#at least its not another DEAD CORPSE CHARACTER

[muckyschmuck]

of course u make another creature and of course u put glasses on it

[evanpetersmybf]

All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

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Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one. 

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!” 

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready. 

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him. 

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

��Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?” 

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago. 

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy. 

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary. 

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do. 

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil’ piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting.  “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint? 

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course. 

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant. 

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!” 

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say. 

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?” 

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again. 

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!” 

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to. 

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe. 

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth. 

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday. 

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class. 

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

 After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged. 

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes. 

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were. 

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible. 

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real… 

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself. 

[cruelyear]

Been trying to work out why internally the card deck scene felt like it did i think it's maybe. It's so primal already. like they're gonna be out there for at LEAST another year. and so part of me can't believe they're silently drawing cards to see who's going to get eaten bc how can it get any worse? While the other part of me KNOWS that it definitely is going to get worse BECAUSE THIS IS WINTER ONE OF TWO. AND THERE'S LITERALLY NO OTHER OPTION. The girlprophet who by now they all (save for nat and maybe ben) believe has some commune with the forest gods and who's image has become synonymous with things like Hope and also Food is bleeding to death upstairs cause shauna went rabid on her and it's snowing and it's been snowing and it's going to keep snowing and akilah and mari who's characters have in all of the insanity become comforting if not tragic reminders that these girls are truly just GIRLS (akilah studying for the SAT's because she'll still be a junior when they get back and mari's textbook teengirl deadpan one-liners) are so hungry they're hallucinating (akliah's rat has been dead for who knows how long and mari's seeing the walls bleed) so of course they are going to eat somebody and of course out here where the rules of their internal society bent so far they broke the night jackie slept outside and then the rules of ALL society shattered the night they ate her barbecued corpse they're going to decide who's on the chopping block by drawing straws (they're KIDS) via the card deck (no queens) one of the many talisman's of the religon they created (via girlprophet aka lottie matthews's unmedicated schizophrenia) in an effort to derive some sort of meaning from all of this because when laura lee blew up she took god with her AND ITS SO DEVASTATING. BC EVERY SINGLE THING THAT HAPPENS IN THE WILDERNESS THIS EARLY IN THE TIMELINE ALWAYS HAS THIS UNDERCURRENT OF DREAD BC THIS IS WINTER. ONE. OUT. OF. TWO.

[utahimeow]

swan song — satoru gojo

summary — why work so hard when you could just be free?

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — major jjk spoilers, graphic depictions of violence, hurt/comfort, angst, happy endings, reader has a cursed technique (mentioned once), established relationship

word count — 1.3k

author’s note — based on swan song by lana del rey. this is the most self indulgent selfship coded thing i’ve ever written but i needed to give gojo the happy ending he deserved idc if its cheesy or out of character

He’s dead.

Dead.

The strongest. Dead. 

Satoru Gojo is dead.

A flash, then his body becomes two — legs here, torso there. 

He’s not moving. Scarlet splatters the ground, blooms like a lily. 

The air is disgustingly thick, and it hangs like a noose, and it cuts your throat. Nobody is breathing. Everybody knows. 

This time, he’s not getting back up. 

A scream claws its way out of your throat, vicious as it pierces through the air. 

Someone else is stepping up to replace him already, a sorcerer with hair like seafoam. The King of Curses turns towards him, his stolen face twisting into a demonic grin, dripping with victory.

Right now there’s just one thing on your mind. Like instinct, like it’s your destiny. You don’t care about the politics, the consequences, the implications of his death. None of it matters.

You just want to be with Satoru.

Your feet are moving. They almost take off, but a steady grip pulls you back. 

“You should leave.” Shoko’s voice quivers as she speaks. You’ve seen her composure crack so rarely that when you do it feels like your first time witnessing it.

Your face is hot, and it’s wet now. Your eyes sting. You don’t try to stop the tears, or even wipe them.

If you were to look up, you’d find eyes full of sorrow and shock and pity—you’re the grieving widow. His students have lost a teacher, his friends have lost a friend. At least I’m not her, they all think, I haven’t lost the love of my life. 

Without another word, without even so much as one final glance at Satoru’s corpse, you leave. You can’t bear to be there any longer. 

The taxi driver does not question why you’re crying. He pretends he does not hear the way you sniffle and gasp for air. He drives you to your home and drives away when you’ve paid him.

You breathe out. Your shoulders sag with relief. You will yourself to stop crying.

He’s in the living room, a thick arm thrown over his eyes as he half-naps. As soon as he hears you enter however, he springs up, beaming like the sun. 

Satoru laughs a little at your puffy face and your glimmering eyes. He gathers you into a hug, his body hard and imposing and warm, and you cling to him. His heart pumps blood around his body and it’s loud in your ears.

“That was traumatic,” you say, but it gets muffled when you bury your face into his chest. He smells fresh, like the wind on a warm day. He must have showered since he teleported home. 

Satoru’s laughing again. You wish he’d never stop. “You knew it was fake the whole time, how bad could it be?”

“I had to watch you die, Satoru! It was horrible even if it was fake,” you admit, tightening your arms around his waist, where his torso meets his legs. 

He laughs, and it reverberates in his chest and rumbles through your body. You’re angry. You can’t climb inside of his skin and live there and you’re angry about it. His giant hands draw circles all over your back.

“I’m here, baby. I’m all yours now,” he tells you. For the first time, he means it without any exceptions.

…

“What if you faked your death?”

Satoru’s head whips over to look at you, scanning your face to find something that will tell him you’re not serious. But you are serious.

One word, he asks, “why?”

“So we can give up being sorcerers and leave Japan and never come back.”

Satoru grows quiet. There’s a pit in your stomach. He tells you constantly that he’d give you the world, and you believe him, and he loves you more than anything, yet he can’t bring himself to give up on humanity. Without him, the world doesn’t stand a chance. He’s the strongest, after all.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. It’s sincere.

“Yes,” you tell him, swallowing as you consider your next words. “I just got you back from the Prison Realm and now you have to fight Sukuna, who might actually kill you… You just give and give so much to the Jujutsu world and what do they give you back? Shit all. And I’m tired of watching you be wrung dry.” 

He’s silent again. All the years that you’ve known him make it easy for you to know what he’s thinking. More than likely he’s thinking of Yuuji and Megumi and Yuuta. Maybe he wonders what Nanami would tell him to do, or what Geto would say.

It’ll be selfish. He’ll be abandoning everyone at the worst possible moment. He turns your words over and over in his head. Then he thinks of a life with you, a peaceful one, where you’ve left behind your days of sorcery, where he doesn’t have to be some pseudo-god. 

Where he can grow old with you.

Perhaps, he thinks, it’s necessary for him to disappear. It’ll be a struggle without him, but he has faith. They’ll persevere. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.

“I’ll use cursed energy to create a clone of you. Since my clones can’t use cursed techniques it’ll have to be right when Sukuna is about to kill you. You switch out and teleport out of there.”

For a moment he stares at you, then he chuckles, shifting sideways so he can lay on his back and stare at the ceiling with resolve.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says. 

“I have,” you say. “For as long as I’ve loved you.”

…

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. 

He’s convinced of it, actually. Life has filled your cheeks out and erased your dark circles away. Your eyes shine brighter. Fear no longer lives in them, nor does hopelessness.

Your fingers are gentle as you pluck fresh, plump tomatoes off the vine. Satoru’s heart swells because you’ve been so excited to harvest them.

“It’s just a handful for now,” you tell him, letting him peer inside the basket you have on your arm. There are a few bunches of rocket and basil leaves, and a small squash too. 

He reaches in, takes a tomato and pretends to take a bite out of it until you snatch it from his hand and scold him. 

“They just look too good, baby,” he says between laughs. You roll your eyes, but you don’t manage to bite back the smile that grows on your lips.

“Go finish building my chicken coop,” you tease, calling him by his last name, the one he took from you, then brushing past him to head back inside your home.

“I told you it’s almost finished!” he exclaims, trailing behind you as you make your way to the vintage renovated kitchen of your house. 

Satoru settles on a stool at the island at the centre, observing the way you rinse the vegetables in the sink. To him it’s fascinating—well, you’re fascinating. The way your brow scrunches slightly with concentration. He hopes you never run out of vegetables to harvest and wash. He’ll make sure you don’t.

“By the way, what do you think about getting some mini goats?”

“I don’t care as long as you take care of them,” you tell him. “Do you want salad or roasted vegetables for lunch?”

Satoru’s heart races. He’s transported back to 2006 for a moment, when for some reason he wanted to be around you all the time and thought it was weird that he liked it when you teased him. Before he realised.

“Roasted vegetables, please. I love you.”

Satoru doesn’t look much different now. He’s gotten a little more toned, put on some muscle from some of the heavy work he does on the farm. 

And when he smiles, he’s not pretending anymore. 

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Helloo !! ^^ Its me again ahaha 🙈

Feeling you with the number of RQs ! (': i have a lot of unfinished ones too, and I FEEL SO JORRIVLE FOR SENDING ONE in knowing that💔💔😭😭😭😭😭😭, but this has been in the forefront of my mind 😵‍💫. Please don't feel pressured to respond! 🫣 I won't blame you if you'd rather not to ☺️🙌//

...

Yandere Outlaw, having abducted reader, not at all having had anticipated the strength of their connections.

While reader isn't necessarily strong themselves, they have a strong family, a line of uncles and brothers that are feared across the West for their brutality, their violence, and most notably, their loyalty. This is especially jarring given that reader is the youngest in the family, so of course they would be overprotective over them, as weren't they just the baby of the family, their sweet lil pumpkin?

It's why they are second only to Outlaw himself in terms of criminality, notorious instead, however for how they are willing to kill for blood feud, and to wreak havoc in a bid to avenge anyone that crossed the path of their family member(s).

Now picture this: having heard of reader's abduction, to describe their reaction as fury, rage, even wrath, would all be an understatement. They would be getting together, coordinating a plan, and intending to shoot the damn bastard dead, as scum like him should pay for messing with the wrooong criminals.

Now this brings me to my question: what would Outlaw's reaction be to waking up one day to see not a trace of their darling, their hostage rescued by their cowboy brothers and uncles? (Or something more creative than this,, ^^"" ", i doubt that theyd leave him with lungs and eyes, let alone ALIVE after locating his whereabouts and saving their sweet lil pumpkin, thw baby of the family. My imagination can only take me so far an idk 😓💔)

Would Outlaw go after each individual member of the family down, on a furious witch-hunt in a bid to rescue their darling? After all, Outlaw has been on countless raids riding solo with nothing aside from a horse and his trusty shotgun, became infamous for being the West's deadliest gunslinger, has eliminated the wealthiest businessmen and robbed them of all their money, and made a career out of being a criminal.

Or would he accept defeat? This is clearly not a family to mess with, and it was a miracle that they hadn't put his beheaded head on a stake and set it on fire, condemnimg his corpse. He'd have to be a fool to risk this, wouldn't he? Was reader, his darling, really worth that risk?

Would love to hear your thoughts ! ☺️💞

ALSO SORRU FOE THE REALLY LONG ASKS I FEEL SO BAD BC I GDT CARRIED AWAY JDJSJAJAJASSS 😭😭🙏 PLS FORGIVR ME AAAAAAARRHEHSS

My sweet Anon, we simply must find a name for you ! Your ideas cannot go without an identity to which we can attribute their creation ^^. Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful mind with us <3 !

♡ This occurrence is very in-character for the Outlaw to encounter; albeit never on such an intimate level.

♡ He’s made enemies out of every criminal in the West – namely for resigning them to a life imprisoned while making off with his loot, gifting them a sentence he’d have served himself were he not so adept at the skill of escapism. In the early days when he first started working with other criminals, at least; he’d never make such a mistake now.

♡ You see, the Outlaw is the very definition of work smarter, not harder. So while he may seem as if he’s given up his pursual of you by hanging back, letting you go back to your family and re-integrate with civilised life, he’s tracking you. Watching you. Anticipating your every move.

♡ He’ll find you – eventually – but he won’t swoop in to retrieve you at the first opportunity; he knows that this will simply incur another rescue effort and his imminent execution.

♡ He’ll start to pick off the male authority figures in your family, starting with the weakest (however large and imposing they may be). 

♡ He knows that, without the leader, the pack will scatter, meaning that there will still be some of your family he missed during his executions – members who could still come looking for you upon discovering your kidnapping (again).

♡ Sure, picking off the weakest ones will put the strongest on-edge, but it keeps them packed together – around you – right where he wants them.

♡ The Outlaw knows of the Reader’s family’s reputation. He’s even met them during the occasional heist; opportunists by trade in their willingness to jump upon the corpse of the Outlaw’s victories as soon as his back is turned. But he also knows none are as keen and accurate a marksman as he, and he uses this to his advantage.

♡ While the Outlaw specialises in short-range firearms, he is more than capable with long-distance ones, too. And, once he lures your protectors away from you, he’ll ensure their execution is swift and unforeseen. He’ll perch atop a sturdy tree branch and steady himself, bringing the head of whoever fell for his diversion into the sights of a Whitworth he dusted off and brought from home.

♡ The minute he knows you’re all alone – that your uncles and brothers and cousins are too busy painting the town red with their bodies to stow you away – is when he’ll swoop in, plucking you out of bed and slinging you over his shoulder as he had all those months ago during your first meeting, winding you as he throws you atop his horse and bolting off into the horizon.

♡ So, to put it simply, Anon: yes. To the Outlaw, you are absolutely worth the effort.

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[ur-fav-inactive-writer]

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Pines family x platonic!reader

WC: 1109

Requested by: @kiyomi-uchiha777

Request: what if Bill because this dude is a psycho kills of sister reader after someone or something that made him angry. And what would be the reaction of the characters. Especially when being protective siblings before now losingey little sister

A/N: holy crap I haven't written anything in AGES, anyway, hope you enjoy this, also this will stray from canon a bit but ill try keep it as accurate as possible x

~*~*~*~*~

Bill held you tightly in-between his fingers, Mabel and Dipper clutched tightly in his others. You writhed and struggled but could not free yourself. You heard the desperate pleas of your great-uncles below you. You and your younger siblings attempted to free yourselves but the harder you tried to escape from Bill's grasp, the tighter he held onto you. Eventually, you and your siblings came to the realisation that you were not going to be freed without Bill freeing you himself. Your heart raced, your thoughts ran wild, your body was shaking intensely. The sound of your breathing picking up was only known to you, the shouts of your uncles drowning it out. Every sound inside your head came to an abrupt halt when the booming voice that belonged to Bill sounded throughout the room.

"I've got the kids~~~"

His voice had a hint of teasing to it, it made you feel nauseous. The look of horror that flashed across your uncles' faces caused hot tears to well up in your eyes.

"I think im gonna kill one of them now, just for the heck of it!"

The last part of that sentence seemed to cause time to stop. No, he couldn't do that, could he? The horrifying realisation hit you, at least one of the Pines' children would be dead in less than a minutes time.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No

Surely, he's just bluffing? He's trying to scare us, right? Your head whipped around to look at your dear brother and sister. Their expressions mirrored yours exactly.

None of you could live without one another. Especially the twins, how would Mabel be able to live without her twin brother there to warn and protect her from dangers she was too naïve to spot? How would Dipper live without his twin sister there to remind him to not overwork himself, to live in a better way? No, neither of them could live like that. But, could they live without you?

You squinted your eyes when a blinding, red light flashed throughout the room. The source of it was Bill's eye.

"Eeny. Meenie. Miny."

Symbols flashed each time a word fell from his mouth, each representing you and your siblings. First, a pine tree. Second, a shooting star. Thirdly, an angel. You were given the angel as your symbol since you were seen as the guardian angel of your siblings.

Perhaps that's why he stopped on you.

Symbols were no longer flashing, one stayed. The guardian angel. He was going to kill you. In less than a minute, you would be dead. You had no time to react before Bill snapped his finger and then,

you were dead.

~*~*~*~

Mabel and Dipper were dropped to the floor, along with your lifeless corpse. The sound of Stan and Ford's shouts rang throughout the room. Once they had recovered from the fall, Mabel and Dipper rushed to your body. Your eyes were closed, you looked so peaceful, so perfect. How could you look so perfect in a situation where its so far from perfect? Sobs fell from Mabels lips, throwing herself onto your body. Her big sister, gone forever. Dipper fell to his knees, too shocked to formulate a sentence or even a reaction. His face was blank as his chest rise and fell faster and faster, his breathing picking up rapidly. Screams and cries from Stan and Ford echoed around the room as their cage disappeared. They ran over to you faster than ever, falling to their knees the same way Dipper had.

No. No. No. How could he do such a thing? Why, why her? Why not Ford? Why not Stan? Why (Y/N)? Suddenly, a group of the townsfolk burst through the entrance, Bill too busy laughing at the sorrow he caused to notice such things. Fiddleford held the Quantum Distabiliser and fired it at Bill. Bill's form evaporated as all the weirdness surrounding everybody disappeared with Bill too. Everything was back to normal. Except, (Y/N) was gone.

The Pines' family found themselves in the woods. They ran, ran, and ran until they found your body. You were laying in a meadow, flowers surrounding your corpse, almost poetically. They fell beside your body and stared.

How could they possibly tell your parents their sweet, beloved daughter was just gone? How can they continue on, knowing that you're never going to come back? Knowing that they will never get to spend another moment in your lively presence? All they could do was cry, cry, cry.

~*~*~*~

Weeks had passed and your parents had come to Gravity Falls for your funeral. They saw it fitting you be buried here, where you spent the best summer of your life. The whole town had come in support. They hosted the funeral in that same meadow they found you in. Due to the grief, when they found you, the fact that you loved this meadow and went there almost daily slipped their mind. They found a swing you had crafted yourself on one of your trips here and surrounded it with flowers.

They buried you in that same spot they found you in, the same spot where they found you laying there with such a peaceful expression it almost made everything seem okay again.

After the funeral, the twins would visit that same spot constantly. Mabel would lay next to where you were buried and ramble about all her troubles for hours, knowing you'd be listening. Dipper would sit on the other side and write in his journal. After your passing, he had almost dedicated his journal to you. About how pretty, smart, caring and amazing you were in your life. Once he had finished his first journal about you, he dug up a small hole a few feet above where your coffin laid, and buried it there. To Dipper, he believed that burying it there would almost be like gifting it to you in the afterlife.

~*~*~*~*~

It had been years since your passing, all the Pines' still missed you dearly though. Not a day went by when they didn't think of you and your kind heart. Stan laid in his hospital bed, his health had been declining over those past few months. Mabel and Dipper sat beside him, the same way they did when you had died. He was dying, fast. They cried as they said their goodbyes, knowing he'd be gone soon. He assured them they'd be okay before taking his last breath. He reopened his eyes, looking towards the twins. Why couldn't they see him with his eyes open? Why were they still crying?

As he wondered these things, he saw a pale blue light in the corner, it was you.

"Long time no see Grunkle Stan."

~*~*~*~

A/N: SOBBING RN. also sorry if this isn't that great, i haven't written anything in a while but I still hope you enjoy! xx

[theglamorousferal]

So if you’re new to the Danny Phantom fandom whether that be because you have joined us via a crossover, the new graphic novel coming out or just somehow got hooked into this fandom there are a few things you should know.

90% of content you will see is purely fanon lore.

I’m gonna divide this into two different sections, going over what is canon and then the most common things from fanon.

So if you go by the show, we have at least three different kinds of ghosts. We have ones like the Fright Knight who is a spirit formed from the feelings and beliefs of people surrounding the thoughts of Halloween and we have ones who were once humans like Sidney Poindexter and Desiree. There are also some who are the product of two different ghosts like Box Lunch. We technically also have the Ancients, but we don’t know anything about them except that they existed many years ago and then they enclosed Pariah Dark in the Sarcophagus of Forever sleep.

We know that a high concentration of ectoplasm introduced very quickly can causes human to turn into a half ghost. This happened with Danny at least 3 times, and the accident Vlad had (as well as Jack in an alternate timeline). Danny was changed twice by the portal and then once by being blasted by a bunch of ectoplasm.

In canon, the Fenton parents are very loving parents with just a bit of absent mindedness to them that leads to them missing the obvious signs that something is up with Danny. Every time in the show that he is exposed to them, he is accepted by them entirely. Even when in an alternate timeline where his parents never got together, he is accepted by them.

In canon, Jazz started out not knowing how to help Danny, Tucker and Sam, but it is shown in the show that she trains to be better later on. She still calls the ghosts by things she designated them as though, not how they would like to be called.

In canon, Vlad is awful. He regularly tries to Hamlet the main character. He tried to ruin/kill Jack to get with Maddie and make their kids his kids many, many times. He cloned a child, gaslit the clones into thinking he cared for them and then planned to melt them down to have his “perfect son”. In canon of the show, Vlad is not redeemable. (This sorta changes a bit in the graphic novel, but it’s a toss up whether that is actually considered active canon or if it’s its own canon now.)

In canon, Tucker is a genius after he was forced to sit through 12 hours of study programming. In canon, he is the reincarnation of a Pharaoh. He can speak a made-up language, Esperanto, and can hack into nearly every piece of tech he comes across.

In canon, Sam is obsessed with all things goth and so has tomes about magical beings and artifacts. She is athletic and is always ready to throw down. She only has plant powers in the episode “Urban Jungle”.

Now onto the Fanon, at least the most popular headcanons that I have come across.

The most common thing among the fandom is that Danny is half-dead. Some have him a ghost possessing his own corpse. Some have him be Schrodinger’s boy. Some have him have lower vitals or just no vital signs altogether. He is said to have died and not come back all the way or right. Common things have him be cold to the touch, a lower heart rate, and him forgetting to breathe entirely.

Probably the second most common headcanon is that Danny is the Ghost King after having fought and defeated Pariah Dark in single combat. Ways he takes the throne are varied, everything from him being forcibly put onto the throne and unable to go to the human world, to having to name Jazz or Maddie as regent until he reaches either human or ghostly majority, to him taking the throne but it being more of a figurehead thing. Most stories will have him have a plethora of titles and names he goes by. Along with this he now has a lair inside the Zone, most have him taking over Pariah’s Keep and some do have him have his own new lair.

Another popular headcanon is Ancient of Space or the Balance Danny (going with AGIT, the balance actually is now canon). These lead to things like Danny having an eldritch form. Something that is obviously “other” and hurts to perceive.

Both of these result in an OP Danny and probably around half of them will have him stuck at 14 and/or functionally immortal.

Another very common DP headcanon is Bad Fenton Parents and that their research caused the GIW’s formation. Alongside that come the most common type of fic you will come across which is where Danny has been captured by either the GIW or his parents and then is vivisected. Majority of them will have him vivisected by his own parents. Many of them will have them be varying levels of neglectful, from just not noticing things about their kids to straight up forgetting they were there and Jazz having to take care of them both.

In most fanon, the GIW are actively trying to genocide an entire species. This is closest to a canon thing considering that they did try to nuke the GZ, which would have resulted in their universe also collapsing. The things that some people write/draw for the atrocities the GIW and Bad!Fentons are things that I bring up to my therapist frequently. Be prepared for descriptive gore.

There are a few characters that have spawned in fanon that are widely accepted as canon characters now. The main one is Wes Weston along with his brother Kyle. Wes Weston was a background character that we see for about 3 frames in one episode, but he looked similar to Danny and had green eyes and the fandom latched onto that. It started out with someone claiming the A-listers would think that Wes is Phantom because he’s athletic, had the same build and green eyes. From there, the fandom has decided that he also is the only person to figure out that Danny was Phantom and tries frequently to expose him. Kyle Weston is Wes’ older brother, in the same class as Jazz and he doesn’t believe that ghosts are real and is played for gags a lot.

Another major piece of fanon lore is ghost cores. This stems from a remark Frostbite said talking about Danny’s core temperature and the fans took it and ran with it. In fanon there’s all kinds of different types of ghost cores, usually an element or an aspect of existence. Many have Danny possess an ice core, in some he has a space core. Others take his “death” into consideration and believe him to have an electric core. Commonly people have Vlad have a fire core. Usually cores are an orb that a ghost can retreat into to heal. If the core is shattered, the ghost is ended and no longer exists in any capacity.

Similar to cores is obsessions. These are essentially the purpose of the ghost, their drive and purpose. Skulker’s is hunting, Ember’s is recognition etc. Most give Danny a protection obsession, but will sometimes give him a space obsession.

Something that has gained traction in the last few years (to my knowledge mostly since the pandemic) is liminality. Liminality is where people are contaminated with ectoplasm due to overexposure or ingestion of it and it gives them ghostly abilities. Different people have liminality give people different abilities. Some have glowing eyes, lengthened canines and pointed ears. Some have enhanced senses, strength and speed as well as extra durability. Some have eyes that reflect like a cats and night vision. Some even go so far as give them at least one of the major ghostly abilities.

How someone becomes liminal differ depending on if the writer wishes to have it just be main characters or if it’s the entire town. If it’s just main characters then usually their frequent exposure to ghostly things as well as close proximity to it makes them liminal. For the whole town people will usually have the portal give off essentially radiation or when the town was pulled into the GZ be the cause.

Frequently Sam, Tucker and to a lesser extent Jazz are given extra abilities. Sam usually has residual powers from her time possessed by Undergrowth, Tucker usually has some form of techno Nancy and Jazz usually has some sort of empathetic ability, if not that she get’s the basic extra strength, speed, durability and senses.

There are some lesser known ones that should at least be mentioned in case you come across them. One of those being ghost hunger. This is where ghosts or liminals thirst for ectoplasm similar to how vampires thirst for blood. Another common thing is that ghosts socialize by fighting. That most of the fights are ghosts greeting the baby ghost. The last thing is that the main characters are known as Team Phantom.

I’m probably going to think of more later and I’ll post when I do, but this is the basics that I could remember on the fly. I hope this helps people!!

[thewertsearch]

[ there was more to this ask, but some was spoilers 😆 - C ]

Ooh, that is a fun challenge! I might make this a bigger Title post, actually, because it's been a good while since we've had one of those.

...alright, I just finished, and this one kind of got away from me. I hope it's ok that I sort of hijacked your post to talk about Aspects as a whole - but rest assured, I did answer the original question. Let's get into it!

Unfortunately, it might be kind of difficult to make Class guesses. My theory is that they're Sburb's take on RPG party roles - and for obvious reasons, we haven't seen how any of the non-Player characters would fit into a Sburb party. A full analysis of the hypothetical Midnight Crew, Exile and Guardian sessions would be fun, but it's a little out of scope for this question.

Personality certainly seems to be a factor. I don't think it's a coincidence, for example, that the Seers are the most inquisitive members of their respective parties. Dave and Karkat both hide their true emotions behind a persona - but then again, so do Feferi and Jade, two happy-go-lucky Witches with incredibly dark backstories. Dave may be the worst offender, but half the cast is hiding behind some sort of facade.

John, for his part, doesn't seem to have anything in common with Equius - at least, nothing I can see. I might dig a little deeper for human/troll Class parallels once we've seen more of Equius and Feferi, but our sample sizes are so small that it's going to be hard to tell which shared traits are intentional.

Anyway, none of the other classes feature a pair of Players that I could toss into a Venn diagram, so we're at a bit of a dead end.

I suppose I could approach this from another angle, and try to extrapolate a Class from each character's life circumstances - for example, by speculating that Grandpa's inheritance of the Betty Crocker brand makes him a potential Heir - but that's clearly not an accurate method, given that literal heiress Feferi is a Witch.

See, Classes are a tough nut to crack! The main issue here is that the comic has given us very little to work with - it's been tight-lipped on Titles in general, and there's been almost no exposition on Classes specifically.

It might be easier just to try and assign Aspects to each of the non-Players - so that's what I'm going to do. I'll also take the opportunity to put forward my best guess for what each Aspect means.

Without further ado:

Time means time.

This one seems extremely straightforward. Not all the Aspects are quite so literal - Breath, for example, seems more closely related to wind than the body function it's named after - but Time is about engaging directly with its namesake. It may have other meanings as well, but we haven't seen any yet.

If you wield Time, then you're the session's designated time traveler - which is a lot less cool than it sounds, because it means you're on Doomed Timeline cleanup duty. Enjoy the corpse disposal!

Both of the comic's Time Players have fashioned their own personal time machines out of musical instruments. Music seems to have some connection to Time - which makes sense, since it's an art form of pitch, rhythm and beat. Music is time.

We can also talk for a second about Dave's Quest. As we'll see, each Land Quest seems to directly concern the Player's Aspect. Dave's Quest is to...

...um.

Well, one of these is Dave's Quest. The LOHACse is the only one of the two which is directly related to Time, but I've speculated that Dave's sword-in-the-stone quest will involve him rewinding Caledfwlch to an earlier point in its timeline. Plus, the Caledfwlch quest also speaks to Dave's Class as a Knight, so I think it's the real one.

For the sake of completeness, let's also talk about the Time Lands. Each Land always seems to feature one trait which either directly or obliquely references its Player's Aspect. LOHAC is self-explanatory, but Aradia's Land of Quartz and Melody is an interesting case, as its 'Aspect trait' could be either of its two descriptors. Quartz could reference the quartz in a modern clock, and Melody could reference the musical connection I mentioned above.

I can't think of any non-Players with particularly strong ties to Time - aside from the Felt and Lord English, who we know very little about. Let's say they're all Time Players, and English rules over them as a Prince of Time. As a mob boss and destroyer of worlds, he undoubtedly shares some of Eridan's megalomania.

Space... well, we actually don't have much for Space. We haven't seen Jade or Kanaya do anything with their Aspect, nor do we know anything about their Quests.

We do know that both Space Lands contain the Forge, so maybe there's something to that. Presumably it's going to forge something, and I think it's probably where you're supposed to create the universe. If your task is literally to create Space, it makes sense that a Space Player would take point - but that begs the question of what would happen in a session without a Space Player.

Maybe the game prefers a Space Forge, but it can spawn on another Land in lieu of one - or maybe Space is the 'default' Aspect, and it's actually mandatory in every session.

As far as Space's symbolism is concerned, my assumption is that it's as straightforward as Time, but we'll need to see more.

While I'm here, I guess I should dip my toe into this hot mess.

Yes, LOFAF's Space Word does appear to be Frogs. Yes, that does imply that Kanaya's was also Frogs, or something equally mysterious. No, I do not know what this could possibly mean.

These frogs are apparently heralds for their god, Bilious Slick, whose shadow has been looming over the comic for months now. I guess their appearance on the Space Lands implies that Slick is Space themed, which is at least consistent with my theory that he's the final obstacle between the Players and their universe.

Moving on, because I give up.

(Oh, and if anyone's a Space Player, it's Bec. You could also make an argument for Mom Lalonde, since her home was fitted with an observatory, but that's very tenuous. We don't know much about Space, so I don't know how else to tie a character to the Aspect.)

There's a lot going on with Light.

All Quests so far have had ties to the Player's Aspect, so whatever Jaspers thinks he's talking about here should have something to do with Light.

Jaspers... seems to be talking about different ways to represent information, and instructing Rose to find a particular DNA sequence. (I have to assume this isn't the MEOW sequence, because I don't think Sburb wants Rose to fill LOLAR's oceans with First Guardians.) So, it sort of looks like Light is information, doesn't it?

Well... maybe. See, things are are complicated by the fact that Dave's Quest above was also Knight-themed, so this spiel from Jaspers could be partially Seer-themed. How can we tell which is the Seer stuff, and which is the Light?

Recently, Rose said this, seemingly confirming that her Title is about information ('knowing shit'), and also implying that the 'knowing' is a Seer thing.

This allow us to compare her to Terezi, the other Seer. As we'll see below, she specializes in discerning people's personalities and motivations - literally, seeing into their minds - so it sounds like being a Seer is about perceiving or 'seeing' things that relate to your Aspect.

Rose, the Seer of Light, should therefore have an advanced perception of Light - but just what is Light? What can Rose see?

Well, she says she can see 'the big picture'.

I think Rose's powers allow her to zoom out, understand the broad strokes of a situation, and see how it all ties together - and I think that is the essence of Light.

Dave wonders how he's going to navigate the Furthest Ring's twisted-up space, so she scans the overall situation with her Light powers, and vaguely understands that it won't be a problem. Dave will be able to play his part.

However, if he asked why, exactly, it won't be a problem, or how he's going to do it, she'd be stumped. That's not her department.

I think I sort of understand what Light means now, but I can't think of a succinct way to describe it. The zooming-out Aspect, maybe? The everything-is-connected Aspect? The don't-sweat-the-details Aspect?

Guys, I think I'm starting to understand Homestuck!

Ah, shit.

Yeah, I don't know how Vriska or her powers slot into this interpretation. As the Thief of Light, I guess she'd be stealing... the bigger picture... from other people? And that lets her take their luck, somehow?

I guess when you give yourself 'good luck', you are sort of improving your situation in the general sense, rather than the specific. You don't know the details of how your luck will manifest, but you don't really need to - all you need to know is that it'll be good for you.

I don't know. This is getting messy, and more than a little abstract. I'm sure Vriska will be doing a lot of luck-stealing, so we'll hopefully learn more as we go.

At least the Land of Maps and Treasure fits Light-as-the-big-picture. A map is, literally, a big picture.

A flurry of disquieting happenstance is related to the ADORED SOVEREIGN. With no other options, her counsel is all that is left to be sought. Abdication is never ideal. But in the face of inevitable conquest, conceding ground can supply the only remaining advantage.

WQ, then, seems like a good fit for a Light Player. After listening to PM's full report, she seems to understand how the pieces fit together.

The Queen knows that Jack wants her dead, and clearly understands how dangerous a Player item can be, in the wrong hands. She doesn't know what's in the package, or what Jack will do with it - but she doesn't need to. She can see the writing on the wall, so she retreats.

I did a bit of Breath research for this post, and landed on the above quote. I think Breath is about direction and destination.

TT: John? TT: Are you there? -- tentacleTherapist [TT] is now an idle chum! -- EB: hey, yeah i'm here! EB: and not dead i think. TT: I know. TT: I've been watching you scramble through the house like a lunatic. TT: You should have answered me sooner.

John's a meandering kind of guy. He's wandered haphazardly around the session for three thousand pages, but he always seems to reach his goal. Despite not knowing where to go, he always seems to be where he needs to be.

John's Quest as the Heir of Breath has been explained in detail. He needs to unclog the pipes of LOWAS and defeat Typheus, freeing his Land's fireflies from their cloudy prison. In essence, John's Quest is to give these bugs a new direction, allowing them their full axis of movement once again.

There might also be some Heir stuff in this Quest, but its ultimate goal seems to align pretty well with that Breeze quote above, so I'm willing to accept it as Breath evidence.

AG: Have you ever tried to fly? I 8et you haven't! AG: How a8out we take to the skies, Pupa! AG: Hahahaha, oh you like that idea, Pupa? Yes, you do. I can feel it in your simple, mallea8le 8rain. AG: You want to fly so 8ad!

Breath might also have something to do with agency - or at least, the ability to choose your own actions. John's freedom-themed Quest isn't the only example of this - Tavros's entire arc is about how Vriska keeps denying him agency, while pretending she's doing the opposite.

(I'm going to avoid comparing Homestuck to other works, because this post is long enough as it is, so you're just going to have to imagine the twelve paragraphs of Deltarune meta that would otherwise be placed here.)

AT: bECAUSE THE ONLY TIME i EVER HAD FUN PLAYING THIS GAME WAS WHEN i WAS ASLEEP,

Tavros just wanted to do his own thing. He wanted to ignore the game and float around Prospit, away from everyone's expectations - but he was denied this opportunity, again and again. It's no wonder that he's on a bit of a high right now, after being granted the freedom of his new robo-legs.

As for potential Breath Players - well, CD reminds me of John a little, but he seems a lot more likely to stay on task. I don't know what Aspect he'd be assigned.

Now - we're onto the Aspects we've only seen in trolls. We don't have as much for most of these, since we haven't seen any troll Quests, nor any Aspect powers sans Vriska and Terezi.

Terezi, the Seer of Mind, deals in personality - or maybe, more generally, vibes.

CG: WE'RE NOT EXILING JACK, HE'S COOL. [...] GC: [...] 1 DO NOT G3T 4 GOOD F33L1NG FROM H1M! GC: H3 K1ND OF CG: STINKS? [...] GC: W3LL GC: SORT OF GC: H3 DO3SNT SM3LL B4D 4CTU4LLY GC: H3 SM3LLS R34LLY CL34N 4ND SH1NY 4ND D4RK D4RK D444RK L1K3 4N O1L SL1CK 4ND TH3R3 1S 4 T1NY H1NT OF L1COR1C3 TH3R3 TOO GC: 1TS MOR3 L1K3 GC: TH3 W4Y H3 MOV3S GC: 1 SM3LL H1S SMOOTH MOT1ONS 4ND TH3 W4Y H3 SQU1NTS H1S 3Y3S 4ND 1T G1V3S M3 TH1S R34LLY N3RVOUS F33L1NG

When she smells someone, her Mind-enhanced perception doesn't just tell her what they look like - it also seems to communicate that person's essence. Terezi can see the idea of Jack Noir, here. She's smelling what it feels like to be inside his head.

GC: TH3 D4Y 1T H4PP3N3D W4S TH3 F1RST T1M3 1 3V3R H34RD FROM MY LUSUS GC: SH3 WOK3 M3 UP, 4ND 3V3R S1NC3 H4S B33N T34CH1NG M3 4 D1FF3R3NT W4Y TO S33 GC: 4 D1FF3R3NT W4Y TO P3RC31V3 3V3RYTH1NG 1 GU3SS, NOT JUST 1N 4 S3NSORY W4Y

Terezi is also a naturally perceptive person, so it's sometimes unclear whether her reads are due to Seer clairvoyance or her own deductive abilities. As a general rule, I'll only treat her insight as a Mind power if she explicitly refers to her sense of smell as its source, since that's the avenue for her supernatural perception.

GC: T3LL M3 YOUR R34L N4M3!!! >:[ TG: ok lets say its TG: dave why not GC: D4V3! GC: TH4T SM3LLS L1K3 TRUTH GC: 1 W1LL D3C1D3 TO B3L13V3 1T >:] TG: fuck

Therefore, I'm pretty sure her powers do, in fact, allow her to detect lies. Mind, then, might be related to the concept of truth - as in, your Mind is the truth of who you are, stripped of all illusions.

I was initially going to place Droog here, since he seems to be the only Crew member with his head screwed on, but I no longer think Mind is about being rational or analytical.

Blood is the first Aspect I don't really have a guess for. Maybe it's got something to do with genetics - Karkat is a carcinoGeneticist, after all, and a mutant to boot.

Spades Slick is blood brothers with a Knight of Blood, and he's got a lot in common with Karkat, commanding his party with a moderately annoying leadership style. I'll put him here on the strength of those parallels, and I can revisit it when Blood is explained.

We don't know much about Nepeta, so we don't know much about Heart. Shipping is all about drawing them, though, so maybe Heart is about romance - or, more broadly, relationships and connections.

Nepeta's Land of Little Cubes and Tea is a lolcat joke, so it might not conform to the Aspect Word pattern. I guess, since the cubes are sugar cubes, it might be a pun on 'sweetheart'? Who knows.

I'll put Hearts Boxcars here, and not just because of his name. He's the only member of the Midnight Crew with any interest in shipping.

Feferi revived Sollux with a kiss, so Life is probably healing, as it is in many other element systems.

How her Land of Dew and Glass relates to Life is a mystery. While dew can refer to condensation on any surface, it's often used to describe the water droplets which accrete on grass and other flora. That's kind of a connection to a living thing, but feels like a stretch and a half.

Let's also put Nanna here, since she's the only true healer in the cast. I don't know why the other sprites don't use the healing beam.

Our Void Player is in a Land of Caves and Silence - a hole in the earth, and an absence of sound. Void seems to represent negation, or a lack of something.

Also - this might be a reach, but Scratch describes the gaps in his clairvoyance as 'pockets of void', so perhaps Void also has something to do with uncertainty - aka, a lack of information.

Most of the Guardians could go here, really. Bro seems the best fit, since he's constantly hiding from Dave, and completely vanishes for most of the session.

When a timeline is marked for destruction, we say that it's doomed.

Doom seems to represent death, obliteration and entropy. Sollux Entered into the Land of Brains and Fire, and I think it's pretty clear that Fire is the trait which is tapping his Aspect.

Doom may also be the Aspect of prophecy. After all, Sollux is a prophet of Doom - so maybe he's a prophet because of Doom. It could also be related to his nature as a Mage, but Mages haven't been explained, so I can't speculate.

I originally thought that Sollux might be a Seer - but the Seer Class seems to be about gathering information related to a particular Aspect, rather than directly divining the future. Maybe a Seer of Time could see future events, but it's certainly not a default ability of the class.

Grandpa seems to have some ties to Doom. He prophesized Jade's death to her when he told her about her dead Dream Self - plus, he's a hunter, with a house full of corpses. Also, his entire presence in the session is overshadowed by the spectre of his future death. This is probably the Aspect guess I'm most confident in.

I guess there's also Hope, a brand-new Aspect with no lore. Eridan's 'hope' would seem to be expressed in the fact that he constantly hits on people, hoping in vain for a yes. Thankfully, we're not aware of any non-Players like that....

The mail is the one final hope for resurrecting a dead planet from its ashes, and the letter carriers are the brave soldiers of God in this righteous crusade. They are the defenders of the light of knowledge, free communication, and the exchange of ideas. They are the bold toters of all those little papery conduits of freedom, the white postmarked angels that whisper a message on their deliverance, a promise to the yearning: "There is hope yet."

...but PM is pretty much screaming about hope in her mail monologue, so we'll put her here.

ORDER IN THE COURT. YOU WILL HAVE ORDER IN THIS COURTROOM. IF EVERYONE DOES NOT SETTLE DOWN YOU WILL CLEAR OUT THIS COURTROOM, YOU SWEAR TO GOD.

It's hard to classify the Aimless Renegade. He's all about crime and punishment - which is certainly a Terezi trait, but I don't think it's a Mind trait.

As for Dad, he has a well-established gentlemanly personality, but I don't know what Aspect is the most 'gentlemanly'.

I could try and classify more obscure characters like FedoraFreak, the Pen-pal, Jaspersprite or the Hussie self-insert, but I'll tell you right now I don't have any guesses. Still, that was fun, and it was a good opportunity for me to update my thoughts surrounding the Aspects!

[writersminagerie]

Never to be seen again

Fandom: Baldur's gate 3

Characters: Orin the red, Enver Gortash, Ketheric Thorm, Vesper (Durge)

Ships: Durgetash

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, suicidal thoughts

Synopsis: The dead threes chosen were meant to have a meeting to discuss their plan and move forward into a new phase. However, when Orin shows up without her sibling things get messy.

__

It was an important day, and Vesper, of all people, was late.

And honestly even if it hadn't been a pivotal moment in the plan, their tardiness was cause for concern. The Bhaalspawn was always so punctual, annoyingly so. Gortash drums his fingers on the table, avoiding Thorm's annoyed gaze, and stares intently at the meeting room's door. As the time ticks by the Lord lets his mind wander to the possibilities. Vesper losing themselves in their work, delving into the blood and viscera of their victims with a frenzied excitement of a starving Gnoll. Bhaal coaxing them to be more brutal, more violent. Them Gloating to their sister about how they had caused a more haunting scene than she could. The weapon of the God of Murder.

How bloody would vesper be when they finally showed up? Gortash would undoubtedly have to push them to take a bath before bringing them to bed. If he could convince them that is, otherwise his silks would be ruined.. again. Damn assassin was lucky Gortash was so smitten.

Finally the door opens, and in walks Orin. Her grin was particularly disturbing this evening, the glint of happiness in her eyes was beyond anything mere killing brought her. Gortash suddenly got a cold sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He keeps looking at the door, waiting for Vesper to follow their sister. Begging silently that the fear taking hold was just an over reaction. The changeling began to laugh at him as she sits herself down in Vesper's chair.

"What is so funny?" He snaps finally turning his attention towards the pale woman, "get out of your siblings chair Orin. You stand."

"You look like such a helpless pup," Orin's smile grows wider ignoring the order to get up, "waiting for its master to come home to share scraps from a hunt. Ah.. but they're not coming." The feeling of cold numbness spread through Gortash's body, he manages to remain stony faced.

"What do you mean they're not coming?"

"Just that, lordling. They're not coming. They're dead and gone. Flesh cut to ribbons, their blood watering fields and feeding rivers. Their corpse left for the flies."

Gortash shoots up so fast his chair nearly topples over. Orin is watching him, daring him to try something, begging him to give her a reason to skin him. Ketheric was quiet, but Gortash swore he saw a little tinge of empathy in the elf's gaze. Loss was something they were all familiar with. No. This was a lie. It has to be a lie.

"You're lying."

"I'd thought you'd say that," Orin coos and draws a dagger. She plunges it into the table and leaves it for Gortash to examine.

A slightly curved steel blade, guard inlaid with blue stones, a worn handle wrapped in black leather, and a silver pommel shaped like a dragons head. It was Vesper's. Gortash had it made for the Bhaalspawn, a gift, and a promise they'd rule Faerûn together. The man reaches out and pulls the blade from the table. He refuses to fall apart in front of the other. Refuses to give Orin that satisfaction.

"How?" he asked.

"They'd gotten sloppy, they lost our fathers favor, and I'm taking over now," Orin sounded far too delighted. It took every ounce of self control to not take Vespers blade and plunge it into the Changling's throat. She had done it. There was no doubt in Gortash's mind. As much as he wanted to kill her for taking away his love, he couldn't. the brain needed the three stones working together to remain under their command. They wouldn't be able to find another suitable wielder on such short notice.

Orin was necessary. At least For now.

"Seems we have a set back and won't be able to advance just yet," Gortash said, "Ketheric you will keep massing your armies.. and Orin.. seems you'll be the new representative of your father. Duke Ravenguard will be arriving at Waukeen's rest tomorrow. we'll have him on a leash shortly."

"Just a setback?" Orin sounds amused her brow quirked. "I'm impressed at your callousness, I thought you'd be more... broken. Crying over your lost plaything. But perhaps you'll just get a new one."

"We have work to do Orin," Gortash growls, gripping the dagger tight. "Return to your duties the both of you. I will figure out a way to keep things running smoothly." The man turns on his heel and storms out of the meeting room without letting either of them speak further. He manages to keep his cool up until he enters his study. as soon as the door locks the rage and sorrow hit him like a tidal wave.

Gortash lets out guttural screams, cursing Orin for killing the only person who showed him anything other than brutality. Cursing Vesper for leaving him, for destroying what little happiness he had. How dare they make him care only to disappear! Without a word without letting him say goodbye! He goes on a rampage through the room, tearing up projects, smashing chairs to splinters, flipping his desk, scattering papers and ink pots. All he could see was red, the emotions consuming every fiber of his being.

He had no idea how long his rage lasted. Only that when it was over he was completely exhausted and every inch of the study was completely destroyed. The man sinks to the floor, he was still holding Vesper's dagger. He regards the weapon a moment, testing the edge against his thumb. The Bhaalspawn kept the edge razor sharp, it didn't even hurt as the blade drew blood from Gortash's finger.

It would be so easy to join them. Just draw their sharpened blade across his throat and let darkness take him. This whole plan had been both of their ideas, they had wanted to rule together. They spent countless hours bent over books drawing up their plans and spent countless nights tangled up together figuring out how to get the stone and the crown.

What was the point of building an empire if you lose the one you wanted to build it with?

A shudder ran through him, he could sense Bane's presence in the back of his mind. The god was quiet, but his presence alone was enough to make Gortash hesitate. There was an air of anticipation, daring the man to go through with his foolish little plan. To die and face the consequences. Bane would consider his death a failure on the man's part, and Gortash's soul would burn for all eternity in Bane's fires. And that realization brought on a new one that nearly made him sick.

His soul belonged to Bane and Vesper's belonged to Bhaal. Gortash would never see them again.

Not in this plane or the next.

[evilhasnever]

the thought recently came to my mind and stayed there since so I really need to share it with someone. do you think in case jgy and/or nmj get resurrected/reborn with their memories intact post-canon, they would hold some kind of resentment towards lxc? for jgy, I think it's pretty in-character for him to disregard his part in ruining lxc's trust and lying and inadvertently using him in killing nmj, and simply be upset with the stabbing. and for nmj it's too pretty obvious of a moment of 'I told you so!', and lxc not listening to his warnings eventually got him killed. on the other hand, lxc has plenty of time to reflect on everything that has happened, and I doubt fierce corpses have any sense of time and space in order to process everything. I've just never seen this aspect in any of the post-canon fix-its I've read

Oh yay I love getting anons! I hope it’s ok if I tl;dr disagree with some of these ideas and give you my own :’) Let me start with: jgy and nmj at the end of the story are non-sentient fierce corpses (or, in jgy’s case, just a corpse that has not turned yet) so there won’t be any talking or processing anything at all. So, let us assume they are brought back in the exact same mental state they were at when they died.

I’m no NMJ scholar, mind you, but - while I think he would absolutely be angry when he comes back, I also think he would not be justified in being angry.  Certainly not at LXC! He’d likely be mad at LXC, JGY, NHS, and basically everyone but himself... but he is at least partially responsible for the situation that led to his own death. (Remember, he tried to kill JGY three times before JGY retaliated, and he never once stopped pressuring him to go against his father, which JGY genuinely could not do without being exiled or worse.) JGY would likely not have killed him had he not become a threat to his life first. Would NMJ still tell LXC “I told you so”? Probably. But LXC is absolutely not responsible for his death in any way, and absolutely does not deserve that anger. NMJ’s warnings that JGY would “be a danger to the world” were unfounded paranoia, entirely unrelated to the reasons for his eventual murder. Whether NMJ comes to term with that fact, though, I don’t really know. I have a rather uncharitable view of his canonical beliefs and his way of handling just about any situation that involved JGY, so... unless death changes him as a person, I am skeptical. Now for the xiyao part of the deal (you asked me, you had to be expecting this to be mainly about xiyao!)

I have given this one some thought previously, contemplating various postcanon AUs and things I wanted to write. I think it could go both ways... JGY would be justified in being angry with Lan Xichen, that is what his epic final speech seems to imply - he has always protected LXC (from hurt, from involvement, from horrible truths) and in return, he gets stabbed! But canonically we know that, even at his angriest, he still pushed LXC away to save his life. So was he still angry at him? Would he be angry at him after he comes back? Of course it’s complicated, but I’m leaning towards no. Especially when he knows that Huaisang tricked LXC, and he knows it was likely the accumulation of his revealed deeds that had shaken LXC’s faith in the first place. I think eventually he’d blame himself for it, rather than Lan Xichen.

There is a quote that stuck with me from one of the very first fics I read in this fandom years ago, from JGY to LXC;

“I forgive you,” he says roughly. “I forgave you before I was even dead[...]”

(from Grief Negotiations by Nomette)

I think, ultimately, that’s how I see it. Whether LXC forgives himself, that’s another story entirely.

[krystelovesanime]

From Izuku to Katsuki, chapter 119.

I really love this little quite done by Izuku. To me it shows that despite being bullied by Katsuki from kindergarten all the way to their first year at high school, he still admires Katsuki. In my eyes it's so Izuku that I love it. He himself stated int he very same chapter, just a few panels before this: "As and as your bad side was... your strengths were just as impressive,"

He knows Katsuki has a bad side (and all to well sadly) but he seemed to focus slightly more on Katsuki's strengths which he called impressive. Basically, admiration.

Another example of Izuku's admiration for Katsuki is in the final exam mini arc where Izuku and Katsuki were paired up to fight All Might. There was this mini flashback of Katsuki standing for himself against two seniors at the age of 6.

Izuku is seen admiring Katsuki's bravery behind a near by tree, admiring at how Katsuki, like All Might, always wins at the end. Again, he had said that he could only admire All Might from a distance, but Izuku is is here admiring Katsuki just behind a nearby tree.

Izuku's admiration had stirred somewhere around the age of 4 a deepened later on. How I can conclude this, is because, there was another flashback where, the two of them were in a forest, Izuku telling Katsuki how amazing his Katsuki's quirk is. Once again I repeat, admiring Katsuki. I feel that Izuku's admiration shall never stop and that even when Izuku becomes the No.1 hero, all while Katsuki is the No.2 hero, he will still find something amazing about Katsuki.

So you can see how much Izuku admires Katsuki and how significant Katsuki is in Izuku's life, so when in the infamous chapter 362, Katsuki seemingly dies, you can see the impact it brings upon Izuku.

See how his eyes change? From how the light in his eyes slowly but surely disappears as he sees a dead corpse on the floor, and how his pupils vanish the moment he realizes it's Katsuki. He doesn't believe that the person he admires just as much or possibly even more than All Might, is dead. Because he admires Katsuki for Katsuki's bravery, and sprit of always winning. Hence, Izuku's image of victory being Katsuki.

Katsuki has come a really long way as well. From bullying Izuku to 'admiring/accepting' Izuku. I feel his biggest change as a character towards Izuku was when he apologized in the rain, and for the first time in ten years or so calling Izuku by his given name.

How Horikoshi draws and depicts their development by drawing the two of them when they were toddlers, to middle school, then high school, to the moment where he's apologizing, brings forth a mountain of indescribable feelings and emotions. How Katsuki said he looked down on Izuku because Izuku was quirkless, and therefore thought that Izuku was meant to be classified as beneath him.

But even so, he always felt that Izuku was above him, and he hated that. So Katsuki bullied Izuku, to keep Izuku at arm's length,but Izuku kept running and chasing after him, as I have said, because of how much Izuku admires Katsuki. He tried to act all superior by rejecting Izuku, but as he says, he kept losing that fight if trying to act superior. And through out the whole first year at UA, he was forced to realize Izuku's strengths and his weaknesses. And he apologizes, along with saying Izuku's name in front of all his classmates.

For Katsuki to show even some sort of weakness is hard enough but the fact that he willingly and ooenly shows his weakness in front of at least 20 people, is a lot to say on its own. And Katsuki continues by saying how he and everyone else will be there to help Izuku when Izuku can't handle everything on his own.

His apology to Izuku was one of the final pieces needed to bring back Izuku to UA, the efforts of Ochako, Tenya and everyone else in 1A will not go unnoticed. And as Izuku falls from exhaustion, all his emotions starting to cave in, we can how fast Katsuki runs to just catch Izuku from falling.

You can't even see the remainder of Katsuki's leg due to the speed he was running at to catch Izuku from falling, while muttering how he and everyone else in 1A gets how Izuku feels. From how Katsuki used to bully Izuku to now 'admiring/accepting' Izuku shows how far Katsuki has come, and there are still others out there stating how Katsuki has zero character development.

And another thing I should point out is how Katsuki is trying to change his habit of calling Izuku, Deku. Katsuki is trying to make the effort of calling Izuku by his given name, instead of a nickname he had made up that meant how useless Izuku was. Why he stops calling Izuku by his given name was due to him saying, "Deku-Izuku," And Izuku had replied, telling Katsuki that if calling him by his given name was too hard, then he doesn't want Katsuki to force himself to call him Izuku.

And Katsuki took that as a rejection. Therefore, he stopped calling Izuku, well... Izuku, anymore. Until of course the last few moments before Shigaraki crushed his heart, and killing Katsuki.

His final thoughts were about Izuku, his final words were also about Izuku. Katsuki has come a long way from bullying to 'admiration/acceptance' While Izuku has continued to admire Katsuki despite the consistent bullying.

"So Izuku... can I... still catch up to you?"

~Bakugou Katsuki, chapter 362.

This is just my thoughts by the way, I was just merely reading chapter 119 again, and Deku's single sentence just prompted a whole analysis in my mind. It's more of a focus on Katsuki and Izuku's friendship-rivalry than actual bkdk.

[rukafais]

I played Never Grave's demo so I could see if it had any ambition at all beyond smashing a bunch of popular things together to create something kind of interesting and in short:

no lol

The unique mechanic, possession, is so sidelined you might as well be playing as the Cutesy Witch Character that is the mascot despite being a hat that possesses corpses, because it's not actually a hollow knight style metroidvania, it's smashing hollow knight's style and pacing into dead cells' room generation and enemy placement and creates an unhappy compromise that makes me wish it would shit or get off the fucking pot. It also has drops which are supposed to incentivize replay so you can get upgrades and whatnot, but what it mostly does is make me resent how transparently shoehorned the mechanic is.

also why is the build mode so crusty

Oh also this area is like 50% of the demo (since it is the area you actually do all the combat exploration in):

If you have a game that is making me think, at all times "man i wish i was playing another, better game that looks like this/plays like this that I enjoyed more" you've failed to give your game a unique identity and that, more than anything, irritates the shit out of me. The video game industry is built on clones, at least make it a fucking GOOD clone that isn't creatively bankrupt.

Also they have the whole roguelike random upgrade thing going on but they all feel pretty meaningless because there's no real indication or sense of balance. Everything feels like it's there because it has to be there, because it's popular, instead of trying to have some kind of creative identity and stand on its own. It's deeply, agonizingly mediocre. It feels like it was designed by a fucking marketing team because This Is What's Popular, Right?

Which sucks. Because I would play a game about being a fucked up little creature that possesses corpses to get around! But it doesn't even commit to that premise enough to get me interested, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH OF A SUCKER I AM FOR EVEN THE SLIGHTEST BIT OF AESTHETIC PANDERING?

Also there's no flavor text or lore or plot which like, if there was SOMETHING i could be interested. There is fucking nothing. It feels like someone slapped this together from a bunch of premade templates and expects you to get excited about it.

ALSO IT'S GOING TO BE ANOTHER EARLY ACCESS GAME, FROM A STUDIO THAT SEEMS TO PRODUCE NOTHING BUT EARLY ACCESS GAMES THAT NEVER MAKE IT OUT OF EARLY ACCESS, JESUS CHRIST POCKETPAIR

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

When a Tomb Becomes a Womb (Part 1: Rings)

Well, it’s finally happened: I wrote a story for a movie rather than YouTube Egos. (Not that this is gonna become a regular thing, mind you. Lisa Frankenstein just so happened to check all the right boxes for my hyperfixation and brainrot.) 

(Disclaimer: While I agree that Creature doesn’t really need an actual name to be a great character, I still decided to give him a headcanon name—which is Callum, since I think it would fit him— just because this entire story is from his perspective. Mentioning his "true," pre-death name just seems logical. Neither of the characters in this story belongs to me. Lisa Swallows and The Creature are the property of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody.)

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, gore/blood, mentions of electrocution and fire, scars, body horror, dismemberment. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The soil was loose and soft. It yielded to the shovel’s rusty spade quite easily.

Though many emotions were thrumming through Callum’s skull at the moment, surprise wasn’t one of them. 

While dark clouds had clogged up the night sky, hiding the stars and moon and bloating with rain that would fall sooner or later, the current season was warm, and so the ground wasn’t too firm. 

This plot had only been filled hours ago. This grave was fresh; infinitely fresher than his had been.

By now, Callum estimated that it’d taken at least half a day for him to crawl up through the ground and breach the surface like one of the several worms slithering around inside him.

He hadn’t exactly been in the right headspace to consider it at first; back then, all he’d been able to know was light and electricity and shuddering and pain and. . .Lisa’s words. 

Lisa’s words. 

The same thing that fueled Callum to escape his tomb was now guiding him to free Lisa from hers, all with the same amount of violent tremors and desperation.

It was poetic, honestly. 

Perhaps it would’ve been a bit more poetic if he didn’t have to get so filthy in the process.

Oh, well. He could take care of that later. (Besides, the stains on his clothes were nothing compared to the layers of grime and mold and fungus that had been caked all over him on that first, fateful night.)

Right now, unearthing his beloved without getting caught seemed like a much more important thing to focus on.

His grip was vicelike around the wooden handle as he threw one shovelful after another to the side.

Almost there, Callum thought. (If he could speak, he’d be repeating that mantra in a whisper like his life depended on it. Which. . .well, it logically didn’t, but it technically did. The same went for Lisa.) Almost there. 

He’d wanted to take her away sooner. He would’ve been perfectly fine with forcing her family to waste money on a casket. Really, what good was a casket if you buried it empty? 

But the distinct lack of a corpse would have just caused more problems. As dense as her family seemed to be, they’d still know that the shiny, glowing box (Lisa had called it a. . .tanning bed? If memory served?) wouldn’t have been capable of reducing a person to ashes no matter how dangerous it was. 

He knew she wasn’t dead. Not completely; not truly. Yes, the combination of electrical currents and fire may have worked its horrific magic on her body. . .but that magic just hadn’t followed through altogether as it probably should have. 

The way the bed had convinced foreign limbs to function as intended mere minutes after Lisa sewed them onto him. . .the way it had rejuvenated his centuries-dead flesh bit by bit. . .

It had some kind of similar effect on Lisa. The vast majority of her had died, but there was still a strong, stubborn ember of something in her that was very much determined to live. 

Callum knew that very well. He’d seen proof of it before being forced to flee from the fire.

But Lisa’s family didn’t. As far as they knew, she was gone and never coming back. So, if she just disappeared before they could bury her, then they’d have an excuse to try and track her down. And if that happened, neither she nor her husband would get another chance. . .

Callum ground his jaw, putting even more force behind the shovel. 

The hole grew deeper.

The pile of disturbed earth beside it grew bigger. 

The dull, scraping tempo of grave-robbery began to sound like hitching gasps and sobs.

Just as the clouds started ominously humming about their plans for the night, the shovel reverberated after finally, finally, finally striking something much more solid than dirt.

Callum tossed the tool aside in favor of getting down on his knees, now using his hands to clear away a blanket of finer, thinner soil. 

He hoped Lisa could hear him digging. (Though if that was the case, then the state of her brain could potentially make her think that the sounds were echoing from somewhere farther beneath her. Which would be. . .less than ideal, as Callum didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring her again. )

Even in his anxiety, he subconsciously shook his head. Lisa had taken him in and repaired him even after being initially terrified. Lisa trusted him, loved him; if she didn’t, then he never would have woken up in the first place.

More time passed, and a soft, cold gleam suddenly manifested in the darkness.

Glossy wood. 

The coffin’s upper door. 

Callum groped at the edge of it, tugging with all his strength.

An odd, warm feeling skittered up his spine and shook through his ribcage. 

A low creeeeaaak rattled through the air as the lid was pried open.

. . .And there she was.

___

Callum had always been a fast learner, and yet he still had no idea what to make of his pulse. 

It’d been extremely jarring when he’d first awoken. The days that followed, it was irregular. Sometimes he could feel it, sometimes he couldn’t. It was always soft—following more of a murmur than a steady beat—always irregular, barely there at all.

Right now, however, it both sounded and felt very far away. More present than it had been when he’d performed a highly unorthodox beheading on that stain of a man who’d upset Lisa. 

Hell, it almost seemed louder and stronger than it had been on the most recent evening he’d spent with Lisa; the one that saw the two of them embracing and reeling and dreaming together. . .

Everything else was a blur as he brought her to her new bed, carrying her like the bride she was. He had to move slowly, carefully, feeling more anxious and unwieldy than ever. 

Well, at least until he laid her down, making sure the pillow offered enough support for her neck.

After that, he was much, much more erratic.

He sprinted about the house, tearing almost every other room apart as he searched. It felt like several hours had passed by the time he finally found what he—what his beloved—needed: a white, sterile-looking container. He opened it, just to be certain, then tucked it under one arm and hurried back over to the bedroom.

Every square inch of Lisa’s body was blistered to hell and back, adorned by a network of puffy, angry-looking veins that, had her heart still been beating, would have more or less threatened to burst at any given moment. Red and raw, several sections on her arms, legs, and chest having peeled off to reveal glistening tissue.

Her mane of thick, curly auburn hair had been reduced to a few small, fried patches that clung to the charred flesh of her scalp with a strength similar to bubblegum and well-intentioned vibes. There was a possibility that she’d died with her eyes open, but the awful swelling of the skin around their sockets had sealed them shut. 

None of that mattered, of course. 

Lisa was still just as beautiful as when Callum had first met her. She always, always would be. 

. . .Even so, those injuries had to be dealt with. Despite what Lisa had said before about accepting a person’s flaws, Callum’s instincts told him she wouldn’t appreciate being left to resemble a puppet made of half-raw-half-cooked steaks.

Callum set the medical kit down on the nightstand, ferreting out generous rolls of gauze as he loomed over the side of the bed. 

The world finally seemed to slow back down as he got to work.

It didn’t take long for him to find a gentle, precise cadence as he wrapped bandage after bandage after bandage around his beloved’s form. Something in the back of his mind wondered if this was what spiders felt like when they spun strands of silk together to make their webs.

Although Lisa’s skin hadn’t been rendered translucent, the burns in some places went deep enough for Callum to catch a glimpse of her organs. Both of her lungs were blackened, seared, sunken. Her heart was equally misshapen, now boasting a similar appearance to a blob of melted wax, looking like it was seconds away from collapsing in on itself. 

But even as all the carnage was swallowed up by more strips of gauze, Callum could still see the heart twitch. The movement only lasted for half a second or so, but there was no doubting that it’d happened. . .

Lisa still had a chance. She would never be truly alive again, but she could still come back.

She couldn’t wake up by herself. . .but she wouldn’t have to.

He’d find a way to help, just as she’d done for him. 

Callum blinked for the first time all night, and his hands were suddenly free; he was suddenly sitting at the foot of the new bed.

Lisa was cloaked quite literally from head to toe in clean, snow-white bandages. It was like he'd made the perfect combination of shroud and wedding dress for her to wear.

The thought made a small smile tug at his lips. 

Then he shook his head.

He couldn’t relax just yet. There were other things to be taken care of right now. Two other things, to be specific. 

Callum got to his feet and crossed the new bedroom to quietly close the door. He ventured down a narrow hallway, peering at an assortment of unfamiliar pictures hanging on the walls around him. Disposing of them would probably be another chore for him later.

His footsteps sounded hollow and heavy as he descended the staircase. (Unlike Lisa’s former home, the floors of this house were all hardwood rather than carpet. True, they wouldn’t muffle noise very well, but it was still quite a lucky coincidence.) 

He’d found this house completely by accident, when he’d still been trying to follow Lisa’s path. 

Even with the remnants of that lightning bolt sparking in his stagnant blood, even with Lisa’s voice echoing through his resurrected mind, it’d still taken so much time for him to truly wake up. He grimaced at the thought of how long he’d had to crawl around the cemetery before he could stand upright. 

(And that wasn’t even mentioning the state his vision had been in. The layers of rancid slime and dirt clinging to his face had made everything around him blurry and distorted. The fact that his eyes were also full of maggots at the time certainly hadn’t helped.)

He’d had to wander the surrounding woods for hours and hours before he could finally walk. The rot in his bones had kept his movement slow and uneven, but a bad limp was still better than collapsing every other moment. 

Callum wasn’t sure how the house’s previous owners hadn’t seen or heard him that night. They certainly had a few hours ago, but that wasn’t a factor anymore. 

He crept into the living room, where he paced a few slow circles around the fresh corpse lying in the center of all the controlled chaos. The crimson splatters now adorning the floor, the walls, the sofa’s floral print almost seemed to glitter.

Another carcass could be found just a few feet away, sprawled across the wide threshold that led into the dining room. The face was obscured, as blood was still leaking out to add to a large puddle that continued to slowly spread, inch-by-inch. 

Callum folded his arms across his chest, drumming the nails of his replacement hand against his cheek. He remembered what Lisa had said when he’d silently begged her to help him find new parts; a contemplative murmur about there being bad people in the world. . .

Her relief and gratitude when he’d bludgeoned that horrible excuse for a mother to death.

Her cathartic happiness when he’d dismembered the scum who’d tried to put his filthy hands on her.

Her tearful joy when she eventually realized why he’d risked so much to take a particularly crucial piece from the ignoramus who’d dared to play with her emotions. . .

It had all been so wonderful to see.

Those victims had all hurt Lisa, and they likely would've hurt others as well. Their deaths wouldn’t be an actual loss to the community.

But this. . .

Lisa definitely wouldn’t have approved of this. Yes, she’d understand why Callum had done what he’d done; after everything they’d been through, of course the two of them needed a quiet place to stay, if only for a while until they found somewhere better. A place that was a fair distance from both the town and the cemetery. A place just like this.

But. . .

A raspy sigh escaped Callum’s lips. 

He'd work with more tact in the future. 

Once Lisa was awake, things would be better. He’d listen to her input. They would make important decisions together.

Callum’s eyes wandered about, eventually settling on the axe—the same one Lisa had taken from her father’s garage—he’d left propped up against the adjacent wall. It was slathered in gore, to the point that its wooden handle was just as red as the paint on its blade. 

He approached to pick it up, letting the weapon’s belly rest on his shoulder. Then he stooped down, using his free hand to take hold of the first corpse’s wrists. More of the floor was painted red as he dragged it into the kitchen. He retraced his steps to collect the second body, coming dangerously close to slipping on the blood as he hefted his victim onto the countertop.

The next hour or so was filled with dull thuds, with splintery pops and cra-A-a-cks, with the drip-drip-drip of thick fluid oozing down the lower cabinets and plopping onto the floor. 

The axe was too heavy to be the most precise tool, but it was still efficient. It only took a few good swings to sever limbs from torsos and heads from necks. 

Callum couldn’t bury either of these bodies. Not right away, at least. Fortunately, he soon discovered that there were more than enough black trash bags under the sink to work with. 

Lisa’s body obviously needed repair, but he wasn’t sure which repairs should come first. (He knew she’d require a new pair of eyes, but he didn’t want to risk forcing her current ones open just yet.) Would it be better to take off her old limbs and put new ones in their place, or to simply slice off layers of skin and attach a new barrier to her burnt flesh?

Wait and see, a voice in his head suggested. Callum nodded to himself; when Lisa was able to communicate again, he’d organize these plans with her. It was only right, after all. 

Callum set the axe down by the sink, now focusing on wrapping up the detached pieces of human in tight, layered cocoons that crinkled with every second. Packing all the bundles into the freezer and refrigerator in a way that kept them from sliding right back out was far more aggravating than he would’ve cared to admit, but he managed. 

He gave pause, however, when it came to the two remaining pieces. 

A pair of forearms, to be specific, with their hands still attached. 

One from each corpse. 

Something small and metallic glinted around the fourth finger on each of them. 

The first ring had a very simple design: just a smooth, golden band. 

The second ring, meanwhile, was silver, mounted with a shiny stone.

It wasn’t a diamond by any means. Callum couldn’t tell what kind of gem it was, honestly. But it was gorgeous—it’d been carved into a smooth, perfect orb. It reminded him of an ember at the heart of a firepit, boasting a graceful mix of orange and red with a few soft hints of yellow.

The colors reminded him of that one night. 

Callum shoved the forearms into hiding with all the other parts, the two rings now nestled in his palm. With that, he exited the kitchen, an unfamiliar spring in his step as he ventured back up the staircase. Yes, he still had an enormous bloody mess to clean up, but this took priority. 

His odd, partial heartbeat echoed in his ears as he re-entered the new bedroom and knelt down beside the bed. 

Slowly, delicately, Callum took one of Lisa’s hands in his. He pressed a small kiss to her bandaged knuckles before sliding the new ring onto her finger. 

It fit perfectly. Just like the gold ring did for him. 

As for the odd-yet-sweet candy loop he’d made do with for the original proposal. . .well, he decided to leave it on the nightstand. 

Just in case Lisa wanted to keep it when she woke up.

@mblume125 @upstartgeek @paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises @queenofcandys @magpierose753 @therulerofallpotatos @blue-spider-official @chofisaquino @strangewerewolf @alienbactria @aphroditeinarms @weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral @scootis-the-scoot. @cherryycocaine @sammispook @creepycrow31 @radisyn @allthesecottoncandyskies @that-random-assassin @shelf-life-of-the-party @big-sad-world @lisascreatures @we-were-d3stined-t0-expl0de @artnormal @cr-0-wsworld @bllops-world @night-writer-writer @bunnygirlgracesworld @occasional-trash @a-live-wire @babi-gir @secretly-larry-daley @fawns-things @confused-hufflepuff-screaming

[swallowtailed]

palisade 41

honestly don’t really know where to begin here.

because, like, we all kinda knew this was coming, right? odds were it had to happen sometime. now it has.

but there’s still a real cosmic unfairness to the timing of it. figure died right after they decided they didn’t want to. breaking the wheel of their resurrection is fine and all, but they fought so hard to escape clem and join perennial that it doesn’t really ring true to me.

hearing future in the same sentence reminded me that there’s another suite of definitions for figure, aside from the noun meaning shape or form—the verb meaning guess, consider, imagine.

i’m inclined to read future and perennial as two sides of the same coin—two views of the principality. future sees an inevitable road toward culmination, perennial sees that it’s all the same fucking cycle. also, future seizing on a moment of power from perennial and turning it to their own ends.

real gur just cannot catch a break. they’re stuck with future, inside their own reanimated corpse, guarded by the shell of figure? some real eternal torment there.

so, you know. shit sucks!!

i was really, really hoping eclectic would steal future, and it would also have been incredible for gur sevraq (who, as we know, stole the future) to be stolen from future, but the dice fall as they will

really interesting contrast between the two sides of this arc wrt divine/axiom/mortal/etc relationships. thisbe is guiding integrity and communicating with ebullience, building relationships across ways of being. figure is destroyed just by exposure to divine power, subsumed by the weight of a god rearing up on its own. the axiom being willing to treat with thisbe, the divine destroying figure. which is maybe less about those powers than about the hands moving them—instrumentalization as always a core theme of palisade. 

of course it is also a cautionary tale of the capriciousness of dice. if figure and gur had gotten to speak with future i can imagine it going more like thisbe’s side. but maybe not! we’ll never know.

characters being demanded to envision a future was one of my favorite beats in partizan and it was really cool to hit that again (and to call back to leap!). but also heartbreaking. cori, happy and safe…

aw fuck the crew’s still gonna have to find out that figure is dead… mortality of course goes hand in hand with grief. much like valence’s death i think the positioning of figure’s death is ultimately going to be shaped most by reactions to it

dre’s pc deaths are always so fraught, huh. valence and chine were also kind of messy, sudden deaths—no clean tragedy. which, like, is life, but also, ;-;

the music was incredible. like breathing. and the way the dirge just stops—blinks out.

eclectic drawing up the seismic power of opposition, his own power, was really moving. a bit of grace in that moment.

i’m not sure where they’re gonna go from here, especially in terms of character arcs. it’s a rough downbeat. kind of falls in line with the conflict turns, though—fighting back and forth down to the bitter end. might be a bleak finale although at least one more thing seems set to unfold in this arc so honestly who knows

incidentally, bets on that: the smell of computer parts immediately made me think of the nobel, but the mechanical whine heard across the continent made me wonder if it could be palisade waking up (/being woken up). either way, it’s definitely getting to be alarm clock time, right?? (on the other hand maybe this is just motion activating all across palisade, but a bunch of motion factories just got taken down.)

it’s nice that the a-plot crew were having a fun heist though. cori deserves an alise breka mission

tragedy-ass podcast.

[gyarubloodbath]

circles on the water

character: sanzu haruchiyo & muto (mucho) yasuhiro tw: canon scene, murder, tragedy, death. synopsis: the traitor must be punished. sanzu haruchiyo did this independently of everyone else. art by @hogu2_08

with the blade of a traditional sword, a natural wound was inflicted by a former comrade and "faithful friend". cold steel, the same as the hearts of all teenagers who are faced with obvious weakness — such a genuine temptation in their young years for someone to mix all their organs, and rattle their bones like on taiko drums, under the deafening motor of cars and the roar of bikes, headlights blinding the unprotected retina of the virgin eyes — dissects from solid the collarbone, crossing the adam's ribs under the chest, to the heavy pelvis of a seemingly strong body. two bodies are circling in a dance hated by both of them. soaked in the anger and heat of two different worlds of hidden minds — undisclosed thoughts, so sophisticated that they are capable of sins that there is no point in begging for — flashes with stolen prometheus fire in equally different rhythms (tandavas and lasyas).

blood flows down from yasuhiro's body in hellish streams, falling to the asphalt with a dull sound. weakness enveloped his whole body, — he shudders, — covering it with a huge palm, but he manages to continue to stand on his feet, cursing his demon, his personal executioner, the wayward servant of the king — invented by the same employee. the mask flies off haruchiyo's face, bares his smile, shines with his teeth, just like in childhood, hits on the spot, making another swing — a second incision — larger than the previous one, unknowingly leaving the X mark. «is this the punishment for betrayal?» everything ends in this world. mucho's life also ended, flashing a silver blade for the last time, reflecting the whole truth and the truth of all life.

the katana fell with a clang next to the body of the once still living commander, comrade, traitor. sanzu twisted his face — he looked at the corpse with disgust — but not from the very fact of a dead body under sapphire feet, but from the realization of finding a seditious person next to the person to whom he was ready to devote his life, sacrifice himself… frowning, sanzu clenched his jaw to the point of gnashing his teeth, checking his tongue for at least one drop of blood, hitting it once against the palate. casually, he pushed the body with his foot, making sure that yasuhiro was really dead. the wounds spread out like stars in wrinkles from a light, but such an evil smile. the dark puddle flowing from yasuhiro's body, like a wave somewhere on the shores of brazil, sparkled at sunset, quickly running away.

the uneven trail of blood continued to the very end of the port, where the last judgment had previously taken place, the allegorical main characters of which were yasuhiro mucho — the archangel michael with copper scales at the throne of the prepared one — and sanzu haruchiyo — the devil, one cup of which he is trying to outweigh.

the angry silence was interrupted by a splash of water, forcing the birds to leave the port in fright. if yasuhiro had been alive, the first thing he would have encountered was a feeling of panic: the oldest instinct of self-preservation tells him to hold his breath and for the first few minutes it works. however, do not despair. deprived of consciousness and life in general, mucho goes under water without any hesitation: the lungs of the corpse fill with water without obstacles, abruptly, instantly, as if burning from the inside. water completely fills the lifeless body: blood, stomach and even the skull. sanzu squinted, watching as the long-darkened red water escorted haruchiyo far away, taking yasuhiro into his arms, agitated and swaying. the guy chuckled and left, taking the edged weapon, on the way to the car only shaking off drops of blood on the asphalt, putting the katana back in its sheath. «it's not up to that right now». like a fish, yasuhiro calmly floats with the flow and the process of emphysema goes four times faster, unlike decomposition on land. gases accumulate under the skin and in internal organs, which allows the seemingly mute body to squeak and noisily regurgitate gray foam. passing fish circled around the "drowned man" with interest, poking at him with blunt muzzles and ruffling the skin with their mouths. the smallest of them enter all the openings of the body — the mouth and nostrils — in order to get into the stomach and eat from the inside. the clothes, all tattered and torn at the site of the wound, got wet, and pieces, along with the jerks of the fish, remain to litter the tokyo river. unable to control itself, the body succumbs to invisible nymphs, dirty, scary, and traces of feces and sperm remain on the underwear.

it took less than three weeks for the body to take on the consistency of soap, covered with fat, glistening in the sun with a greasy gray color, a cheesy smell, rotten and inviting animal minds. port workers — a stevedore and a docker — quickly discovered a corpse floating on the water surface, which was slowly being carried ashore, at first confusing it with garbage, and reported it to the police. in gloves, law enforcement agencies pulled out the dead man, removing foam and excess debris from his face so that all nearby passers — by could give a hint who this young man was. however, everyone looks around in horror, shrugging their shoulders.

«the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing and there is no reward for them. that's why their memory is forgotten».

[gofancyninjaworld]

"It struggles but it still obeys" -- OPM webcomic chapter 150 review

Summary

The trap we've been waiting to see sprung has finally started to close. Everywhere we look, the triumphant Neo Heroes are stopping, stuttering, and freezing, their pupils fixed and dialated like a corpse's. Then, they move, reanimated to a new existence, one they have no control over. Only lucky individuals who've modified their suits in some way -- or had them broken -- have escaped. And as Accel, Puri Puri, and Amai Mask will testify, the new Neo Heroes attack former allies savagely on sight.

Elsewhere, we see Genos encounter 'Boros's' brain-dead corpse. It has been kept functional on life support in the second of Metal Knight's labs. Noting that the creature is an incredibly powerful one that can't be allowed to rampage. Genos nevertheless feels for it: it's being kept alive to fight. Like him. While Google Translate isn't the best, the translation it comes up with, of Genos saying that at least one of them should have an easy escape when he moves to kill 'Boros', really hits hard.

We see how clearly Genos sees the situation he's in. The rampaging cyborg screwed him out of his past and any social context. Dr Kuseno screwed him out of a future. And now Saitama, the lackadaisical, uncaring Saitama, has been screwing him out of any chance to salvage anything of value out of his situation. Damn straight he's angry.* And in a hurry. There better be a kindly deity willing to pour cooling water on Dr Bofoi's soul, for unless there's a miracle of understanding to stay Genos's hand, that soul is about to be parted from its body with flames so hot it'll arrive in the afterlife still on fire.

Speaking of the lackadaisical Saitama, he's been doing a good job of eliminating the robots wherever he's encountered them. Blue follows the trail of the storm of robot parts he's been flinging hither and thither and accidentally gets steam-rollered by Saitama. That's where the chapter ends.

When we'll continue, your guess is as good as mine.

Meta

Insects. That's all that people are worth to The Organization. It's been nearly three years since I first pointed out the difference between the cyborgs we'd been seeing to date to what the Neo Heroes were doing. I brought up this harrowing reality of using insects as cyborgs and forcing them to move according to an operator's instructions:

"It struggles but it still obeys," is what the lead scientist says. In the story, we see human beings living this reality. Raiden must have incredible willpower: despite everything, he's able to stutter a few words to Puri Puri, begging the latter to save him from his torment even as he rains blows down on the hero.

Link: https://www.reddit.com/r/OnePunchMan/comments/1agdu1y/translation_of_raidens_muttering_webcomic_spoiler/

For luckless souls who fall into the tender mercies of Erimin and Destro and their 'recovery' capsules, there's an even crueler fate waiting. I'll save that for another day. We'll find our way back to what's happening at Neo Hero HQ in time.

Yes, we the readers have been sitting on high being fed the answers to the evil behind the Neo Hero facade. We may not know who is ultimately responsible, and we may not yet know why, but we know a lot and a lot looks 'obvious' to us. However, the characters in the story can only discover the reality based on the evidence they actually have access to and what they already know/think. ONE is very strict on rules of evidence. If it's taken various individuals until now to start to know, it's not because they're stupid. Never think that, oh person given the answers from the back of the book.

The question is what are the individuals who have begun to understand what's happening going to do? They're all scattered in a deeply hostile and dangerous world -- and there isn't much time to do something before civilization is too broken and cowed to function.

That is, of course, the most urgent problem. Speaking of saving civilization, is the Hero Association going to be saved? But there are other urgent problems. Like, one cannot help but worry that Dr. Bofoi is the wrong target to eliminate. He surely deserves some karma but it may well be a gross miscarriage of justice. What's going to happen there? What's going to happen with 'Boros' (I'm not going to take away the quotations until the critter has a mind of his own again)? And really, who truly is behind all this and what do they want?

Tune in sometime in the future to find out.

Aside

*Yes, I have a lot more to say about this, but I need first to set the context to what I'm going to say. So look for additional meta. Nag me if I'm tardy!