Hollander’s ended up having everything I needed to make covers. So between my brother kindly 3d printing me a punch cradle, making a DIY sewing frame of my own invention (courtesy of scrap lumber and a trip to the Lowe's hardware department), and three reams of late night printing, I managed to amass all my supplies.

Folding three reams of paper into signatures (the little bundles you sew together) takes about five days if you don't want to lose your mind or your place, and longer if you discover you need to fix things because that definitely happened. Then you get to unfold them to stab holes in them which is as terrifying at first and therapeutic by the end as it sounds.

Next came weeks of sewing books together, a magical process. I learned three new knots, repeatedly stabbed myself (because all forms of creation forcibly demand blood sacrifice) , and felt like I was roleplaying a monastic librarian from the time of Gutenburg. That's 600 years ago, 24ish generations, over 8million ancestors since then (by geometric progression, which excludes the possibility that any of my peasant ancestry is from small towns which is you know likely but I digress) and here I sat sewing pages together in a basement because story is the most sacred of human arts as it binds communities together and shapes perceptions of the self and our brethren, of outsiders allies and enemies, of the world as we know it and as it may come to be. Did I mention sewing books felt magical.

Then came the glue. So much glue. Multiple types of glue. All sticky. all stuck to me. I smeared glue with my fingers like a child.

At last it was time for the covers. Choosing combinations of the decorative papers and bookcloth and making sure I could get enough out of each material for what I needed. Precise cutting so many thanks to the architecture school professors who showed me how to properly cut chipboard. Then measuring and gluing, and more measuring, and more gluing. At last press a little groove by the spine and repeat eleven times.

Then I get to impress all my people with my latest and possibly coolest maker skill unlock, I am a book binder.

Bottom to top in the stack or left to right at the bottom are: These Things Written  These Things Unsaid with Without Consent These Things Known with A Third Chance (or a First) Oh, The Way Your Makeup Stains My Pillowcase That Love You've Been Looking For  All I Need Is To Be Struck (By Your Electric Love) To Open Every Door to Night, To Meet Each Rising Sun (my favorite) Love Is In the Hair (fanart of this one originally lead me to read the series, thanks @ash-and-starlight) Lessons in Proper Asset Management Tangled Up With You  To Be Named, To Be Known (To Be Loved)

[onskepa]

Hello! It's my first request and you are also the first writer I will request. Can you do a neteyam and a human girl but she is an arab girl? They are together XD

He calls her yawne, sevin and any other nicknames but she just calls his habibi

It'd be so cute when she'd be calling him habibi and he's so confused because he knows this is not english. But he asks his father and finds out this is another language from earth.

Maybe she can speak a bit of arabic to him?

Helloooooooo sweetie!! This one took me a bit longer than I thought. I went through the Arabic dictionary to understand the basics and make sure what I am putting is right. But hopefully this turned out lovely!!! Enjoy!!

--------------------

حبيبي

When dating someone, the first stage is always the awkward stage. Being shy and nervous around your lover, especially if you are a teenager. Cuddling while being tense, not knowing what to say, eye contact. The whole thing. But the awkward stage isn't forever, as the couple gets more comfortable with each other. Pet names is the next stage. It confirms how one sees the other, a sign and wording of love and deep care. And there are normal pet names like: pooki, honey bun, babe, sweetie, etc. And there are unique pet names that are unique to their own. A little bond just for them. Those hold more special meaning that average pet names. 

And that seals the relationship and opens a clear path to a stronger, loving bond.

Neteyam ran as fast as he could to the human base. Excitement filled his veins, it was complete! A new hijab made from the finest of fibers his forest could ever offer. And the finest hijab is to belong to his loving new lady. 

Things were starting to settle in their new romantic relationship. Was tense and a bit awkward in their starting days but now they are closer than ever. Understand the traditions and cultural heritage his lover has, who is Arabic, he did his best to understand it all. 

When getting to know each other, his Yawntu talked about what her country was like back on Earth. Told him stories, myths and legends. And most of all, the language. To neteyam, writing in Arabic was difficult, and speaking it was just as challenging. But he welcomes new things. He can understand English well enough, so that has become their common language to speak. Of course his Yawntu puts effort in learning na’vi so that she may converse more with the village. 

Opening the door to her room, neteyam enters and smiles at his beloved. There she was, reading a book. Looking up, the human girl smiled at him with hearts in her eyes. They meet in the middle as they embrace each other in full warmth. 

“I missed you ma’sevin” Neteyam says in a cooing manner. His sevin hugs back, replying “I missed you too wasim”. Neteyam’s ear twitched, he didnt understand that word but from the way she said it, must be a loving pet name. 

“Wasim, what does that mean sevin?” Neteyam asks kindly, happy to reply she answers. “Wasim means handsome”. Now this made his tail curl in a playful manner. “Handsome? You see me as a handsome young man, sevin?” he teases while leaning in closer to her face. His dear love couldn't help but blush at his little act and gorgeous smirk. 

“W-well, you call me pretty, i-it's only fair I call you handsome” she stutters out. 

“Dad, why do humans speak more than one language?” Neteyam asks one day as he helps his dad weave something together. Jake pauses momentarily, giving a moment to think before answering. 

“Well son, back on Earth, humans aren't able to connect in a way that na’vi do. Even back then, there was not much to communicate with each other. People living in different areas on Earth developed their own cultures and communities. Even developing new languages”. 

A small moment of silence between them before neteyam asks again, “And how do they develop language? How are they able to make it sound so different from each language?”. Jake scratches his chin a bit and mutters “should have paid attention to history class…” 

Neteyam tilts his head in confusion. Jake waves his hand in a dismissive way. “Forget that” 

Pausing at their craft, they get more comfortable in sitting. 

“Why the sudden interest?” Jake asks, trying to understand neteyams' curiosity for something about humans. 

“Ummm…well there is a human I began to talk to, she stands out a lot from the others you know. She wears a cloth around her hair and wears more clothing and speaks an odd language” neteyam answers. 

“I see. And this girl, are you friends with her?” Jake asks, observing his son as he moves and behaves. 

Scratching a bit on the back of his head, neteyam replies “You could say that. We have been getting to know each other. But she is so cool! Her accent is different but amazing, she showed me a bit of how to write in her native language. It is hard. Oh, and…” 

Jake observes how animated and happy neteyam is as he explains the details of his new friend. Chuckling a bit to himself, jake knows his son won't be silent if given the chance to mention the human girl. It is nice, to see neteyam be happy and express himself more. 

“Your friend seems very nice, but you forgot one important thing, what is her name?” he asks. 

“Oh, her name is…”

“Here, I hope it's perfect for you, I can still make adjustments” Neteyam says as he offers his newly made hijab. The girl grabs it gently and looks at it in awe. “Oh habibi, this looks and feels wonderful, here let me put it on”. Taking that as his cue, the boy turns to give his little lover some privacy to change her hijab. A minute later he turns around. 

“How does it feel?” he asks a bit nervously. Getting a good feel of it, the girl smiles so happily, “wonder, perfect, the colors are truly beautiful. And the material is so soft yet firm. The feel of the forest. The smell….I know that smell very well” she teases, giving him a flirt smirk. 

Neteyam couldn't help but blush at her words. 

   “أنت تعرف دائمًا ما يجب أن تقدمه لي، ومع ذلك أشعر كما لو أنني لم أعطك ما يكفي مني." 

The way the girl spoke was lovely, the curl of the sounds and how it rolls of her tongue was so intriguing. Yes he may not understand everything, but it only pulls him in more to hear the girl's language. 

“Im sorry, I cant understand what you said. '' Neteyam apologies. The girl giggles a bit, holding his hands. Looking up at him, dark eyes meeting his bright ones, “I can teach you if you like. We can speak it together, and I like to hear my language coming from you”. 

His tail thumps against the floor, feeling happy and excited. Smiling widly, he agrees. So, the girl brings out a clean notebook and a pen. “Alright, lets try something simple” she suggests. Nodding, he sees her write a simple sentence. 

أحبك

“Alright, this one is easy, repeat after me, 'uhibuk “ His love instructions. Listening to her words closely, he repeats. 

“'Uhibuk”

Aaaaaaaaand that is it for this one! I hope I got the arabic words right. Had to google it. Until next time! see ya!

wasim = handsome

habibi = my love

  " “أنت تعرف دائمًا ما يجب أن تقدمه لي، ومع ذلك أشعر كما لو أنني لم أعطك ما يكفي مني."  = You always know what to give me, yet I feel as though I have not given you enough from me.

'uhibuk = I love you

[nanomooselet]

Little but Fierce

Now, I might be mistaken, but judging by the number of bare pectoral muscles strewn over my dash at any given moment, I'm gonna say Wolfwood is pretty popular? And that's understandable (he's a loser <3) but it's a genuinely terrible shame that Meryl gets overlooked. Especially in Stampede. Orange have done some really amazingly cool things with Meryl.

And it makes me a little nervous to say so, but I think they only could have done them by detaching her from Milly, at least for a time. Milly's still going to show up and I'm confident from this precedent they'll treat her well, so I'm at peace with her absence for now.

Nightow is unexpectedly good in many ways. He treats sex workers as human, which is a low bar that many nevertheless fail to clear, and my only serious disappointment in Maximum was in how the girls vanished for long periods. I recall an interview where he said something to the effect of being reluctant to put them in harm's way, and while I'm disinclined to take anything Nightow says entirely at face value (I don't think he's a liar, but I do think he has a sense of humour that inclines him to kindly trolling, which I respect), that would line up, I think.

I think Orange are taking the opportunity to remedy this disappointment.

It's exciting. It's the kind of writing for female characters in genre media I've always craved. I will not be silenced on how extremely gay I am for Meryl Stryfe.

Unfortunately that means for this first entry, I'll have to talk about Knives. (Whom I also love, but not in a gay way. More an affectionate revulsion. He's fascinatingly horrible, this man.)

So. I've noticed a distressing tendency for Knives's... really almost anything that ever comes out of his mouth (seriously) to be taken as the honest, objective truth. After all, they didn't call him a villain.

And what an honest face he has!

As Knives has it:

Vash is pretty, but he's useless without his brother. He's a powerless, weak, pathetically naïve, blubberingly sentimental little baby who doesn't care about the Plants, too busy enabling humanity's abuse via performing his cringing, grasping abasement before them to notice how his brethren suffer. Knives himself is the more powerful (and much less human-like) of the twins; the strongest and most righteous activist for necessary change now that, sadly despite all good faith attempts at communication, non-violent solutions have failed. He truly has only the best and most altruistic intentions: the freedom of his people, and the happiness of his brother.

Here's the problem. This has always been the problem. Every one of the statements in the paragraph above is false. Except the one about Vash being pretty.

Once more with feeling: They are completely untrue. They are supported by literally nothing. All we have is his word that they're true and there's so much existing evidence to disprove his claims that even the thought of compiling it exhausts me.

However, I did say that Zazie is a truth-teller in this story, didn't I? So let's examine some of Zazie's conclusions.

Now, I've seen reference to the surviving human communities on No Man's Land as "colonisers", and that their treatment of the Plants even before the Fall is analogous to slavery. (My strong suspicion is that Knives is purposefully invoking those comparisons, in fact.) Those are both extremely loaded analogies, culturally and emotionally, and I just want to gently, respectfully caution those who make them against overlooking the more nuanced and purposeful analogies being made. Or maybe should I say, the actual individuals to whom they apply.

Zazie is very careful to say this: Knives told them humans can't be trusted to learn from consuming their home planet. Knives was the one who said humans will have Zazie's planet next, and that only Knives will "use" the Plants correctly - so Zazie should ally with Knives.

Here's what Knives meant by "using the Plants correctly":

I, uh, think Zazie may have made the wrong call on this one! And that Zazie thinks the same.

This is what makes the interaction with Wolfwood so funny and sad - the all-knowing, ostensibly unkillable Zazie is freaking the hell out, staggering under the weight of realising just how apocalyptically badly they have fucked up. Wolfwood, who also directly instigated this disaster but under duress, is grimly amused - he did everything he did fulfilling the contract to protect the kids, even as his conviction failed, even though he would rather have died, even after Livio... and thus he personally rendered all his own efforts and sacrifices moot.

And he's just like, "Heh, yeah. That tracks." This poor boy.

Afterwards, Zazie is confused and even a little saddened that Vash was demonised in the wake of July's destruction. Never let it be said the bug fails to learn from experience: Vash is the one everyone blames? Ah, so he was in fact spectacularly heroic and clever and it's entirely Knives's fault it turned out so badly.

Also, crashing on this specific planet wasn't exactly humanity's choice. Guess whose choice it was.

Go on, guess. Better yet, guess why.

Yeah. It was also Knives who said to Zazie that both he and Vash crashed the ships... trying to stop us. From doing exactly what Knives tried to do the very instant he got the chance.

The thing is, Knives does everything he can to look like he's right by positioning himself as the most authoritative source, but he isn't ever backed up by like... facts. Or evidence. Or reality. Or anything. Ever. He crowned himself king of the Plants. He speaks and acts for them by divine right, apparently. He didn't take a vote or anything - in his mind it's self-evident only he understands the world, and Vash, and the correct way to use the Plants. Because remember that it's not using Plants he gives a damn about, even using them to death in the Last Run, as long it's him doing it. It's being dependent upon humans; he views providing for our basic survival needs as wasteful and inherently, exclusively parasitic, even if we're helping the Plants to survive in turn. Because it's humans that he's frightened of, and he wants the yucky things gone.

The thing is, when he's not being purposefully manipulative (though Vash is the only one he manipulates in person, probably because Vash is the only one he pays enough attention to for his tactics to be effective) he's being a dense fucking idiot. At very few points do his delusions intersect with reality.

The thing is, Knives is a known, proven, and entirely unrepentant liar. It's the logical extension of the way he gaslights Vash. He is in no way a trustworthy source of information.

All that he says is part of a heroic narrative about being the specialest boy evar that he came up with to avoid taking any blame or responsibility for the consequences of his actions. Knives considers himself perfect, but he's made plenty of mistakes, which I do think he would consider mistakes - among them Rem's death, alienating Vash, cutting off his arm and rendering him disabled, and what I suspect to be the large number of Plants killed in the Fall, along with the ones consumed by the Last Run in the desperation that followed.

So he tells himself... little stories. Inside his head. It's how he reconciles it. It's how he copes.

Basically, if you want to find any truth in anything Knives ever says, look closely at what he says, and believe the opposite.

Now, onto my girl and how completely fantastic she is.

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX